#um probably stink animal and the bad smells

[omniswords]

if you’re still taking kiss meme requests, a combo of 19 + 27 with marichat or adrienette?

19. One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss. +

27. Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

leave me a pairing and a number and i’ll write you a kiss! [CLOSED FOR NOW]

You can’t tell me Adrien and Marinette wouldn’t have Animal Crossing dates if they ever got together. Because they would. They totally would.

It’s been a month. A month. (Well, Thirty-two days and a half, but who’s counting?) And yet for some reason, Marinette literally can’t believe that Literal Adrien Agreste is her Literal Boyfriend. Literally.

It’s not because of anything she’s done. And it’s definitely not because of anything he’s done. In fact, he’s been as perfect as the day he gave her his umbrella. He’s put up with her rambling, and started to figure out how to make her stop rambling, and that dopey look he gets on his face when she keeps going and going—it makes her squeal into her hands just thinking about it.

He’s so good. He’s actually perfect. The perfect boyfriend.

Now that they’re in high school, too, his father’s become… a little more lenient with his scheduling and practice sessions.  And she’s become way more lenient with actually keeping track of it, even though it’s still good to know when she can stay after school in the art room while he’s at fencing practice, or when not to call him because he’s having his Chinese lesson. Or when he can come over and watch a movie with her, just because she wants to see him outside of school. The difference, though, is that she can just ask him now, because she wants to know for his sake. And he’ll just tell her, because he wants her to know for hers. It feels deceptively easy, carrying themselves like this. Carrying their relationship like this. And yes, it’s still so, so unbelievable.

In fact, the only thing that’s more unbelievable is the fact that he hasn’t kissed her yet.

She gets it. It’s something people get nervous about; even she does, from time to time, get more than her fair share of flustered whenever she daydreams about how it might happen. She just… sort of figured it would happen by now. They’ve gone on dates—date dates. They’ve hugged, and exchanged cheek kisses hello and goodbye. They’ve even held hands; he even did that thing he rubbed his thumb against her knuckles, and for a while she thought she could die happy. Does her breath stink or something? Or does she have to be the one to start it? Or what?

It’s just about the only thing she can think of the next time Adrien comes to visit her, to the point that she can barely get her words out. Like she’s fourteen all over again. At least her parents have the good sense to leave them alone this time; they’re so busy with the bakery downstairs that they probably don’t even have the chance to hover the way they usually would. (Especially her dad. God, she loves her papa, but sometimes he needs several hints before he can just take one.)

Not that there’s anything to see. They’re just huddled up on the couch playing video games—a relaxed village-building one, nothing like Mecha Strike 3. And honestly, she kind of wishes they were playing that instead. It would give her something else to think about, at least, besides the overwhelming fact that they are alone and sitting so close that they could be cuddling, but aren’t, and they definitely could be kissing, but they definitely aren’t.

Maybe, because he’s the perfect guy, he’s waiting for the Perfect Moment.

She just… wants the Perfect Moment to be Right Now.

“I really like the way you’ve set up your town, Marinette,” Adrien says over the calming music and faint jingling bells. Even the way he says her name makes her want to melt into the couch. Has she always been this dopey about it? About him? “It’s very you.”

“M-me?” she stammers, wincing internally for it. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh! Um, nothing bad.” Awkwardly, he rubs the back of his neck, still holding onto his controller. “It’s just very artful. Like you have a design in mind, and you want to see it through to the end. I’ve only been here for a while, and I can already see it… I could never think up stuff like that. I usually just time travel to try and get everything right away.” Then he sighs, almost dreamily, and sits back with a smile that look—unbelievably—admiring. “I shouldn’t be so surprised. You’ve always been kind of amazing.”

Marinette wants so badly to quip back that she’s not just kind of amazing, she is amazing, or even to tell him that he’s pretty amazing himself. Instead, she chokes out some garbled, unintelligible noise, and immediately wants to kick herself for it. One month, and she’s still pulling this nonsense.

Adrien lets her down easy at least, with a laugh hidden behind his fist. He puts his controller down and coaxes hers out of her hands, so that all there is to accompany them is the game’s music and their two little characters, swaying side by side in the middle of an orchard. And he… hesitates, before draping an arm over the back of the couch. “Can…” He pauses. “Can I come closer?”

He’s killing her.

“Yeah,” she says, her voice cracking with her own nerves, and she’s buzzing from head to toe when his arm comes around her shoulders, pulls her closer to rest her head on his chest. His heart is pounding under her ear. She almost can’t hear anything else over it. She doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but the whole time, something in her is screaming, DO SOMETHING. FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY, DO SOMETHING BESIDES SITTING HERE AND HAVING AN ENTIRE INTERNAL CRISIS ABOUT HOW GOOD YOUR BOYFRIEND SMELLS.

Eventually—and she doesn’t know how she does it—she shifts out of Adrien’s arms, just to look up at him. He’s still got her close, though loosely, and as soon as he meets her eyes, he smiles. “Hi.”

And she smiles back. So wide she knows her face is going to hurt. “Hi.”

There’s that hesitating again, while he’s looking at her so intently, and little by little that amusement fades away into something more pensive. Like maybe he’s coaching himself through something, but she doesn’t know what that something is. At least, not until he leans in, so slowly she thinks she might die from it, and presses his lips to hers in the softest first kiss she could have ever imagined. No, softer than that, because she never imagined him holding her face like this, or breathing in so deep, like he’s been revived, as soon as they make contact. And when he pulls back, it’s slow, almost apologetic, and she totally regrets him doing that.

“I…” Adrien swallows hard, his face flushed and his fingers trembling against her jaw. “Sorry. I should have asked if that was okay—”

It’s all he gets to say before she’s kissing him back, shaky and nervous and wanting to kiss him and not stop for anything. Not even to save her game. It doesn’t matter. It auto-saves anyway. Who cares about hitting a button or two when Adrien is finally, finally kissing her? Holding her close the way she holds him, all but clutching her back as he tilts his head and whispers another apology when their teeth accidentally clack together.

“It’s okay,” she whispers back with a breathless giggle. “It’s okay.”

“You’re okay?”

“I’m okay.” Her face is burning, probably bright red, but she finds the resolve to crawl into his lap and lace her fingers together behind his neck. And she doesn’t bother asking what took him so long, because there’s no need to ask when he lets her lean in and make up for lost time.

#miraculous ladybug #love square #adrienette #adrinette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #kiss meme #VIDEO GAME DATES #VIDEO GAME DATES!!! #Anonymous #answers

[outersthestory]

Chapter 1

The lights of the tower were trying to blind me as I stared up at it. They made me feel unworthy, even vulgar for thinking to look in their direction. To be honest the lights were almost right, I was vulgar, but to survive on the Outskirts, you have to be a little vulgar. Well, a bit more than vulgar. You also have to be tough and fast, ready to pounce at whatever meal comes your way because you never know when the next meal will come. Usually, those meals were less than scraps, supplemental to whatever rats and birds you could catch in the streets. 

The Outskirts were the worst place to live, you may as well live in a dung heap, and you wouldn't notice a difference if you did. To get out takes more talent than surviving it, and I planned to get out.

Taking a stabilizing breath, I adjusted the pack on my back and went back to my trudge, each step bringing me closer to those judging lights. That was where I could plead my case. Where I could begin my escape from the soul crushing reality of the Outskirts. If I could talk my way through there, I would be free.

Two guns immediately blocked my path. A pair of guards glared down at me, while a mousy man sat behind them, almost hidden in an alcove.

“Um, I gots an appointment with-” I started, only for the mouse to interrupt me.

“Name.” He didn't even look up.

“ Uh, A-Amanda Simon.”

The mouse checked off something and nodded slightly to the guards. “ Please stay in the waiting room until you are called for your interview.” The guns lifted and the guards stepped back to their positions.

Inside the tower was more luxury than I had ever seen, and it probably wasn't even half of what the Elites enjoyed. That was my goal, to join the Elites. To never worry about anything ever again. My life was going to change, and I was going to take every opportunity. First though, I was going to stock up on the clean water that was just sitting there.

After a few moments my pack was bulging even further than it had been. It may have been a bad idea to add more weight to my burden, but I didn’t know what to expect on the next level. I wanted to be ready. If I was going to find away for my father to follow me once I was through, I wouldn’t be able to waste time trying to survive in unfamiliar territory.

A click shook me from my daydreaming, if it could be called that, and a voice came from the ceiling.

“Next.” Silence returned as I stared above my head, shock on my face. That was the power of the Outer Ring. If the had that kind of magic in only the next level, what on earth did they have in The Middle? 

“Next.” The voice said again, a little more agitated. I stood immediately, looking around for any indication of where I should go. A light blinked impatiently above a door on the other end of the room and I hurried over. 

My hand landed on the doorknob, and I hesitated. This was my way out, one last thing to do and I would be free. I steadied my breathing and opened the door.

The room was incredible. Actual fluorescent bulbs clung to the ceiling, a plywood desk with a typewriter dominated the middle of the room, and metal filing cabinets sat along the walls. My jaw was trying to complete a disappearing act as I took in all the wealth that surrounded me.

At the desk sat a woman, tapping in a nearly soothing rhythm. She hardly acknowledged my presence, and I was about to leave conscious of how much I didn't fit in this place, until she spoke.

“Please sit.” I cautiously made my way to the actual chair that sat across from her and slowly lowered myself into it. She stopped typing and looked up at me. “My name is Caroline, and I will be your interviewer today. Now, before we start, have you gotten all the necessary vaccines?” I nodded, not yet trusting my voice. It had taken me two years to save up enough for those things, and I made sure to go to the best doctor in the Outskirts, not that it meant much.

“Good. I just have a few questions for you, and then we can hopefully get you out of here.” She smiled, her teeth barely showing.

“Alright.” I nodded again, quietly marveling at the fact that her teeth weren't stained yellow.

“Do you have experience with unskilled labour?” Her fingers hovered over the typewriter.

“Yes, I help out with some of the harvests in the upper Outskirt.” Typing filled the silence as she recorded my answer.

“Do you have any addictions to the drugs circulated in the Outskirts?”

“No.” I had kept myself far away from those things. After knowing what they had done to my mother, I regarded them as evil things.

“Are you connected with any criminal organizations?”

“No.”

“Do you have any specialized skills?”

“I hunt them animals that get into the fields,” I paused a moment as she wrote that out, and then, feeling like that wasn’t enough, I added, “ and I sing.” She looked surprised for a moment, but smiled again and continued writing.

Finally she looked at me again and stared hard. “Last question Ms. Simon, and then I can let you know if you're approved.” The interview had gone well, I hoped, and I could taste the end. “How many of your ancestors were Elite?”

Everything stopped, my eyes slowly moved back to the face of my interviewer, and my heart tried to leap from my chest. What she had just asked me, had no answer because it was impossible. No one in the Outskirts had Elite ancestors, because it was illegal for Elites and Outers to marry, and everyone knew that. The interviewer took the answer from my face and nodded.

“Unfortunately Ms. Simon, I cannot grant you entry to the next area. Have a good day.” The doors slammed, and the lights mocked me.

It started to rain, the lights reflected off each raindrop as I wandered away from the tower. I felt, heavy, heavy and empty. Nothing was right, it all spun, I vomited. I had nothing left now, but to go back to my ‘apartment’.  

The rain stayed a steady drizzle as I came up to my familiar haunts. My neighbors watched me from their own little spaces, none of them said anything, but I felt their pity and while I usually despised the feeling that night I wallowed in it. 

“You’re back.” a gruff voice rose from the back of the room I lived in. My father, his torso resting on pillows, the cook fire casting strange shadows across his face. He didn’t sound surprised. I didn’t say anything, just dumped my pack on the floor and landed on the mat we slept on. A grunt from my father let me know that he had dragged himself across the floor to my pack. He began to go through it, removing the things I had thought would help me on the next level, and carefully hiding the bottles of water I had taken from the tower. Fresh water was rare, if you had it, someone else wanted it.

