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marvelmusing · 3 years

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Twin Flame

Helmut Zemo x GN!Reader

Part 3

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4

A/N: any speech in italics is when someone’s speaking a non-English language

You approach the warehouse as quietly as possible, looking around for the boys. Bucky texted you to come to a local airfield, and you set off as soon as you could. You hear them bickering long before you see them.

“Boys?” You call out.

“[Y/N]? What’re you doing here?” Sam asks, clearly confused. You frown at him,

“Bucky texted me. Said you needed help.” You and Sam turn to Bucky.

“Look I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t let me.”

“[Y/N] this has nothing to do with me.” Sam says, turning to you.

“What did you do?” You ask Bucky. He then walks you through a completely hypothetical jail break scenario featuring your soulmate. You sigh,

“Bucky, even if you could get him out, there’s no chance he would ever help the two of you. The moment he’s free, he’ll ditch to two. Why would he want to help?” Sam shrugs a little,

“He does have a code. He hates super soldiers, surely he’d want to stop them?”

“Over his own chance of freedom?” You scoff. “That’s not an incentive.”

“There is one incentive.” Bucky says, slowly. You turn to him, not liking where this is going. “We have you.” Your stomach drops, seeing the displeasure growing on your face Bucky begins to justify himself. “This does prove you’re his soulmate.”

“You want me to thank you, or something?” You’re about to begin ranting about releasing dangerous criminals, when you notice Sam and Bucky’s attention drift to someone behind you. It’s him. You know it. You turn to meet his eyes, fixed intently on your face, absorbing every detail you’re offering. The photographs don’t do him justice. Not tearing your eyes from his you say,

“Sam, your soulmate’s an asshole.” Sam gives a short chuckle.

“Right back at you.” A smile flickers across your face, though you’re sure Helmut can feel your anxiety. You never thought you’d meet him. Certainly not like this. You open your mouth, but no words come out. He offers you a gentle smile.

“I believe we have a plane to catch.” He nods in the direction of the airfield, where a private plane is prepared to take off. You nod, turning back to Sam and Bucky.

“You do realise I’m going to lose my job for this?”

“I’m sorry [Y/N].”

“Let’s move before we’re caught.” The three of them nod, and Helmut leads the way towards the plane.

“So all this time you’ve been rich?” Sam asks Helmut.

“I’m a baron, Sam. My family was royalty before your friends destroyed my country.” You feel a small pang of resentment at his words, though he quickly pushes it aside.

“Did you know that?” Sam asks you quietly. You nod,

“Of course I did.” An older man stands at the stairs leading into the plane, he greets your group in Sokovian. Helmut’s face lights up at the sight of him, and the two of them embrace for a moment. The five of you climb up the stairs into the plane. Sam and Bucky sit on one side of the plane, leaving the only empty seat in front of Helmut. You sit down, keeping your eyes on the small table between the two of you. You’re all quiet as the plane takes off. It’s not long before the older gentleman, Oeznik, returns with a tray in hand.

“Apologies if that’s a little warm.” He says, handing Helmut a glass of champagne. “The fridge is out. But I will see if there is some good food in the galley.” Helmut smiles before replying in Sokovian.

“If it doesn’t pass the smell test, give it to them.” He nods his head towards the boys. You smirk lightly.

“It’s good to have you back sir.” Oeznik chuckles, before he heads to the front of the plane. Sam looks over at you frowning slightly. You catch his gaze and he nods towards Helmut. You roll your eyes at him,

“He’s not plotting anything Sam.” Helmut looks at you, before asking,

“You speak Sokovian?” You nod,

“I do.” He pauses for a moment, and you answer the question before he can phrase it. “I’m American though.” He smiles softly, tilting his head,

“A shame.” You laugh quietly, nodding.

“It is.” You agree. He pauses, the smile sliding off his face as he fixes you with a more serious look. He then asks you,

“Do you know who I am?” You nod. “And you know what I’ve done?”

“Yes, and I know why you did it. I’m sorry about your family.”

“Thank you.”

“Why don’t you tell us about where we’re going?” Sam asks Helmut, clearly wanting the two of you to stop talking.

“I’m sorry, I was just fascinated by this,” he begins, opening a book. You frown, noticing a smaller notebook tucked inside. “I don’t know what to call it, but this part seems to be important. Who is Nakajima?” Bucky lunges forward, seizing Helmut by the throat with his metal arm. You hardly know what’s happened until you realise you’ve stood up, gun trained to Bucky’s head.

“You touch that again, I’ll kill you.” He growls.

“I don’t think so, Barnes.” You reply tensely, pushing the barrel closer to his temple. Bucky’s eyes meet yours for a moment, he’s surprised to find such determination on your face.

“Tell your soulmate to keep his hands to himself.” Bucky tilts his head towards Helmut, your eyes flickering down to his face before you return Bucky’s gaze.

“Helmut, don’t touch Bucky’s stuff. Bucky. Get. Your. Hands. Off.” You push the words out through gritted teeth. Bucky pulls away, and you hear Helmut suck in a harsh breath.

“My apologies.” Helmut manages, barely looking at Bucky, keeping his eyes on you. You look down at the carpet as you tuck your gun away.

“I’ve seen that book, it was Steve’s when he came out of the ice. I told him about Troubleman, and he wrote it in that book.” Sam says, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. “Did you hear it? What’d you think?” He asks Bucky.

“I like forties music, so...”

“You didn’t like it?”

“I liked it.” You feel like another confrontation is coming on. So of course your soulmate decides to join in.

“It is a masterpiece, James. Complete, comprehensive. It captures the African American experience.” You look up at him sharply, to which he returns your gaze. You give a look that hopefully conveys: you’ve literally just been nearly choked to death, can you not antagonise anyone for five minutes? You’re not sure if he gets the message.

“He’s out of line, but he’s right.” Sam says, not quite believing what he’s saying. “It’s great. Everyone loves Marvin Gaye.”

“I like Marvin Gaye.” Bucky tells him.

“Steve adored Marvin Gaye.” Bucky sighs quietly, looking away from Sam.

“You must have really looked up to Steve.” Helmut observes. “But I realised something when I met him. The danger with people like him, America’s super soldiers, is that we put them on pedestals.”

“Watch your step, Zemo.” Sam warns. You frown lightly, keeping a wary eye on Sam.

“They become symbols, icons, and then we start to forget about their flaws. From there: cities fly, innocent people die, movements are formed, wars are fought.” Despite the serious, almost noble tone, you can feel the sadness his beliefs are rooted in. Everyone is quiet for a moment. You find Sam’s eyes are on you, he nods, as if encouraging you to say something.

“He’s out of line, but he’s right.” You say quietly, repeating Sam’s earlier admission. He gives a half laugh, rolling his eyes,

“You’re not going to take his side on everything are you?” He asks. You tilt your head aside, considering it with a smirk.

“Maybe. You probably should have thought of that before you dragged me along.”

Tagslist: @justfangirlthingies @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @mischief-siriusly-managed @somethingthatsaysbubbles @fillechatoyante @obissimp @fandom-lover-4 @purehuntress

If you’d like to be tagged, just ask!

#helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #zemo x reader #baron zemo x y/n #helmut zemo imagine #baron helmut zemo #baron zemo imagine #baron zemo #soulmate au #avengers au #marvel au #tfatws #tfatws au

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hauntedfalcon · 3 years

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fic prompt: in the future (couple hundred years or more) Nile and Quynh (lets presume that she rejoins the team in the next movie) go to find a new immortal

"Did you dream of it, when Andy came to find me?"

Quỳnh, in the midst of the lander's pre-flight checklist, cracks a smile. "We will not be shooting anyone in the head today," she says.

"No we won't," Nile sighs. They have time to be gentle to the new one, in delivering them to this life. Things aren't quiet by any means, which is why Joe and Nicky and Booker are staying with the ship. But no one is actively hunting them down for the moment.

And Nile and Quỳnh are not Andy. They both have plenty to grieve, but they don't carry it alone out of some misplaced responsibility to protect the others.

"When she found me," Quỳnh starts. She's quiet for the countdown to uncoupling, then she tries again as the lander detaches. "When we found Yusuf and Nicolò, we had dreamed of them for years. It was like coming home. There was so much they had already accepted and worked through together. I'm sure they struggled more than I saw, but they made it look easy."

"And when she found you?" Nile says, because long ago, Quỳnh made Nile promise that she would help her face these things.

Quỳnh is silent until gravity takes hold of the lander. "I did not make anything easy for her."

Nile laughs aloud.

There are more people scattered across the solar system than there are left on Earth now, but the new one didn't die on a colony or a station. Maybe it's Earth itself that grants them this gift. Maybe their feet must be planted on the soil or the sand in order to rise again.

From the flashes in their dreams and some cross-referencing with their Terran contact, they determined that the new one is in the NT Underground. Their first death was excruciating, crushed under stone in a collapsed tunnel. And then they got right back up and kept fighting. Every time she dreams, Nile feels their fear, their confusion, their loneliness, and the force of their will.

She checks their trajectory on the screen, then cranes her neck to look out the tiny window. "It's so weird to be back here. There's more ocean than I remember."

"Yes," Quỳnh says in a faraway voice.

They put down outside Alice Springs and start making their inquiries. The locals don't warm to outsiders, and there is no one more outside than the two of them--but Quỳnh has a way of winning the trust of dangerous and frightened people.

That evening they are escorted through limestone chambers to a dim and smokey room, where a figure is surrounded by... well, the first word that comes to Nile's mind, based on body language alone, is disciples. All the other people here are oriented toward the new one, waiting for whatever they'll say next.

A freedom fighter who can't die would look an awful lot like a savior.

But whoever they were before, they were not a leader, and they haven’t had the time Nile has to grow into the role. They shrink from the deference their associates show them now. "Can you give us the room?" they ask with an attempt at authority. The others slip away quietly.

When it's just the three of them, Nile sits on the edge of a supply crate and says, "My name is Nile. This is Quỳnh. How should we call you?"

"Gotjan, for now." Their chin stays jutted, lips tight. Gotjan is plump, and richly brown as the earth, with a head of loose curls faded by sun at the ends. Maybe a handful of years older than Nile was at her first death.

"Pronouns?" Quỳnh prompts.

"She. You?"

"Same," Nile says.

"Whatever works," Quỳnh says.

For an instant it looks like Gotjan might smile, but she steels herself again. "Why have you come here?"

"To meet you," Nile says as Quỳnh takes a handheld cutter from her bag. "The dreams are how we find each other."

The cutter sparks. Quỳnh sears a line across her palm without a whimper, and holds it up as it heals.

Gotjan's eyes go wide. "Who's we?" she breathes.

"You, me, Quỳnh, and those three men you've been dreaming of, back on our ship. They're waiting for you to join us."

"Six," Gotjan says. "There are six of us?" She lets out an incredulous laugh. "Do you know what we could accomplish with six of us?"

Nile hears that we for what it is: the Underground. She knows perfectly well what six of them can accomplish.

Gently she says, "We aren't running missions on Earth, for the time being. It got a little too hot for us." They need to wait out a few overhauls of physical media, until all the records of what they did in Vancouver forty years ago pass out of memory. "But there are a lot of ways to help a cause."

"From space?" Gotjan takes a step back. "No. I'm not leaving. I lost everything--those bastards took everything from me, and I finally have a chance to do something about it."

This is something Nile expected from the conviction she felt in the dreams, though it's novel to her. When Nile was new, she had only begun to realize how much she didn't believe in what she had fought for.

She says, "Have you ever killed anyone?"

Gotjan swallows. Yeah, that's what Nile thought.

"We're not here to force you to do anything," she soothes. "If you want us to go without you, we will, and Joe and Nicky and Booker will keep dreaming of you. We'll know if you're in trouble and we'll always come back. But before you make that decision, you need to think about whether staying will do the Underground any good. If you're captured, they can kill you and kill you, and your mind will crack eventually, and that's when they'll get secrets out of you that will lead to the deaths of people you love."

She can see from the shadow that passes across Gotjan's eyes and the way she slants her face away from them that she is thinking about it.

But before Gotjan can answer, Quỳnh says, "No."

Nile gives her a vexed look, which she ignores. She always picks the most inconvenient fucking times to go off script.

"No," Quỳnh says again, "we won't leave you behind. None of us should ever be alone. If you stay, we will stay and fight beside you to whatever end. If you run from us, we will follow. You can hate us for it, but we won't be moved."

Her voice is a thread reaching back thousands of years. It raises the hairs on Nile's arms. Gotjan stares at her with a fire in her eyes. It isn't gentle, but maybe in this moment, in her solitude, it's what she needs to hear.

Quỳnh says, "You don't yet know the depth of what you have gained. Come with us and we will show you."

Nile waits for the cavern to stop ringing from Quỳnh's fervor. Then she clears her throat. "We also have an ungodly amount of money to fund the Underground in your absence."

All the way up out of the gravity well, Gotjan has questions. They do their best to answer them.

Nile watches her face when the lander pivots to reattach to the ship, and Earth is visible once more through the window. There is an ache in Gotjan's dark eyes. It's the barest she's allowed herself to be in their presence.

"I never planned to leave," she whispers. "I know the work is better up here, but... that's our land."

"That is a connection you will always have," Quỳnh promises her.

A freedom fighter who can't die and who leaves to live in the sky will, in another century or so, look an awful lot like a folk hero.

"How long are you staying off Earth?"

Nile says, "Two, maybe three more generations."

"Generations," Gotjan echoes. "What are you, twenty?"

The Freeman babyface strikes again. "I'm four hundred and twelve," Nile says lightly. "Next Thursday."

"The fuck," Gotjan says, turning to stare at her. "When do you stop keeping track?"

"About five centuries ago," Quỳnh supplies.

Gotjan lifts her head to look at Quỳnh, but she doesn't ask the logical next question. Not yet, anyway.

The Andromache's docking clamps embrace the lander. Nile leads the way through her beloved corridors, moving slower than usual so Gotjan can get used to the magnetic boots.

Nile hears them while she's still outside the galley, cursing in Italian and French, with a frantic he didn't mean it for spice.

She stops at the door and glances at Quỳnh, on the other side of Gotjan. The oldest, and the newest. Quỳnh gives her a tiny, prized smile.

"Gentlemen," Nile says as the door slides open, and a trio of anything but gentlemen straighten up from a pantomime brawl as dinner bubbles in the cooker. Some things never change.

And some things do. Nile says, "This is Gotjan."

#The Old Guard prompts for ts #Nile Freeman #Quynh #an attempt was made at an OFC!

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ceescedasticity · 2 years

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diversions

Elwing’s Fourteen The Company of Elwing, or;

Desperate-Cornered-Queens-Falling-In-the-Sea Solidarity, or;

A True Tale of the Last Days of Númenor, as Never Recorded In Official Chronicles, Because While Some of the Valar Were Definitely Looking the Other Way or Even Aiding And Abetting, No One Thinks It Was All of Them, So the Truth Might Get Some People in Potentially a Lot of Trouble

The Regrets of Elwing Dioriel; ~TWO THOUSAND YEARS LATER~; The Team; A Folkloric Interlude; Expectation Management is Very Important;

CONTINUED

Diversions, or

If Anyone Says The Word 'Honeypot' Caranthir Is Going To Punch A Hole In The Hull

This is going to require going on land and talking to people, probably extensively, and concealment spells notwithstanding it would be a lot safer if they could somehow distract Sauron.

They've been talking about this off and on since well before they set out, but still haven't come up with anything that isn't someone making a scene somewhere else in Númenor, and they really want to avoid that.

But Celebrimbor has an idea now!

Get him out into local waters on a wild goose chase.

Or, more precisely, a wild Celebrimbor chase.

This idea is not immediately well-received by any of the six people present who knew him as a child.

"No, this makes sense. You all know about Glorfindel, right?" They all know about Glorfindel. "It's not impossible that I would be reembodied and sent back to clean up my mess."

"Oh yes it is," Caranthir growls.

Finrod is more temperate: "If they put it like that Aunt Nerdanel would hide you in her basement and Father would back her up."

"That I would choose to go back and clean up my mess, and they'd let me. It's possible."

The idea is to try to give the impression that Celebrimbor has sailed to the vicinity from Middle-earth and is lurking around, maybe planning to try something with one of the Three. Sauron will come looking, and whenever he gets close, they throw the concealment back up, or they do it from a penguin-ship and dive, or both.

To help with the desired impression Celebrimbor has a magic ring with the power to appear to be powerful. That's all it does and it is a rush job that could probably be destroyed by stomping on it, but it looks impressive. Apparently he threw it together while they were waiting for Voronwë.

"He'll still suspect something more is going on — he's not stupid, once we take action he'll notice. But if I'm the lure, he'll come anyway."

The six people present who knew him as a child continue not to be happy, but no one tries to actually forbid it.

"If you do this I'm staying with you," Caranthir says. "Every time."

("Isn't that still just making a scene somewhere else in Númenor, with a slightly broader definition of Númenor?")

There is an argument over who will go on the first diversion trip.

Necessarily Celebrimbor; Curumeldis is the best penguin-ship pilot; Caranthir has made his position clear.

Someone who can do the concealment songs should go, in case diving isn't enough or isn't fast enough.

Caranthir wants it to be Finrod, because if everything goes badly he's best suited to fight a delaying action.

Amarië wants it not to be Finrod, she says because if Sauron recognizes him, and he might, it will blow the cover story, and anyway if the Sea doesn't protect them any delaying action is unlikely to be enough to make a real difference.

Finrod says they're both right and declines to offer an opinion on who he thinks is more right. However, he does point out the non-diversion party is going to be dealing with galley slaves who are mostly not Númenorean and are likely to be very suspicious, and may not have any languages in common — he thinks it would be a good idea to have either him or Caranthir there.

(Somewhere deep down in his heart, Caranthir is flattered.)

The twins say that's fine, they can come on the diversion trip instead; Celebrimbor is their nephew, too.

The Sons of Fëanor excuse themselves to the deck to have an argument.

Celebrimbor looks embarrassed.

Elwing hopes they remember that some of Amandil's men speak Quenya.

Eventually the Sons of Fëanor return with the conclusion that the twins will be joining the diversion mission.

So will Amarië, as the second-best at the songs of concealment. (Finrod, straight-faced, asks her to promise not to do anything too dramatic and pointless. She yanks on his hair.)

