#also this way its not procrastination but necessary food preparation

[tomboii]

Potato soup for the heart pls if you have time to sit near a pot try this i promise its good even if you arent an irish peasant

i think i just fell in love with myself over the potato soup i made and i only just had a lil sip to see if anything is missing. So im sharing, if just for safekeeping Also this may seem like a lot of work but I have been doing this while simultaneously studying, so im kinda just sitting near the stove to make sure nothing boils over. But also it shouldnt since i never used more them medium heat.

1: Prepare Broth! i had about half a celery (the big round ones) and like 5 carrots (give and take 300g maybe?) as well as one onion (not a big vegetable one but a regular, white onion) and Rosemary Rosemary is my lover, she is in this with me together and without her i wouldnt be who i am as a person i have a pot of fresh rosemary in my kitchen and i will never ever live without her ever again i let the broth simmer all throughout the day yesterday and then kept it in the stove over night. The stove was off during the night tho, so like more of a cold tea approach after simmering for a couple hours prior

2: Boiling the potatos. Now you can just peel a bunch of potatos and toss them in some water. (I didnt measure or even count how many potatos i used. Just go with your heart.) And you will probably be fine. But! consider this: add a bit of salt, a teaspoon of instant broth (or some of the prepared one if you have enough) and Rosemary. I love her, still. Also i let them boil for a couple hours as well, on low heat because a) i need to mash them and the longer i boil them, the easier it is to mash them. And b) this way the potatos and the water really take in the flavour of the broth and rosemary. after the potatos are done, i took some of the water they were boiling in and got rid of the rest.

3: Mash. just mash the potatos. should be easy enough if they boiled for long enough. Once they are mashed, add the water you took off of them beforehand. Also, add in broth, so you get a pretty soupy consistency and mix it all together.

4: Soup. Technically you have soup now. I added some more chopped carrots, cause carrots and potatos are lovers and i could never seperate them. Also added some Wiener Würstchen, which you really dont need. I just always have them in my potato soup and im nothing if not a creature of Habit. You can also add more Rosemary, if you want. I didnt, for now. Also add some milk and butter. It makes the colour less grey-sludgy and more pale yellow. Also, butter is good for the heart (probably not) (it is if you love yourself tho) (if you're vegan this is the only part where you may need substitutes, margarine and oat should work fine, since its mostly for consistency and colour). Now let it simmer a bit longer, that way it thickens up a little. Also here you may taste to see if you need more salt, or smth. I added a bit of pepper but nothing else.

It is right inbetween the perfect potato soup my mom makes and lovingly prepared rosemary ovenpotatos. I think this is a love potion. If you are german and really love potatos, because you lived close to your grandma who is a little old fashion when it comes to food and makes potatos to just about everything. Honestly i would marry whoever makes me a good potatosoup without question. Extra: if youre feeling spicy, you can add currypowder, masala powder or even chili powder to it. Since its mostly potato and also already has milk (or similar) in it it can take quite a bit of spice without killing you. Believe me, i am white and have yet to die of Spicy Potato Soup.

If youre feeling under the weather or anything, just make this. Probably definetly the perfect food for Fall and Winter, but honestly i would eat it all year round. Its a hug in soup form. Which is not saying a lot since all soup is just liquid hugs. I really like soup. And rosemary.

#putting this here for later #i love potato soup if you couldnt tell #i always crave it but only now took the time to make some #there is quicker and easier ways of making it but i wanted to treat myself #also this way its not procrastination but necessary food preparation #food #recipe #soup #souplovers #also if someone actually makes this can you let me know how you like it

[thesquidkid]

A new beginning

Based on yet another prompt by @manescosmic's anon (your anon is giving lots of emotions and inspiration and is helping me procrastinate my wips 😂)

Prompt: “I try not to be a selfish person but when it comes to you, I can’t help it. You’re the only thing I’m selfish about.”

Contains spoilers for 3x05 so beware!

Alex had spent five days with Deep Sky, working on the Lockhart machine, coming up with a good excuse for having a turquoise that could activate it, and feeling more than previously the pressuring gaze of Ramos. His boss had seemed perplexed at the stone, to which Alex had only talked about finding it in the desert outside of Roswell.

So after five days of doing his job, researching the Lockhart machine more than was necessary while thinking about the stone, the apparent connection between the machine and aliens, and Michael (he always thought about Michael), he finally managed to catch a break and drove towards his house. Once he arrived, he made his way to his couch and sat down, taking off his prosthetic leg. He then switched on his phone for the first time since he came back to Deep Sky after the drive in and waited for all the messages to arrive.

Nothing could’ve prepared him for what he read. Kyle had gotten an alien Radio from his father with an alien message. Wyatt Long had suffered memory loss. Liz came back (that, he knew) but left again. Jones (who Alex found out was an identical version of Max but perhaps evil?) told the aliens stories about their parents (explaining Michael’s state at the drive in). Kyle was apparently the murder victim, nearly died, was saved by Max (who wasn't dying anymore?). Someone killed one of Jordan Bernhardt’s friends leading to protests and the regiment intervening (turns out it was Jones). Something happened to Max (who was healed?) but not before something happened to Kyle (again). All the details were confusing and the different messages he got were sometimes contradicting. Reading all these messages in one go, Alex was feeling quite overwhelmed and would need to call someone to help him sort through what he had missed. One message however struck out, leaving him with a sense of pride and sadness, so he went back to read it a few times.

I know you’re not gonna see this for a while, but I’m gonna do better by those I hurt. And that includes you. So, I’m sorry for everything. Said the message by Michael Guerin. Alex had to blink a few times and look at the contact to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. He was proud that Michael was making peace with what had happened, and Alex was sure that one of the people Michael meant to talk to was Rosa (who had also sent him a message about Michael at the Crashdown). He was also saddened by the fact that Michael felt he needed to apologise to him for everything. They were both to be held accountable, and he was starting to realise that he too had some apologies to do.

Just got back from work. He wrote back, with a sad and hopeful smile, hopeful that things between them were perhaps on their way to be better. You’re not the only one responsible, and I’m sorry too. He pressed send and laid his phone beside him, not expecting an answer quite so soon.

He was wrong, as his phone buzzed shortly after he rested his head on the back of the couch. He picked it up and smiled as he read the message. Glad you’re back, everything ok? Michael really worried about too many things, but himself, which was a trait he also held. His thumbs hovered above the keyboard as he thought about what to answer. Was everything okay? He probably wasn’t, but he didn’t really know the feeling of being okay. The machine wasn’t okay, there were still a lot of unknowns, of things he would need to discuss with Michael, but not tonight. No, tonight was about them, and for the first time in a while, he decided to put them first, to be a bit selfish in what he wanted.

All of that in mind, he quickly wrote back before he could regret it. Not really, but that’s for another talk. I know its late, but you wanna come over? I think we need to stop dancing and start talking. Reading back what he sent, he feared to come through too harshly, too menacing about what they needed to talk about. So he decided to add an emoji, to make things better (🙂). He groaned and put his head back, covering it with his hands. “Good job Manes,” he said at loud, "that's totally not creepy."

His phone buzzed again with an answer from Michael, emphasizing the fact that they were both so alike: Wow not creepy at all! Making Alex chuckle, glad he didn't push Michael away, again. The dots on the screen indicating Michael was still typing stopped, and for a moment Alex feared he had been too abrupt. Then, came the message, On my way, I'll bring you some food.

Alex was touched that once again, Michael thought about others and not himself, and knew that Alex probably hadn't prioritised eating over dealing with everything. While he waited for Michael to arrive, he went into the bathroom to get changed into clothes that hadn't been worn for five days and settled back on the couch to read all the messages again, trying to keep up with what he had missed.

He heard Michael's truck park outside then a knock on the front door. He made his way to open it, leaning on his crutch, and was met with Michael, smiling at him with a few curls dangling in front of his eyes, that Alex had to fight not to push back. He had his hat in one hand and a box of noodles to heat up in the other. "Hey." said Alex, leaning to the side to let Michael in. "Thanks for the food," he continued, leading Michael inside and towards the kitchen, "I didn't get a chance to eat yet, so-"

Once in the kitchen, Michael turned around, admiring all the kitchenware Alex owned. "Yeah, I kinda figured." he said, making Alex chuckle slightly. Alex took the box from Michael and put it in the microwave. They waited in silence, then once the microwave beeped, they made their way to the living room, where they sat opposite each other, Michael letting Alex eat while he fiddled with the bandana on his hand.

"I, uhm, made a decision?" Michael said, as Alex was putting down the empty box on the table, the chopsticks laying beside it. He raised his eyebrows in question, wanting to let Michael speak but also indicating he was paying attention and intrigued. "I'm gonna be there for the ones I care about, and- and I'll try not be selfish, you know? To not be my father or whatever." He continued, making Alex's heart ache. Their fathers. That was the problem wasn't it? They both feared to be like their fathers, to be monsters, and by doing so, Alex had pushed Michael away, feeling that he was protecting him. And Michael had done similar things, feeling a hunch about where he came from.

"You're not selfish, Michael." Alex said. Seeing that Michael had lowered his head, not believing it, he continued, "You're not. You brought me dinner even though you didn't have to. You went to the Crashdown to clean the mess the racists had done. You even babysat Kyle for a day." He thoroughly believed every word he said, and Michael raised an eyebrow at the mention of Kyle. "I have received many confusing messages explaining the last few days, which I'm gonna need to dive in with explanations, but not tonight." Alex said, making Michael laugh since he had actually lived the five days and even him was confused. Tonight is about us, thought Alex, figuring out how to formulate that in the best way.

He didn't have time to, since Michael beat him to it. “I try not to be a selfish person", he said, "but when it comes to you, I can’t help it. You’re the only thing I’m selfish about.”

Alex was taken aback by those words. He knew that Michael had feelings for him, how couldn't he, but hearing him say it, he admired the growth Michael had made. And he too had made progress, had grown since the last time they were together. If Michael was going to try to make things better, not mess things up, Alex would do too, and maybe together they could figure things out.

"I'm selfish about you too, Michael."

And with that, they promised to one another that they would try, and not give up on them. Because their story had found a new beginning.

#i hope i didnt forget things #about what alex missed #*insert meme with the pizza delivery guy* #i know i need to update my wips #but i was so inspired by this prompt #there should be a groupchat #that way no more miscommunication #but then the show would be over lmao #i need them to talk #especially malex at this point #rnm spoilers #rnm fic #michael guerin #alex manes #rnm 3x05 #malex #thesquidkid writes

[lilith-lovett]

Found Families - Home is Where the Hart is - Chapter Twenty Five

I have been excited to write this chapter for ages and now it is finally here. I may be procrastinating on my uni essays but at least I have a new chapter. I hope you enjoy. Stay safe x

Masterlist

Summary: 3 am trauma sessions 

Word Count: 4502

Warnings: Past child abuse, panic attack, child abuse, physical abuse, gun mention, fire mention, swearing, psychological/emotional abuse, scars mention, death mention, suicide, anxiety, self-deprecation, infidelity, nightmare, flashback mention, food mention  (This one is really dark) (If I have missed anything please let me know)

Patton awoke slowly to light streaming into the room, providing a pleasant warm morning glow to the otherwise darkened room. Dee’s hair tickled his nostrils as he breathed in and hugged him close to his chest as Virgil softly snored, the peaceful expression so drastically different from the pain-fuelled one from the night before brought a smile to Patton’s face. He hadn’t planned to fall asleep but he was glad he did. Last nights nightmare and panic attack was so severe, it had been a while since his last one, especially one so bad. Virgil had told him previously that Patton’s presence was comforting for him, particularly in the aftermath of a panic attack or flashback, so he usually stayed until Virgil fell asleep and would then return to his own room for the remainder of the night, leaving all of the emotional conversations for the following day. However, last nights breakdown required special attention and Patton felt more comfortable staying close to Virgil in case he had another nightmare.

These nights Virgil’s past trauma reared its ugly head were horrible. Nights when his mind took a hold of him and forced him to relive his most painful memories. When all of the anger and hurt he held inside his tiny ten year old body spilled out in an explosion of all of the emotions he tried to desperately to suppress. Patton couldn’t help feeling useless during these moments, there was only so much he could to combat the immediate problems and help Virgil through it in the moment. He had learned most of Virgil’s triggers and how he responded to certain types of touch, support and consolation, however, Virgil’s mental health was often unpredictable. Emile had taught him how to respond appropriately in specific situations but he constantly had to adapt his methods depending on the circumstances, Virgil’s moods and his tolerance for physical touch in the moment. They were lucky his panic attack hadn’t progressed any further and he had managed to sleep through the rest of the night.

Patton lifted his head to see Virgil and Dee curled up in each others arms, he smiled. Patton adored their closeness, they had a horrible upbringing but always had each other. Virgil was fiercely protective of Dee and Dee was attached to him at the hip, during Virgil’s flashbacks and panic attack he needed to be able to see Dee at all times to ensure himself that he was still here. It was the most effective way to calming him down by physically showing him that Dee was safe and here. Once Patton made sure they were both sound asleep and laid his head back down, allowing himself to be taken by sleep once again. Until he jolted upwards. What time was it?

Patton quickly glanced at the alarm clock. 7:45. Sugar! They had missed the school bus. They were going to be so late. Patton leapt up, shaking both Virgil and Dee awake.

“Hey, kiddos, wake up” Patton said with a sense of urgency in his voice as he roused them both from their slumber. “We all slept him, quickly get dressed,”.

Once Patton had ensured both Virgil and Dee were awake and getting dressed, he bolted out of Virgil’s room and narrowly avoided tripping over both Roman and Roman’s blanket, who was awoken abruptly by Patton’s yelp in surprise. He knew of Roman’s habit of waiting by Virgil’s door until Patton left, he had carried him to bed on one too many occasions after he fell asleep in the hallway.

“Dad?” Roman said his voice still heavy with sleep as he rubbed his eyes.

“Sorry, Roman, it looks like we all slept in, quickly go and get dressed then come downstairs for breakfast,” Patton explained as he knocked on Logan’s door before rushing off his own room to get himself dressed.

After throwing on the first pieces of clothes he could, culminating in a rather odd array of colours and pattern but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. As he left his room to begin preparing a quick breakfast - he noticed something strange. Logan’s door was still closed. Patton hadn’t heard it while he was getting it and it was entirely out of character for Logan to have slept in also. He knocked on the door. No response. He tried again. Silence. Roman, Virgil and Dee were exiting their own rooms now fully dressed.

“Logan, are you awake? Patton called out, not simply wanting to barge in, however, following another period of silence his nerves over came him and he opened the door.

The room was empty. Bed made pristinely as if nobody had ever slept there, the rest of the room was just as orderly. Logan was obsessed with routine. Perhaps, he had woken at his usual time but wanted to avoid waking anyone else despite the time and had been waiting downstairs for them. Patton, followed by Roman, Virgil and Dee all headed downstairs but as he reached the centre of the stairs a sweet smell entered his nostrils. It was the smell of…pancakes. He sped up, rushing towards the kitchen and the direction of the smell. As he entered the kitchen, he saw Logan standing over the sink on top of a step (so he would be able to reach it) cleaning a variety of dishes; pans, utensils and bowls, with a stack of slightly misshapen pancakes sitting on the table.

“Logan?” Patton said in surprise. He had no idea what to think? Should he be proud? Logan had prepared breakfast of them. Upset? What if something had happened while he was asleep? What if the kitchen had caught fire? What if Logan had gotten hurt and he had no idea?

“Good morning, I noticed you were still asleep so I decided to prepare breakfast to allow you time to rest,” Logan explained as he finished the last of the dishes, piling them onto the drying rack.

“Sweet!” Roman explained as he, Virgil and Dee sat at the table, digging into breakfast.

“Where did you learn to cook, Logan?” Patton asked choosing to discuss why Logan shouldn’t be cooking without supervision after breakfast. Sitting down at the table.

“I only know how to prepare pancakes, Maggie taught me the basic steps and from observing you I have memorised the process,” Logan explained as he continued cleaning instead of sitting down to eat with the rest of them.

Once they had all finished, Patton checked the time. 7:55. He had already resounded to his fate that they were going to be late. Patton urged Roman to finish getting ready, Virgil and Dee disappeared upstairs also as Patton helped Logan finish the cleaning.

“Hey, Logan, thank you for cooking breakfast but…next time you want to cook something please let me know,” Patton said. “What if something had happened or you got hurt?”.

“I-I’m sorry,” Logan responded quietly, head down as he dried the dishes. Patton knew Logan didn’t consider his own safety and was only thinking about the benefit to everyone else.

“I am not getting you into trouble but I just want you to be a little more careful, cooking can be dangerous especially while you are unsupervised. Promise me will you ask me for help if you ever need it,” Patton urged placing a hand on Logan’s shoulder and taking the dish cloth from him.

“I-I promise…I apologise Patton, I wasn’t thinking,”Logan admitted as he allowed Patton to take over drying the dishes while he sat down to finally eat his own breakfast.

“It is alright Logan, I know you had good intentions and you really helped me out this morning. But maybe next time, lets cook together, okay?” Patton said as he finished up the dishes, sent a quick text message to Emile, asking him to watch over Logan, Dee and Virgil - he explained the situation of the previous night - and a phone call to the school, explaining they would likely be late and Virgil wouldn’t be attending today. He was light on the details but they had the necessary information in his file so it required very little explanation for him to be allowed to take a mental health day. “Do you mind if you keep Virgil company for me Logan? Emile will be over in a little while and I’ll be home as soon as I can,”.

“Of course,” Logan responded as he dissected his singular pancake.

“Thank you, kiddo,” Patton said as Roman, Virgil and Dee appeared a short while later. “All right, you ready Roman? Virge, Emile will be over soon, you just take it easy today,”.

Virgil had hardly spoken at all this morning which wasn’t unusual but the expression on his face yanked at Patton’s heartstrings, his under eye circles were significantly darker than usual, his mouth was down-turned, eyes lifeless. He looked so tired. Panic attacks, especially one as severe as last night drain a lot of energy. Virgil usually slept the entire following day to recover. Today seemed like it would be no different. Virgil curled up on the sofa with Dee, drifting in and out of consciousness. Patton covered him with a blanket, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead.

“Okay, we really need to go now,” Patton said, he hated to leave Virgil, during a moment like this but Emile would be here shortly, he would be able to provide Virgil the support he needed until Patton returned. “I’ll see you later kiddos, I love you,”.

“Bye, dad,” Virgil mumbled his soft voice hoarse and broken. Patton’s smiled. He was going to be okay. They were going to be okay.

Bang…The shot rang out. He ran…He ran and ran and ran. The fire blazed around him. The air hot and the smoke thick. Coughing and stumbling as it entered his lungs, his vision blurred and his chest burned. He nearly allowed himself to be taken by the darkness. Until he heard it. A cry. No…No…No. Not him…Don’t hurt him…Where is he? He forced himself up, fighting through the burning pain. He ran…He ran and ran and ran. It was him. His father. Big, ugly, terrifying. His face blank. Gun hanging limply from his hand. He stood motionless over the screaming child before grabbing him. He screamed. “PLEASE…PLEASE…DON’T HURT HIM…HURT ME INSTEAD…STOP PLEASE!” His father did not listen. Only kept walking. Ignoring his pleading and begging.The fire had spread. Raging all around them. Burning hot and fierce. His father stop. His brother squirming in his hands holding him out over the flames. “NO…NO…NO…STOP…STOP…DON’T HURT HIM!”. He let go.

Virgil jolted awake. Sinking his teeth into his blanket to prevent him from screaming. His chest burned as all of the oxygen was painfully squeezed out of his lungs. He tried to focus his gaze on Dee, sound asleep in his bed, reminding himself he was still here. He was still here. Not there. He was here. Alive. He was alive. Virgil pressed his hands to his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart beneath his palms, he counted through the breathing pattern Uncle Emile had taught him until the pained ease and his breathing slowed. He picked up his stuffed eeyore, hugging it tight to his chest as he lay back. He knew he likely wouldn’t be returning to sleep any time soon. On nights like these Patton used to stay awake with him, just talking or sitting in silence, his presence was comforting in those moment. However, Virgil had already disturbed Patton today, forced him awake to deal with his issues, made them late for school, forcing him to call Emile just to watch him. He shouldn’t disturb him. He was fine. Fine. All good.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t fine. His hands were trembling and his throat and chest still burned as if he had inhaled a lung full of ash. Virgil glanced towards his alarm clock. 3:25am. Virgil decided to go down stairs to get a drink of water. Before leaving he checked on Dee, stroking his cheek as he mumbled in his sleep. He was still here. He made sure the window was still securely locked before quietly leaving, carefully not to wake any one else as he went downstairs. However, Virgil wasn’t alone. As he descended the stairs, a soft light caught his attention. It was Logan. Curled up on the armchair. Book in one hand, flash-lighting the other. Shining it on the pages as he flipped through them. Why was he awake? Logan hadn’t slept in like the rest of them. Why was he up at three in morning?

Virgil inched forward, careful not to disturb Logan. He looked so tired. The beginnings of purple bruises had appeared under his eyes. He looked nothing like the usual pristine, put together Logan. His hair was unruly. He was dressed in his oversized pyjamas and his mask was slipping. They really were the same. They were doing the exact same thing. Both were plagued by nightmares yet refused to accept Patton’s support like he urged them to, out of the fear they were bothering him. Leading to them sitting alone, in the dark, the thoughts circling again and again and again. They were the same.

“You’re up late,” Virgil called out. Logan flinched, startled by the sudden intrusion, evidently not expecting any company at this hour.

“Virgil…Why are you awake?” Logan asked closing his book and allowing the flash-light to illuminate more of the room.

“Same reason as you,” Virgil responded as he clambered over the back of the sofa, collapsing in the centre of it.

“I…I don’t know what you are talking about,” Logan stammered averting his gaze back to his book.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” Virgil answered sarcasm thick in his words.

Logan’s mask was slipping. Virgil could see right through him. The tension he held in his body. The watery eyes. How he trembled despite his desperate efforts to stop. Logan was exhausted. Virgil was exhausted simply watching him fight against himself. He had returned to reading his book, attempting to ignore Virgil’s presence by not acknowledging his existence. Virgil stood, walking over to where Patton stored the extra blankets, picked out two. Wrapping one around his shoulders and the other he tossed across Logan’s lap, on top of his book and flash-light.

“Here,” Virgil said before returning his seat, creating a blanket cocoon for himself.

“Thank you,” Logan grumbled manoeuvring the blanket around his shoulders and then silence fell over them.

After a period of silence, Logan closed his book, rubbing his temples as a pained expression came over his face. It was so sad. He looked so tired. Virgil had been where he was. Holding everything inside, until it attacked. He had Patton, Roman, Dee, Emile, Dot and Larry. Logan had nobody. He was alone. Dealing with everything on his own. Refusing to open up and accept any help. Maybe, Virgil was being hypocritical. He was currently ignoring his own problems but this was about Logan. The pain would only worsen. Building and building and building until he broke. Virgil knew he hadn’t told Patton about his past yet and from his behaviour it didn’t seem like he would any time soon. Logan wouldn’t be able to keep it all inside for much longer. Virgil had tried. It never ended well. He had to do something.

“I had a another nightmare…the anniversary of my parent’s death is coming up,” Virgil said. So, he was doing this now. Logan head snapped towards him.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Logan responded presumably believing he had offended Virgil in some way.

“Don’t be…they-they were not good people,” Virgil admitted he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, Logan was still giving him his full attention as if urging him to continue.

“He…my dad…my bio dad…he hurt me. He drank a lot because of my mum, she was never really there, she was always out with different men, he knew but he directed all of his anger on me. I took it. I took all of it so he wouldn’t hurt Dee,” Virgil said picking at his fingers nails. “My dad hated Dee, he found out he wasn’t his kid and everything got worse. I had to take care to Dee, mum was always out and dad was always drinking, she used to give me money for food and I used all of it for formula and stuff for Dee. I needed him to be safe. He was just a baby. I didn’t care what happened to me. He was safe,”.

Virgil hadn’t told anyone this in ages. It took him months to confess everything to Patton and then another six months to talk about it with Uncle Emile in therapy yet here he was bearing to all to Logan.

“Everything got worse…Dad…he came home early from drinking and found my mum in bed with another man. He shot him. He…he killed me. He was going to kill her to. I-I stood in front of her. I couldn’t let him hurt her. I thought he was going to sh-shoot me…He pressed the g-gun to my head…I thought…he was…going to…k-kill me. I sometimes wish he did!” Virgil exclaimed breathing growing faster and more erratic. “But he didn’t. He knocked me down and set the house on fire. I had to get Dee out but when I am found him…My dad was already there…He grabbed him and started carrying him away...I was screaming at him to stop…b-but…h-he wouldn’t listen,”,

Logan had moved from the armchair to the sofa, right next to Virgil. He hadn’t noticed he had moved at all.

“He c-carried him away. I-I kept screaming and begging him…B-but he wouldn’t stop. He c-carried…him…to the fire…He let him go…just…let him fall,” Virgil was openly sobbing now, tears stung his eyes, his entire body was trembling as he beginning to descend into hyperventilation. “I-I managed…managed to get him out but he got burned…really b-badly…My dad just stood there…he just stood there. I-I started screaming at him. Why? Why would he do that? He didn’t answer…He-he raised the…gun to…his head…He shot himself…Right in front of me…I was fucking seven…I was a fucking kid,”.

“I got out with Dee. My mum died because of the smoke and the house collapsed because of the fire…I-I was a kid…A fucking kid,” Virgil panted his breathing short and raspy, his hands burned with the memories of the flames searing his skin as the tears continued to fall. Why was he like this?

“Virgil, I believe you are in the beginning stages of a panic attack, I would like to help you if you would allow me to,” Logan asked inching closer however Virgil knew he wouldn’t reach out with explicit consent, he would laugh is he could. He had done this to try and get Logan to open up but here he was being comforted by him.

Virgil merely nodded, reaching his hands out, allowing Logan to take them and direct them in the correct position as he counted through the breathing routine. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8. Virgil assumed Patton must have taught him. After several cycles his breathing began to even out but then the laughter burst out of him.

“Um…Virgil…are you alright?” Logan asked having retreated to the other side of the sofa once Virgil’s panic attack had passed, his confusion present on his face from Virgil strange reaction.

“Yeah, yeah…jesus…I thought sharing all of my trauma would help you feel comfortable to open up but in the end you ended up comforting me,” Virgil chuckled wrapping his blanket tighter around himself.

“I appreciate the sentiment Virgil, I’m fine,” Logan replied averting his gaze. Clearly a lie.

“No your not, I can tell,” Virgil stated.

“I-I…okay…okay…I had a nightmare,” Logan admitted. “My parents were also not nice people, they were obsessed with control and perfection which included me. I needed to be perfect for them. They would…punish me…if I wasn’t. Small things; food taken away, more studying…other things. H-horrible things…I-I…” Logan trailed off, hand hovering over a specific spot on his chest which was hidden by the fabric of his jumper.

“It’s okay Logan, you don’t need to show me,” Virgil’s voice softened. Logan who appeared so strong and unbothered by everything was terrified. Terrified by what his parents had done to him. He looked so small and frail, trembling as he recalled the painful memories.

“Its pathetic. So pathetic,” Logan repeated. “Why can’t I do it? Your scars were as a result of you saving your brother’s life, mine are only from my own cowardice. I let them do this to me. I let them. I did nothing to stop it!”.

“You can’t blame yourself,” Virgil urged.

“Why not? It’s my fault. I didn’t fight back. I did nothing. Its pathetic,” Logan exclaimed. Virgil could see the tears welling up in his eyes.

“No, it isn’t,” A voice called out. Both Virgil and Logan jumped at the sudden intrusion, turning towards the direction of the voice. It was Patton. Still dressed in his baby blue pyjamas. “I had a feeling I would find the two of you here,”.

Patton sat on the sofa, urging Virgil and Logan to sit on either side on him, neither had spoken since they were caught. Virgil only wrapped the blanket tighter around himself as Logan stared at his hands, twisting them in the fabric of his pyjama pants.

“I heard a lot of what you both said, I am not upset but I want you…both of you…to know I would never be upset with you for waking me up if you need me. It hurts me more to know you are suffering in silence. I am your dad. I will be here for you at all hours of the night. You kiddos are my top priority. I am here for you,” Patton said his usual goofy and bubbly personality replaced with what Virgil and Roman referred to as Patton’s serious mode. Virgil had heard the same speech on numerous occasions but he still struggled to belief him. This brain wouldn’t allow him to. “You can come to me, I want you too, there isn’t anything we can’t work through as a family. Now who wants a hug?”.

Virgil almost threw himself into Patton’s arms, revelling in the almost instant relief it provided him, as if Patton’s aura of comfort and safety dispelled all the evil from his body. Logan took a little more convincing but soon enough he was also wrapped in Patton’s embrace, Virgil took a hold of Logan’s sleeve. He wasn’t sure why he did. Maybe to prevent Logan from pulling away? Or just to remind him that Virgil he was for him? But he didn’t resist, allowing himself to be enveloped in Patton’s arms. Virgil didn’t know how long they sat there, curled up in each others arms. Logan had fallen asleep a short while ago and Virgil would likely be following him soon.

“Let’s get you two to bed,” Patton said softly, moving carefully so not to wake Logan, lifting him with ease in order to carry him to bed. Virgil staggered groggily behind him. Once Logan was put to bed, Patton entered Virgil’s room. “How are you doing Virge?”.

“Fine,” Virgil mumbled sleepily, curling up beneath his weighted blanket as Patton sat on the edge of his bed, picking up his eeyore toy, tucking it besides him underneath his covers.

“Are you sure? Today has been a difficult day for you,” Patton said running his fingers through Virgil’s fringe.

“I’m worried about Logan,” Virgil admitted, burrowing further beneath his covers.

“I know, I am too but I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Patton said Virgil felt a little more at ease. Logan would be okay. Patton would help him. “Okay kiddo, you get to sleep now, it is late,”.

“Night, dad,” Virgil mumbled as Patton pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Goodnight Virgil, I love you,” Patton whispered before closing the door silently.

Virgil closed his eyes, slipping into a peaceful and dreamless sleep. The weight and pain easing. Maybe he would be okay.  

Taglist: @i-do-not-dislike-fudge @poems-art-darkness-n-more @skylark-cain @amber1594 @darkrainbow333 @falseh0od @lovingcreatorstrawberry @gr3ml1n-loser @callboxkat @tacochippy @angelgrace003 @comicsimpson @themischievous-one  @cobythinks @whatschooldoesntteachyou @fandomkitty8 @coloursintheblur @read-write-inspire-repeat @clinicalawesomeness @janus-sanders-deserves-better @scared-ghosthunter @silverstarlinedart @winterrose42 @dumbgayemo @imthatgrace2 @glitchybina @quietwords-loudthoughts @vanilla-rose-swirl @laurabrand

If you have any requests or questions about to series or want to be added to the taglist please do not hesitate to send me an ask. Thanks.  

#sander sides #sander sides au #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #symapthetic deceit #thomas sanders #Emile Picani #cartoon therapy #My writing #my fics #found families #home is where the hart is

[cobaltcaster]

⚪8⚪Creating and Walking a Moon Circle

A Moon circle is a place to receive messages about your future. You can build one for yourself or with others. It is a circle created by the use of shells, rocks, stones, bricks, pinecones, or anything else you choose. The reason a circle is used is that the energy comes up faster within a circle and continues to turn, creating a vibration that will allow you to tap into your future more readily. The circle is divided into four major compass directions, each one having a specific meaning and insights.

The Moon circle provides a place sincere people can resolve problems and come to a better understanding of situations, as well as foreseeing future events. With a Moon circle, you can draw from the universal life force energy to receive messages and to prevent disharmony from coming into your life. It is a magick mirror that looks into the future.

Native American traditions show the use of a medicine wheel, which have some basic similarities but is far different. I have great respect for the medicine wheel and feel it is a powerful tool for healing and balance. However, these two should not be confused ----- the medicine wheel is more complex and requires much more understanding of Native American beliefs.

How to Make a Moon Circle You can style a temporary circle or make a permanent one if you live on a piece of land that is spacious. If you have the capability to make your circle outside among nature, you will receive the extra earth connection. However, if you do not have the opportunity, you can create one in your living room or another appropriate indoor space.

Choose the spot where you will create your circle. It can be an area that just “feels good” to you. You will mark off the four compass points ----- north, south, east, west ----- with some type of stone or indicator. Next, make a small circle in the center that will surround your crystal, stone, etc. The center circle is the highest point. You may opt to create a third, and largest, circle that encompasses the two inner circles. This provides a walkway around the inner circle, keeping the energy contained. As indicated in the illustration, remember to leave a gateway or opening from the east through which you enter and one in the west through which you exit. If forming the bare minimum temporary-style Moon circle, you will need five stones, crystals, shells, bricks, or whatever you have available to mark the designated spots.

First, place a stone at each compass point and one in the center. Although this may look kind of like a cross, you must visualize an etheric circle connecting the outer stones. Keep in mind the size of your circle. If you are working your magick alone, a small circle will do. If you intend to work with someone else or others, you will have to make the circle large enough to accommodate all those involved. Also consider how you will sit. Not all of us are able to bend or move freely. Be practical by placing chairs, stools, or pillows to sit on within the circle before you start your ceremony, if necessary. I use large logs on occasion when outdoors.

How to Walk the Moon Circle Once the circle is in place, enter the circle from the east, as this is where the Sun rises and is the direction that opens all passages. You will exit through the west, where the Sun sets. If using a three-circle layout, you have already created an entry point to pass through. Next you should cleanse yourself and the circle. You may want to use a smudge stick of white sage as a form of purification. You can buy a stick of white sage at most health food stores or New Age gift stores. Light the sage stick and then let it smother. When it starts to smoke, pass it back and forth in front of and around your own body as a form of purging. You are bathing yourself in the smoke. If others are involved, smudge them as well, passing the smoke around them.

Some people use loose sage and light it in a seashell, using a feather to spread the smoke. However, the sage stick is usually the easiest, as it requires no other tools. Next, smudge the circle in the same manner, spreading smoke throughout to release negativity.

If you do not have sage or prefer not to smudge, simply pass your hand in a sweeping motion over the circle and visualize any remaining negative energy leaving the circle. To cleanse yourself, shake your hands in front of yourself as if shooing the negativity away and out of your body. This is the quick and simple way. I do recommend the smudging if possible. Now you are ready to walk the circle. Start from the east and walk around clockwise at least three times. It will take a cycle of three to bring up the energy of the circle, as three is the number of multiplication. If, after three times around, you do not feel the energy in the circle shifting, continue to walk until you feel it is time to stop. If others are with you, they should follow. When you stop, stop in the direction you are led to and sit in that section of the circle.

When working with others, they may not choose the same direction to stop or they may want to continue to walk until they are led to their special place. Someone may choose to sit in the same direction with you, as this is where they are led and, others may sit in an opposite place. There is no right or wrong. Sharing a space with someone will not take away energy from you or deplete the messages you are receiving.   You may sit with your hands in a receiving position with palms up, or you may decide to cross your hands and concentrate in a contained manner. Some people feel when meditating or becoming in tune with universal forces, it is not good to cross hands or legs. I have done both and think that your comfort is the most important issue because you need to be relaxed and comfortable for this particular ritual.

Always sit facing inward, toward the center power point. In other words, you may be sitting in section that is considered north, but once in the north area, you are actually turned and facing south. The message you will pick up will be of a southern nature with crossovers of energy from the north. It is not necessary to know the direction you have ended up in, as you can determine this later. Once you are seated in your direction or message point, calm your mind and relax. Allow the messages to come to you. Ask silent questions if you like, and see what answers you intuit. Once you feel you have received your messages or answers from the collective consciousness, take your time and slowly rise.

Give thanks to the energy of the circle by saying something to yourself or out loud such as “I give thanks to the earth and to the life force for guidance.” Make up what you like.You may just say a simple thank-you with a bow of the head. Acknowledge the power from above that has visited to help you and guide you. Leave the circle from the west, where the Sun goes down, as this gives closure to the ceremony.

Meanings of the Four Directions North From the north springs forth wisdom and completion. It is a time of delivery and freedom from things that may have been a challenge in our lives. It is a call for balance in all things. Its message is to find answers here and now using practical solutions and common sense.

As we travel upward, moving in a northerly direction, our journey may become more difficult as we are nearing the end of a cycle. It is this direction that instructs us that this is not the time to give up when we are close to completion. This direction can have difficulties attached to it, but the trip will be well worth the result.

Here is where things are concluded and you may feel the most equalized. North represents power, organizing, insight and justice. Whenever in doubt, turn north. South Everything emotional comes from the south. Symbolically, south is a time for preparing for the future. It is a place of emotion and affairs of the heart. This point represents passion and fullness and reminds us to learn to control our bodies. Here we learn self-control of our emotional selves and how to express feelings without hurting others. It is the south that we learn to release feelings of hurt and anger.

Creativity stems from the south as well, and we can make the connection to artistic pursuits and issues dealing with the imagination and inventiveness. East The day begins in the east. It is renewal, birth, and rebirth. It is with this direction that we find spontaneity, innocence, hope and trust. The first light enters from the east, providing leadership and guidance. We learn many lessons from the messages from the east. We learn to believe in what we cannot see, feel, or touch. We learn to be more open-minded to things we do not understand. This is a place where a new venture or a different path through life may be awakened.

