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coeurdastronaute · 4 years

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Essays in Existentialism: Footie 7

previously on Footie

By the time the the skies cleared, the world warmed and shook off the rust that accumulated during the long, wet winter. Gone were the obscenely heavy and low clouds, and in their place, puffy white things lazily drifted along while the chill in the air lessened with new sunlight streaming through fresh leaf growth on winter-blown branches.

The streets were fresh, the people alive and streaming out into them with new vigor to chase the first hints of warmth and yellow sunshine on their cheeks and faces, an entire city with their eyes tilted upwards, sighing happily and distracted from real life with moments of humanity peppered back from the dismal sorrow of the autumn months.

It was a beautiful spring. It was going to be one for the books, with flowers filling sidewalks and spilling out from cracks in sidewalk.

There wasn’t a set schedule, or at least one that kept for very long. But there was a rhythm to the day, even without a harmony. It was impossible to keep up with everything, but Clarke realized she was just going to have to live her life a week at a time.

Lexa had her own routine, made even more difficult by travel. While Clarke found herself making her way to Lexa’s place between games and training and her own school assignments and workdays.

But it worked. The timing of it all, of the season and the year and the life-- it all just seemed to completely work. And for reasons not completely explored, Clarke realized she appreciated the timing of it all because it meant that Lexa wasn’t around and she could take it slow, something her mind just didn’t think about near her.

“She looks good out there today,” Jake nodded as he reclined, coming over a cold that left him mildly irritated by almost anything.

If anyone was not built to grow old, it was Jacob Griffin, head coach and Hall-of-Famer. Surly and annoyed by the inconvenience of illness, he grunted and watched the game with the same vigor as someone who was still coaching.

“She always looks good,” Clarke smiled slightly as she continued to balance her gradebook for the semester so far.

“I mean she’s really putting work in. The team’s at the top of the board and I think they have a good enough chance of staying there to win.”

“Lexa’s so precise and focused. It’s oddly contagious.”

“I have some good news for the Olympics.”

“What’s that? You’re going to get the permission to come?”

“Better. That’s the way!” he cheered as Lexa took a shot from deep, burying it deep in the net for the first goal of the scoreless half. “Hell of a shot.”

“It’s me. I’m lucky in this jersey.”

“That must be it.” Clarke watched her father chuckle at the notion before shaking his head and leaning forward to watch the replay a little better. Gone was the deep wheat-color of his hair and now it was replaced with a little more salt. He was still fit, perhaps more gaunt than before because of the treatment. Deep beneath it all, a bit of life still existed despite all else.

“So what else was it? You’re coming to Tokyo?”

“I was invited to commentate.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” he rolled his eyes, his good mood coming around despite how he felt. “Some people still like to listen to me.”

“I can’t relate.”

“I can’t believe they’re going to let me commentate. I have to practice being impartial. How am I going to root for Lexa and the home team but not actually root for anyone?”

“Are you kidding me?” Clarke scoffed. “Any chance for you to talk about soccer nonstop, and you won’t be able to shut up let alone root for anyone.”

“That’s true,” he nodded.

“Are you going to be good to go?”

“I think so. Other than this cold, I’ve been doing well. Plus, after the clips of me and Lexa went viral-- is that the word?” he waited until his daugher nodded. “Once that happened, I got a lot of emails with different offers.”

“Mom’s okay with it?”

“She encouraged it.”

“Must be sick of you just laying around the house.”

“Or she really wants to go to Japan.”

Clarke found herself smiling, happy that her father sounded happy despite his annoyances. She was grateful to have a new appreciation for his love of the sport. They sat on the couch together, and Clarke leaned against her father’s side. He put an arm around her and started to couch coach well into the second half.

In a completely different city, Lexa sprinted across the field, her footwork weaving the ball through three defenders before she got the shot off to the top right corner. With a punch to the air, she slid on the grass and was adored by teammates and cheered by the stadium.

There was something poetic about watching someone do something that brought joy to the universe. Lexa was often the first person to diminish what she did, but she couldn’t see this part, the part that Clarke saw when she watched her father disect a play, or when the player on the field disappeared and floated, not one ounce of focus to be spared for anything else other than breathing and scoring, and even then the brainpower reserved for breathing was minimal. An entire brain worked to score, to move, to be precise and exact.

Clarke smiled as she watched, proud of her girlfriend, proud of the girl who bashfully asked her out and now, who she was finding was awfully silly and very smart and quiet. If she wasn’t mistaken, sh might have even guessed that she loved the soccer player.

“I’m going to meet Lexa’s sister,” Clarke muttered. “And her niece.”

“When are they coming?”

“Next week, for finals.”

“Well, you’ve been dating for nearly a year now. Might as well as get it over with, right?”

“I’ve never met anyone’s family.”

“It’s not that bad. You’re a good person. Anyone would be lucky to have you date their sister or daughter or aunt or granddaughter or neighbor.”

“You have to say that.”

“I do,” he agreed, squeezing her shoulder. “But I also mean it.”

“I like her a lot.”

“I figured.”

“I don’t know if we’ve self-determined things, but I thought it was a joke, when we said it was fate, but I don’t know. Sometimes I think it is.”

“Everything is a bit of fate, Clarke. At least the big things in life,” Jake explained, as if it was something he remembered he should have taught his daughter long ago. “Good or bad or indifferent. You and Lexa orbited each other, and then BAM, you can barely remember life without her.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“It’s not a bad thing, to spend your life with someone else.”

“You just really want me to date her because she’s a soccer goddess.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and clapped as Lexa got a foul, righting herself quickly and preparing to take her kick, all business, hair stuck to her forehead and neck, body drenched with sweat. It wasn’t even a game she had to win, but still demanded to play.

“They’re going to love you, darling,” the coach promised again after the shot went wide by a few inches and the camera flashed back to Lexa’s tight jaw and groan of complaint for failing to score again.

“Thanks.”

“Now tell me I’m going to do a good job as an announcer.”

“You can’t ask for reassurance like that. You’re Jake fucking Griffin.”

“You’re right.”

“But you’re going to do great. I already know it. I can’t wait to watch you and Lexa.”

“I have to start preparing, watching older footage, scouting players-- there’s a whole slew of things to make sure I know the most.”

“I’m not going to help you study. I get my fill of soccer with that one,” Clarke decided as she nudged her chin at the screen.

“Speaking of, is she going to offer me tickets to the championship or do I have to outright ask?”

“Dad, seriously?”

Jake just shrugged and took a sip of his secret beer, grinning to himself. In moments like this he found himself almost tolerant of cancer. Almost. Because he wasn’t sure he’d ever spent so much time with his daughter, and here they were, watching a game and talking about things of substance, of fears and frustrations and goals and victories. It was moments like that, in which he could almost respect fate. Almost.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

“I’m so happy you’re here. It’s not even funny,” Lexa grinned, silly and happy in the beautiful day.

There was a kid on her shoulders, hands beneath her chin, surveying the world from the perch. Her sister walked beside her, enjoying the spring sunshine and the feeling of her sister showing her around a city she’d never been to before.