So they, in the normal-sized penguin-ship, head around to the northeast side of the island. There, Celebrimbor will try to spy of Sauron with a glass marble; if that doesn't get his attention, they're prepared to escalate.

Everyone else is going to the west end of the island, because a normal penguin-ship, a very small penguin-ship, and Amandil's 'smallest ship which could plausibly have been bound for Middle-earth' will not be enough ships.

(AO3)

#elwings 14 #tolkien #other fic

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insomniamamma · 3 years

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Small Stakes: Boba Fett x gn!reader

A/N: So envision this as the same ship mechanic reader as in my fic Dragon, though it can be read as a stand alone. Reader, Boba, Fennec and Din are all crew aboard Slave One. Reader is the ships mechanic and also mans the galley. I know almost nothing about sabacc other than what I googled while writing this. Any inaccuracies are on me. This is for Writer Wednesday, @autumnleaves1991-blog for this prompt:

Warnings: Gambling, alcohol use, language? mild flirting

"Good thing you're wearing that bucket, Djarin," you say, peering at the dark of his T-visor over your cards, "I bet you have the worst sabacc face in the galaxy. "Spotchka's made you bold," he says, "How would you feel about upping the stakes?"

The sounds of wind and sleet echo through Slave One's hull, gusting so hard that ship seems to rock slightly. You landed around local midnight. Boba and Din decided that no sane being would be out in this mess, and to assess the situation at first light. Fennec had produced a large bottle of spotchka and a battered sabacc deck. So now the four of you sit around a small table in the galley passing the bottle and playing cards to pass the time. None of you are exactly flush with credits, so Fennec suggested playing for favors. "You know," said Fennec, "Things we can do for each other. Chores. Stuff around the ship." Which is how you and Din have come to facing each other down over a pile of torn flimsi scraps scrawled with various offers and counter offers. Scratched out and re-written as the game progressed. Fennec and Boba had folded relatively early and seemed to be enjoying watching the tension build between you and Din. If you win, Fennec will braid your hair all fancy like hers, holo-chess lessons from Boba, and Din has to do the cooking, 3 meals a day for 3 days. And you can deliver it to me in the cockpit just like I do for you guys, you'd snarked. Din's right, the spotchka is making you bold. Of course, if you lose, you have to soup up Din's swoop bike to his exacting specifications. But you don't think you can lose, not with what you're holding. "Sure. Let's up those stakes," you say, "What's your offer?" "The darksaber," says Din and everyone breaks up laughing. "Well, I had to try. Alright, ad'ika, you win, I cook for three days and I help you with those vac-tube lines." "Careful there, Djarin," says Boba. "If I win, you modify my swoop bike as we discussed," he says, and he somehow manages to sound smug through the modulator, "And next time we're on a planet with a decent market you make two of those jogan fruit pies you keep bragging about. One for me, and one for the rest of you di-kute." "Done," you say, feeling a grin creep up your spotchka warmed cheeks. "I call." Din fans out his cards and lays them face up. "Pure sabacc," he says, and you grin big, laying yours out one by one. "Idiot's array." "Dank farrik!" Says Din, and Fennec laughs, and pushes the bottle into your hands. You take a long, burning drink as Boba wraps an arm around your shoulders and squeezes. "Well played, mesh'la!" He smiles big and bright, and you smile right back. You don't see Boba smile often, but when you do, you feel warm all over, witnessing a rare and fleeting thing.

"Maker and stars, this stinks!" "Hand me the sealant gun," you say reaching out, "And stop acting like you weren't contributing to the problem." He presses the tool into your palm. "If I knew it was this bad..." "S'okay," you say, "This is what I was hired on for." The lines are old. Eventually this will all need to be stripped out, but for how making sure liquid shit doesn't drip into the hull any more than it already has is a win. "Din? Can I ask you something?" You slather the worn surfaces with sealant, hoping it will be enough the limp you along to a planet where you can get the right parts to actually fix the problem. "Sure," "What does mesh'la mean? It's Mando'a right?" Din huffs laughter. "It means beautiful." "Really?" "Really." You turn the answer over in your mind, sealing the small tears. "Hand me the kicker would you? It's the little sprayer--" "You know, me and Shand have a bet going about which one of you hut'uune will make the first move." "Kriff. Maker and stars, I hate you both."

#writer wednesday #boba fett x gn!reader #boba fett #fennec shand #din djarin

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roman-writing · 3 years

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no great revelation (3/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Tyalor

Rating: T

Wordcount: 6,444

Summary: Jamie just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day’s work on the Telosian Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself caught up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar.

Aurthor’s notes: Please don’t expect anything from this story. I’m just doodling in between writing ch11 and ch12 of ‘bring home a haunting.’

read it below or read it here on AO3

III.

—

The only transport with availability they could find on short notice was a nine day trip through hyperspace on the Hydian way with a stopover on Coruscant to jump on another transport for the Byss Run. ‘Short notice’ actually being: a seven hour wait in the public hangar bays, during which both Jamie and Dani hunkered down on an unlit bench and attempted to look as inconspicuous as possible. By the end Jamie — who was not by nature a person inclined to sitting still — was ready to claw out of her own skin if it meant getting up and actually doing something. And to really make things worse, the last tickets on the transport were for eighth class quarters with only one sleeping cot.

“I didn’t even know they had an eighth class,” Dani muttered. She tugged at the hood of her cloak as they were jostled down the crowded corridor that led deep into the belly of the ship.

“The joys of being a Service Corps brat,” Jamie said dryly, then she grunted when she caught an elbow to the back of her knee. She growled over her shoulder at the huddle of little robed Jawas pressing in close behind her. “Hit me again, I fuckin’ dare you.”

The only response to her threats was a series of skitterish language and rude gestures. One Jawa even jumped up and down, miming hitting her again. Jamie was sorely tempted to get her handheld mining laser out and have a go, but there were about seven of them and the very idea of being dogpiled by a bunch of children-sized robe-rats was too much to bear.

Dani seemed to not see this interaction at all, and was focused entirely on pushing ahead. She squinted at the faded room numbers over each of the narrow doors, and said, “I think this is us.”

“About bloody time,” Jamie grumbled.

She and Dani scooched closer to the wall and as far out of the way as possible to let the mass of other low level passengers by. Jamie glared at each of the Jawas as they passed, and each Jawa in turn fixed her with their glowing yellow eyes, while Dani swiped the laminated card they’d been issued by the ticket officer. A light on the door flashed red. Dani muttered something under her breath and swiped the card again, and with a blink of green light the door hissed open.

The room inside was small enough that Jamie could hold out both arms and touch the walls on either side. The sleeping cot was little more than a slit in the wall with storage lockers built into the wall beneath. The most uncomfortable metal bench Jamie had ever seen crouched in the far corner, bolted into the wall as well to prevent theft. They hadn’t even bothered pretending there was space to make food; for the next nine days it was all dietary supplements or overly priced galley grub on the upper canteen deck.

“Looks cosy,” Jamie said, peering in over Dani’s shoulder.

“How long did that droid say the trip was again?” Dani asked, gripping the straps of her bag at her shoulder.

“Nine days.”

The two of them looked back, and marinated in the notion that they would be spending nine whole days in such close quarters that one could barely turn in a circle without hitting the other.

“Where are the bathrooms?” Dani asked.

“Dunno. Let’s find out.”

Jamie nudged at Dani’s back, and the two of them stepped inside. The door hissed shut behind them automatically and sealed itself with the blink of another red light. While Dani set down her bag on the bench, Jamie started hitting random buttons on the panel by the door to see what they all did. The first dimmed all the lights. Useful. She turned them back on. The second opened the door again, which she quickly shut. The third opaqued the tiny port hole that admitted a view of the cramped hallway outside. And the fourth slid back a wall panel opposite the cot.

“Found the toilet,” Jamie said. “And the shower.”

Dani, who had crouched down to open the storage lockers beneath the cot, straightened and turned around. She made a face. “All in one?”

Jamie poked her head inside. “Seems like it. Smells clean, at least.”

Indeed, the industrial-strength cleaning vapours were so overpowering they made her eyes water. Screwing up her face, Jamie leaned back. Dani came to stand beside her and investigate the ablutions closet as well. The moment she caught sight of the tiny mirror bolted to the wall inside however, she made a strangled noise and jerked her gaze aside. Jamie watched in puzzlement as Dani whipped back around and tried to pass it off as a cough.

Without a word, Jamie hit the button to shut the panel that hid the ablutions closet. “You all right?”

Still facing the other direction, Dani nodded. She cleared her throat and said in the most unconvincing tone possible, “Yeah. Fine. I’m - I’m fine.”

Carefully Jamie slipped past Dani so that they didn’t brush against one another. She dropped her own travel pack onto the bench beside Dani’s and unzipped the main compartment to rummage around inside.

“Don’t reckon there’s much chance the menagerie will die down until well after we’ve hit hyperspace.” Jamie checked the time on her travel credentials chit, hitting a few buttons on the display until it was set to a standard self-regulating clock so she could actually remember to sleep on a decent schedule. “But if you’re hungry, I can battle my way to the canteen on deck 34?”

“No. Thank you. The lunch we had at the hangar terminal was enough.”

Peeling back the packaging of a dietary supplement from her bag, Jamie shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said, and tossed back the supplement with a dry swallow and a grimace. Another quick search around the room revealed a tiny spigot protruding from one of the walls, which delivered a dribble of fresh water when she set an open travel bottle beneath it. Jamie took a grateful sip, then filled up the bottle to the brim before capping it.

“Wish they’d just knock you out flat for trips like these,” Jamie said. “But then they couldn’t gouge us at the souvenir shops, I guess.”

Behind her, she heard a begrudging huff of laughter. When Jamie turned around it was to find Dani with her hands around her stomach, as though trying to give herself the galaxy’s most ineffective hug. Dani glanced up and shuffled her weight back and forth in obvious discomfort. Even now, standing as far from one another as they could, Jamie could easily reach out and touch her if she tried.

“I - uh -” Dani made a feeble gesture towards the panel that hid the ablutions closet. “I thought I saw something. That’s all.”

Jamie shrugged. “Didn’t ask. Not my business.”

Beneath their feet, Jamie could feel a slight rumble as the engines hit maximum burn. There was a momentary feeling of weightlessness, and then the familiar pull behind her navel when they finally hit hyperdrive. Some ships — sleeker, more capable ships than this — liked to make an experience out of going into hyperspace. Like pushing in the throttle on a first rate speeder. This experience however could only be described as lumbering. Like an overworked beast of burden taking that first reluctant step towards its destination.

Letting out a long tired exhale, Jamie said, “Right. Nothing left to do, then.”

And without further ado, from her bag she pulled out a set of pajamas — the only set of other clothes she had brought with her, to be perfectly honest, apart from a heavy thermal jacket in case they got stranded on an ice-ridden hell hole like Hoth or some shit — and began to change.

Unlike the previous nights, Dani did not avert her gaze or get flustered. Instead, her eyes traced the tattoo on Jamie’s shoulder, a series of vines and flowers curling down the bicep of her right arm and partway up her neck. A large enough piece to be eye-catching, while also easily concealed by clothing. Not that the Jedi Order cared about tattoos. Just that some planets had different rules than others, and when you hopped from place to place as often as Jamie did, then you hedged your bets.

“Does it mean anything?” Dani asked, nodding towards the tattoo.

Pulling a soft shirt on, Jamie shrugged. “Means I was young and stupid. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Dani didn’t have a reply to that, though the expression on her face said that she didn’t buy Jamie’s story for an instant. She squeezed by Jamie to start pulling out her own set of sleeping clothes, and Jamie had to hop out of the way while tugging a pair of sweatpants up her thighs.

“Don’t suppose you have any you’d like to share with the class?” Jamie asked, giving Dani a quick once over.

Dani, who had been in the process of taking off her cloak, froze, then continued what she was doing once more. “No,” she said, facing the wall so that her back was turned to Jamie.

“Thought it was a fair question,” said Jamie. She stepped atop the first rung of the ladder built into the wall so that she could inspect the cot in all its glory. Thin sheets. Thin mattress. Thin pillows. Happy days.

“I appreciate tattoos,” Dani answered, her voice muffled momentarily by the shirt she pulled over her head. “But I’ve never wanted one for myself.”

“Fair enough.”

When Jamie had assured herself there were no unfortunate bugs or surprises in the bed, she hauled herself up into the cot. She had to lie flat to slip in, and the ceiling was close enough to her face that when she was on her back she could make out every scratch and detail in the panels.

“Well, this is shite,” she muttered. Turning her head to one side, Jamie asked, “Do you get claustrophobic? Only that I can take the end nearest the wall if you’d prefer.”

Dani went very still in the act of pulling on a thicker set of socks. Then she gave Jamie a guilty little nod.

“All right.” Jamie shuffled over some more until she was wedged up against the wall.

Padding across the small room, Dani dimmed the lights before she climbed up into the cot beside Jamie. It was so cramped with the two of them, that there was no way they couldn’t not touch, and there was no way for Jamie to plaster herself against the wall any more than she always was. Eventually Dani was lying flat on her back, sheets pulled up to her chest, and staring unblinkingly up at the ceiling, while Jamie tried her damndest to not move too much.

A futile effort, in the end. With a muttered curse, Jamie wriggled around so she could reach up and scratch at her own tattooed shoulder. Dani frowned over at her quizzically, and Jamie answered, “Got a scar. It itches like mad sometimes.”

Dani hummed a wordless note. When Jamie had finally stopped scratching, she asked, “Why are you helping me?”

Jamie adjusted her pillow and said, “I don’t like Czerka. And, well, I guess I’m stuck with you now.”

Through the dark, Dani’s expression was inscrutable. She rolled over to face Jamie, and the pillow obscured her partly so that the only eye that watched Jamie was the one that seemed to gleam golden in the deep shadows of her face. “You just left your whole life behind on a whim.”

“Jedi aren’t supposed to form attachments,” said Jamie. “Even Force sensitives are discouraged from it, generally. Especially at the Temple.”

Dani blinked at her. “I’m sorry if I was too forward, or -”

With a snort, Jamie shook her head. “Not at all what I meant. Just — I move around a lot. And you’ve seen my apartment. Did it look like I was planning to stay long?”

Rather than answer, Dani asked, “Do you not like the places you live in?”

“I like them fine. Telos IV is fine.”

“What about family?”

Jamie arched an eyebrow. “What about them?”

“Well -” Dani faltered over this for a moment. “I miss my mother. She’s awful and she drives me crazy, but I still miss her.”

She said it like it was an example, an invitation for Jamie to give her own in return.

“Don’t have one,” Jamie said.

“What? Nobody?”

“Nope.”

“But what about -? I mean -” Dani blew out a frustrated breath before continuing. “Surely there are people who care about you. You’re a good person.”

“You’ve known me three days,” Jamie pointed out. “Less. Two and a half.”

“Jamie,” she said in an admonishing tone.

With a sigh, Jamie rolled onto her back. She could hear their neighbours through the thin walls. Someone was playing thumping music and talking loudly amongst themselves in a language she did not understand, until they blended into a drone of white noise.

“Attachments are forbidden for Jedi,” Jamie repeated, “but I’ve never been Jedi material. When I was still in training at the Temple, there were people in my group that I cared about. Sure. Formed an attachment with a youngling named Mikey. We weren’t related by blood but we might as well’ve been. I looked after him, and for a while things were good. But he was strong. Stronger than I could ever dream of being. And for people like him, people strong in the Force -” Jamie made a helpless gesture towards the ceiling. “They separated him from the rest when he was still so young. He’s a Jedi Knight now. We don’t talk anymore. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Dani said softly.

Jamie’s stomach swooped, and she grit her teeth against it. “I hope it is. It’s for the best.”

“And what about these other friends? The ones we’re going to visit on Tython?”

“Just friends,” said Jamie. “Good friends, but friends. They’re actual Jedi, and they take that shit seriously. Or, well -” she huffed out a laugh. “One of them does. Sometimes I wonder if Owen takes anything seriously. Most people, though? No. No attachments. Most people aren’t worth the effort.”

Dani's gaze was a dart of gold through the enclosed space, the two of them cramped together, their knees brushing despite their best efforts. Then, she said, "I'm glad."

Frowning, Jamie turned her head to look at her. "About what?"

"That this isn't an effort."

Jamie opened her mouth to retort but no sound came out. It hadn't been said with venom or sarcasm. It had been resigned. Matter of fact, even.

And before Jamie could gather her wits about her enough to formulate a response, Dani rolled over and nearly took the rest of the blankets with her. Scowling, stomach churning unpleasantly, Jamie rolled over as well and tried to get some sleep.

Three days passed without anything noteworthy occurring, which — given the way Jamie’s week had been going so far — was a miracle in and of itself. And after three days of scouring the various lower and mid decks, Jamie could with great confidence say that no Czerka had followed them aboard this particular vessel.

Now, if only those weird fucking nightmares would go away. That would be grand.

Jamie was at the canteen bar on the mid decks. She was allowing herself to indulge in the vice of a foamy alcoholic beverage which resembled beer but which definitely wasn't beer. The location she would've preferred to drink at — a corner table with an excellent view of the whole room, and good access to one of the side exits — was already occupied by a group of surly looking humans, which meant that Jamie was forced to drink at the bar itself. She nursed her not-beer and tried not to think about how she still had six more days of sleeping beside a very attractive woman who was alternatively clingy or kick-y in her sleep.

Right when she was constructing ways of padding Dani's legs — more socks would do the trick, surely; and the woman was always bloody cold; she wouldn't complain — Jamie felt a frisson run down her spine. She straightened from her stoop with a frown, and looked around the room for any indication of new threats or danger.

Which was when someone stepped up to the bar beside her. He waved down the droid bartender and ordered himself a drink. Non-alcoholic. She looked at him, and went tense.

When it had seemed that she could finally allow herself to relax, to enjoy this leisurely cruise through hyperspace — as much as anyone could enjoy passage in their shit quarters — Jamie just had to go run into a Jedi.

An actual Jedi this time. Brown robes. Lightsabre. The whole lot. In fact, the last thing she noticed about him was his lightsabre. It was everything else that gave him away. The way he held himself. His clothes. The way he even breathed.

Immediately, Jamie buried her nose back into her glass and prayed that he wouldn't look her way.

He did. Of fucking course he did.