It is also from this direction we must recognize that in order to proceed to the future, we must accept and deal with the present. Once we have accomplished this, we can move in a different direction. This is the conception of all things, including love, career, health, spirituality, and balance. You may have already been through many of life’s tests. But when spirit moves you to try yet again or venture out to do something new, you will find yourself in the direction of the east. West The Sun sets in the west and brings the night, mystery, and dreams; it is the gateway to the unknown. The direction of west signifies completion of a situation or goal.

It can suggest to you that it is time to complete something you have been procrastinating about. Power and strength generate in the west. This compass point prescribes determination and development. The west tells us to go within ourselves for guidance where the energy is calmer and your level of tension sets like the Sun. We find acceptance of who we are; and if we don’t like what we find, we must change it.

If you are not looking for a specific message or answer within a Moon circle but feel you need the connection to a specific direction, walk your circle and intentionally sit in the direction from which you feel you need to draw guidance and absorb its energy through meditation. Example: If you do not know whether to interview for a new job, sit in the east and concentrate.

Be careful meditating too often in the northern compass point, because like the winter, you may lose your warmth. Use all directions in moderation.

[[ Back to List of Preparations ! ]]

[[ Or Click here for Part 2. Creating a Magickal Atmosphere ]]

#Creating and Walking a Moon Circle #Wicca #Wiccan #Witchcraft #Wiccan Preparation #Moon Spells #Moon Spell #Diane Ahlquist

[kaelinaloveslomaris]

Whumptober 22: Hallucination

Oh hey, look, I’m really late with this! But I’m determined to finish these, so here we go.

Also, I wanted to post something for the 3rd birthday of FFXV, so I’m sliding in a little late for that too, but here it is.

Ignis has a fever. Noctis fusses.

I’ve discovered that Ignis is actually really hard to write for some reason. This one gave me so much trouble, and I almost considered skipping it altogether, but I didn’t want to just have one prompt that I didn’t do. The completionist in me wouldn’t allow that.

So I stuck it out, though I didn’t quite get to the actual prompt. I was planning on having Ignis deal with fever hallucinations, as those are something that plague me when I have a fever, but I couldn’t find a way to work them in. So. Yeah.

I also have a cold right now, so it seems fitting to write a sick fic.

—

Ignis never got sick. He simply couldn’t afford to, not with his schedule as busy as it was. And although Noctis often complained that Ignis always managed to stay healthy whenever an illness swept through the Citadel occupants, and Gladio teased that it must be because the bacteria or virus was too scared of Ignis’s wrath to even think about infecting him, he was sure it was simply a combination of his strict preventative measures and a healthy immune system.

As it was, he could count on one hand the number of times he had had anything more than a slight sniffle, while Noct seemed to come down with anything and everything on a regular basis, and Ignis could count on both hands the number of illnesses His Highness had contracted in just the last year. Ignis supposed it just made him all the more qualified to be Noctis’s advisor and would-be caretaker when he didn’t need to fear catching whatever it was he had come down with most recently.

That morning Ignis had woken with a mild ache behind his eyes and a bit of scratchiness in his throat. Nothing some better hydration and a decent amount of sleep couldn’t fix, and he thought nothing of it. No one else was sick, after all, and Ignis was never the first one to succumb on the rare occasions he did get sick.

But by the end of the day it had progressed to coughing and shivers and a full headache. He pushed through it, determined to just drink some tea when he got home and go to bed early, and stopped by Noctis’s apartment on his way to drop off a stack of political reports and make sure he wasn’t procrastinating on any of his duties. To his surprised relief, Noctis was sitting at the table, surrounded by papers that at a glance looked like calculus notes, and focused enough he barely acknowledged Ignis’s entrance. It was… a marked improvement over last month, and Ignis was pleased.

Not wanting to distract him or give him an excuse to abandon his studies, Ignis set the stack of reports on the edge of the counter and tried to slip out again before he could notice anything that needed cleaning. But his body betrayed him, and Noctis looked up from his homework to raise an eyebrow at him when he attempted to stifle a cough.

His prince’s eyes turned sharp in a way few people knew they could as he examined Ignis’s face, took in the slight flush Ignis could feel on his cheeks. Ignis put on his best disapproving glare, intending to direct Noct’s attention back to his homework so he could make his escape, but the effect was ruined when he coughed again. This time it evolved into a full coughing fit that had him bracing himself with a hand on the edge of the counter.

Noctis shot to his feet. “Ignis, you’re sick!”

“Nonsense,” Ignis said when he could breathe again. “Merely a tickle in my throat.” He turned to leave and found Noctis blocking his path.

“Yeah, I’m not buying that.” He reached up to rest the back of his hand against Ignis’s forehead, but Ignis swatted his hand away before he could touch him. Noctis frowned. He pointed at the couch.

“Sit.”

“I really should be going -”

“Ignis Scientia. You will. Sit. Down,” Noctis commanded, crossing his arms over his chest and giving Ignis his Serious Face. Really, Ignis found it endearing rather than intimidating, considering he knew that if he pushed the matter, Noctis would fold, but he decided he was feeling bad enough that sitting down on his prince’s admittedly comfortable couch couldn’t hurt.

Still, he waited a moment, holding eye contact, to see if Noctis would back down. Ignis was pleased when he didn’t and instead only narrowed his eyes further.

Ignis sighed, pushing his glasses up on his face as he made a show of surrendering. “Very well. I will stay long enough to have a cup of tea, if that will satisfy Your Highness?”

Ignis kept a stash of tea, and Ebony, at Noct’s apartment, and he knew the other boys kept various food and drink items here too. Useful, considering how often they all ended up staying here unplanned. But Ignis didn’t want to impose on Noctis on a school night, especially if he was actually coming down with something. He idly wondered if it could be considered treason, intentionally exposing the prince to whatever sickness he currently had.

He headed back towards the kitchen and found himself cut off by Noctis once again.

“Sit, Iggy,” he all but growled. “I’ll make the tea.”

“That won’t be necessary, Highness. I am perfectly capable of -”

Noctis put on his best haughty prince face, the one he reserved for especially irritating politicians and reporters, and switched tactics. “I don’t want you coughing on my dishes.”

Ignis internally grimaced. He knew Noctis well enough to know that that was the last thing he was concerned about, but was instead appealing to Ignis’s logical side since the emotional approach had proven fruitless. Noct was a lot more interpersonally savvy than most of Lucis gave him credit for, when he was motivated. And Ignis supposed he should reward that attempt at diplomatic negotiations, even if Noctis’s subtlety left something to be desired.

He raised his hands in surrender and retreated to the couch. He let himself relax for a moment, closing his eyes to give them a break from the bright lights of the apartment. It eased the headache marginally.

He didn’t open them again until he heard Noctis approaching and a warm mug was pressed into his hands. When he did, he found that Noctis had turned the lights off, save for a dim lamp in the corner of the room, and Ignis was oddly touched.

“Thank you, Noct.”

Noctis shrugged. “There’s honey in there. Should help with your throat.”

He leaned over Ignis and pressed his hand to his forehead before Ignis could stop him.

“Six, Iggy, you’re burning up!”

Well. A fever would certainly explain the shivers. He frowned, shifting away from Noctis’s hand and placed the mug of tea on the coffee table.

“I should not be exposing you to whatever this is,” he said, preparing to stand. “I will just go home and sleep it off and -”

He stood too fast, the floor suddenly tilting to the side, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the dizziness. Familiar hands grabbed his shoulders and forced him back down on the couch.

“You will do no such thing,” Noctis said. “You’re staying right here tonight.”

“Noct, I do not want to get you sick,” Ignis argued, feeling panic rise in him. He never should have stopped by the apartment at all. He should have had Gladio deliver the reports, or simply left them for Noctis at the Citadel. It had been foolish and careless to come here, he should have known better than to ignore the earlier symptoms and put Noctis at risk.

Noctis cut off his rapidly spiraling thoughts. “Ignis, if you’re sick, I’m going to get sick, no matter what you do. You know my immune system is crap.”

As much as he wanted to protest, he knew Noctis had a point. It was likely too late now to avoid it, so despite everything in him screaming at the irresponsibleness of it, he allowed Noct to get him settled on the couch.

It was weird, being on the receiving end of the fussing. Normally he was the one doing the fussing, making sure Noctis or Gladio or even Prompto, though the blond was more reluctant to let him help, almost skittish in his attempts to avoid being taken care of, and that opened up its own set of problems, was comfortable and had everything they needed when they were sick or hurt or upset. And though it made him feel somewhat useless, he had to admit that it was kind of nice to be the one being taken care of for once.

He just needed to make sure he didn’t make a habit of it.

#whumptober2019 #no.22 #ignis scientia #noctis lucis caelum #final fantasy xv #ffxv #my fanfiction #my writing

[absollnk]

Censored and Slightly Refined version of “Three makes a fucking Burrito” I’m using for school (to clarify this is 2k words of agent 24 fluff)

Censor count (excluding minor swears): 8

Three's apartment was divided into four main sections: Bedroom, Bathroom, Living Room, and Kitchen. All of them had their own set of odors, but the Kitchen had the most by far. While the others wouldn't have more than a couple, the Kitchen's got butter, burnt microwave pizza, garbage, burnt cheese, vanilla air freshener, burnt tortilla,  T h e   S i n k…   That's all Three can remember off the top of her head. It's an omnipresent reminder of the fact that she isn't physically capable of actual cooking, or baking, or anything else of the sort. And that's a problem, because she wanted to surprise Eight with a nice, homemade dinner at least once before one of them kicked the bucket. And why not today, she thought. It would only be harder as she got older.

     Homemade. That's it. The thing that Three can't do. Her skillset is limited to cereal, kool-aid, and stuff with instructions on the package. Anything else never happened, and that's a problem because yada yada Eight, yada yada surprise. 

Damnit, now Three's procrastinating.

Three snapped back to reality and was staring right at her tiny electric stove. It had only two panels for pots or whatever they're called, and only one of them has she ever used. It had a huge black burn mark that's been building up over time that Three hides with a pan whenever the landlord visits. It was probably mostly cheese and ramen juice. 

Who was Three kidding. There was no way she could cook anything even remotely fancy for Eight. Not without help from the Bastard™.

Three sat herself on the counter, pulled her phone out of her pocket, and almost called Four before messaging her instead. It would be harder for her to ask questions.

Three: Hey

Four: This is already suspicious

Three: I need your help with something

Four: I'm honored, what do you want grumpy

Three: Im going to ignore that

Three: I need help with cooking something

Four: Hmm

Four: Is it for Eight?

Hmph.

Three: No

Four: I know you aren't cooking for yourself, you sad little swamp monster

Four: And there's no way you're doing it for anyone else

Hmph.

Three: Well played

Three: Help me or I remove a corner of your head with a brick

Four: Fine

Four: I'm only helping because I know you love me :)

Three: I love you like a sister

Three: >10% of the time

Four: :}

Three: Help me

Four: First of all, what do you even want to make for her?

Oh, that's another thing. Three doesn't know what Eight likes. All she had for most of her life was basically nutritious sawdust, so nearly everything up on the surface is fantastic to her. It's hard to tell what she likes more than other things.

Three: No clue, she likes everything

Four: Well, then what does she like more than average?

Four: Gee whiz, Three. Use your head!!! Do you have any more brain cells than your name implies?

Three: Listen

Three: If I knew, I would've told you, twat. It's hard to tell what she likes extra

Three: Wait just had an idea

Three: I should make her something she's never had before

Four: That might be difficult

Four: Didn't Eight gain like ten pounds right after she escaped because Off the Hook took her to so many food joints?

Three: Yeah but

Three: Im like 84% sure she's never had a burrito

Four: Gourmét

Three: Shut the hell up

Three: You know just as well as I do that her first burrito better be a damn good one

Four: True

Four: So a burrito it is?

Three: Yeah

Four: Ok that's not that hard

Four: What do you think she would like in a burrito?

Three: Probably just bean and cheese or something

Three: Maybe a little bit of hot sauce

Four: Do you have those things?

Three: Damnit

Three: Hold on I'm gonna go get those real quick

Four: Are you serious

Three: Yeah give me like ten minutes

Four: Good luck

Three checked the time as she dashed to the door. 6:03 P.M. She had exactly twenty-seven minutes to have a perfect bean n' cheese ready before Eight finished clothes shopping with Off the Hook. 

Three was fully aware of how illegal it was to super jump anywhere in Inkopolis that wasn't currently being used for recreation (turfing/ranked/league). She was also fully aware of how unenforced that law was. Every other day or so, you would get to see some random idiot land on the rooftop of some random building because they're in a rush. It was Three's turn to be that idiot. Again.

Three ran up her apartment complex's stairwell until she reached the door to the roof. It was covered in mechanical nonsense that she didn't recognize but found familiar after being seen so many times. Three was very confident in her super jump accuracy. Working for the NSS is the reason, no doubt. All those launchpads every other minute… Ever since Three chewed up and spat out and on Octavio, she hadn't missed a single jump. Except for the time she was in a panic and almost got flattened to the road.

Three aligned herself with the closest grocery store, shifted into a squid, and took off. She soared through the air and landed right on the roof of a MakoMart. Not the one modified for turfing. 

She dropped off the side and jog-ran around to the front entrance. The automatic doors slid open and Three dashed inside.

It wasn't too busy, being Thursday. It looked to be mostly filled with Jellies and older Inklings. Three was very familiar with the store. She's bought food almost exclusively from here since moving into her apartment 3 years back. She still had almost no idea where anything was because she only buys six or seven things over and over again.

She snatched a basket and walked along the outsides of the aisles, scanning the signs for the things she needed. She knew cheese was at the back with the other refrigerated stuff, she'd get that last.

Three saw "tortillas" on a sign along with other bread and bread-like items above an aisle near the center of the store. Unlike most MakoMarts, this one carried almost exclusively food and a few other essentials. It didn't have to be so disgustingly large like the rest of its locations.

It occurred to Three that she had no knowledge on the difference between the two types of tortillas. She knew that one was good and that the other should be reserved only for the residents of Extra-Hell, but she didn't know which was which. She had no choice. Time was running slim already, it's 6:06. Only 24 minutes left. It's time to call.

Four picked up on the first ring. "Sup?"

"I don't remember which tortillas don't taste like garbage."

"Just get the name brand ones."

Three dropped a pack into her basket and instantly had second thoughts. It was like one of those scenes in cheesy horror movies when Protagonist picks up the object that just happens to be cursed.

"Are you sure? I think they hate me."

"Were they more expensive?"

"Yes."

"Then you're good. Now go get some canned microwaveable beans. You don't have the time or equipment to make anything better." Four hung up.

After Three found all that she needed, she speed-walked back to the front of the store. The place's only downside was the lack of self checkout; talking to a cashier was necessary.

On the contrary, the amount of open lanes was usually more than the amount of customers, so that was a plus.

Three found an empty lane and threw the ingredients onto the conveyor. She started fumbling with her watch before anything even reached the dude about to scan her stuff.

He seemed to notice Three's hurried state and tried to work quickly to match it. Because Three only bought three things (tortillas, bag of shredded cheese, mild hot sauce), the cashier had her total in under 15 seconds.

"927 g, please." Three held out her wrist and he scanned her watch, taking the needed money. "See you again on Friday," he dismissed her. Three gave a thumbs-up and dashed out the automatic doors.

Three ran back around into the alley and super jumped back to the roof of her apartment building from there. She took the stairwell back to her floor and ran to her apartment and kicked the door open. She left it unlocked because:

A. she would only be gone for a short time, and

B. no one would want her stuff anyway.

Three dumped the food onto the counter and called Four. She answered on the fifth ring.

"Hot sauce," she said immediately.

"I'm back," Three replied.

"What.. the hell? You were only gone for, like, 6 minutes."

"Yeah, and Eight gets back in 22."

"Okay, you need to slow down," said Four. "Making a burrito takes less than five minutes and you know her moms are always late. In fact, I'd recommend just waiting for a bit so Eight doesn't have to eat cold burrito."

"I.. fine, you're right. What should I do in the meantime? Should I turn on the stove early? What pan should I- nevermind I only have one. I should rewash it to make sure it's clean..."

"Girl, chill out," said Four. "You have so much time right now. Your pan is clean. Put the cheese in the fridge and wait like twenty minutes before you start doing anything. Then call me back."

Three took a deep breath. "Ok. Talk to you then."

"Now you're getting it. Bye." Four hung up.

Three spent the next twenty minutes mentally preparing for 6:28 p.m. and the events that would follow. It was like preparing for a hard boss fight, except losing wouldn't just mean wasting a few hours. It would mean disappointing her. Gorl. Eight.

And that can't happen.

Finally, Three watched as the timer on her phone hit zero. It was time. She called Four yet again and she answered on the first ring.

"I was expecting you," Four said.

"It's been twenty minutes," Three replied.

"You're an absolute child," Four said. "Turn on the burner."

So that's what it's called. Burner.

"How high?" Three asked.

"It literally doesn't matter. Just remove the tortilla once it gets nice tan spots on both sides."

After a hectic five minutes of preparing a burrito, four more of starting over, and Four's patience being worn thin, Three had something she was satisfied with. She had to admit to herself, it looked good. She wrapped it in tinfoil to preserve the heat.

No more than 24 seconds later did Three hear a knock on the door. "I'm hanging up," Three told Four matter-of-factly.

"Oh, come on!" She complained. "I worked hard to get you here. I'm going to see.. hear the payoff."

"Fine, but shut up."

There was another knock. "Hello? It's Eight."

“And us,” Marina shouted.

"Be there in a sec!" Three turned to her phone. "I said shut up."

"I didn't say anything!"

Three opened the door and Eight was there, flanked by Pearl and Marina. "Hi," Three said.

"Why are you smiling so unnaturally wide?" asked Marina.

"No," responded Three.

"That doesn't even make sense," said Pearl. "What's burning?"

"No I'm not," said Three. Eight snickered.

"You know, you're lucky," said Marina. "Any other time I would do a full-scale search of your apartment, but we have to announce a Splatfest tomorrow."

"She'd also interrogate you detective-style," said Pearl.

"Ah" was all Three could generate as a response. It's not like what they said deserved a better one.

"We'll be fine," Eight told them.

"Well, alright then. See you soon," concluded Marina. 

"Be safe," added Pearl as the two ran off.

"Three?" Eight called after a few seconds. "You there?"

"Yeah, sorry," Three said. "Those two know how to get into my head."

"Everyone does," Eight pointed out.

"Soooooo, I, uh, made you a burrito."

"Ooohh! Is that what's on fire?"

"No! That's just what my stove smells like. Here." Three lead Eight to the section of her counter that functioned as a table. 

"Tada," said Three with minimal enthusiasm.

"Uh, eating metal doesn't really.. work. I've tried."

"Oh, l need to take off the foil… now tada."

"Ooooooohhhh!" Eight oohed. "That's what that is! I've seen them in commercials and stuff but I didn't know what they were called. They looked good."

Eight took a moment to figure out how to hold the burrito and took a bite as Three watched in anticipation. It felt like one of those cooking shows but completely not at all at the same time.

"It's good!" Eight said after swallowing her bite.

"That's all?" asked Three, slightly disappointed.

"Well, it's warm and it tastes good and it's a little spicy, which I really like, but the crust is kinda weird."

"Crust? The tortilla?" Three asked. And then it clicked. She took another from the bag to make sure. She took a bite out of the tortilla and gagged.

"Haha, got ‘em," said Four through Three's phone.

Three threw the phone into the dishwasher, slammed it shut, and started it.

#absols write #agent 24 #oc ivy #oc maya #my eight

[tenspontaneite]

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 9/?)

In which the consequences of Callum’s procrastination catch up with him, and Rayla makes use of some potent painkillers. Back in Katolis: Opeli makes General Amaya an offer, and Lord Viren visits his prisoner.

Content warnings: animal death, descriptions of preparation of meat, discussions of meat ethics. Also, medicinal drug use, amputation mentions, some gross wound descriptions, and Viren.

(Chapter length: 22k. Ao3 link)

Viren lingered watchfully at the foot of the stairwell, but only for long enough to see it click back into place. With General Amaya almost literally on the warpath, he couldn’t be taking any chances with the security of his workshop…but he was so very, very ready to sit quietly for a while away from prying eyes. His meeting with the General, needless to say, had not gone well.

With a sigh, he plodded tiredly over to a chair by one of the workbenches, and half-collapsed into it. He eased back against the backrest, raising a hand to rub at his temples, where a headache had been in residence for several days now.

The Crown of Towers was growing heavy on his brow, even after less than a week of sitting there. It wasn’t the best of signs. If not for her unfortunate state of mind, he might have been tempted to offer the damned thing to General Amaya, but there would be no soothing her or directing her rage to productive concerns until that Moonshadow thief was dealt with, and he supposed he had to deal with that. His machinations had rather bitten him in the backside, there – he should have thought of what the princes’ deaths, or even the mistaken assumption of them, would have done to her, but he hadn’t. Now he had no egg, his children were gone from the capital in pursuit of it, and the Standing Battalion stood headless in its hour of greatest need. It would be enough to drive a lesser man to drink.

The Kingdom was vulnerable. So horribly, sickeningly vulnerable. And he, somehow, had to guard it against the legions amassing at its border. It was his job now. His responsibility – his duty. And, though he didn’t know how, he had to fulfil it. Paragons, but he’d never anticipated the Crown would rest so heavy.

He considered, for several moments, admitting to Amaya that he had reason to believe her nephews might be working with the Moonshadow assassin. That they might, depending on the extent of the elf’s mercy, still be alive. He thought about it, fingers lingering near the gleaming line of the crown on his head, and hummed lowly as he thought.

Would there be any benefit to it, really? Would it be worth the aggression he’d likely encounter for hiding information like this?

…No. No, it would not be advantageous in the least. He had no guarantee himself that the princes remained alive, after all. Moonshadow elves were infamous for their ruthlessness, and he had no reason to expect this one to spare the boys once she’d taken the egg from them. Really, it almost served the elder prince right – he’d meddled in things he hadn’t understood, and might well have paid the price for it. It seemed nearly fitting for the boy to die by the hand of the elf he’d trusted not to turn on him; just as if he’d held a viper close to his chest and expected it not to bite.

Prince Ezran, though…that, he could almost regret. Now that he’d been crowned Lord Protector, there was little risk of him being toppled by a child king. If Soren failed in his duty, likely the worst scenario Viren would face was being retitled Regent of Katolis, and that would do well enough. So long as he still had the freedom to make the necessary decisions for the kingdom, it would do.

Still, though, in the best-case scenario, there would be no princes left to lay claim to the throne. Katolis could not afford a child-king in these tempestuous times – he could not risk the slightest chance that his rule would be supplanted now. General Amaya he could trust to rule, perhaps; she was powerful and intelligent, and knew well the depths of Xadia’s evil. But a naïve child? Particularly a boy who was every inch the son of Harrow and Sarai, with stubborn idealism brimming in every drop of his blood?

No, he could not risk that. No matter how he regretted it, he could not risk it. That was the sort of decision a firm ruler had to make.

Still. He hoped that the elf had followed her nature, and turned on the boys. Dispatched them, so that Soren wouldn’t have to. He loved his son enough to hope he could be spared the killing of children.

Viren closed his eyes and leaned back. The low light in the workshop was a balm on his headache, but darkness was even better. He had hard times ahead of him, he knew. The whole kingdom did. General Amaya was on a mission of revenge, and even if he gave her reason to suspect her nephews were alive, she was by now so far gone into rage that he was certain she’d chase that assassin to the ends of the world. He couldn’t trust her to do her duty as General, let alone bear a crown. The rest of the council – well, they were a help, and he could at least delegate to them, but they made no secret of the fact that they’d prefer someone else ruling in his place. Opeli in particular. They weren’t outright obstructing him, perhaps, but they certainly weren’t smoothing the way, either.

Really, it was almost like they wanted the kingdom to fall.

He sat there in silence for a few minutes, listening to nothing but the distant sounds of activity in the castle above, the near-inaudible hum of the light-crystals, and the occasional metallic scrape of his prisoner’s chains in the nearby cell. That last one was a bit too much work to contemplate at the moment, so he steadfastly ignored it. After a while, he opened his eyes and leaned forwards to the table to prepare some ingredients for his most common spells. It wouldn’t do to waste too much time, after all – and besides, he found the preparation quite calming.

It was late enough in the day that his skin was beginning to feel tight and dry again, a familiar weary ache settling into his bones. By morning he’d be desiccated again, and need a little magic to refresh himself. But he would abide well enough for now.

Viren worked in peaceable quiet with the pestle and mortar until he felt somewhat settled again, and had a new batch of bone powder to use. He set it aside in little glass vials, storing them carefully with the rest, and considered what to do. His eyes went, of their own accord, to the archway to the cells.

Well. He was somewhat overdue for a visit of his…guest. Duty had kept him a little too busy to have much time for prisoners.

He considered for several minutes what to say, what mannerisms to project, how to present himself. Then he stood, settling his posture and bearing into an easy, relaxed confidence, and went to fetch some water. The prisoner might disdain food, but he had to be feeling the dehydration by now.

In the end, he strode into the cell with a jug of water and two tankards, running an assessing eye over the cell’s occupant. The elf did more or less the same back at him, though with the addition of his ever-present glare. Really, did he have to insist on looking so very dour all the time? It was growing tedious. “I see you’re looking somewhat worse for wear.” Viren greeted, neutrally, and stood in front of the elf to inspect him. “My apologies for the gap in my visits. Running a kingdom is busier work than I’d anticipated, you see.”

The elf, predictably, said nothing. Only glared up at him. That arm of his was beginning to look truly dire – the whole thing was a dark, almost mottled purple, and there even seemed to be a couple of weeping sores opening on the palm of his hand. Fascinating. Perhaps he should have a healer take a look, give their opinion of it.

“I elected not to bring food, since it doesn’t seem to interest you, but I haven’t been an entirely terrible host: I’ve brought water.” With his carefully-crafted affect of nonchalance, he poured the water into one tankard and held it out to the elf’s face, politely inquisitive.

Also predictably, the elf turned his face away, face heavy with its perpetual scowl.

Viren held the tankard there for a few more seconds, sighed, then sat down on the cell’s chair to drink it himself. “Your perseverance is admirable, I must say. The dehydration must be telling on you by now, but you still won’t drink.” He watched the elf’s face idly for any reaction, but there was nothing besides that usual watchful antipathy. How to change that, he wondered. “Really, it’s surprising you’re not already dead of it. Dehydration would have killed a human man by now.”

The elf’s lip curled. Ah, perhaps finally some response? “I am already dead.” He rasped, voice dry and scratchy and generally not sounding very healthy at all. Clearly the dehydration was treating him badly, after all.

“Yes, yes. That beloved Moonshadow creed of yours.” Viren sighed tolerantly, considering the prisoner before him. “You consider yourself dead already, so you stubbornly waste away and wait until the dehydration makes it true. I wonder: do all Moonshadow elves have this…fortitude…or is it only you?” He mused aloud, thoughts trickling inexorably onwards to something…interesting. Yes, that was an idea. A way to use his frustration with General Amaya for something productive. The edges of his lips twitched upwards, which the elf didn’t seem to miss. “…Or perhaps, is it only the assassins?”

The prisoner’s eyes narrowed, a little wary, as if he were suspicious of the thought that had put the edge of a smile onto Viren’s face. He said nothing, only wore his stormy expression, as if it were a shield capable of guarding him. How wrong he was.

“Does that extend to the younger assassins, too?” Viren asked, almost conversationally, as if genuinely curious. He clearly wasn’t fooling the elf, though – he’d already tensed a little. “That young assassin girl of yours, for instance.” Oh, there, that was nice. The elf’s entire body had gone still at that one, the expression had frozen on his face – yes, this was where to find a reaction. “Ah, I assume you know who I mean, then? Good. That makes things…simpler.” He smiled then, more widely, making his satisfaction plainly evident. “She’s one of yours, I take it? Another assassin? Is she already dead, too?”

Those words seemed to drag the prisoner forcibly out of his unnatural stillness. His face contorted into a rictus of a snarl, in the space of a second, lips drawing back like an angry dog’s. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes narrowed into furious, burningly-blue slits that half-glowed in the low light. Inhuman, he thought, unbidden, and shrugged off the instinctive shiver of unease that those eyes wanted to prompt in him. He focused on the breadth of the reaction instead, and how excellent a sign it was.

Good. Good. That was good. Finally, a proper response. A weak point, perhaps, for Viren to gouge at. “Perhaps you have a harder time applying your philosophy to others, is that it? It’s easy enough to accept the inevitability of your own death…but someone else’s? Yes, I imagine that would be more difficult.” His smile turned sly, just a hair’s breadth short of mocking. “Who is she to you, I wonder? A student? A sister? A daughter?”

His adversary gave only the barest twitch – but that was enough. Viren couldn’t quite draw any conclusions about specifics from that, perhaps, but he could tell something.

“Important to you, certainly.” He concluded, pleased, and watched the elf look even more furious. “More than a mere colleague, at least.” He affected a sad, wistful sigh. “What a shame for you, given it seems your philosophy holds true for her, after all.”

“…What do you mean by that?” Growled out the elf, voice a low snarl, the expression on his face the epitome of murder. If he weren’t half-dead from starvation and dehydration, and chained up besides, Viren might have felt concerned. Instead, he felt nearly elated at provoking a response of this magnitude. A weak spot, indeed!

He schooled his face into surprised realisation. “Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know.” He said, as if this were genuinely news to him. “They say your assassin girl killed Prince Callum and Prince Ezran when she fled the capital, you see.” The dark hand twitched at that, fingers seeming to flex a little. Interesting. “I imagine you must be very proud of her, following in your footsteps, so to speak. Not that it will matter, soon.” Viren watched closely. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of General Amaya?”

He had. That was perfectly obvious from the way his head jerked back, ever-so-slightly, in response to the name. The intelligence did say that General Amaya had earned some notoriety at the Breach. It seemed it was well-founded.

He wanted to get the elf to admit it, though. “It’s hard to tell what you Xadians hear of our forces, I’m sure you understand.” He said, airily, waving a hand as though to dismiss the notion. “I wouldn’t want to bore you with gossip on people you aren’t familiar with, though, so if you don’t know her, well-“

“I have heard of the General Amaya.” The elf’s voice was low and angry as he interrupted – actually interrupted!

Viren eyed him, carefully masking his delight from his features. Oh, what a wonderful vulnerability he’d seized upon, here. “Oh, have you?” He asked, with faux-surprise. “Perhaps you’ll follow along, then. You see – the Princes of Katolis were the esteemed General’s nephews. I understand they were very dear to her.”

The snarl on the elf’s face went oddly fixed and lifeless, then, as if frozen in place. The vivid fury in his eyes slipped away, going blank for a single, motionless second. Then the eyes widened, just slightly, as the meaning of Viren’s words seemed to occur to him.

“She’s rather distraught, you know.” He said, shaking his head sadly. “I met with her earlier today. It seems she’s sworn herself to a mission of revenge. She has decided to personally lead the hunt for that little assassin of yours, and who was I to hold back a woman from her rightful justice? So, I’m sure you begin to see what I mean.”

Slowly, colour was draining from the elf’s already-pale face. His expression, so full of rage before, had slackened into something tight and tense, as if that might hide the depth of his vulnerability from Viren. It didn’t, of course. He could see the fear in his prisoner’s eyes, plain as daylight. It surprised him, how pleased he was to witness it. This elf had been a tough nut to crack – but here, at last, was a point of leverage.

Better press his advantage. “Certainly, if I had a bereaved, enraged General Amaya pursuing me on a quest of personal vengeance, I’d have to consider myself more-or-less ‘already dead’.” He mused, watching for the reaction. “So, as I said, it does seem that your Moonshadow philosophy is appropriate for that girl. She’s fleeing alone, without supplies, across a great deal of hostile terrain, with the General’s forces on her heels. I don’t expect she’ll last very long.”

The ‘without supplies’ part wasn’t strictly true, given the reports from the Lodge, but it was a useful lie to tell. Viren watched, satisfied, as the elf’s pallor worsened, as his fingers flexed urgently where they were bound as if desperate to act, to do something. He could only imagine what thoughts might be running through the assassin’s head, right now.

He considered mentioning the General’s intentions in more detail, to stir the prisoner a little more, but decided against it. Best hold that back for a later occasion. He had a good thing to work with here; if he was careful, he might be able to get something out of the elf with this. Perhaps if he played his hand correctly, the elf would even volunteer information in exchange for news about his errant assassin girl. He’d have to arrange to have the elf force-fed soon, to prevent him from dying before he reached the end of his use.

What an interesting development this was. Previously, he’d been growing displeased with this prisoner’s lack of utility or response. He’d been considering threats to use that might count as sufficiently terrifying so as to be worse than death. He’d been eyeing his pouch of special coins, speculatively, trying to make time to move that unwieldy mirror to this cell….But this – this seemed useful. This might well be the leverage he’d been searching for.

What, after all, could be a greater strength or a greater weakness than love?

“I can tell that the girl’s fate concerns you.” Viren said, in the end, with all the smoothly-feigned sympathy he could muster. “I’ll be sure to keep you informed of the progress of…well. The hunt, I suppose, would be the best thing to call it.”

The elf pressed his lips together so furiously they turned white. The look in his eyes might have been either rage or terror, or even both.

Viren smiled, stood, and took the jug of water with him. “If I receive any word, you’ll be the first to know.” He promised, taking one last look at the pale, near-trembling form of his elven prisoner.

Then, with deliberate nonchalance, he turned and left the cell, ascending the stairs back into the cold light of day.

---

The river winding out of the north of Verdorn was, as Callum had said, thoroughly inundated with signs of civilisation. In only a half-hour of walking, they passed two separate mills and also a house, and at one point spotted a barge laden with lumber heading down-river from the valley. All the while, the sound of the river hissed in her ears, setting her on edge even more than the constant signs of human activity did. She kept her hood up, and tried not to feel too uncomfortable.

In the end, though, the ceaseless ache of her hand was more than enough motivation for her to stay their course.

Not long after finding a third mill, Rayla spotted the willows growing along the river. There were eight, five on the other side of the river, and three more immediately accessible. They were plainly well-used by the human population, because most of the easily-accessible trunk and branches were utterly bare, stripped clean of their bark.

But, she noted, no one seemed to have bothered with the higher branches.

“…Are those the willows?” Callum guessed, tentatively, when she’d been still and staring at the trees for a good minute.

She rolled her eyes. “Nah, I’m just appreciating the scenery.” She said, dryly, and slung her bag from her shoulders. “I just love stopping to stare at trees for no good reason.”

“Uhuh.” Callum snorted, and after a moment followed suit, setting his bag onto the grass. “I guess we’ll be taking a break here, then?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Rayla asked, already approaching the nearest tree with hook-blade in her good hand, scanning it briefly to determine the easiest way to climb it.

“Oh, just a hunch.” He answered, wry, and Ezran giggled at them as he sat to watch.

It was, in a way, kind of demoralising to have to assess this tree for a good climbing strategy. She should have been able to jump into it with barely a thought. It should have been near-effortless, a manoeuvre she’d undertaken so many times that it was all but second nature. But her hand seared at her side, stiff and horribly tender, and she knew that trying to use it to climb would not end well for her.

In the end, she took a few steps back, made a running leap at the tree, and hooked her weapon into a junction between two branches to pull herself up, settling amongst the twigs and leaves. A quick flick shifted the hook back into blade-form, and she set to work stripping the bark from the branches.

“Anything we can do to help?” Callum called from ground-level, and she considered it, looking down through the branches.

“Not right now.” She decided, gathering the bark into the crook of her bad arm. “Sit and draw, or something. I’ve got a few trees to get through.”

He seemed perfectly happy to abide by that instruction, and so she spent the next half-hour comprehensively denuding the willow trees of their bark, sticking a piece into her mouth to chew as she worked. By the time she had a large enough supply of the stuff that it would probably be challenging to fit into her bag, the pain was already ebbing a little. Not hugely, maybe, but after a night and day of agony, any alleviation of it was a blessing.

“Right.” She decided, tilting her head to stare at the branches of the third tree. “That should definitely do it.” With that, she dropped the small pile of bark unceremoniously out of the branches, where Ezran happily went to work gathering it up like he had for the other two trees. She considered the soreness of her hand, debating her options, and in the end elected to jump down from the tree. The impact as she landed jolted her hand, as she’d expected – but, while painful, it was…bearable. The bark was already helping.

“I put it all in a pile near your bag.” Ez said, brightly, as he gathered up the last pieces. “Do you want me to help – Bait, no, you shouldn’t eat that-“

“If you can fit some in your bag around the egg, I’ll be grateful.” She said, watching the glow toad’s colour go especially dark and grumpy as he was denied access to the pile. “Otherwise, I’ll manage.”

Callum peered at her as she went to start packing her bag, and said “Are you done, then? Is that enough?”

She snorted, eyes on the very considerable quantity of the stuff she’d harvested. “If it isn’t, I’ll be very concerned.” She said, with a touch of humour. “This much willow bark would last us all weeks, probably, even if we were all chewing some three times a day.”