“Not because you just won the championship three days ago or because you’re set to fly back with us for training camp?”

“Or because of the ice cream?” Mia added helpfully.

“Maybe a little the ice cream,” she nodded and took another lick of her cone.

It’d been a whirlwind of two weeks, and for the first time, Lexa felt as if she could finally breathe. Gone were the nerves of playing on such a large stage. Gone was the unsettled feeling that came from traveling so much. Gone was the weight of an entire city on her shoulders and it allowed her to inhale and hold it before slowly exhaling, savoring the warmth of the day and the aura of the street.

“She’s absolutely in love with this place,” Anya observed as she watched her daughter taking in all of the sights.

“You’ll have to come visit me more, how does that sound, Mia-Girl?”

“I’m not allowed to fly on a plane alone.”

“I guess your mom can come too.”

“Are we going to watch more soccer?”

The sun began to set behind the buildings, while a few people recognized the athlete, interrupting to ask her questions an utterly gush. It was something her sister and niece got used to being around.

“No more soccer. You didn’t like my game? There was all the confetti and balloons.”

“But it is so long. It takes so many minutes to play, and I get very tired and bored when you don’t have the ball or score points.”

“You make a good point.”

“I like it better when we go to see the castle and that fun science museum and stuff.”

“I liked that stuff too.”

“We miss you at home,” Anya explained as they made their way to her sister’s place, oddly proud of the beautiful place she found for herself, and more relieved with the circle of friends she made.

“I miss you sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

“Yeah,” Lexa grunted as she pulled the kid from her shoulders as they made their way to the elevator. “But forget that. You guys can help me pack.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Even from the hallway, Clarke could hear the noises of a family laughing from behind Lexa’s door. It was a sound she almost got used to experiencing over the past two weeks, with Lexa’s sister and niece in town. It was a much more welcomed sound that the roar of the crowd at the championship, or the people calling her name in the street when she was out with her girlfriend ever since. It was certainly better than the multiple phone calls she got from her mother fretting about her father’s deal to commentate in Tokyo.

Naturally, Clarke was worried about her father, but seeing him come back to what he loved, even just at the game the one time, was more than enough to prove to her that he needed it more than anything else.

Even after spending a whole game and a few trips around town together, Clarke was still slightly nervous about spending time with Lexa’s sister, as if every time she did, she waited for the inevitable call from Lexa that said she’d considered it and it wasn't going to work. Anya was stoic and tough to read. It was almost comical for Clarke to think of how Lexa seemed practically animated beside her poker-faced sibling.

But the call never came, and Clarke had to remind herself to not be so ridiculous. It was absolutely silly to think Anya had any reason not to like her.

And so she knocked.

“Hey,” Lexa greeted, easy and happy and with a dish towel on her shoulder as she dried her hands.

The thoughts were gone and Clarke remembered the girl who walked around town in the middle of the night just to talk to her and prolong a date.

“It smells really good.”

Clarke leaned forward and kissed her girlfriend at the door. She pushed her hand against her chest, laying it flat there while she tasted her for a moment, the wine still tart on her tongue, soft and sweet before going further into the house.

“You smell really good,” Lexa retorted with a floppy smile. “How was your day?”

“Long, but okay. The sun is out so the kids are itching to burn off the winter energy.”

“I can barely keep up with one, let alone a whole herd like you do every day. I don’t know how you do it, Griffin.”

“Well, when a mediocre salary and lackluster benefits package rolls up to your door with the promise of weekends off and a pack of thirty primary-aged kids, any sane person would jump at that kind of career opportunity.”

“When you put it like that…”

“It was a good day, just long,” Clarke chuckled. “What’d you guys get into?”

“Mia made me take her to the park, and we watched a puppet show, and played on the late.”

“Don’t forget the ice cream and the shopping,” Anya supplied, sitting at the counter with her glass of wine as Clarke followed the soccer star into the kitchen. “Lexa hates shopping, unless it’s for toys to spoil a kid with.”

Slightly guilty, she just shrugged and picked up her spoon to stir something on the stove.

“We may have done a little shopping,” she agreed. “Nothing too crazy.”

“We’ll see when the packages start to arrive at home.”

They bickered in a way that Clarke didn’t understand-- sisters. It was a concept she understood inherently, but in practice was beginning to see how inept she’d been at truly learning the full notion of having someone like that. She had close friends, friends she’d give a kidney to, friends she’d die for, friends she couldn’t live without, but there was a bit of a shared history between the sisters, a legend and lore, that transcended some of what Clarke considered to be her dearest confidants.

“Grab a glass, join us. Anya picked out a nice red on her own excursion today.”

“A girl after my own heart,” Clarke nodded approvingly as she reached for a glass to pour a much deserved drink. “If those two were left unsupervised, what did you get up to today?”

“Just a little bookkeeping,” Anya murmured over her glass as she flipped through a stack of papers. “My sister is hopeless at any of this stuff and refuses to listen to anything her agent suggests unless I read it first, like I have some kind of law degree or something--”

“You could and should,” Lexa interrupted. “She has better instincts than I do. I love Indra, but at the end of the day I’m a collection of numbers and commas and dollar signs. I trust Anya to give me her hoenst opinion.”

“Because you don’t pay me.”

“Exactly. If I paid you, then the integrity of the process would be ruined.”

“Can’t have that,” the oldest sighed and flipped and drank.

“She acts like she gets annoyed, but the moment I make a decision without asking her, and all hell breaks--”

“Don’t you start! You signed a deal to move across the entire world. That warranted a bit of a freak out--”

“That was one time and it turned out okay. It truly is a great opportunity, and you even admitted it--”

“You got lucky and I still don’t like it. Someone breaks your heart and you key their car, not impulse trade yourself--”

“It wasn’t impulse. You knew it was an option for months.”

Like a ref at a tennis match, Clarke looked at each of them lobbing facts and histories at the other. None was bitter, and in fact most seemed almost comical to them as they argue the finer points of indignation. Clarke took a large gulp of her wine.

“As I was saying,” Anya ignored the rebuttal and explained it to Clarke as her little sister went back to the stove. “We have a system in place for a reason.”

“If you could not trade yourself to another continent, I would appreciate it,” Clarke muttered, earning a grin.

“I don’t know, this offer to come back home doesn’t look so bad.”

“I just won a damn championship and unpacked the last box. I think I’m set,” Lexa shook her head and held a spoonful for her girlfriend to taste. “Plus, what do I need money for? My sister works for free.”

“I’m going to bill Indra my hours as a freelancer.”

The squabbling remained at the same level, but Clarke began to hear the love woven throughout, and as much as Lexa couldn’t admit it, sparring with her sister was her love language, and Clarke was almost certain it was the same for Anya. The only question now, was how did she survive it.

XXXXXXXXXX

“I’ll clean up in the morning,” Lexa offered as her sister began to pile plates in the kitchen.