“They lied to me.” I finally got out. “Them recruiters, they told me it was possible to get out. But it’s not.” My father nodded, he’d probably known, but he would never had told me. He expected my to figure things out on my own, even the fact that hope was, hopeless.

He dragged himself back to the fire and pulled out a bowl, filling it with the thin soup that he had cooked. There was enough soup for two people, he had started cooking after I had left for the tower.

“You should be using your board. The doc’ said dragging yourself like that ain’t good for you.” I took the soup and slurped it, our last spoon had been used in the fire when the wood began to run out.

“I’m in the house,” was his argument, “s’not like i leave it much anyway.” He was right really, no legs meant no hunting, which meant I provided for both of us. I had hoped it would be easier on the next level. I would never find out now. A smell reached me through the stink of the room, a smell I hated. 

“You been making beer again.” I pointed out, calmly, but I wanted to throw my bowl at him. If he made beer, then we had less water, and he was less useful when he was drunk. He shrugged.

“Figured I could sell it.” He tried, again.

“To who?” I pointed out, again. The argument always went the same, it felt like a ritual.

“Them soldiers. Them ones that patrol the outer border. Thems got enough money.” 

“How are you gonna get out there? You won’t use your board, and thems down hill, and I ain’t helpin’.” He waved me off. I spun to the wall behind me and dug into his hiding space, pulling out a bottle of beer. “There’s only one. Who gonna buy just one bottle of beer?” Now I had him angry, again.

“I need that.” He reached for it, but I stood up and back out of the room. Twisting on my heels I ran, his shouts followed me. 

By now the rain had let up, so I went to check up on my traps at the edges of the wheat fields. The repetitive task helped me calm down from the events of the day and I was able to bring myself back to my regular schedule. The traps gave me and my father more food, and a good trading item for the market. I took my haul; all five mice, an unfortunate mole, and the bottle of beer my father had made. While he would never actually sell it, I could probably get some more water or a blanket for it.  

The market was just starting up again as I got there. People were pulling tarps off their wares and shook the water off their bodies. I found a small spot to set out my things and stood in the front, to discourage any thieves. Slowly the bartering picked back up, and I soon traded for some rice, firewood, and a small fish. I decided to keep a rat, we could make a stew with it and the fish and rice. It wouldn’t be nice, but it was food. As I packed together my new belongings, I heard the alarm blare.

The market all but disappeared as everyone hurried inside. Outside a new group entered, they were some of the most pristine people any of us ever saw, and they were only servants. They passed by us, not even sparing a glance, as they made their way to the slave market.

I watched them go by, these people who lived lives I could never imagine, and I knew I would die before I could ever get close to their level. My only way left was the very market they were headed to, and who would want a weakling like me as their slave.

#story #original story #constructive criticism please #outers

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Bad Blood - Chapter 30

You can read it on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

______________

The loft is covered in blood. There are more dead bodies in it than in a sophomoric slasher movie. Peter would really, really like a cold drink right now. The cans of Mountain Dew in the refrigerator are calling him. He wants sugar and bubbles and something to wash the taste of blood out of his mouth, yet he can’t bring himself to move just yet.  

He and Derek and Laura are sitting on the couch. They’re dressed in fresh clothes—explaining bloody bullet holes in their old ones, with no corresponding wounds on their bodies, would be difficult. Plus, this way, it’s easier to play the part of the slightly bewildered innocent citizens who somehow got caught up in all this mess.

Peter feels the slightly bewildered part is the truth, at least.

“Amateurs, I guess,” John Stilinski is saying with some authority to his deputies. “Must have got all that fancy tough-guy gear off Amazon or something, and thought they were Rambo. They couldn’t shoot for shit, and they obviously didn’t know what the hell they were doing with explosives if they blew themselves up like that.”

Lies, all lies, but he tells them so convincingly. His heartbeat barely stutters.

There are no bloody clothes in the loft. There are no crates of weapons. The remaining infrared tripwires were disabled long before the police arrived. All of that gear is currently in the back of Deaton’s ‘Beacon Hills Animal Clinic’ van, being driven away from the scene.

“Yeah,” John continues. “I was just coming over to pick Stiles up after work. You haven’t met Stiles, have you, Parrish? He’s been living with his grandparents overseas for a while.” He rubs a hand across his face and sighs. “Well, I’m sorry he had to be here for this, but, then again, if I hadn’t turned up, who knows what would have happened?”

God. The man deserved a fucking Oscar, but Peter guesses he’ll be happy enough to walk away with his job.

“It’s some business deal that went wrong, I gather,” John says, and looks over to Peter.

Peter nods. “Yes. The Argents are arms dealers. It’s all perfectly legal. I approached Chris Argent about setting up a new business together, using his name and my capital, and I guess Gerard didn’t take it well. I mean, Chris said the old man could be intractable and that he wouldn’t be very happy about it, but nobody was expecting anything like this.”

His shudder isn’t all feigned.

They got lucky tonight. Very fucking lucky.

It could have gone wrong so easily. It very nearly did.

The moment that Stiles shot his father—

Peter shudders again.

Stiles and Allison are sitting together in one of the armchairs, wedged in like small children. Their hands and faces are clean, but their clothes are still splattered with blood.

A business deal gone wrong is a solid explanation for Gerard’s attack on both Chris, and the Hales. They just have to get Chris up to speed before he’s interviewed by the police. Luckily for them—not so luckily for Chris, probably—he hasn’t been in any fit condition to be officially spoken to yet.

Parrish is young and earnest-faced. He turns to Stiles and Allison. “You want to tell me what happened in the car?”

“I stabbed him,” Allison says woodenly. “With an arrow. In the eye. That’s when we crashed.”

She looks like she wants to be sick.

“I, um… I shot the other guy,” Stiles says. “He was going to shoot us.”

“Also they were kidnapping us!” Allison exclaims.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “They were kidnapping us.”

“It was a good shot,” Parrish says, and there’s not a question there, but there’s something expectant in his tone nonetheless. Parrish isn’t stupid.  

Stiles wrinkles his nose and looks even younger than his sixteen years. “I play a lot of first person shooters.” He pulls his mouth down at the corners. “I don’t think I will anymore though.”

Parrish nods, sympathy creeping into his expression.

That acting gene clearly runs strongly in the Stilinski line. It sure as hell didn’t skip a generation here, did it?

“I don’t even know what the protocol is here, Sheriff,” Parrish says at last. “You can’t investigate it though.”

“Obviously not,” John says. “Listen, you take your initial statements, and call in Detective Garcia. She’s the next ranking highest officer under me. And I’ll be taking administrative leave until this is all resolved.”

Parrish nods.

“But in the meantime,” John continues, “I’m going to take my son and Allison back to my place, because they’ve been through a hell of a traumatic experience tonight.” He looks to Peter. “Peter, do you want to come too? The forensics guys and the photographers won’t be done for hours yet, and you sure as hell shouldn’t have to stay here tonight.”

Peter recognises a lifeline when he’s thrown one.

“Yes,” he says. “We’d appreciate that.”

They could stay in a hotel he supposes, but he knows he’s not the only one who wants to be somewhere more familiar. And John’s house has become familiar to them recently. It feels safe, like a pack den.

They head upstairs to pack overnight bags, dodging deputies and crime scene photographers. At least Peter’s bedroom is unscathed and Laura’s only has a broken window. Derek’s is a fucking bloodbath, complete with a plastic-covered dead body on the floor.

That’s going to take a lot of scrubbing with bleach.

The whole loft is.

Peter’s almost sorry it didn’t explode.

***

The kids fall asleep on mattresses on John Stilinski’s living room floor, even Laura. Peter tugs a blanket up over her in the darkness. There will be plenty of time for her to be the alpha again tomorrow, but Peter is always the left hand. He wanders back to the kitchen and checks the time on the microwave. It’s past midnight. Too late to call Matty. He sends a text to Satomi instead, asking her to let him know first thing in the morning that they’re all okay, and he’s sorry he missed his nightly phone call.

The hunters, he tells Satomi, are taken care of for now.

Because what was this except the opening salvo of a war?

She texts back almost immediately to tell him that she’ll pass that on to Matty, and that when he’s ready to tell her what happened, she’ll take his call.

He appreciates that she doesn’t push.

John is sitting at the kitchen table. There’s no beer in front of him tonight though.

“Okay?” Peter asks, sitting down opposite him.

“For now,” John says.

“Do you think your story will hold?”

“I think so,” John says. “Crazier things have happened.” His mouth twists and he shrugs. “Possibly.”

Peter allows himself a faint smile.

“It’s the hunters’ council we need to focus on next,” John says, and he sounds all business. “But Victoria is head of the Argent family now, and she fucking owes me. She owes you too, for keeping Allison safe. If she speaks for you, and with Araya Calavera at least willing to listen, then maybe—”

“Stop,” Peter says, and holds up a hand. “Stop, please.”

John raises his eyebrows.

“Just for one night, let’s not. I’m tired, John. I’m so fucking tired.”

John’s gaze is full of understanding. He stands up, and offers Peter his hand. “Come on then,” he says, and leads him upstairs to bed.

***

Peter sleeps.

That’s all he does.

It feels like he hasn’t slept in months, if not years, but somehow, with John’s solid heartbeat beside him, he sleeps.

And he doesn’t wake again until the sun is already well and truly up, and John’s bastard neighbor decides that 11 a.m. is a good time to mow his lawn.

***

Alan Deaton turns up to the house at midday, and asks to speak with Laura and Peter.

“Anything we have to discuss, I’m happy to discuss in front of Allison and Sheriff Stilinski,” Laura says.

She doesn’t even look to Peter for approval, and he smiles at that. She’s finding her feet today. He’s proud of her, and knows Talia would be too.

“I’m going back to Mexico,” Deaton says. “To speak to Araya Calavera, to make sure no other hunters come here in an attempt to avenge Gerard Argent.”

Allison lifts her chin at that. “Why would they? I killed him.”

Deaton looks slightly taken aback for a moment.

“He broke the Code,” Allison says. “He broke the Code when he killed Scott McCall for no reason, and I killed him.”

Oh, Peter likes Allison. She’s as steely as any other Argent through and through but she’s untainted by their bigotry.

“Well that does put a different spin on things,” Deaton says thoughtfully.

Peter glances at John, and sees the way he’s watching Allison.

Maybe John was wrong. Maybe Victoria won’t be the head of the Argent family after all. God knows she’s got a hell of a candidate in Allison.

***

Peter won’t say that the rest of the day is smooth sailing. When Victoria arrives in the afternoon to collect Allison, he has to hold John back from punching her.

“My daughter was as much a hostage as your son,” Victoria says.

“You still got to raise her!” John yells.

Stiles scuttles upstairs when he hears that, his scent sour with sudden panic.

“John,” Peter says firmly, a hand on John’s chest. “John, leave it. Go and talk to your son.”

John glowers at him, but eventually nods and follows Stiles up the stairs.

“Janusz takes order from you now, does he?” Victoria asks. “A wolf?”

Peter lifts his lip and growls.

“Stop it, Mom!” Allison snaps. “You don’t get to judge anyone here! You and Dad stood by while Kate and Gerard hurt Stiles.”

Victoria’s expression is pinched. “We did it for you, Allison.”

“Well maybe you should have done something for Stiles too!”

Victoria’s cold façade cracks a fraction. “There was nothing we could do!”

“You can do something now!” Allison yells back. “You can tell the hunters’ council to leave the Hales alone! You can tell them to leave Stiles and the sheriff alone! You can tell them not to send anyone here!”

“Yes,” Victoria says. “Yes, we can do that.”

The fight drains out of Allison, and leaves her looking uncertain and slightly brittle, as though she thought it would be much harder than that to convince her mother. She can’t smell the guilt rolling off Victoria in stinking waves the way that Peter can.

He doesn’t pity Victoria—and she’s not looking for pity—but he does understand her.

Peter knows what it’s like to be backed into a corner.

“Victoria,” he says. “How’s Chris?”

Victoria looks at him warily. “Doing better. He’s off his ventilator today.”