“….Right. Good.” Callum cleared his throat, closed his sketchbook, and stood up. “Well, if we’re going to be moving soon, I’m just going to go – er – go.” He said, and then went off into the trees, presumably to answer the call of nature.

Less than a minute later, she heard him shriek, and flinched from her bag with a hand darting quickly towards a blade. She heard the undergrowth rustling, and then – Callum returned from the trees, face panicked, pursued by-

She blinked, startled.

Pursued by, it seemed, an especially angry white goose.

“Help!” He yelped at her, as he broke into the clearing. The goose chased after him, wings mantled and long neck lowered at him as it hissed and flapped at his heels. “It just started – came out of nowhere – bit me-“ he tripped over one of the willows’ roots and then stared up in terror as the feathery menace advanced on him.

“That is a really grumpy goose, wow-“ Ezran said, eyes wide, as he scrambled back. “He’s not trying to hurt you? Or invade your territory? Or steal your food?” he added, a little desperately….to the goose? “You don’t need to drive him away, I swear?”

The goose, unconvinced, lunged forwards and bit Callum on the arm he was attempting to ward it off with. He yelped again, trying unsuccessfully to push it off, and – okay, that was enough. Rayla broke through her bemusement, strode forwards, and grabbed the goose behind its head, wrestling its body under her arms so it couldn’t slap her with its wings.

It honked and shrieked at her, absolutely enraged, as she stood to move it away from Callum.

“He really isn’t listening at all.” Ezran noted, staring. “He really doesn’t like you. Or Callum. Or me.”

She wondered, idly, whether he was enough of a bird expert to tell that the goose was male, or if he was just guessing. “I did get that impression.” Rayla said dryly, weathering the bird’s attempts to wrestle free with equanimity. It was a powerful bird, maybe, but if she couldn’t restrain a goose she’d probably have to die of shame. “I’ve never met a goose I liked.”

“…I mean, they’re usually pretty cranky.” The little prince admitted.

“Hm.” She responded, idly, as she considered the very angry bird flailing ineffectually in her arms. It struggled fruitlessly to free its neck from her hand, and then made a sound interestingly reminiscent of a volcanic gas vent.

“…Thank you for the rescue.” Callum said, with an attempt at dignity, as he pulled himself from the ground and removed a downy white feather from his shirt. “Er. Are you…planning on letting it go?”

She hummed again, eyes narrowed. “Interesting question.” She said, contemplating the size of the bird, the work it would represent, the hour of the day…

In the end, though, it wasn’t like it was every day that potential dinner ran at you shrieking and hissing and attacked one of your human companions. Feathers were a pain, and it was a larger animal than convenient, since they’d need to stop travelling to cook it, but…they needed food. And geese made good eating.

“Oh.” Callum seemed to realise her intent when she’d been silent for a few seconds. “Er.”

She cast a vaguely irritable glance his way, aware that he still hadn’t spoken to his brother about this, and…really, she’d waited long enough. They’d all waited long enough. Travelling without hunting in this sort of terrain wasn’t sustainable, and it wasn’t smart. She was about out of patience for his recalcitrance.

“I’m going to take this bird away now.” She said to him, flatly. “And you can explain to your brother why I’m doing that.”

With that, she stalked off into the treeline, a large water-bird conducting its last angry moments beneath her arm.

---

Once she’d moved a suitable distance from the boys, Rayla found a secluded hollow and pinned the bird against the ground, thankful that the pain-relief provided by the willow bark had made her hand vaguely usable again. The goose hissed and struggled, wings flapping ineffectually against the grass, and she reached back for a blade. Without ceremony, she slit the bird’s throat and held it still for the seconds it took to die, the metallic stench of blood biting into the air.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds to respect the animal’s death, feeling the warmth of its lifeblood on her fingers. It was just a goose, maybe, but it had been a living thing, and it hadn’t wanted to die. She’d hunted before, so this had no particular emotional impact for her, but – it was important to respect the lives you took. Animal or elf or human – all deserved that respect. All were owed it, as price for their deaths.

She felt the pressure of the bind on her hand, exhaled, and opened her eyes. The white feathers were stained with blood, now, dark red seeping into the earth.

She picked the dead bird up by the legs and, with some difficulty, went to hang it in a tree to drain a little. She wiped her hands and her blade on the grass and went out to look for a suitable place to camp.

She hated to stop them so early in the day. She especially hated to stop so close to human settlement. But the goose had been a chance she couldn’t afford to waste, and it would take a long time to cook and prepare, and they needed it. It was risky, but…well, going without food was decidedly not a smart idea in the long run. It would have to do.

Rayla found a decent clearing not too far away, and after inspecting herself for signs of gore, went back to find the boys.

She found them by the river in what looked like an unhappy silence, Ezran folded amongst the roots of a willow with his hands in his bag, Bait sat against his leg. His expression was closed-off and his shoulders were tense. Callum, nearby, had his sketchbook open, but plainly wasn’t actually drawing in it. He kept glancing back at Ezran, uneasy, and it was relatively obvious what had transpired while she was gone. Callum had told him, then, and he wasn’t happy about it.

Rayla lingered in the shadows of the trees for a few seconds longer, watchful, and then approached. “Everything alright?” She asked them, even though the answer was fairly obvious.

Callum looked up at her, blinking, and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. All good.” He said unconvincingly, and then gave her a cursory inspection, possibly for blood or feathers, that he’d probably intended to be discreet. “Where’s…um…”

“Somewhere else.” She answered, and let her eyes move between him and Ez for a second. She shook her head. “Get up, I’ve found us somewhere to camp. Best get us over there now.”

That seemed to elicit Ezran’s curiosity enough that he deigned to look over at her. At her impatient gesturing, he reluctantly pulled himself up, removing his hands from his backpack. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Isn’t it kind of early to camp?” Callum inquired after a moment, clasping his sketchbook shut and standing. “…Er. Not that I’m complaining!”

“Preparing that much meat takes a long time.” She told him, without bothering to sugar-coat the words, or to speak quietly to shield the words from Ezran. She wasn’t unsympathetic – she remembered her first hunt – but this was going to be a long journey. She wouldn’t make anything better by tip-toeing around the fact that there was a dead goose in a tree nearby. “It’ll take the rest of the day, probably.”

“…Oh, um. Right.” Callum cleared his throat, eyes moving conspicuously to his brother every other second. “So. Er – is it far? The camp.”

“A couple minutes away, if that.” Rayla watched Ezran lingering by the tree, silent, for a few moments more. Then she approached him. Laid a hand on his shoulder, and offered him a small smile when he looked up. “Come on, Ez.” She said, voice gentler. “Let’s go, alright?”

“…Okay.” He said, quiet, and obediently followed after her, Bait hopping at his heels.

She led them to the clearing she’d picked out, which showed signs of having been used by woodsmen sometime last year, if the decay of the tree stumps was anything to judge by. She set their things down and said “We can wait a while to set up the tent. Today the priority is going to be cooking. We’ll need a lot of firewood. Maybe enough to keep two fires burning for hours.”

“I’ll get the wood.” Ezran said, abruptly, setting his bag down and heading off into the shadow of the trees without looking back at them, glow-toad in pursuit.

Rayla stood beside Callum as they watched him go, quiet. Callum exhaled beside her, troubled. “He’s pretty upset, I think.” He said, softly.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say something sarcastic, like ‘no, really?’, or ‘I gathered’. Instead she nodded, and asked “What did he say?”

“Nothing.” Callum said, frustration slipping into his voice. “I – you know, I explained how there’s not enough food for us to live on in the mountains unless we hunt, and…well, he’s not dumb, he guessed pretty fast what you were doing with that goose, and then he just…” He waved his hands. “Shut down. Just said ‘I get it’, and then…” He gestured at the treeline Ezran had slipped into, past which Rayla could hear the sounds of the little prince rustling about in the undergrowth.

“Maybe he’ll be up for talking later.” Rayla murmured, and rested her hand briefly on his shoulder, a quick reassurance. “Until then, probably best to let him process it however he needs to.”

He sighed. “Yeah. I guess.”

She observed him for a few moments, and then nudged him. “Look, I need to prepare that goose.” She said, and he grimaced slightly. “But even if you’re too squeamish for any of the rest of it-“ She exhaled, gritting her teeth a little before she admitted “-I’ll need help with the plucking. It wouldn’t be easy even if I had both hands, but…”

He swallowed, then set his jaw determinedly. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s, um, that’s fine. I’ll help.” He shifted. “I…I’m not exactly used to blood and stuff, though.”

Rayla sighed, a little relieved. “It’s fine. Just do your best.” She stepped across the clearing and cupped her hands around her mouth to call for Ez: “Ezran! Call if you need anything!” He didn’t reply, but he wasn’t so far away that he wouldn’t have heard. Probably. Human hearing probably wasn’t that bad, right? She shrugged, and led Callum through the trees to where she’d hung the goose.

It was draining well, and had left a dark red stain down the trunk of the tree while she was gone. She saw Callum stop at the sight of it, go a little green, and then visibly gather his fortitude and follow her forwards. Rayla retrieved the goose from the tree and sat herself near the roots. Callum followed her lead, seating himself gingerly beside her, staring at the bird with mild trepidation.

“I somehow never thought of how many feathers you need to get off a bird to eat it.” He admitted, looking at it.

“It’s a pain.” Rayla said, with feeling. “I hate plucking birds. Especially when you have to do it in the wild. It’s much easier if you can pour boiling water over it first, but something this size – that’s not something we can really do, out here. So we have to do it the hard way.” She made a face, braced her leg against the goose to keep it in place, and then set about pulling feathers from its back.

“…Is there any special trick to it, or…?” He asked, uncertainly, fingers wavering in the air. After a moment, he made the sensible decision of removing his gloves.

She shrugged. “Try to pull from the root of the feather instead of the fluff?” She offered, and followed her own advice. Soon she was casting bloody feathers aside, beginning a pile to her left. After a few more moments of conspicuous hesitation, Callum moved his hands over to help, and they set at the task together.

They worked quietly, for the most part, pulling feathers and putting them aside. Once, he asked if she was planning to cook the neck (she wasn’t), and another time he inquired about the best way to extract the deeply-rooted flight feathers on the wings. In demonstrating that, she had to brace the wing with her bad hand to pull at the feathers, hissing a little with the soreness of it as she yanked the feather free.

Watching this, Callum mused “I…didn’t actually tell you what the healer said, did I? Or, were you listening?”

Rayla tensed a little, remembering how she’d loitered outside the building close to a window, where the sound filtered around the edges of the glass. Remembering the obvious, painful worry of the boys as they spoke to the healer. “…I was listening.” She admitted, with a half-shrug. “At least until Ez came out.”

“So you heard what she said about keeping your hand circulated?” He inquired, looking down at it. She flexed the fingers in feathers, very slowly, and grimaced at the tight pain it provoked.

“I did.” She admitted. Her hand had been painful enough earlier that the thought of moving it so comprehensively had been awful enough, but the concept of massaging it? Practically unthinkable. The willow bark had helped, but…well, it only went so far. Still… “This is going to hurt,” She sighed, grim, and forced herself to set herself back to work with both hands, this time.

Her hand was too stiff to effectively close its fingers around the vanes of the feathers, so she ended up using it mainly for bracing herself against the animal’s skin, making it somewhat easier to pull the feathers with her other hand. Even so, it hurt to move her hand so much, hurt like pulling at an enormous bruise, and set the searing ache around the binding to worsening. She hissed and flinched at it from time to time, and to her side saw Callum flinch with her.

“…Is the willow bark not helping?” He asked, in a somewhat timid voice, after a while.

“No, it is.” She sighed, voice a little strained as she worked. “This would be way worse if it wasn’t.” He looked almost crestfallen at that, as if dismayed that it wasn’t helping more, and she looked away as her gut twisted.

It was…nice, she supposed, that he and Ez cared so much. That Callum was sitting here so aware of her pain that he winced when she did, and was unhappy when the willow-bark didn’t prove powerful enough, and had gone to so much effort to try to find some way to help her. But, at the same time, it was a little galling. Not just because the whole thing smacked of weakness, but also – also, she hated to see what the worry was doing to the boys.

She knew they wouldn’t find anything to save her hand. They were heading off into the mountains, now, and wouldn’t see anyone else for probably two weeks or more. Their chances of finding some miraculous magic-breaking thing or healer along the way weren’t even worth considering. She was going to lose her hand, and Callum and Ez still had hope that they could change that, and…and they were just going to be disappointed. They were just going to get hurt.

She thought of having the conversation with them. Thought of how to let them down gently about it all. Thought of how she’d tell them to give up hope, and accept that there was nothing they could do. Then she exhaled, remembering how long Callum had put off his talk with Ezran, remembering what she still hadn’t told them about their father.

In the end, it was just…difficult, to have conversations that you knew would hurt people. Even when it was necessary. Even when there was only so long it could be delayed.

What had that healer said? A couple of days at most until she started losing fingers? It wouldn’t be long, now. Her gut felt oddly tight at the thought of it, nausea clutching at her throat and unhappy tension quivering strangely under her skin as she imagined her hand finally turning black, going still, going dead-

She pulled at wing-feathers a little too vigorously in her agitation, and one of the vanes splintered as she pulled it free; the feathers came loose too-quickly and she jolted against her bad hand as she moved, and yelped at the sudden raw pain-

“Ow!” She dropped the feathers and pulled her hand automatically to her chest, a new kind of pain stinging horribly on her finger.

“What is it?” Callum asked, alarmed, dropping his hands from the bird and leaning over.

She made herself check, holding her hand out to stare at the finger. “…Burst the blister, I think.” She said, finally, looking at the round, virulently-red pit between her first and second knuckles. A little skin was hanging off the side of it, abraded away by her misstep with the feathers. It was just a little wet, sluggishly leaking a clear fluid. The touch of air seared against it. She winced, and gingerly picked bits of feather from her hand. “…I think I’d best go disinfect and wrap this.” She said, distinctly unhappy at the prospect. “Don’t want to get anything in it.”

“No, let me do it.” Callum said, frowning worriedly at her hand. “It won’t be easy for you to wrap something on your own hand. We want to go boil some water to clean it, right? Hopefully Ez has got some firewood by now.” He stood, clearly intending to go off to see, and she twitched.

“I’ll handle the fire stuff.” She said, waving him back down. “You’ve got two good hands, keep working on the feathers. I’ll call you over when I’ve got enough of a fire to boil water.”

He eyed her. “Well, alright.” He said, reluctantly, after a while, and sat back down. “There’s not too much left to do here, anyway.”

She snorted. “Plucking is just the first step. ” She informed him. “Once that’s done I’ve got to gut it and hack it up. I’m guessing you’ll not be excited to help with that.”

After a few seconds of looking wide-eyed and slightly ill, he said, valiantly “….I can try.”

Rayla’s lips turned upwards, reluctantly amused. She patted him on the shoulder as she stood. “I’ll call you in a while.” She said, and went off to inspect their camp.

---

Callum had mostly finished with the plucking when Rayla called him over. He set the bird down, not sure what else to do with it, and gingerly picked feather-fluff from bloody fingers as he approached the camp. Rayla had one fire going and space set aside for another when he arrived, and had carefully removed their iron pot (full of steaming water) from over the flames.

“Where’s Ez?” he asked, after failing to spot his brother or his brother’s glow-toad in the vicinity.

“Still collecting firewood.” She answered, gesturing at the pile already accumulated a fair distance away from the makeshift firepits. “We’ll need a lot of it. And, well, he still seems to want some time alone.” She passed him the little field-healer’s kit she’d taken from the lodge, as well as a jar of water, and their increasingly-diminutive soap bar. “You’d better wash up if you want to put your ‘field-healing’ to work.”

He huffed, and did as he was told, glancing over her hands as he did so. “How’s the blister?”

“Nasty.” She answered, succinctly, and watched as he cleaned and disinfected his hands and went rooting in what she would probably call a first-aid kit. “Would probably be nastier without the willow-bark though, so there’s that.”

She presented her hand when he was ready, and he spent several careful minutes cleaning the blister, wrapping it in a thin strip of bandage, and tying the ends into place. Caring for a wound that small wasn’t exactly a long or involved process, but it was a little nerve-wracking – the thing was clearly intensely sore, and she hissed with pain at the disinfectant in particular, but…well, he did his job, and the blister was cleaned and wrapped, so he supposed that was something.

“First time I’ve used that field-healing training for anything.” He commented, wry, and started packing the things back away.

Rayla planted a piece of willow-bark into her mouth and started chewing. “Relatively nice for a first injury to do. Just a little blister.” She said, amused, words indistinct and a little slurred around the chunk of bark, and then even more so as she continued. “How’s the bird?” It sounded more like howsshebrd, but he could understand her well enough, given the context.

“Plucking’s basically done now, I think?” There were still bits of feather-vane stuck in the skin all over that he’d probably need pliers to remove, but given the lack of pliers, there wasn’t much he could do about that.

“Gd.” Rayla expressed, still chewing, and stood to return to the forest, presumably to see to the bird. Uncertain of what he was meant to be doing, Callum wavered hesitantly for a minute or two before following.

He caught up to her just as she crouched over the goose, blade in place at the base of its neck. She braced herself, then dropped the weight of her body down through the blade, severing the muscle and bone beneath it with a horrible crunch. The sight of it – the abrupt amputation of the goose’s neck – hit him like a sledgehammer, taking all the breath from him. He swayed in place, brought his hands to his mouth, and gagged a few times before he managed to get the sudden and shocking flood of nausea under control, the burn of acid rising horribly in the middle of his chest.

She looked up at him, sympathetic. She visibly moved the willow-bark into her cheek before speaking. “If that nearly made you puke, you might not want to stick around for the disembowelling.” She said, voice a little wry.

He made a sound that sounded like ‘erk’, supressed another gag, and swayed again before hastily retreating back to camp, his pulse feeling fast and thready in his throat.

Callum sat himself down by the still-burning campfire, mind gone blank and limbs strangely shaky, and took in several shuddering breaths of smoky air. Nausea curled with the acid at the back of his tongue, and there was a sick weight in his stomach, and his pulse was weird and his breathing was weird like he was having a panic – but what was there to panic at? It had – it had been gross to see the bird decapitated, maybe, and he had expected to be a bit squeamish, but why, why was he so…so shaky about it? Was it just after-effects from his reaction to what the healer had told him?

He shuddered, mind inexorably recalling the sound of it, the visceral crunch of bone and sinew, and – suddenly, he understood.

Maybe it wasn’t after-effects from what the healer had told him…but it was the same issue, in the end.

Callum sat by the fire and breathed air and wood-smoke, and tried not to think too hard about the commonality between what Rayla had just done and what he, plausibly, might end up needing to do. He tried not to wonder whether – whether the motions of amputating a hand would look the same, would involve that same full-body motion spoken through a blade, whether it would crunch the same visceral, sickening way-

He tried not to think and tried not to wonder, but he did not quite succeed on either count.

A while later, Ezran returned with his latest armful of dead branches, some of them cleanly-enough truncated that they were probably victims of last season’s lumberjacks, and stopped short at the edge of the clearing at the sight of him. Then, a little hesitantly, he approached to put his burden down upon the growing pile. Callum was aware of him wavering, silent, a few metres away – but he was still kind of busy breathing slow and even and trying not to think about certain things, and didn’t speak.

That, apparently, made up whatever was going on in his brother’s mind, and Ez crept slowly up to him. “…Callum?” he asked, tentative, coming to a stop near his shoulder, still-standing. “…Are you okay?”

Callum swallowed, tasting acid, and managed to say “Fine. Completely – yeah, fine.” Under other circumstances, he’d have been glad for Ez breaking his avoidant silence, but he was a little distracted right now.

His brother scrutinised him, evidently unconvinced. “You look kind of sick.” He said, sitting down. Bait hopped up and settled nearby. “And pale. And, um, shaky.” He eyed Callum’s hands, still bare of their gloves, and the subtle tremors they were perpetrating through the fabric of his trousers.

“I’ll be fine.” Callum assured him, probably a little too faintly to be reassuring.

Ezran reached over to put a hand on his arm, fingers closing on his sleeve. He was silent for a few seconds, and then he said “You’re scared.” A statement, spoken softly, but with every indication of certainty. Ez always had been good at reading people’s moods.

He closed his eyes, and exhaled. “Maybe a bit.” He admitted, quiet.

Ez shifted, let the quiet hold for a few seconds, then asked “What’re you scared about? …Did something happen?”

Callum wondered if, at this remove, Rayla could hear a softly-spoken conversation. “…Just, you know,” He curled fingers around his left wrist, in a sort of self-explanatory representation of the binding. “That. And how…” He found the words slipping from his lips, as if they’d been waiting for a chance to escape, “how we’re…running out of time.”

Ezran processed that, then looked down at his feet. “…Oh.” He said, unhappily. His eyes wandered to his bag, sat with the rest of the bags, as if it was of particular relevance to the topic. Callum followed his gaze, but couldn’t see anything that stood out to him – just Ezran’s bag, its sides rounded out by the shape of the egg within. He did, however, notice the tent pack.

He sighed, and straightened. “We’re not doing ourselves any good by sitting around moping though, I guess.” He said, and nodded towards their stuff. “If you can take a break from the firewood for a bit, want to help me set up the tent?”

His eyes lit up. “Can we do the putting-up-the-tent bit?” he asked, eagerly. As of yet, he and Callum hadn’t tried that part without Rayla, given it required at least one of you to know what you were doing. Callum mulled it over, torn between his awareness of his limited experience and the reflexive desire to cheer up his brother.

Eventually, he said “Eh, may as well give it a go.” And they went off to, through a somewhat prolonged period of trial-and-error, get the tent set up alone.

“We’re getting good at this.” Ezran pronounced, with deep satisfaction, when they’d finished and the doors to the tent interior were hanging open. Bait, who seemed to have grown fond of the sheltered space, promptly hopped inside and settled against one sloping wall.

“I guess we are.” Callum agreed, with a half-smile, and took his cloak from his bag to untie it and lay it out. Ezran followed his example, expression open and pleased, and it seemed like he’d forgotten his earlier melancholy – or, at least, had been distracted from it – but then-

“You set the tent up already?” Rayla’s voice came from outside, a little bemused, and he poked his head out to locate her. “And on your own? Not bad.” His eyes, somewhat automatically, went to what she was holding. Which, it seemed, was a wash-cloth full of slabs of meat, bloody and raw and more than a little gross to look at.

Ezran was cheerful when he replied, eyes bright as he turned out of the tent interior to say “It took a few tries! But-“ he stopped as his eyes fell on her, and his expression dimmed. “…But, we did it.” He finished, much more quietly, and watched as she planted some of her bounty into the cooking pot. He sighed, slowly, as if the cheer were escaping him with the breath.

Rayla set the rest of it down beside the fire, and looked over. Her eyes were gentle and understanding as they settled on his brother. “You alright, Ez?” She asked, and Callum looked between them nervously.

“…Yeah.” Ezran said, softly, and withdrew himself from the tent. He hesitated for a second, looking between them and the campfire, and turned away. “…I’m gonna go get some more wood.”

It was a pretty blatant ‘I want to be alone’ signal, but Callum wasn’t so sure it was a good idea to let him go off again rather than…try to talk to him, or something, help him through whatever he was dwelling on. “Ez…”

Rayla didn’t seem to share his compunctions, though; she nodded, and only said “Don’t go too far. And don’t take too long, alright?”

“Okay.” Ezran nodded, very slightly, and returned to the shadows of the trees with his shoulders hunched and tense. Callum watched him go, conflicted, and slowly picked his way across their campsite to where Rayla was crouched by the fire.

“Shouldn’t we be trying to talk to him?” he asked, in an undertone, as if Ez could still hear him.

She considered it, looking across at him with a sort of sombre pensiveness. “He’ll talk to us when he’s ready, I think.” She said, finally, and poured some water out from a waterskin into the iron pot, filling the rest of the space available.

“And if he doesn’t?” Ezran had a tendency to run away and hide when he didn’t want to deal with something. It would be pretty hard for him to avoid them too long on a journey like this, maybe, but…

“Then we find a way to talk to him. But for now…” She hesitated for a moment and shrugged. “He’s your brother, Callum. You’ve known him a lot longer than I have. But I think it won’t hurt to give him more time to think.”

He sighed. “I hope you’re right.” He said, eventually, and watched her work with their dinner. “…Anything I can help with?”

“Well, Callum, I’m glad you asked,” She flashed a grin at him, and passed him some long sticks she’d picked out of the firewood. “Get one of my blades and strip all the bark off those. Make them pointy, so we can stake some meat on them. But before you do that, get the second fire going.”

It was strangely relieving to have been given something to do. He nodded gladly, taking the specified sticks and setting them aside, and went to gather some good tinder from Ezran’s pile.

He set the sparks into the wood and leaves, and watched them catch alight.

---

They worked, for the most part, in companionable silence, broken by occasional murmurs and questions and easy answers. Callum sharpened up the stakes and she piled small cuts of meat onto them like she was making kebabs. The meat in the pot that she was boiling was hissing merrily away, and she felt relatively comfortable leaving Callum to stir it while she went to collect more meat from the carcass.

A goose was a big bird. There was a lot of meat on something that size, enough that they’d be cooking it for hours. Enough that they’d be eating it for likely several days, and it would be a challenge to find a hygienic way to store it all in their bags. She sent Callum to wash the cloths and refill their waterskins at the river at one point, trusting that he wouldn’t mind handling the water for her, and felt her stomach rumble insistently as the smell of cooking meat rose thickly into the air.

Ezran returned several times with armfuls of wood, but didn’t speak beyond mumbling affirmatives when she asked him if he was doing alright. He seemed a little more tense and a little more unhappy every time she asked – so she stopped asking, and left him to it. Bait emerged from the tent to join him after a while, hopping off into the trees.

Eventually, though, the firewood heap was getting excessive, and the afternoon was stretching into early evening, and some of the food would be ready soon. She caught Ezran by the arm as he stood to head off again, saying “That’s enough wood now, Ez. We don’t need any more.”

Callum looked over as his brother lingered uncertainly by the fire. “…Oh.” He said, quietly, as she deprived him of his excuse to go off alone again. “…Okay.”

After several moments of wordless, almost confused lingering, he went to get his bag and withdrew the egg as had become his habit. He sat by the tent instead of by the fire, at a noticeable remove from them and the cooking, and let his eyes slip closed as his hands settled on the eggshell. Bait stared at him for a while, croaking questioningly, and then sat with a disgruntled harrumph when he was ignored.

Rayla exchanged a glance with Callum, shrugged helplessly, and set back to work.

The quiet was more awkward, now, all of them avoiding the obvious issue of Ezran’s upset and the way he was very determinedly not talking about it. The silence did break, from time-to-time – Rayla wasn’t sure if Callum could hear it, but Ez was muttering, very quietly. Quietly enough she couldn’t make out all of the words.

“What do you think?” She heard him say, once, very softly. A good while later, a sigh, and “…you don’t get it either, huh.” Then, a half-minute after: “I know. It’s okay. You can’t help it.”

It sounded, disturbingly, like half of a conversation, and she was a little concerned at who he thought might be contributing the other half.

…He wasn’t talking to the egg, was he?

She cast him concerned, side-long glances as the campfires crackled and the water bubbled and goose-fat hissed as it dripped from the stakes to sizzle in the flames. Finally, when the weight of the silence had grown uncomfortable enough to move her, she spoke. “You talking to someone, Ezran?” She asked, projecting her voice enough to catch his attention. His head rose, startled, the blue of his eyes reflecting the blues of the eggshell.

“Um….no?” he said, unconvincingly, shifting the egg in his lap. “Just…talking to myself.”

Rayla raised an eyebrow. “Was it an interesting conversation?” She asked, tone lightly teasing, and managed to startle a giggle from him. Callum glanced at her, briefly, looking strangely relieved.

“…I guess?” He said, then sighed, looking down at the egg. One hand smoothed over its surface. “I was just…thinking.” The words went quiet and unhappy at the end. His lips turned more firmly downwards, expression somewhere between upset and sullen. Sad, but on-edge as well.

Callum fidgeted beside her, clearly wanting to say something, but just as clearly uncertain of what. “…Care to share, Ez?” She asked, as neutrally as possible, and elbowed her companion in an attempt to incite him to talk, already. She shot him a stare she hoped conveyed ‘I could use a little help, here’.

He cleared his throat and finally deigned to lend his voice to the proceedings. “…If you want to talk, Ez, we’re listening.” He said, awkward but sincere, and turned fully to look at his little brother over the metres of distance between them, fingers moving with anxious agitation at the edges of his scarf.

“I know you are.” Ezran said, and – there was an edge of plain frustration in the words. Frustration, almost to the point of sounding like an accusation.

Rayla blinked, brows furrowing lightly, as Callum stiffened at the strange tone. “…What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, warily.

Ezran exhaled, a quick and frustrated puff of air, and he carefully set the egg down at his side. “It means you’re not exactly subtle, Callum.” Now he definitely sounded a little accusative. He crossed his arms and turned away from them. “I know you want me to talk. I know!” His voice rose a little, thick with stress. “We’re supposed to talk about my problems and then everything will be great again. That’s what you want, right?”

Callum opened his mouth, then let it snap shut again. His face was almost comically nonplussed; he clearly hadn’t expected this response at all. Neither had Rayla, for that matter.

She raised her hands in a conciliatory motion. ”Ez…” She started, tone as soothing as she could make it, but he didn’t give her time to continue. He stood, pale eyes sweeping towards her, his face screwed up.

“I get it!” he snapped, scooping Bait up from next to the egg. The glow-toad offered a somewhat alarmed-sounding croak. “I should talk about – about the animals, and meat, and what’s bothering me and what I’m thinking – you don’t – you don’t need to dance around it. I know.”

Callum shifted, a tension in his shoulders that betrayed a touch of irritation. “Well, that would have been easier if you hadn’t spent half the day avoiding us.” He said, with a bit of an edge. He almost visibly held himself back from saying anything more argumentative. Still, that hadn’t exactly been a helpful comment.

She shot him a quelling look as Ezran exhaled, shoulders hunched and frustration writ in every line of his face.

“I know, Callum.” He huffed, not looking at them. “I always run away from my problems instead of just – talking about them. I know. You want me to talk about this. You do too, Rayla. Trust me, I can tell.” he shot that comment at her, accompanied by an icy flash of his eyes, and she blinked with surprise.

“…Seems better than sitting on it for the next two months.” She said, eventually, in as neutral a tone as she could manage. It seemed to take some of the wind out of his sails, at least, and he deflated a little.

“I know.” He said, a little quieter, a little more miserable. “I know. But – Rayla, Callum, I don’t – I don’t know what I think, okay? I know how I feel and it’s awful, but I – what am I meant to think? What can I think?” He blinked rapidly, and sat down again, a heavy collapse that made Bait complain. “You’re right, okay? I know we need to eat. We’re all hungry and we’ve got to eat. What is there to talk about?”

Rayla shared a glance with Callum, and she stood with him, crossing the distance to sit beside their youngest companion. “Something being necessary doesn’t mean it’s easy.” She told him, quietly. “You’re allowed to feel unhappy about it. Or…to not know what to think about it.”

Tentatively, Callum reached out to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I think you’ll probably feel better if you try to talk it through with us, Ez. But…” he hesitated. “You don’t have to.”

“Sure I don’t.” Ezran said, a little woodenly, and shrugged the hand off. His shoulders were tense. “And then you’ll just be making worried eyes at me for days because I wouldn’t talk. That’ll be fun.”

“I can keep my face unworried.” Rayla said staunchly. “Picture of elven stoicism, I am.” He looked across at her, a little confused at the unexpected diversion from whatever he’d expected.

“…Sure?” He said, doubtfully, looking at her as if she’d gone mad. But the tense line of his shoulders had settled a little.

“And if your brother’s face gets too annoying, let me know. I might be able to arrange something.” She added, and Ezran blinked as Callum stared at her. “Like worms in his clothes. Or spiders in his hair. That should keep him distracted.”

Startled momentarily out of his mood, Ezran produced a short, amused huff. “…That would be pretty funny.” He said, quiet, lips twitching just a little at the edges.

Callum glanced at her side-long and grumbled. “Speak for yourself.” He didn’t seem too bothered, though. Perhaps he appreciated the levity, even if it came at his expense.

They sat in slightly-less-tense silence for the better part of a minute until Ezran sighed, heavily. “Look, I get it.” He said, wearily now, and stared down over the top of Bait’s yellow head. “We’re travelling, and we’re gonna be in the mountains, and – and there’s not enough for us to eat if we don’t – don’t-“ He scowled and broke off the sentence. “I get it.” He repeated, quieter, more miserably. “We need to eat. And even if there are enough plants and berries and stuff laying around, it takes too long to find them, and…I get it. I just…” Callum reached out again, and then hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure of its welcome.

Ezran looked out at the camp, at the two fires merrily burning, at the wealth of meat staked over the flames and lacing the air with delicious smells. Then he looked down at his lap, face screwed up.

“Ez…” Callum’s hand hung hesitantly in the air for a few moments longer, and then he let it fall.

“It’s just…hard.” Ezran said, miserably, not looking at them. “It’s not like I never ate meat before, but – I don’t think I’ve ever met an animal that…that I needed to eat. He was alive, and I felt him, and now – now he’s meat.” He sniffed, wiping his nose. “I just…it’s really sad.”

Rayla shared a glance with Callum, wondering briefly at the word ‘felt’, before considering the depth of Ezran’s reaction. Callum had been plainly uncomfortable around the dead animal, and reasonably squeamish about the preparation, but it had been a lot milder. More the reaction of a pampered person who’d never had to kill or prepare their own food before. Ezran, as Callum had predicted, was taking it a lot harder.

She mulled over what to say, thoughts turning to life and death, and the things she’d been taught. “I’m an assassin.” She said, slowly, as she considered her words. At the unexpected turn of conversation, Ezran lifted his head a little, and Callum turned towards her blinking. “But, more than that, I’m a Moonshadow assassin. We have…teachings. About what it means to take a life. I don’t know, maybe it’ll help you to hear them.”

Ezran blinked at her, uncertainly, but didn’t say anything to disagree. So…

She cleared her throat, and looked away, heart feeling a little strange. “’Life is precious. Life is valuable. We take it, but we do not take it lightly.’” She quoted, the words falling from her tongue with the ease of practice and the cadence of memory. The last time she’d heard the creed uttered, it had been Runaan who spoke it, even as he bound them all in the assassins’ ritual. She glanced across, and found them both looking at her, attentive, and looked quickly away again. Feeling oddly self-conscious, she added “I mean, I was taught that about killing, you know. Humans. But Moonshadow assassins – we’re taught to respect the life we take. That it’s…special. Precious.”

Ezran made a pensive noise, and he at least seemed a little less upset, if only because he was thinking. “I think it seems pretty weird to respect things by killing them.” He said, but without any particular judgement or disapproval. “But…I don’t know. It’s not like…” he trailed off, troubled, and frowned at his feet. “…One time, I met a banther with her cubs.”

Callum startled. “You what?” he squawked, looking his brother over as if to inspect him for banther-claw scars. “And you lived? Hell, Ezran-“

“It was months ago, Callum, and I was fine.” Ez interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Banthers are actually pretty friendly, you know. Anyway…” he shook his head. “That banther? She…um, she’d killed a deer. And brought it for her babies, because they were still too young to hunt, and…” He turned a little green. “It was pretty horrible. Really, um. Bloody. I was…”

Rayla, who’d raised her eyebrows at the first mention of banthers, settled a little to listen.

“She didn’t understand why I was upset.” Ezran said, pensive again. “To her it was just…natural. Normal. She needed to eat, and so did her cubs, and that was just…it. I thought about it for a while, and…it made sense, you know. Banthers don’t eat plants. They get sick if they try. So she has to eat meat. But I never really thought about – about humans needing to eat meat. Or elves, I guess. Because we can eat other things.” He didn’t sound like he was finished, but he fell quiet.

Bait croaked in Ezran’s lap, and the boy glanced down at him, absently patting him on the head. He was quiet for a few seconds, while Rayla watched and Callum’s brow furrowed, both of them waiting for him to continue.

“A lot of animals need to eat meat to live.” Ezran said, quietly, like he was thinking the words through as he spoke them. “And…I didn’t think really about it, but a lot of people need to eat meat to live, too. Because, I mean, it’s not like everyone can live off leaves and berries from forests, right? You’d run out of leaves and berries pretty fast. And if food doesn’t grow where it’s cold…” His brow furrowed. “I guess that means…in winter, you can’t grow food? I don’t know.”

Perhaps it was starting to occur to him how incredibly, uncommonly charmed his life had been, to pass through a decade of winters without ever going hungry, or worrying about food, or even thinking about where it came from. Rayla hadn’t grown up so divorced from the realities of life, but she’d never especially had to worry about hunger before this quest, herself.

Callum shifted, and said “Most people stock up on grains and stuff for the winter, I think, if they can. But you’re right, Ez – there’s places where people can’t really farm much. Mountains, definitely. And in winter, especially, well…” He trailed off.

“…Right.” Ez sighed, and mulled that over, visibly thinking. His features were solemn, and a little sad. “So they need to hunt. Or they starve.” He pursed his lips, as if coming to some unhappy conclusion. “…And that’s us, now.”