His sharp eyes promptly found the Service Corps dog tags hanging from her neck. Jamie was still mentally kicking herself for wearing them today, when he slanted his head sideways to read her Corps Assignment on the metal tags.

"And how is Telos?" he asked without preamble.

Jamie shrugged and stifled the urge to walk very quickly away. "Scarred," she said, "but alive."

He hummed. The droid brought him his beverage, and he murmured his thanks before turning his attention back to her. "And you're heading to Coruscant," he remarked thoughtfully. "Are you being Reassigned?"

Jamie shook her head. She bought herself some time by taking another sip of her not-beer. "Nah. Been three years since I've seen some friends on Tython. Thought I ought to say hello. They'll be sick of my pre-recorded postcards by now."

His answering smile was small, a thing barely there. Then there was a flicker of his brow. "You know," he said slowly, "I think I recognize you."

Well, that sure wasn't ominous. Not in the slightest.

"Oh?" said Jamie.

"Yes. You used to be ExplorCorps, didn't you?" He leaned closer, elbows on the bar, considering her. "My old Master was a Seeker. He showed me the proceedings of a smuggling bust he took part in about four years ago on an undisclosed planet near Nar Shaddaa. You gave the testimony that sent that Hutt crime lord to prison."

Jamie bought herself a second by buying her nose in her glass and taking a deep drink. So much for identity suppression. "Ah - yeah. That was me. Small galaxy, innit?"

He held out his gloved hand. “Pasha,” he said.

Switching her not-beer to her other hand, Jamie took his hand and shook it. “Jamie. And what brings you here?"

Setting his hand down, Pasha tapped his fingers against the bar top. Then he surveyed the rest of the room, as though checking for eavesdroppers. "I trust I can rely on your discretion?" he said in a tone that was too casual.

"Yeah. 'Course."

The droid bartender trundled by on its treads, and Pasha waited until it was gone. “I am investigating a murder."

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over Jamie’s head. "Someone in the Order?"

His expression was grave, and he nodded. "A young Consular by the name of Edmund. His body was found on a transport cruiser passing through Vurdon Ka. We believe it was the work of a Sith assassin."

Well, that was new.

"What? That close to the Core Worlds?" Jamie asked, and her voice was as incredulous as she could make it.

"Yes," he said and he was the definition of sombre. "You understand why this is so important. If the Sith have managed to infiltrate so deeply into the Core, then the risk to the Republic is far greater than we had thought."

"Well, fuck," Jamie muttered. Though not for the reason he probably thought.

She really had to go and get herself involved in the biggest clusterfuck of the decade. No. Biggest clusterfuck of the century.

“We’re almost finished making our sweep of the ship,” Pasha sighed as he lifted his glass for a sip. “I’ll be glad to be done. It’s tiring work, and this assassin somehow manages to slip through our fingers every time we get close.”

Wait, wait, wait. Hold the holo.

Jamie jabbed her finger against the bartop. “You think the assassin is on this hunk of junk?”

He nodded, lowering his glass. “We’ve done a thorough check through the upper and mid decks the last few days. Just making our way to the lower decks now.”

“I’m down there, and I haven’t seen anything,” Jamie said, hoping she didn’t sweat straight through her shirt. “Now, I’m no Knight, but I think I would know a Sith assassin if I saw one.”

“Have you ever met a Sith before?”

Jamie paused. She’d had plenty of dealings with Sith associates over the years — smugglers, crime cartels, weapons dealers, drug runners, you name it — but an actual Sith in the flesh? She shook her head.

“Pray you never do,” Pasha said darkly.

Jamie felt the hairs on the back of her neck and arms lift with a shiver. Then the sound of heavy boot steps approached the bar. Two masked Troopers in scuffed body armour stopped behind them, the Republic insignia emblazoned in blue on their left shoulders. They were walking talking weapon arsenals with more military tech between them than the rest of this sorry boat combined. One had a massive assault cannon strapped to her back and a bandolier of grenades clipped across her chest. The other was armed with a blaster rifle, a shielding pack, and an honest to fuck harpoon. Jamie sank down into her bar stool a little further.

“Sir,” one of them said, her voice muffled through the helm. “We are ready to descend into the lower decks whenever you are.”

Pasha gave Jamie a commiserating look and then drained his glass in one long pull. “Seems like the job is never done,” he said with a smile. “May the Force be with you.”

Jamie lifted her own glass in reply, watching them go without taking a sip. The two Troopers cleared the path just by walking in a straight line. People scrambled out of their way. The three of them passed through a door, rounded a corner, and they were gone.

Exhaling the breath she had been holding, Jamie slumped against the bar, letting her head rest against the cool and slightly sticky surface. She could hear the whir of mechanical treads as the droid bartender shifted position behind the bar. Jamie lifted her head.

“Oi,” she whistled to get the bartender droid’s attention.

It stopped cleaning a glass and gave her a low tired beep.

“Is there some sort of tech or maintenance shaft I can use to get to the lower decks fast?” Jamie asked.

Another beep, and a spindly mechanical arm popped out of the droid’s flank to poke a button. The garbage chute sprang open from the wall. Craning her neck, Jamie wrinkled her nose as she looked down into the chute, which ended in a trolley full of rubbish that was just big enough for her to fit inside if she tucked in her legs and arms.

With a deep sigh, Jamie bolted back the rest of her drink, then stood and started to round the bar towards the chute. “Fuck me.”

Jamie was still picking eggshells from her hair when she walked the corridors of the lower decks. At least the bar’s garbage had mainly consisted of fresh fruit rinds and nut shells, though she had a stimcaf stain on her pants that would take an age in the ablutions closet to get out later. She hurried along the hallway, pushing past clumps of other passengers who wandered about or chatted with one another.

For the first time since stepping foot on this ship, she wished they’d gotten a room on an even lower level deck. This was only two decks beneath the canteen, and battle-hardened Republic Troopers weren’t exactly known for sitting on their hands.

The door to their room was open, and Dani was nowhere to be found. Swearing under her breath, Jamie looked left and right down the hallway, hands on her hips. She checked the time at her wrist, and then continued down the corridor at a light jog. Every open room she passed, every tightly-confined communal space, Jamie poked her head in for a quick check, until finally she found her.

Dani was, of all places, twenty doors down with the Jawas. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground, nursing a steaming mug of something or another while listening intently to the surrounding seven Jawas chittering at her. Jamie stopped in the open doorway, slightly out of breath.

“That’s extortion!” Dani remarked, and one of the Jawas nodded emphatically. Then she said, “I’m very impressed.”

This earned Dani a series of gratified chirps from all of the Jawas, one of which eagerly topped up Dani’s mug with more of whatever beverage they were all drinking. She thanked him, and several of the others began demanding Dani’s attention with small sharp hand gestures and fast-paced prattling.

One of the Jawas noticed Jamie's presence and started making a high-pitched growl, like a territorial womp rat. The noise alerted the others, including Dani, who glanced up.

"Can we talk?" Jamie asked. She stepped further inside the room with a furtive motion for Dani to approach her.

Looking puzzled, Dani handed the mug to the Jawa sitting closest to her, then rose to her feet and crossed the room. “Is there something wrong? Why do you smell like orange juice?”

“Long story.” Jamie smacked the button which shut the door and opaqued the tiny porthole that peered into the Jawas’ quarters. Lowering her voice so that the Jawas couldn’t easily hear her, she whispered, "There’s a Jedi on board and two Republic Troopers. They’re looking for you and they think you're a Sith assassin."

Dani stared at her. "But -" she spluttered, "I'm not."

"I know that. But they don’t."

Dani glanced towards the door, then at the Jawas. She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “What do we do?”

“We hide and hope that once they’ve cleared this deck, they don’t come back,” said Jamie. “I don’t know how much time we have. They were making their way down here right as I left.”

"Spike was telling me -"

"Who?"

Dani pointed to the Jawa she’d handed her mug to. "Spike."

"You learned their names?"

"They're cute!" Dani insisted.

Right as she said it, one of the Jawas snatched up what appeared to be a tiny live rodent from a container, and swallowed it whole. The rodent vanished into the impenetrable darkness of the Jawa's hood, until even its wriggling tail was slurped up as well.

"Yeah, they're fuckin' adorable," Jamie said dryly.

“Spike was telling me,” Dani repeated more firmly this time, “that there are ventilation ducts that they use to pressurise the cabins during take off and landing.”

“And what happens if they decide to de-pressurise the cabins while we’re in there?”

“We’re in hyperspace. What are the chances we’re going to be boarding anything?”

“The way my luck is going,” said Jamie, “I’m willing to say the chances are pretty bloody high.”

“Do you have any better ideas?” Dani asked, and there was an edge to her voice that from anyone else would have sounded angry, but which Jamie could already tell was just fear bleeding through.

“I do, actually.” Jamie jerked her thumb towards the door behind her. “We ride the rubbish chute to the upper decks and lie low until they finish their sweep down here. They’re not going to retrace old ground, and once they’ve cleared the entire ship, we’re gravy.”

“The garbage?” Dani furrowed her brow, giving Jamie a once-over. “Oh, I see. That explains it.”

In the background, a few of the Jawas had huddled around a small handheld screen and started chattering excitedly amongst themselves. Jamie and Dani ignored them until Spike scurried over and tugged at the trailing ends of Dani’s cloak. Both of them turned to listen, and Jamie felt her blood pressure tick up in real time.

“What?” Dani asked, face going pale.

“They can’t have made it to this deck already,” said Jamie to Spike. “You must be seeing things.”

In answer, Spike motioned towards the cluster of Jawas, one of whom turned the little screen around to show the holo it displayed. They had somehow hooked into the security feed and on the screen, clear as day, was Pasha and the two Troopers, striding down the corridor towards them.

Without peeling her wide eyes from the screen, Dani asked in a trembling voice, “Where did you say the garbage chute was located?”

“They’ve already passed it,” Jamie muttered.

Yammering in agitation, Spike pointed towards the ceiling, where a vent was located just above the sleeping cot. Jamie groaned.

“Oh, all right,” she relented. “C’mon.”

Picking their way across the Jawas’ quarters was like navigating a minefield. There was junk sprawled all over the place in piles. It was a mystery how they even managed to get it all in here. When Jamie climbed the ladder beside the cot, there were two sets of glowing yellow eyes watching her from the dark corner of the bed.

“‘Scuse us,” Jamie mumbled and pulled out her mining laser to cut the vent free just enough so that it swung open on two rusted hinges.

If Jamie wasn’t in the habit of hauling herself up trees all day, she would’ve had a hard go at clambering into the crawlspace. As it was, she grunted and pulled herself up. With a bit of wriggling — her hips got stuck in the small vent opening — she managed to get inside. She held a hand down for Dani just as there was a knock on the door.

“Let’s go,” Jamie muttered more to herself than anyone else, as she heaved Dani up and into the ventilation shaft with her. Dani scrambled in and Jamie barely had enough time to seal the vent shut before the door opened with a hiss.

Jamie was squashed between metal on three sides and Dani on the other. The only light in this space shone through the slats in the grating. Every breath was loud, as loud as Jamie’s heartbeat. She couldn’t have moved much if she tried. At her feet she could feel the shaft turn a corner, and any attempt to crawl along after it would end in one or both of them getting well and truly stuck.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Jamie heard Pasha’s cultured voice.

"Official Republic business," said one of the Troopers, his voice sounding muzzy through the speakers of his helmet. "Your cooperation is appreciated and expected. Any opposition will be met with force."

The Jawas jabbered and quibbled, but the sound of heavy boots stepping into the room regardless of their protestations was unmistakable. One of the Troopers, the one with the harpoon strapped to his back, stepped into view right below the vent. Jamie watched him crouch down and open up the storage lockers beneath the cot for inspection.

Dani’s eyes were squeezed shut. Jamie could feel the way she was trembling all over. Reaching up, Jamie took her hand, but Dani’s only reaction was to clutch it in a white-knuckled death grip. Jamie winced, the bones of her hand creaking, but she did not pull away.

“What’s this?”

The Trooper below had dragged something out from the locker, while his partner searched the ablutions closet. The Trooper nudged a large crate with the barrel of his blaster rifle, then turned to a nearby Jawa. “Open it,” he ordered.

The Jawa needed the help of two friends to heave the lid of the metal crate back. The Trooper had his blaster rifle tucked up against his shoulder, ready to fire, only to lower it once more, when the crate’s contents were revealed to be piles of more useless junk. Tangled skeins of wire. Dismembered droid parts. The works.

“Have you checked the cot?” his partner asked.

“Nothing but a litter at roost,” the Trooper replied.

Pasha spoke up from the doorway. “What about the vent? It looks like it’s been tampered with.”

Shit.

Dani’s breathing started growing fast and shallow. She was a line of tense muscle pressed up against Jamie’s front, her jaw clenched so tight Jamie was amazed she hadn’t cracked a tooth. There was a groan of metal around them and whole sections of the walls started to flex and bend in an alarming manner, as though something were attempting to crumple the entire shaft in one massive fist. Meanwhile, Dani’s shaking fingers dug painfully into the skin of Jamie’s hand.

Double shit.

“Shhh,” Jamie whispered. “Shh.”

Dani’s brow was furrowed and her breathing had shot straight past panting and into hyperventilating. The pipes beyond the crawlspace hissed and whined.

Below them, the Jawas were crowding around the two Troopers, but Jamie paid them no attention. With her free hand, she cupped Dani’s cheek and said softly, “Look at me. Dani. Hey.”

Dani opened her eyes, expression raw and panicked. Jamie could feel every sweeping exhalation as Dani struggled for air.

“With me,” Jamie murmured, and she breathed in and out with slow exaggeration. In through her nose. Out through her mouth.

Slowly Dani matched it, her muscles relaxing in the smallest of increments while Jamie coaxed her along, until they were breathing in synch, until Dani’s forehead rested gently against her own, noses brushing.

“All right, all right,” Harpoon Trooper growled below them. “We’re going. You’ve made your point.”

The Jawas were still talking over one another all at once and waving their tiny robed arms while the Troopers stomped out of the room. It was a small thing, the relief that burst like little fireworks in Jamie’s chest. She smiled, then breathed in sharply when that relief continued to branch out into something more, something alive, electric, and beyond herself. She gave Dani’s fingers another squeeze and shook her head quickly.

The Force retreated like a skittish hand reaching forth in the dark, but it was too late.

The footsteps below them had gone quiet.

"Is something wrong, sir?" one of the Troopers asked.

"I thought I felt something,” said Pasha slowly. “We went too quickly through the deck above this one. I want to go back.”

“But -”

“There is something above us, Commander,” Pasha insisted, and his voice was stern. “Ignore this floor, and let us go with haste.”

When they had finally gone, Jamie allowed her body to slump with a beleaguered sigh. Then she began to laugh softly. One of her hands was still cupping Dani’s jaw, and she brushed her thumb over the round bluff of Dani’s cheek, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

“Well done, love,” Jamie said with a smile.

Dani’s gaze was surprisingly steady for someone who had just been in the throes of a panic attack. She swallowed thickly. “Thank you,” she breathed.

It was an extraordinarily bad idea to glance down at Dani’s mouth. Jamie hadn’t even realised she’d done it until Dani blinked at her, tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. A nervous, automatic gesture, but one which Jamie could not ignore.

“I think we can leave now,” Dani said.

“Right.” Jamie cleared her throat and let go of Dani quickly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t mind.”

While she worked to open the vent again, Jamie had to sternly remind herself that Dani was a wanted murderer, and that the warmth pooling in her gut was a very very bad idea. Dani was silent as Jamie urged her to go first. One after the other, they squeezed themselves out of the vent and dropped down onto the floor below.

When Dani did it, the Jawas caught her and cooed over her, patting off the dust from her clothes. When Jamie did it, the Jawas let her fall in a bruised and graceless heap onto the floor.

“Thanks, mate,” Jamie grunted at Spike.

Spike narrowed his yellow eyes, then offered Jamie a mug of that steaming stuff they’d been drinking before. Sitting up and brushing herself off, Jamie took it. The drink tasted like battery acid warmed over, but it filled her with such a mild and pleasant feeling that she drained the cup.

“They’re not going to stop looking, are they?”

Jamie ran a hand through her hair. “No,” she said. “Don’t reckon they will. He sensed that, so he knows now there’s something on board. He’ll be back.”

Dani twisted her fingers together. When a Jawa offered her a cup, she demurred with a murmur. “So, now what?”

Tipping her head back towards the ceiling, Jamie closed her eyes. She mulled over their options, then shook her head with a wry grin. “God. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this.” She waved the mug at Spike. “Don’t suppose you lot have a long-range transceiver I could borrow? Preferably untraceable, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

Rather than hop immediately into action, Spike looked at Dani for confirmation. Dani nodded and said, “Please.”

With a series of noises that could only be described as high-pitched grumbling, the Jawa rummaged around in the still open crate that the Troopers had inspected earlier. He unearthed a dented and ancient subspace transceiver, dusted it off, and handed it over to Jamie.

“The hell is the range on this thing?” Jamie muttered to herself as she turned it on.

The transceiver blinked to life with a flicker of white noise. Hoping beyond hope that the frequency was still the same as she remembered, Jamie keyed it in and hit the transmit button.

For two of the longest minutes of her life, the only answer was a blur of static. Then a familiar voice crackled to life.

“Well, well. Jamie Taylor. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Jamie’s smile was more of a grimace. “Hello, Rebecca. Remember how you owe me a favour?”

#no great reveleation #star wars #thobm #the haunting of bly manor #roman writes #star wars au

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thecreaturecodex · 3 years

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Taxim

“Hades” © deviantArt user Apterus, accessed at his galley here

[Commissioned by @listmaker-lastcity. “Taxim” is the name used for a revenant by The Encyclopedia of Things That Never Were, which is a highly dubious source that made up multiple entries. Although it claims that the taxim is “Eastern European”, I can find nothing online that indicates it’s real folklore. References to taxim are typcially verbatim from Things, except for the name being used as undead enemies in some of the later Final Fantasy games. If anyone knows of a reliable and/or primary source for the taxim, I would be very curious]

Taxim CR 10 LE Undead This creature appears as a rotting corpse barely held together at the seams. Within, it is filled with a balefully glowing liquid, bursting like fire from its eyes and out of cracks and tears.