“Oh, I know you will,” her sister grinned, her cheeks slightly tinted with the drink they’d gone through during dinner. “It was nice to see you again, Clarke.”

“Good to see you, too.”

“I’m going to check on the ki and head to bed. Tomorrow we’re going to the art museum and I need to start to taking naps to keep up with a first grader.”

“And I’m taking them to that diner we like by the station.”

“Get the potatoes. You’ll love them.”

“I’m going to gain seventy pounds visiting this damn country,” the oldest complained as she made her way down the hall with a wave over her shoulder.

The dining room seemed a little more empty all of a sudden, slightly quieter now that the third of the dinner party was gone in search of sleep. Lexa smiled and sipped her wine before looking at her girlfriend, the first time they’d been alone in what felt like months.

The eyes never changed, Clarke realized, as she adjusted slightly in her chair, pulling a leg up and balancing her cheek on her knee. Quietly, they looked at each other. Neither speaking with words.

“You look beautiful,” Lexa offered, cocking her head slightly as she played with her glass.

“You look like a champion.” Clarke earned a chuckle and slight blush. “Your sister was so proud. And Mia was screaming. I wish I had it on video. They’re very proud of you.”

“Anya loves you, by the way.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“She does. She was worried about me falling for you. I think she might be ready to beat you up if you break my heart, but she likes you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Lexa nodded, dreamy and mildly intoxicated from the food and the wine and her beautiful girlfriend and her wonderful family and the fact that she had a championship ring on the way and the fact that she was going to represent her country.

“I should head home,” Clarke sighed after looking at her phone and sliding it on the table.

With monumental effort she pushed herself up and stood while Lexa refused to move except to take another sip. She made it a few steps before a hand grabbed her wrist.

“You should stay.”

“Your family is here.”

“I miss you.”

Puppy dog eyes followed and Clarke allowed herself to be pulled down into a lap. She missed her girlfriend’s smell, she realized. She missed how she felt and looked at her, and as much as they’d seen each other, it felt almost new again, a comfortable kind of same that was just renewed.

“You’re a busy lady.”

“You’re my favorite way to spend time,” Lexa promised. “You’re just so… so… I like you.”

“They leave in a few days, and then you’ll be gone.”

“I’ll see you in Tokyo,” she promised.

“I know.”

It was a little bit of a lie. Clarke was aware of the schedule after getting her hopes up to see her dad when he was in tournaments as a kid. But she knew Lexa would be busy for most of it, and it wasn’t about her. It was about support, as much as it killed her to not scream for more. She’d never dated an actually talented soccer player before, but she knew the role.

“Stay tonight,” Lexa whispered again, kissing her shoulder.

“You have plans tomorrow morning.”

“Come with us. I need you tonight.”

“You’re just tipsy and needy right now.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, her lips half pulling up in a mischievous grin. “I need you tonight.”

Clarke moved her hands, rubbing them up her girlfriends chest, over her shoulders and to her neck. She ran her thumbs along the corner of the soccer players jaw, staring at her lips before meeting her eyes, debating what to do. There really wasn’t much to think about because they both knew what she was going to do.

“I need you to take a week off so we can celebrate all of your accomplishments.”

“There’s never enough time. I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much as I’d like--”

“I knew what I was getting into, somewhat.”

“Once you realized who I was.”

“Yeah, after that.”

Clarke sighed and leaned forward, tenderly kissing her girlfriend, savoring the feeling of the quiet and the night and the world when they were allowed to exist together. She hadn’t thought about anything else on the planet except for them, together.

“You going to make it worth my while if I stay tonight?”

There wasn’t much of a word uttered, but Clarke got her answer.

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fraink5-writes · 3 years

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From Darkness Into the Lantern Light - Chapter 6

We’ve reached the halfway point, and things can only get more exciting from here! Stay tuned!

Big thanks to @leio13 for editing!

Summary: Once upon a time, there was a cold-hearted queen. Although the Tsaritsa, as she was called, possessed her own divinity, she coveted the powers of the other Archons. Aiming to steal the Geo Archon’s gnosis, she sent her strongest warriors to Liyue Harbor. But just when Rex Lapis was almost defeated, he escaped to another vessel, that of a powerless baby, and was swept away to a hidden tower for his protection.

Many years after the great fight, the young and ambitious Harbinger, Childe, arrives in Liyue to grant the Tsaritsa’s desire, but, on his search for the Geo Archon’s gnosis, he ends up tangled in a mysterious man’s dreams to see Liyue Harbor’s Lantern Rite.

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

When Childe opened his eyes, the sun was shyly peeking through the wooden planks. Judging by the golden hues of light puddling on the ground, the sun must have risen just shortly before. Although he prided himself with being able to sleep almost anywhere, Childe was still surprised by how rested he felt after sleeping on solid dirt. He brushed the dirt off his clothes and quickly ran his comb through his hair. It was still early, so there was no reason to wake up… Zhongli...

Zhongli was missing. In the dirt next to Childe, there was a light, human-sized indent where Zhongli must have slept, but he was gone.

Childe darted out of the building. At the base of the stone steps, there was a human figure. “Zhong—” No, it was one of the men from the crew. Drake, if Childe remembered correctly. “Hey, have you seen Zhongli?”

“Zhongli? Oh yeah, he left not long ago. Said he was going down to the water.”

“The water?”

“Yeah, see that roof over there by the cliff? If you follow this path in the direction of that building then continue going down hill, you should run into a little pond and your friend, probably.”

“Thanks,” Childe replied hastily.

“If you guys need anything before leaving the area, let us know.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Childe took off. He wasn’t sure why he was so worried. The Crux Fleet had taken care of any monsters in the area. Besides, Zhongli was strong enough to fend for himself. The scariest part was Zhongli leaving.

Childe slowed when he reached the pond in question. Underneath the tiered expanse of rock, the crystalline water glistened. Its teal waves guarded a treasure-trove of old mining equipment. On the shore, with the sunlight illuminating his bare back, strumming his hands through his long hair with a comb, Zhongli sat.

Childe recalled the stories from his youth: the seductive mermaid on the rocks by the sea. Any adventurer, lucky or unlucky, would be lured in by her ethereal beauty as she combs her hair.

Childe, eyes fixated on Zhongli, inched silently down the remaining path. His breath and heartbeat had nearly vanished, lest they disturb the scene.

Distracted by the picture in his mind, Childe tripped over a rock right by the water’s edge. He scrambled to right himself and Zhongli’s shirt, coat and tie which he had apparently knocked over.

“Oh—good morning.” Zhongli stopped mid-brush and looked up at Childe.

“You’re up early.” Childe tried to direct the focus away from his awkward arrival. “Did you sleep well?”

“I would have preferred my bed, but it was fine. I didn’t want to keep you waiting, so I woke up early and came down here.”

“You’re washing your hair?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, it takes a long time.” Zhongli patted his hair down. “If you want to leave soon, don’t let me keep you. We can go.”

“No, it’s fine. Do you want my help?” Childe hadn't brushed another person's hair in a long time, yet he blurted that out like an old habit. Of course Zhongli, who was especially paranoid about his hair, would turn down his offer.