Hesitantly, Callum reached out again to lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder. This time, it wasn’t cast away. “…Pretty much.” He agreed, and watched his brother exhale.

“A lot of animals need meat to live.” Ezran repeated, quietly. “And a lot of people do, too. I guess…I never realised that I was lucky, because I could – not, and be fine, but…that’s not how it is for a lot of people. They’re not that lucky. And – now, now…we’re not that lucky either, are we?”

Rayla reached out and squeezed his hand, gently. He looked down at it and sighed.

“Sorry.” He said, finally, voice weary. “For…making such a big fuss about it. I know we need to eat. I get it. I’m not gonna complain.”

She shook her head at him. “It’s fine, Ez.” She said, firmly. “It’s okay to be upset about things. …Even if other people aren’t.”

On his other side, Callum moved the hand on his shoulder to hook around his brother’s side, a loose one-armed hug. “I’m glad you talked about it, Ez.” He said, in a similar sort of tone to Rayla, like he was parroting something he’d been told before. “Better than bottling it all up.”

Ez sniffled a little, and then curled into his brother’s side. “You always bottle things up.” He mumbled, muffled by clothing.

“…I do.” Callum agreed readily, and settled Ezran securely against him. “And it’s dumb of me, and you definitely shouldn’t do it.”

There was a small, tired huff from the smaller prince. Rayla observed them for a few moments, a light smile on her lips, and then quietly turned away to see to the progress of their dinner.

“I’m sorry I waited so long.” Callum said, after a while, his voice remorseful. She couldn’t see what Ezran’s reaction was, but she heard him shifting. “I knew it would bother you, so it was…hard to bring up.”

A sigh. “…It’s okay.” Ezran said, a little sadly, and Rayla couldn’t help but think that he’d likely have taken it a lot better if Callum had had this talk before there was a living animal in the vicinity that they were going to be eating. “I know. You just didn’t want to upset me.”

“…Yeah.” Callum agreed, quiet. “Still. I should have talked about it sooner.”

A huff. “Maybe. But it’s kind of late to worry about that.” The words were a little pointed, carrying an edge of ‘stop talking about this now, please’. Callum seemed to pick up on it, and didn’t make any further comment.

Instead, he steered himself onto more innocuous topics. “So, that banther…I mean, you’re really lucky you didn’t get hurt, but it must have been cool, right?”

“Aside from all the dead deer blood?” Ezran said, wry. “Yeah, it was. The cubs were really cute. And playful, too.”

“…If you say so.” Callum said, dubiously, and after a moment, went on to coax the details of the encounter out of his brother.

Rayla listened with half an ear, a little intrigued by the younger prince’s obvious affinity with animals, and stirred her blade in the bubbling pot. After a while, the boys shifted closer to the fire, Ezran still visibly conflicted at the sight of their in-progress dinner, but certainly less upset than before. She observed him from the corner of her eye, watchful for signs of distress, but…now, he just seemed tired. Perhaps a little sad.

She let Callum take over the food-tending for a while, and traded off with him for the next half-hour until some of it was ready to eat. She used the lids of their jars as makeshift plates and gingerly piled the food there, passing it around for everyone to eat their fill.

Unseasoned meat was, at least, more flavourful than unseasoned boiled leaves. The stuff that had been staked by the fire and allowed to go crispy was even pleasantly tasty, and a nice change from the meagre rations they’d been on for the last few days. She expected that over the next week or so she’d get profoundly bored of meat again, but that was how life went for travellers.

In any case, there was enough of a wealth of food for them all to eat until they were stuffed, and then still have an enormous quantity left to cook. This, as it happened, was not really a good thing.

“This smelled amazing before,” Callum said, going a little green as he dutifully turned the sticks around and stirred the pot. “But that was before I’d eaten so much.” He made a noise best described as uurgh.

Rayla was feeling quite nauseous herself – the smell of cooking meat was quite rich, and quite fatty, and neither of those things were very merciful on a thoroughly-filled stomach. Ezran had wisely backed away and gone to sit with egg and Bait in the tent, but given she and Callum were obliged to tend to the cooking process, they had no such reprieve. “Maybe we should have waited to eat.” She sighed, making a face. Whenever she’d helped to cook this amount of meat before, it had been distributed among six very hungry elves, and therefore generally hadn’t lasted long. She’d not quite predicted this particular conundrum.

“We’ll know better next time, I guess.” He reached to the side to take a swig of water from one of the waterskins, making a face. “At least we’ll have stuff to eat for a day or so.”

“If we find some leafy stuff along the way, this should last us two, at least. Three if we’re lucky.” She said, gauging their bounty. “It won’t all fit in the jars. We’ll have to wrap some of it in the wash-cloth, or something.”

He paused for a second, thoughtful. “If we get desperate, I’ve got a pair of socks I’ve not worn yet.” He suggested, offering her the waterskin.

“Ew.” She commented, reflexively, then pushed that response aside in favour of practicality. “….I’ll keep that in mind, I guess.” She felt a twinge of pain from her hand as she took the water from him, and grimaced, transferring the skin to her other hand as she carefully flexed the dark fingers.

Callum didn’t miss the motion, eyes tracking her hand as she tipped her head back to drink. “…How’s the hand doing?” he asked, an increasingly-familiar shadow of worry settling on his features. His fingers fidgeted, anxious, hands still bare of the half-finger gloves. “Is the willow-bark helping?”

She eyed him for a second, and considered lying. Considered pretending to be better off than she was. In the end, though…“It’s helping a lot.” She answered honestly, setting the waterskin aside to inspect her hand. “Only goes so far, though.”

He frowned, sympathetic. “Still hurts?”

“Still hurts.” She confirmed, sighing, and waggled the finger he’d adorned with a narrow dressing of bandage. “Especially this stupid blister.”

He nodded, eyes still heavy on the dark skin. “…Looks pretty nasty around the binding, too.” He said, too-neutrally, as if he were trying very hard not to sound too bothered about it.

The skin around the binding was, indeed, more tender and sore than any other part of the hand, including the finger-blister. She turned it around, grimacing at the almost shiny-looking swell to the flesh constricted by the bind. The skin was starting to look a little weird at the sides of her wrists, too. The colour wasn’t quite right. Or maybe it was just more dull-looking than the rest of it?“…Not looking forward to having to massage this.” She admitted, and reached out to gingerly poke around the flesh. It instantly rebuked her for the trespass, and she winced at the pain.

He winced with her, fingertips twitching unhappily. “…You could take some of the lilium?” He suggested, looking over at the nearest bag as though he would lunge for it the second she implied any sort of agreement.

“Don’t know about that.” She said doubtfully. “I read the dose sheet the healer gave for it. It’s addictive, you know. And strong.”

He paused. “Don’t think I’ve actually read that yet.” He realised, and went to go rummage in the bag for it. He came back with the little bottle of red fluid, oddly blood-like in appearance, and the folded paper with the handwritten information on it. He planted himself nearby while she made a quick round of the cooking meat again.

“Addictive with long-term repeated use.” Callum concluded, after a few minutes of scanning the paper. “Like, a week or more. That’s…I mean, it could be worse?”

“Maybe so.” She conceded, sitting back on her heels. “But I’m meant to be doing my hand massages daily, aren’t I? That seems like ‘repeated use’ to me. No, it’s better to save it, I think.”

“…But maybe for just the first time?” He pressed, plaintively. “Just a few drops, to take the edge off?”

“I’m not interested in becoming a lilium addict, Callum.” She informed him, flatly, and he fell silent. Cast her vaguely forlorn looks, like a kicked puppy, as if she’d wounded him by refusing to take a potent drug before it was absolutely necessary.

She sighed, and turned back to the cooking.

It took around two hours to cook every scrap of meat they could salvage from the goose carcass, by which time the sun was setting and the dark of evening beginning to encroach. Ezran returned to the fireside after a while, shivering, and Callum realised that – away from the two campfires – it was actually getting substantially chillier.

“It’s getting pretty cold, isn’t it?” He commented, frowning, and peered momentarily eastwards, where he knew Dorel and Farel loomed above them, hidden by the canopy of trees. “Is that just because we’re getting higher up, or…?”

“The altitude is definitely part of it.” Rayla said, shrugging. “Places on the edge of mountains like this always get a lot colder once the sun goes down. The rest of it, though…” She looked up at the sky, and frowned. “Weather’s turning, I think.”

He blinked, and looked up as well, trying to see what she’d noticed. It was quite cloudy tonight, maybe?

Ezran made a thoughtful noise as he peered up with them. His hand smoothed over eggshell, and he closed his eyes for a second. “You think it’s going to rain?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She nodded, not looking especially happy about it. “Not heavily, maybe, but I reckon it’ll start in the night, or morning. That’ll be fun.”

“I guess we’ve been lucky to go this long without rain.” Ez said, a little philosophically. “It is spring.”

“Ugh.” Was her only response to that, as she shook her head and continued squashing meat into one of the jars.

He smiled a little, distantly amused. “Don’t like water any more when it’s falling from the sky, huh?”

“Rain makes walking so much more miserable.” She groused, scowling. “…At least we have the tent.”

Callum tried to consider the idea of sleeping in the open through rain, wind, and possibly snow. He winced. “Have I mentioned lately how glad I am you got that tent?”

She snorted. “Not that I can think of. But please, go on.” She invited, lips twitching.

“I am really glad you got our tent.” He confirmed, with feeling. “Imagine if we had to sleep outside up in the mountains. You said there’s going to be snow, right?” Ezran shivered at the very thought, shuffling closer to the right-hand campfire.

“I think I’d freeze.” He said, a little faintly.

Rayla smirked at them. “It wouldn’t have been fun, I’ll say that much. You can’t always count on finding convenient caves to sleep in.”

Ezran looked up, interested. “But there are some caves?” He inquired, with his characteristic curiosity.

She nodded ruefully. “Oh, you bet.” She said, shaking her head. “I saw my fair share during the trip here. Some of them were even empty.”

Callum raised his eyebrows at her. “That sounds like a story.” He commented. Ezran leaned forwards, clearly intrigued, and even Bait looked up with interest.

Rayla snorted, eyes resting on them for a few moments. Then, obligingly, she commenced a retelling of some of her travels, listing off caves and the things she’d found in them. The list included feather-bats, wolves, and – on one memorable occasion – a large and exceptionally angry bear. She described her group’s escape from said bear with a wistful, almost sad smile on her lips. Callum didn’t quite understand why, at first, but then-

Then, he realised that Rayla was talking about people. Not just anonymous, faceless elf assassins – but people, people she knew, people she’d been travelling with for months. People with names, and personalities – people she probably missed.

He wondered, uneasily, what exactly had happened to those people.

Callum listened, a little more sombre, as Rayla regaled them with tales of the variety of caves she’d encountered in Katolis, and quietly helped her with the packing of their food as he did. He pondered the strangeness of empathising with elves who’d come to kill his father and brother. Elves who might have-

He clamped ruthlessly down on that thought, breath catching, and forced himself to relax.

Don’t think about it, he reminded himself, and returned stubbornly to listening.

Eventually, she finished with both the story and the cooking, setting aside their well-packed bags with a sigh. “Finally.” She said, collapsing backwards onto the loose, woody ground with dramatic relief, hair splaying out around her head. “That took so much longer than I wanted.”

“Well, I guess we can relax now?” He said, shooting her a small smile. She glanced at him from the ground and huffed.

“I suppose it’s not too late yet. You’ve got time to draw, if that’s what you’re getting at.” She agreed, tipping her head back far enough that her horns were just about touching the ground. “Mind you, next time I’m definitely not hunting something that big. Takes too long to deal with.”

He opened his mouth to say something apologetic about not helping more, then bit the words back. He didn’t really want to invite scrutiny of his reaction to the beheading of the goose. For all she knew, he was just squeamish, and that was all it had been. He hummed sympathetically, but didn’t say anything.

In a sort of reflexive motion, he reached for his sketchbook and thumbed the catch open. He was flipping through it before he remembered the latest drawing he’d started, and stared at the half-formed sketch with troubled eyes for a few seconds before turning the page onwards. After today, he wasn’t especially in the mood to dwell any more on Rayla’s hand, but…

He stared at the empty pages, and for a second, all the things he could think of to draw were unhappy. The memorial flames, on their ceremonial stands, or the half-mast flags, or – again – Rayla’s hand. Then he shook his head, and started a half-hearted sketch of Verdorn as he’d first seen it, sprawling at the roots of of a mountain range.

Ezran came over to sit next to him almost the instant he realised he was drawing, trotting over hefting the glowing egg the way he’d always hefted Bait in the past. He wondered, for a second, if Bait was feeling grumpy about being supplanted by an unhatched dragon. “You’re drawing the town?” He said, after a second of peering at the page. It was early yet, with only a few lines delineating the mountains and the approximate arrangements of the streets, but Ez had plenty of practice seeing the direction of his drawings.

Callum nodded absently, hand settling into the motions of the sketch even with his heart not really in it. “Yep.” He hoped Ezran wouldn’t mention the hand-drawing – Rayla hadn’t seen it yet, and he wasn’t entirely certain if he wanted her to – and mercifully, he didn’t. His brother did give him a sidelong glance, but kept quiet, settling in to watch.

It was probably overly optimistic of him to expect to conceal a drawing from someone he’d recently been inviting to look at his art, though. Rayla seemed content to lay back on the ground for a while, occasionally flexing her left hand, but did sit up eventually, and did move over to see his sketchbook. She peered at what he was drawing and hummed approvingly before asking “Did you finish doing my weapons, then?”

He glanced at her sidelong and sighed. “Er, yeah.” He agreed, hesitating for a moment as he accepted what was probably inevitable.

She eyed him, clearly picking up on his lacklustre reaction. “Do you…not want to show me?” She guessed, a little dubiously, and tilted her head to peer at him. She didn’t seem especially bothered by the idea – he could probably say ‘I’d rather not’, and she’d likely accept it without any problems.

He eyed her for a moment. It was a little embarrassing, maybe, and would offer her potentially uncomfortable insight into the extent of his worry, but… “…No, it’s fine.” He said, resigned, and turned the page back to the completed assortment of weapon-forms. Two pages back, in fact, which she didn’t miss.

“You started another drawing?” She asked, right before she shuffled closer to inspect the finished product of his weapon studies. “That’s nice.” She said, appreciatively, and flicked out one of her blades for comparison, looking between the paper and the subject with interest. It seemed to meet her approval, and she nodded to herself before putting the blade away again. She glanced at him, then back at the book, before asking “So, is it the new drawing you don’t want to show me?”

“I don’t-“ he started, troubled, then shook his head. More to get it over with than anything, he turned the page, and watched her stop short at the picture there: her hand, four-fingered, binding cruelly tight about its wrist, and the dark skin half-shaded. “I was just…” he trailed off, then shrugged, not sure how to explain it, and honestly too morose to try.

Rayla blinked, features solemn. She reached out to the page, just briefly, with the hand he’d drawn; then flexed its fingers and withdrew it before touching the paper. Ezran looked over silently at the two of them, a light frown shading his eyes. He glanced down at the page and then back at the egg again, troubled.

“Kind of a grim thing to draw.” She said, at last. She didn’t sound like she disapproved, or was judging, so that was something.

He averted his eyes. “Yeah, well…it’s kind of been on my mind, you know.”

She sighed, and leaned back. “Yeah. I get it.” She held up the hand in question and carefully moved the fingers: clenching them in a weak, careful fist, then loosening them again. She exhaled, and said “I guess I should get this over with.” Callum whipped his gaze around at her, disproportionately alarmed, and she raised her hands placatingly to clarify “Doing my hand massage, I mean.”

“…Oh, right.” He said, a little embarrassed. He didn’t know whether to be more abashed at how his mind had immediately flown to ‘she means she’s gonna cut her hand off’, or at how she’d obviously read him like a book. “…Yeah, that’s, um. Probably a good idea. Are you sure you don’t want some of the lilium?”

“I’m sure.” She said, resolute, and stared at her own hand for a few seconds. Then she exhaled, visibly braced herself, and reached over to press the fingers of one hand against the other.

She was grimacing almost immediately, and then hissing and wincing and biting her lip as she pressed her thumb into the dark skin, and he did his best to look away and not watch because he could feel himself flinching every time she did – but it was kind of hard to ignore. He felt his shoulders hunch, felt himself go tense, and then was utterly unable to refrain from looking back at her when she uttered a strangled, clearly pained noise – She’d tried to touch the skin around the binding, apparently.

He swallowed the first three responses that tried to bubble on his tongue and said, a little desperately, “Are you sure you don’t want to try some of the stronger painkillers? Even, like, a half dose?”

It was somewhat telling that she didn’t immediately shoot the suggestion down. Instead, a little woodenly, she said “It’s too soon.” There was an odd sheen to her skin in the firelight that looked like sweat, like this was approaching the sort of pain that had wrecked her so thoroughly the other day-

“Rayla, if it hurts that much, it’s not too soon.” Ezran spoke, words firm and decisive like a royal decree. “This is why we went and got the stuff, right? So you wouldn’t have to be in pain?”

“It’s addictive.” She grumbled, clearly wavering.

He turned fully towards her. “And we have tons of it. Even if you do get a little bit addicted, we’ve got enough that we could like, wean you off slowly.” He thought that was a thing, wasn’t it? Slowly weaning people off dependence on a drug, by giving them less and less over time? He was fairly sure he’d heard that mentioned somewhere, though whether it was as part of his field-healing or from somewhere else was beyond him.

She shot him a wary look. “I don’t know what lilium withdrawal does. That might not be safe.”

“If it’s anything like lotus withdrawal, it’s probably not too bad.” Ezran said, too-cheerfully. “I met a lotus-eater once. We had a nice talk.” Callum turned to stare at him, incredulous, as his brother added, nonchalant: “He was nice.”

“Ezran,” he said, a little helplessly, as Rayla stared confusedly at them.

“Yes, Callum?” His menace of a younger brother asked, face the picture of angelic innocence.

His mouth opened and closed like a fish several times, and then he managed “First the banther and now a – where do you find these things?”

“Exploring the castle, city, and forest, mostly.” Ezran answered, sounding too cheerful for Callum’s liking. “I found the lotus guy by the moat, though.”

He opened his mouth to retort, with little idea of what the words would be, when Rayla interrupted. “What exactly is a lotus-eater? Or lotus? That’s just a sort of flower, right?”

Ezran shrugged. “Well, yeah, but these are different, I think.” He looked at Callum beseechingly. “I don’t really know much about it. It’s from Evenere, right?”

He nodded, shuffling a little under the curious eyes of Rayla and his brother. “I mean, I learned that much.” He agreed, thinking back on his lessons. “Marsh-pollen is one of Evenere’s main exports, so you do hear about it. Um. From what I know they have these super-dangerous flowers that grow in the swamps, and they turn the pollen into lilium? They sell the dead flowers as drugs, too…but they’re meant to be illegal in Katolis.” He gave his brother a pointed look.

Ezran nodded peaceably. “Yeah, the guy did say that. His dealer got caught by the city guard.”

“…Hence the withdrawal.” Rayla said, dubiously. “And this guy wasn’t, I don’t know, dropping dead, or anything?”

Ez shrugged. “He looked kind of sick, and when I asked if he was okay he said it had been worse before and was getting better. Kind of like the flu. So I guess it’s pretty nasty but not that bad?”

“Ugh.” She expressed, but she did look mollified by the assurance that lilium-withdrawal probably wasn’t a fatal experience.

He eyed her, somewhat hopeful. “So…?”

Rayla looked down at her hands, pressed fingers around the binding again, and grimaced. “…Ugh.” She said again, almost disgustedly. “Fine.”

At her acquiescence, he procured the bottle and conveyed it to her fast enough that he wasn’t completely aware of doing it, stalling a little as he realised he needed to give her the dosage instructions too. He handed the paper over and watched as she inspected it.

“Huh.” She remarked, upon opening the bottle. A second later she extracted something from the cap that turned out to be a ridiculously, ludicrously tiny spoon. She had to hold its handle gingerly between her fingertips, the skin smeared with the red of the lilium. “Apparently what fits in this is a full dose. I have no idea how I’m meant to figure out what a half dose of this is, though.”

“Aw,” Ezran said as he leaned forwards, instantly enchanted. “That’s so tiny!”

“…When I read spoonful, I was thinking, like, a teaspoon. One of those really little ones, like you get with the fancy cups at fancy meetings and dinners.” Callum said, peering at it. “This makes more sense. But wow, that means she really gave us a lot of it.”

“No kidding.” Rayla raised her eyebrows at the instructions. “A teaspoon of this would probably kill you.” She checked again. “Yep, would definitely kill you.”

“That spoon is so cute,” Declared Ezran, whose attention was still plainly occupied with the included utensil, rather than dire portents of excessive dosage.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “You think the spoon is cute?” She asked, dubiously, and carefully moved her finger to let the droplet of stray lilium fall into the spoon.

“Duh.” He said, as if it were obvious, and she huffed a laugh at him.

“If you say so.” Rayla accepted, and after a second raised the tiny spoon and tipped two tiny red droplets from it into her mouth. She closed it, peered at the spoon, and made a face. “Pass me the pot and the waterskin, will you? I think I should probably wash this. And my hands.”

Ezran set aside the egg to oblige her, passing the requested items eagerly. “Has your hand stopped hurting yet?” he inquired, bright-eyed, and watched as she swished the tiny, tiny spoon around in the water.

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “No, dummy. It takes time for medicine to work, you know.” She said, and passed over the now-clean spoon for his inspection. “Here. Don’t lose it.”

“Ooh.” He said, enchanted, and held it up to his eyes to inspect, looking utterly delighted with it. He was very easily impressed, sometimes.

Callum shared a tolerant, amused glance with Rayla over his brother’s head, and said “It’ll take ten or fifteen minutes to start working, right? From what I read earlier?”

“Something like that,” She agreed, and set the vial aside, carefully capped. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

He observed the sheen of the bloody-red liquid in the vial, and shrugged. “Guess so.” He nodded, and settled his sketchbook onto his lap again. He grimaced at the image of the bound hand on the page, and turned it back over to the incipient Verdorn, lowering his charcoal to define the lines.

The next stretch of time passed in that fashion, filled with the scratch of the charcoal on paper and Ezran cooing over the tiny spoon (and, apparently, telling Bait and the egg about it), and Rayla watching, prodding at her hand every now and then in what was probably an attempt to gauge the progression of the lilium. She borrowed the waterskin and kept it near her side, taking periodic swigs of water as she watched and waited.

Eventually, what was probably at least ten minutes later, she set about massaging her hand again. “ow,” She said, remarkably unbothered, and then again “Ow. Ow. I don’t think it’s properly kicking in yet. Ow.”

He lowered his book and made a face at her. “….Maybe stop and wait a bit, then?” he suggested, a touch sardonically.

“It doesn’t really hurt that much,” She denied, and then somewhat ruined her claim by immediately saying “Ow” again as she pressed her thumb into her palm. Strangely, despite the apparent pain, she was neither flinching nor noticeably grimacing.

Callum eyed her. “…Are you sure about that?”

She pondered the question for a second, then said “Nope.” She volunteered no further information.

A little perplexed, he shared a glance with Ezran before repeating “Then wait a while? It’s probably still working.”

“Sure.” She said, unusually placid, and then shuffled up to sit beside him. She peered at the page and watched him draw in comfortable silence for a good while longer, drawing her knees up and resting her chin atop them. Eventually, when he’d almost fallen into an art-trance and was just starting to properly get into it, she spoke up. “…Do you really remember what the whole town looked like?” She asked, breaking him from his reverie.

He looked up, blinked, and realigned himself with reality. She looked considerably less tense than earlier, though whether that was a product of the lilium or just having time to relax, he didn’t know. “Pretty much.” He agreed, and after a moment, lowered his charcoal to continue drawing. “Especially since I thought I might want to draw it, so I sort of…made sure to look extra carefully.” She made a thoughtful noise at that, but no actual comments, so for a while longer they sat in silence as he drew and she watched and Ezran grew bored with the tiny spoon.

He passed it back over to her, and she moved over to their belongings to stow it in some part of her bag. “Did you like it?” Ezran asked, and she looked up at him, blinking slowly. “Verdorn, I mean. Was it the first human town you’ve been to?” Callum looked up at that, curious, and watched the thoughtfulness spread over her features. In the increasingly low light of evening, her eyes were growing faintly luminous, pupils widening in the dark.

“Mm. Yeah, I guess it’s the first proper human town I’ve been in long enough to look around.” She mused, voice oddly slow and ponderous, and flopped gracelessly back into her seat beside him. “Don’t think the fort counts. Everyone was in…” She seemed to struggle to find the right word for a moment. “…helmets, you know?” She waved expressively towards the top of her head. “Harder to see they’ve not got any horns, that way.”

He stared at her, attention drawn by the strangeness of the cadence of her speech, and something subtly off about her movement and posture. It was…suspiciously off-feeling, and he thought he could probably guess where it was coming from. What she was talking about was sort of interesting, though, so… “And that makes a difference?” He asked, eyes drawn to her own horns as he suddenly recalled the strangeness of them. He’d grown used to seeing them, over the last few days, but…

“Mmyeah.” She agreed, and flopped a hand at her horns again. It was the bad one, but she didn’t seem to notice any pain; he raised an eyebrow. “Looks weird. I think ‘s the first thing I noticed, in that…human-town. Verdorn. No one had any horns. ‘S weird.”

Callum eyed her, simultaneously interested in the topic and increasingly aware of the progression of what might well be lilium side-effects. “We don’t have any horns.” He reminded her, as if it were something that needed pointing out. She looked at the top of his head as if to confirm his words, and nodded solemnly. “Does that seem weird to you, too?”

“’Course it’s weird.” She answered bluntly. “You’re missing a whole....” She waved her hand in the air, vaguely, as she attempted to summon the words. “Whole thing. Part of your face. No, not face – head. Yep.” She pondered this with a slow, languid progression of facial expressions, eyes narrowing pensively at her own thought processes.

“I…guess that makes sense?” He said, slowly, and looked at Ezran to see if he’d noticed Rayla’s increasingly evident…was inebriation the right word? Intoxication, maybe? Those were probably the most medically accurate words, but he could probably think of a few more colloquial things that would fit. In any case, Ezran was staring at her with a sort of puzzled, intrigued fascination, so he’d obviously noticed something as well.

Rayla reached out and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “’S’okay, I got over it.” She said comfortingly. “I don’t think you look weird anymore.”

“….That’s good to know?” he attempted, certain that he was probably making a very strange face at her. He peered at her, and tried to remember whether her pupils were normally that large. A quick consult with his memory confirmed that, no, they weren’t. Definitely probably a drug effect, then?

He wondered if it would be rude to ask to check her pulse.

Ezran shuffled. “But it looked weird in the town, though?” He asked, tilting his head as he apparently came to his own conclusions about whatever was going on with her.

She nodded slowly, ponderously. “Super weird.” She agreed. “Seeing that many people walking around without…with no…without any horns.” She considered this for a long, long while, then said “I suppose…imagine…if you walked into a crowd of people, and none of them had any ears. ‘S like that.” She nodded with an immense sort of gravity, as if she thought she’d said something staggeringly profound.

That was, in fact, a very weird mental image, so he supposed it made a good comparison. “Huh.” He remarked, interested, but in a sort of distant and distracted way. Mostly he was getting increasingly concerned with the obvious alteration of her mental state. A little anxious voice in the back of his head was beginning to say, worriedly, what if this affects elves differently to humans? Why did we never think of that? “…Do me a favour, Rayla?”

She blinked at him placidly. “Sure?”

“Check if your hand still hurts?”

It took much, much longer than it ought to for her to process his words, and then she moved a hand over to poke at the back of her hand. She blinked again. “Huh.” She said, and then poked harder. “It does not.” She then poked around the binding, and said “Ow.” It was a very calm, very unbothered ‘ow’. Eventually, she concluded “Maybe it still hurts a bit.”

“…I think maybe the medicine is working.” Ezran said, bemusedly, as he leaned forwards to see her better from Callum’s side.

Rayla considered that. “That makes sense.” She agreed, and after a lengthy, thoughtful pause, added “I feel…different.”

Callum stared at her, at her strangely relaxed and ponderous expression, at the looseness of her shoulders and the size of her pupils, and flatly informed her “Rayla, you’re higher than the summit of Mount Kalik.”

She stared at him, somewhat uncomprehendingly, as Ezran processed his words and then started giggling helplessly. “I’m what now?” She inquired, politely, with a lightly furrowed brow.

“High.” He repeated, finally conceding to his impulse to reach out and grasp at her wrist, searching for her pulse. She looked down at his hand, tolerantly perplexed, as he settled his fingers into place and felt for the speed of her heart. “High, as in drugged. Stoned. Marsh-whacked.” He searched his mind for more drug-related euphemisms, but couldn’t think of any. “High.” He concluded, and felt at her pulse as she made a face at him. It was slow, but regular and strong enough. So…well, that was something.

He reflected that he probably should have got more details from the healer about the medicine’s side effects. Then maybe he’d know if this sort of response was normal, rather than something to be concerned about. Her pulse was okay, though. And she wasn’t, like, passing out, or anything like that…

“I am not high.” She complained at him, face screwed up in a comically confused sort of affront. “You’re high.”

He raised his eyebrows at her and released her wrist, concern giving way to a glimmer of amusement. “How’d you figure that?” He inquired.

She stared at him, flummoxed. “…Sky mage.” She offered, after a lengthy pause. “You’re all…whooshy. Skies and high-up places. Mountains.” She seemed oddly struck by her own words, and looked away, frowning. “Callum,” She started, profoundly concerned. “…You don’t have any wings.”

Callum shared a glance with Ezran, and smirked a little at her. “I noticed that, thanks.” He said, dryly.

She blinked. “But sky mages have wings.” She explained to him, making a sort of flapping motion with both hands, thumbs joined and hands moving as if to evoke the movement of wings. He stifled a laugh. Ezran didn’t bother with such restraint, and giggled again. “You’re a sky mage. You should…” Her brow furrowed. “You should have wings. Are you sure you don’t have wings?”

“I don’t have wings, Rayla.” He informed her, patiently, and she looked over his shoulders as if she disbelieved him. This supposition was supported by how she leaned back and scrutinised his upper back, and even reached out to pat at his shoulder-blades before retreating, comically astonished.

“You don’t have wings.” She echoed, eyes wide.

He looked at her, and found it increasingly difficult not to join Ezran in giggling at her. Honestly, where did the wings thing even come from? Was there some sort of sky magic spell that involved flying? Lord, he hoped there was. That would be awesome. “I do not, in fact, have wings.” He repeated, in the end, and resolved to ask her about flight-related spells when she was…sober? Was sober the right word? He was having to consider all sorts of unexpected terminology this evening, it seemed.

“Why don’t you have wings?” She persisted, leaning forwards. Sort of uncomfortably closely, actually, her face was, er – he inched backwards a little to give himself some space, cheeks prickling with heat.

“Maybe it’s a human thing.” He suggested, shooting a glance at his brother in hopes of provoking some sort of support.

Ezran picked up on it, thankfully. “Humans don’t grow wings, Rayla. Even mages.” He agreed. “I think Callum would have noticed.”

She processed that for a second or two, then made a vaguely disgruntled noise. “Maybe so.” She said, eventually, and cast a last narrow-eyed look over Callum’s shoulders before leaning back with a sigh.

For a while, he and Ezran just…looked at her, while she stared vaguely into the fire, at once intensely thoughtful and uncharacteristically relaxed. It was strange to see her like this – particularly after the last few days, which she’d spent tense and sleep-deprived, increasingly bothered by the pain in her hand. “How are you feeling?” Ezran asked, eventually, and she looked over at them. The faint luminosity of her irises only made it more obvious how large her pupils had gone.

“…Different.” She concluded, eventually, and looked down at her hands. She flexed both of them, making fists and releasing, without any sign of pain or discomfort. “Weird. My skin feels weird. Soft? Or tingly. ’s weird.” She reached for her bound hand with her right and squeezed it again, experimentally. “Hm.”

“Doesn’t hurt?” Callum asked, though the answer was fairly obvious.

“Nope.” She poked around the angry, strange-looking skin around her binding more firmly than he thought was wise – he winced on her behalf, even though evidently she wasn’t actually feeling the pain at the moment. “Maybe a little, there. Mostly it’s just tingly.” Her fingertips wandered around the edge of the binding, and then, distractedly – “Itchy.” She proclaimed, and scratched at it.

“Er.” Callum said, a little alarmed. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to scratch it?”

She stopped. “You think?” She inquired, interested, and looked at him.

“I think it’ll probably just make it hurt worse when the lilium wears off.” He agreed, beginning to realise that the drug’s effects could actually, well, be problematic. It was a good think she was using it now, when there was nothing left to do, rather than when they were travelling or – Mercy forbid – in a town. He thought she’d stand a decent chance of loudly commenting on the hornlessness of random citizens, in this state. “…Maybe just do your hand massage? That’s what you took the stuff for in the first place, right?”

Rayla contemplated that. “You may have a point.” She declared, and set about pressing artlessly at her poor hand. Callum winced, resolving not to look, and determinedly returned to his drawing. He knew, obviously, that the lilium had clearly been effective, but it was still making him cringe to see her handling her bound hand so roughly – his own left hand tingled unpleasantly at the sight, and he shook the fingers out to try to disperse the sensation.

He spent the next while steadfastly avoiding looking at Rayla tending to her hand, which turned out to be something of an error. He saw Ezran shift in his peripheral vision, and then heard him say, alarmed, “Er, Callum, um…“ he looked up at his name, and then more quickly when his brother tugged urgently on his arm.

Callum opened his mouth to ask, then followed Ezran’s nod to Rayla, who…

…Who had, at some point in the last five minutes, stopped massaging her hand and started scratching at the skin on the sides of her wrists. And not just that, but- “Rayla!” He exclaimed, dismayed, and shot out his hand to pull hers away before he’d even fully processed what he was looking at. “What were you – oh – urgh!“

She stared at him uncomprehendingly, as if she couldn’t conceive of why he’d felt the need to stop her from peeling her own skin off, Paragons wept- “What?” She asked, as if honestly perplexed, as if she really didn’t see what the problem was with her scratching around the binding until the skin broke. Ezran had gone a little green, eyes wide as he leaned to the side to see better, fingers twitching on the surface of the eggshell.

“You’re scratching your skin off!” He told her, voice high and strident, and turned to his brother as she looked down at her own hand. “Ez, get the field-healer stuff out of my bag, would you? Disinfectant, maybe some bandages…” His brother nodded quickly and set the egg aside immediately, hurrying over to their pile of things with pale-faced haste.

Rayla inspected her wrist, brow furrowed. “It doesn’t hurt.” She told him, earnestly, as Ezran rummaged in Callum’s bag. “Just itches. ’s probably fine.” Her fingers wandered in the direction of the binding again, and he snatched them away.

“It doesn’t hurt because you’re completely, horrifyingly high, Rayla, that’s why it’s not hurting!” He half-shrieked at her, ushering her until she was sat facing towards him, the fire to their side, as he held her bound hand up to inspect the damage. It could be worse, but – it was pretty obvious, now, that there had been sores developing on either side of the binding, and she’d just gone and opened them- “I had no idea the lilium would mess you up this much – oh, thanks, Ez.” He broke off, as his brother returned with the supplies and set them at his side, hovering anxiously nearby.

“I don’t feel messed up.” She complained, as he went for some bandage to wet with the spirits. “I feel fine. Good, even.”

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t be bleeding.” He told her, voice a little too shaky to be firm, and dabbed the bandage against the luridly-red, oozing layer of skin she’d exposed strips of. His fingers felt jittery with nerves as he cleaned up the clear, pink-tinged fluid that the sores were secreting. “Paragons wept, Rayla, I looked away for literally five minutes and you started peeling your skin off.” She didn’t even flinch at the touch of the alcohol on the raw sore, she was so powerfully affected.

She observed him. “You’re upset.” She deduced, blinking slowly.

“Yes, Rayla, thanks for noticing.” He said, a little sharply, dabbing the edges of the binding with the spirits just to be on the safe side. He reached for the bandages and, gingerly, wrapped a very light layer of them around her wrist. He didn’t want to restrict her blood flow any more, but leaving the sores open to air seemed like a great way to invite infection, so…

Ezran settled by their side as he finished wrapping this new, distinctly worrying wound on Rayla’s hand. “Are the side effects meant to be this strong?” he asked, voice soft and worried. Rayla blinked at him as he spoke, too-placid, and while Callum had found that sort of funny earlier, now it was anything but. No wonder Aunt Amaya had had those talks with them about how ‘drugs are bad’, and not to eat weird plants people gave them, or weird powders, or…well, drugs in their many varied forms.

“I don’t know.” He said, terse, and set the bandages aside, capping the bottle of spirits carefully.

“The paper said something about that, didn’t it?” Ezran asked. “I just didn’t understand the words.”

Specifically, the dosage instruction sheet had had a very brief sentence dedicated to explaining the drug, which it had described as a psychoactive analgesic, with soporific and euphoric properties. He wasn’t exactly sure what ‘psychoactive’ was meant to mean, but in hindsight, figured it had something to do with affecting the mind. He had no idea what ‘soporific’ meant, and had only ever heard the word ‘euphoric’ in relation to people being exceptionally happy.