“Good,” Peter says. “Then let’s talk about our official story. Things will be so much smoother for everyone if we’re all on the same page.”

Victoria stares at him for a long moment, and then nods. “Let’s do that.”

#bad blood #my fics #discontentedwinter #sterek #steter senior

[clown-bait]

29 Neibolt ST (Monster Roommate AU) Chapter 2.5

Feelings in coming! The trash-pire is gonna realize some things about herself in this chapter. Some of them involve coulrophilia and some of them involve human meat. Possibly a mix of both. Its a bit fluffy but theres also gore. So the best of both worlds. 

WARNINGS: fluff, gore, teen death, clown smoochin.

Chapter 2.5

what are feelings.

It'd been two weeks since she had moved in. At first the adjustment was hard not only was Leech living with the fact that the creatures from her nightmares were all real and living in the same town she was also becoming one of them. Everyone called her Leech now for some reason not that she minded it though, the name felt fitting. Her transition was taking the hardest toll on her she had hunger that she could not satisfy no matter what she ate, her skin was losing color and her hair was coming out in large clumps. Dracula was a great guide through all this explaining that she once she makes her first kill she will complete the transformation and rise as undead. Of course shed need to die first. That lovely detail that terrified her to no end. But she was glad someone was helping her at least.

Her other flatmates were fine Tiffany was quickly becoming a great friend of hers and she adored Leatherface like a brother. Even Chucky and Freddy were inviting her out with them to cause mayhem. The only one she was having trouble with was the damn clown.  

Pennywise was a difficult one to read, at one minute he would be casual with her often teasing her sometimes making her laugh, the next he'd either be terrifying her or extremely angry. Unpredictable was an understatement. He definitely was the most interesting of her flatmates he didn't actually live in the house, his home being deep in the sewer. No one had been in his lair and Leech always wondered what it looked like. She often caught herself looking over at him watching his movements when he interacted with others, something was always off about him but he put a lot of effort into being normal. If she had to describe their relationship she say it was mostly competitive, their favorite past time being the weird game of insults going between them. It had gotten so bad that game night had become a total disaster the two always went on a war path to destroy the other, to the point where Freddy would yell at them to get a room already.

And then there was the staring! She’d always catch him staring at her when he thought she wasn't looking. Almost like he was trying to figure something out about her but was so lost in thought his eyes would drift apart. Usually this was either when he made her laugh or when they were on good terms with each other. It was quite bizarre.

Today Leech was coming home from another failed day of handing out resumes. She was applying for any culinary position she could find hoping that her not finishing school wouldn't matter too much. After the look the manager gave her at the one five star place in town she wasn't that hopeful.

When she stepped inside the house was silent. It felt abandoned like the first time she ever opened the door. It was probably Penny planning to scare her again then do that weird sniffing thing he did whenever he got her good.  But the jump never came.

“Hello?” the vampire called out

“Guys? You home?”

She shrugged and made her way to the kitchen it'd had been a long day and she was starving again. If the clown wanted to scare her he'd have to wait till shed eaten something. As she approached the entrance she hear a terrified wail, causing her to gasp and press herself against the wall. There was pleading and crying now followed by…laughter? “Penny?” she whispered “You better not be pulling your usual shit you asshole I'm not in the mood”

More laughter, panic and crying echoed through the house. It was a symphony of terror and anxiety. “so you fancy yourself an artist little boy? Want to come paint Pennywise's house without his permission. naughty naughty!” the clown was talking to someone. Leech crept closer to the doorway.

“I like to paint too little boy. How about you help me paint my kitchen hm? I was thinking a fresh coat of red.”

Oh god was he? Leech heard a scream and a sickening crunch just as she looked around the corner. She saw Pennywise hunched over a smaller form. It was a teen boy hanging limp in his claws. The lifeless eyes of the corpse stared back into Leech’s own. She wanted to be disgusted. She wanted to turn away and cry. Shed never see someone die before let alone someone so young. Living with murderous monsters she saw her fair share of bodies, she was used to that by now, but she never watched it happen. What she did next though disgusted her the most. She didn't turn away. She didn't cry or retch. No something awful awoke in her and she stood in the doorway watching in fascination the puddle of blood growing larger. She swore she could smell it savory rich like the flavor of umami. She was so hungry.

Leech didn't notice she was watching him for too long nor did she realize she was panting like a starving animal. God he was….impressive. Seeing the clown in such a primal state was captivating for her and her own instinctual urges began to spread a warmth through her that tingled the very pit of her stomach. The darkness that was awake and writhing within the young vampire was screaming at her to join him to be like him to hunt, to kill, to feed. He was a perfect predator and she was just discovering she might be too.  Pennywise ripped a chunk of flesh from the body which was quickly becoming unrecognizable much to the human side of her’s relief. He growled in delight tossing his head back enjoying the taste of his meal. Leech stepped closer still in her trance. Thats when he saw her. They locked eyes and he studied her expression, she wasn't afraid she was..…something else. Interesting.

“O-Oh I….didn't know you were um…. w-working.”

The clown stood up and crossed the room. Getting uncomfortably close to her. He grabbed her arm and inhaled her skin. “You're not afraid…..Does this not scare you, human?”

Leech whispered her response almost struggling to get it out “I-Im not human any more”

The clown leaned in close to her face and sniffed again. “No. You're clearly not.” he gave her a wicked grin. She felt his hot breath on her face those primal urges shooting through her brain and chest like electricity. “You smell different.” he hissed “somethings changed, you no longer stink like meat.” he emphasized that last syllable sending a small shiver up Leech’s spine. He was close to her again sniffing her skin like a dog hot on the trail. “So sweet… So warm.” he was mumbling. Leech could smell the thick wet blood on his lips, all she wanted right now was to taste them to run her tongue along his blood soaked mouth. What the hell was wrong with her? He was glaring down at her studying her with curiosity as if sensing something was wrong his beautiful yellow eyes flicked down at her lips and back to her own a questioning look on his face. Oh god was he reading her mind? Instinct overtook her and she leaned in closer, the clown didn't move confused by her actions. Leech’s lips touched his for a moment. Soft. She thought. Pennywise pulled away quickly staring at her with wide eyes. “What the hell was that?” he shouted as he turned a shade of pink shocked and confused by the action. Leech looked at him in terror from what she just did. “I-I-I um the hunger it- it just- it took control-I didn't mean” they were both bright red staring at each other with wide wild eyes. “I-I’m just gonna g-go” she ran as fast as she could slamming the door upstairs.

Pennywise never had someone do that to him before. He knew it was a human sign of affection between mates. Did she want to mate with him? Why was she suddenly so sweet smelling? Why did he feel so warm? And why the hell did he want to do that again? He stood there red faced for a good 5 minutes as wave after wave of strange emotions washed over him. Suddenly for the first time in eons he had lost his appetite.

Leech threw herself on her bed shocked at what she just did. She just kissed the damn clown and the worst part is she liked it. He killed someone in front of her and she fucking kissed him. What the hell was she becoming? She knew living with monsters would desensitize her to these things, but this? This was not something she saw coming, especially with Pennywise. He was rude, annoying, messy, bipolar, cruel, insufferable, funny, tall, fierce, intriguing, warm. wait…. oh no… she thought. “I have a crush on the fucking clown.”

#pennywise #pennywise the dancing clown #pennywise x oc #pennywise x reader #pennywise fanfiction #monster roommate au #it (2017) #it fanfiction

[sunshineoptimismandangels]

Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails (A Klaine Fic)

Word Count: 3,603 Status: Complete Beta: The wonderful @hkvoyage Summary: Written for a Tumblr fic about Klaine getting a pet - full prompt as the end of the fic. FF.net | AO3 

Blaine was one of those people – what you would call an “animal person”. The kind of person that would stop and ask permission to pet any dog someone was walking past him. The kind of person to leave food out for stray cats, the kind of person who pointed out every puppy they passed while jogging in Central Park – even if they’d already passed a half a dozen. He even supported the ASPCA with every Amazon Smile purchase he made.