"I wouldn't mind, but how could you help?"

Childe’s embarrassment transformed into a smirk. “I wouldn’t be much of an adventurer without one of these.” He plucked his comb from his pocket and twirled it in his fingers.

“Alright, then if you wouldn’t mind helping. The ends are more difficult, so start on the other end.”

“You got it.” Childe sat behind Zhongli then scooted up close. He grabbed a few strands of hair from the side of Zhongli’s face and tucked them behind his ears. Even after the previous night’s dirt bed, his hair was remarkably silky. “Do you brush all this hair by yourself every day?”

“Usually, yes. However, sometimes my mother helps.”

“Your mother?”

“Mmm.”

Childe took Zhongli’s answer for what it was: an end of the discussion. For whatever reason, the topic of Zhongli’s mother was off-limits, so Childe wouldn’t ask any further.

Running his comb through Zhongli's long hair, Childe was warm with nostalgia and intimacy. In the silence, there were no secrets and no lies, just the two of them. He could feel each gentle nod of Zhongli’s head under the light movement of his fingers. With each breath, Zhongli's shoulder blades rose and fell steadily, and the tension in Childe's body ebbed to a similar, peaceful rhythm.

While mindlessly combing, Childe's gaze drifted from his own work to Zhongli's brush. How effortlessly it glided through his hair, like a breeze over a field of flowers; it was impossible to imagine that it was the same hair that had been slept on, dragged through the mud and yanked by a hilichurl.

On his cushion of sand, Zhongli looked right at home, like a boulder, embraced by wind and kissed by the waves. The sun's rays caressed his golden skin. How could it be that such a man, beloved by nature, spent his entire life in a tiny tower?

Eventually, Zhongli's fast-working hands caught up to Childe's amongst the hair. He smoothed his hair over before tying it up at the base of his head. Then he clipped it in place with an orange diamond. After running his fingers through his bangs a few extra times, Zhongli turned around, staring Childe straight in the eyes. "I don't have a mirror—does it look all right?"

Being so close to Zhongli, Childe's brain was scrambled as his eyes darted all over. But at least, the answer was obvious. "Yeah, you look great."

Zhongli's lips unfurled into a small smile. "Thank you for your help."

"No problem—" Childe cleared his throat. "We should get going soon, but first we can grab something to eat from the tavern."

Zhongli nodded.

Childe glanced in a panic at the water as Zhongli buttoned up his shirt and coat.

"I'm ready. Shall we go?" Zhongli's voice signalled Childe away from his pond.

"You first." Childe scooped up Zhongli's hair. "We wouldn't want this getting dirty again, would we?"

***

A pool of morning light cast upon the wooden table where Zhongli sat, creating the illusion of peace in the rowdy tavern. Childe, resting his chin on his hands, wore a calm smile. Zhongli embraced the superficial serenity as he sipped his tea.

“Here you go, boys: Captain Beidou’s specialty!” Yinxing placed two large plates on the table. Each dish was stacked with stir-fried beef and vegetables.

Zhongli thanked the acting waitress, who left for a different table.

“Let’s dig in!” Childe chimed.

From the savory morsels of beef to the neatly cut onion wheel and pepper anchor, the dish seemed more appropriate for a restaurant than a fleet’s seasonal tavern gig. Although he wanted to savor each bite, Zhongli had already cleared half of his plate before he knew it. On the contrary, despite his eager attitude, Childe had hardly made a dent in his food. He hesitantly brought the food to his lips, and every other bite would fall sadly back on his plate.

“Is something wrong?” Zhongli asked.

“Nothing. It’s delicious.”

Zhongli, while slowly resuming to eat, continued to watch Childe, searching for the problem. If the food wasn't to Childe's taste, he wouldn't necessarily tell Zhongli—in fact, he probably wouldn't—yet Zhongli did not believe taste to be the cause.

"Your grip is wrong," Zhongli finally declared, staring at Childe's right hand. His chopsticks were twisted as he reached for his next bite.

"Aha, you got me." Childe laughed. "I can't use chopsticks."

Zhongli gently placed his chopsticks on the table. “I can show you,” he offered. He then picked up one chopstick at a time, raising his hand up for Childe to view. “Hold it like this.”

Childe’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at Zhongli’s hand. With clumsy movements, he attempted to imitate Zhongli’s grip, but he couldn’t hold the chopsticks’ position, and they kept crossing.

“No, like this… move your index finger… No, the other way…” Zhongli continued offering advice, but each ended with the same failure.

“This is impossible.” Childe sighed and placed his chopsticks on the table in defeat.

Zhongli rose from his chair. “Don’t give up so eas—”

The tavern door slammed open. It was Xu Liushi. “We’ve got trouble.”

“Hilichurls?” Huixing called from another table.

“Millelith.”

With that, every eye in the tavern turned towards Childe. Calmly as ever, he stood up. “We should get going.”

“Now?!” Xu Liushi shook his head. “You’d better start hiding.”

“We can take a few milleliths.” Childe’s hands were fingering at his sheathed blades.

“And create problems for the Captain’s fleet?” Furong protested. “No way!”

“We should listen to them.” Zhongli joined the effort to persuade Childe.

“Over here!” A small voice called from behind a counter. “Hide over here!”

Hearing the thumps of milleliths’ boots, Zhongli and Childe ducked behind the counter, where they found little Yue. Tucked into the tiny space under the counter, Zhongli desperately grabbed his hair and pulled it close to his chest, which thumped violently. Next to him, brushing shoulders, Childe’s hands remained by his sheathes, but his breathing was calm. Although Yue also wore a stern face, his legs trembled. To Zhongli's surprise, Childe let go of his weapons. He gently took Yue's hands. As the tension dissipated from Yue's body, he inched closer. Childe, with a grin, patted his head and ruffled his hair. which was met with the beginning of a giggle. “Shh..” Captain Beidou crawled behind the counter. “Hopefully they’re fast. I don’t want to deal with them.”

Finally, the door thudded.

“Hi, welcome to our tavern!” Yinxing sang out. “Would you like something to eat?”

“We’re not interested in eating,” a stern voice replied. “We’re looking for someone.”

“Why surely you must mean the Captain!”

“No, this man. A criminal.”

“Sorry. I don’t recognize him.”

“It doesn’t matter. We intend to search the premises.”

“Oh, but please, let us treat you to our hospitality first. You must be tired and hungry.”

“No thank you.”

As the footsteps spread across the tavern, a chorus of voices also sprung out.

“You call yourselves soldiers? Where’d you get these old, dinky things? Let me at least fix you up with some real weapons first.”

“You look very ill. On your back, so I can examine you.”

“Wanna wrestle? No one has beaten me yet.”

“That beer will cost 15,000 mora.”

“After four days of perilous fighting, Captain Beidou stood at the helm of the Alcor, ready to face the monster—”

“What’s going on here?” The original man’s voice shouted. “Where is your Captain?! Let me speak to her!”