“Neither did I, honestly.” He admitted, and looked at Rayla. She looked back, mildly interested, but nothing more. She seemed, in general, exceptionally relaxed. As if she’d spent a day at some hot springs or something, instead of sleep-deprived and in awful pain. He sighed, worried and still uncomfortably on-edge from the shock of seeing what she’d done to her hand, and said “Rayla, just…don’t touch your hand, alright? At least until morning.”

She considered this. “Why?” She inquired.

“Because I think you’ll probably start messing with your bandages if you do, and you shouldn’t do that.” He reached out to adjust one of set bandages to lie more smoothly over her skin, obscuring the binding entirely, and she watched him calmly all the while. “Just leave your hand alone.”

Rayla hummed thoughtfully, then reminded him “I’m meant to be doing my…thing, though. Hand thing.” She paused, thinking, and concluded “Hand massage. You said so. Kind of tricky to…” She waved the newly bandaged hand in the air expressively as she searched for her words, “…do the thing, if I can’t touch my hand.”

Callum eyed her. He considered whether or not she could be trusted to finish what she’d started without bruising her hand, disturbing her bandages, or making something else go wrong. She could probably work with the instructions ‘don’t touch the bandages’, right?

Just that moment, as if specifically to prove him wrong, Rayla reached over to try to itch under said bandages.

Tired, jittery, and already pre-emptively embarrassed for how he knew this was going to go, Callum reached out and gently caught her by that hand, moving it over and setting it on her knee. “No touching your hand.” He reminded her, and wavered for several awkward seconds before he moved to take her bound hand instead. He exhaled, cleared his throat, and determinedly not meeting her eyes, said “I’ll…Look, I’ll do it, okay? You just…sit there, and don’t peel any more of your skin off.”

It was testament to how incredibly drugged she was that all she had in response to that was an agreeable sort of noise. After a second, she said “Mmkay,” and nothing else. He chanced a look at her face, and found her looking spectacularly unbothered, and not even vaguely awkward. He instantly felt five times more abashed as a result, and quickly looked down at her hand again.

“I really hope you’re not gonna kill me when you sober up.” He muttered, only sort-of to her, and carefully started drawing his thumbs over the back of her hand. He had no idea how hand massages were meant to work, but he supposed he’d figure it out as he went along. He determinedly ignored the pronounced feeling of heat in his face.

“Mm.” Rayla expressed, just as placidly as before. “You’re my humans. No dying allowed. Wouldn’t like that.”

Ezran made a sound that sounded like ‘aww’ at that. Callum felt his cheeks, somehow, growing warmer. “Let’s hope you still feel that way later.” He sighed, making a face at her fingers. How were you meant to massage fingers? They were just sort of…bony. In the end, he settled for sort of…gently wringing them, and carefully squeezing his own fingertips along them.

“She’s not gonna be mad, Callum.” Ezran told him consolingly, and moved to take Rayla’s other hand to keep her from reaching out for her bandages again. “Maybe a little embarrassed, but I think she’ll mostly be glad you didn’t let her mess up her hand anymore.” Callum made a vague noise of assent, not especially wanting to think about how he was meant to meet her eyes in the morning.

Rayla looked down at him, bemused. “…You talkin’ ‘bout me?” She asked, eventually.

“Yeah.” Ez answered, utterly unashamed, and patted her on the back of the hand. “You’re kind of loopy now, but that’s okay. We’ll take care of you.”

“…Okay?” She offered, a little uncertainly, and then informed Callum “That feels weird, you know. Tingly.” She considered it for a second. “Kind of nice, though.”

Callum’s face burned as his brother snickered. “…That’s nice, Rayla.” He managed, and wondered how long he was meant to do this for. He turned her hand over and pressed his thumbs gently into the palm of her hand.

Thankfully, she offered no further commentary, and about five minutes later he decided he’d done more than enough and set her hand down again. “Alright, absolutely no touching your hand now, okay?” he said to her, and upon looking up…he blinked. “Are you falling asleep?”

“Mmm, no.” She denied, drowsily, with her eyes fluttering open a little from closed. “Got to…stand watch. No sleeping.” So saying, she yawned, swayed, and then nearly fell over. Callum shifted to hold her up by the shoulder, eyebrows raised.

“Stand watch?” he asked, a touch amused. “You look like you’ll be asleep in five seconds if you try.”

“Not me.” She claimed, while slumping against his side. “I’m a…very professional elf assassin, me. No fallin’ sleep on the job.” Her eyes closed again, and she muttered “Gotta watch for those…town-people. Humans. Town humans. Ambush ‘s inthenight.” With that, she set her head down against his neck, cheek smooshing onto his shoulder. The colour of his face, which had been recovering from the embarrassment of this whole ordeal, promptly reddened again.

He cleared his throat, flustered, and exchanged a glance with his brother. “No one’ll be ambushing us in the night, Rayla.” He said, soothingly, and slung one of her arms around his shoulder to support her as he stood up. She slowly, sleepily got her feet out under her, and stumbled along with him as he led her towards the tent. “Think about it – it’s not like they’ll be able to tell you’re an elf when we’re all in the tent. They’d just think we’re normal human travellers. ”

“Maybe.” She said, doubtfully, as Ezran rushed ahead of them to set out her cloak for her. “Dunno ‘bout that.”

“It’ll be fine.” He assured her, as they drew close to the tent. Bait, who’d been napping within for a good while, opened his eyes and grumbled at them. “You just get some sleep, alright? You need it.”

She opened one eye and squinted at the tent. “…Would be nice to be asleep.” She agreed, vaguely, and allowed him and Ez to manoeuvre her onto her makeshift bedroll. She made a happy sound, burrowed her face into the fur, and then – by all appearances – fell asleep immediately.

Callum retreated quietly with Ezran back to their bags, bemused. “…Well, I guess she won’t have any trouble sleeping tonight, at least.” He said, voice very quiet, and considered the dark of the sky. “Hopefully her head will be back to normal in the morning.”

“That medicine is really strong.” Ez observed, similarly hushed, as together they set about clearing up the various pieces of camp clutter into their respective bags.

“No kidding.” He sighed, eyes on the contents of Rayla’s bag. After a second of consideration, he withdrew a couple pieces of bark from it before closing it up. “It probably won’t be safe for her to take it except in the evenings, if it messes her up that badly.”

Ezran went to pick up the egg, slinging his backpack over one shoulder as he went. “Yeah. At least she’s got the willow-bark, I guess.” His eyes found the two pieces of said substance in his hand. “What’s that for?”

“…I figure she’ll probably want it in the morning.” He mumbled, after a second, a little embarrassed. “I’ll just put it next to her bedroll.”

His brother shot him a thoughtful look. “…Good idea.” He said, and looked towards the tent. “I guess we’re going to bed now, too?”

“I don’t know about you, but I definitely am.” Callum said, ruefully, and with considerable effort dragged the rest of the bags towards the tent. “It’s been a long day.”

Ezran looked down at the egg in his arms as he followed, expression a little strange. Pensive, but still inscrutable. “…Yeah.” He agreed, quietly, and set his bag down in the space between the tent-layers. “I guess it has.” As quietly as possible, so as to avoid disturbing their sleeping companion, they got their things arranged, closed the tent-doors, and laid out their cloaks in the space remaining.

Callum set the two pieces of bark carefully at Rayla’s side, and then laid down to sleep.

---

After a day of thoroughly unproductive meetings and even less-productive arguments, Gren found himself trailing after General Amaya as they vacated the war-room, striding along the corridors in search of an exit. “Are we leaving?” He asked her, hurrying forwards a little to make sure she could see his hands, and she glanced towards him.

“Yes.” She answered, plainly weary. “It’s time to get back to the barracks and distribute orders. Then maybe we can finally get some sleep.”

He nodded his acquiescence, more relieved than he cared to admit at the prospect of rest, and followed her lead as she sped up. He followed at her side as she turned the corner, and then – stopped short, just at the same time she did, as they found someone waiting for them.

“Opeli,” he said, startled, just as Amaya shaped the name-sign. They all exchanged the requisite bows and brief pleasantries before the General spoke again. “Did you need something?” She asked, plainly curious, as the priestess straightened before them.

“I wanted to speak with you before you left. I’m glad I managed to catch you.” She said, plainly, tucking her hands into her long sleeves. “I’ve heard of your intentions. You’re going to hunt the Princes’ murderess, is that correct?”

Amaya’s expression, previously open and curious, tightened into a tense grimace. Her words were spoken with sharp, stiff motions that made the pieces of her armour scrape harshly at themselves. “I will find her, and I will bring her to justice for what she has done.” She answered, face resolute. Gren wondered if Opeli could see the depth of the pain in that expression, in the movements of her hands. He doubted it, somehow. He’d had a lot more practice reading the General’s moods than most.

Still, the woman nodded, apparently satisfied. “I thought so.” She said, and inhaled in the way that people did when they were about to say something important, when they were steeling themselves for something significant. “I want to offer to consecrate you as a Justiciar,” She pronounced, with considerable gravity, and Amaya’s eyes widened with astonishment. “To act as the hand of Lady Justice on your pursuit.”

Gren stared, wide-eyed himself, and shocked enough that it took him a second to look across to wait on Amaya’s reply. She’d quelled her initial reaction enough that she now only looked mildly surprised, rather than outright thrown. Even so, she was wordless for longer than was normal in the face of Opeli’s offer, blinking slowly as she considered it.

After a while, she answered. “I’m honoured by the offer.” She said, hands moving slow and almost contemplative. “But my mission of justice is a personal one. I would not be suitable as a Justiciar, and even if I were….once my task is complete, I would have to abdicate, and resume my full responsibility as General.”

Opeli inclined her head, and spoke as if Amaya had never mentioned anything about her personal unsuitability. “And if you decided that was necessary, that would be your right.” She said, smoothly. “Alternatively, you could remain a Justiciar, and act in that capacity if you encountered dire injustice during your duties as General.”

Amaya’s lips pursed a little. “You’re aware that I intend to execute this assassin with or without a holy mandate.” She said, watching Opeli closely as Gren relayed her words. “And I am not an especially religious person, in any case.”

“You’d be bringing righteous justice, General.” She answered, shrugging just a little. “Whether or not you’re doing it in Her name, you would be the Hand of Justice, and carrying out Her work. You might as well make it official.”

“And what of the legendary objectivity of the Justiciar?” Amaya asked, clearly unconvinced. Gren watched her with interest as he relayed her words, genuinely curious as to what she’d decide on this. “I was under the impression that a Justiciar who allows personal motivation to cloud their justice is forsworn by the Church.”

Opeli huffed, lips quirking. “If I may be so bold, General…personal motivation or not, if there’s anyone that is going to catch that elf before she can return to Xadia, it will be you. And this crime needs a Justiciar to attend it, desperately. With the closest Justiciar roaming Neolandia, you are by far the best option. It’s not as though worthy and ready-trained candidates are thick on the ground.”

Amaya’s lips pressed into a flat line. “So it’s a matter of needing the Church of Paragons to be seen doing something.”

The priestess’ eyebrows raised. “Did I say that?” She asked, mildly. “No, General. This is a matter of Justice. The Pentarchy has not had something so heinous committed within its borders in decades, and setting a Justiciar on the task is – is necessary. Anything less would be – it would be a betrayal, do you understand? Five kingdoms are crying out to Lady Justice, General. If a Justiciar doesn’t attend a crime like this, then what are they even for?” Her voice became more emphatic and impassioned the longer she spoke, and abruptly Gren could see her for the Priestess of Paragons that she was, her demeanour near-brimming with the strength of her faith.

“A few vows won’t make me any better at executing a monster. She will die whether I am a Justiciar or merely a General. It would make no difference.” Amaya said, expression increasingly agitated as she signed.

“It would make every difference.” Opeli refuted, vehement, every ounce of her piety showing in her eyes. “Not to your fighting ability, of course, but – to the Kingdoms, to the boys’ memories-“ She cut off, perhaps warned by some stiffening of the other woman’s frame, and sighed. “…Are you entirely opposed to it, then?” She asked, more quietly, more solemnly. She did genuinely look sad at the thought.

She hesitated before moving her hands again. “Not necessarily opposed, but I have concerns.” As he watched, General Amaya closed her eyes, and puffed out a breath. She looked momentarily troubled as she shook her head, opened her eyes again, and looked back at Katolis’ Lady of Paragons. “A Justiciar must act as Lady Justice would.” She said, sighing, eyes hooded. “They must use the sword, the scales, and the blindfold all. Lady Opeli, I am too close to this to judge as a Justiciar should. I would use only the sword.” Her hands moved emphatically enough there that Gren relayed them with just the stress on the words he ought, a shiver running down his spine at the bald honesty in them.

Amaya wasn’t one to speak of her flaws or failings so plainly. But Opeli…he supposed if you couldn’t be honest to a Priestess of Paragons, you probably had a significant problem.

The Priestess herself watched Amaya for a few seconds, a very slight smile pulling at the corners of her lips. She looked satisfied, perhaps, or even a little impressed. “I appreciate your candour.” She said. “But I think you misjudge yourself. If consecrated to act with the responsibilities of a Justiciar, you would use the scales, and the blindfold too, even if you detested it with every breath. Even if every part of you wanted to use only the sword. You are not the sort of woman who can turn her back on what she is responsible for.”

Amaya huffed, a little startled. “And what would you call me abandoning the Breach to chase a single elf, if not abandonment of my responsibility?” Gren, glancing at her, said the words dryly. It was the first time he’d seen her express the sentiment that she was shirking her duty, though naturally she’d read the accusation on more than one pair of lips already.

“Justice.” Said Opeli, simply. “Justice for an unforgiveable, despicable crime. Justice that will soothe a kingdom of broken hearts, as well as your own. Don’t underestimate the power of this sort of closure, General. You know better.”

The General exhaled, a light frown furrowing her brow. She didn’t respond for a few long seconds, contemplative, and not in a happy way. “I don’t know that I could give the elf mercy, if for some unfathomable reason that was what she deserved.” She said finally.

“You would.” Opeli refuted, with a certainty even Gren didn’t quite have. He’d seen Amaya weep, seen her scream and rage and wail. He’d seen her fingers bloody in the blind fury of her grief, rust beneath her fingernails and vengeance carving out a hollow in her heart. He’d have agreed with Opeli in a heartbeat were she talking to a General whose nephews had not been murdered, but…Amaya was in a great deal of pain. People could change terribly when they were in pain. But, even so... “You’re not a sword, General Amaya. You’re a shield. Or do you carry that thing everywhere you go for decoration?” She smiled, gently teasing, and Gren couldn’t do anything but agree with her.

Amaya eyed her narrowly, and said nothing.

“You’re not an instrument of unthinking vengeance, no matter what you seem to think. You would be a worthy Justiciar, and I would be honoured to consecrate you.” She said, with a sort of self-satisfied air that suggested she thought she’d won. “Think on it. You know where to find me when you’ve made a decision.”

With that, she bowed, a clear conclusion to the discussion. Amaya bowed back, a little mechanically, and watched with brows furrowed as the Lady of Paragons walked away down the stone corridor. “That woman is a menace.” She said to Gren, shaking her head disbelievingly. Her fingers twitched for a few seconds between sentences. “…She reminds me of Sarai, sometimes. Just as impossible to argue with.”

He huffed a laugh, surprised, and let his shoulders loosen. He spoke to her in quick, somewhat excited motions: “do you think you’ll do it?” Whatever he thought, and whatever she thought…Justiciars were special. He couldn’t quite help the thrill that the thought of Amaya as one of them inspired.

She tilted her head back and forth, a gesture of indecision. “I don’t know, yet. I’ll think about it.” She sighed. “She seems very sure I have my head where it should be. I’m not so convinced.”

Gren considered that, and, a little tentative, answered “Well, she was right about one thing, General, if nothing else.”

Amaya stared at him, plainly questioning.

“You are a shield.” He said. “You always have been.” He hesitated, warring a little with the part of him that was wary of imposing, of overstepping, but…he was her friend. He knew he was. He knew she valued his opinions, even if he still couldn’t quite believe it. “I think she’s right. If it came down to it, and the elf didn’t deserve to die, you’d spare her.”

She frowned at him. “You sound very sure of that.” She seemed almost curious, there, as if she were listening, at least in the metaphorical sense. As if she were honestly considering that he might have a better insight to her actions than she did.

He hesitated again, but forged on. “You’ve suffered a terrible loss, and it has hurt you badly.” He said, cautious. “But you’re still Amaya. And if you swear the Justiciar’s vows, I know you’ll honour them.”

She stared at him for long, silent seconds, until he found it hard to keep still and fidgeted a little, shuffling in place. Then she exhaled, long and heavy, and averted her eyes just a little. “Thank you, Gren.” She said, hands picking their way slowly through the words. “I…am still unsure. But I will seriously consider Opeli’s offer, I think.”

He relaxed, just a little relieved, and nodded to her. Then, mind whirling with thoughts of his favourite childhood stories and the Justiciars that had featured in them, he fell into step beside his General, and followed her out of the castle halls.

---

End chapter.

Timeline: This chapter takes place on the latter part of 18.05, day 8 since start of canon. Subtract 2 days for time spent travelling. Kids are camped at 1250m above sea level.

Chapter notes: I hope everyone enjoyed ‘High’ Elf Rayla. That whole sequence gave me a fair bit of trouble in the planning stages; it was one of those that I needed to write to figure out the direction of. This chapter is super super long mainly because it had a lot of dialogue-heavy scenes, and dialogue is what really inflates my word counts.

Note on meat preparation: I have plucked game birds before. It is an absolute pain.

Next chapter is Highly Significant. It is also not finished yet, and I’ve had to do some major restructuring. I’m only posting this chapter now because it’s been so long since the last update, and because celebration of the Comicon panel and the new lore seems a worthy cause. It might be a while until the next chapter, although I’m still writing every day. Total piaj word count is now up to 230k.

Medical details: In this chapter, Rayla’s ischemic ulcer pops on her finger. This will, to put it mildly, hurt like a bitch. Arterial insufficiency ulcers are described in everything I’ve read as ‘intensely painful’.

Rayla also, while drugged to high heaven, scratches open the developing pressure sores around the binding. These are mainly on the sides of her wrist, on either side of the binding, rather than on the overside and underside of the wrist: they’re worst where the skin is nearly directly over bone. They are also an infection risk, especially given the presence of the binding right there, and will hurt horribly once the lilium wears off.

Her hand does not have a lot of time left. Expect this situation to come to a head next chapter.

Worldbuilding:

The Justiciars:

I originally had a (more) giant wall of text here, but I feel my worldbuilding is starting to exceed the scope of what I can reasonably put in chapter notes, so here’s a comparatively brief summary:

A Justiciar, in sum, is a travelling warrior consecrated to act as judge, jury, and executioner. As part of their religious mandate, they are required to act as the hand and instrument of Lady Justice, who will not bring her sword down upon an undeserving soul. Justiciars generally enjoy a reputation as folk heroes, with many historical Justiciars and their exploits featuring in popular stories and folktales. They are very highly regarded, and very uncommon. It is very difficult for most people to become Justiciars, and generally involves decades of training. The Justiciar swears vows in the name of Lady Justice and thereafter acts as a travelling perpetrator of justice. They are called upon to track, apprehend, judge and sentence heinous criminals who have fled conventional justice, or to navigate exceptionally controversial or incendiary crimes where local officials have difficulty remaining impartial. It is a religious role as well as a judicial role, and is one of several examples of how deeply entrenched Paragonism is in Pentarchy culture and societal structure.

It’s understandable that Amaya is hesitant, given that a Justiciar who allows their personal motivations and feelings to sway their holy justice is forsworn. And boy, does she have personal motivations and feelings about the ‘assassinations’.

Opeli, here, has looked at the situation and said ‘this warrants a Justiciar’, because there’s pretty much no crime that qualifies as incendiary more than the assassination of two child princes. She knows that Amaya will likely be the one to find Rayla, and there are no Justiciars to spare to send with her. Amaya herself is obviously a capable warrior, but is also extensively familiar with Katolis law, and in her position as General is already empowered with the authority to judge and execute anyone within the borders of the Pentarchy (though citizens of other kingdoms must be handled carefully). This, to Opeli, makes her fit the essential requirements of a Justiciar without the usual lengthy training. Opeli really wants a Justiciar on this case, she believes that the princes’ assassin warrants personal attention from an ordained judge, and she thinks she can make that happen.

The Marsh-Lotus and Lilium: As previously mentioned, medical preparations of the marsh-pollen are known as ‘lilium’. It almost always comes in liquid form, and is a very, very potent drug, and commonly used across the Pentarchy. In smaller doses, it is a very effective pain relief, and can also be used as a sleep aid. In larger doses, it makes an excellent anaesthetic, eliminating pain and quickly rendering a patient unconscious. However, larger doses than that are likely to kill you, so the anaesthetic use is only done by trained healers who are very good at calibrating dosages.

The recreational preparation of lotus can be made from the pollen, in which case it’s very small doses of pollen cut with beet-sugar and a variety of other things. This is then imbibed by drug-users. The more well-known preparation is with the dried flower petals, which can be sold unmodified and eaten to obtain the drug’s effects. Users of lotus-derived recreational drugs are known as lotus-eaters. Recreational lotus use is illegal in Katolis, Duren, and Neolandia; but sale of medical lilium is not well-regulated, so most addicts just use that instead.

The healer Marla stocks an above-average quantity of lilium, as she suffers from a chronic pain disorder and arthritis, which are eased by the drug.

Medical jargon: psychoactive = messes with your state of mind, analgesic = painkiller, soporific = makes you sleepy, euphoria = state of varyingly intense pleasure and happiness, or feeling of wellness.

Due credit: the psychoactive effects of the lotus, as well as the term ‘lotus-eater’, are naturally inspired by the Odyssey. I’m also very fond of the Tennyson poem ‘the lotos-eaters’.

Lilium side-effects: Someone using lilium will experience intense feelings of relaxation and wellness, which at higher doses can reach euphoria. They will become lax and disinclined to do anything very active or taxing. They are highly liable to decide to lay down wherever is convenient for a nap or rest, particularly as the body begins to metabolise the lilium. The drug fosters a confused and somewhat incoherent state of mind; users will be very suggestible, will find it difficult to muster negative emotions or reactions, and will have absolutely terrible impulse-control.

Less psychoactive side-effects: dry mouth, dilated pupils, slow heartbeat, strange tactile sensations (‘tingling’ and sometimes ‘itching’; painful areas in particular are likely to feel especially itchy), and lethargy.

Idioms: The term ‘marsh-whacked’ is human slang meaning ‘high’, as in intoxicated on a recreational substance. It originates from lotus-derived drugs, which are naturally from the marshes of Evenere. The slang is vaguely inspired by real-world slang ‘bush-whacked’, meaning ‘exhausted’.

There is also a Xadian slang word for being high, which I’ll certainly get to use at some point.

#tdp #rayllum #tdp fanfic #tdp rayla #tdp callum #tdp ezran #piaj chapters

[nananaptime]

“What’s A Kiss?”

Masterlist Rules

Genre: It’s pretty fluffy

Word count: 1 467

Summary: Differences are going to appear when learning about a new species from outer space...

It had been a couple of months since earth first was visited from an unknown species from outer space and just a couple of weeks since our leaders finally got together and decided to send a group of people out with said species, which were now trustworthy enough to be included in such a way. I was among the participants and so for a year I, among my fellow humans, we're supposed to analyse the new species and hence, learn from them in order to save our precious planet and its inhabitants from extinction.

The first week had been confusing, having spent most of my time walking around the spaceship taking us to the faraway planet, often coming across the people who were not like me. They were often spending their time in a progressive and productive manner, much unlike the procrastinating way of humans, either planning out possible escape routes in case of attack or repairing and upgrading ineffective parts of the ship as well as keeping a close eye on everything happening aboard. Nothing was ever done for the sheer pleasure of it.

Each of us humans had been assigned a buddy, someone to help us adjust to their ways and make sure we were comfortable and content with the journey. I had a younger boy, or well, younger in human years as they don’t count the age the same way we do, and he was nice to talk to, always excited to learn about our ways and often seeming confounded at the differences between the species. The first thing he learned was the amount of time I slept, according to him, eight hours was way over what we should need, he was shocked at the excessive amount of time our bodies took to recharge.

“You need eight hours at least!?”

“Yeah, we humans love to sleep, it’s a big part of a functioning life for us.” He looked at me like I was joking, the obvious confusion showing in his eyes. That’s when I found out that they only needed sleep when utterly needed, which wasn’t that often, perhaps three times a week, sometimes even two, and their sessions only lasted for less than an hour. He got used to not seeing me for eight sometimes ten hours straight which is when he spent the time with his comrades, discussing what they had learned that day.

Once he freaked out over a papercut on my finger, having learnt some days prior that when blood showed we were hurt, but I just waved him away while cleaning it and putting a plaster on it without much struggle. This action caused more confusion to enter his expression, not understanding that pain levels were different depending on the person and the severity of the wound. It took him some time to wrap his head around that specific fact.

I woke up to Renjun gently knocking on my door, not wanting to startle me awake which I had complained about before, he then opened the door, peeking in and walking in once he saw me tucked under the blanket I had brought.

“Y/N, it’s time to wake up, you need to fill your body with nutrition so you can gain the energy you used up yesterday.” The way he spoke always amused me as he always found it necessary to explain the reasons behind the actions he had learned was common to humans. I sat up and stretched, tiredly watching his face which was following my every move.

“Thank you, Renjun. I’ll just get dressed and then I’ll meet you outside in a couple of minutes.” He nodded and quickly left my room, even the way they walked was done in an effective manner, almost running, in order to quickly get from one point to the other.

I met him outside my room five minutes later and we started walking towards the cafeteria, a room created solemnly for the needs and diets of us humans. He was like attached to my hip and had, in all honestly, grown on me. I found him slightly annoying at first, but those feelings had quickly disappeared, and left were feelings of affection, initially affections I would’ve had for a younger brother, but the more time I spent with him the more my feelings grew. I didn’t want to admit it at first but the way my heart started beating around him could only mean one thing, was I in love?

Renjun followed closely as I prepared a sandwich for myself, topped with ham and cheese, something I had eaten a lot during my time on earth.

“Renjun! Do you want one?” The expression I received was hilarious as his face scrunched up in a disgusted face, causing him to resemble a raisin. I laughed at his obvious answer, remembering the first and only time he had tasted human food and almost instantly spit it out, complaining about the way human food tasted. He had eyed me carefully once we were finally seated and I had started eating my breakfast.

Later on, we were vacating one of the rooms which were used as a storage for information or, using the word humans are more used to, a library. He knew I enjoyed reading and so he led me towards their own special library. That’s also why they have managed to stay such a peaceful species, they’ve recorded everything with no biased opinion, and so they are able to stay unbiased in future situations as well, remaining fair and just.

Having been reading for a while, I closed the door and turned my gaze towards Renjun, who had been looking at me the entire time, not reading anything because he already had.

“Renjun, do your species ever do anything because you want to and not because you have to?” Confusion covered his face.

“Because we want to?”

“Yeah, do you ever do anything because it makes you happy?” he thought for a minute.

“Contributing to a functional society makes me happy.” I shook my head while giggling slightly.

“No, I mean things that make you happy but doesn’t actually have an important function.” The confusion was back again.

“Why would we do that?”

“What, you don’t read because you like the story? You don’t gaze out the window because you like the view? You don’t kiss because you like someone?”

“Kiss? What’s that?” A small blush made itself visible on my face at the thought of having to explain the concept of a kiss to the cute male sitting in front of me.

“Uhm, it’s a way of showing affection for someone you deeply care about. Basically, you press your lips to that person’s lips.”

“Oh! So, you humans enjoy that?” I nodded. “Then, do you want to try?” The blush was back on my face and I managed to nod, finding his innocence rather adorable.

I stood up and walked over to him, leaning down and, after taking a deep breath, pressed my lips against his in a short but loving kiss. When I pulled back, Renjun looked rather dazed.

“Did you enjoy it?” The question left my lips in the form of a whisper, I had no idea what kind of answer to expect. Renjun brought his fingers up to his lips.

“I- I don’t know. I feel something I’ve never felt before.” He looked quite scared by not knowing how to explain what he was experiencing.

“I guess you care about me.” He shook his head, still trying to figure out his slight dilemma.

“No, I already knew I did, this is something different.” He glanced at me while putting his hand on his chest. “My heart is beating really fast.” My own heartbeat increased at that sentence.

“Uhm, that means you care deeper about me.” He looked confused again. “Like, you can care for someone as a friend or family but then you can also care for someone deeper, the feeling is stronger, it’s called love.” Gosh, explaining love without having experienced it before was difficult.

“Love?” I nodded.

“That’s how we form families. Normally, you form a family with the one you love.” I could see the cogwheels turning in his mind, then he looked at me again.

“Does that mean we should start a family now?” I laughed slightly at that.

“No, we’re a bit too young for that, people start families when they’re older. Kissing someone you love should be enjoyable and that’s why we do it, to put it in simple terms.”

“Well, I guess I did enjoy it, does it have another purpose other than people like it?”

“Not really.”

“Well, can we do it again then?” A giggle escaped my lips as I nodded before the feeling of his lips covered mine once again.

#nct #nct scenarios #kpop #kpop scenarios #scenarios #nct dream #renjun #huang renjun #nctzen #music #nananaptime

[stubborn-string-bones]

you are very tired and have a lot of work to do before your meeting tomorrow and have a lot of feelings. you usually have a lot of feelings on thursdays! you have extra feelings today. you need to set aside some times to deal with (”have”) those feelings, but it needs to be in the future not now.

you also need to set aside some time in the near future to have some feels about un/compensated in/visible emotional work, boundaries, values, and being honest with yourself about plans and realistic expectations and consequences. this is not gonna happen before your meeting tomorrow. this is not gonna happen before your meeting tomorrow! you have a lot of prep and the prep is more important. moral purity is a trashcan, humans are only ~60% water and cannot be brita filtered, this is the part about being honest with yourself and yes it sucks but you get to make choices and some of those choices sow future resentment and you know this. but you do need to do at least some of this before sunday. in fact! i am officially scheduling some time tomorrow, after your morning meeting and before sundown (at least a little! emotionally and physically exhausted mid afternoon bus catching is a real possibility but you can spend ten minutes acknowledging you have feelings about this, and if that’s all you can do that is fine) for this specific thing. be chrestomanci, put your finger on the timetable, send the feelings to tomorrow afternoon.

you have fourteen hours like sixteen hours now before your meeting > be victim of a change in plans - regroup and reply also, surprise! advocate for yourself about an accessibility issue/accommodation you identified last week - a take a breath and a little extra time so you feel like you have a better idea of what you’re doing tomorrow -> probably you still won’t have time to have feelings before your meeting. this is inconvenient because your meeting now starts around the time you could have reasonably expected it to be over at the latest, and now you have to reschedule feelings too. you almost certainly will not have time to fit them in before your meeting, and even if you do have time you shouldn’t because you don’t actually want to have them before the meeting. plan changes are wacky and horrid like that. in the extremely unlikely event that you find yourself with time before the meeting not devoted to meeting prep, you have lots of a) listmaking to do that is not about feelings just about the tyrannies of physics (time, space, matter, etc), b) various laundry-related tasks -> you are now the potential recipient of schrodinger’s email! it is more like a cat (good) than most emails (bad) because either it won’t come and you don’t have to deal with it or it will come and give you more information. it will not be a surprise, you are prepared either way, this is analogy is a protective cover for your furniture so the mystery box (uncertainty) doesn’t shred your soft chair (schedule) - garbage and recycle - acknowledge you have reasonable underwear options and can put the laundry off another day (without having to procrastinating about it for four hours first) (- procrastinate incomprehensibly much anyway) - teeth, pjs, meds, bed asap, try to sleep, hopefully your tired will override your feelings, if not don’t @me just try your best - get up, food, coffee, shower (hair), clothes, teeth * review communications (what info they do/n’t have, training plans, what they’ve articulated as difficulties and what would be helpful), refresh re: issues and what info have (you did this a little last night, but make some notes about what seems important) * find the docs on yr comp, make yr comp fit for public viewing * check the dropbox i don’t see blank docs, but the 2018 budget is there in docx and there’s a monthly xlsx one to use for an example (in the unlikely event of the blank docs being m.i.a. it could also be copied and reworked) * spend a brief time trying to find your training notes * refresh memory using actual docs/budget submissions (only use own monthly notes if necessary, because you only have scheduled time for the inevitable feelings after the meeting) * script, think about your goals and what you want to accomplish, what is likely to be most helpful and effective, try to troubleshoot - more coffee - pack bag - 1:30(latest) + 2:00 bus - try to be chill and enjoy yourself, you like these people, you value them as humans, you would like to support them in their feelings and experiences, you would like them to feel appreciated and respected and competent, feelings jail is a you problem

have some feelings, make some lists, try to have goals, remember priorities exist (and apparently this needs its own (v incomplete temp) bb list of things that need to be included) - bullshit re: un/healthy un/sustainable un/compensated in/visible emotional work feelings jail, see above - the future, some stuff (and especially your knowledge of it) changed this week. some of the things are potentially really exciting! you are allowed to have other feelings about it too. you have to do some planning and feasibility and goal setting around it. unfortunately, you’re probably also gonna have a lot of feelings about it too (you are allowed to feel tired and frustrated and dreamy and ambitious and scared and sad and hopeful and all sorts of things. there are lots of things! you are not allowed to self-sabotage.) - feelings jail is a strategy, not a solution, do some workbook - check in/do a social interaction each w/ M and a (you are gonna have feelings about this. you will probably need to strategize and/or plan. (nice things! human relationships! so hard!) all this is fine. if you still just wanna curl up on a couch and do repetitive things with (a) needle(s) when you get to this item on the list, tbh maybe like, consider asking if M might also want to, depending on their availability? also just. send the damn texts.) - read the brain problem flow chart post - read the march org newsletter - TRUUST/UU World - this is all seeing at the trees and looking maps of the forest, but there’s also a whole actual forest and you gotta walk in it (and maybe consider an actual walk with the dog)

#self talk dot blog #long and windy #listylistlistlist #never give up faith in your to do lists #feelings and how to destroy them #relationships and how not to destroy them #feelings jail #etc

[hungarianaquarian]

September 9, 2018 9 + 9 + 1 +8 = 27 (2 + 7 = 9) 

What is interesting about this date this year is not just that it all adds up to the number 9 (well, if we add in the 2000 for 2018, it would be 2 made from an 11--spiritual number), there was a new moon in Virgo today around noon Eastern time. New moons mean a new phase coming in. Nine, in numerology, means the end of something, termination, and the number 1 means a new beginning. So it all adds up astrologically and numerologically to usher in something new. 

 According to Numerology.com, the number 9 in a cycle suggests that “you are in the final stages of a period or endeavor, you need to empty your bucket and prepare for the new and that there are opportunities to make a difference. In Personal Year cycles, the 9 is always followed by the 1, and every time you go through that two-year phase, you go through a transformation of some kind.” 

Virgo represents the details, order, health and nutrition, practicality/feet-on-the-ground, dedicated and doing service for others. The new moon today was part of a cradle formation in the sky. The signs in the cradle are certainly suggestive of doing what is necessary to get along with others—being of service (Virgo), compassion and nurturing (Pisces), discipline and practicality (Capricorn), and keeping feelings hidden beneath the surface (Scorpio). The cradle is made up mostly of positive trines and sextiles with only one opposition. 

 Link is here to LunarLiving.org  

Mercury in Virgo has just passed the exactness of being at 2 degrees to form an exact Grand Trine (the blue triangle) with Uranus and Saturn in the other earth signs of Taurus and Capricorn. But today it is still within orb enough to have an impact. Mercury rules news, communication, conversations, writing, teaching, and even short-distance travel. Mercury rules Virgo and Gemini, so it is at home and strong in Virgo. Saturn is in its home sign of Capricorn, and that is strong, as well. Uranus, which rules unpredictable Aquarius, is stirring up the security and settled nature of Taurus. But the Grand Trine is a very easy-going, positive energy that will allow unexpected events to have a positive effect on communications or news, discussions or agreements, that will be positively influenced by responsible, disciplined and practical Capricorn. A good time for a talk or an agreement that is reasonable, but that might, in a good way, shake up the settled ways of financial or comfortable, predictable ways of doing things. However, Mercury touches on the minute details, keeps things organized and is dedicated to seeing things through (virgo) so that an agreement can be reached. 

Mars in Capricorn going into Aquarius is square to Venus and square to Uranus—and Venus is opposing Uranus(the red triangle). This forms a T-square and could relate to an unexpected meeting of someone who may not be good for us but could be a passionate, aggressive means of providing pleasure and happiness, or sexual attraction. It is ultimately a challenging, difficult connection. 

Mars in Capricorn, however, wants to be impulsive and aggressive, but Capricorn keeps things in check, and Venus in Scorpio can even relate to a secret feeling of love, attraction, pleasure, beauty. Uranus could relate to the internet, or to a surprise, unexpected encounter that is sensual (Taurus relates to the pleasure of the senses—including food, wine, touch, sexuality, and visual pleasure—and it is ruled by Venus). A T-square, according to astrostyle.com , “intensifies the skies, [and] we are forced to make a decision, get off the fence and stop procrastinating. Unpleasant scenarios we’ve been avoiding may demand our attention, like chickens coming home to roost. T-Square energy can be forceful and unstoppable—a bit ruthless.” 