A taxim is a greater and more deadly form of revenant. A taxim is formed when a grave injustice is done to a strong-willed person by multiple members of a family. This injustice directly results in the death of the taxim-to-be, or indirectly as in diseases, privation, suicide or wrongful execution. The taxim returns to not kill a single murderer, but the entire bloodline of people who wronged them. Even undead members of the lineage are not spared, as the taxim seeks to completely obliterate a family.

Distance is no obstacle to a taxim, as it will happily march up the side of a mountain or through an ocean in order to reach one of their chosen foes. Over time, their body falls apart in pieces, replaced by ectoplasm. They are not incorporeal, but can move as if they are, lurching through solid walls in pursuit. Its touch sears the living and the undead alike. Although their violent attacks are focused directly on their family of nemeses, a taxim is a danger to other creatures as well. A taxim stinks of the grave, and its foul vapors inflict a fast-acting and lethal strain of tuberculosis upon those who smell them.

Variant Taxim As a taxim is single-minded in its pursuit of its foes, they do not typically advance by character class. On the other hand, if a taxim is created due to the death of a powerful adventurer, they may remember some of their skills from life. Use the simple class templates to model this—taxims with the cleric simple template no longer revere their original god, but favor deities of death and revenge.

Taxim CR 10 XP 9,600 LE Medium undead Init +5; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +15, sense nemesis Aura miasmic stench (DC 20) Defense AC 24, touch 15, flat-footed 23 (+1 Dex, +4 deflection, +9 natural) hp 123 (13d8+65) Fort +12, Ref +9, Will +12; channel resistance +12 Immune undead traits Defensive Abilities unholy aegis; Weakness light blindness Offense Speed 30 ft., phase lurch Melee 2 slams +15 (2d6+6/19-20 plus 2d6) Special Attacks antithetical energy, wail Statistics Str 23, Dex 13, Con -, Int 10, Wis 18, Cha 19 Base Atk +9; CMB +15; CMD 30 Feats Cleave, Great Cleave, Improved Critical (slam), Improved Initiative, Power Attack, Stealthy, Toughness Skills Climb +17, Escape Artist +15, Knowledge (local) +8, Perception +15, Stealth +18, Swim +14 Languages Common SQ ghost touch Ecology Environment any Organization solitary Treasure standard Special Abilities Antithetical Attacks (Su) A taxim’s natural weapons deal an extra 2d6 points of positive energy or negative energy damage, whichever injures the creature it is striking. If a creature is healed by both positive and negative energy, its attacks deal no energy damage. Ghost Touch (Su) A taxim’s natural weapons deal full damage to incorporeal creatures. Miasmic Stench (Ex) This functions as the stench special attack, except that it is a disease effect. A creature that fails its save against this miasmic stench is also infected with the taxim’s disease Festering Breath—inhaled; save Fort DC 20; onset 1d4 days; effect 1d4 Str damage and 1d4 Con damage; creature must succeed an additional Fortitude save or 1 point of Con damage is drain instead; cure 2 consecutive saves. The save DC is Charisma based. Phase Lurch (Su) A taxim has the ability to pass through walls or material obstacles. To use this ability, the taxim must begin and end its turn outside of whatever wall or obstacle it's moving through. A taxim cannot move through corporeal creatures with this ability, and its movement speed is halved while moving through a wall or obstacle. Sense Nemesis (Su) A taxim knows the direction, but not the distance, to the nearest member of its hated family. This sense can be blocked by any spell or effect that blocks scrying. Against members of this family, it is treated as having discern lies and true seeing at all times (CL 20th). This effect cannot be dispelled. Unholy Aegis (Su) A taxim gains its Charisma bonus as a resistance bonus to all its saving throws and as a deflection bonus to its Armor Class. Wail (Su) Oncer per day, a taxim can wail hideously, causing all creatures that can hear it within 60 feet to succeed a DC 20 Will save or cower in fear for 1d4+1 rounds. This is a sonic, fear effect, and the save DC is Charisma based.

#taxim #revenant #commissions #pathfinder 1e #undead

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scotianostra · 8 months

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Mary Queen of Scots left Calais for Scotland on August 14th, 1561, aged 18 years old.

When her fleet of galleys and cargo ships left Calais the Queen of Scots and Dowager Queen of France burst into floods of tears as she said farewell to ma chère France and sailed on a journey to what for her was virtually an unknown country.

Mary had been Queen of Scots since she was a baby, only a week old aged of five she was sent to France to keep her out of the clutches of the English. At 15 in 1558 she was married to the future Francis II, who was 14. It is thought that she was probably still a virgin when he died two years later. Catherine de Medici, the French queen mother, no longer wanted her in France and Mary really had no choice but to return to Scotland.

The Scottish fleet that came to Calais for Mary was commanded by the high admiral of Scotland, who happened to be the same Earl of Bothwell who was destined to play a sinister role in her later life. The journey to Leith, the port of Edinburgh, took less time than expected and when she landed Mary had to go to a local merchant’s house until noblemen led by her illegitimate half-brother Lord James Stewart, Earl of Moray, came to escort her to Edinburgh where crowds had gathered to cheer her on her way up to Edinburgh Castle.

Young, tall, graceful and vivacious, she made an excellent impression and bonfires blazed “merrily” as she presided over a banquet. After she had retired for the night a crew of 500 or more amateur musicians kept her awake by scraping fiddles and singing psalms out of tune outside. In the morning, with her usual good-natured charm, she sweetly thanked them.

Contrary to what has been said Mary could speak Scot’s Fluently it is said that she learned English, a distinctive different language back then, when she was held by Elizabeth in England although her English had a french ring to it rather than Scots.Mary could also speak Italian, Latin, Spanish, and Greek.

The pics are interpretations of her leaving.

#scotland #scottish #history #france #mary queen of scots #the stuarts

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hollyethecurious · 4 years

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CS AU: A Different Kind of Fun (4/?)

Summary: Emma Swan felt like she finally had her life together, or at least well on its way. A little over five months ago, she’d kicked her dead beat, philandering boyfriend to the curb and moved in with great friends who supported and encouraged her to follow her dreams. Dreams that included landing a great role on stage, finally putting that theatre arts degree to good use. Now, she was living the dream; making money as an artist, doing what she loved, and loving life - at least that’s what she tells herself. When Killian Jones, front man of a new local band, saunters into her life, he brings with him a different kind of fun. The night of her 26th birthday is when it all begins.

A/N: Apologies again for the wait! I hope you’ll be inclined to forgive me, seeing as how this chapter contains the gift of sexy times ;o)

Much love to @kmomof4 for her beta skills, and a shout out to @snowbellewells for providing the name of Killian’s band. Also, a thousand flails to @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 for the incredible art she made for this fic, posted below. Go flail at her! She does amazing work and deserves all the love!

Rated M for language and eventual smut / Available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee

Catch up: Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three

Chapter 4

“You own a boat?”

Killian smiled at the tone of awe and surprise in Emma’s voice.

“I lease it, actually,” he told her, pulling on the tie line in order to bring the vessel closer to the dock. “The charter company I worked for while at uni owns it. I’ve kept in touch with the owner, Mr. Smee, over the years, so when I came back he offered the use of it to me in exchange for doing some odd jobs and leading the occasional tour. It allows me to earn a bit of extra cash while keeping my schedule flexible for the band.”

Once he was confident with the boat’s position, he stepped aboard and turned back to Emma who was patiently waiting on the dock with a sly smirk on her lips.

“Do I have your permission to come aboard, Captain?”

Killian pulled her up on deck and into his arms. Hitching his brows at her, he purred, “It will be my pleasure to have you come whilst aboard, love.”

Emma’s laugh echoed over the water, harmonizing with his deep chuckle before he led them below. It was a tight fit, with only enough room for them to stand single file rather than side by side. As soon as Emma made her way off the last step, he positioned her in front of him, snaking his arms around her waist and guiding them through the space towards the back of the boat.

“Allow me to give you the grand tour,” he whispered in her ear. “These are the living quarters,” Prompting her forward a few steps, they paused. “Here be the galley.” Another few steps forward and Killian could feel Emma’s mirth shaking in her shoulders. “On your left is the head.” Without letting go of her waist, he used his foot to push open the door blocking their path. “And finally, the bed.”

Once over the threshold, he capitalized on the extra space afforded them within the sleeping quarters and turned her back around to face him. Running her hands up his chest, a coy smile bloomed over her lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers through his hair.

“A thorough and succinct tour,” she praised. “I can see why Mr. Smee keeps you around.”

“Well, I find customers tend to want to get to the good stuff and aren’t much fussed with the logistics.”

“The good stuff, huh?” she said, flicking her eyes up at him through her lashes while her hands made their way back down his chest and tugged the hem of his shirt free from his pants. “What sort of good stuff do you offer on these tours?”

He waited to respond until his shirt cleared his head, swallowing back a moan at the feel of her fingers skimming over his abs and twirling through the hair that littered his torso.

Moving his hands to the front of her waistband, he popped open the button of her jeans then slowly lowered the zipper. “We do the occasional tastings,” he answered in a low, seductive timbre. “Wine, cheese… exotic elixirs.”

Emma gasped and her hands shot up to his shoulders, bracing herself against them with a tight grip when he slipped his fingers beneath her underwear to where she was already so hot and wet for him. With another groan, Killian curled his fingers, coating them thoroughly before pulling his hand back out. An indignant whimper left Emma’s lips and his amused response had her staring him down with a withering look. When he opened his mouth, drawing his slick covered fingers inside and sucking them clean, her lips parted and her pupils blew wide with desire.

“I thought it was the customers who got to enjoy the tastings,” she remarked in a strained tone.

“Forgive me, love,” he answered, holding firm with a heated gaze of his own. “But I’ve wanted a taste of you since the moment I saw you in that sinful red dress the night we met.”

Killian’s cock twitched and he hummed appreciatively when she cupped him through his leather trousers before she confessed, “I may have been imagining myself on my knees in front of you while you performed in front of that crowd tonight.”

Something akin to a growl rumbled through Killian’s chest as Emma sank down to her knees, her hands working at the laces of his pants. He pulled her back up, tossing her onto his bed with a protest on her lips. Grasping the ends of each leg of her jeans, Killian tugged hard, causing the fabric to slip down her hips, taking her underwear with it.

“As a gentleman,” he stated, “I must insist, ladies first.”

Emma wriggled herself out of her jeans enough for him to remove them completely, but then sat up before he could make his way onto the bed.

“If we’re talking about who gets to taste whom, then I’ll happily go first. So, take those damn, tight ass leather pants off, Jones.”

Killian did as he was told, his gaze sweeping over her hungrily as she took the opportunity to divest herself of her shirt and bra, leaving them both gloriously bare.

And at a bit of an impasse.

“Might I offer the suggestion of a compromise?” Killian said, crawling his way onto the bed and barely skimming his lips over hers.

“What did you have in mind?” she whispered back, her hands gliding up the backs of his thighs and over his ass.

“Ladies choice,” he purred. “Would you rather be the six… or the nine?”

A soft oof whooshed from Killian’s lungs when Emma shoved him onto his back. A wide grin stretched across her face, matching the one he felt pulling at his own lips before she swung her leg over and obscured it. The smell of her overwhelmed his senses, and his mouth watered at the sight of her glistening sex before his tongue flicked out to trace the outline of her folds.

A soft moan echoed from above as Emma draped herself along the length of his body. His hips jerked when she wrapped her hand around him, and he moaned against her clit when he felt the damp heat of her tongue lave a long line from the base of his length to the tip. A muffled fuck groaned from his chest when she took him fully into her mouth, her fingers toying with the sensitive area behind his balls.

Not to be outdone, Killian focused his attention on Emma’s pleasure, swirling his tongue over her clit and giving it a quick graze with his teeth as he slid his hands over her thighs. The vibrations of her sounds over his cock made his toes curl, the reverberations intensifying when his tongue thrust itself inside her, plundering her core as deeply as he could manage. Slipping a hand between their bodies, he applied pressure to her clit with the pad of his thumb while attempting to ignore the tightening in his groin as Swan’s mouth continued to do sinful things to his cock.

Indecent wet smacks and slurps, as well as guttural noises filled the room. When at last his ministrations proved to be too much for Emma to remain focused on her own, Killian implored, “Forget about me, love. Just take the pleasure I’m offering.”

Sharp, crescent shaped pricks embedded themselves into the tops of his thighs, and Emma released him with a soft pop, her pants adding to the symphony of sounds. Killian grunted when her nails retracted from his skin, her hands aiding her into an upright position as they walked back up his body before planting themselves against his chest. The swivel of her hips and the dirty grind she employed against his face as she took control, throwing her head back and repositioning her hands to brace them against the low ceiling over his bed made his cock bounce against his belly.

Tracing the sides of her body, Killian’s hands moved upward until each of her breasts rested within his palms. Another round of moans fell from Emma’s lips as he kneaded their heft and twisted the hardened peaks between his fingertips, all the while continuing his assault on her clit with a mixture of rough grazes, appreciative hums, and quick flutters of his tongue.

Her thighs began to tremble and tightened against his head. Her back arched and a cry of pleasure tore from her chest as a wash of tangy satisfaction coated his tongue and lips, smearing itself through the stubble on his chin as he lapped up every drop. Gently, he guided her off his face when she started to move so she could collapse onto her back beside him. Her chest heaved and a contented smile rested upon her lips as she looked up at him with hooded eyes, crooking her finger and beckoning him to her.

He sure as hell wasn’t going to refuse her.

Crawling his way up her body, he paused here and there to kiss, lick, and nip at her flushed flesh, paying special attention to her breasts and drawing out another string of sensual sounds from her.

“I swear to God, if you’re not inside me in ten seconds…”

Killian chuckled at her impatience, sitting back on his heels between her splayed thighs so he could retrieve a condom from his nightstand. His already hard length became even more painfully rigid under her watchful gaze as he rolled on the protection. When he lined himself up at her entrance and sank into the welcoming heat of her core their eyes never wavered from the other’s.

“Christ,” Killian cursed, pulling back only to sink in deeper with each measured thrust. “You feel incredible,” he murmured against her lips. “So soft, so hot, so tight.”

Emma’s nails scratched over his scalp then clawed their way down his back, her hands grabbing his ass and squeezing tightly as her back arched off the bed. Flames of desire licked up Killian’s spine and mingled with the burn left behind by her nails. Her pants, heavy in his ear as her breath ghosted over its shell, sent a shudder through him.

“Tell me more,” she gasped breathlessly. “Tell me more about what you wanted to do to me the night we met.”

Killian groaned at her request, the languid slides of his cock becoming more assertive, more aggressive as he growled into the slope of her neck.

“Even before Ruby’s mishap with your zipper, I wanted to tear your dress off you and bend you over the pool table. Take you in front of the whole bar, so the men who’d been eyeing you all night would know who you belonged to.”

Any concern he might have had that his possessive words might be a turn off for her, were alleviated when a moaned, god yes, fell from her lips and her grip on his ass tightened.

Hitching her legs a bit further up his hips, Killian adjusted the angle and force of his thrusts while continuing to confess, “And when that fucker showed up trying to lay claim to you, I wanted to take you against the wall next to the dart board and show him the true meaning of hitting the bull’s eye.”

“There!” Emma cried out, when he hit the mark. “Right there! Dear God, don’t stop!”

Not a chance in hell, he thought, hammering his hips against hers. Glorying in the sounds she made as she hurtled towards release, Killian was only vaguely cognizant of his own curses and filthy utterances while the coiling sensation at the base of his spine intensified. When Emma’s walls clenched around him, her back arching off the bed and her head thrown back in ecstasy, Killian couldn’t stop the force of his own orgasm ripping through him as he filled the condom with hot stuttering spurts while buried deep inside his Swan.

Mindful to stay braced on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush her with his weight, Killian waited several moments to try and get his breathing under control before opening his eyes to gaze down on the ravishing woman beneath him. She was stunning, with her hair fanned out in soft tangles, the rosy flush glowing off her skin, and her pouty lips, swollen from his kisses and the bite of her teeth. He wanted to run his tongue over the imprint left behind on the tender flesh, but got distracted by the shimmer of perspiration collected in the hollow of her throat. Dipping his tongue into the salty brine of her skin caused her pelvic muscle to clench around him, nearly expelling him from the haven he had no intentions of withdrawing from just yet.

“Careful, love,” he murmured into her neck. “Keep that up, and I just might have to take you again.”

A gasping groan rushed over his lips when she squeezed him again, but was followed by a curse when his cock slipped from her completely. Emma’s chest shook with a suppressed giggle as she watched him leave the bed to attend to the condom before it could make a mess. When he returned, she held out her hand, welcoming him back. Instead of allowing him to wrap her in his arms for a bit of a cuddle, he found himself on his back with her straddling his hips, his wrists caught in her hands above his head.

“This time,” she purred down at him, sultrily, “I’ll be the one doing the taking.”

“You’ll hear no complaint from me,” he said before her lips crashed against his.

Later, both spent and snuggled together in the warmth and comfort of Killian’s bed, he asked her to stay.

“I’ll take you home if that’s what you’d prefer, but I would really like it if you’d stay.”

Emma tilted her head to look up at him, a sleepy smile gracing her lips as her fingers caressed the stubble along his jaw. “I think I’m perfectly fine right here,” she told him, her fingers moving from his face, down his neck, and briefly swirling through his chest hair before her hand came to rest over his heart. “I think I quite like you, Killian Jones.”

Killian tightened his embrace and nuzzled his face in her hair, murmuring, “I know I quite like you, Emma Swan,” before placing a kiss behind her ear.

~/~

Emma rolled away from the intruding rays of early morning sunshine making their way through the curtains. The gentle sway of Killian’s boat almost had her lulled back to sleep until her arm stretched out and found his side of the bed empty. Pushing her unruly hair out of her face, Emma raised up and peered around the room then down the passageway that led from the bedroom to the stairs up to the deck.

“Killian?” she called out, her voice thick from the sated slumber she’d enjoyed after being thoroughly ravished (and doing a fair bit of her own in return) by the man quickly becoming more than just a different kind of fun than she was used to.

With protesting muscles, and the pleasant ache radiating from places long neglected before last night, Emma found her underwear and shimmied them up her legs before grabbing Killian’s discarded shirt and slipping it over her head.

“Killian?” Gently knocking on the bathroom door, she found it as empty as the rest of the boat then heard raised voices coming from outside.