Beidou sighed. “Yue, lead them to the path to Yaoguang Shoal. The Alcor is parked there,” She whispered before grabbing a mug of beer and standing up. “You’re looking for me?” She paced slowly away from the counter, gulping down the beer as she went. “I was just getting more beer from the back. Ahhh… how refreshing!”

“We are the Millelith on behalf of the Qixing. We are here in search of a criminal.”

“And I am Captain Beidou of the Crux Fleet. Surely, you wouldn’t be suggesting that the Crux is a band of criminals?”

“Not at all, Captain. However, we have reason to believe that a criminal is at large in this town, and we’re seeking your assistance in hunting him down.”

“What’s in it for my men?”

“Well, uh..”

“Not interested.”

“This isn’t a matter of debate. The Liyue Qixing demands that you help with our search.”

“If the Qixing cares so much, they can send the Tianquan down here herself, and then we’ll see.”

“How dare you! If that’s how you want to play, then the Tianquan will definitely hear of this, and next time you’ll be explaining yourself to her at Liyue Harbor!”

“Great! Then, it’s a date!”

“Men, this is public property. Search every last corner!”

By the time the thumping of boots resumed, Zhongli, Childe and Yue had already snuck into a backroom and were standing before a secret tunnel entrance.

“This is where you must go,” Yue whispered.

“Thank you.” Zhongli bowed slightly.

“Be careful and don’t forget the Cygnus Fleet.”

“You’ll be a great captain someday.” Childe lightly tousled Yue’s hair with a fleeting soft smile before he grabbed Zhongli’s arm and ran into the tunnel.

#Genshin Impact #Chili #Childe #Zhongli #Beidou

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dayenurose · 4 years

Text

A little while back @deadhermiteyes posted a lovely piece of Dick/Babs fan art she drew. (View it here! It really is lovely). And she happened to mention that she’d like it if someone would write something based off of it. Which, in turn, kick-started my writing brain and I was inspired to write this piece.

A couple of quick notes… The artist captioned her picture with the line: “We used to leave the galas and come here all the time when we were kids, Dick. They’re gonna find us!” I have included it in the story (with a minor edit). All credit for that line goes to her.

Also, she mentioned wanting something angsty, so there is angst.

[Read on ao3]

Enjoy…

Moving On

The gala was in full swing. Photo ops had been snapped and sound bites gathered. The charity had been praised—a foundation supporting adult literacy programs—and the family thanked for their continuing support. Especially in these trying times.... The evening had marched on at a maddening slow pace until Dick didn’t think he could stand another moment of this farce. Then, as it had always been the case since he was a child, there was a moment when the crowd ceased to pay attention to him and he might as well have been invisible. Taking advantage of this lapse of attention, Dick slipped away from the gala and made good his escape. He had a few minutes before he would be missed.

Leaving the party behind, Dick made his way to the roof. The access door shut behind him on groaning hinges, leaving him alone in the blissful silence of the rooftop garden. Listlessly he meandered along the path which wound in and out of various garden patches, while his thoughts wandered a less steady way.

They had convinced him to come tonight. They had told him it was time, that this was important, but the gala had been too much. Too many people with too many questions. He had to get away. Even if it was only for a moment. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply and took in the cool night air heavy with the promise of rain. This he missed.

From this perspective, high over the city, Dick felt more at home than he did when he was on the ground below, mingling with people he scarcely knew. Playing a role and moving on. He hated that phrase. That was all anyone said to him anymore.

Dick sat along the low retaining wall, confident he would not fall despite being six stories above the ground. Shrugging out of his jacket and loosening his tie, he abandoned both on the ledge beside him. They were strangling him. He could barely breathe as it was. He needed...he needed her.

It had been too long since he’d taken to the rooftops. He couldn’t, not anymore. It would be foolish, irresponsible. He wouldn’t.

Still, Dick could taste the freedom which leaping off rooftops and gliding through the air had always granted him before. It had been too long since he felt like the “daring young man on the flying trapeze.” Oh, how she used to tease him.

Shaking his head as though it were possible to clear his brain of the unwanted thoughts. Too many memories clung to his shoulders —clipped his wings and pinioned him to the ground. The wind bit through the thin silk of his shirt and ruffled his hair. Tomorrow, he told himself, I’ll go back on the trapeze tomorrow. From there, maybe things would look brighter. It had helped in the past. He just needed this tonight.

Retrieving the device from his jacket pocket, Dick turned it over and over again in his hands. He shouldn’t be doing this. He promised....

With a click, Dick turned on the device, set it on the ledge and waited.

“Dick? Are you up here?” Babs’ voice rang through the otherwise silent night. It was too close, while at the same time being far too distant.

Hesitating for only a moment, Dick pushed himself to his feet and stood as still as stone. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be here. He needed to stop living in the past.

“Dick, where are you? This isn’t funny.” Despite the rebuke in her words, there was amusement in her voice.

He didn’t rush to her as had once been his custom. Instead he stayed his mark. If he wanted this, he needed to stay here. To endure the wait, Dick closed his eyes and breathed deeply. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t quite fill his lungs.

“There you are, Hunk Wonder,” Babs called as she rounded the corner of the path. Her movements were slow and a bit awkward. After the experimental spinal surgery started to fail, she had good days and bad ones. More often than not, she spent most of her time in her wheelchair than not. But, for this occasion, she’d felt up to walking.

“Yeah, here I am.” His voice almost sounded normal. Not that she would notice one way or the other.

Dick opened his eyes and openly stared at Babs, drinking in every detail. Her smile lit up her face and a teasing glimmer sparked in her green eyes. At the sight of her, his heart raced in his chest. His expression softened and his lips curled into a smile. This...he needed this.

Her eyes. They sparked with more excitement than they usually did when they met for these secret assignations. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Dick grinned. “I needed to get away for a moment.”

“I know. Me too. No matter how many times we do this, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to all this hobnobbing.” The breeze caught at her hair as she pulled out the pins and allowed the long locks to tumble about her shoulders. The loose braid which had formally accented the updo was quickly lost amid the red curls. She massaged her temples and exhaled a sigh of relief. “That feels better.”

He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, but held back.

Taking a step closer, she shivered and ran a hand over her bare arms. “It’s getting too cold for rooftop meetings.”

“But the view is gorgeous.” His gaze followed the deep v neckline of her dark charcoal dress.

A rosy flush coloured her pale cheeks as she followed the progression of his hungry gaze. “Dick, not here. We used to leave the galas and come here all the time when we were kids. They’re gonna find us!”

“We have a few minutes before anyone will miss us,” he mumbled. Spinning her around so her back pressed against his front, Dick wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, interlacing their fingers. The pose wasn’t as easy or as comfortable, as it had once been. His left arm traced down the length of hers until he captured her hand in his. He tried ignore the missing cool metal of her wedding band. Babs giggled, the joy effusing every ounce of her being.

“The gardens look lovely. You did a great job.” Though he was trying to distract her from the cold and the thoughts of discovery, Dick truly meant the compliment. Babs had helped create this little haven of green in their city. Each of the half dozen or so plots contained a different colorful and fragrant offering.