Kurt was not an animal person. Not that he disliked animals, he didn’t. He loved Rocky, the big rescue dog Burt and Carol had adopted once they became empty nesters. He enjoyed Simone, Mercedes’ pampered little chihuahua who went on tour with her. Tina had adopted a cat… and then a second one, but she wouldn’t let anyone call her a cat lady saying you had to have at least three cats for that. Kurt really liked both of Tina’s cats, he understood their general distain for being picked up and love of neck scratches. If he were an animal, he would probably be a cat. No, Kurt didn’t dislike pets, but as far as ever owning a pet of his own, Kurt didn’t see the point. Pets were messy and smelled and took up too much time and money. He would continue to enjoy them vicariously through other people. Or so he thought. Kurt got home from a long day at the theater; one actor had started stress eating so he had to let all her costumes out. Then the male lead decided that the costumes he had previously adored were all a little too “confining” now, and Kurt had lengthy discussions with the director about modifying them. Kurt didn’t actually mind, but still it was tiring. All he wanted to do was get home, order some dinner and snuggle with his fiancé on the sofa as they watched trashy television. That sounded like bliss. He walked in to his apartment, hanging his coat and bag on the hooks by the door, and slipping his shoes off with a sigh when he heard Blaine calling him from the living room. “Kurt? Is that you?” “Where you expecting someone else?” Kurt asked with a smile as he joined Blaine, leaning in to give him a quick kiss. Blaine kissed him back but seemed distracted. “Everything okay?” Blaine’s face was tense and a little worried. “Don’t be mad.” “What’s wrong?” Kurt’s heart skipped a beat; a part of him was always ready for bad news. “Nothing! Nothing.” Blaine reassured him, holding Kurt’s arms and leaning in to give him another quick peck on the lips. “Nothing is wrong… it’s just that… I um… bought something today, and I don’t want you to…” Blaine rubbed the back of his neck, not finishing the sentence. Kurt arched and eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, “Want me to what?” “Just keep an open mind, okay?” “Oh god, Blaine. What have you done?” Kurt loved Blaine more that anything, and he was committed to him no matter what, but that didn’t mean he was above making Blaine sleep on the couch if he’d done something truly senseless. Kurt was imagining all sorts of things, from an outrageously expensive gold foil bowtie, or matching pairs of pink alligator shoes – which okay, Kurt might wear as long as Blaine wasn’t wearing them at the same time – to walking into their music room to find a kayak sitting there. Blaine was that unpredictable sometimes. Kurt loved that about him, but right now, it was making him tense. “I was at the grocery store today picking up a few things for the weekend,” Blaine explained, his voice taking on a slightly nervous quality as he slowly led Kurt down the hall. “And they had them all out front, a least a dozen of them, and everyone was playing with them and holding them and there was one that was scared and huddled alone in a corner…” Blaine stopped outside the music room. Kurt thought he might have heard a noise from behind the door, and it slowly dawned on him what had happened as Blaine started opening the door. “Oh please, Blaine. No. Say you did not-” A blur of white movement flashed by them both scampering down the hall and back towards the living room. Kurt looked at where the thing had darted to and then at Blaine who was watching at him sheepishly. He did not bring an animal home without talking to Kurt about it first. “Um, just a sec. I really should catch him.” Blaine hurried to the living room, Kurt trailing behind him in disbelief, only to find Blaine laying flat on his stomach by the couch, arm halfway underneath as he cooed, “It’s okay boy. You’re safe.” Kurt stood nearby arms crossed and foot tapping. Finally, Blaine seemed to get ahold of the creature and gently pulled it out. He stood up and smiled at Kurt with a ball of wiry, matted fur cradled in his arms. “It’s a dog.” Blaine said, his eyes sparkling. “I can see that.” Kurt was doing absolutely everything he could not to smile himself. He was not pleased, even if Blaine was unfairly adorable right now. “Actually, it looks more like a pile of scruffy fur.” Kurt sniffed the air, “And it stinks.” “Oh Kurt, don’t say that. You’ll hurt his feelings.” The little dog was shivering in Blaine’s arms, as much of it Kurt could see at least. Kurt sighed, “Let me see him.” Blaine held the dog out, and Kurt could finally get a good look at it. Some kind of terrier mix most likely.  Skinny with bristly looking beige fur and sad eyes. Kurt could understand why Blaine had picked this dog out – he would choose the most pathetic looking creature of the bunch. Kurt rubbed his forehead and sighed. It was impossible to argue with Blaine’s tender heart Blaine tucked the poor dog back to his chest. “Are you mad?” “I mean… Blaine.” “I know. I know I should have talked to you about this first.” “Getting a dog is a big deal. It is a long-term commitment. Especially a little dog, they live a long time.” “I know. And you have every right to be upset with me. But I made eye contact with him, Kurt. And he was so sad and little and scared and shaking… I tried to walk away, I promise I did try…” Kurt uncrossed his arms and sighed. Blaine was too sweet for his own good. “If we keep him, you get to take care of him. Clean up after him. Take him on walks. He is your dog. Okay?” Blaine beamed at him, his smile infectious, “I will! I’ll do all of that. I’ll take full responsibility for him, but could he maybe… be our dog?” Kurt narrowed his eyes, “Not while he smells like that.” “Don’t worry! I got everything he is going to need. Food and a collar and a leash and toys and dog shampoo. He is already fixed and housetrained. It is not going to be a problem. I’ll give him a bath now!” Kurt bit back a smile. “Okay. Fine. We keep him on a trial basis. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll get him a try.” “That’s a deal.” Blaine swooped in and planted a kiss on Kurt’s cheek, then his forehead and then his lips. “Stop it,” Kurt was laughing by time he pushed Blaine and the dog away, “You smell like dog.” “Well, he is going to smell a lot better soon. Aren’t you buddy, huh? Aren’t you?” Blaine switched to baby talk when addressing to the dog in his arms, which strangely made Kurt’s heart swell, then Blaine hurried off to give it a much-needed bath while Kurt wandered back to the music room. Blaine wasn’t lying, he’d gotten everything you might need for a dog, and more. There were toys strewn across the room, a plush purple doggie bed, and a water and dog bowl that were already tipped over and spilt across the wood floor. Kurt groaned and turned toward the hall to grab a towel when he stepped in something wet. He lifted his socked foot with a grimace; it wasn’t water. “Blaine!!” ******** It turned out that the dog was housetrained. It had just been nervous and excited to be in a new place that first day. As long as Blaine kept up with giving it walks, which he was great at, there weren’t any more accidents in the apartment. Though it did seem to love to knock over its food bowl and leave slobbery toys all over the house, it even liked to tug things it wasn’t meant to play with from the closet or out from under cupboards. Blaine started childproofing the house. Kurt wasn’t sure it was worth the headache. Kurt did enjoy the evening strolls they had started going on so the dog could stretch its legs. They were walking through their neighborhood, bundled in jackets and holding hands while the dog led the way, it was very strong and willful for such a little thing. Blaine had even bought a little plaid puffy vest for the dog so it wouldn’t get cold. It was still too skinny and Blaine doted over it. “Are you ever going to name it?” Kurt asked watching as the wiry little thing trotted ahead of them wagging its trial. “Why? Are you getting attached?” Blaine asked turning to Kurt with a hopeful smile. “I’m not saying that – it just weird to keep calling him the dog.” “I’ve been mulling over some ideas.” “Like…?” “Levine?” Kurt scrunched up his nose. “Okay, okay.” Blaine laughed, “Maybe Hammerstein? But that’s a mouthful.” “It is,” Kurt agreed as Blaine leaned his head on Kurt’s shoulder while they stopped to let the dog sniff at the base of a tree. “Horace?” The dog looked up at them, as if even he thought that was a terrible idea. “Does he look like a Horace to you?” “I’ve always been bad at naming things,” Blaine said with a sighed as they started walking again. “Did I ever tell you what I named my hamster when I was in second grade?” “No?” “Hamster.” “What?” Kurt started laughing. “I named my hamster, Hamster.” Kurt laughed harder which made the dog stop walking and start barking at them, wanting in on the joke, “Oh Blaine, that is so sad.” “I know.” Blaine’s gorgeous smile overtook his face, “Besides I’m not sure I want to name him yet. Not if he is still here on a trial basis.” “Fair enough,” Kurt said, kissing Blaine’s cheek. “But you’ve had him a little over a week and he’s made some kind of mess in the apartment almost every single day. Let’s see if he can go a few days without making me want to pull my hair out before we end the trial period.” “Fair enough,” Blaine echoed, stopping on the sidewalk and bringing his lips to Kurt’s in a tender kiss. “He’s going to win you over eventually,” Blaine whispered and kissed him again. Kurt smiled into the kiss, Blaine was fighting dirty here, but Kurt was enjoying every moment of it. *********

“He’s looking at me.” “Is he not allowed to look at you?” “Blaine. Look at him!” They were sitting close together on the couch watching MasterChef, the dog was planted by their feet staring up at Kurt with big, round eyes. “Did you teach him that? He looks like you when you want something!” Blaine laughed and shook his head, “I think we are both naturals.” “What does he want from me? Why isn’t he staring at you?” “He wants up on the couch with us.” “But why isn’t he staring at you?” Blaine shrugged, “Maybe he knows you’re the one that made the ‘no dogs on the couch’ rule.” “Do not make me the bad guy for wanting to keep our things nice.” “I’m not.” “We don’t want to have one of those apartments that smell like dog as soon as you walk in.” “I agree with you.” Kurt glanced back down at the dog who whined and started wagging its tail. “Sorry mister, but I’m immune to the puppy eyes. Lots of practice resisting them.” “Oh really?” Blaine hand been leaning against Kurt’s side but he sat up to face him at that. “Yes. I am puppy eyes resistant.” Kurt smirked as Blaine lowered his chin and looked up at Kurt through his long eyelashes. “Oh really?” Blaine repeated as he scooted closer, parting his plump lips and giving Kurt his best round eyed yet seductive look. “It is going to take more than the eyes, Anderson.” Blaine smiled and moved Kurt’s leg so they stretched out on the couch, and then moved so his body was hovering over Kurt’s. “What is it going to take?” Blaine asked, lips so close to the skin of Kurt’s neck his warm breath made goosebumps run down Kurt’s arms. Kurt swallowed deeply, “What are you after here?” “Maybe the dog could sit on the couch,” Blaine suggested, pressing a soft kiss to Kurt’s neck, “If he stayed on our laps?” Blaine murmured the request against the sensitive skin of Kurt neck, kissing his way up it. “I… I don’t know how.” Kurt licked his lips and his eyes fluttered closed, “How we would inforce that?” Blaine moved to Kurt’s jawline and hummed against his skin before kissing the very corner of Kurt’s lips. Kurt whimpered a bit. “He’s smart.” Blaine whispered, “I could train him.” Blaine moved away slightly, looking at Kurt with wide golden eyes, “What do you say?” Kurt’s breathing hitched and his skin buzzed, and all he wanted was Blaine’s lips on his own. “Fine. But you better stop talking about that dog and kiss me now.” “Gladly,” Blaine said, shifting so he could roll his body down against Kurt’s and kissed him deeply as Kurt pulled him in. The dog gave up sitting on the couch and pattered away, clearly ignored for now. ******* Kurt was in a foul mood as he walked the three flights of stairs up to their apartment. The male lead in the play didn’t like the recently updated costumes and insisted they go back to the original design, even though he been the one to request the change. The director sided with the actor, as he always did, and Kurt was left in the back, ripping out seams and muttering under his breath. He hated redoing work that had already been done. He stormed into the apartment, dropping his things unceremoniously on the floor of the entryway. “You will not believe the day I had,” Kurt fumed marching further into the apartment. “It’s like working with a male version of Rachel Berry. I want to wring his neck!” Kurt paused in the living room, but Blaine wasn’t there, so he walked into the kitchen. “Blaine? Are you-.” Kurt stopped mid-sentence, his eyes falling on the trashcan by the pantry, the lid was partly open and some red fabric was sticking out of it. No. No no no. Kurt walked up to it, lifting the lid and pulling out his new Alexander McQueen distressed crewneck sweater – or what was left of it; the material was severely ripped and damp with slobber. Kurt had brought this sweater on clearance and it had just come in yesterday. He’d never even had a chance to wear it! Kurt took a long deep breath, closing his eyes and counting to ten, before stuffing the ruined sweater back into the trashcan. “Blaine,” Kurt called evenly. It was just a sweater, it was just a sweater. He would not yell at Blaine about this. “Blaine.” Kurt walked back through the living room to the hallway, poking his head in the music room to find it empty and continuing on to the bedroom. He was not going to yell at Blaine – but the trial period was over. The dog had to go. He opened the bedroom door, jaw clenched and ready to break the decision to his fiancé, but he stopped short once he entered the room. The first thing he saw was Blaine laying on his side, back to the door apparently asleep on the bed. The next thing Kurt noticed was Blaine’s laptop open on the desk – the screen was on the Alexander McQueen sight. Kurt walked quietly to the laptop, it was an order confirmation page – two things had been purchased and shipped priority mail. A red distressed crew neck sweater and a pair of leather buckle monk-strap shoes – both in Kurt’s size. The shoes were the very pair Kurt had been pining over for months. Kurt sighed and turned to face his sleeping fiancé.

He tiptoed around the bed to find Blaine sleeping peacefully, the dog curled up next to his chest with Blaine’s arm looped over it. Any frustration Kurt had been feeling melted away, and not just because of the order Blaine had placed. Blaine looked so sweet, and innocent and gorgeous. His cheeks rosy and his curly hair a mess, Kurt knew that wasn’t just from this nap – he could picture Blaine pacing the apartment after finding the torn sweater, hands threading through his hair as he wildly thought about what he was going to do. Kurt had to smile, the sight of this beautiful sleeping man curled up with a tiny, slightly snoring dog was just too picturesque. Blaine loved that dog. And Kurt loved Blaine. So damn it, Kurt loved the dog too. Kurt slipped off the suit jacket he was wearing and silently kicked off his shoes. He softly climbed up on the bed so he way lying close to Blaine, facing him with the dog curled up between them. Kurt smiled watching Blaine’s lovely face and then leaned in pressing his lips against Blaine’s in the gentlest kiss. Blaine slowly blinked his eyes open and Kurt smiled at him. “Hi.” Blaine grinned back, “Hi.” Kurt couldn’t help it he kissed Blaine again, longer and deeper this time, his hand moving to hold the back of Blane’s neck – when he pulled away Blaine’s breath stuttered a little. “What was that for?” “I love you, Blaine.” Blaine blushed and his eyes danced. “I love you too.” All too soon Blaine’s smile slipped and his features grew serious, “But um… there is something I have to tell you.” “Is it about a ripped up red McQueen sweater in the garbage?” “Oh god,” Blaine moaned. “Kurt I’m so sorry, but I promise it wasn’t the dog’s fault. I didn’t get home from work until late, and he was left on his own too long and got a little stir crazy. But I‘ve already booked a dog walking service so that won’t happen again – oh, and I bought you a new sweater! It will be here in two days.” Kurt smiled and shook his head, Blaine was too sweet, Kurt sometimes couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have him. “Blaine, it’s fine. I’m not mad. At you or the dog.” “Oh?” Blaine’s face lit up, “Really?” “I guess the trial is over.” Kurt said with a smile. Blaine’s face fell. “If I can forgive him for chewing up designer clothing, I guess that means he stays.” “He stays?” Blaine sat up, waking up the dog who yawned and immediately turned to Kurt placing its chin over his arm. Kurt laughed, “Oh, he is a charmer. He stays” Blaine was smiling broadly, the corner of his eyes crinkling, but he quickly scooped up the dog and placed him on the floor turning back to tackle Kurt with kisses. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” Blaine said between kisses and Kurt laughed beneath him. He finished with a long sweet kiss to Kurt’s lips. Kurt sighed, looking up at Blaine and feeling perfectly happy. “I love you too.” Blaine snuggled down beside him. “Now we can name him.” Kurt turned slightly to look down and find the dog sitting by the bed tail thumping and almost looking as if it was smiling. Kurt rolled back over to face Blaine, “I think we should name our dog after you, call him ‘Charmer’.” Blaine looked surprised for a moment before he tilted his head back and burst out laughing. “It seems fitting.” Blaine circled his arms around Kurt, “It’s perfect. And… our dog?” “Obviously,” Kurt teased and Blaine swooped in to kiss him again.