Making her way up on deck, she found Killian standing on the dock, a cozy pair of flannel pants slung low on his hips but no shirt to protect him from the bite of the morning chill. In addition to his state of undress, she was shocked to discover him engaged in an argument with Neal of all people. How the hell had he known where to find them?

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, making her way over to the side of the boat and glaring down at the offending man.

Killian’s head whipped around at the sound of her voice and Neal’s face became thunderous. When Killian turned back to face him, he was greeted with Neal’s fist connecting with his jaw, knocking him sideways.

“Neal!” Emma shouted. Completely undeterred by her own lack of decency, Emma bounded off the boat and ran to where the men were grappling with one another on the boards of the pier.

“I’m not going to fight you, Neal,” Killian stated after another blow split his lip, forcing him to spit blood out of the side of his mouth.

Emma grabbed Neal’s shoulders and wrenched him off of Killian. “Where the hell do you get off?” she seethed, placing herself between the two men while reaching back to offer Killian a hand up off the ground. “What gives you the right--”

“I told him to stay away from you, only to see you come out looking like...” Neal gestured up and down her body, his anger evident in the mottled red hues tinting his features.

Emma took a step forward and lifted her chin. “Like what?” she challenged. “Like I might have actually had a good time last night? Like I might have actually been with a man who knows how to please a woman? A man who can go three rounds, giving me mind blowing, toe curling orgasms - plural - without hardly any recovery time for himself in between? Is that what I look like, Neal?” she goaded. “It should be, because that’s exactly what happened last night. Not that it is any of your damn business!”

“Swan,” Killian said softly, pulling her back towards him and wrapping an arm around her waist. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Neal,” he told the still furious man before them. “But I won’t apologize for the way I feel about Emma, nor for my intentions in continuing to see her.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Emma spat. “He has no right to be angry about this. No right to think he gets any say in who I spend time with.” Jabbing a finger in Neal’s direction, she reminded him, “You lost any right you might have had regarding my actions when you decided to sleep with someone else. In. Our. Bed!”

“Emma, just hear me out,” Neal insisted.

“No! I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”

“Well, I am,” an angry voice sounded from farther down the dock. Emma’s eyes widened when she noticed who the voice belonged to.

“T-Tamara?” Neal stammered guilty. “What are you… how did you know I was…”

The woman held up her phone and shook it. “Tracker app.”

Neal balked. “You tracked my phone?”

Tamara crossed her arms over her chest and cocked a brow at him. “Yep,” she said, popping the ‘p’, “And it looks like I was right to.” Her dark eyes flicked over to Emma’s, a sad apology glimmering there before she turned her ire back onto Neal.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Neal said. “I’m not here because of Emma, I’m here because of Killian. He--”

Tamara held up her hand, tears shimmering in her eyes as she shook her head. “Actually, I changed my mind,” she told him with a small sob choking in the back of her throat that made Emma’s heart ache for the woman.

Emma had been just as angry at Tamara as she had been at Neal when she first learned of his infidelity, even though it had been apparent when the woman showed up on their doorstep that she hadn’t known about Emma any more than Emma had known about her. Eventually, she’d come to see Tamara as a casualty of Neal’s actions as much as she had been, and had sought her out to let her know that, wishing her the best in whatever she chose to do moving forward. They were never going to be friends, but Emma wouldn’t have wished her circumstances on anyone.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Neal,” Tamara declared. “You can tell your father, I don’t care how many lawyers he throws at me. You are going to provide for this child, but neither he nor I want anything else to do with you. Goodbye, Neal.”

Tamara marched her way back up the dock while Neal’s head volleyed between her retreating form and the place where Emma and Killian still stood together with their arms wrapped around each other.

“This isn’t over,” he sneered before rushing after Tamara, begging her to stop and listen.

Anger and cold rippled over Emma’s skin, causing her to shiver against Killian’s side.

“Come on, love,” Killian rasped, a hiss falling from his split lip. “Let’s get you back inside and warmed up.”

“I’ll be fine.” She waved him off, getting a good look at his split lip and beginnings of a black eye. “You’re the one who needs tending to. That’s gonna be some shiner.”

“This is nothing in comparison to the arse kicking Robin’s gonna give me later,” Killian groused. “Once he gets a look at my eye, I’ll never hear the end of his nagging.”

Placing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw, Emma said, “I might be able to help with that.”

Chapter Five - Coming Soon!

Tagging the Curious Crew:

@kmomof4 @sals86 @jennjenn615 @darkcolinodonorgasm @artistic-writer @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @heavenlyjoycastle @sunshine2632 @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @kday426 @cocohook38 @unworried-corsair @aprilqueen84 @tiganasummertree @ilovemesomekillianjones @ultraluckycatnd @wyntereyez @ultimiflos @superchocovian @qualitycoffeethings @facesiousbutton82 @theonceoverthinker @sherlockianwhovian @lillpon @shardminds @skystar87 @teamhook @itsfabianadocarmo @xarandomdreamx @therealstartraveller776 @queen-serena88 @donteattheappleshook @jonirobinson64 @therooksshiningknight @angellifedeath

#cs ff #csff #cs fic #cs au #captain swan #cs band au #musician!Killian #performer!Emma #a different kind of fun #words by hollye

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citoyenneangele · 4 years

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Les Mis in Bernese (Swiss Les Mis part 3)

The most interesting finding I had during my research at the library was a script of Les Mis in Bernese German (Bärndütsch), a Swiss German dialect, my native language kind of.

I found this extremely fascinating, to read a story that means so much to me, in particular a version of it that is very close to the original in many quotes, in my local language. It was without a doubt a very particular experience for me, enriching in many ways.

This script was written by Ueli Bichsel in the occasion of a open air theatre production in the Bernese old town in 2011.

Sadly it was pretty hard to find actual footage of the show after 9 years, since many of the things are no longer available on the internet after such a long time. This sadly also includes the photos that the theatre company uploaded.

Here is a partly reconstructed version of the website, that does include some aspects of it, like the introduction to the play and the cast, but sadly no photos :(

Here is one of the few pictures I found on the internet a few months ago, featuring probably Javert and Gavroche

youtube

here is a little exctact of the play featuring Valjean’s dispair, a fair in Montreuil, the Thenardiers, Cosette and the other 2 kids, possibly Fantine...

The way this video is arranged makes me suspect there would be a whole recording, to which I sadly don’t have access, but this video just focuses on the woman who plays the accordeon.

Besides that the only file I have access too is a a few scenes that were featured in a christian tv show which you can find here. It is a portrait of the woman who did the co-direction of the production. The portrait starts at about 5mins in. It features besides the portait of Nathalie Trachsel also some behind the scenes clips from the rehearsals, also some scenes from the actual play: Javert upon Valjean’s release, Valjean and the Bishop, Fantine dying, Javert confronting; then after a break The Amis shouting “to the barricades!” (in particular Combeferre, Feuilly, and Enjolras (the guy with the red cravat), them building the barricade, the first attack, Gavroche shooting the sergeant and Gavroche dying, Valjean releasing Javert.

Now let me tell you about the particularities of this play and its adaptional choices:

The language: as I already said, this is the first time I hear and read Les Mis in my native dialect. It is a very poetic form of it using many specific Bernese terms of vocabulary, that I would probably not use on everyday basis.

The script is specifically designed for the square in the old town where it was realised in 2011. Multiple references concerning the nearby streets are being made. Also the actual cathedral of Bern, giving the square its name, is being integrated, as the seat of the Bishop of Digne. I think they invested also some part of the introduction to the play by stating that all of this could also have happened right here, in these streets, which is a pretty powerful message.

The play includes multiple dreamlike sequences, that also explain multiple cast of Valjean. The first dream is kind of a nightmare that Valjean has during his first night after prison where he sleeps on the stone bench which resumes the ordeal he experienced since his conviction for stealing bread (featuring various Valjean-actors at different stages of his life). The next one is the one where everyone surrounds Fantine and wants money from her after her dismissal. Another dreamscene is the internal debate that Valjean experiences after learing about the “trial of the applethief”, where multiple actors represent the different voices in Valjean’s head (Madeleine’s self who doesn’t want to give up his freedom and doesn’t want to give his town up and do good there instead, even if this means breaking with the past, Fantine who insists that he has to save her daughter and thus can’t go in prison, the apple thief who doesn’t want to go to prison for life in his place, the Bishop who wants him to stay with the truth...). The last dreamscene is the near-death experience Marius has after the barricade which is very similar to the finale of the 2012 film which it predates, except that they are actually not singing the finale but the regular Do You Hear The People Sing in (standard) German.

Another particularity is the insert of Javert as some sort of narrator that comments basically the entire story from his point of view. This is particularly interesting because this Javert seems to me more omniscient than I expect actual Hugolian Javert to be. And since there is no story without a narrator, this play ends with Javert’s suicide.

Generally the book seems to have been an important source of information, many of the dialogues are directly taken from Hugo

The influence of the musical is there and reaches also to the point of the already anticipated inclusion of a song into the play. But there are some part of influences that also make me think of other versions, in particular some dialogue seems to be directly taken from 2000 Les Mis (conversation about the cause from Marius and Enjolras)

Marius is a Republican (and sadly partially rude to Gavroche)

Javert tries to hire Gavroche to spy on the Musain, and the latter takes the money, but later uses this against Javert

Gavroche kills the artillery sergeant and not Enjolras, and gets killed while rejoicing his success

preparation for the barricade is featured

In general I have to say that I enjoyed reading this very much as it was really a well done adaptation from how I can tell this. Very detailed.

I am gonna keep a copy of this script. So if you have questions or would have to see something more in detail, just ask ;)

Click on read more to see the detailed summary.

Before the actual script several interesting documents are included

So the very first page is a letter that the director wrote to one of the actors in the play (he plays Le Noir, a elderly revolutionary, who gets a few lines of one of the unnamed workers of the Faubourg that Hugo quotes). He makes an excuse that it took so long, but they had to edit some things because there were not enough male actors for all the roles, so they had to change a few male roles into female roles, and they are also considering where someone may take over multiple roles.

Then we have a list of all the roles with the respective actors who played them. Some roles are still open, and marked with a question mark, as this list was made before the rehearsals actually took place

Next up we have a plan of the rehearsals, with days and hours and everything... interestingly enough they took place at a location that I personally know, so that is very meaningful for me.

Then follows the actual script. The title is Les Misérables - fate, death and love. The translation is by Ueli Bichel, last edited by Marlise Oberli-Schoch, in 2010.

Prologue

Valjean enters from one of the side streads, is poorly clothed, unshaved, lies on a stone bench and sleeps.

Valjean has a nightmare. so there is a scene within the scene. Which explains the quantity of Valjeans that are employed. Like the Madeleine's self, they appear to the actual Valjean actor in the dreams. In this particular dream sequence Valjean is sentenced to 5 years galleys. While both Valjean and his sister Jeanne beg for mercy (because he tried to work but that was not enough to feed all 8 of them, and parents are dead and so on...) the judge has none of this because the LAW.

Valjean2 is sentenced to more prison and other... corrective measures

Valjean 3 and 4 are sentenced to more prison and other unhuman treatment. Javert appears and lets the prisoners to be chained together. They go away

Javert has a monologue about Valjean. Basically he knows that we will say that this sentence is inhuman and that arresting people like JVJ causes more misery since he is the breadwinner of his family etc. But the law is clear and shall not be questioned. He is not in the position to judge the law, and he is also not responsible for the existence of criminals. His duty is it to find out about crimes and to fight them and to deliver criminals to their rightful punishment. He also gives Valjean his passport and tells him what he has to do and what happens if he breaks is parole...and then Javert speaks to the public and talks about how Valjean cried after his first conviction, and how he now doesn't show any feelings anymore. Wonders what happened to his soul.

A woman called Delacroix wakes Valjean up and asks him what he is doing here, why he sleeps on a stone bench and why he is not going to a inn. He says he was rejected everywhere. She gives him a tip and indicates... the actual cathedral that is on that square in Bern where the theatre takes place.

Image/Act 1

Valjean knocks at the cathedral door. First Magloire with Baptistine, then the Bishop come out. While the women are scared the Bishop approaches Valjean without fear and calmly. greets him with a blessing. Valjean tells him who he is and that he has nowhere to stay, that they didn't let him in even in the prison and so on.... Bishop invites him. JVJ continues to talk about his yellow passport. and is surprised that he wants to take him in ... more conversation of this kind. Bishop says it is not his home, it is the home of jesus, that the door ask not how the one is called who comes in, that is asks if one has hunger or thirst.... Says Valjean come sfrom a place where lots of sad things exists, a place full of hatred and anger against the peple, you have the right to mercy. When you go from here with a benevolence, and thoughts of freedom, a penitent sinner and a peaceful man, then you are worth more than anyone of us. Lets him sleep there.[

Magloire has a panic attack because the silver is missing and what else terrible could have happened. The gendarmes bring the arrested Valjean back.The entire conversation about how the bishop exonerates Valjean, by saying he gave him the silver and why didn't he take the candlesticks... And tells him to become a honest man, that he no longer belongs to evil...Javert as narrator again comments the whole scenery and does not believe that Valjean can become a good person in such a short time. Because once a prisoner, always a prisoner.

almost to prove Javert's judgement the next scene is Petit Gervais, but with a girl called Odette, Valjean tears his ticket

Image/Act 2

there is some kind of fair with music and dancing and market, and all kinds of shows. Javert is there, Thenardier is in his inn, Mme T. is there too... Thenardier boasts about how he, sergeant Thenardier, saved a General in Waterloo with lots of overdramatic details People in the audience have mixed feelings about his narration. While someone is totally impressed, someone else has heard other things about this "ghoul". The Thenardiers have first names (Justin and Rose) They have a discussion about their newest visitor and how they can rip him off the best. Make some remarks about his job as a innkeeper that remind me distantly of Master of the house in the musical. Javert has a conversation with Mme T. about Cosette. Then a conversation about Javert, who is new in town. and once they know where he wants to go (the police prefecture) they suddenly ask lower prizes.

So apparently the Thenardiers are in the same place here as Javert, and thus probably also Fantine and Valjean..

Javert arrives at the police. there is a captain Bovet, who is currently ridiculously eating a sandwich and is not bothered by Javert's arrival until he says who he is, i.e. the new police inspector, and he keep telling him that he is not behaving the way he is supposed to according to the official instructions. He wants to see the mayor immediately. On the way, Javert has a conversation with Bovet about how much more clean it is here and how much less crimes there will be here than in Paris. Bovet says that is due to the glass manufacture that the life in Montreuil has never been better. He asks him if he wants to see it. He says, first the mayor. Whom does the factory belong to? To the mayor. He first worked as worker, but after the bankruptcy of the former owner he bought the entire factory six years ago. Javert thinks then it is even better if they first go and see the mayor, when he seems to be the driving force in this town. Bovet says, yes, but also that he is kinda extraordinary, eccentric, well very shy. He lives like an eremit, retired and alone. He even did not want to be elected, he had rejected to be mayor at first. The people think he is abit crazy, but Bovet thinks he is sympathetic and yet he has a bit of pity for him because he is so lonely. A very short, very formal visit at Madeleine's house, where for some reason a soldier is watching, and asking the mayor to come. The scene concludes with Javert-narrator wondering from where he knows this man, finds it weird that this man does not show any interest in the prefect of police (excuse me what are you now, Javert, prefect, inspector, officer? I have lost the overview in this play), wonders if he has something to hide, himself, his face, his voice, a movement, his language....

a woman called Ducret approaches Madeleine, and tells her about one of the girls at the factory, that she has not spoken to ehr yet, but everything indicates that she has a child. Madeleine asks if she is a whore. He only does not want that his workers are captured by moral disintegration. Ducret then suggests to dismiss her. Madeleine trust upon her judgement, and says in this case she shall give her 50 francs and send her away. Ducret has a conversation with Fantine which starts with innocent smalltalk and ends with her being dismissed.

basically Fantine is in a state of powerlessness and everyone wants money from her and threatens her. (The Thenardiers, the landlord the renter of furniture, the letter writer...) Fantine breaks down.

a woman called Françoise who offers haircuts, wigs and teeth, buys Fantine's hair.

Whores in front of the Thenardier's inn and apparently Mme T. is there too, singing (apparently not being a whore). and Javert and Bovet are there too, about how they are being more and more... Two guys called Rambone and Savioni are harassing Fantine who looks worse than the other whores, and Fantine defends herself tries to kick one of them in the eggs ^^ When Javert comes the men disappear...

Javert arrests Fantine and as a narrator he makes a comment in which he says very clearly what he thinks about her (I am not gonna repeat that here though), but basically she is very criminal and is treating good and honorful citizens of this town badly and this can not be tolerated. She breaks down and asks him for mercy because Cosette, you know, but of course Javert doesn't care. So she breaks down and coughs even more...

Madeleine intervenes, Fantine attacks Madeleine, who only wants Javert to release her, but Fantine thinks Madeleine is responsable for all her misery and spits at him. Madeleine says he know what happened, the men are at fault and should be punished, not she. But she insulted the mayor. But the mayor says that this is his business and not the justice's. The whole Javert-Valjean argument about Law and who has what competences Fantine is free. Madeleine wants to pay her debts and bring her daughter back and make that she can live a worthy life again. Fantine faints, and Valjean says to the soldiers to bring her to the hospital

Fauchelevent's incident with the cart. Involves various inhabitants of the town called Toutou, Zidane, Josephine, Fabienne, and Rahel Javert is there too, and in the end of the chapter he is sure that Madeleine has to be 24601

Fantine is deadly ill, Madeleine wants to bring Cosette before she dies

Javert demands to be dismissed, featuring detailed description by Javert on the points where he thought to have recognized Valjean (and reading this script in its entirety makes me realise mistakes that they didn't. For instance here he still stole from a boy (i.e. Petit Gervais and not Odette). Equally detailed description of the apple thief, and who recognized him as Valjean. Mention about the trial the next day. Madeleine says he can leave. Javert insists to be dismissed. Madeleine says, rather than dismissed he'd need to be promoted, he appreciates him as the dutifuly man of honor that he is. Javert has another monologue that how each time when he arrested someone and mercilessly judged him, he told himself "help me god that you will never stumble", And now he stumbled and needs to accuse himelf. It is about justice, the law asks for an example. Valjean just says we'll see.

dreamlike sequence. Features different actors that represent the different voices in Valjean's head.