Never one to forget the hardships of the No Mans Land quarantine, Babs had insisted they include vegetables among the gardens. There were tomatoes and peppers. Heads of lettuce and kale. Zucchini vines snaked their way through the neat rows.

Not far from where he stood now, a small patch of wild flowers grew nearby, offering a colorful bounty of flowers. A trio of beehives nestled among the daisies, clovers, and a myriad of other flowers he couldn’t name. The bee were quiet in the deepening night, though in the morning the buzz of an active hive would begin anew.

Closing his eyes, he dipped his head and tried to prolong the moment. Breathing deeply, he inhaled rose and lavender. The scent he loved—the one he longed for—was missing. Long gone was the subtle, sweet scent of vanilla. Babs had once admitted she preferred a perfume with a touch of vanilla. It reminded her of the old books she loved. She’d explained the chemistry—as the paper broke down, it carried the scent of vanillin. Her passion for books was one of the many things he loved about her. He could not count the number...

“Dick,” Babs’ voice interrupted his runaway thoughts. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Mmhmm,” Dick managed to choke around the lump in his throat, no longer able to pretend everything was okay. No longer able to stick to the script. Babs continued as though he had never missed his cue. He opened his eyes to see her face, needing to see it one more time.

Who was he kidding? Once more would never be enough. Her green eyes are bright with all the potential of bright tomorrows. She flickered in his arms.

“Dick...”

The access door creaked, breaking the moment before she could share the news.

“Daddy? Are you up here?”

Dick started. The image of Babs flickered again as he stumbled back and scrambled for the projector from its place on the ledge. He flicked it off, leaving him once again alone.

“Annie, I’m back here.” Dick dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief, though he couldn’t hide the red. He didn’t mind if his daughter saw the telltale signs of his tears. After all, It’s okay to cry, had become a near mantra around their home since Babs’ death six months ago. Over that span of time he had cried enough to fill the oceans of the world several times over.

No, he didn’t mind if she found him crying. Rather the problem was that once she located him, his time alone would be over. They would need to rejoin the gala. Once more he would be subject to the pitying glances, the uncomfortable silences, and—God forbid—the empty condolences. People were beginning to move from the ‘I understand, take all the time you need’ to the ‘Why aren’t you over this yet?’.

Their extended family was better, but none of them knew how to help Dick and his children grieve. They couldn’t adopt the family’s usual method for dealing with loss. Cancer left no enemies to beat up. No mystery to solve, no justice to enact. Death’s revolving door stayed firmly shut this time. He was no Orpheus able to charm open the gates of Hades.

Annie found him exactly where he had stood. She clutched a book in her hands, grasping the spine until her knuckles turned white. Allowing her to bring a book was the only way he could get her to come. Behind her glasses, wide, lost eyes searched the gardens. She ran the last few feet to him and threw her arms around his waist in an embrace. With her face pressed into his shirt, it was hard to hear her amid the muffled sniffles. “I was scared when I couldn’t find you. I thought I lost you too.”

“I’m sorry sweetheart.” Dick gathered his daughter in his arms and held her to his chest. It hurt to look at her. She was so much like her mother with her bright red hair and the liberal sprinkling of freckles. Annie had his eyes—the shape and colour—but he always thought they shone with the same bright curiosity which had been Babs’. Before his legs gave way, Dick sank down to the ledge and resisted the urge to break down in sobs. He needed to be strong for her.

When Annie’s sniffling ceased, Dick relaxed his embrace. Annie slipped out of his arms. A Grayson through and through, his ten year old daughter showed no fear as she sat on the ledge beside him. Her leg bounced in an unsteady rhythm. Resting her head against his arm, they sat in silence listening for the hum of the traffic below.

“Where’s Henry?” Breaking the silence, Dick asked after her twin brother, the two were scarcely seen without the other. He slipped his jacket back on, but left off the tie.

Between all his siblings, Steph, Alfred, Bruce, and Jim—Dick and Babs had never worried about their children at events like these. With the training ingrained into each of them from their nights working together to keep Gotham safe, his family watched over his children. It was almost uncanny how the children passed from one set of watchful eyes to another without the explicit need to organize the process. But, like everything since Babs had died, that too seemed broken. She had held their little world together. When they had Oracle’s all seeing gaze watching their backs, the extended family’s self-appointed mission felt a little bit safer, a little more possible. Now, the Clocktower was empty, the Oracle was silenced.

A sob hitched in his chest. He pulled Annie close and held her tight.

Annie shrugged. “There’s too many people here, so he left with Aunt Cass. Grandpa Bruce knows...”

“You didn’t want to go with them?” He tried to keep his voice light. He didn’t care if she attended the party or not, just that she was safe.

“I wanted to find you first.” She worried her bottom lip. Silently she ticked off each member of their extended family on her fingers as she mentally recalled their locations.

Dick’s heart ached. His bold, vivacious children had turned quiet, never straying far from each other or family. Annie needed to know where everyone was at all times and Henry couldn’t stand crowds. If they hadn’t inherited Babs’ brilliance, there had been rumblings of holding them back a year in school. Dick was all they had now. He couldn’t be risking his life on a nightly basis. He couldn’t leave them orphans.

Annie picked up the projector and turned it over in her hands. “Is this Mama’s...?”

“Yes,” Dick plucked the device out of her hands. His fingers hovered over the switch. From diagnosis to her death, it had been nearly a year. It was all too short a time, but Babs had never given up hope. Even in her last pain filled days, Babs had never stopped trying to find ways to take care of them all. Trying to extend her reach beyond her passing.

In the time she had left, she and Dick had created the projector. Adapting her training room technology, they had created a way to record memories and play them back in lifelike vignettes. They had started with her memories, then his. It was all they had time for, before it was too late. He was suppose to continue adding stories—and the twins’, and her father’s, Bruce’s, his siblings’, her teams’, everyone whose lives she had touched. There had been so many. Once the collected stories were gathered and woven together, they would have a comprehensive record of Babs’ life.

“I miss Mama.” Annie ran her fingers along the spine of her book. It was the last book Babs had given their daughter. Though Annie carried it with her everywhere, she had yet to read it.

“Would you like to see what I was watching?” It was time to share this memory.

She nodded.

Dick flipped the switch. The image flickered to life (a sick feeling twisted in his stomach at that turn of phrase) and paused where he had left the scenario. This simulacrum of Dick and Babs were so young. Even his daughter noticed the difference. She ran a hand through her dad’s hair, now liberally streaked with grey. He no longer tried to hide the passage of time. Pressing the button again, the memory played from where he left off.

“Dick,” The memory-Babs repeated his name, making certain she had his attention. Their eyes locked and the love was unmistakable. Eager and hopeful. Even back then, he already knew what she was going to say. How could he not? Babs took one last deep breath, before announcing her news with a radiant smile. “I’m pregnant.”