****** End Note: Written for this prompt: klaine gets a pet - maybe Kurt finally lets Blaine get a puppy and it tears the house down and Kurt wants to send it back but when he walk in to see Blaine curled up with the puppy he can't bear to separate them.

#klaine fluff #klaine fic #klaine!au #sunshine's fic

[sidhewrites]

Excerpt. A direct continuation of the excerpt found here, summary page found here. Approx. 2,200 words. As always, feel free to send Asks or Messages about what’s written or anything you’re curious about.

Nina talked her into wearing a modern dress. It was green, heavy enough to keep her warm but light enough to still move elegantly, with it’s embroidery up and down the sides and flowing pleated skirt. It wasn’t too bad -- save for one major issue.

“Where’s the pockets?” Zorya ran her hands up and down the skirt as if that would be enough to make pockets appear. “Can’t you make it have pockets?”

“Stop rubbing it, you big baby.” Nina grabbed Zorya’s hands away from the dress and waved a hand. The soot Zorya had smeared across the fabric lifted itself up and deposited itself in a waste basket across the room. “It’s got a matching coat. You don’t need pockets. And we’ll need to get you some gloves in case you start fussing again.”

So, in a fine Parisian coat, wearing fine Parisian gloves, Zorya stepped out of the University’s front doors. Crisp February air bit at her cheeks, fogged up her breath as she exhaled. Noski whined from the doorway, refusing to go out unless carried, and hissed when Nina bent to pick him up.

“Hey, bastard, cut that out,” Zorya snapped, trudging back up the stairs to pick him up. He began purring the second he was in her arms and settled in. “I’m not carrying you into town, you know.” 

Noski looked up with his big yellow eyes in a way suggesting that he knew better.

Zorya hated how right he was.

“I can’t believe you spoil him so much,” Nina said. She approached Zorya, reaching out to take her arm, and Noski hissed again.

“Hey,” Zorya warned. It did no good. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s got into him. He’s not normally so much of an asshole.”

Nina waved it off. “It’s fine. He probably smells Jaga on me. There’s a reason the Americans call them scaredy cats, right?”

Zorya grinned, first at Nina, then down at Noski, glad for once that he wasn’t able to make any rude commentary in this form. “That’s right. He’s a big scaredy cat, isn’t he?”

Noski was unamused.

They took a car into town. Nina pointed out various shops and locations as they passed -- a bakery recommended by half the students at the university and Clare himself, and a quartet singing on a street corner for tips. Down that street was where all the young men went to drink and call themselves writers instead of actually writing, and down that street was where the young men who actually wrote wallowed over their first drafts with a gin in one hand, and a bourbon in the other.

“And that,” Nina said, pointing out a small cafe front, “is where all the girls go to meet other girls in plain daylight.”

“To...meet?” Zorya asked, brows furrowing.

“To meet.” Nina replied with a wink and a nod.

“Oh. Oh.” Zorya nodded, finally understanding, and Nina laughed again.

Light, powdery snow fell onto the already white-rooftops of the city. Children raced each other down the streets, women in fur coats walked arm in arm while their valets carried their shopping bags, and two young art students sat beside the road, painting the scenes they saw in between the cars puttering by. It was a fine day, a calm day, a strange mix of the fast paced city life and the slow, lethargic energy that came with a cold and cloudy day.

They stopped outside an utterly massive multi-storied building -- a department store. It had to rival the size of the Arkane University at least. Zorya was only distantly familiar with them, having never been given the chance to go shopping or even looking around in Russia before the revolution began. But Nina seemed to know her way around all too well. She swept out of the car with her usual elegance and poise, waiting primly for Zorya to follow her out, stumbling and cursing under her breath.

She laughed. “The pinnacle of feminine grace.”

Zorya made a face. “I was distracted by you.”

“Oh?” Nina held a delicate gloved hand to her mouth in mock surprise. “Don’t be ashamed, Mademoiselle. It’s only natural to be distracted by someone like me.”

“Yeah, you and your stink.” 

Nina gasped, but grinned despite herself. “You --!” She fell into laughter despite herself, leaning forward to take Zorya’s arm again until Noski hissed. She flinched back, holding her hands close as if bitten. “Let’s get you a bag for him first, maybe. You need something nicer than that old travel sack anyway.”

Zorya’s stomach dropped. “But --” Noski wriggled in her arms, trying to escape, and she pressed him tight to her chest. “Fine. But nothing pink.”

Nina smoothed down her fine, bright coat, haughty and refined as ever. “It’s cerise.”

“I don’t know what that is, but I don’t want that either.”

Nina let out a delicate sigh, her breath clouding in the air. “Black, then. Like your wicked, wicked heart.”

“Exactly.”

Noski whined again. Zorya scratched behind his ears, but refused to relax her grip.

Nina guided her inside, nodding at the doormen with a smile. One of them smiled back, apparently infatuated with Nina on looks alone. She walked with her head hell high, piercing eyes glittering with mirth, steps as light as air. She glided in, stopping quickly to admire the flowers offered at a cart near the door.

Zorya did not smile at the men. She slouched and walked with the heavy footfalls of a soldier. If she wasn’t dressed in Nina’s clothes and walking so close to her, Zorya doubted they’d let her in at all.

Only when they were a good few feet away from the doormen did Zorya look up from her feet -- and stopped dead.

The building was massive -- and seemed doubly so from the inside. Four stories high, with a stained glass dome filtering light down into the veritable pavillion in the center of the building -- an atrium trees and artificial streams running underneath bridges that lead to a seating area and cafe in the very middle.

Two wide corridors lined with shops on either side led away from the atrium, and Zorya could see no less than four elevators from where she stood.

“Fuck.” It came out unbidden and unexpectedly, an awestruck whisper under her breath. She caught herself too late, ears burning, a hand clapped over her mouth, grateful she at least remembered to say it in Russian.

“That’s what I thought, too,” Nina agreed, speaking in fine French. “But try to stick to the local language here.” She came close, whispering, “You’ve never met people quite so bourgeoisie as you will in this place.”

Zorya didn’t have to wonder at that. It was a veritable palace of commerce and capitalism, and even the staffers and doormen wore clothes finer than anyone she had known back in Moscow. She nodded dumbly.

“Let’s get a coffee, shall we? It’s delicious here, and there’s an open table right by the fountain.” 

“Wait, I thought--” 

But Nina was already making her way to the atrium. Zorya rushed to follow, hating how lost she felt here. This wasn’t the place for people like her -- for soldiers with soot on their hands and scars on her skin. Zorya had just wanted a haircut -- nothing more than a few quick cuts with scissors and then to be out of there. Now Nina had added in a new bag and coffee in the atrium of all things. 

Zorya felt too small and too out of place here. As if she hadn’t bathed recently enough or didn’t wear enough perfume. A mix of fear and resentment crept up her spine as she, reluctantly, followed her friend to the center cafe. 

Or tried to, anyway.

“One moment, Mademoiselle,” a man’s voice called out. Zorya turned to see two uniformed men coming her way -- a tall, burly man, and a slimmer one with a full beard. They both wore batons at their hip, and, though her instincts told her to search for one, they both lacked a visible firearm. “We can’t allow unleashed pets into the Gallerie.”

Zorya hesitated, looking down at her bristling cat, his yellow eyes trained on the larger gard. “Uh...no, he’s…” She fumbled, couldn’t remember the French word for familiar, and her accent was too strong to ignore. “He is my, um, companion. He is…” Panic rose up in her as she realized just how helpless she was in a place like this. She was a soldier. A working class soldier stuck in a pretty dress and wearing the disguise of a society girl. They’d kick her out in an instant, and that was if she was lucky.

“Is there trouble, gentlemen?”

Zorya flinched at Nina’s voice, suddenly so close. She had approached silently. Her French was flawless and her accent had been mostly subdued. She almost blended right in. The burly man softened at the sight of her.

His companion, however, did not. “Where did these Russians come from?” he grumbled.

“Nothing terribly wrong, of course, Mademoiselle, but I’m afraid we can’t have unleashed pets in the Gallerie. Your companion will have to wait outside.”

Zorya’s ears burned. She grit her jaw, eyes on the bundle in her arms. Noski continued to bristle, not once glancing away from the guards.

“Well, certainly not,” Nina said with a nod. “I wouldn’t dream of letting my dear poodle loose in a place like this, and risk everyone’s safety.”

The beareed guard nodded, stepping forward to assert himself. “So you see, your companion here --”

“My companion? Oh, of course.” Nina chuckled, shook her head. “You mean Zorya Kosheka, the Grand Magician’s apprentice. I’m not used to hearing her referred to with such, ah … well, carelessness, I suppose. You are familiar with the Grand Magician and his apprentice, of course?”

He paled, fumbling. “Yes, err. Well --”

Nina didn’t let him finish. “And, even if she wasn’t, I can’t imagine any Magician would have any need for a pet when she has a familiar, wouldn’t you say, monsieur?” She directed the question to the burly guard.

“Well, yes, I suppose so…”

The bearded man spoke up again. “It’s still an animal, Mademoiselle, and it must be on a lead.”

Zorya glanced around, aware that they were attracting attention. Anger and fear rose up further in equal measure, both at Nina and at herself for letting things go so far. “Nina, let’s just...”

Nina paid her no mind. She raised her brows, just slightly, lips pursed. It was a disapproving look, the look of someone with quite a lot of power, and quite a little patience. “It? Did you just call a Magician’s familiar it?” There was a hint of disbelief in her otherwise even voice -- no anger, no frustration. Just a hint of confusion. She waved a hand at them. “I don’t know where you were raised, monsieur, nor should I like to insult what I’m sure is a fine, fine town, but where we come from, we have some respect for the arkane.”

The message was more than received, and the guards looked not unlike children having been scolded by a school teacher. Properly cowed, and most likely now aware of the looks they’d gotten from the other people, the guards nodded their assent. 

The burly man spoke first: “Our apologies, mademoiselles. We meant no disrespect.”

The bearded man continued: “But do, please, keep your familiar close. We wouldn’t want -- er-- him? Her?” He looked to Zorya almost helplessly.

It took her a moment to realize what he was asking for. “Oh. Him. He’s a him.”

“Yes, of course. Please keep him close. Wouldn’t want him getting lost here. Good day.”

With a tip of their hats, the guards took their leave. Noski’s fur finally settled, and he snuggled in closer to Zorya.

Nina let out a short sigh. “Well, I think that went very well. Don’t you?”

Zorya frowned. “You know I’m not a Magician, right?”

“I do, but they don’t.” Mischief gleamed in her eyes.

Zorya knew that look. Didn’t like that look. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean? I did nothing.”

“Nina.”

She shrugged, waved a hand about. “I might have charmed their minds. Just a little bit.”

Zorya’s eyes went wide. “Nina--” Dominion of any sort was a dangerous magic, illegal in nearly every part of Europe. 

“Only a bit!” she countered, hushed and insistent, though she appeared as calm as ever. “I only made them slightly more amenable to the idea of familiars running around -- just a suggestion, that’s all. It won’t last more than twenty minutes.”

Zorya pressed her lips together, unconvinced.

But Nina wasn’t so easily cowed. She waved the conversation away. “Let’s get coffee. I’m still cold, and we haven’t even dropped our coats off yet. All right?”

“Fine. Fine, but no more diversions. We’re here to get my hair cut, and that’s it, all right?”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

Nina made a show of considering it, but eventually nodded with a smile. “Promise.”

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[julesdelorme]

sitting with bacon pete

you ain't gonna make it till mornin.'

-why not. bacon pete said.

bug looked at bacon pete. wondered how he couldn't know.

-cuz. bug said -you been gutshot. you ain't gonna outlive that. bein gutshot.