Bishop: tells him to go his way. And stand to his identity, to lie would be very wrong, he promised to do no wrong anymore.

Apple thief: blames him for making him his substitute, the one who needs to suffer in his place

Madeleine's self: is relieved that Javert is no longer going after him. Valjean no longer exists. This was god's will. God wants me to do more good here, to be an example for others, everything else is destiny. And for that I need to stay the mayor who gives food to the ppor and makes that the orphans get good education. He shall break the candlesticks as he shall break with the past. He shall forget about the bishop. And also this apple thief is a criminal, he shall be in prison.

Fantine: asks when she will finally see Cosette, he owes her a lot for all the injustice she has suffered because of him. She doesn't think the apple thief wil be a better person but he will be an example for her child. He shall save Cosette who is suffering because she is mistreated by the Thenardiers

Valjean wakes up and tells Arnaud to leave for Arras.

Image/Act 3

again no trial scene, just a summary of a very angry Javert who wants to go after Valjean NOW, as he humiliated him

Fantine dying. Javert confronting Valjean and making respectless remarks to both Valjean and Fantine. Valjean in turn accuses Javert of having killed Fantine. Valjean attacks Javert with a chair so that he can pay his last respect to the dead Fantine. Then says to Javert that now he is at his command. Javert makes another extremely unnecessary stupid comment. Valjean approaches Javert and stretches out his hands, as Javert wands to bond them, he knocks Javert down and escapes

Valjean sees Cosette and wants to help her carry the bucket of water home to ther mother. Cosette says she has no mother, thinks she never had one, that she brought her and never picked her up again. Valjean asks if she lives alone. She says, almost, Monsieur and Madame are only beating her. Realizes she is Cosette, says he wants to stay in the inn for the night, she shall show her the way. They talk about the two other children, Popine and Zelma, who never have to work and have beautiful dolls, and always are allowed to play, while she has to work all day and is not allowed to play as the two other kids don't let her. Only sometimes she is allowed to play, when she is done. But she has nothing to play with. She once played with one of the dolls but then Madam beat her. But she has a small sabre of tin with which she dissects leaves and rainworms

Usual Thenardier-inn conversations, in particular the one about the missing bread, the lost money, that Valjean miraculously finds, Valjean buying the work she'd have to do, (socks), he buys her a doll in a nearby shop, the whole negotiation about Cosette, including Thenardier insisting to see a passport. Valjean saying he doesn't have any, it is not required here. If he takes Cosette with him they won't know his name or his address, they will break down all the bridges behind them . However he has the letter of Fantine. They leave quickly.

Here the Thenardiers don't go after him, they just regret that they didn't make more money

another Javert-narrator monologue, about the dangerous criminal that escaped him and that now also has an innocent girl in his hands. He searched with 36 men and 6 dogs but he is like disappeared from this world. He felt so bad wehn he told the police minister about this development. But the latter did not seem to be that interested, talked about social misery, about shortcomings in the health system. Told him about the beggars, the neglected, from the small criminals who kill another man for bread, about big criminals who in hordes rob reputable citizens, he shall not chase a phantom. But our dear Javert is obsessed with said phantom and doesn't want him to escape. He wants to follow his trace until he has him on (no, not under) the guillotine. He is coming to Paris, not for the miserables, for whom he does not care that much, but for Valjean!

Image/Act 4

Gavroche singing a song about Paris in the time text, yet missing

a coin falls on the square (no idea from where), an entire bunch of poor children and teenagers fight upon it. Gavroche, the most streetwise/smart/crafty of them takes it, and escapes, the other children behind him, he gets caught by Javert, the other children disappear Javert treats him badly and takes the money away from him. When he asks Gavroche for his name, he asks Javert back, but he doesn't seem to be interested in reavealing his identity. But then Gavroche tells him his name, because he told him that there are many like him. And he insists that he, gavroche is unique. So basically Javert recruits Gavroche to spy on the Café Musain "because there are things happening that are of big significance for the state and the city", and Gavroche says yes, because he gave him money. Javert wants to know who is there, what they speak about and what they intend to do.

The students and workers in the Café Musain discuss the situation and Javert spies on them. The people is agitated, one fears that there will be a revolution, a uprising of the miserables Grantaire (who is absent in an older version of the script) declares that he only wants to drink and forget about life, a stupid invention without purpose. Bahorel and Joly have a conversation about Bahorel's lover Feuilly talks about Roman Gods (apparently we now have a Jehan Feuilly or is that a Feuilly Prouvaire or whatever?) Grantaire has a monologue about what they consume in different cities, and harrasses the waitress. Courfeyrac doesn't want any kings anymore and does not like the charter, thinks she belongs to the fire. Enjolras comes in with Marius, presents the latter as a friend of his who want to join them. Marius is a republican and declares that he wants to fight for the republic with all his force, however he hopes it won't get that far that he'll need to give is life. But he prefers to do so rather than life under a tyran (suspicously similar to 2000 dialogue if you ask me) They sing the Marseillaise until Louison tells them to stop, because she does not want the police to shut down her pub. Yes, apparently she now is an innkeeper too.

Outside the café: chaingang. Valjean with Cosette watching. The conversation between the two that ends with Cosette saying "If one of them would cross my way, I think I would die... Dad, what are galleys?" Valjean wants to leave. Marius sees her and wants to follow her, but loses her in the crowd. Goes after Gavroche instead and handles him pretty rudely (Sorry Marius, but this is not how you do it). Basically he tells him to find an angel. Gavroche then is just like "but does this angel have white wings?" Marius instead gives him a detailed description of Cosette and her goldbrown hair and white dress, and how velvet her look is and how silky smooth her lips ar and everything...

They are back to the Musain Combeferre says all the workers have to swear that they go to the streets at the first alarm and fight Feuilly says he can be sure, they fight. But the students have to pave the way. We workers fight, and even if there are as many enemies, we'll fight Feuilly says they are 300 already (oukei, now I am really impressed) Bahorel is convinced that in 14 days they will be as strong as the government i.e. 25000 Bossuet declares he doesn't go to bed, he makes cartridges. Feuilly wants to fight. now. Enjolras says first they need to have weapons Courfeyrac insists that the soldiers do have weapons. Le Noir has the "either for the people or against the people speech" that is more or less an exact translation of the speech that one of the revolutionaries in the Faubourg has in the preparations chapter. Gavroche comes, announces Lamarque's death Combeferre: what? Lamarque? The courageous freedomfighter, our advocate? Now we have resist on our own! Away with the government! Feuilly: we overturn the government! To the barricades! Enjolras: it is about us! now its about everything! at his funeral - to the barricade!

Valjean and Cosette in the garden. They are considering to move again. Cosette: we are changing houses like we are changing names. Valjean is like "I know that must be weird for you, but one day you will understand". Valjean goes inside. Marius is with Cosette (Gavroche led him here, for money), lots of poetic blablabla, and <3<3<3, and you know, Marius shows her handkerchief and ask if it is hers, she says yes. In the end Valjean calls her. Says he keeps the handkerchief as a pledge

The "Thenardier Gang" (yes that is how they are called nowadays) sets out to rob Valjean's house. Eponine tries everything that they don't. In the end she succeeds.. Claquesous blames not only her but also the sight of 2 fighting sparrows and a black cat during the day. Cosette tells Marius they are leaving for England and probably won't come back. Cosette says Marius he should follow them, but Marius says he has no money. He says e won't come tomorrow, only the day after, and also he dies if she leaves. Marius says they have to renounce on each other for 1 day, but maybe they'll win life. Marius tells her the address. or more precisely he graves it into the wall, says he lives with Courfeyrac. when he is gone, Valjean decides they need to leave immediately, he has seen people that don't please him and Paris is bubbling, they have no choice...

Image/Act 5 (named the revolution)

So basically Lamarque's funeral has already happened. And many of the poor have paid him their last respects. Then the subversive slogans suddenly caused the troops of the king to attack people. People are kinda angry and meet up in front of the Musain. Courfeyrac finds a group of workers who come from the funeral, but luckily have not been among those who were attacked by the dragoons (ah, they are not called dragons, good to know :)), but are very angry, Courfeyrac tells them to go inside they can use people like them. Bossuet speaks with a worker from another group, who has a grazing shot in the arm, but doesn't care, they discuss about their weapons Feuilly asks a working woman what she wants. She says: to fight. Show them up there that they push back against that. Feuilly approves. Another worker has no weapon but would fight if he had one. Bossuet tells him he should provide himself one. Worker sets out to pillage a armorer. Everyone in the crowd shares rumors about what happened, and the Thenardier and Claquesous are awaiting happy times. And Babet also. Extraordinary mention to Combeferre declaring this is the best day of his life. They start building a barricade and undercover Javert has made his appearance.

Eponine tells Marius Cosette has left, apparently without leaving a sign. Marius is heartbroken and wants to die on the barricade at any cost. Which again upsets Eponine because she loves him

Inside Musain. Enjolras wants to know what is happening. Courfeyrac says the rumors are very contradictory and it is hard to tell what is truth and what is a lie. Lots of army, people is building barricades everywhere. Barricade is growing and more people are there. Gavroche comes over the barricade. Asks a worker who has the command. One who's called Enjolras. He wants to know if he is a general. Worker says no, the generals are on the other side. We are only brothers. Gavroche says Enjolras he wants to volunteer. Wants to send him to the ambulance. But Gavroche wants a gun. But Enjolras wants to arm first the men, then the women and only then the children. Gavroche leaves and comes back. Tells Courfeyrac and Enjolras there is a problem and draws their attention on Javert, and tells them how he offered him money to spy on them. For some reason he now knows his name. They arrest Javert and by binding him on the post at the entrance they want to show a warning to anyone who dares to betray them

they are awaiting the 1st attack Combeferre sees someone approaching. Enjolras says don't shoot, we know who it is. Bossuet says it's Gavroche. Gavroche wants his gun. who's there- french revolution. The whole Mabeuf thing except that they really present him as an ancient assemblyman who was "at the convent" (which is here not meant the place where nuns are, but the convention, which is apparently called convent in german for some reason). Javert gets another weird narrator-monologue where he denounces the stupidity of the students who throw their lives away and those of the workers because they always think you can change the world all of a sudden. And how they don't have a chance as badly equipped as they are against so many more well trained soldiers. That has to end badly. Either they die in the hail of bullets or "they are beheaded on the guillotine" (ok apparently this Javert has a guillotine obsession but doesn't know how such a thing works ) Javert goes back into the scenery where Joly reminds him that he will be next... The whole first attack plus Marius wants to blow the barricade up, and thus saves it, and asks for the leader, and Enjolras says its Marius. But all Marius wants is to be alone for a moment

Eponine dies and Marius discovers that Cosette still is in Paris

they sing and women bring food, they reprepare the weapons, basically drink with me mode I guess... Marius writes his letter to Cosette and asks Gavroche to bring it. Gavroche doesn't want to miss the next attack and thinks he shall wait... Marius insists that he has to leave now, that they won't attack until tomorrow. And then it will be too late to go because all the streets are closed. Gavroche goes.

It is night and they are trying to rest. One starts to sing the "Song of the Revolution (Musical)" and then the others join in. Combeferre and Gavroche come back. Gavroche has a bag of cartridges with him. Gavroche asks what is going on with them. Here no one sleeps anymore. The whole army of Paris is around etc. (basically what Enjolras says in the book divided between Gavroche and Combeferre) The whole we'll stay and build the barricade higher, conversation, and the uniform conversation, except it is reduced to the essential and Combeferre doesn't get to say anything, it is all Enjolras, in between Marius asks Gavroche who told him to come back. He says he delivered the letter "to the gatekeeper" Valjean comes with the 5th uniform, the 5 leave. Enjolras cares for Javert. Javert recognizes Valjean and says he's gonna have it easy now. Gavroche announces their arrival. A cannon is being heard, like it being rolled there. Cannon attack. 2 people die. Enjolras says this was a grapeshot, and that they needs to stop this cannon, i.e. that it needs to be "fireworker"'s turn. Gavroche says he takes that over. Before anyone can prevent him from doing so, he is up on the barricade and shooting. he hit his target, and is all excited and rejoicing about how he "blew out his lamp", that he evidently forgot that he is standying on a freaking barricade. This causes him to be also shot, of course, and he falls down dead right into the arms of Combeferre.

Enjolras says to all that the last one alive shall shoot the spy. Valjean asks Enjolras if he can crush this man's skull with his own hands, and since no one has objectsions he lets him. Final attack is announced by both Marius and horns. (yes another Hernani flashback for Autumn ) . Everyone goes to the barricade Valjean and Javert alone. Valjean frees Javert with the mention of the promise he made to the bishop of Digne to never do anything unjust. And killing him because he did his duty as a policman here today, or because he followed him his entire life would be wrong. And if he against the expectance should make it out of here alive he can find him in Rue de l'homme armé. Javert says he hates this kind of games, he shall rather kill him. Valjean tells him to leave. He shoots in the air and goes back to the others where he says he is done. Heavy shooting happens. One after the other the defendants of the barricade die. Valjean does stay at the background and doesn't shoot on the soldiers, yet he supports the defendants of the barricade. he realizes that Marius was hit and falls from the barricade. Valjean goes to him. And whereever he looks there are just dying or dead "revoluzzers" (yes, this is the word he uses in the script, not revolutionaries or something like that). During the very last attack on the barricade he carries Marius away from the barricade and can escape with him to the sewers. The soldiers pull the flags of the revolution out and plant the flag of the monarchy (whatever "the flag of the monarchy" may be)

Image/Act 6

We are in the sewers now. Barely conscious Valjean falls down on a sleeping Thenardier at the gate that leads out of the sewers who thinks he has made the great gain. and of course wants to steal from them. and comments this in a monologue this is observed by Javert. And of course now Thenardier is all about helping these people, if they aren't dead yet etc. Javert says him just to back off, calling him by his name. Thenardier insists to help, but he says he shall just leave. Valjean gets back his conscience and checks if Marius is still alive, wants to lift him up again, then sees Javert and lets him down again. But Javert just asked him if he needs help. Valjean says to Javert he hasn't given him the address , so that je can escape. Javert wants to know who that man is. And reminds Valjean what happened to those who were on the barricade. Valjean says he survives if he gets help quickly. He is a daredevil, an idealist, but a good person and he can do many good things yet for our country. Please let for once in your life reign mercy before law. Javert insists that he is dead Valjean says not yet. Insists that he needs to save Marius and then he says he'll come back They arrange a meeting at the same place at the same hour the next day.

Marius lies in the middle of the open square between Barricade and inn scenery. There is only the bed and Toussaint that cares ffor him and Cosette that is looking over him. Marius has a fever dream and is near death when they sees all the friends including Gavroche and eponing with the revolutionary flags and singing "The song of the barricade" climbing on the barricades. It is the german DYHTPS (Lied des Volkes), arranged kinda like the finale in the movie that came out notabene after this thing here. Basically Marius is convinced that they came to lead him to heaven, but in the end they get fainter again and in the end of the scene Marius is alive and awake and with cosette.

Javert derailed made by Javert-narrator which linguistically resembles the confusion of Javert Valjean comes in in the middle of that and says "here I am" Javert halfway awakens from his trance, makes a step towards Valjean, holds his pistol agains Valjean for 2 seconds, then he turns around makes two steps back and holds it against his head. Light goes out. Shot.

THE END.

#Swiss Les Mis #Les Mis uf Bärndütsch #Bärndütsch #Swiss theatre #les mis #les mis play #les mis script

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lornahansonforbes · 3 years

Text

Prologue

If you’re reading this today, then you know I’m dead, dead to you as you are to me, and that should make you so very happy.

I gave it all up sitting at a red light.

This last piece is the final chapter of “The Emesis Tray of Feelings,” it’s a trilogy.

The trilogy contains one play, “Hot Neon Lights” and “Patina on the Edge,” which is a series of monologues and now this, “It Didn’t Happen,” a one act play.

The first installment, “Hot Neon Lights,” tells the story of two events. Act One is a very messy breakdown followed by the fourth and final attempt of my taking my own life. I failed four times. Act Two is about six to weeks later and the family meeting with the psychiatrist where they decide if I should be locked up in hospital or go cold Turkey. There was no option, no Grey area, only black and white.

“Patina on the Edge,” is a series of monologues that highlights moments of grand and glorious to being a homeless junkie who was sucking dick, meanwhile being a thief and a shitkicker was a great way to being truly infamous. Lofty goals. It parallels the story that’s laid out in “Hot Neon Lights.”

“It Didn’t Happen.” is a one act play with four scenes. Scene one, the night of the breakup and a month after the breakup. Scene two, a phone call about the breakup. Scene three, a group of friends who just saw the two aforementioned plays and are in a bar talking about what The New York Times will say about “Hot Neon Lights” and “Patina on the Edge.”

As you read this, do know that this is like Ivory Soap, ninety-nine and forty-four one hundredth percent (99 44/100%) true.

Several people have been merged into one character and not vice versa.

You should know that I died alone and bitter that I was never truly loved by anyone except by my dogs, Zoey, Chase, Auggie, The Brother Levi, CoCo and Harry; and my three cats, Rasselas, Othello and Belle Kitty.

I sadly cannot think of one person, past or present, who ever truly loved me.

I suffered with Bipolar Depression and Anxiety for a large portion of my life. The three guys who I stupidly referred to as my boyfriend, I see now that they barely tolerated me as did my family.

I don’t give a shit. You and whomever can say what you want about me and pepper it generously with Drama Qween. You do know that but I can only tell you what my perception was and how I saw things, but as usual, you’re right and I’m wrong. Fuck you, your opinion is paying for my funeral and you had the option not to read this.

Lastly, all the things I’ve written starting in the 1980’s and in between has been thrown out and erased etc. Yeppers. All gone. I kept it all but as of this entry, I threw it all out.

Since I’ve submitted to various outlets and people yet only to learn I’ve been ignored.

But you can find me on Tumblr and not on Tinder. Good luck with that.

Post Script:

I’ve told stories about how I lived and how I overcame. “You should write a book.” Motherfucker, don’t play with me. You ain’t gonna fucking read it. Why even bother existing? I’m done. If you really want to know, actually pick up the phone and call me. Bye, Felicia.

I forgot to tell you that someone asked me not to give up writing. Sorry but I’m not gonna change my mind about cutting off my nose to spite myself.