 Astrostyle also says that since 3 different elements make up a T-square (and in this one, Capricorn is becoming Aquarius—because Mars is at the very end of the sign and on the cusp of the next), it is possible that the answer to finding balance lies in the element that is not included—which here would be fire (Leo). Funny, because Leo rules children and those we love, as well as risks and gambles, the idea of a suddenly passionate, impulsive love affair bringing multiple challenges (squares and oppositions) to a situation, brings up the possibility that the solution is to either think of the chance of pregnancy and the hurdles to overcome with that, or risks involved in the situation. 

Chiron in Aries –fighting and confronting as a way to heal past hurts and injuries. There is an angle of opportunity to Mars in Capricorn (which just went direct after being retrograde a good part of the summer). Mars rules Aries, so there is that impulse to fight, but Capricorn grounds it, and keeps it disciplined, practical and in control—like martial arts—disciplined fighting, keeping the impulses in check. If there is action taken to fight back, but in a controlled, disciplined way, there could be positive healing effects to the social destiny (North Node in Leo), regarding children, who and what we love. But the North Node is opposing Mars in Capricorn as it heads into Aquarius, which means that Mars is conjunct the South Node—which is knowing where energy is being wasted and not putting that energy there anymore or a feeling of loss of control (as described by astrologer Nadiya Sha). It is okay to let go of what has served its karmic purpose. Thus, it is a good opportunity to use Mars in grounded Capricorn, to approach that possible loss of control in a responsible way. The positive effect on past pain/hurts and injuries is highly positive for the social destiny. 

I see a possibility for taking action related to changing something in a responsible way related to attacks, warriors, shooters, weapons, that could heal past hurts in that area, and affecting the social destiny in a highly positive way. When Mars goes into Aquarius, it will be more exactly conjunct the South Node, and in Aquarius, that energy can be used to fight for social justice and humanitarian issues in an intelligent, clever, unique way, possibly even in a rebellious way, that is energized by the chance to heal past injuries. As we move through September and into October, this will be strong.

#new moon in virgo #mars in capricorn #uranus in taurus #venus oppose uranus #venus square mars #mars square uranus #grand trine #cradle aspect #t-square #mercury trine saturn #saturn trine uranus #mercury trine uranus #mercury in virgo #astrology Mars Uranus venus Chiron Arie Pisces Neptune Scorpio Aquarius mutual reception Sagittarius Saturn intuitive work #astrology #astrological forecast

[beatrice-otter]

Fic: Solvigant (Star Trek/Classic Hollywood RPF)

Title: Solivagant Author: Beatrice Otter Fandom: Classic Hollywood RPF/Star Trek Betaed By: Karios AN: I love old musicals, and way back in 2013 I watched the end of The Band Wagon and noticed that in the song "That's Entertainment" when they sing the line "is the art/that appeals to the heart" and Cyd is supposed to put her hand on her heart … she puts it on her side, about where a Vulcan's heart would be. That was enough for this plot bunny, which I have had languishing on my hard drive ever since. I finally decided to polish it up and post it, and here it is. Summary: The chain of events that had led a Vulcan woman to Earth, alone, crashed on an alien world light-years out of her way, was quite improbable. But statistics said that even improbable things must happen sometime. Or, the one where Hollywood star Cyd Charisse was a Vulcan. On AO3.

T'Lasid held herself very still in her crash couch for almost eight full minutes before removing her harness and standing up. Part of that period was spent cataloging her physical state after the impact, to assure herself that she had sustained no injuries. But fully half of it had been simply a time of waiting to see if some other catastrophe was about to befall her. Wholly irrational, of course, but even Vulcans had not yet triumphed completely over the instinctive hindbrain response.

The chain of events that had led her here, alone, crashed on an alien world light-years out of her way, was quite improbable. But statistics said that even improbable things must happen sometime. It had started when Orion pirates had attacked their trade convoy; the guard ships and the armed merchantman had held a rear-guard action while the rest of the convoy tried to outrun their pursuers. The Llasgelice, the ship on which T'Lasid and her husband Tavin served, had been a small cargo ship, specializing in items which required delicate handling and conditions while en route; it was fast, but carried no armaments. They had been in the forefront of the convoy as they fled, and had some hope that whatever pirates got past the guards would pick off the slower ships to the rear.

Unfortunately, the pirates that had attacked them were not alone. Another group of ships had appeared, right in the path of the convoy. It might have been an ambush; it might have been an unrelated syndicate seizing an opportunity. With Orions, one never knew. But it had been the end of hope for the convoy. There were more convoy ships than pirates, so they had scattered; some, at least, should be able to escape before the Orions could round them up.

The Llasgelice almost slipped by; the Orions had focused on the larger ships. But Llasgelice had taken several direct hits in critical areas, and although they eluded the pirates their situation remained dire. Theirs was a small crew, and both of their cargo handlers were killed when one hit took out the aft port hold and the shuttle bay. Communications had been completely disabled, as had much of their sensor net; while the interior components of the system had survived, the arrays along the hull to transmit their words were completely burned away … and Llasgelice did not carry enough spares to replace them. Worse, their engines had been damaged and could not long maintain their current speed. They could not call for help; if they remained where they were, the pirates were likely to find them again. The same held true if they reset their course to their destination and limped along at warp one, the best speed their engines could maintain long-term. In addition, life support was also damaged.

Their captain had ordered T'Lasid to set a course for the nearest Minshara-class world, warp one, while they made what repairs they could. If the ship was repaired en route, they could resume course for their initial destination, but would hopefully be far enough off the normal trade route that they would make it through unscathed. If repairs took longer, a Minshara class planet would provide resources in the event the life support system failed completely. So T'Lasid had found a Minshara-class world only a few light-years distant, and they set course. Unfortunately, it was inhabited by a pre-warp civilization, at least two centuries from being eligible for contact; but the inhabitants—they called themselves "Human", which probably meant "People" in one of their local languages—looked very much like Vulcans. Their ears were different, but the crew of the Llasgelice could brush their hair over their ears and wear hats, if contact was necessary.

As the ship traveled, they opened interior hatches and set fans blowing between compartments to compensate for the places where damage prevented the air ducts from working. By policy, interior hatches should be closed in a damaged ship lest there be a fire or a hull breach, but some of the systems in need of repair were in confined places where there was no room to wear oxygen tanks and gas masks.

They had still been a day away from the unimaginatively-named planet "Dirt" when the next disaster hit. Some of the control canisters for the special environmental system their cargo in the remaining two cargo bays required had developed hairline cracks in all the commotion, which a visual check had not revealed. They had been leaking various flammable gasses into the air, which the damaged environmental system had neither caught nor filtered out. Long-term exposure could have caused health problems in all exposed … but unfortunately they did not have enough time for that to become a problem.

T'Lasid had been manning the bridge alone while all her fellow crewmates, including the captain, worked on repairs. By some coincidence, the bridge itself had remained largely unscathed, its portion of the life support system intact, and so the hatch to the bridge was the only one that remained closed as per standard procedure.

So when a spark somewhere in the ship ignited the gasses that had filled the whole ship, T'Lasid was the only survivor.

She had known it instantly. How could she not? Tavin, her husband, her bondmate, died. It was neither quick nor painless; burning to death amidst the exploding shrapnel that the engine room had become was an agonizing death, and T'Lasid felt every second of it.

The shock of it had left her mind adrift for a short while. By the time she came fully back to herself, there were no other minds on board the ship. T'Lasid's telepathy was nothing out of the ordinary, and she had never noticed the presence of other minds on a conscious level, except for Tavin's mind in their bond; but their absence left a gaping chasm that T'Lasid had never imagined.

A quick check of her board revealed no contact with the rest of the ship. No environmental data, no communications, no internal sensors of any kind. They were still on course, but they had dropped out of warp. If there was a warp-core breach, she could not tell. T'Lasid retrieved an oxygen mask, a flashlight, and a hand scanner from one of the emergency compartments and set out to check the rest of the ship.

The ship was hot, but not unbearable. Even the emergency lights were out, and there was a dense smoke filling the corridors. T'Lasid accounted for all of her crewmates: all dead. She checked the ship's systems as best she could, not being an engineer. The warp core was not currently in an overload that might lead to a breach, but given the damage it had sustained that must come soon. But even had the warp core not been dangerously unsafe, there would have been little she could do. It did not take her long to come to the disturbing conclusion that even a full shipyard would be unable to do anything with the Llasgelice besides scrap her. There was little that could be salvaged for more than the inherent value of the alloys and materials it was made from. She was alone on a dead ship with a dead crew.

Fortunately, one of the escape pods looked to be in working order. Dirt was within its range, if she added some of the emergency oxygen masks that Llasgelice would no longer require. She scavenged for food, water, first aid kits, clothing—anything that might be of use to her on Dirt—and piled what little she found usable in the pod. Then she laid her crewmates' corpses out as best she could in the limited time available and set the navigation computer to take the ship into the local star once T'Lasid had abandoned ship.

Ejecting from the ship gave the pod a sharp jolt; she set a course for Dirt and watched through the porthole as Llasgelice retreated and turned away from her on its final journey. She sang the funeral blessings quietly, mindful of her oxygen use. When that was done, she set an alarm to rouse her when the oxygen grew low and she needed to switch to an oxygen mask, and put herself into a light meditation trance to slow her metabolism.

And now, here she was, on Dirt, quite possibly for the rest of her life. The pod had an emergency beacon that would transmit its coordinates to any passing ship, but Dirt was not on a Vulcan trade route. Any other race that passed by near enough to hear might not even bother to pass the message on to her people. The Llasgelice had been far away from its planned itinerary when it met its end, and rescue ships searching for the remains of the convoy would almost certainly assume they had been taken by the raiders or destroyed outright. Tavin was dead, and her children and the rest of her family might as well be, for she would probably never see them again.

Procrastination was illogical. She gathered the pack of supplies she had prepared and opened the hatch. The air was thick, but she was pleasantly surprised that it was warm and dry. Records indicated that it was a cool, damp planet, but this was almost pleasant.

Sticking her head outside of the hatch, she found that the pod had impacted in the walls of a broad canyon. Half the pod was embedded within the rock around it, and dust from the collision filled the air. She was near the bottom, but not quite at the canyon floor; the canyon itself stretched for miles with no sign of sentient habitation. There were many small trees and bushes, more than would grow in her homeland without irrigation. T'Lasid had seen greener places on other worlds, but to her it looked lush. However, her scanner indicated that none of it was edible. She would have to make contact with the Humans and hope that some of their food would suit Vulcan physiology. Should she climb up or down? If there was still water in this canyon, it was not within sight, nor could she hear it; perhaps whatever river had carved it now had changed course. If there had been water, she could have followed it along its course until she found a settlement. However, if she went up to the rim of the canyon, she would perhaps be able to spot a sign of civilization.

T'Lasid brushed her hair over her ears, in case there were any Humans about that she had not spotted. Then she began the climb to the canyon rim.

She marveled at how much easier it was than she expected. The gravity was so low, she almost felt like she was floating, and even the mass of the pack added to her own mass probably weighed less in Earth's gravity than she would have weighed by herself on Vulcan. In addition, the canyon walls were sloped and not sheer, and the brush on them gave her secure handholds and footholds. In a relatively short time she was at the top.

The rock her foot was braced on gave way, and T'Lasid flung herself forward as the canyon edge gave way in a landslide. It took a desperate scramble to get to solid ground, and she lay panting with adrenaline as she listened to the crash of rock and dirt and debris hit the canyon floor.

After a few minutes to let things settle, she crawled back to the edge and peeked over. The pod was well and truly buried by the landslide. She was fortunate she had brought the supply pack with her on her first scouting run; it would have been difficult to retrieve. There were items she had intended to bring with her that had not been in the pack, but digging them out would probably not be worth it at this point. She could come back if she needed them.

It was quite convenient that the canyon itself had taken care of hiding the evidence of her arrival. She had not been looking forward to the necessity of finding some way of camouflaging the pod, half-buried in the canyon wall.

T'Lasid backed away from the edge of the canyon and stood up, slowly turning around to take in the whole area. There was no one in the canyon that she could see, and the plateau she stood on was similarly deserted, save for a large herd of four-legged animals. Possibly cattle of some kind? T'Lasid continued her survey, squinting into the distance. Yes, that did appear to be a motor vehicle moving slowly across the plain. Perhaps there was a road there? With the pod inaccessible, she would need to find a Human settlement for food and water sooner rather than later. She took the tablet from her pack and double-checked that the pod's beacon was transmitting its distress call, and that it would alert her to any response, before starting off.

Once she had reached the road, she faced another dilemma: which way to go? North or south? She had seen only the one vehicle; she decided to follow it north. This was a hard-surfaced road of asphalt, stretching out as far as the eye could see in both directions. For many pre-warp worlds, this would be an extravagant expense for an area as sparsely populated as this one was. This planet evidently possessed some industrial might. She settled her pack more squarely on her shoulders and turned north.

She had been walking for 1.7 hours when she heard an engine approaching. She stepped off the road for the vehicle to pass, but it rolled to a stop beside her. It was a cargo vehicle, with a large engine in front and a small cab, with a cargo area behind. By the smell of it, it was an internal combustion engine that burned some form of liquid fossil fuels. A man sat behind primitive controls in the front, wearing a blue shirt with long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Beside him sat a child in similar clothes, and a woman in a floral print outfit. T'Lasid wondered what they thought of her gray ship's coveralls, stained with grime and smelling slightly of smoke. The cargo area was filled with furniture and boxes, all tightly strapped down. There was a mattress in the middle, with two prepubescent children sitting on it, one with longer hair wearing a dress and one with short hair wearing pants.

The woman stuck her head out the window. "Where are you headed, dear?"

T'Lasid was relieved to find that the universal translator could handle the local language. There hadn't been any reason for a cargo ship to procure one of the top-of-the-line versions found on exploratory ships or diplomatic vessels. "The city," she said, figuring it was a safe enough answer. "I am looking for work." There would surely be a city—however Humans reckoned such things—somewhere. In a city, she would be less noticeable, and surely she could find some form of work.

"Canyon or Amarillo?" the short-haired child in the cargo area said.

The other child punched him in the shoulder. "Silly, John, Canyon isn't a city. It's just a town, and not a very big one at that!"

"Mary Pat!" the woman said, "that wasn't very ladylike. Apologize to your brother."

The girl scowled at her brother but apologized. She had long hair, and her mother had long hair which was pinned up at the nape of her neck. The man, on the other hand, had short hair, as did the boy in back. (The small child in the cab was as yet of indeterminate gender.) Perhaps long hair was a gender signifier?

"Well," said the woman, "We're going to Amarillo, too. Through there, at any rate; once we hit Amarillo, we'll turn west on Route 66 and follow it all the way to California, where we'll be looking for work, too. I'm Patsy Ellen Finklea and this is my husband Enos Finklea. Billy here," she gestured to the toddler snuggled against her side, "is our youngest son, and that's John and Mary Pat in the back."

"I am T'Lasid."

Patsy Ellen Finklea—Finklea was probably a clan affiliation of some sort—frowned. "Tula Sid? Is Sid your family name?"

T'Lasid paused, trying to figure out how to answer the question. The woman seemed to be looking for a clan affiliation, but T'Lasid had no idea what a Human-sounding clan name might be. "Sid is what my younger sister called me as a child," she said at last. Her clan name would be unpronounceable to Humans. "My family name was Llasgelice."

"Llasgelice?" Enos Finklea said with a frown. "That's an unusual name. Don't suppose I've ever heard one like it. Where'd your people come from?"

"Enos, don't be rude," Patsy Ellen Finklea said. "You know perfectly well there's a lot of Americans whose family came from someplace where they have strange names. But we're all Americans now, that's what matters." She turned to T'Lasid. "Don't fret, honey, he don't like strangers much but he's got a good heart. He's just never been off the farm, before. Now, me, I grew up in Chicago. And let me tell you, I know people with a lot odder names than yours! If you'll hop up into the back with John and Mary Pat, we can take you to Amarillo with us."

"Thank you," T'Lasid said. Enos Finklea frowned but did not contradict his wife, so T'Lasid walked around the vehicle until she found a good spot to climb in and over the furniture. There were no safety restraints of any kind, she noted.

There was another window in the back of the cab, and from this vantage point she could see that the woman was also wearing a dress. Five people of varying age was a very small data sample, but pants and short hair seemed to be a masculine trait, with robes and long hair being feminine. Yet she was in pants and short hair, and it had not yet raised a mention. She settled in a comfortable position on the mattress and the vehicle started off.

"Where are you from?" Mary Pat asked.

"I have lived in many places and travelled a great deal," T'Lasid said. Until she could figure out what would the inconspicuous answers would be, sticking as close to the truth was probably best.

"Are you married? Where's your husband?" John asked.

"I was," T'Lasid said, a lump forming in her throat. She looked away. It was shameful to show her emotions this way, but she had not had time to meditate and settle them. It would take months, probably, to work through her feelings; for now, they drove her, instead of being accepted and put into their proper place.

"What happened to him?" John persisted.

"John Finklea, you be polite!" his mother called.

"He was killed in a fire," T'Lasid said, and the memory of his agony washed over her. Tears prickled her eyes, and she covered her face. "I heard him …" she whispered.

"Oh, honey," Patsey Ellen Finklea said, "you poor thing. And you so young, too—you can't be more than eighteen. Poor, poor dear."

T'Lasid looked up, and saw the other woman turned around in her seat, looking at her with tears in her own eyes. In fact, T'Lasid was approximately forty-three years old in Human years (she did not know the planet's orbit well enough to calculate more accurately). Did she truly look so young to Human eyes?

"You smell like smoke," John said, "did it just happen?" He looked at her curiously.

"John David Finklea, I'm ashamed of you! Stop pestering the poor woman, can't you see she's in tears?"

"Thank you," T'Lasid said. She bit her lip. How much to tell? Better to test things, now, where grief gave her an excuse for any slips. "Yes, it was … recent. I couldn't … there wasn't much left, and I couldn't stay. I took what I could salvage, and left."

"With not much more than the clothes on your back, and them not in good shape," Enos Finklea said. "Well, we don't have much ourselves, but when we get to Amarillo we'll see about finding a church with a charity box, see if we can get you a few things."

"You're welcome to come with us out to California, if you like," Patsey Ellen Finklea said. Her husband shot her a look.

"You're pretty enough to be in a magazine," Mary Pat said. "I bet you could be a model, or maybe even a movie star! I want to be a movie star when I grow up."

T'Lasid hesitated. It was a tempting offer, to find a place to belong, however temporarily. But it would be better to stay anonymous at least at first, as she learned about Human culture. Once she knew enough to reliably pass herself off as a native, then would be the time to establish a permanent identity. "Thank you for the offer," she said at last, "but for now I would prefer to stay closer to home."

"Jobs are scarce out here," Enos Finklea said, gruffly. "I hear things are better in California."

"Then perhaps I shall choose to go later," T'Lasid said. The first people she had met had offered her a ride; hospitality seemed to be a virtue here, which she approved of.

Conversation died out for a while, as they passed through the small town of Canyon and then on to Amarillo. The Finkleas stopped at a church outside of town and asked a few questions; in short order they had been directed to a Baptist church that, they were told, ran a food and clothing charity. Obviously, T'Lasid would need to learn about Human religious organizations. At the Baptist church the food and clothing charity was not open on that day, but the women of the congregation had gathered to sew and have a religious study session, and once Patsey Ellen Finklea had told them what she knew of T'Lasid, they were more than happy to open the doors for her. At that, Enos Finklea insisted that his family head off to find Route 66, and they said farewell.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Laskell," said Mrs. White, the leader of the Baptist women. (The name T'Lasid had given the Finkleas had been further garbled in transmission; T'Lasid had not corrected them, as whatever they came up with would probably sound less alien.) "We don't have any black dresses right now; and with your husband so recently dead, I'm sure wearing mourning would be a comfort to you."

T'Lasid filed away the association of black with mourning. On Vulcan, the color of mourning was yellow or, in some areas, brown. "I will be grateful for anything you can give me," she said. "I would like to get out of these clothes and into something more proper." Hopefully, they would tell her what proper was. She kept her breath shallow, so that their smell would be as inoffensive as possible.

"We also don't have anything pretty enough to do you justice, Mrs. Laskell," said Mrs. Buchanan, who was rather younger than Mrs. White. 'Mrs.' seemed to be a title for women—though not all women. A few of the Baptist women, two elderly and five younger, had been introduced as Miss. It couldn't be age, but they hadn't needed to ask T'Lasid which, so it must be obvious.

Mrs. White glared at Mrs. Buchanan. "I doubt a recent widow will be considering such things as fashion, Mrs. Buchanan."

"I would prefer to look as inconspicuous as possible," T'Lasid said.

"Of course, dear," said Mrs. Griffin, smiling at her. All the visible emotion was … unsettling, and making her own control difficult. "A new widow, all alone, and so young—you'll be wanting to grieve without men pestering you."

"Yes," T'Lasid said, swallowing. Would men pester her? From the admittedly small sample she had seen, Humans were as likely to be married as Vulcans. She had assumed that unless she went to a matchmaker she would be assumed to be uninterested.

Within a very short time T'Lasid had been equipped with two dresses, a pair of shoes, and a hat that came down low over her ears. A few phone calls had found her a place to stay in a 'boarding house' sharing a bedroom with another woman and a few jobs cleaning homes that would pay her room and board. She would have preferred a room to herself, that she might have a few hours a day when she could stop pretending to be Human, but could not afford it. So, with no further ado, she began to settle in to life as a Human.

She hated it. Humans were very intrusive people. They did "pester" her, men and women both. Some men seemed to think they had a right to her time and her attention, and took her avoidance as an insult. As for the rest of the Humans, men and women alike, they seemed to feel they had a right to her emotions, which was even more disturbing. T'Lasid was a Vulcan; her manner of grieving was to meditate on her experiences and the emotions they caused and work through them privately. Showing them in public was counterproductive to her mental stability. And she could hardly cry on cue.

On Vulcan, her family and close friends would have grieved with her and given her the support she required, but they would not have pried as these Humans seemed to take for granted.

Attempting to maintain her privacy was difficult; doing so offended her roommate and several of the women—"ladies," they called themselves, though there did not seem to be any formal aristocracy—who had helped her.

T'Lasid spent every free moment she had in the public library. It had been a boon to find it; there was so much information about Human society and culture there (starting with basics like the English alphabet and how to read it), and people inside were not supposed to talk. It was almost Vulcan. If she ignored the silence in her mind.

Three months later, she packed her few possessions and got on a bus without telling anyone she was leaving. She bought the ticket in the name of Mrs. Harris, and got off in Albuquerque, New Mexico. It was a larger city than Amarillo, and T'Lasid hoped to be anonymous, there.

The attention she had paid to womens' magazines and gossip allowed her to style her hair and use makeup to appear older and more worn, and therefore less noticeable. She got a job as a waitress in a diner across town from Route 66. When people asked, she said Mr. Harris had been dead for several years.

She still spent most of her free time in the library, and she still needed a roommate to afford her rent. But she made a little extra money and could eat whatever food from the diner she found edible (mostly soups, which were often vegetarian), which reduced her expenses. She was able to build up some small savings. It would not take her months to scrape together a bus ticket again.

There was a movie theater not far from her boarding house, and T'Lasid would go, occasionally. She did not enjoy the movies, very much, but they were an excellent window into the way Humans thought and the patterns they expected life to fall into. Also, if anyone bothered her about what she did for fun, she could tell them about the latest movie she'd seen. She could hardly speak of meditating on the loss of Tavin and her people, the loss of the children back home on Vulcan that she might never see again.

The musicals were her favorite.

The plots were no more comprehensible or enjoyable than any other movies: formulaic, by turns maudlin and elated. And the music was jarring. T'Lasid did not understand the Human fascination with brass instruments. But the dancing was enjoyable. Dancing was a hobby of T'Lasid's. As a child, her proficiency with the traditional dances was above average, though not so great as to warrant advanced training, and when the Llasgelice had space in the cargo bays, dancing was her preferred form of exercise. On the many worlds Llasgelice travelled to, T'Lasid always found some dance performance to watch. While the actors were dancing, she could almost convince herself that she was simply waiting for their next cargo to be ready.

Almost.

T'Lasid spent five months in Albuquerque before she moved on, this time settling in Gallup, New Mexico. She had started to think long-term: it would be years, if ever, before she was found and rescued; she would have to establish a long-term identity eventually. Surely it would be logical to try out a variety of personas and careers before settling on one for permanent use?

In Gallup, she got a job in a laundry, cleaning other peoples' clothes and linens, and doing housework on the side. There were many miners in the area who came from elsewhere; given Human gender prejudices, the majority were men, many of them single, who were willing to pay someone else to do the "women's work" even when they could scarcely afford it.

There was no point resenting Human gender prejudices, even though she now found herself on the wrong side of them. The jobs open to women were very limited, but anger would not change her options. T'Lasid could try for a more intellectually stimulating job, but in a university or business setting her gender would draw attention, which was the last thing she wanted. In any event, T'Lasid's specialty was starship navigation. There were no jobs on Earth that were even remotely like it; to get a job navigating an ocean-going freighter, she would need to learn how to navigate afresh. Sailing under the stars required different skills than sailing through them.

She could become a secretary, but although she no longer required her universal translator to speak English, her facility with the language was still developing. In fact, her decision to turn off her translator and speak English was the reason she could not get a higher-paying job as a waitress: her accent convinced people she was an Indian or a Mexican (or perhaps some sort of half-breed, given the American name she was using), and that limited her options even more than being a woman did. Still, she would take the opportunity to practice here before moving on and re-establishing herself as a "White" woman in another city.

At any rate, a proficiency in English would be required for a secretary, and then she would have to take a course to learn shorthand and typing. Shorthand she might learn from the library, but typing at speed required practice. That might be a long-term goal.

It was almost laughable to consider what she might choose to do given the opportunity; there was nowhere on Earth she wanted to be and nothing on Earth she wanted to do. She enjoyed dancing, and there were professional dancers on Earth; given her superior Vulcan strength and discipline, learning to dance well enough to make a living at it would not be difficult. But Human dances required touching, and T'Lasid was none too fond of touching hands with Humans and hearing their thoughts by accident.

On the other hand, she thought as she batted a man's hand away from her buttocks as she handed him his clean laundry, at least as a dancer on stage she'd be in control over who was touching her and when. Most Human men were no more likely to grab a woman without her permission than a Vulcan man would, but there were unfortunate exceptions. And apparently, being thought an Indian or a Mexican only emboldened such men; she would have to make sure she passed for "White" in her next identity.

It took her almost a year to master a passable American accent, and when she could "pass" as White, she moved on to Flagstaff, Arizona, and another job in a diner, under another name. This time, she had a room to herself, though it was barely more than a closet, and the house was a "boarding house" which meant that her meals were included in her rent. The mistress of the house had never heard of vegetarianism and thought it odd, but was quite happy to accommodate it—vegetables were, after all, cheaper than meat, and this close to California even fruit was not terribly expensive.

In Flagstaff, she concentrated on learning secretarial skills, so that eventually she might have options other than working as a waitress or cleaning lady. The library was again very helpful, and her landlady had a typewriter T'Lasid could practice on so long as she supplied the ribbon and paper. Once she was proficient, she would find a job and settle down, preferably in a decently-sized city where she might continue to live without attracting much notice. Somewhere far away from Amarillo, the one town where she had not managed to stay unobtrusive and forgotten.

As it happened, her plans changed in Flagstaff.

Across the street from the diner where she worked, there was a dance studio for children. It had large windows facing the diner, and so T'Lasid could stand behind the counter and watch the lessons when she had no customers to serve. Given her Vulcan hearing, she could also hear the music accompanying it, though she doubted a Human could have.

Some of the lessons were for the same types of dance she saw in the movies. But they also offered "ballet," which was more graceful, set to the tune of less jarring music, and involved touch only rarely. That she could do with satisfaction. She began practicing the exercises she saw them do, using her dresser as a barre.

The instructors sometimes ate at the diner, and it only took a little prompting to get them to talk about their work and what opportunities there were available for dancing.

"What, are you kidding?" said call-me-Joe Briscoe, the owner of the school. "There's so few jobs for ballerinas—every little girl wants to be one. Bet you were one of them, eh?"

"How did you guess?" T'Lasid said as she continued getting things out for the coming dinner rush. She gave him a slight smile to encourage him—Humans responded very well to smiles in general, though even long hours of practicing in front of a mirror had not made her smile look natural.

"Thought so—there's a look, I can always spot it. Ever take lessons as a kid?"

T'Lasid shook her head.

"Shame. It's great exercise, really helps you develop stamina and strength and flexibility." He smirked at her, looking her up and down. "Every woman needs stamina and … flexibility."

She had come to recognize at least the most obvious attempts to seduce her, and usually she shut them down quickly. But he had information she wanted, and so she must play his game.

"I think I do pretty good already," she said. "Though, of course, I'd love to learn more. Don't suppose you have any classes?" She widened her eyes. Humans liked large eyes.

"Maybe … special classes," Joe said. "One on one lessons, maybe." He patted her hand, and she had to stop herself from shaking him off. "We only offer regular classes for children, and besides, for ballet if you don't start building up young, you'll never be a true ballerina. But I'll bet you could come pretty close, with those legs of yours. I'd have to see them better to know for sure, of course." He winked at her.

"I don't know about that," T'Lasid said, unsure how much was innuendo. "I couldn't afford private lessons."

"Maybe we could work something out," Joe said. "We could meet over drinks tonight to discuss it. What time do you get off?"

"Nine," T'Lasid said.

"Perfect!" Joe said, smiling. "I'll meet you at 9:30 at the Night Deposit. You know where that is?"

"I do," T'Lasid said. It was a bar just a few blocks from the diner, in the opposite direction from her boarding house.

"I look forward to it," Joe said.

After he left, Max, the cook stared at her through the window to the kitchen. "All the guys I've seen you shut down and brush off, and that's the one you're going out for drinks with?"

"Yes," T'Lasid said shortly.

He shook his head, whistling softly. "I will never understand dames."

The entrance of a customer—the beginning of the dinner rush—saved her the necessity of answering.

The Night Deposit was smelly, dark, and loud—hardly a place T'Lasid would spend much time voluntarily. But a night here would be worth it to learn what she needed to know in order to become a ballerina, if such a thing might be possible.

It took only a very short time to ascertain that Joe was not interested in giving her any such information, and any "private lessons" would be only a cover for sex. If she were a Human woman, she might have become frustrated.

As a Vulcan, she had options. They were, after all, at a table in the back, where no one was watching and even a dedicated observer could would be hard-pressed to see what they were doing. "Joe," she murmured in his ear after he'd had a few drinks and was well on his way to becoming inebriated, "I'm a telepath. I can read thoughts."

"Whazzat? Some kind of psychic?"

"Yes," T'Lasid said. "May I read yours?" She placed her fingers delicately on the meld points of his face.

"Sure, baby," Joe said, "you can read anything you want!"

It was not informed consent, but it was as close as she could get to it. She dove into his mind, ignoring all the personal things (he was probably a "creep", in Human terms, she decided, when she saw what his hopes for the evening were). But he did know a lot about dance. It wasn't a lack of skill that brought him here, to Flagstaff and this small dance studio, but rather a difficult economy. She took everything he knew of ballet, examined it, and memorized it. When she was done, she blurred his memories of the night, aiding the alcohol in its work. He would not remember her as anything other than a waitress in a diner. When she was done, she slipped out the back and went back to the boarding house. She knew better how to practice, now, and how to evaluate her progress.

She only stayed in Flagstaff a few months after that. Contrary to Joe's belief, it was not impossible for an adult to learn ballet well enough to try for a professional spot; it was merely impossible for a Human adult to do so. T'Lasid's muscles had evolved on a much higher-gravity world, and were therefore stronger than a Human's were; building up enough musculature in her legs and ankles and feet to hold herself en pointe in Earth's light gravity was hardly difficult. And while she had never been a professional dancer, she was an avid amateur; the moves were different, but her body was accustomed to disciplined gracefulness. And she would rather spend her time off practicing than anything else available to her on Earth. Consequently, her skill improved rapidly.

San Bernardino, California was the largest city she had been in so far on Earth. Again, she found work in a diner, although this time her strategy was different. Humans expected aspiring ballerinas to be young; therefore, instead of aging herself to avoid notice, she styled and dressed herself as young as she could. It was much easier than the reverse; her skin was firm and did not yet bear any signs of age. She wore her hair in two braids instead of pinned up, although she was still careful to keep her ears covered. And her job in the diner was washing dishes and bussing tables instead of serving. It seemed to work; her claim to be fourteen raised no eyebrows, or at least none for long.

San Bernardino was only a temporary stop, however. While there, she began a correspondence with various ballet schools in Los Angeles, posing as the parent of a daughter with an aptitude for ballet. When two great ballet artists came to Los Angeles, T'Lasid was ready.

"I'm here to dance for Madame Nijinska," T'Lasid said to the man guarding the entrance to the studio.

"Dancer for an audition?" The man looked at the sheet on his clipboard. "Oh, yeah, they're getting ready to do A Midsummer Night's Dream, and there's a ballet sequence in it. This is the wrong entrance for the auditions, though." He gave her directions to the right building. The Warner Bros. lot was large and busy, but T'Lasid had made it in good time. She changed into a leotard and tights and pointe shoes, and joined the assembled women and girls in warming up. The warm-ups were led by a short woman with brown hair piled on top of her head and a thick accent. Three men watched from the sides, studying the dancers.

T'Lasid hoped that the bandages she had used to strap her breasts down didn't show through the leotard. She needed to appear as young as possible. Her face had no lines, but her figure was very well developed for the girl she was pretending to be.

At a break she approached the three men. "Is one of you Mister Nico Charisse?" she asked.

"I am," said the youngest one, who was lounging against the wall. He was dark-haired and fair-skinned, and he looked her up and down with an appraising look. "You're quite good, though you could use some polish. Who have you studied with?"

"No one, really," T'Lasid said. "Just ordinary dance schools back home. My mother's written you—my name is Tula Finklea. My family calls me Sid."

"No," Charisse said, straightening up. "I know she said you looked old for your age, but I would have said fifteen, not thirteen."

T'Lasid looked down. "I'm almost fourteen!" She copied the indignance of a child as best she could. "I know I look older than I am."

"Then there's no point in auditioning," said the short, balding man. "Even if you do look old enough, child actors are required to go to school. That would interfere with your dancing, and we don’t have time for that in the chorus. You might as well pack up and go home."

"Why did you come here?" Nico said. "And where's your mother?"

"She had to go back home to Texas," T'Lasid said. "My father's business isn't doing well; we can't afford to pay for me to live here and take lessons, like we thought. I wanted you to see me dance—you said there might be scholarships, if I'm good enough." She could work full time to earn her living, or she could dance full time. She could not do both.

"Your age, and dancing like that?" Nico said. "I'll see if something can be arranged. Why don't you continue to dance for the audition, just to show us what you can do, and I'll talk with Madame Nijinska." He cocked his head. "Determined little thing, aren't you. Well, not little at all. She'll like that." He shook his head, a grin on his face. "You better hope you've stopped growing," he said. "You're on the tall side as it is."

"My mother reached her full height pretty young," T'Lasid said.

"Right," Nico said, and went off to the woman who had been running the warm-ups. As they spoke, the woman—Madame Nijinska—eyed T'Lasid. With a nod, Nijinska called the women back to work, and began running them through their paces once more. Throughout the day, their numbers were pared down, but T'Lasid remained. Finally, it was over, and the name she had given was not called as one of those chosen for the movie.

After she had changed back into street clothes, she found Madame Nijinska and Nico Charisse waiting for her.

"You have great power for one your age," Nijinska said. "Great strength. But your precision is lacking."

"I can learn precision," T'Lasid said, "if I have the right teacher."

"Perhaps," Nijinska said. "I have trouble believing you are really as young as you say."

"I'm not lying!" T'Lasid said. "I can ask my parents to send you my birth certificate." T'Lasid had reached the end of what she could teach herself off of Joe's memories—now she needed a real instructor if her skills were to progress. And the older they believed her to be, the less impressive her skills were and the less likely they were to take her on.

"Do so," Nijinska said, "and we shall see. You should have training to develop your potential."

It took a week for T'Lasid to procure a forged birth certificate. During that week she lived in San Bernardino and several times phoned Madame Nijinska and Nico Charisse. It was fortunate that she had a tablet computer and a few other pieces of equipment; she had been able to tap into the phone lines and convince the operator that she was calling from Amarillo, Texas; she was also able to write a program to disguise her voice, so that they could not recognize her.

Birth certificate in hand, she travelled back to Los Angeles and danced for Madame Nijinska again. This time another man was with her, named Adolph Bolm.