-i got snakebit once. pete said -everybody said I was gonna die then but I didn’t die.

-this is different.

-how. how exactly.

-i dunno pete. but them whitemen put a big size bullet in you.

pete tried to make himself comfortable. couldn't get it done.

-they put a big hole in you. a big ugly ole hole. bug said -everythin's comin out of you. you ain't gonna live. not till mornin even.

-i might. pete didn't let go of a thing too easy.

-no. pete. Bug said –you’re gonna die.

pete thought about arguing some more. decided against it. bug wasn't exactly the fastest catfish in the creek. and he was all the way indian. all the way full blood indians were a whole different thing altogether. they believed crazy things even when it didn't make no sense to believe things. beside which pete's gut had a hole that was like a burning fire inside him and he couldn't get comfortable underneath that tree.

-it hurts. pete said.

-yeah. bug said -i guess it would.

bug knew a little bit about being shot. bug’s father put a bullet through bug’s shoulder once. he had been aiming for bug’s heart but he was drunk and picked the wrong side and beside all that bug's father never could shoot for nothing, so he hit bug in the shoulder.

it still hurt sometime.

he guessed pete was feeling a whole lot worse.

-i wish i could keep you livin, pete. bug told pete -or make you not hurt till you die.

pete decided to just lie down in the grass for a little bit.

-i know. he said -i know you would. you’re a good friend bug. i know you'd help me if you could.

they just waited for awhile. bug standing there and bacon pete lying in the grass. the sky was filled up with all kinds of stars.

-if I asked you to. bacon pete said -would you hunt down those whitemen and kill them.

bug thought about that. -probably. he said –probably i’d try to figure a way to do it so i don't go to jail but i'd probly go to jail anyways.

-probably get lynched. pete said -or stuck in the electric chair.

-that real.

-i dunno. pete said -i ain't gonna die anyways.

bug just stood there. pete could dig in with a thing sometimes. no point arguing about it. he looked down at the hole in pete's stomach. even with pete's hand covering it, it was a mighty big hole. that whiteman had just pointed his fancy shiny rifle at poor pete and pulled the trigger. sounded like thunder. then they all just rode away.

now bacon pete was going to die on account of not knowing when to stay quiet.

there was nothing bug could do about it. fifteen miles at least till the nearest for sure people. pete wasn't so big but bug wasn't no louis cyr either. no way he could carry him across fifteen miles of wet bush. rain all week. trails were nothing but mud and mush. he'd fall down and drop pete for sure. no point in causing pete all that pain when he wasn't even going to make it. bug thought for awhile about maybe making a raft but by the time he got that done pete'd already be dead and besides the river was looking some kind of mean from the rain.

all bug could do was stand there and watch.

wait.

pete moved around a little on the grass. tried to find a dry spot. whatever might be dry got all wet with his blood but he tried it anyways. nothing else to do. try to find a dry spot and maybe look up at the all those stars. the tree.

-i hate this goddamn tree. bacon pete said.

bug looked at it. 

-it's just a tree. he said.

-yeah I know it but I hate the darn thing anyways. pete looked at the tree for a while. hating it. -it's ugly. old an ugly. what kind of tree is that anyways.

i don't know. maple maybe.

-that ain't maple. it ain't no maple tree. look at them leaves. it ain’t no maple tree.

-then i guess i dunno what it is.

-indians are supposed to know that kind of thing. specially all the way indians.

bug shrugged. it's just a tree pete. he said.

pete stared up at it with one eye. then the other. -i hate it. i hate that fuckin tree. pete said.

-you shouldn'ta argued with those whitemen. bug said.

-they were on rez land. pete said back.

-they had guns.

pete stared up at the stars. tried to remember if they were all in the right place.

-they wouldn'ta shot you if you hadda just shut up for awhile. bug said.

-i used to know where all the stars were supposed to be. bacon pete said

-no. you never.

-i did. my ole man showed me. i... um. i could tell where i was by the stars.

-no. you were always lost pete. long as i can remember you were gettin lost.

-my ole man was all the way indian. he... my ole man he knew things.'

-no. he was just a drunk like mine.

-he knew... uh. things.'

bug walked over to the tree. looked at the leaves for a while.

-damn. pete said -feels like I gotta take the nastiest crap.

bug looked at bacon pete. sniffed the air. 

-pretty sure you already took one pete. he said.

-no. i never.

-yeah i think you did. i can smell shit.

-i never crapped my pants in my my whole life.

-yeah but i think you just did.

pete went quiet. tried to smell it. all he could smell was burnt up copper and wet grass. animals smelled like burnt pennies sometimes when they got shot. he felt like he was looking at bug through some kind of candy wrapper paper or something. but he didn’t smell shit. he guessed he'd smell it if he crapped himself. pete tried to sit up. so he could look down and see. but his head wouldn't move right. wouldn't do what he told it. it didn't feel connected to his body the way it was supposed to be.

-when you were a baby. bug said.

-what. pete said.

-i bet when you were a little baby you must’ve messed yourself so this is probly not the first time you ever did it.

-i don’t know. pete said -but i bet... i bet i wasn't wearin pants then. what i said was that i never crapped my pants before... my... i said pants.

bug went quiet. he didn't have an answer for that. pete was stubborn when he was trying to make a point. that’s how that bullet ended up inside him.

pete gave up trying to move around. he just lied there on the wet grass looking up.

-i bet they was yanks. pete said.

bug didn't answer. he just looked up at the leaves on the tree.

-they looked like yanks to me. pete said -brand new guns and those... um. horses. did you see those horses. i bet... did you get a good look at em.

-they were nice horses alright pete.

-no. no. i mean... i didn’t mean the horses. i meant did you look good at the whitemen.

-why.

-to see where they were from. to see... to see if they were carryin anythin that might say where they were from. 

bug thought about that for a while. -no. he said.

-i bet any money they were from the other side. not only was they on indi... land... indian. land. they were on the wrong side a the border.

-so.

-so. pete said -the mounties'll get em. it's federal. they were on the wrong side of the border so the red coats... um. the mounties the red coats'll go after em.'

bug just looked up at the leaves on the tree. he didn't know much but he knew what happened when indians got shot. everybody knew and so did pete. one drunk indian must’ve shot another drunk indian. that's how it always ended up. so he just looked up at the leaves on the tree. when pete finally got around to being dead bug would drag him deeper into the woods. leave him there. take a day, maybe two for the animals to chew everything up and spread it out so no one could figure out even if they did find one of the pieces. people said bug wasn't too smart but he wasn't so stupid either that he didn't know that if he got any white people in they'd blame it all on him. too easy. white people couldn't resist making it that easy. 

dead was dead and at least the animals’d get something to eat.

-maybe this is a elm tree. bug said to bacon pete.

pete burped. let out a little moan. a little dribble of blood and spit ran out of his mouth and down his cheek. dripped down onto the grass.

bug went over and sat down by pete. 

-they don't look like elm. the leaves. bug said -but maybe it's elm cuz it ain't oak for sure there ain't no oak round here and if it ain't maple. Could be it's elm.

-you’re so stupid. pete shouted at bug.

bug didn't answer. he looked up at the leaves some more.

pete burped again. made a sound like a fish when it comes out of the water. 

-i did too... i di... i did too know about the stars. pete croaked –and my ole man... my... my ole man knew things... all kinds of... he knew things and he taught me.

pete tried to cough but ended up making a kind of gurgling sound. like a sick baby.

bug wondered what the leaves might taste like. sometimes tasting things told you an awful lot about them. bug wondered a lot about what things might taste like.

bacon pete squeezed his eyes shut. tried hard to breathe. opened his eyes back up again. a little more calm now. -don't much matter i guess... pete said  -...but. uh... i mean... i guess. about the ole man. he was... gah... he was a drunk. you were right about that bug. he was just a drunk mostly.

-just like mine. bug said. pete was dying. not long now. –my old man was a drunk too pete.

-ye... yeah. bacon pete said –just a... shhh... he didn’t know shit.

pete was starting to make a kind of wet growling sound in his throat. like a coyote or a wolverine or something. he was starting to smell pretty bad too. the stink and the blood was starting to bring flies. bug couldn't see them in the dark but he could hear them buzzing.

pete tried to make his hand hit one of the flies but even his hand wouldn't do what he told it to do. so he just looked up at the stars some more.

bug scooted over and put his arms around pete. shooed the flies away as best he could. the smell was bad and pete was covered in blood and shit but bug held him anyway. 

-do you b... um... ahh... hey bug. do you believe in...um... in heaven... bug. pete asked him.

bug looked at the tree some more. thought about Pete's question real hard for a while. 

-i guess. bug said. –i don’t know for sure. but guess i do.

pete started twitching.  making all kinds of noises. his eyes rolled back in his head and something black and gooey came oozing out of the hole in his stomach. it smelled kind of like swamp mud. pete was getting real close. his face was white and pale and swollen looking. and his breath smelled awful. 

bug just held him. 

bacon pete was going to die real soon.

-it's okay pete. bug told him. –don’t worry. it's okay.

-no. pete moaned. –i ain’t going to... to...

bacon pete let out a long shiver. tried to spit something up. what came out was black and thick like pudding.  it just barely made it out of his mouth and then dribbled down his chin. smelled even worse than the belly mud and the mess in pete's pants put together.

bug held bacon pete. he knew what not being able to put your thoughts in the same place felt like and he knew about hurting but this was worse than anything. he just kept holding on to Pete and shooing the flies away. 

-no. no... pete said -i got... me... i didn’t... ummm...  i didn’t... sh... it... in my.. um... pants... i never... nnnn...'

-no pete. bug told him -you're right. you never did. i was wrong. you know how stupid i am pete. i know you didn’t crap your pants at all.

-bacon pete stopped talking and just stared up at the sky.

bug wondered why the flies didn't go away. with all the talking and all the noise. the stink. he wouldn't hang around if he was a fly. he looked up at the tree some more and thought about heaven for a while. he always thought dead people just ran around on the earth only you couldn't see them. they were in the woods hunting and running around but you just couldn't see them. a separate place sounded like punishment to him. why would anybody want to get stuck in one spot where they couldn't leave or run around when they wanted to? 

-they sure had nice horses though. bug told bacon pete.

they stayed like that for a real long time. looking up at the stars. sometimes at the tree. not a cloud in the sky and after all that rain the stars still seemed like a surprise. every once in a while pete would start talking or try to start talking but more and more he didn't talk. the noises didn't come out of him as much either. but the smell kept getting worse. sometimes bug's legs and arms went numb but he didn't mind. he sat holding pete. waiting and thinking about heaven and trees. 

the first dawn came.  the lying dawn before the real dawn.

for a while bug could see the flies.  they were everywhere. 

then the light went away and it was dark again.

in the dark pete said -oh.. hhhhh.... hey bug.

-yeah pete. bug said.

-i... um... i. i... i... di... i... didn't mmmmean... pete said -you... yyyyy... um... ain't so... you ain't so... um. i... uh...'

-it’s okay pete.

they were quiet then. in the darkness. just the flies and the smells and the tree.

finally, the sun started to come up for real. it took it's time though. for a while everything was grey. then it went brown. and then orange. then morning was everywhere. everything was filled with light and bug's eyes hurt from the bright of it all.

bacon pete did a little jerk with his body. coughed. let out a loud burp that smelled worse than anything bug had ever smelled in his entire life. 

and then bacon pete stopped breathing. 

that was all.

he just stopped.

he made it to morning though. 

bacon pete always had to be right.

bug held on to him for a while. watched the world coming back to life. 

it was going to be a nice day. the birds were singing and the heat from the sun was already starting to dry things up. you could smell the sunshine. even with all the stink you could still smell the sunshine. the flies even got quiet for a while. bug sat under the tree with his friend and enjoyed the morning.

then he got up to drag bacon pete into the woods.

he stood for a while letting the blood come back to his legs and arms. the flies started to buzz around him. he barely noticed them anymore. 

bug looked up at the tree for a little. 

in the morning light the tree looked different. 

not better. just different.

bug stood there staring up at the tree, letting the feeling come back into his body.

he still couldn't figure out what kind of tree it was.

but bacon pete sure was right about one thing.

it was an ugly tree.

it was about the ugliest tree that bug ever did see.