Scene One

The late summer sun was slowly going down as we approached the corner of Melrose and North Robertson.

Granted it was nearly 8:00 PM, the sun was still blazing away. I turned to look from the passenger seat to see people milling about waiting to go inside but also the paparazzi was there gawking and snapping pictures.

She slowed the car down for just a millisecond and then took a sharp left turn. Then Sister Mary of the Perpetual Parking Spot smiled down upon us and she pulled in and parked the car.

The restaurant sign read Ty’s Thai Tie Dye, an Indochina Conglomerate. We went inside and were seated way in the back. It was a jungle, flowers, potted trees and Passion Flower vines everywhere. The sun broke through like mosaic tiles.

Dinner was delicious and uneventful. She was now pulling up in front of my modest flat.

“Darling, I’m sure we’ve had a wonderful evening but I feel that my husband is all over us these past few weeks. I’m just so sick and tired of seeing his Gold Audi here and there every time we go out. Why can’t we agree to disagree with the fact that I’m who I am and you are you we aren’t able to carry on like this anymore. I know that I should break it to you gently, but let’s rip the fucking Band-Aid off, it’s over. Don’t speak. Let’s go our separate ways with our splendiferous memories and as the cliché states, when you do speak of me, be kind,” she blurted out without looking at me.

It took me a moment and then I watched her Black Jaguar Vandam Plas glide away and disappear. Nearly comatose, I fumbled for my keys and took those first tentative steps towards the front door. I saw my cat in the window and her deep gold eyes. We looked directly at each other. I got in my car only to pound the steering wheel with tears in my eyes.

“You ungrateful bitch,” I screamed so loud that my ears were ringing worse than being a rock concert.

I drove into the night with flashes of our tongues lashing about like in some porn as we tore our clothes off each other. She was moist. My turgidity.

I landed at Pfeiffer Beach and I saw a Sandpiper. Fuck my life. The sound of the crashing waves and the sun rising. Stumbling back to my car I spied that CHP had paid a visit with a bright orange parking ticket tucked neatly underneath the wiper blades. God damn it to hell.

When I turned the car over, the radio was blaring, some static but nonetheless it jangled my nerves.

“Now, I am strong enough. Now, I’m strong enough to accept change. Yes, my darling, if you want to live in another place, I can understand it. It’ gonna hurt for a little while, but I can understand it, but before you walk out that door, touch me in the morning,” this woman’s anger and hurt were front and center. We were simpatico at that moment. We were both in a world of hurt and she like me, we were not feeling it.

I tapped a button on my car radio and my playlist replaced her voice as I pulled into traffic on Route 1 South heading home leaving Pfeiffer Beach in my rear view mirror.

Whoever that female voice was previously on my radio, I felt like Kathy Bates and I was swinging that sledgehammer and I left her there to suffer.

Normally I’m not that guy who “gets in touch with their feelings.” It’s just not in my DNA and when I do “get in touch,” it’ll be like a Gatling gun. Crumpled up like a wad of paper, riddled with bullets and left to die gasping for breath in a pool of blood.

This morning I got up and was meandering around my neighborhood. I have absolutely no idea how it happened but I stopped into a local coffee shop and got a Chai Latte. I usually get a green juice with pomegranate and Acai.

I was in a deep, deep funk since I had dinner with my friend and she dumped me. Who was she to me? My girlfriend; friend with benefits: fuck buddy; mistress or just another conquest? Whatever it was, it was good and it lasted but it wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before and so this came to pass and now in my mind I heard Louis Prima singing, “…everywhere I go.” If I really wanted to hear that song, I’d rather find the David Lee Roth remake.

Apparently I got my steps in this morning without some contraption attached to me or some app on my phone. I plunked my narrow behind down on a concrete Jersey barrier and I looking at the waves crashing onto Dockweller Beach. I know it’s not Malibu Beach just a short drive North and it certainly wasn’t Malibu Beach in Boston. From that vantage point, you’ll see the highway and Sister Corita Kent’s artwork in the distance.

Seriously what the fuck, yo? Processing, tabulating, analyzing, and parsing the events of being dumped. I know I saw the data, but what did it reveal? Was it actually that simple or was I looking at the galley’s for the unabridged Cyrillic version of Tolstoy’s tome with copious notes in the margins. Could I decipher The Daily Jumble? Was I looking at some foreign language? Was I experiencing some sort of dyslexia? Sigh! Could I really clean this mess with a piece of used snotty paper?

I’m solving Pi!! Yeah, yeah!! That’s the ticket!!

I clenched my hand around my paper cup and almost spilled my Chai latte. I was fucking pissed.

“Ungrateful BITCH,” that right I said it and I said it with such furious anger venom was dripping of my fangs.

What a difference a day makes. Bull-fucking-shit. Something felt dissimilar yet had I seen the same thing from a different vantage point?

At that exact moment I heard one of those thumper cars approaching blaring something I didn’t understand anything but I did hear, “Baile, baile con El General” and just like that the car was gone. Was Joy Division only for headphones? This is Los Angeles not Colby College.

Perched on the Jersey barrier, I wasn’t contemplating why lint gets in my navel. I couldn’t dodge raindrops. Had I tabled my ego? Were my expectations quickly quieted? Was it like that thumper car; was I blaring or amplifying some sort of acceptance of defeat? The hounds had been released at the same time as I gave up my control? I can be that Type-A personality, driven and getting in touch with my feeling resided in an abyss somewhere, but the fuck if I know.

I felt dampness. Where am I now? Am I on the Maid of the Mist or standing underneath Niagara Falls? God damn it to hell!! I was crying. I normally don’t do that. I clenched my jaw so tightly I had TMJ.

“Mission Accomplished,” I think was actually the last time I did cry, but that was for my furry friends, Mickey & Minnie and then it was Stanley & Blanche. Do I get ahold of the anger in me? What the fuck? Maybe a word, a smile, an hour of happiness? NETX??!! I picked up my phone. I scrolled through my contacts. In a parallel universe, I called you a thousand times when I know I did not and I never will call you.

A boisterous and vociferous colony of seagulls appeared just a few yards away from me. Fuck. Hitchcock.

My paper cup is empty. I knew I had to dispose of it. Recycle, reuse, repurpose or like this affair, would it end up in a landfill? Just another thing to be unceremoniously and recklessly tossed away. It’s just a thing.

With a great exasperated sigh, eight months, two weeks and a day. That’s how long it lasted without me actually keeping track of it. Don’t go there. Don’t judge me. Men and women silently judge me and you but I can only assume they leave something on me so I don’t catch cold. Oh, shit. We had seen other naked. She fucking hurt me. Okay, I’m not that person, who’d scrawl, No Sale, on a mirror if I found a check and a note that read, “Last night was dope.”

My phone beeped, a text message letting me know I had to drive to Pacoima.

Gotta bounce. Later. Onto embrace the new challenges ahead and channel them into existence.

Scene Two

Part Three.

A Hello, bleep.

B How did you know it was me?

A I’ve known for a long time and plus it’s out there.

B Why did you say that?

A What did I say exactly?

B Don’t give me that bullshit. I saw it.

A I told you about how I felt but then I felt around in the dark and I didn’t know how that single cell actually started to feel like encouragement.

B What I said was to do it for yourself and not me.

A I did it for you first and then afterwards I got to me.

B You took more than you should have and you took it to another place. Also that’s not how it went down.

A It’s how some people work. As I told before, give me a thing to work with and I can easily create from there.

B I only told you about a sixteenth of what happened.

A But that was enough for me and those three sentences told me everything I needed to know. Fuck bleep, I told you recently about my Bipolar Depression and how I grapple with it hour by hour and mostly by myself with no assistance or guidance from anyone.

B I appreciate that and your candor but it makes me crazy. But fuck bleep, I know how mentally exhausted some people feel being in your orbit.

A Bleep, dude, we’re trying to get to that place in the day where we can say, I’m still here. First we get out of bed unassisted and the rest is gravy.

B Why such labels? I mean I know most of the names but you know I’m a tee shirt and jeans.

A Without inferring or intimating the slightest thing, I had a good feeling that who she is and most likely she has her own money but she doesn’t dismiss her husband’s money.

B I have my own money too but I’m not going to be seen eating on North Robertson.

A Possibly I’d see you at one place on Melrose or on Alameda and they’re not that far from where I put you. Then again, there’s a place around the way and you can walk there. I pay attention to things like that ever since I saw Russell Simmons ex wife Creamora eating at raw restaurant in LA a few years ago.

B Wow. How did find that out?

A She had a reality show and they showed her eating there and as a woman of color, she nearly lost her mind. One of things they served was a pizza but it wasn’t a New York pepperoni pizza all hot and gooey with cheese. I yelled at the TV, Gurl, I’ll take a slice. I’m in.

B Wait a minute, bleep. You told me you have issues with food.

A I do but sometimes I’ve got to throw caution to the wind and suffer with each delicious bite.

B So that’s why you fabricated that restaurant.

A Well, kinda sorta. When I was in LA, I found a great little Thai place a few blocks away from The Dolby and if I remembered the name I would’ve told you about it. They’ve got some amazing vegan options.

B This is one of the things I find about you, you know some of the most trivial things and it’s fucking scary.

A Bleep, I just hope I don’t actually lose my mind. I’d hope that you or someone else would put me down if dementia or Alzheimer’s effected me.

B Don’t say that. I sometimes like it when you remember what happened way back when.

A I’m not sure what’s going to happen but I’m still here regardless.

B I’ve got to ask why you said I cried.

A Bleep, you are but one of many Taurus men I know and if they do actually cry, it’ll be in the shower and they’d never admit to knowing how to cry. They might well up with tears but never cry in front of anyone ever.

B That’s fucked up.

A Taurus men do write but never about their feelings nor do they own a diary or journal. If that April born man exists who shares their feelings, they are a very rare breed of man.

B Well writing isn’t my thing.

A You sound exhausted.

B I had to compose myself and all the while I cursed your name.

A Oh it’s because I hit a nerve?

B You’re the last person I’d ever, of course, I think of to wax philosophic and then admit it to someone else let alone admit it to myself.

A Bleep, motherfucker, I’m completely aware and yet I’m not living under the delusion by pining away waiting for you to ask.

B No, it’s not that but does fall in the same zip code and then I used one word, empath. You dug as deep as you could and I’m like, fuck, man, I’m on the phone with you.

A Bleep. Bleep. I’ve known ever since your old EarthLink email and I never and I wouldn’t unless you asked. I told you before I see things that I don’t necessarily understand and with each message, I just end up seeing something.

B I gathered as much. There’s my Nou-Nou. Come up. It’s okay. Come on, Nou-Nou. Move your lard ass, Janx. There you go. All better. Rumple, not a word. You stay right there and let Nou-Nou get some.

A The kittehs!!

B Don’t distract. I’m not sure if you have a malignant will or you gave me something to think about.

A I can’t apologize more. I’m truly very sorry. I riffed on an idea and here we are.

B Life isn’t over as you think of it just because you’re alive. There’s more.

A That’s why I told you that I wouldn’t write again. Stirred the pot.

B You’re a dick.

A And your point is? A cunt? I’m The Dowager Empress and that’s all there is to that.

B You’re so full of shit.

A We’re not going to snap at each other like two terriers.

B Is this what we’ve been reduced to? Bickering just for arguments sake?

A You’re the one with the brown eyes, so you could possibly be full of shit. I’ve got green eyes, pea green with jealousy.

B You said some shit and it hit me. What’s that thing you usually say? Oh yeah, it’s a punch in the face you can’t take back.

A Bleep, dude. Most people want that moment in life where someone grabs ahold of you and pleads with you not to leave. It’s been played out in the movies, but not in our lives, right? I don’t know the life you led but I’ve had three boyfriends and each one of them dumped me. I’ve cried and played all the sad songs. You could have possibly done the same thing but let’s face it fucking Cher said it best, we all sleep alone.

B Whitney clapped back and said I’d rather be alone than be unhappy.

A True. But I had the near perfect relationship with The Beast. More than 40 years together. We both had separate lives and we were celibate lovers. We had each other’s back we did everything for love but we never did that. I knew that he wasn’t some Sir Galahad to love from afar, motherfucker was two legged boa constrictor. I’m okay with dying alone and unloved.

B That’s really a fucking bleak future. Well insert a happy go-lucky cliché here followed by Shady Pines. I can’t with you, bleep.

A I know that we’re estranged but don’t divorce me or fire me just yet.

B Okay.

-The curtain comes down and the audience breaks out in an uproar of applause and cheers-

Scene Three

E What was that we just watched?

CI wish I knew.

E 90 minutes of a conversation that never happened?

D Clearly you’ve missed the point of it. Two guys who knew each other since high school and they meet up years later. One guy had a bad break up and the other guy was now, as he said, a widower.

C Excuse me?

E Yeah excuse me. I don’t see it. Okay high school is one thing but forty years later, they’re talking like that?

D Okay let’s go for a quick pop at The Stone and we’ll go home afterwards.

E Which stone?

C I think that the closest one is Rosetta.

D No. That’s by Park Avenue. I think this one is Killarney but is it Kilkerry? Fuck. It’s right here at 8th Avenue.

C Don’t make thing of it but look over getting of that cab, Miles Silverberg.

E I know that name.

D Murphy Brown.

C It is him. Not bad looking but not my type.

D Bitch, your type is anyone who can make the letter O.

C You should talk. You’re still paying off that asbestos abatement from the last one.

D The two of you are practically virgins again, but then again Father Frank doesn’t give confessionals.

C/E Fuck you.

D Oh look, we’re here.

E I’ve always wondered exactly how many bars in Manhattan are actually Irish bars.

C Probably a few but I’m not sure. There’s only one Blarney Stone and I think it’s in Lower Manhattan not here in Midtown. I’m thinking that anything above 23rd Street is either owned by The Vara or Lyons’ Brothers.

E Damn.

D Hello, Merrick. We like a bottle of your best Shiraz and three glasses. We’ll be over here. Thank you. Yes, Merrick, yes you’re all that but put a ring on it.

E Why won’t you just fuck him and get it over with?

D We like this game. We just love to flirt with each other. No harm, no foul.

C She’s been playing with Merrick for years and he loves the attention.

E I wonder what The Times says tomorrow.

D This is the the last chapter of the trilogy. Uh…

C First was Hot Neon Lights, second was Patina on the Edge and now, It Didn’t Happen.

D I can’t get it out of my head that one scene with the mother fighting with the dad. She was so mad at him, she put out a cigarette in her hand.

C Oh fuck yeah, that was fucking brutal.

E Can someone get that mad?

D She’s his mother and momma bear wasn’t having it.

C True but I’m not sure about the pretentious names. Trenton Burroughs English and Daniel Charles Snyder. But you know what? They’re actual people. I found out that Trenton is some how many times removed from the Queen of Norway and Daniel is a surgeon with Doctors Without Borders. AND the most fucked up thing is that they don’t know each and have never met.

D You know what’s even more fucked up than? There’s an actual family here on the social register here in New York with the last name, Frankenstein. Google that.

E Thank you, Merrick. Ladies, a toast?

C Yes please and don’t be stingy.

D Miss Thing, leave some for the rest of us.

ALL 3 Cheers! Give my regards to Broadway!!

E Hot Neon Lights was excellent, though I thought the two fantasy moments were beyond me.

D Why?

E Is that what you’d expect from dropping a hit of acid?

C Not all the time. It’s different from person to person. I did it once and I had goosebumps most of the time and I saw these white penny tiles dance like waves and I was surfing.

D I went to see a midnight showing of Eraserhead in college and I hate that fucking movie. Sigh. I cringe whenever I hear, Eraserhead is dead. I wanna punch someone in the face.

E Damn and I said I was traumatized by seeing Gina Gershon’s pubic hair in Killer Joe. I’m sorry but on the silver screen in a crowded theater. I shudder to think.

C A straight guy cringing at the mound of Venus? What happened? Did you see your mother in the shower?

E It’s not that deep. My face is one thing but on a forty-foot screen? Shit was scary.

D Yeah that is unforgettable. Besides that, was the movie any good?

E I don’t know. I mean William Friedkin directed The Exorcist. Both are going to fuck with your head, period.

D Oh yeah he did but what was really fucked up was in Patina on the Edge when he told us how his father and stepmother thought that they were watching his life story on the silver screen.

C What fucked with my head with my head was when he told us that he actually went to M Street and those stairs. I saw the picture and it was daytime and the caption read, Here laid Father Merrin’s body. Regan MacNeil astro-projected his priestly self right out the window. Rest in Power, Mercedes McCambridge.

E What?

C Yeah. Gimme a second.

D You’re obsessed much?

C I couldn’t believe it myself and I took a screenshot. Look.

E Damn. That’s really fucked up. Here.

D Oh my God! That is fucked up.

C I know reality stranger than fiction.

E It wasn’t science fiction or was it tonight?

D Whatever it was, it was some great writing. He can tell a story.

C What did you get out of it?

E I’m thinking that after seeing Hot Neon Lights, Patina on the Edge and tonight’s It Didn’t Happen, I think they should have a face to face and make a decision if they’re going to be actual friends and figure out if they want to be celibate lovers and in a platonic marriage.

D Fuck that bullshit. It’s obvious that they are actually going to have a contentious relationship and they’re not going to find each other sitting together chatting it up in Shady Pines. The only thing that they can have is a hidden mutual respect for each other and the rest of us can only imagine that since neither one of them will admit to anything. He’s a whore and he’s a prude. They don’t know what they want, but can they be friends in any iteration of the meaning. We’ll never know.

C Well…unrequited love can keep you going. Okay I’ve got unrequited love too but I see mine as that song, All American Boy by Steve Grand. I just love that song and I’m obsessed with the media calling it Brokeback Breakout and he’s like the Gay Cowboy. That’s really a bad cliché but it’s even worse to know that not every fag wants to suck the quarterback’s dick. Yeah let that big man on campus get a pot belly and go bald, and at the 40th high school reunion you’re still in a size seven like me and what’s even worse is that all the girls want to kill me.

D Do let me know when old and bitter arrives.

E Oh c’mon. It can’t be all that bad. You’re supposed to live off a compliment for two weeks, but I always hope for the best. I mean I like my family and we all get along.

C Well how nice for you but I doubt it. It’s like Homer isn’t going to strangle Bart for the umpteenth time.