The smile on Dick’s face was as brilliant as the sun. He swooped Babs up in his arms and spun her. When at last he set down his wife, he kept a steadying arm around her waist. Lightly pressing his free hand to her stomach, he leaned in and kissed her.

In the present, Dick allowed the image to linger for a moment before turning off the projector. Tears ran down Annie’s cheeks at the sight of her mama alive and vibrant.

“That’s the night we learned about you and your brother,” Dick murmured into his daughter’s hair, holding her close.

“I wish...I wish she could come back to us,” Annie whispered. “I miss her so much.”

“So do I sweetheart. So do I.” Dick closed his eyes and breathed in the night. The subtle scent of vanilla was missing. Their world would never be the same. And it wasn’t meant to be. They would go on, somehow. He couldn’t see the way— yet—but he knew they would find it. Together.

#richard grayson #barbra gordon #dick/babs #fanfiction #inspired by fanart #deadhermiteyes #angst #mourning

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almasexya · 5 years

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Carnivorous Plants and the Things I Know About Them

I've been kicking around the idea of making a post like this and I figured it was of enough general interest to folks on Tumblr to go for it.

One of the things I do is grow carnivorous plants, like these

From top left to bottom right we have a Venus Flytrap, a North American Pitcher Plant, a Sundew, and a Butterwort. All of these are pictures I've taken of plants during the growing season.

Now if you look at these weird looking plants you probably wouldn't expect them to be native to North America, but they are. You can find pitcher plants all over the southeast up to the northeast into Canada, flytraps in the Carolinas, and butterworts and sundews all over the continent.

These plants are a lot of fun and easy to grow once you understand their requirements, but before we get into that, I want to take a moment and explain how they came to be in the first place.

To keep it short, carnivorous plants are carnivorous because they grow in soils that are lacking in the nutrients plants need to put out new growth. Because of this, they evolved to find their nutrients a different way - by luring, trapping, and digesting insects. While these plants still photosynthesize, they supplement this with the nutrients they absorb from insects.

Now that we've got that out of the way, I'm going to go into the basics of growing them, point by point. A short disclaimer - I'm specifically talking about temperate North American plants, since they're what I have experience growing. I can provide basic info on how to take care of tropical plants like the southeast asian pitcher plants, but as of this post I don't have experience with them yet.

Soil: For carnivorous plants, a good soil mixture is a must. These plants grow in nutrient-poor marshes, and the soil they call home is constantly wet. The main ingredient in basically any carnivorous plant soil mix is sphagnum peat moss, which is slightly acidic. The second part of the mixture is often perlite or horticultural sand. Some nurseries use a mix of equal parts peat and perlite while others use 80% peat and 20% perlite, but I've had success with both. The most important thing to ensure is that your soil doesn't have any fertilizer added to it. Because carnivores grow in low nutrient soil, any kind of medium that contains fertilizer can actually kill them.

Water: The other vitally important part of the equation (and the one that kills lots of plants when incorrectly applied) is water. Generally, unless your tap water is soft, water carnivores with distilled or reverse osmosis water. The minerals in tap water or even bottled drinking water can eventually build up and kill your plant in the same way fertilized soil does. Carnivores love waterlogged soil, and some even get flooded in nature. To approximate this, set your plant in a tray of water no more than an inch or two high. This ensures your soil stays wet without having to constantly water it.

Containers: Plastic pots are your friend. Avoid terra cotta clay pots, since they can leech minerals into the soil and also tend to dry out your substrate faster. Glazed clay containers can also work. If you're using the tray system, make sure to buy pots with drainage holes, so the water can get in. Also, a trick that lets the water in but keeps the soil from escaping is to line the bottom of the pot with long-fibered sphagnum moss. If you go with an undrained container, make sure to keep the soil wet at all times, but allow some of the water to evaporate in order to keep the water table fluctuating.

Sunlight: Since carnivores evolved their leaves to catch insects, they're pretty poor at photosynthesis. As a result, these plants love sun - the more the better. Many a store bought flytrap has perished as a houseplant due to lack of sun, so if you can, put these plants outside, in the sunniest spot you can. Generally, it's good to give most carnivores around 6 hours of sunlight per day. Many can get by with 4, but they don't often thrive with that amount of light.

Dormancy: Plants that grow in temperate or warm temperate climates tend to buckle down and hibernate during the late fall and winter months, conserving energy until spring. Generally speaking, the large traps die off, or in some cases the plant dies down to the roots, or forms a small bud that rests on the ground. Plants grown outside respond to colder temperatures and shorter photoperiods, while plants grown inside usually need some help. If you're growing your plants on a windowsill or in a terrarium, move them somewhere cold or cut down on their heating, and also diminish the amount of daily light they receive. You can also slow down on watering, though they still need some water to get by.

Temperature: Temperate and warm temperate carnivores can tolerate a wide range of temperatures, despite what you might think. My pots survived the freak snowstorm the Pacific Northwest got this February without a single dead plant. Most species can tolerate temperatures up to 100 degrees Fahrenheit and down to 20 degrees, though not for prolonged periods of time. If you see long spells of hot or cold weather coming, try and move your plants to a protected area until they pass.

Feeding and Fertilizing: Now I know what you're thinking. Fertilizer? He just told us that stuff was death! And it often is, but there are ways to fertilize your plants. Generally, a fertilizer made for acid-loving plants can be diluted and applied to the leaves during the growing season. I use Maxsea 16-16-16 on plants that are too young to easily catch prey (diluted down to a half teaspoon per gallon) and haven't had issues. Try not to spray the soil unless you frequently water your plants from overhead, as the dreaded mineral buildup can still occur. That said, if your plants are outside, they'll fertilize themselves. You can also "feed" your plants insects using tongs - keep in mind that some plants require their prey to be alive in order to secrete digestive enzymes. I'll get into prey in more detail in other posts about specific types of plants.

Flowering and Propagation: For a lot of carnivorous plants, flowering is an exhausting effort that tends to deplete the energy they would use creating traps. As a general rule, if you're not interested in seed, clip the flower stalks off. Many plants can be propagated through leaf or root cuttings, which produce genetically identical plants. Some plants also clump and form their own divisions over time, meaning all you need to do to get more is wait for a year or so, depending on the age of the plant.

Pests: Carnivores can be targeted by various pests. For insecticides, I've seen neem oil recommended, as its generally less harmful to the plant and the environment. I haven't had to make much use of these yet, so my information on insecticides is a bit of a blind spot. Generally, try and stay away from soap insecticides and aerosols, and stick to less concentrated varieties. If you're dealing with squirrels or rodents digging up your plants, I found a generous sprinkling of cayenne pepper around the plants works wonders, and does no harm to the plants.

This is a basic rundown of carnivorous plants and how to take care of some of them. I must stress there's a ton of information out there - this post is geared more towards starter plants that are fairly forgiving and simple to grow.

So why grow carnivorous plants when you can just go out and buy some petunias?

They're active: Carnivores are showy, unique plants that can move on their own through some incredibly unique and complex evolutions. Watching a Venus Flytrap snap shut or a Sundew curl around an insect is a truly special thing to see.