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[lunakinesis]

What Was Left Behind

April 17th

School was cancelled today! Dunno what for, mom woke me up just to tell me not to bother getting up. Thanks, mom (not!). I'm pretty glad since school's so far away I usually have to be up and ready to go when it's still dark.  Price you pay for some fancy private school. Gonna spend the day playing Mario Kart. Mom said she was meeting dad. I wasn't really listening but it's weird, I'm sure dad had work today. Maybe they're meeting for lunch or something? Sucks that she didn't invite me then. Leftover mac'n'cheese it is then.

----

April 18th

School's still closed. Guessing there's probably some major repairs or something, never heard anything about a strike. Pretty weird. Though it could be the boiler. It's always the boiler with stuff like this.

Hang on, can hear hammering downstairs.

Um... Dad's boarding up all the windows? Didn't ask him why, he didn't seem to be in a good mood. There's a crapton of shopping bags in the kitchen too, been there since yesterday. Dunno why Mom hasn't unpacked them yet. Guess a bad storm's coming.

Must be why school's closed.

----

April 20th

Dad boarded up the doors too. Real thick, heavy pieces of wood. How bad of a storm could it be? Mom's been going up and down the stairs, saw her carrying all those plastic bags from the store. Shouldn't that be going down in the basement if a storm or twister is coming?

I'm scared to ask them, they've both been pretty snappy and just kind of off recently. I guess they could be anxious or whatever, but it's just so weird.

Shouldn't the storm have hit now?

----

April 23rd

I don't know what's going on. Mom and Dad brought just about everything they damn could upstairs. Dad started SMASHING the stairs. We're stuck up here, it's like they've both gone fucking crazy. I asked what the hell he was doing and he didn't answer me. Mom told me to go to my room, that they'd explain soon.

I watched them bring the furniture up. They used the couch and armchairs and half the damn house to make some kind of barricade at the top of the stairs

What the hell is going on?!

----

April 26th

Dad put blinds up at my window, matches the rest of the upstairs now. He told me to part them enough to let light in if I needed it, but never fully and to never take them down entirely. The neighbours must think we're going nuts.

Or they would if we ever saw them. Usually Marie's mom comes around three times a week to have coffee with Mom but I haven't seen her. Or anyone. You'd think they'd come over to ask if things were alright after seeing the house all boarded up. Everything's so quiet. I've only heard a couple of cars. No kids playing, no barking dogs or neighbours talking. Not even the mailman or an ice cream truck. The family across the road seems to be the only one's going about their business. I heard Mom and Dad whispering, Dad called them 'crazy idiots' and Mom said something about 'getting themselves killed.'

Just what is going on?

----

April 28th

I know. I know what's happening now. Everyone else probably does too but I'm writing this still just in case, and just for a sense of normalcy. If I can have that anymore. I haven't really been sleeping. Neither have my parents. One of us always has to be awake anyway. We're safe. But there's always a chance we couldn't be.

I saw them. Yesterday morning. Thought it was just someone drunk staggering home at first. Until I got a good lookk at them through the blinds. They looked like roadkill. That's the best way to put it: Foot hanging off, clothes torn and bloody, skin all discoloured and chunks of flesh missing all over their body.

I thought I was seeing things but then more and more started flooding down the street. The silence was broken by them. The sounds they make... God, it's going to haunt me for as long as I live. Grunting, groaning, snarling... like deranged wild animals.

Mom heard them too and she pulled me away from the window and shushed me. She didn't pull me out of my room fast enough for me to avoid seeing those things shatter the neighbour's windows.

I heard the screams.

I don't want to think about what happened.

----

May 1st

Haven't written in a while. Haven't had the focus. Everything's gone to shit. Power went out yesterday; thank god we have plenty of battery and crank-powered lanterns and flashlights. Dad had the sense to fill the bathtub and sink in his and Mom's en suite and the main bathroom before the water stops. We've filled everything else we can too, there's plenty of soda as well at least.

We've started doing our business in a bucket. Too scared to flush the damn toilet to get rid of our shit in case those things hear. For things rotting to pieces, they sure do have good hearing. Dad throws it all out into the backyard from the guest room window after checking to make sure none of them are wandering around. They haven't noticed we're here yet, we keep the curtains and blinds tightly closed at night and just barely have the blinds open during the day.

I'm lucky my parents were smart. Were prepared. We have supplies to last years providing neither those things or other people find us. My dad heeded crazy news stories like the over-prepared, paranoid nut he's always been, it's saved our lives. More than I can say for most of my neighbours.

----

May 3rd

I saw them. Our neighbours from across the street. The Stephensons. Or what's left of them. They looked like a pack of hyenas had been fighting over them. Bones showing, flesh and skin hanging and flapping about.

I took a peak out of my blinds when I went to get some books from my room and there they were, shambling around their front yard. Or Mr. Stephenson was anyway, his wife was out on the street, chasing after a bird that had long since flown out of her reach.

They had a daughter. She was only three years old. If this is what those things did to her parents, I can't imagine there's anything left of her.

My stomach flips just thinking about it.

----

May 7th

I'm sick of the taste of spam.

----

May 10th

Mom cried all last night. We might be safe in here so far, but being confined to the upper floor of our house leads to some cabin fever. We expected relatives to come trying to find us, but no one has. The realisation of what's probably happened to them is finally sinking in. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins... Most of them are probably dead or worse, roaming around eating anything in sight. We can hope at least one of them is safe somewhere, or at least alive.

But it's a slim, fruitless hope. Grief's hit and Mom isn't doing so good. Dad's quiet. Real quiet. Always has his gun and a baseball bat with him too. Watching and listening in case our safe haven is breached. I don't like to think about that.

But I do have to wonder if we'll always be safe here. Will this nightmare ever pass. More and more of those monsters swarm the streets. I don't even know how many people are left alive. A gigantic swarm of them passed by last night. I don't know how none of us screamed.

We couldn't see them, but god we could hear them. A cacophony of shuffling feet, bangs against cars and their haunting, blood-chilling groans. It was deafening, there must've been hundreds of them, mindlessly marching in search of food they don't even need.

I don't know how this started, how the government did nothing about it... if they're doing anything about it now. Shit, that's if there's anyone left to do anything about it.

I'm probably going to die in this house. Mom, Dad and me. If those things don't get in, we'll starve to death waiting for a heroic rescue that won't come even years from now.

----

May 15th

Heard crying for help outside. The guilt I feel for having to ignore it to keep my family safe is eating me up.

The cries died down to screaming and gurgling. You can't be loud, they hear everything. You'd think people would get that by now.

They didn't eat all of her. She got up and walked away when they were done. Her intestines were hanging out.

I threw up.

----

May 19th

One stumbled into our backyard today. Dad couldn't throw the shit bucket out. House stunk as bad as I imagine those rotters do.

Mom slept all day. I don't think she's doing too good. Nothing Dad or I do consoles her. She barely talks to us, barely reads or plays games. Me and Dad have to take turns taking watch since we're worried Mom might space out or fall asleep.

----

May 24th

Mom's gone mom's gone mom's gone mom's gone mom's gone mom's gone. MOM'S GONE.

She took Dad's gun when we were asleep. He only shut his eyes for a minute. He was so bone tired. We've only been shut in here a month. I don't know why she'd do this to us. We were safe. We were together.

Those things heard and they've been gathering outside.

Dad put Mom's body in the guest bedroom. There's blood everywhere. There’s bits of Mom everywhere.

I'm scared.

----

May ?

Banging and groaning. Banging and groaning.

All day, all night. Stuff my ears to sleep but it's so loud. I hear it in my dreams.

Scared I'm going to wake up to one of them standing over me.

Mom's starting to smell.

----

June ?

So hot. House stinks of rot. From Mom and those things. Still there. They don't give up. They don't get tired, they don't need to sleep or breath or drink or eat. Even though they eat us.

Being as quiet as I can. Dad too. He sits with his gun trained on the upstairs hall. Watching and waiting. The glass downstairs shattered days ago. Don't know which room. But it's boarded up good and tight. Don't know how long the wood will hold out.

There's so many of them out there.

It's awful but. I hope someone passes. I hope someone makes a noise. They'll leave then. Go on to where they can find more prey.

Dad and I will be safe then.

Don't know what we're going to do about Mom.

----

June -

THEY'RE IN THEY'RE IN THEY'RE IN THE WOOD SNAPPED.

CAN HEAR THEM CRAWLING THROUGH THE WINDOWS, SNARLING AND CLIMBING OVER EACH OTHER.

CAN'T GET UP THE STAIRS BUT THERE'S SO MANY OF THEM.

DAD GAVE ME THE BASEBALL BAT. DON'T KNOW IF I CAN USE IT. I THINK I SAW MARIE OUT THERE BANGING ON THE WINDOWS DAYS AGO. WHAT IF SHE'S STILL THERE?

I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN DO IT. EVEN IF IT'S NOT REALLY HER ANYMORE.

----

June -

Dad had to shoot. They were climbing over each other to get up the stairs. Noise drew more of them. I can't hear myself think or their endless snarls and moans. All day. All night.

Can't sleep. Head hurts.

Mom stinks. The smell of them all made me sick. Covered in my own puke.

Dad's running out of bullets.

How could you do this Mom? You've killed us too.

They're starting to climb over one another to get up the broken staircase. Massive writhing worm of rotted bodies. Dad's crying. Shooting them just brings more but he can't risk hitting them down in case one grabs him.

He's giving me a knowing look. I think I know what he's planning. I'm so scared.

But this is better.

I don't want to be one of them.

----

March 3rd, three years after the end of the Walking Plague.

I am merely a witness to the clearing programme, a writer following along to document the actions of soldiers and civilians who volunteered for this duty, and to write of all traces of those who once lived in the many places we liberated from the dead.

This journal was found amongst the ruins of a town during the military clearing process. The possession of an adolescent and thus, not so thorough or factual as scientific, medical or government documents, but of equal importance. This and the countless artefacts like this have given us a glimpse into humanity following the outbreak. They let us remember them and their suffering. Let us remember what we have lost and what we must never lose again.

The journal was found tucked away under a bed, on top of which were the largely skeletal remains of a woman. Cause of death was a gunshot wound to the head, we can gleam from the journal entries that this was pre-infection. A sorry case, or in her despair she doomed her family where they might have all lived. Such tragedies were commonplace throughout that eight year struggle.

The body of the father was found on the floor of the same room. He too lost his life to a gunshot wound to the head, from the final journal entry this seems to have been self-inflicted, done to avoid becoming one of the undead. Most of his soft-tissue was devoured after death.

One thing has been troubling me greatly. There were no traces of the family's daughter.

#scary stories #horror stories #stories #horror #sixpenceee #my work #ayyyy

[zrtranscripts]

Radio Abel, Season Four

Part 2 of 6

DOMHNALL: Before we begin with our backstory, who have you got with you today, Baz?

BASIL: This is Myxie! She's a New Zealand White, a common laboratory rabbit. Despite the name, New Zealand Whites are actually an American breed. She's such a sweetheart. Out of all the Kiwi bunnies – and we've got 50 or so – she's my favorite! She'll just sit on your lap, docile. Likes a scratch just behind her ear.

Don't put her on her back, though. Rabbits will go into tonic immobility and it's a stressful state for them. So please don't rub a rabbit's belly! How do you like that – my seamlessly sneaking in a public service announcement? Well, I suppose it's not that seamless when I draw attention to the seam like that.

DOMHNALL: Um, well done, Baz.

BASIL: Didn't seem like your heart was in that. Want to try again?

DOMHNALL: I'm afraid to ask, but why did you call her Myxie?

BASIL: Uh, you know.

DOMHNALL: It's short for myxomatosis, isn't it?

BASIL: Wrong! Mixolydian. It's a musical mode.

DOMHNALL: Really?

BASIL: No, it's myxomatosis. But she's named for the Radiohead song, not the -

DOMHNALL: You're sick.