E Back to the other moment in Hot Neon Lights, what was up with that Diana Ross scene?

D That was explained in Patina.

C Yeah. He went to the Diana Ross Live at Caesar’s Palace show on two hits of mescaline but I think the point was like she said, I am and I’m going to be.

D Powerful.

E Didn’t he also explain how he could actually touch the guy on the flying trapeze at the circus. Apparently he likes dropping acid.

C Patina had that whole conversation about “Gee whiz. Boy I was drunk last night.”

D Yeah it was consensual but I’m not sure if they were that drunk or that high.

E I know right but he did fuck that girl after an eight ball.

C Oh yes! He was up to THANGS!!

D Indeed he was but that failed threesome was even funnier.

E Give the guy a break. I’m not sure if he wanted to fuck the husband in front of his wife or fuck the wife as the husband was going to fuck him.

C YES!! The bamboo chair hanging from the ceiling. If I was in that same situation I have no idea how to proceed.

E True, true, but I’m glad he told us from the jump, we’d never believe it actually happened. My mind hurts.

D Look gentlemen, the bottle is empty and we all have to go to work in a few hours. Let’s table this for the next time. Until then.

E Okay but it’s Romeo & Juliet with social media at The Public.

C That’s got to be something else. We’ll text after we read the review in The Times.

ALL 3 Good night, Merrick!!

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onlythedarkestreads · 3 years

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review - smithy

3.5/5 Stars Pub Date: Apr 27, 2021 2021 Goodreads Goal: 65/150

Thank you to Net Galley and Inkshares for this advanced readers copy.

If you know me you know I LOVE a haunted house. There is something about uncanny spaces that just hits all the pleasure centers in my brain. I will read any haunted house book you put in front of me (so give me some haunted house books, please!)

A group of grad and university students, from different academic backgrounds, are brought to Trevor Hall to work on a project to determine a chimpanzees (Webster/Smithy) capability for complex communication through sign language. Learning as they go themselves, they are noticing quick progress. Which is good as they need to have proof of success to maintain their funding.

Smithy can identify objects, and is picking up the signs. However he is struggling with "woman" and "black/darkness" often signing these two words in place of others, or in places where it just doesn't make sense. Often this is the precursor to Smithy acting up, breaking out of his room, and leading to violent behaviour and mood swings.

While enjoying a trip into town, the students meet some locals, who want to talk about their experiences at Trevor Hall, and regale them with stories of accidental deaths, a history of unexplained fires, and disappearing objects. They all agree on one thing: Nobody lives in Trevor Hall for long.

Is Smithy to blame for the weird things happening in Trevor Hall, or is he communicating with someone from beyond the grave?

I really enjoyed this one, but it really does feels horror-lite. There is definitely a haunting happening and a couple of visceral scenes, but I think this is pretty approachable for people who scare easily. I think the epistolary style works really well at building tension throughout.

#2021reads #bookreviews #arc #advancedreaderscopy #bookreviewer #bookstagram #inkshares #smithy #hauntedhouses #horrornovels #spookystories #ghoststories

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lukeskywaker4ever · 4 years

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6th King of Portugal and of the Burgundy Dynasty: King Dinis of Portugal, “The Farmer/ The Poet”

Reign: 6 February 1279 – 7 January 1325 Predecessor: Afonso III

Dinis (9 October 1261 in Lisbon – 7 January 1325 in Santarém), called the Farmer King (Rei Lavrador) and the Poet King (Rei Poeta), was King of Portugal. The eldest son of Afonso III of Portugal by his second wife, Beatrice of Castile, and grandson of king Alfonso X of Castile (known as the Wise), Dinis succeeded his father in 1279. His marriage to Isabel of Aragon, who was later canonized as a saint of the Roman Catholic Church, was arranged in 1281 when she was 10 years old.

Dinis ruled Portugal for over 46 years. He worked to reorganize his country's economy and gave an impetus to Portuguese agriculture. He expanded the planting of a large pine forest (that was almost burned out in the forests fires in 2017) near Leiria to prevent the soil degradation that threatened the region and as a source of raw materials for the construction of the royal ships. He was also known for his poetry, which constitutes an important contribution to the development of Portuguese as a literary language.

In 1290, Dinis began to pursue the systematic centralization of royal power by imposing judicial reforms, decreeing Portuguese "the official language of legal and judicial proceedings", creating the first university in Portugal, and ridding the military orders in the country of foreign influences. His policies encouraged economic development with the creation of numerous towns and trade fairs. He advanced the interests of the Portuguese merchants, and set up by mutual agreement a fund called the Bolsa de Comércio, the first documented form of marine insurance in Europe, approved on 10 May 1293. Always concerned with development of the country's infrastructure, he encouraged the discovery and exploitation of sulphur, silver, tin and iron mines and organised the export of excess production of agricultural crops, salt, and salted fish to England, Flanders, and France.

Dinis signed the first Portuguese commercial agreement with England in 1308, and secured a contract in 1317 for the services of the Genoese merchant sailor Manuel Pessanha as hereditary admiral of his fleet, with the understanding that Pessanha and his successors should provide twenty Genoese captains to command the king's galleys, thus effectively founding the Portuguese navy.

In 1289 Dinis had signed an agreement with Pope Nicholas IV, swearing to protect the Church's interests in Portugal. When Pope Clement V allowed the annihilation of the Knights Templar throughout most of Europe on charges of heresy, Dinis was the only King who protected the Templars and a way to do so Dinis created in 1319 a Portuguese military order, the Order of Christ, for those knights who survived the purge. The new order was designed to be a continuation of the Order of the Temple. Dinis negotiated with Clement's successor, John XXII, for recognition of the new order and its right to inherit the Templar assets and property.

During Dinis' reign, Lisbon became one of Europe's centres of culture and learning. The first university in Portugal, then called the Estudo Geral (General Study), was founded with his signing of the document Scientiae thesaurus mirabilis in Leiria on 3 March 1290. Lectures in the arts, civil law, canon law, and medicine were given, and on 15 February 1309, the king granted the university a charter, the Magna Charta Privilegiorum. The university was moved between Lisbon and Coimbra several times, and finally installed permanently in Coimbra in 1537 by order of King João III.

As a devotee of the arts and sciences, Dinis studied literature and wrote several books on topics ranging from government administration to hunting, science and poetry, as well as ordering the translation of many literary works into Galician-Portuguese (Portuguese had not yet fully evolved into a distinct language), among them the works attributed to his grandfather Afonso X. He patronize troubadours, and wrote lyric poetry in the troubadour tradition himself. His best-known work is the Cantigas de Amigo, a collection of love songs as well as satirical songs, which contributed to the development of troubador poetry in the Iberian Peninsula. All told, 137 of the songs attributed to him, in the three main genres of Galician-Portuguese lyric, are preserved in the two early 16th-century manuscripts, the Cancioneiro da Biblioteca Nacional

and the Cancioneiro da Vaticana.

A spectacular find in 1990 by American scholar Harvey Sharrer brought to light the Pergaminho Sharrer, which contains, albeit in fragmentary form, seven cantigas d'amor by King Dinis with musical notation. These poems are found in the same order in the two previously known codices.

King Dinis was fond of hunting and in 1294 was hunting around Beja, when a bear attacked him and his horse, bringing them to the ground. It is said that he attacked the beast single-handedly and killed him with a dagger. To commemorate the incident, the king had a live bear captured and taken to his palace of Fuellas for the amusement of the gentleman and ladies of his court.

As heir-apparent to the throne, Infante (Prince) Dinis was summoned by his father Afonso III to share governmental responsibilities. The country was again in conflict with the Catholic Church at the time, Afonso having been excommunicated in 1277, and only being absolved in 1279 when he acceded to Rome's demands on his deathbed. Consequently, the church was favorably inclined to reach an agreement with the new monarch upon his accession to the throne.

In 1284, however, Dinis emulated the example of his grandfather and father, and launched a new series of inquiries to investigate the expropriation of royal property; this was to the detriment of the church. The next year he took further steps against ecclesiastical power when he promulgated amortization laws. These prohibited the church and religious orders from buying lands, and required that they sell or forfeit any they had purchased since the start of his reign. Several years later he issued another decree forbidding them to inherit the estates of recruits to the orders.

In 1288, Dinis managed to persuade Pope Nicholas IV to issue a papal Bull that separated the Order of Santiago in Portugal from that in Castile, to which it had been subordinate. With the extinction of the Knights Templar, he was able to transfer their assets in the country to the Order of Christ, specially created for this purpose.

Dinis was essentially an administrator and not a warrior king. He went to war with the kingdom of Castile in 1295, relinquishing the villages of Serpa and Moura. In 1297, he signed the Treaty of Alcañices with Castile, which defined the current borders between the two Iberian countries, and reaffirmed Portugal's possession of the Algarve. The treaty also established an alliance of friendship and mutual defense, leading to a peace of 40 years between the two nations.

Dinis pursued his father's policies on legislation and centralization of power, and promulgated the nucleus of a Portuguese civil and criminal law code, protecting the lower classes from abuse and extortion. These edicts survived in the Livro das Leis e Posturas (Book of Laws and Postures), and the Ordenações Afonsinas (Afonsine Ordinances), proclaimed during the reign of Afonso V. These are not legislative "codes" as we understand them today, but rather compilations of laws and customary municipal law, as amended and restated by the Portuguese crown.

As king, Dinis traveled around the country to resolve various problems. He ordered the construction of numerous castles, created new towns, and granted the privileges due cities to several others. He declared in 1290 that 'the language of the people' was to become the language of the state, and officially known as Portuguese. Dinis also decreed that Portuguese replace Latin as the language of the law courts in his kingdom. His wife Isabel donated much of the large income generated by her lands and properties to charities, inspiring Dinis to help improve the life of the poor and found several social institutions.

The frequent procedural issues that arose when he issued his decrees increasingly occupied Dinis in his quest to frame the common law as being within the scope of the crown's jurisdiction, and in exercising royal power in the realm. The restrictions he placed on the actions of alvazis (local council officials), judges, as well as proctors and advocates in the courts, show that a merely nominal power of the monarchy over all the inhabitants of the kingdom, as was typical in the Middle Ages, was not compatible with his effort to assert a royal prerogative to scrutinize legal procedures, or moralize on the exercise of justice. The appointment of magistrates clearly marks the start of the process of the crown claiming territorial jurisdiction, thus expanding the royal domain, along with the growing importance of Lisbon as the nation's de facto capital. The preference for Lisbon as a venue of the royal court was accentuated during Dinis's long reign. There was as yet no official capital of the country, but Lisbon's location, as well as its advanced urban, economic and commercial development, made the city the most viable choice for a national center of administration.

Its geographical situation between the ancient divisions of the country, i.e., the north and the south, enhanced Lisbon's status as the most practical center for an emergent united Portuguese nation, the south now receiving as much royal attention as the north and becoming the residence of the monarchy. Their different characters created a realm where the two regions complemented each other. The great manors were closer together in the north, and the vast dominions conquered from the Muslims in the south, as well as the large areas of unclaimed land there, expanded the domain of the crown, and much of the territory of the extreme south came under the control of the military orders.

Denis promoted development of the rural infrastructure, earning the nickname of "the Farmer" (o Lavrador). He redistributed land, founded agricultural schools to improve farming techniques, and took a personal interest in the expansion of exports. He set up regular markets in a number of towns and regulated their activities. One of his principal achievements was to protect agricultural lands from advancing coastal sands by ordering the extension of a pine forest near Leiria. which also provided a source of raw materials for construction of a naval fleet. This forest, known as the Pinhal de Leiria (Leiria Pinewood),

Sadly it was almost in its total destroyed in the forest fires in 15th of October of 2017.

The latter part of Dinis' generally peaceful reign was nevertheless marked by internal conflicts. The contenders were his two sons: Afonso, the legitimate heir, and Afonso Sanches, his bastard son, who quarreled frequently among themselves for royal favour. At the time of Dinis' death in 1325, he had placed Portugal on an equal footing with the other Iberian Kingdoms.

Afonso, born in Lisbon, was the rightful heir to the Portuguese throne. However, he was not Dinis' favourite son, the old king preferring Afonso Sanches, his illegitimate son by Aldonça Rodrigues Talha. The notorious rivalry between the half brothers led to civil war several times. Isabel would serve as intermediary between her husband and Afonso during the civil war of 1322–1324.

The Infante Afonso greatly resented the king, whom he accused of favoring Afonso Sanches. Dinis had little popular support in the war because of the many privileges he had granted to the nobles in the last years of his reign, while the infante had the support of the county's cities; these circumstances were rooted in the longstanding conflict between the upper and lower classes of Portuguese society. Repulsed to the town of Alenquer, which supported the Infante, Dinis was prevented from killing his son through the intervention of the Queen. As legend holds, in 1323, Isabel, mounted on a mule, positioned herself between the opposing armies on the field of the Battle of Alvalade in order to prevent the combat. Peace returned in 1324 when Afonso Sanches was sent into exile and the Infante swore loyalty to the king.

King Dinis died on 7 January 1325 at Santarém, and was buried in the Monastery of Saint Dinis in Odivelas, near Lisbon.

Afonso then became king, whereupon he exiled his rival to Castile, and stripped him of all the lands and fiefdoms bestowed by their father. From Castile, Afonso Sanches orchestrated a series of attempts to usurp the crown. After he failed several times to mount an invasion of Portugal, the brothers signed a peace treaty, arranged by Afonso IV's mother Queen Isabel.

Bearing in mind the many centuries that separate Dinis from the present, an impression of his personality can be gathered from the historical record: he was determined, even obstinate, in his attempts to systematically centralize the government and consolidate royal power. For example, he launched general inquiries (Inquirições gerais) at a remarkably accelerated pace to investigate land ownership and identify cases where abuses were committed.

Dinis revealed early on his ability as an effective strategist in the pursuit of his goals, and as an innovator of proactive legislative policy. With the benefit of hindsight, it is clear that his administrative decisions were not made randomly or without consideration of his ideal of a well-governed nation. The wide range of his policies is indicated by a few examples: the concomitant creation of new towns and trade fairs, the fortification of the country's borders and the increasing dependence of the military orders on the royal power. He was recognized as an intelligent, perceptive ruler with demonstrated success, both by contemporaries and by later historians.

Dinis was not lacking in political skill. Being adroit in negotiation and a student of human nature, he knew how to go about "opposing and appeasing alternately the secular and the ecclesiastical manorial interests. He confiscated the properties of the clergy, but made the concordat [of 1289] with the Portuguese bishops; he restricted the comedoria (victuals) rights of the monasteries, but replaced those rights with a fixed annual sum of money. His actions were sufficiently [statesmanlike, and his political position was strong] enough, for him to secure the confiscation laws and check the erosion of the state patrimony". As administration of the royal properties became more efficient and he became richer, Dinis gained fame for his wealth, even being mentioned in Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy.

Nevertheless, Dinis is described in contemporary chronicles as a wise and able ruler. Although most of the legislative work of his reign focused on procedural juridical issues, the purpose of much of this new legislation was to avoid excessive delays and court costs and to prevent abuse by attorneys and prosecutors.The personal determination that allowed Dinis to achieve so much in the political realm could sometimes harden into obstinacy and arrogance.

An inescapable figure in the history of the Iberian Peninsula in the 13th and the beginning of the 14th centuries, Dinis was first called "father of his country" (Pai da Pátria) by the historian Duarte Nunes de Leão in 1600.

The historical sources of King Dinis's time, as well as later authors, failed to provide any detailed physical description of the monarch. The information known comes from an accidental opening of his tomb during a restoration in 1938.

With the lid removed, a red brocade robe was seen covering the body of the King, from head to toe. This mantle was woven with gold threads. In all compliance, it had alternating strips, separated with golden threads and where they had been embroidered for the following reasons: one of the strips were embroidered with pine cones along its entire length; in the next strip they embroidered azores and in the last one they saw fleur of Liz.

With the cloak removed, the King's skeleton was visible, which was complete and covered with parched skin. He wore a very soft white wool vest over his tunic. The head rested on a pillow and was tilted as if sleeping on the left side, a position that the body slightly followed. The right arm is bent over the chest and the left arm is dropped along the body. Only the bones of the feet were separated from each other. In the jaws, the skin was slightly separated and had a long red beard. On the head the skin was not loose from the skull and had tufts of red hair. This is a curious fact, as he was the first of the Portuguese royal line up to that time to have that hair color. This genetic trait could have been passed on the maternal side, as his uncle Fernando, called "La Cerda", or "the bristly one", had red hair as well. Dinis may have inherited the trait from Henry II of England, who was his ancestor on both the paternal and maternal sides, or even possibly from his maternal great grandmother Elisabeth of Hohenstaufen, granddaughter of the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick Barbarossa ("barbarossa" means "red beard" in Italian)

It was discovered that the legend of a figure of towering height was not an accurate one as he was only about 1.65 metres (5 feet 5 inches) tall. Dinis made his last will when he was 61 and died at age 63. He apparently enjoyed excellent health throughout his life, as he traveled frequently, got involved in wars from an early age and at age 60 still hunted. He died with complete dentition, a rarity for the time, something that even today continues to be fairly unusual.

Dinis' only wife was Isabel or Elizabeth of Aragon, daughter of Peter III of Aragon.

They married in 1288 and she bore him a son and a daughter. Like other monarchs of the time, he had several illegitimate children as well:

Infanta Constança (3 January 1290 - 18 November 1313) Queen of Castile by marriage to Fernando IV of Castile.

Infante Afonso (8 February 1291 - 28 May 1357) Succeeded him as Afonso IV, 7th King of Portugal.

By Maria Pires (?-?)

João Afonso (1280 - 1325) Lord of Lousã

By Marinha Gomes (1260 - ?)

Maria Afonso (1290 - 1340) married Juan Alfonso de la Cerda

Maria Afonso (? - 1320) Nun at the Monastery of Odivelas

By Grácia Froes (1265 - ?)

Pedro Afonso (1287 - 1354) 3rd Count of Barcelos

By Aldonça Rodrigues Talha (1260-?)

Afonso Sanches (1289 - 1329) Lord of Albuquerque and rival of his half-brother Afonso IV

Other natural offspring

Fernão Sanches (1280 - 1329)

#king dinis of portugal #kings of portugal #burgundy dynasty #portugal history

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