It didn't take long for things to be settled. She would live with Nijinska and go to school part-time, dancing the rest of it. Nijinska, Bolm, and Charisse between them would tutor her, both in private lessons and group classes. If at any time they felt she was not measuring up, they would put her on a bus for Amarillo. If she progressed adequately, they would help her find work as a dancer as soon as possible—probably with one of the companies formed by former members of the Ballets Russe, which both Nijinska and Bolm had danced with before becoming choreographers.

"Thank you," T'Lasid said.

The next two years were better than T'Lasid could have imagined spending on Earth. She enjoyed learning, and she enjoyed dancing. It was not home, but in the studio her solemnity and focus were considered admirable instead of strange, and she was allowed her solitude. She showed her gratitude by performing any chores she could, so that Madame Nijinska might concentrate on her work. Before long, she was assisting with teaching the youngest pupils in Nico Charisse’s studio.

If the opportunity to return home to Vulcan had presented itself, she would have taken it in a heartbeat. Every night, she checked that the pod's beacon was still active and communications relayed to her tablet. But there was never a message waiting for her.

"There is a new company forming," Madame Nijinska said one day, as T'Lasid stretched after her lesson. "Massine and Blum have fallen out with de Basil, and they are forming a new Ballets Russe company, the Ballets Russe de Monte Carlo. They will need new dancers—it is the perfect time for you to audition. You shall need a stage name, to join the Ballet Russe,” she continued. “Some of its fame is due to the romance of its history. You have been trained in the Russian system, but the audience must think you are Russian.”

“Of course. It will not be a problem.” T'Lasid did not, after all, use her real name to begin with; what was another? This was the first indication that the time for her debut as a professional dancer was near, but she had been anticipating it for some time. “What do you suggest?”

“Felia,” Madame Nijinska said, tilting her head. “Felia Siderova.”

“What does it mean?”

“Felia? I don’t know. It’s not a Russian name.” Nijinska shrugged. “The important thing is that it sounds Russian, enough to fool the audiences who will see it, and yet they will be able to pronounce it easily. Siderova is Russian, but again, it is easy to pronounce.”

“What do you think my chances are of getting in to the company?” T'Lasid asked.

“You will get in, do not worry,” Nijinska said. “Your dancing is precise and your technique is perfect. You do not have the brilliance to be a prima ballerina, and probably never will, but you will fill out the corps de ballet admirably. Your ears are a problem, but costuming and hairstyles will fix that. And you do not have the temperament that many dancers have; you are easy to work with. And last but not least, you have been trained by me, and I was one of the greatest dancers and choreographers of the original Ballets Russe, back when Diaghilev was still alive.”

And so it was. Nijinska’s name opened the door, and T'Lasid’s dancing secured her place. Quite soon she was touring Europe with the Ballets Russe de Monte Carlo.

“Don’t you want to go out with us?” Katerina, a fellow dancer, asked one night, as they removed their makeup and costumes after the show and soothed aching feet. “We don’t have call tomorrow until eleven—and several of the company’s backers will be at the party. It is good for them to have pretty ballerinas smile at them.”

“And good for us, too, if they smile back,” put in Natalia, who had several very nice pieces of jewelry from patrons who had smiled back at her. Some of the near-by girls laughed.

“You’re still just a girl, but you don’t look it, and there’s no harm in flirting and wearing a pretty dress,” Katerina continued. “You can borrow one of mine. And it won’t be only old rich men there; there will be some young ones, too.”

“Thank you, but I am tired,” T'Lasid said, checking over her shoes for wear. “And I am looking forward to having some privacy for a change.”

“You are a strange one,” Natalia said. “You never want to do anything fun on the rare occasion that we have the opportunity. But no matter. More for me!” More laughter.

T'Lasid had learned to counterfeit a smile, though only a very small one; she had been told that anything bigger looked fake.

“Well, you’ll soon change your mind about which is more important, privacy or men,” Katerina said.

T'Lasid returned to the hotel with the few other girls not going to the party, and sighed with relief when she closed the door to her room behind her. Her roommates would not be back for hours; she had time to meditate in solitude for the first time in many months.

As she began to focus her mind, though, Katerina’s words came back to her. The other woman was right, though not in the way she thought. T'Lasid’s last pon farr had been one year before the crash. Her next was due within the next two years, although trauma and the strange environment that was Earth might postpone it for a little while. How would she handle pon farr on this alien world, with her husband dead and no matriarch to make other arrangements for her?

T'Lasid was more content than she had been since she was marooned on Earth; there must be some way to handle the matter. If she were a man, it would be easy. She could take a vacation for a few weeks, rent an apartment in a city, and hire a prostitute. But if there were male prostitutes—at least, ones who catered to women—T'Lasid had yet to meet one. With the way Human men looked at her, surely she could find one who would want to bed her for a while? Natalia could probably teach her how to tell. But it would mean giving up her few solitary evenings, and she could not bear to do that.

Monsieur Massine clapped his hands as the music stopped. T'Lasid was disappointed; she was not weary, and the music by Rimsky-Korsakov was some of her favorite to dance to. "Yes, yes, very well done," Massine said. "If you all perform like that tonight, we shall have another success. Go home and rest, all of you—I want you in top shape tonight. And remember that there is a party afterwards, and you will all be there, and you will all make yourselves pleasant to our backers—who, if I may remind you, put up the money for this performance that has paid for your salaries and costumes and shoes and the orchestra and this hall, not to mention my choreography." He stared at T'Lasid. "And you will not slip away early."

"Do not worry, Monsieur Massine," Natalia said. "We have been educating our dear Sid in the right way to talk to men—and we will see to it that she does not smile and scare them off!"

A round of snickers went around the stage. T'Lasid could manage a fairly decent facsimile of most Human facial expressions, but her smile was notoriously fake-looking.

"And we'll stay by her to make sure she doesn't wander off," Katerina said, to the chorus of more laughter.

"I wouldn't," T'Lasid said. "I know how important this is." It was by far her least-favorite thing about being a ballerina, and she had serious disagreements with the way Humans funded their artistic endeavors, but she was quite well aware of the importance of making sure that those who did provide the money remained happy—and female attention, on this backward world, was a commodity for that purpose. If she wished to keep dancing, she must trade attention for money to run the company. No matter how irritating that attention would be.

In the past year, Katerina had dragged her to one movie after another. All of them featuring sultry film stars who tantalized and teased men while holding them at arm's length. "Men see what they want to see," she said. "You have assets; let's use them. If you can fit into a type, they'll project their own fantasies on you, and you can just stand back and let them do it."

"Since I don't actually want to entice them, it seems to be the best way of handling those parties I can't get out of," T'Lasid agreed.

"You'll never be the bubbly, vivacious type," Katerina said. "You'll have to be the femme fatale. It's perfect for keeping men at bay. And for that, you have to know what men expect."

"And the movies will teach me that?"

Katerina nodded. "Yup. Memorize some good lines, look mysterious and serious, that's all you'll need."

With Katerina's help, T'Lasid had indeed memorized appropriate lines, and learned how to turn her normal blank mien into the mask of the dangerous female.

Alas, now she had even more trouble keeping Human men from grabbing at her.

During a brief break from "entertaining" their backers, T'Lasid sipped at her champagne and repeated various warp-speed calculations—she must do something to keep her boredom from appearing on her face, after all.

The smell of an approaching Human male broke her reverie. "You've grown up quite well, Sid," Nico Charisse said as she turned to face him. He looked her up and down. As Human males went, he was inoffensive about his attentions.

"Thank you," T'Lasid said. Charisse was now a colleague, not a backer; she did not need to 'shmooze' with him. Ordinary politeness would do.

"I was surprised to see you on stage tonight," Nico said. "I didn't see 'Felia Siderova' in the program."

"My stage name has been changed," T'Lasid said. "I am now billed as Maria Istomina."

"Well, whoever you're billed as, your dancing is excellent," Charisse said. "That's quite a piece you guys premiered tonight—you're so fortunate to be working with Massine. What he's doing for the art …" His voice was wistful. Charisse was an excellent dancer, but there were even fewer spots available for male ballerinas than female ones.

"It is an honor to work with him," T'Lasid said with a nod. "I know our work will be long remembered." She took another sip of her champagne, but Charisse said nothing more of the performance, watching the crowd with her. "What brings you to France, Mister Charisse?" That was another thing Katerina had taught her. Ask questions about them and pay attention, and Human men will be flattered.

He shrugged. "I sold the school, wanted to see how things were here in Europe. If things keep heating up the way they are, who knows when I'll be able to come back? If things stay calm, I can work here. If not, I can go back to Hollywood. There's always work for a good teacher there."

"Any particular job you have in mind, Mister Charisse?"

He smiled. "Call me Nick," he said. She could smell his interest in her. It did not make him in any way different from the majority of the men present. But she found herself looking his body up and down with genuine interest, rather than feigned sultriness. It was another sign that her body was preparing itself for her next cycle. She needed to make plans. Soon.

Nick chatted away about his plans, and the European political situation, and the latest developments in the dance world. T'Lasid was required to make very little contribution to the conversation, but that was nothing unusual; Human men did not listen to women. It made dealing with them far easier than dealing with Human women, who paid better attention to her (and not just her body). A few interjections here and there on her part were quite enough to keep the conversation going.

She missed Tavin, suddenly, deeply, with a pang that almost brought genuine emotion to her face. (It was her approaching Time that made her vulnerable. And the lack of privacy for meditation.) They had been bonded at age seven, and had shared thoughts until the day he died. With him she could have talked, sharing all the things that Nick—and all the rest—would either dismiss or find strange.

He was dead. And she would never see Vulcan again, never feel the touch of another's mind, never see her children or her parents or friends, never be able to reveal her true self.

And her pon farr was coming. And she must either die or mate. And she did not like these Human men, however convenient they were, but she did not want to die.

Only fifty years of discipline kept her from being overcome. (Perhaps she had less time than she thought.)

Nick noticed nothing, as he continued to talk.

Eventually, one of the managers caught her eye and frowned—she was supposed to be chatting up potential backers. She excused herself from Nick, and began to do just that.

"Hey, you okay?" Natalia murmured in her ear as they browsed the buffet.

"Yes," T'Lasid said. "Why?"

"I dunno, you just looked … strange, there for a sudden, when you were talking with Nicky."

"I am fine."

"Bet you'd rather still be talking with him, huh? So would I. He doesn't pinch a girl's bottom unless she's flirting with him. And at least he knows what he's talking about with dance."

"Indeed."

T'Lasid turned to see a man in an expensive suit giving her an appraising look. She arched an eyebrow and gave him a cool glance as her fellow dancers had taught her. His respiration quickened. She steeled herself and walked over to him.

That night, after the others were asleep, she slipped into the light meditative trance that was all she could manage lying down. (Some of the women slept lightly, and woke during the night—she had been disturbed before.)

She took inventory of her body, her volatility, her greater-than-normal reaction to male physique, her emotionalism. If she was not to run visibly mad, she needed to take precautions, sooner rather than later. She had been doing research on what her options were in Human society. A woman who took a lover would be shamed; but dancers were held to looser standards. She would not be fired for it … unless her Time came during the season (as it was likely to do) and she had to miss too many days of dancing. She could claim illness, but her fellow dancers would know that she was not staying in bed in their rooms. However, if she were to marry—and time the ceremony to the beginning of her Time—she would be given at least a few days for a honeymoon, and that should be sufficient.

She loathed the idea of marrying a Human. Not one of them could match her Tavin, not in the ways that really mattered.

But she wanted to live, and Tavin would have understood.

There was no possibility of finding a Human to whom she could reveal herself and form a proper bond. They were too provincial, too closed-minded, too emotional.

Which left what? A marriage on Human terms, her masquerade intact. If it didn't work, there was always divorce, which Humans were stunningly casual about. (Though perhaps that was an artifact of the marriage being a legal bond, not a telepathic one. Divorce for a Human did not require tearing one's mind apart and remaking it.)

What characteristics did she require in such a mockery of a marriage? Without the bond to focus her interest, a partner must be physically attractive enough to catch her attention. For any kind of long-term relationship, a certain degree of obliviousness was beneficial; but this was a common enough trait among Human men, at least where women were concerned. Those were the two most important factors. If she had a choice, she would prefer a man who was at least relatively honorable and good. Not 'sleazy,' as her fellow dancers would describe it.

She considered the men of her acquaintance, and ranked them.

Nico Charisse came out at the top of the list for attractiveness. There were others more oblivious, but he was sufficiently disinterested in women's minds to stay a candidate. And his personal character …

Unlike many of the men she had encountered in her time in Los Angeles, he had never appeared to notice her sexually once he had been convinced she was an adolescent. (His pheromones had revealed his attraction, but he had never once acted on it.) He took no pleasure in pain, nor did he cause much trouble for others. His temper was not unreasonable, for a Human.

He was probably the best candidate.

She checked the tablet for the status of the escape pod's beacon. It was still functional, and still had received no reply.

As anticipated, it took very little work on her part to attract Nick's attention, and keep it. Timing the relationship to her approaching pon farr was marginally more difficult, but she was quite familiar with the biology of it both in the abstract and as she, personally was affected. And, although true candor was impossible, she did warn him as much as she could about what their relationship would be like.

"So what you're saying, is that you're likely to blow hot and cold?" Nick said, after she'd explained what little she could about pon farr. "Doll, that is not news to anyone who knows you. I think I can get your motor running." He gave her a salacious wink.

"I highly doubt it," T'Lasid said as neutrally as she could. Although it was not her intent, she believed from his smirk that he took it as a challenge. "My normal personality is quite … frigid." At least by Human standards. It had been thrown at her more than once as an insult, one that revealed much about Human gender double-standards. "In any case, I am not territorial, and if our marital relations were unsatisfying for you, I would have no problem with your taking a mistress, as long as you were discreet and disease-free."

Nick laughed. "Do you have any idea how many men would give their right arms for a woman like you? If you're trying to scare me off, that's an incentive."

"Good," she said. "I am not trying to scare you off. But I believe that marriage is far preferable when both parties come to it with open eyes and realistic expectations."

"Lady, your expectations are ones I can really get behind," Nick said.

"There is one last thing," T'Lasid said. "I was a sickly child, and contracted several severe illnesses. The doctor said it was quite likely that I would not be able to bear children." This was not true, of course, but given the widely different biochemistries of the two species it was highly unlikely they were interfertile. T'Lasid was not a xenobiologist, nor a geneticist, but given that their blood was not even based on the same element, crossbreeding in the wild should be effectively impossible.

"I couldn't care less about kids one way or the other," Nick said. "And it's better for your career if you don't have a child. So, no problems there. Anything else? Me, all I've got in the way of warnings is that my mother will be upset you're not French, and she'll be devastated if we never have kids, but as I haven't seen her in person in five years and she can get grandchildren out of my sisters, I don't see a problem."

"Fair enough," T'Lasid said. And it was done.

The pon farr was as she expected: the single most alienating thing she had experienced on this planet. Nick would have noticed anything more than the lightest telepathic touch, and it wasn't as if she particularly wanted to know his mind any deeper than she already did. It was nothing like the deeply meaningful congress of body and mind she had shared with Tavin. For the first time, she understood how Humans could consider sex "cheap" and "tawdry."

After the honeymoon, she was back to dancing and Nick was back to his work. They didn't spend much time together, which neither of them minded. Nick got the sex he wanted, T'Lasid got time alone in their room to meditate daily, and being married was a perfect excuse for T'Lasid to avoid other men.

This lasted until the day T'Lasid showed up for morning class to find her fellow dancers milling around, not even in their leotards yet. "What's wrong?" she asked Katerina.

Katerina's eyes were wide. "Germany and the Soviets have both invaded Poland," she said.

"Have you heard from your family?" T'Lasid asked. Katerina was from Poland, though like T'Lasid she was billed as a Russian.

Katerina shook her head. "No. But it won't stop there, you understand—there will be a larger war, sooner or later. Britain and France against Germany, just like the last time. They're not sure—René wants us to stay here, he thinks we'll be safe in France. After all, Paris was safe in the last war. But Léonide wants us as far away as possible, he wants us in America."

"We're already booked for a long stay in New York this winter," T'Lasid pointed out.

"Yes," Katerina said. "But the question is, what happens after that? Would those who want to come back to Europe to be with their families be able to do so, if the war spreads? And the Original Ballet Russe is going to share our spotlight in New York—Colonel de Basil wants out of the hot seat, too. They just announced it, I don't know how long they've been working on it."

T'Lasid stared at her. "It was hard enough when we were fighting for the same audience in London," she said. "New York isn't a ballet city—there's so little interest in ballet in the States. How will they manage it?"

Katerina shrugged. "Probably by cutting back on dancers and sharing us," she said.

"It would have been better if de Basil had picked another city," T'Lasid said. "Chicago, maybe."

"I know," Katerina said. "They're already asking if anybody wants to stay in Europe when the company goes. Will you and Nick, do you think? He's French, isn't he?"

T'Lasid shook her head. "He hasn't spoken with his family in years," she said. "And I'll be staying with the company if at all possible. You?"

Katerina sighed. "I'm certainly not going in to a war zone to see if I can find my family. They would want me to stay safe. When things settle out—however they settle out—then perhaps. Meanwhile, I'll stay with the company, too."

They did, eventually, have class that day, and then rehearsal, and then performance. But while they danced, Nick was in the office making decisions without her.

"No," T'Lasid said.

"Honey, it's Hollywood!" Nick said. "I've got contacts, I can get you dancing in the movies, easily."

"I don't want to dance in the movies, I want to dance in the company," T'Lasid said. Hollywood dancing was partner dancing, which meant having to touch Humans, which meant hearing their thoughts whether she wanted to or not. The corps-de-ballet, where she danced as part of a company and rarely touched anyone, was perfect.

"Well, there's not a job for me in the company in this weird mish-mash they're putting together out of the two Ballets Russe, so I'm going back to Hollywood." Nick ran his hands through his hair, frustrated.

"That doesn't mean I have to go to Hollywood," T'Lasid said. "I could stay with the corps, and come out to California on the off season."

Nick reared back and stared at her, eyes narrowing. "What a sweet and dutiful wife you are."

"You knew who I was before you said yes, Nick," T'Lasid said. "In fact, you said you liked it that way. You don't get to have it both ways."

He stared at her, anger radiating from his mind and down the weak link that T'Lasid hadn't quite been able to prevent. "Talk to Léonide, if you want," he said at last. "I doubt it'll do you any good, they want to cut both companies down to make them more economical, and you don't have either the seniority or the dancing to be sure of a spot." He stalked off and slammed the door on his way out.

Nick had been right, and there hadn't been a place for her; even if they hadn't been whittling down the company, Léonide didn't think a married woman should be apart from her husband. Vulcan couples were so often apart that it hadn't occurred to her that without telepathic bonds, Humans might do things differently.

California was, at least, warmer than Europe had been, and their apartment afforded her more privacy and better living conditions than she'd had since she arrived on the planet. Nick got a job right away, and she did a bit of modeling and whatever dancing she could get. She didn't need to work, not with Nick's income, and as a married woman was not expected to, but she needed something to fill her time.

She was restricted, however, by her ears. They could be passed off as a birth defect, but not all jobs would allow her to wear her hair over her ears, or a hat. Once, on a photography shoot that wanted a ballet dancer on a beach, they had an artist alter the picture so that her ear appeared to be Human. It made her vaguely nauseous to see herself with rounded ears and a smile. She rarely saw her own work, but that one in particular Nick liked and got copies of to show his friends at work. She knew why; the angle of the camera and her position and swimsuit exaggerated her buttocks, which Nick believed to be her best feature.

It turned out, the nausea was not due to the sight of herself as a Human. It turned out, she had been wrong about the ability to crossbreed with Humans. It turned out, she was pregnant.

It was a boy. They named him Nicky.

When the time came, T'Lasid went out by herself in the desert to give birth. If she stayed in town, she would not be allowed to be alone, and in the blood and muck of a birth, her copper-based blood would be sure to be seen. She found a hidden, out-of-the-way spot to park the car and laid a tarp on the ground near the hood. It was, thankfully, no more difficult than the birth of her children with Tavin had been, and she missed him and them so terribly. In the stress of birth, she had not the control to keep such thoughts from her mind.

When it was done and the child was nursing, T'Lasid rested against the car and considered.

She had been on Earth for many years, and the homing beacon in the escape pod was still functional but had yet to draw a response. If it had, she would have left without a second thought. But now there was a child.

His ears looked Human, and she could tell already that he had not inherited her telepathy at all, but he almost certainly had her blood. How else could he have survived the womb? She pricked him with one of the diaper pins, just to make sure. Yes. He bled green. But with those ears, and the lack of telepathy, he would have no place save as a curiosity on Vulcan. If a ship were to come today, she would have to decide whether to leave him with his father—and to the inevitable furor the first time he fell and scraped his knee and was discovered to have green blood—or take him to a place he would always be visibly an outsider, a place where his lack of telepathy would always put him at a disadvantage.

She couldn't leave him here alone. Even if Nick had any desire to be a father, the child's best chance would be with her here to protect him and hide any differences.

She would have to turn off the beacon.

Perhaps when the child was grown, she could turn it back on.

One of the fun parts of Nyota's job was as the one who got to see the news first. When Enterprise was outside the Federation's borders, their contacts with the Federation newsnet was limited to databursts at certain times of day, unless there was something important enough to justify a special transmission. Which meant that everything came in to the Communications console at the bridge, and she—or whoever was on duty—had a chance to look it over before releasing it to the rest of the ship.

Today's news had nothing notable in the general headlines, but in the social news … Nyota's eyebrows went up. They'd found an old Vulcan escape pod which had crashed on Earth in the early 20th Century? And discovered that an old movie star had been a Vulcan in disguise?

She pulled up a list of the Vulcan movie star's movies and played them on her screen, sound-track coming through her earbud. Her eyebrows went up even higher as she watched. After a bit of thought, she released the news but locked up the movies on her authority as Communications chief. Only the Captain and first officer could override it.

Nyota turned around to face the Captain. "Captain Kirk? The news just came through."

"Anything important, Uhura?" he asked, turning to face her.

"Nothing serious," she said, "but something in the social news I think everyone will find interesting. They just found a Vulcan escape pod on Earth, which crashed in the 20th Century. There was only one survivor, a T'Lasid, and she apparently found herself a career as a dancer in Hollywood movies."

"That is … most improbable," Mr. Spock said. "If for no other reason than that a Vulcan living on Earth, pre-contact, would wish to remain anonymous."

"And also, wouldn't Hollywood want someone who could … act? Like a Human?" Mr. Sulu said. "I'm having trouble seeing a Vulcan being able to act emotionally enough to get a job as a movie star."

"I don't know many of the details, having not had the time to do much study," Nyota said, "but I would like to suggest a movie night, tonight, with one of her big movies."

"Sounds good," the Captain said. "Will you arrange it?"

"I would love to," Nyota said with a smile.

Nyota watched as the rec room filled up with people, grabbing popcorn and chatting as they sat down. This was going to be good. She was planning on sitting up front so she could see peoples' reactions.

"I don't know why we're here," Doctor McCoy was grumbling as he came in with the Captain. "It's not like I expect a Vulcan to have been a great actress."

"Well, she must have been decent enough to become a movie star," Captain Kirk said.

Nyota suppressed a smile and shook her head. Once the room was full and it was time, she stepped forward. "Thank you for coming tonight, I think it will be an interesting evening. T'Lasid was a navigator on a cargo ship which was attacked by Orion pirates in Earth's 1920s. They limped to Earth's solar system when the ship was virtually destroyed by an explosion in their cargo. T'Lasid was the only survivor, and she took an escape pod down to Earth. It took her a few years to find her feet, but she had been an amateur dancer and used her strength and agility to start a career as a ballet dancer. Eventually, she ended up in Hollywood during the first great era of musicals, and despite her low acting abilities, her dancing skills got her roles in some of the greatest musicals of the era, under the name Cyd Charisse. She was married twice, with two children, one from each marriage, Nicky Charisse and Tony Martin, Jr. When the era of musicals ended, her career was largely over. She died in 2008, at the age of a hundred and twenty-one. Young for a Vulcan, but she had no real medical care on Earth and there was apparently some lingering damage from hazardous materials the ship had been carrying.

"Tonight we're going to be watching her first major starring role, in a movie called The Band Wagon, a movie about a washed-up movie star and a ballerina. But first, just prior to that she had a major role as a dancer in a classic called Singin' in the Rain. Since that dance number is pretty self-contained and is definitely the thing she was most famous for, we're going to start with that. T'Lasid appears four minutes in to the sequence. With no further ado, here is the "Broadway Melody" from Singin' in the Rain."

It was a nice dance sequence, although not very much to modern tastes. The audience was interested, but Doctor McCoy probably spoke for most of them when, about three and a half minutes in, he asked if they could skip to T'Lasid.

"Patience is a virtue, doctor," Nyota said. "It's setting the scene. Not too much longer."

"Not too much longer to what?" McCoy grumbled.

Not too much longer, he found out. Gene Kelley skidded to a halt, on his knees, to a hat held out on the toes attached to a very shapely leg. As the camera panned slowly up that leg and up the body it came from, Nyota watched the crowd. (She was recording this moment for posterity, too.)

The captain's mouth dropped. Spock raised both eyebrows. Doctor McCoy sat up straight. Sulu's eyes almost crossed, and Chekov said "Bozhe moi," with quiet emphasis.

On screen, 'Cyd Charisse' leaned back and brought her leg up. More murmurs filled the audience, and the combination of shock (in all) and arousal (in those attracted to women) was entertaining.

"So how does it feel, not being the first Human-Vulcan hybrid anymore?" Nyota asked Spock. They had been playing and singing together for a few hours, as they did regularly, and were both packing their instruments away.

Spock carefully hooked the brackets in place that would protect his ka'athyra from being tossed about the cabin should the inertial dampeners falter. "I was never the first hybrid; the first was Elizabeth T'Les Tucker, 2154-2155."

"Oh, right," Nyota said. She vaguely remembered the tragic case from her Federation History classes, though of course Spock would remember more about her.

"And while Nicky Charisse and Tony Martin, Jr. were also Vulcan-Human hybrids, their lives were entirely different from mine. I was raised to be Vulcan; they were raised to be Human. I find it," he paused, "difficult to conceive that we are alike. Perhaps if we could ever have met, we would have found commonalities."

"It must have been a hard life, for them and their mother," Nyota said soberly. "They must have been so alone."

"And yet, they had each other," Spock said. "I would have given much for another like me, as a child."

"I hope they were happy."

"Indeed," Spock said. "The hybrids would have known no other life, and would not have suffered from bigotry or prejudice as they spent their whole lives passing as Human. Though passing brings its own stresses."

"Yeah," Nyota said. "T'Lasid knew what she was missing, though, the only Vulcan alone on a planet that didn't even know aliens existed. I suppose she built a life for herself, even so; and she chose to turn of the beacon herself. So she can't have been too miserable."

"She was, by all accounts, a woman who loved dancing," Spock said. "And she managed to make a life out of it. And her second relationship lasted until her death, which given Human relationship patterns seems indicative of contentment."

#fanfiction #fanfic #star trek #musicals

[skillzme]

Brain Development Tips While Studying University

Your brain plays a very important role in making you what you are. Ensuring that you make things right for your brain development continuously is important for your success in life especially during studies.

Listen to the podcast version of the article or Download Your browser does not support the audio element.Alice Yoon is a human right activist, a student, and researcher. Ann believes every human deserves a great deal of respect and dignity and has worked with several bodies as a volunteer. She has visited several countries in Europe and Africa. And her academic interests include disability rights, and conflict studies and human rights. One way to boost brain power is to read quality essays and papers. That’s why smart university students seek help from sites like myhomeworkdone. Such a website provides quality write-ups that students can use to boost their brain power. Nevertheless, there are other ways of re-energizing and revitalizing the mind while studying at the university. Exercise Severally In addition to improving your fitness level, exercising is good for a healthy brain. Swimming, cycling, and running are some of the exercises that can enhance brain cells’ connections. This, in turn, improves memory and learning skills. When you exercise more often, your brain absorbs and retains more information from library books and lectures. Ideally, you should exercise at least 30 minutes, 5 times every week.Image Credit: Pixabay Stock up on Micronutrients and Vitamins Some micronutrients and vitamins help in boosting brain power in different ways. Iodine and zinc for instance boost brain cognition. Vitamin B6 and B12 help in preventing fatigue which is among the leading causes of procrastination among students. Omega 3 and DHA, which is an essential fatty acid, facilitate proper functioning of the brain. This is very important in learning. To enhance brain development while studying, eat the following foods: Zinc- You can get this from legumes, fish, meat, spinach, mushrooms, broccoli, seeds, nuts, garlic, dairy, and cereals. Vitamin B6- Get this from pork, turkey, chicken, bread, fish, peanuts, vegetables, cereals, and milk. Iodine- Get this from seaweed, cod, yogurt, eggs, tuna, and strawberries. Omega 3- Get this from nuts, seeds, egg yolk, and fish. Vitamin B12- Sources rich in this vitamin include fish, cereals, dairy, and meat. If you can’t add these foods to your diet, go for nutritional supplements. Be Creative Being creative is one of the best ways to boost your brain development while studying at the university. There are many ways of being creative including trying new recipes and ingredients when preparing meals in college. If you are an outdoor person, you can challenge yourself by learning a new outdoor sport. You can also try to be a great essay writer by exercising your writing skills. There are many online resources that you can use to learn and exercise writing essays. Use them to enhance your brain development while studying at the university.Image Credit: Pixabay Socialize There is no doubt that socializing will take a significant part of the time that you will be at the university. But, do you know that socializing can help in developing your brain? Having a conversation with another person even if it is for 10 minutes every day helps the brain to stay optimized. This leads to enhanced brain performance and better memory. Therefore, take time to socialize while studying in college as a way of developing your brain. Break Out from Your Routine Changing your routine plays a role in energizing the brain while improving productivity and efficiency while studying. Therefore, try to change your routine even if you do it slightly. For instance, try a different route while going to the university. Go shopping somewhere else or try to close eyes when unlocking a door. Try to do something different every day because a new experience will keep your brain growing. Your brain will also take and store information with ease when you keep trying new things. For instance, try to learn a new language or how to play musical instruments. You can also try to volunteer during a local charity event. These are some of the things that will help you break out of the daily routine and try something new which is important for brain development while studying at the university. Generally, there are different ways of developing the brain while pursuing a university education. It is important that you try some of them out to keep your brain in its tip-top condition. When you develop your brain, you won’t struggle to complete assignments or ask who can help with my papers. That’s because your brain will easily grasp the necessary skills to research and write assignments with ease. Read the full article

#BrainBooster #HealthyLife #HigherEducation #SelfDevelopment #University

[milescpareview]

Preparatory Tool-kit for CPAs to Be

One of the most common queries that we answer at our student forums is -

Will we be able to prepare for CPA along with a full-time job and we always address it with a quick nod. 

And it’s possible if you study smart. From the 90 percent of  CPA alumnus that we have interviewed, we observed a strong trend that they spend more time practicing or revisiting the concepts rather than mugging new-one every day. The success stories had always led to how they have achieved that 75 points cut-off for each CPA subject. It’s definitely not too hard to achieve it. Our experts always recommend three hours of dedicated time to CPA preparation per day is more than enough to pass the four exams in 12 months duration. It does not have to be a continuous three hours daily, if you are a morning person try to work out an hour to study in the morning before you leave for work. Likewise, you can manage your hours and sit back and prepare for your progress. For those, who are preparing for the full time, the tips would help them to shorten their preparation time from 12 months to 6 months if you have planned your studies.

Still can’t stop yourself from procrastinating? Check out our Youtube playlist-

365 Days - 365 Miles Success Stories. Link attached below- 

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLf9NGcR_ulpVRCvWC6WT4FVKs3oUbYRkK

What we all suggest to our candidates is to never shift their focus, cause CPA if prepared well, would be a life-changing event for an accountant’s career. Because a CPA to your name adds visibility to your profile, offers global credibility and command over finance planning and recommendation for business decisions. So, why not opt for a power that you are capable of, the power that you can easily harness with some professional guidance. 

Without further adieu let’s begin and discuss the disciplines that you surely need to work on- 

1) Acquaint yourself with the knowledge areas 

Don’t be superficial, go to the depth of each concept that you are studying. Whenever you are reading, think as if you are preparing the concept to solve a real accounting problem and how you will resolve it. This way it helps to memorize the concepts and apply them to the exams. If you have enrolled with Miles you will get an entire gallery of Varun Jain’s high-energy videos which would help you replay the concepts unless you understand the concepts completely. 

Depending upon the topics you choose, evaluate yourself on how much you would improve. Based on your learning ability you can take from 100 to 200 hours of studies to be exam-ready for each section. Plus, solve plenty of sample test options available for each section to boost your confidence and will help you to shake off the fear to appear in the exams.

2) Be ahead of the time 

Time management has always been a key process and with the CPA exam,  it is no different. But let’s not be reactive this time, just because the exams are knocking at your door and you are still planning for your exam preparation. Rather, soon after you send off your mark sheets to get evaluated for CPA board eligibility, you should plan ahead and get set to become a CPA.

3) The Test Center Strategy

You must have a transparent strategy on the way to follow the instructions of your Prometric test center even before you reach there. Usually, there's a really strict check and that they are really serious about thwarting any attempts to cheat within the exam. Calculators, pens, and every one sorts of gadgets are strictly prohibited within the exam center. Further, they could take any necessary steps associated with candidate verification and screening. In short, you ought to be ready for a minimum of an airport-level entry check.

4)Finish what you have started 

Spending 200 hours of study time might appear easy initially glance, but, if you calculate comfortably - it’s no easy streak. You would want  to be focused and have a daily study schedule to ensure being exam-ready.

5) Choose a group of study-audiences 

Every year, there's an outsized number of candidates who take the CPA exam. Thus, you're neither an exception nor alone when you go for the exams. You’ll connect with others to make a study group. Further, you ought to also create a support group for advice and encouragement. this will include your family, friends, office colleagues, etc. At times, employers also support their employees and you want to inform your current employer about preparing for the exam. it's not unprecedented the employers to supply their employees paid leaves to review, offer financial assistance, or just motivate you throughout your preparation.

6) Take sufficient breaks 

You simply got to study really hard and with a dedication to clear the CPA exam, but, you ought to not ignore your personal wellness and relaxation during this period. Adequate food and sleep are important for your physical and mental concentration. Take an opportunity if you are feeling fatigued and rejuvenate yourself before pressing further with the studies. Don’t go overboard with tests or revisions.

7) Fall to succeed 

Winning isn't everything, always. just in case you don’t get through your first attempt at CPA, don’t lose hope. CPA exams don't count your number of attempts. In fact, the ultimate scorecard only mentions the many exams that you simply passed. AICPA also will send you an email, to share your areas of improvement, on a subject and section-wise basis. Use this as a chance to enhance what you missed and prepare better for your next attempt.

8) Ask a mentor

Professional assistance is always an excellent help in exams like CPA. If possible, get enrolled with an honest mentor. The experience of such mentoring will assist you to prepare better and enhance your chances of success at the exam.

Think CPA, think Miles. We are the best-reviewed CPA/CMA institute in India, preparing the candidate to rule the accounting world to earn it like a professional, So be ready with Miles.

About Miles Education

Miles Education is a premiere skilling & training institute for finance & accounting professionals to earn US CPA/CMA credentials. The focus for Miles Education has always been to up-skill students and professionals to help them be future-ready and enable their career progression through the US CPA/CMA qualification Committed to achieving this goal, today, Miles is India’s largest and #1 CPA review course! It has been instrumental in building the CPA/CMA ecosystem in India holding offices in 9 cities and partnerships with 100+ MNCs, including all of the Big 4s. Miles Education provides student/professional-centric services while keeping concept-based learning at its core which has helped it climb to the top ranks when it comes to the US CPA/CMA certification in India.

#cpa #uscpa #accounting #certified public accountant #accounting courses #accountant #courses #cpareview

[malenkaya-glosoli]

Stuff I’m tired of hearing as an autistic person

This is a list of things and variations of things I hear from three family members (who shall remain anonymous, keep in mind that they know I’m autistic) that are offensive to me, even if it’s said in a joking manner but especially if it’s said in frustration or anger, and I hope I NEVER EVER hear any of the following responses from any significant other I may have in future. Some of these things I hear a lot in the situations listed below or otherwise rarely happen or have happened only once so far (Warning: Some of the responses I’ve listed here may be triggering for some people, and a massive trigger warning for occasional use of ableist slurs):

1. Response when I tell someone to go away or leave me alone: “You’re being rude” or “Quit being rude”

2. When I’m rocking in public, I hear this: “Stop doing that” I keep rocking; response to this: “You’re being defiant”

3. Another stim I have is picking at my acne and plucking out my eyebrows and eyelashes. The response: “Stop picking” *they even move my hand away from my face even if i wasnt going to pick at anything. On one occasion they started teasing me about it and they said they would tie my hands and then they all got out their phones and started photographing and videoing it. And we were in public, in the middle of a restaurant, but nobody seemed to notice...*

4. Responses when I get very angry about something or if I try to defend and/or justify my need for alone time or if I continuously keep asking to go home from someplace far away: “You know what, you’re selfish”, “You’re such a homebody”, or “You’re acting like a two year old”

5. Response to when I pace around the kitchen: “Stop pacing”

6. Response to me explaining that me being autistic is the reason why I don’t want to talk and/or why I like to stay alone in one room for hours: “I think you’re just making excuses”

7. Occasional response to when I get out a shirt or pair of shorts that I feel like wearing or if I want to leave the house in a shirt that I’d been wearing for a couple/a few days before: “Oh, uh-uh” or “You look like a slob”

8. Response to me saying “I don’t want to talk” and/or me wanting to go into the bedroom for alone time: “You never want to talk”, “You never want to spend time with us”, “Don’t you want to talk?”, “You always have privacy”, “You’re so antisocial”, “Do you love me anymore?”