They're a conversation piece: The relative rarity of carnivores in cultivation means the average person doesn't know much about them, despite maybe having heard of a Venus Flytrap before. A 12" pot of flytraps, sundews, and pitchers is a surefire way to grab attention.

They can control certain pests: Carnivorous plants can act as natural pest controllers. North American Pitcher Plants gorge themselves on flies and wasps, and considering some pitchers can grow over two feet tall, they can hold plenty of them. Sundews and butterworts specialize in catching smaller prey, such as fungus gnats, fruit flies, and even fleas. These plants can work as limited, natural pest controllers, though they won't eradicate a yellow jacket nest for you.

They're endangered in the wild: The wet, marshy habitats carnivores call home are rapidly dwindling due to improper land management and development. Some are nearly extinct in their home ranges, kept going through dedicated nurseries and attempts to naturalize them in other locations. By caring for carnivorous plants, you're raising awareness of these unique, underappreciated organisms and aiding in their conservation by keeping them alive.

Phew, I realize this was a lot, but I hope it was a fun read! Let me know what you think about carnivorous plants, or if you have any questions about them. I'm going to try and go into more detail on specific plants later, but for now, I wanted to bang out the basics.

If you're looking for more information, Flytrapcare.com is a great forum, and the r/savagegarden subreddit is very helpful as well. For books on the subject, the Savage Garden by Peter D'Amato is the go to source. Nurseries I've used and can vouch for are Sarracenia Northwest (located in Oregon) and California Carnivores (located in California).

#carnivorous plants #plantblr #my plants

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harrisonstories · 5 years

Photo

George Harrison in his kitchen in Kinfauns, Esher (1969)

Photo by: John Haynes

George had been sitting for a long time cross-legged on the floor. He was putting new strings on his sitar while telling me about his spiritual life, about transcendental meditation, about reincarnation and stuff. I might well have been ever so slightly dozing off. This was 1968 and we were in his ranch-style bungalow in Esher, Surrey. George was in one of his more spiritual periods.

The telephone rang. George picked it up. I could hear muffled giggling noises. “Esher wine store,” barked George, affecting a cockney accent. And hung up. He laughed at his own trick. Then went back to telling me how much I was missing in my spiritual life.

This was the thing about George. He could be intensely, often achingly, serious one moment, then break out of it, laughing, well aware of himself. Remember that excellent song he did on the Sgt Pepper album – Within You Without You – which is full of Indian music and instruments. When it comes to an end you can hear the other Beatles burst out laughing. People at the time thought it rather nasty of them, mocking George’s earnestness. In fact it was George’s own idea.

“After that Indian stuff,” as he told me, “you want some light relief after five minutes of sad music. You don’t have to take it all that seriously, you know.” George was a late developer, which comes across clearly in Living in the Material World, Martin Scorsese’s two-part documentary on his life being screened by BBC2 this weekend. He was not just younger than John and Paul, he was far less mature, physically and sexually, and clearly had talent but lacked confidence.

A puzzling thing about George’s early years was that, despite having passed the 11-plus and gone to a top grammar school, the Liverpool Institute (which was where he met Paul, a year ahead), he left at 16 and became a humble apprentice electrician. A sign, perhaps, of lack of ambition or some sort of inferiority. Or perhaps in a way he was just asleep, waiting.

When George joined the Quarrymen, he seemed to trail in their wake for the first few years, in awe of the other two. John was an art student, Paul a sixth-former, men of the world, with ambitions and status, writing songs, having sex, while George just seemed like, well, Little George. When I was working on their biography, back in the 60s, I talked to many people – John and Paul themselves, other early members of the Quarrymen, Cynthia (John’s first wife) and Astrid, their Hamburg friend – and they all had the same visual memory.

They all remembered George walking down the street, one step behind John. Paul and John had each other to spark them, to combine and compete against, but George, when he slowly started writing songs, was on his own, and became self-conscious that his lyrics weren’t quite as good as their creations.

That’s what he felt – and for a long time it was probably true. On the other hand he was happy enough with his music, though he worked obsessively on it. Paul and John gained from each other, bashing and hammering into shape both their words and their music.

George became the Quiet Beatle, got overlooked in the noise and commotion. On stage, you could see his deadly concentration, not showing off or flirting with the audience as Paul and John did. He maintained he had to concentrate as he was carrying the music along.

Even when they were at their height, I don’t think many people realised just how much George was contributing. Yes, we knew about the Indian influence, but it is remarkable, when you look back, just how many George numbers were on the Beatles albums, right from their second one, With the Beatles, back in 1963, when he contributed Don’t Bother Me. Not a classic, but they got better, all the time. On Revolver I was surprised, when I started to count up, that three of the songs were his – Taxman, Love You To and I Want to Tell You.

One of the joys of the Scorsese film – along with unseen home-movie footage and the interviews with Ringo, Paul and George’s widow Olivia talking about his last years – is having George’s music all the way through, both his Beatles and post-Beatles music. You realise then just how much he wrote. Personally I could do without the old TV clips of David Frost and Malcolm Muggeridge chuntering on yet again, but the film does manage to capture George’s spiritual life, without grinding on too much.

George was the first, from my observation, to get pissed off by being a Beatle. He had by then developed – ahead of them. Long before the Apple rows or before Yoko came into John’s life, or Linda into Paul’s, elements usually listed in their break-up, George was desperate to move on and leave them all behind. He’d done all that, that phase in his life was over, and found wanting.

He was, in many ways, the late developer who developed most, right to the end of his life. The other three, at various stages, went on to mark time, but George was always seeking, studying, gardening, making, thinking, doing. It made it hard for me, at the time, to get him to concentrate and think back to the early days of the Beatles, when the subject bored him stiff. It was spiritual matters that he really wanted to talk about. When I finished the book, he was the only one who moaned about wanting more in – about his spiritual views. I talked him out of it, saying it would unbalance the book.

At the same time he was always a realist, and also still tempted by the weakness of the flesh, which Olivia – without spelling it out – indicates very clearly continued to go on. “He did like women and women did like him,” she says in the film. And his combination of seriousness and humour was always there. His passion for Monty Python, and saving their Life of Brian film, was done for his own amusement because he wanted to see the finished film – despite being such a seriously religious person himself.

The Beatles, when I was writing their biography, came to our house in north-west London to have tea or a meal. At the time, they had become vegetarians. When Ringo came, my wife had prepared an amusing ratatouille and some clever dish with aubergines and nuts, which Ringo pushed away. By vegetarian, Ringo really meant baked beans and corn flakes, which is what he had practically survived on for years in the backs of vans.

George was of course more sophisticated, in all his tastes. He was also the only one of them all who brought a present when he and Pattie arrived – nothing madly original or expensive, just flowers and chocolates. I often used to think he was off in the clouds, not concerned or aware of this world, but he could be well aware of the little worldly everyday things.

- Hunter Davies, “How George Harrison Split The Beatles”, RadioTimes (2011)

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