9. Response to me trying to tell someone the difference between the words “asocial” and “antisocial” and advising for use of the former: “I don’t care!”

10. Response to me leaving the bedroom for a snack or water or to ask something: “Do we know her?”, “Who are you?”, “*overly dramatic gasp* She’s come out of her hole!”

11. Response to my mostly lifelong inability to tie shoelaces: “Even three year olds can do it”

12. Response to me not being able to see something physically obvious that’s being pointed out to me and the person and their tone of voice is getting more and more frustrated when I keep saying I can’t see the thing: “You’re acting retarded”

13. Response to me rage shouting about something: “Quit acting psycho”

Other stuff: They don’t believe that “I don’t know” or “Nothing” is a valid answer but they let it slide anyway, they keep poking me when I tell them to please not touch me, them (one of them) having a frustrated tone of voice when they tell me to “speak up” if I’m talking too quietly...

EDIT 8-11-17 (Trigger warning for an ableist slur) - A few weeks ago I called my mom’s mom and asked her questions about what she thinks about my autistic traits, autism, and autistic people in general. She said that she sometimes thinks it’s “annoying” when I don’t want to talk to anyone and spend hours alone in the bedroom but she also claimed that she’s been trying to understand me better; she also said that she doesn’t think it’s sad for a person when they get an autism diagnosis. But this turned out to be hypocritical because when I asked her if she thought that there should be a cure for autism, she said yes. I felt very disappointed and even betrayed. But I tried not to let on that I was angry and disappointed and I told her that people like Albert Einstein and Thomas Jefferson were autistic and that if I weren’t autistic or if there weren’t any such thing as autism, I either wouldn’t exist or I wouldn’t be the same person I am. I asked her again if she really believed that a cure for autism was necessary, and she insisted that it was.

And last night, while I was getting ready for a shower, my mom called me a “retard”, and she kept asking stuff like “why are you being so disrespectful to me, what’s gotten into you lately?”. If you ask me, I’m only defending myself. She wanted me to brush my teeth, but I’d been eating some food and if I brush my teeth before I eat, then it’ll make the food taste bad until it wears off, my sensory problems make it hard for me to deal with that, so for me, it’s only logical and better to not brush my teeth before eating anything. And in the shower she grabbed my wrist pretty hard and she slapped me, but I don’t remember if it was on my face or my shoulder, but I’m pretty sure it was on my shoulder. She apologised later, and the apology was genuinely sincere, but she has similar complaints when I can’t do basic things that most people take for granted. When I was in the shower, she said ”even your five year old cousin can bathe herself.” Said cousin is neurotypical. I was deeply offended.

EDIT 9-7-17: Here’s a hint as to what I’m going through atm. I have been feeling stressed and exhausted and the source of it is not stopping anytime soon. A mix of intentional procrastination and natural executive dysfunction is worsening it, and I don’t dare try to explain the concept of executive dysfunction to my mom because I just know she won’t understand or even care. I once read aloud these posts to her:

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/143950944846/strangelyschizotypal-neurodivergent-people

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/150231283186/autisticliving-friendly-reminder-that-its-okay

and in response to the second one she said “no, it’s not okay”, so I’ve learned that it’s better for me to just stop trying with her.

I’ve tried to tell her that there are some things that I’ve accepted that I might never be able to do without help (washing my hair because the feeling and sight of wet, stringy loose strands of hair on my skin and hands/fingers is a mix of scary and disgusting and shaving because I’m too gentle with the razor) or at all (driving because too overwhelming), and when I talked with her about this yesterday she was like “how the h*** can you say that when you haven’t even tried, i don’t accept that, you’re just limiting yourself”. I can’t even describe how enraging and hurtful that was. I already know I’ll never be able to do those things without help or at all because just thinking about them and imagining myself in the driving scenario makes me feel overwhelmed. While I was in the shower she was saying stuff like “you should be doing this stuff yourself already, do you expect me to do this for you the rest of your life?” and i said “no, my husband will have to do it” (i meant future husband, whoever that’ll be) and mom was like “it gets me angry when you say stuff like that”. stuff like that is a common refrain during showers: “you’re seventeen, you should already be doing this”. Why is it like this for me and lots of other autistic people out there? Why is it that as we get older our families usually get more and more frustrated and impatient with us when we still can’t do basic things that most people take for granted instead of just getting used to it and accepting it like we (or at least some of us) have? This is exactly why I feel very strongly that you should NEVER EVER use a person’s age as a reason for why they should or shouldn’t already be doing something that most people can do without help or at all. It’s ableist and invalidating, not to mention emotionally abusive, whether you mean it that way or no. STOP. IT.

Sometimes I want to leave them, but that’s where I feel trapped. I rarely use money as I rarely buy anything alone and I have no wallet, I don’t drive, I don’t have a boyfriend, I don’t know anyone who I could go stay with, and it’d feel wrong to leave them because it’s my family, the only family I’ve ever really known. I can cook simple meals that are already cooked and only need to be reheated and I rarely use the stove because the hissing noises freak me out and that frustrates mom. My dad is autistic too but if you think he’d understand my inabilities, prepare to be disappointed. He wouldn’t get up and help when I asked him to get some chicken in the oven for me, to the point where a couple times he wouldn’t even respond at all when I asked him to get up and help, which was all i said “Get up and help”. Things have gotten easier in the past year but growing up I never had a really good relationship with him because he would spank and pinch me a lot when I was little, and on two occasions after two upsetting arguments that got physical, the police got involved, although there was never any arrest. He grew up with a dad who abused the entire family and plus he grew up in a place and culture where corporal punishment is seen as discipline, not corporally punishing your child is considered worse than not raising the child properly, it’s considered completely acceptable to spank kids who aren’t yours, and even toddlers aren’t thought of as too young to receive corporal punishment (also that place and culture is VERY openly and devoutly Christian, I have nothing against Christianity and I’m a lot more spiritual than religious but I do believe in God and the whole shebang and I do pray for people, and the culture and place is very homophobic, I’m straight but I’m supportive of LGBT+ people and my favourite couple is a gay couple so when I see any homophobia I still feel hurt and offended). Although the following doesn’t happen often, he does sometimes imply that I need to just stop talking if the person I’m talking to about a certain thing seems disinterested in the subject or has reached their limit, so I can’t say I find much support there. And my mom says that she thinks my autistic friends and I are defiant in the negative way and that we bully people into accepting us and our traits, behaviours, etc. and that I want to be accepted but, as she believes, I won’t accept how others are. Unbelievable.

This is exactly why I wish it were possible for children to be able to pick and choose their families. Because of my troubled relationship with my dad, I started wishing that the couple I mentioned (Jónsi and Alex) could adopt me, even though I knew that would be impossible for multiple reasons, I even wrote a few fantasies about it. But now it’s for another reason: because of the treatment I mentioned. I know that Jónsi and Alex would be awesome dads, if and when they ever choose to adopt a child (they’re not married yet tho), and also because I believe they’d be more understanding, patient, supportive and accepting because they know what it’s like to be different. Also: back in January I got a big crush on Ivar from the show Vikings, and I quickly started work on a modern AU author self insert fanfic about him (I wrote it as an outlet for my crush and my feelings and problems) which, at the time of this update, has 1,149 views and counting, and so far it has five sequels. I quickly discovered that I felt that I could relate to Ivar because:

1. We’re both disabled (I’m autistic, of course, and Ivar was born with his legs deformed)

2. We both feel sad, alone, and mad at the world, I had violent urges when I was younger (even then I knew better than to act on them) and if I’m provoked enough I can get as rageful as Ivar does)

3. We both have to deal with ableism from a relative (the above says it all for me, and Ivar has been emotionally and verbally abused and harassed by his brother Sigurd. He’s dead now because he was abusing Ivar and he mentioned their mother and Ivar just lost his temper and killed Sigurd)

So yeah. Ivar is SUPER angry and violent but he is also sad and he feels alone and unloved. Through my stories I am able to improve his life and love him and I have gained his trust and he always protects me. When I myself am being scolded or whatever, although I understand the difference between fantasy and reality, I silently beg Ivar to help me and sometimes I get teary eyed because it’s impossible, for obvious reason. I’m pretty resilient and I don’t think I’m vulnerable to becoming clinically insane or whatever, it probably depends on the person and how well or not well they’re able to cope with being in this kind of situation, but sometimes I feel like I genuinely want to be with Ivar and I feel like I love him in every way a person can be loved, I can tell from both his canon personality on the show and his fanon personality in my stories that, since he’s lost both of his parents, Ivar would be VERY protecive of anyone he loves, and in my stories, that anyone is me.

If anyone would like to read the story I mentioned, here it is:

https://theeclecticone.deviantart.com/art/Vikings-Modern-AU-fic-Ivar-Finds-Love-661877797

That’s all for now. Again, please feel free to reply, comment, like, and/or reblog.

Posts I’ve reblogged that elaborate on all this (WARNING LONG):

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/159857814936/ndgirlfriends-so-to-all-the-girls-who-constantly

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/159856353686/when-they-say-your-autism-is-not-an-excuse-for

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/159856337041/sbroxman-autisticquestions-to-other-autistic

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/159856320506/sbroxman-autisticquestions-to-other-autistic

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/159856301231/sbroxman-autisticquestions-dont-laugh-at-or-mock

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/159856273001/sbroxman-autisticquestions-sometimes-it-feels

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/158125804696/sbroxman-autisticquestions-that-autistic-problem

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/157809830756/cosmicautistic-why-do-people-insist-on-touching

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/157808877166/ableist-why-do-you-act-this-way-autistic-person

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/157808675211/sbroxman-autisticquestions-to-other-autistic

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/159856232176/happy-stimming-is-such-a-nice-thing-to-see-and-it

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/159724609526/introvertunites-if-youre-an-introvert-follow

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/159668391651/sbroxman-autisticquestions-to-the-autistic

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/158691542131/on-using-autism-as-an-excuse

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/158691153136/but-how-can-you-knooooow-you-dont-like-the-food

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/157784200641/do-people-get-annoyed-by-stimming

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/157403112936/trans-mom-stimming-is-normal-stimming-is

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/157332198686/sbroxman-autisticquestions-i-hate-it-when-people

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/157174323231/autism-problems-2

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/156807367896/introvertunites-if-youre-an-introvert-follow

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/156718532431

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/156505810611/ndgirlfriends-you-dont-deserve-the-invalidation

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/156178091191

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/156178055291

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/156178041551

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/156178024041

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/156176025301/radsturbate-i-hate-ppl-who-get-personally

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/156045245181/rentboy-tony-shout-out-to-people-who-have-a-hard

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/156011656186/serenavampire-neurotypical-voice-stop

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155934926521/autism-problem-717

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155934918486/autism-problem-608

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155934909651/autism-problem-637

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155934902666/autism-problem-411

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155934895996/autism-problem-588

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155934884411/autism-problem-584

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155934876216/autism-problem-290

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155934210941/muted-serendipitybubble-ignorance-isnt-bliss

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155933220616/autism-problem-755

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155931816041

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155925440681/sbroxman-autisticquestions-to-other-autistic

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155859175671/messatmybest-janeysprings-due-to-sensory

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155859150906/parents-we-need-to-talk

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155689458176/reasons-to-avoid-accusing-someone-of-blaming

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155659677701/digitalufo-autistic-ppl-who-get-flappy-and-bouncy

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155426144511/theconcealedweapon-allistic-person-autistic

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155425409931/theconcealedweapon-i-hate-when-people-tell-me

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155425281356/theconcealedweapon-theconcealedweapon

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155425121666/theconcealedweapon-autistic-people-are-too

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155424530461/theconcealedweapon-neurotypical-people-you

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/155424322271/theconcealedweapon-allistic-people-its-funny

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/154841269766/ladyautie-im-sorry-if-i-didnt-post-anything

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/154841055036/ladyautie-keelan-666-seriously-dont

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/154727816316/thatautismfeel-that-autism-feel-when-everyone

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/154721632341/thatautismfeel-that-autism-feel-when-anytime

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/154655907631/sbroxman-autisticquestions-to-people-with-autism

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/154647497556/things-to-never-say-to-any-autistic-people

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/154645929986/sbroxman-autisticquestions-to-other-autistic

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/154629619396/if-someone-ever-accuses-you-of-blaming-autism

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/154629164341/butterflyinthewell-sbroxman-autisticquestions

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/154628953381/me-doesnt-talk-person-you-really-need-to

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/154594676751/autisticliving-if-a-disabled-person-tell-you-they

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/153636602021/npdfox-not-a-lot-of-people-really-understand-how

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/153636586631/little-autism-things-1

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/153636327551/little-autism-things-84

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/153636274181/little-autism-things-96

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/150299063241/another-autism-feel-41

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/150299046296/another-autism-feel-3

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/150298550331/thatautismfeel-that-autism-feel-when-you-have

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/150296089161/thatautismfeel-that-autism-feel-when-nobody

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/150296051946/ladystoneshield-that-autism-feel-when-youre

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/152172013261/disabilityhealth-excuses-shouldnt-be-seen-so

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/152483526466

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/152482579361

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/152482495726

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/152480786081/thatautismfeel-that-autism-feel-when-you-do

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/152480760611/autisticliving-that-autism-feel-when-youre

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/150220918916/jaunepois-when-you-come-out-of-your-room-and

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/145819797276/runningfromomelas-them-look-at-me-when-im

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/137690666961/thatautismfeel-that-autism-feel-when-you-feel

EDIT 9-7-17:

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/165091980636/how-to-hold-back-the-tears-when-youre-being

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/164655304111/do-as-youre-told-stimmyabby-sometimes-people

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/164192864721/never-trust-a-man-that-agrees-with-anything-trump

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/154647497556/things-to-never-say-to-any-autistic-people

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/164654794431/vashti-lives-jemthecrystalgem

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/162875121331/spanking-your-children-is-abuse

And here are some excerpts of diary entries I’ve written about my autism and stuff (most are in foreign languages but they have English translations):

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/164783034161/%D0%BD%D0%B0%D1%87%D0%B8%D0%BD%D1%8A%D1%82-%D0%BF%D0%BE-%D0%BA%D0%BE%D0%B9%D1%82%D0%BE-%D0%BD%D0%B0%D1%88%D0%B5%D1%82%D0%BE-%D0%BE%D0%B1%D1%89%D0%B5%D1%81%D1%82%D0%B2%D0%BE-%D1%81%D0%B5-%D1%82%D1%80%D0%B5%D1%82%D0%B8%D1%80%D0%B0%D1%82-%D0%BD%D0%B0%D1%81

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/164782715106/%D1%82%D0%BE%D0%B2%D0%B0-%D0%B5-%D0%BC%D0%BD%D0%BE%D0%B3%D0%BE-%D0%BF%D0%BE-%D0%BB%D0%B5%D1%81%D0%BD%D0%BE-%D0%B8-%D0%BF%D0%BE-%D0%B4%D0%BE%D0%B1%D1%80%D0%B5-%D0%B4%D0%B0-%D0%B8%D0%B7%D0%BB%D0%B8%D0%B2%D0%B0%D0%BC-%D1%87%D1%80%D0%B5%D0%B7

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/164781794476/thuis-is-er-niemand-die-me-begrijpt-niemand

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/164781637616/zal-ik-ooit-vind-iemand-die-zullen-begrijpen

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/163547046451/%D0%BD%D0%B0%D0%B4%D1%8F%D0%B2%D0%B0%D0%BC-%D1%81%D0%B5-%D1%87%D0%B5-%D0%B5%D0%B2%D0%B5%D0%BD%D1%82%D1%83%D0%B0%D0%BB%D0%BD%D0%BE-%D1%89%D0%B5-%D1%81%D0%B5-%D0%BD%D0%B0%D0%BC%D0%B5%D1%80%D1%8F-%D0%B3%D0%B0%D0%B4%D0%B6%D0%B5

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/163547032441/%D0%B4%D0%BE%D0%B2%D0%BE%D0%BB%D0%BD%D0%B0-%D1%81%D1%8A%D0%BC-%D1%87%D0%B5-%D0%B8%D0%BC%D0%B0%D0%BC-%D0%BF%D1%80%D0%B8%D1%8F%D1%82%D0%B5%D0%BB%D0%B8-%D0%BA%D0%BE%D0%B8%D1%82%D0%BE-%D0%B2%D0%B8%D0%BD%D0%B0%D0%B3%D0%B8

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/163546629581/%D0%BF%D1%80%D0%B8%D0%B5%D0%BC%D0%B0%D0%BD%D0%B5%D1%82%D0%BE-%D0%BF%D0%BE%D0%B4%D0%B4%D1%80%D1%8A%D0%B6%D0%BA%D0%B0%D1%82%D0%B0-%D1%83%D1%82%D0%B2%D1%8A%D1%80%D0%B6%D0%B4%D0%B0%D0%B2%D0%B0%D0%BD%D0%B5%D1%82%D0%BE-%D0%B8

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/163546363491/terwijl-ik-meer-heb-nagedacht-over-mezelf-en-hoe

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/163158549021/jeg-h%C3%A5ber-at-jeg-vil-m%C3%B8de-nogen-der-vil-v%C3%A6re-den

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/161902733031/postoji-previ%C5%A1e-ljudi-u-svijetu-koji-su-okrutni-i

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/160169300336/%D1%82%D0%BE-%D0%BD%D0%B5-%D0%B2%D0%B8%D0%BD%D0%B0%D0%B3%D0%B8-%D0%B5-%D0%BB%D0%B5%D1%81%D0%BD%D0%BE-%D0%B4%D0%B0-%D1%81%D0%B5-%D0%B1%D1%8A%D0%B4%D0%B0-%D0%B0%D1%83%D1%82%D0%B8%D1%81%D1%82%D0%B8%D1%87%D0%BD%D0%B0-%D0%B7%D0%B0%D1%89%D0%BE-%D1%85%D0%BE

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/160167659301/jag-kommer-aldrig-att-f%C3%B6rst%C3%A5-varf%C3%B6r-vissa

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/160167270051/zelfs-toen-mijn-gezicht-dwingt-mij-om-met-tegenzin

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/160166845626/en-het-is-nooit-fout-om-te-willen-met-rust-gelaten

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/160166658026/ik-ben-niet-ego%C3%AFstisch-of-ondankbaar-ik-ben

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/160166447661/daar-ik-ben-autistisch-kan-mijn-emoties-zeer

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/160166273081/alleen-mijn-vrienden-zijn-bereid-om-mijn-problemen

Please feel free to comment below or add a reply to this post if you want to.

#autism #i know exactly how it feels #stop being ableist #actuallyautistic

[getyourblisson]

A Look At September 2019

A Look At September 2019

September naturally focuses on lies, betrayal, treachery, deception, and uncertainties.  Its focus is to expose these things in our lives; and to show where they exist, particularly where we have been avoiding them. They can be lies to ourselves, lies to others, or lies from others.  For some there will be relief as the truth surfaces in things, for others stress as they face the challenges of making changes, and for others it will trigger major fears of being found out or discovered for what is really happening.

September’s natural flow is to take us into ourselves so that we can learn what we can and cannot trust in our lives.  It helps us to see where we need to focus our energy, and what skills or assets or possessions that we have inherited on both an earthly and spiritual realm.  It shines a light on what will be successful for us; and shows that if we are able to trust that which is nurturing and in alignment with our visions or intuitive messages that we may receive at this time.

It reminds us that when we take care of our whole self, then we find love.  It reminds us that love is what will help us see what is not working to support us; and shows us where we can and cannot trust people and situations in our life.  It asks us to remember what it is like to move through the world with a sense of adventure, and as a free spirit; making living free our greatest priority.

This year we find that people are feeling confident overall; and that may lead to some real power trips, and it can also lead to some interesting partnerships and connections that surface for us.  The key with power is that during this time we have access to being able to command the direction our life goes; and it is easier to have command over others. Natural leaders will be favored and those that are decisive will be running things.

The key will be who surrounds themselves with wise people and who surrounds themselves with those making poor decisions.  Someone can be a great leader or influence; but can be wrecked in an instant by someone in their sphere making a poor decision.  It is great to give people a chance; however, when you are responsible for the lives of others then you cannot risk poor decisions being made.

It is a great reminder for us to pay close attention to those that we keep in our close sphere; because we can’t afford those that are making poor choices.  I am also not talking about someone choosing poorly because they didn’t know better.  I am talking about those that invite in trouble through arrogance, ignorance due to treating people poorly, those that rule by fear, and overall invite “evil” into any situation through their choices and behavior.

When someone commands from the heart, working on their own, or surrounded by wise people; then we see that a favorable future is ahead of us.  This is also true where we decide to take command of our own lives and make the shifts and changes necessary to move us into more favorable times.  In the latter, we are moving ourselves out of the influence of those choosing unwisely; and thus automatically gain command of our own life.

Some of the poor decisions made at this time, come from procrastination or being half in and half out of reality.  We are getting lots of downloads; but this may not be the time to implement them. People are more connected spiritually than physically; and thus can miss factors that are involved with what is happening.

During this month we want to make certain that we handle things as soon as they come up.  If we put them off things can quickly get rough; or we may find that for some reason we suddenly do not have what we need to take care of things, thus putting ourselves in danger.  An example would be putting off paying rent, then something comes up that takes the rent money and we are left paying rent late or getting evicted by not being able to pay it.

This month finds people trying to live in fantasy worlds of trust and living on the wings of faith. While there are situations that call for being able to do that, it is not the wise choice to do.  This can leave us not looking at how serious things are in our life.  Again the key is to operate practically, and not wait for prayers to be answered before taking the action we would if we were in danger.

This is a time where it is important to not worry about what others are thinking, and to not let their judgments influence us.  We will make poor decisions where we let others influence us.  Letting others influence us can set us up for unfavorable experiences moving forward.

The first 2 ½ weeks of the month favors putting our energy into the path we want to walk, and the direction that supports us to move forward and create the successes that we would like to make.  It is a good time to engage others in helping us in this process.  Likewise we may serve to help others in this process.

This part of the month reinforces the command energy that I have already talked about.  Thus that energy will be magnified during this time of the month.  It will be the predominant theme which will peak near the middle of the month with the Full Moon energy; which lends even more of it.

This could become a very interesting period with world leaders and politicians.  It could also become a time where we see them either rise or fall in their power.  Some may be asked to step down, some may pass away, and some will rise to almost scary heights of power.  There may be almost no limits to what some may do to gain power.  Those that fall from power will most likely do so because of someone in their inner circle of advisors.

During the last 1 ½ weeks of the month we will see more peaceful leadership come into play.  Some of the “heavy fisted” commanders may be replaced by more compassionate leaders.  Those that can stand on their own feet, and surround themselves with a team that they are one member of, will rise up; instead of trying to run things by advisors, which will lead them to fall.  Those that step into power at this time will be well supported by those in high places or offices; but will also have to be strong communicators and appear to be more of one of the “people” than just someone in a position of influence.

I think of these people having to be strong mediators or a good liaison.  They need to be able to sit and talk with those higher up.  Then they need to be able to roll up their sleeves and work side by side with those implementing things.  They will have to be good “translators” that are able to speak both executive and common worker language; thus obtaining the respect of both sides.

One of the big keys at this time will be who can operate fully independently.  Who has the ability to be fully functional on their own outside of a group?  This time of the month favors those that are comfortable in isolation, and being without others.  It will favor those that know how to see their way through hardships; and can be compassionate with those facing hardships on their own.

Those that can make wise choices, and are unattached to material things will see some of the greatest results.  However, it may not be easy passing through this time.  This is a time where we can endure many physical challenges connected with health and unexpected expenses.  It is a time where finances can quickly drop just to take care of things that have to be attended to.

We will be wise during this period to take it easy, lay low, honor time alone, and focus on high nutrient foods.  We will want to taper off of anything frivolous, and do what we can to keep a reserve for emergencies.  Leave extra time for doing things; and be prepared that plans will need to change for you and others based on unexpected circumstances that could not be planned for. That being said focus on being compassionate with those having issues, instead of being upset that plans have changed.

The key points for this month are face the lies that show up and set yourself free from those people and situations that are holding this space active.  Stay out of power games and tactics; and stay focused on commanding your own life.  Surround yourself only with those that are making wise decisions.  Consider the impact your choices will have on others, and command your own life from the heart.

Do not procrastinate or live on faith alone.  Let yourself be guided by spirit, but take the actions needed to assist that process. Focus on making your own decisions, based on what you need to do for yourself; and don’t let others influence you, or worry what they think about your choices.

Stay focused on the path that you want to walk.  Support and be peaceful leadership in the world.  Develop your ability to live and work independently.  Release attachments to material things.  Be flexible and patient with unexpected happenings.

I welcome you to look at who in your life is making wise choices and who is not.

I welcome you to make your own decisions, focused on what you need and with what will support you.

I welcome you to support and be peaceful leadership.

 Actions to focus on

Actions continue to be strongly centered in releasing the lies and distortions we are living in. Both where we are doing that and where we are dealing with it through others.  It continues to be important to live transparently, honestly, and standing in values.  This is what offers us protection when the lies have to be accounted for.  As much as possible stay away from those actively engaged in lying, deception, and other manipulative tactics.

During this month we want to focus on where we can build true partnerships of all kinds.  We want to take those actions that help to bring us together with people that balance us, and work as a true team with us.  Our actions should center around creating greater balance overall; and having the masculine and feminine principles work harmoniously with each other.  Look at the polarities in your life, and then consider what needs to be done to balance them; such as with work/play, time alone/time with others, active/rest, and so on.

This will be a good month to engage the help of those that help you to become more independent. Connect with those that want to see you succeed, and can be of assistance in helping you know how to create that for yourselves.  Seek out those that you see as successful and spend time learning from them.  Apply in your own way, their tips and steps for action.

Those that are truly invested in you will not do the work for you; but show you how to do it on your own. This is because to be successful you need to make your own accomplishments.  They want you to be able to make it on your own merits and efforts.  Success does not come as a gift; but as a process of learning on our own, what creates good fortune.  The real mentor shows you how to take care of yourself, not how to be taken care of.

I welcome you to stand strong in values, even if it means standing alone.

I welcome you to take steps to create greater balance and stronger partnerships.

I welcome you to take steps to being successful on your own merits.

 What to focus your thoughts on

From September 1st – September 14th we are favored to consider whose opinion we look up to and why.  Who do we see them as a true leader?  Take the time to pay attention to what type of leader you want to be; and who is doing that in the world.

Everything is centered in how we are bringing others together as a team.  Take time to think about what a great team is for you.  How can you bring together people of different backgrounds and styles and personalities, into one cohesive unit? Consider if you are bringing out the skills and assets of others, or letting those strong points fade away in the background.

We also want to consider how much we are caring about people.  To be only task oriented is to devalue others.  This is a misuse of power when we do this.  Consider ways that you can show and share that you genuinely care about people.  Even if you cannot relate to them, how can you be caring towards them?  When we learn to care about people sincerely, the results happen naturally; however, when we focus only on results, it is a constant challenge to meet them.  It also leads us to have to create a team over and over again due to people not wanting to be where they are not genuinely cared about.

Keeping our thoughts on partnerships will be important during this time, since it is those that we are in partnership with that will be our support systems.  This can be love or business.  A true partnership will encourage and support us being our own self with others.  It appreciates who we are, and wants to support our happiness and well-being. Know who these people are in your life, including how you are working in partnership with yourself.

September 15th through the end of the month again magnifies the command influences that I have already talked about.  Consider how much command you have over your own life.  Is it moving in the direction you want, or are others influencing you in a different direction?  Consider who is in command positions in your life, and the choices that they are making. Are they choosing things that are in your best interest; and do they appreciate and respect you?

This is a time where it will be important to do some strong reflection and favors using our mind in meditation and creatively.  It is important to worry less about others, and consider more about what is important to you.  Think about how much you are living the life you want to be living; and what adjustments do you need to make to be in greater alignment with a fulfilling life outside of material pursuits and things.  This is a time for getting real about the experiences and values that are important to you; and how active they are in your life.

It is also very important to get real with ourselves right now.  Where are you denying things?  Where are you avoiding the truth about people and things and yourself in your life? What lies do you need to face and clear up?

I welcome you to consider what type of leader do you want to be?  There is always someone looking up to you, what is the example you want to set and encourage?

I welcome you to consider how you are working as a team with others; and what are you doing to bring out and acknowledge their skills and assets?

I welcome you to consider how much you genuinely care about people.

I welcome you to be aware of whom you work in true partnership with.

I welcome you to face up to any lies you are living or have been avoiding.

 Nourishing The Soul

From September 1st – September 14th our soul will be nourished through playing it safe.  It will be unsettled where we “hope” for things to happen, or try to plan based on what should happen instead of what we actually have in hand.  Our soul is asking that we work with what we have in hand; and be creative in having that being enough.

This is a time where we best serve our soul self by making our own decisions.  There is too much confusion in the air; and even those with good intentions can lead us in the wrong direction.  We must carefully consider what is needed and let go of some of the extras or frivolous things, in order to move towards greater successes.

During this time our soul dances when we implement the wisdom we have learned from past experiences. This is a time to remember the choices we have made in the past and the challenges that have resulted from our choices. Now we must ask how to implement the lessons learned in those experiences in order to create more favorable choices that support us moving forward.

Our soul self is sharing with us that the choices we make at this time have a large impact.  It is very important that the direction we are headed is creating us to be more independent and free in the world.  We are being asked to look at the true value of things; and not just their earthly value.  The soul is filled by simple things that touch the heart.  How can you do that for yourself and others?  How can you support others in embracing their true self in a way that makes them more free and self-sufficient?

From September 15th through the rest of the month our soul self continues to support us in implementing our past lessons.  In doing it during this part of the month, it offers us an opportunity to do something over from our wiser self.  Even if it isn’t exactly the same, it is about giving us an opportunity to make choices that support a favorable future over supporting only immediate gratification.  It asks us to consider what is truly self-sustaining.

During this time we may experience some rapid success or sudden advancement with things.  The key will be how to stand in your soul self while that is happening; remaining humble and enjoying the successes without letting the success consume you.  As a result of this success, we may also experience some “attacks” by those that are jealous or upset at not having control over you anymore.  These situations will need to be handled with love and grace.

Try to be supportive of them finding their own successes.  Stand strong in being compassionate with them, as your success may have shaken up their world.  While their responses are not your responsibility, it is important to care about what is happening with them.  For those that are unwilling to accept your care and concern for them, and are angry for losing control over you; they will need to be released gently from your sphere.

The soul reminds us lovingly, that when successes happen in our lives, not everyone will rejoice for us. Our successes can be a great light of truth; for sometimes this is the only time that we will see the true colors of those around us.  Beware of those that suddenly want to connect with you; as they may only be connecting for superficial reasons and because of your success.  Those that have been in your sphere and do not rejoice for you, are showing that they are not truly there for you.

As the saying goes in marriage rites “for better or for worse”; and that is where the love is. Not in dealing with abuse, or other poor choices that put us in danger or are hurtful; but in enduring the challenges and supporting us in our successes.  It is those that stand with us through the highs and the lows that are truly there for us, caring about us, and offer us true relationships.

I welcome you to work with what you have in hand; embrace getting creative if you must, and realize that you have plenty to see things through.

I welcome you to embrace opportunities to choose from your “older and wiser” self, to lay the foundation to move you towards a favorable future.

I welcome you to consider the true value of things you are choosing and not just their earthly value.

I welcome you to embrace successes that you experience with humbleness and grace.

The Code Journey ~ Jesse An Nichols George

#Jesse An Nichols George #The Code Journey #compassion #enlightenment #practical spirituality #consciousness #conscious living #well-being #wholeness #love #happiness #enrichment #integrate #joy

[thirst2]

The second half of my Sophomore year, I found myself standing in front of my floor’s bathroom’s toilet and wondering what the chance of success might be if I attempted to drown myself. For the first time, I didn’t have answers to school and, not having answers to things that Needed to Be Done™ – and, in turn, not knowing how to even begin them –, anxiety I wasn’t yet aware I had began to kick in. I’d binge through anything and everything that was remotely enjoyable or of interest to me (something I participated in just last Friday, actually…) in an attempt to avoid dealing with school work while my sleep plummeted because going to sleep somehow meant closing the day when I had not finished enough of the work I needed to do, yet. Waking up the next day, even if I went to bed early, with all my work, still, somehow felt too close to when I needed it done, even if I was more rested and coherent, and that just made the anxiety worse. I had just dropped Orgo last year and I had just finished a semester with five classes with relative ease and in topics I immensely enjoyed; nothing had prepared me for a situation like this (I was always prepared, in the past (often times without even trying)) and I didn’t have a plan for even going forward. How was I supposed to do the future if I couldn’t even keep myself out of situations like this? It was Orgo all over except I couldn’t afford to drop a class, again. I don’t know exactly why I was so concerned with my mother’s desires given I pretty much decided after this moment to only listen to myself since I knew my needs best – clearly – and listening to her got me stuck in Orgo in the first place (maybe because they were paying my tuition?) but dropping CS meant having to find another major, again, to satisfy her; a small piece was I really liked computers, too, and there wasn’t anything else that really grabbed my interest (that she would also approve of; winding up majoring in gender studies is probably a clear indication of other interest). I was disablingly anxious (I think my first panic attack was that semester…?) and I didn’t have a plan. The hallmark of every depressed person, the thought crossed my mind to kill my way out. I don’t have a real understanding of why I never attempted (my flippant reasoning was always that I was never brave enough) so, instead, I remember looking down at the toilet and promising to(/deciding for?) myself that, if I passed decreet math., I’d finish my CS degree. Some incoherent reasoning (because I was exhausted and suicidal) about, if I could pass this class, the others should be possible – in some how and some way, they have to be if I could get through before. I just had to figure out how. It’s reductionist, as I found a lot of my coping would become: if you were able to pass a course you had no prior experience with under similar environments inherent to most classes, you either have the resources in your capability (even if spurred out of you from desperation and fear) or the elements of the environment are forgiving enough to carry and tolerate you. This must bear to be true (within reasonable probability, at least). If the above is true, the details don’t matter; the circumstances don’t matter: your case covers all necessary circumstances you might have to worry about and must be true. Just keep your head down and move forward. More than anything, that moment taught me about limits. I’d gotten a C in Intro. to Chemistry and a C- in Calculus III. My habit of everything working itself out in school just fine made me pay very little notice to my actual grades through the courses and I hadn’t even noticed until I got my results at the end; the same habit in Orgo had…less harmless consequences. First step was to cut that shit out: I couldn’t afford to ignore my surrounding classes and assume I could handle them just fine. A heavier class meant lighter classes for the rest. And that might seem obvious but anyone with mental illness knows how much more stark that rule becomes: one class you might struggle with might mean the other three all become courses you can do on autopilot. And that would extend to the rest of my life. If showering every day took too much energy or time, cut it back. I might not always smell the best (and, if that bothered me, find less consuming ways to cover it up) but I came to win, damn it. If going to the dining hall took too much, being food with you back: it might not be ideal for what you can handle but it’s less energy than trekking out all the time. That’s a step; that’s improvement; that’s practical. Part of the rules of the game is that I don’t have answers; being reductive once more, that isn’t a fact I can change – I don’t. So the only option I have is the guess and then leap. Keep moving forward. To this day, I don’t truly know if I’ll make the next hurdle. I have a job, now, and there’s been once or twice I anxiety-procrastinated through a night and still found I was able to accomplish the thing later without consequence even though I thought I had to get it done, then. I don’t know; but I know when circumstances make things worse. So I adjust and keep myself moving. I…don’t know any other answer. When I was in high school, I mostly kept myself going because I didn’t know what else there was. Somewhere after college, it became because, after however many years of childhood abuse and not knowing how to be prepared for adulthood but wanting it simply because it wasn’t home – literally no other reason than it wasn’t abuse, anymore –, it felt like a giant fuck-you to life. After every setback accumulated, I still got out; I’m the one in control, now, with my own place and time. Wouldn’t that be just savory to say? And I finally made it. It’s bizarre, in its own way. I still have to really enjoy it to be worth it. But maybe that’s the next fuck-you. Life will never be easy or non-work, due to mental illness, but what if I could say I can do it? I’m petty and that’d be worth it to me. When I was looking for an apartment, I wanted to write a post about how I was so close and what that all meant. Once I moved in, I wanted to write something somewhat celebratory, maybe. I don’t feel either of those things, right now. Maybe it’s because I have some work I have to get done before Monday and I always go into mission-mode when something’s left hanging or needs to be done, still; good ol’ anxiety. Right now, I’m in a I-made-the-choices-I-did-and-I'll-brave-the-consequences-though-I-don't-really-know-what-they-are mode; I dunno. Emotions haven’t made sense to me since I was 13. But I came here to win, damn it.