DOMHNALL: Do you remember your first day at the lab, Baz?

BASIL: Wish I could forget it. Second year uni student, absolutely gormless. First day, I was sat in Doctor Leatherby's office for hours, waiting. When the door finally opened, instead of the old codger walking in, it was a lion! Let me repeat that: a lion. With a mane and everything!

DOMHNALL: How very Life of Pi.

BASIL: No ruddy tigers in this tale, Don. I was up against the king of the jungle.

DOMHNALL: Dear listeners, Doctor Basil Hibler is well aware that lions primarily live in the savanna, and less so the jungle, unlike tigers.

BASIL: And that lion settled on the chesterfield like he owned the place! Me, I was quivering in the corner of the room, cobbling together a spear from a letter opener and a meter stick. I made a heroic attempt at the door, but it was locked. A chute opened in the ceiling, and a stream of bloodied [?] fell on my head. That's when the lion pounced.

DOMHNALL: How did you escape?

BASIL: Well, I didn't! I laid there, slowly crushed under the lion's weight, spear broken. I tried to roll him off, but he wouldn't budge. Then the lion opened its hot, gaping maw, and -

DOMHNALL: And?

BASIL: And he licked me up and down, didn't he? It was Toothless Tim. He didn't even have his dentures yet. But that didn't stop me from wetting myself. Tim had delicate sensibilities. Left me alone after that. That's when Doctor Leatherby unlocked the door. Of course, he'd watched the entire time via the security cameras.

DOMHNALL: Filmed it as well. I think there may still be a recording on one of the computers.

BASIL: Note to self: destroy all the computers.

DOMHNALL: Well, it may be on the server.

BASIL: Note to self: figure out what a server is, and then destroy it.

BASIL: You started work here before I did. I'll wager you didn't have to fight a lion for your job.

DOMHNALL: No. Doctor Leatherby was my professor. He asked if I wanted to be his lab assistant, and I said I did. The next day, he gave me a key card, and a lab coat, and the directions to this facility.

BASIL: Which is impossible to find, listener. And impenetrable. Titanium doors a meter thick!

DOMHNALL: And booby-trapped.

BASIL: Yeah, good one. And booby-trapped, a la Temple of Doom. No rolling boulders, but a modern analogue.

DOMHNALL: And of course, many zombies.

BASIL: Swarms. Hordes. Legions. They're drawn to the smell from our incinerator, which will not help anyone find our facility. ... I can't believe you didn't have to fight any predators for your job.

DOMHNALL: I don't know. Doctor Leatherby was generally kind to me.

BASIL: He always liked you. As much of a crackpot as he was, he at least got that right.

DOMHNALL: I think it was because I was like his animals. I was scientifically manipulated, a freak. He probably thought I belonged in this place.

BASIL: Leatherby was a prat.

DOMHNALL: The centrifuge is done.

BASIL: Yeah! It didn't even fly off its axis and turn into a wheel of plague doom this time.

DOMHNALL: This is it, Baz. We discover whether the zombie virus has become zoonotic - or anthroponotic, in this case.

BASIL: You sound wistful, Don.

DOMHNALL: Now that the data's at our fingertips, it's my responsibility to analyze it, but I enjoyed the mystery of not knowing! The mystery, and the potential.

BASIL: Sorry, mate, but it's one or the other. It's Schrödinger's cat: undead edition. We should really let the cat out of the box and see if the Geiger counter went off. You have more important things to focus on, like synthesizing those hormones.

DOMHNALL: I don't want to talk about that.

BASIL: I know, but you either have the tools to do it, or you don't. Hope makes you you, Don, but it's not going to keep you that way.

DOMHNALL: Indeed. Oh, look at that, you got us off topic again! Don't go anywhere, listener...s. The startling conclusion to the catus zombiticus tests, Afterlife On Earth will return in a moment.

DOMHNALL: Welcome back, gentle listeners. The results are in, and -

BASIL: Yeah, it's not a zombie cat.

DOMHNALL: No, she's not.

BASIL: But she is very sick.

DOMHNALL: Hopefully was. I've never seen this particular strain before, but I can say that the virus was synthesized in this lab. Thankfully, its characteristics were documented, as was the existence of a cure, helpfully labeled, "antibodies: cat." After a quick diagnostic scan, it looked legitimate, so Baz gave her the treatment.

BASIL: That was an hour ago, and she's already looking much better, but we'll keep you apprised of her progress, listener.

DOMHNALL: Poor moggie.

BASIL: This was appalling, even for Leatherby, whose default setting is appalling. Reminds me why I quit this place.

DOMHNALL: What, the first time, or the second time?

BASIL: Both! But in a bad economy, a good man sells out his principles, don't he? Leatherby was always so smug when I came back, tail between my legs. [imitates DOCTOR LEATHERBY] "Told you you would be back, zookeeper. Now grab a shovel. The shit always piles up when you're on holiday."

I know he was your mentor and all, but I'm glad he lost the plot and ran off to live among the zoms. Couldn't imagine waiting out the end of days looking at his ugly [?].

DOMHNALL: To be fair, I like our ark the way it is.

BASIL: Me, too.

BASIL: You know, Don, I'm not sure I would have survived this without, you know, your being here with me.

DOMHNALL: I'm sure you would have, Baz. You're very resourceful. You have many practical, real-world skills, like surgery, and cooking, and animal husbandry. You're particularly adept with a machete spear.

BASIL: [laughs] Yeah. I've got a decent character card, I suppose.

DOMHNALL: I wouldn't have survived.

BASIL: Well, you have many academic world skills, like writing beautiful lab reports, and inadvertently humiliating speakers at conferences. Also, you tap a mean vein. But mostly you're just an utterly decent person. Good person, even. Kind. Maybe too kind for these times.

DOMHNALL: Baz, your hand.

BASIL: Yeah?

DOMHNALL: It-it is very cold. Perhaps we should test your circulation. We've been so sedentary since civilization ended. I know! We could start doing uh, calisthenics every morning. Wouldn't do to survive the zombie horde only to be done in by DVT or bedsores.

BASIL: [laughs] Yeah. Maybe.

DOMHNALL: But look at us. We've strayed off topic yet again. Why don't you find us an animal?

BASIL: I know just who to bring out. Give us a sec. [opens office door] I'll give you three guesses as to -

[knock on outer door]

DOMHNALL: What the - ? Baz, was that you?

[knock on outer door]

BASIL: Oi, quit messing about, Don. The animals are already getting agitated enough.

DOMHNALL: Baz, this isn't funny.

[knock on outer door

BASIL: Don, knock it off. [opens office door] Look who I've got!

[knock on outer door]

DOMHNALL: Zoms!

BASIL: Zoms don't knock. That's your listener.

DOMHNALL: For the last time, we have more than one listener, probably.

[knock on outer door]

BASIL: Ouch! Damn it, Melvin, don't pull my arm hair!

[knock on outer door, Melvin tap dances]

DOMHNALL: Baz, keep Melvin quiet.

BASIL: Right. Melvin, stop it. Melvin, stop it! Melvin, stop it!

[knock on outer door]

DOMHNALL: Baz!

BASIL: What? I don't know how to speak tap dance. I mean, I'm fluent in soft-shoe, but there are subtle but vital differences in syntax!

DOMHNALL: For goodness' sake! The zoms will sense the vibrations from its routine!

BASIL: So zoms are snakes now? Next you'll be wailing about their echolocation or heat sensors or -

DOMHNALL: Baz, pick up the damn monkey

BASIL: Oh no! Every time I bring an animal on your show, it wees on me. I haven't any clean clothes. I am not going to die stinking of monkey musk!

DOMHNALL: Stinking of – ? Baz, you have a much greater chance than most of defecating upon death, so I don't think monkey piddle will matter!

BASIL: Hey, you just said I was full of shit, didn't you? You also said piddle!

BASIL: Oi, where are you going?

DOMHNALL: Won't be a moment.

BASIL: Someone's entirely too cavalier considering we're under siege. Wait, what is - ? My yo-yo! [laughs] I knew I didn't lose it! Melvin, reach your arm under – no, like this. Damn. What's "reach under the desk for my yo-yo" in tap dancing? Don, this is no time for a wardrobe change.

DOMHNALL: Right, so... [tap dances] and a-para-diddle time step. Poor thing. And - [continues tap dancing]

BASIL: When did you learn how to speak monkey?

DOMHNALL: Eight years tap, seven years ballet.

BASIL: And you just happened to keep your tap shoes at the lab?

DOMHNALL: Melvin and I were meant to dance a duet at this year's holiday party. Anyway, he should be quiet now. He was just frightened and needed reassurance.

BASIL: I'm frightened and need reassurance! Will you dance about with a brolly for me? Or, if you prefer, I could fetch you a sailor suit and a mouse.

BASIL: Can't believe you tap dance and never told me.

DOMHNALL: It's not that impressive. A monkey can do it.

BASIL: But I suddenly feel as though I don't know you at all! What else are you keeping from me? Are you a spy? A Morlock? Are you even Scottish?

DOMHNALL: You know all my big secrets, Baz. Hang on! I'm not Scottish!

BASIL: But you always say Scottish things. You even say "Scottish" like a Scotsman.

DOMHNALL: My parents are Scottish. I grew up less than ten miles from here.

BASIL: Right. I knew that.

DOMHNALL: Actually, sometimes I feel as though you know everything about me, but I know very few details about you.

BASIL: That's because I talk constantly but never say anything of substance.

DOMHNALL: Baz, I'm serious.

BASIL: Almost always, yeah. That knocking stopped. Seems your listener's given up. That's because this lab is a fortress! Absolutely impregnable, I tell you! It would take an army to break – [audio cuts off]

DOMHNALL: We've been breached! A warning to all: it appears homo sapiens sapiens zombiticus has evolved, its faculties now allowing for such strategic thinking as shutting off primary generators, finding emergency hatches, and manually overriding the lock system during the 30 seconds it takes for the secondary generator to kick on.

Listeners, if this behavior is reflective of all zombiekind, then it is advised that all communities reevaluate their security measures immediately, and – Baz. What are you doing with that machete spear? You don't plan to engage them, do you?

BASIL: Engage the zoms? No. But were I a betting man -

DOMHNALL: Which you are. I'd even say you have a gambling problem.

BASIL: Were I a betting man, I'd wager a thousand quid it's not zoms. Or your listener, mostly because I don't believe your listener exists. I know, I know, you're upset. But this is a good thing for us, considering you've just told any hypothetical audience how to circumvent our security.

DOMHNALL: ... oh. Wait for me, I'll find a weapon.

BASIL: If I'm right, there will be no need. If I'm wrong, it wouldn't make any difference, and we'd both end up dead. Besides, if I die, you'll need to take care of the animals.

DOMHNALL: But -

BASIL: I'm off. Give us a good battle cry.

DOMHNALL: Uh...

BASIL: Come on, don't have all day.

DOMHNALL: G-geronimo?

BASIL: No.

DOMHNALL: Baz smash?

BASIL: No.

DOMHNALL: Excelsior?

BASIL: Frack yes!

DOMHNALL: I think you're mixing fandoms, there, Baz. Baz!

BASIL: Excelsior!

BASIL: Excelsior! Excelsior!

[metal clatters, BASIL shouts]

DOMHNALL: Baz? [BASIL laughs] Oh my... [door creaks open] Doctor Leatherby?

DOMHNALL: Baz, is that really -

BASIL: Doctor Solomon Leatherby, in the stinking, rotten flesh. Emphasis on "stinking." I figured it would be. There's no one else left on the planet who knows our security system. Except for your listener, whom we've established doesn't exist.

DOMHNALL: I can't believe he's alive!

BASIL: I just said he doesn't exist.

DOMHNALL: I was talking about Doctor Leatherby.

BASIL: Well, mind your pronouns. And anyway, "alive" is a relative term these days, isn't it?

DOMHNALL: Can you make out what he's saying?

BASIL: My best guess is, "Ugh, augh. Brains, yum." Hence I trapped him in the cage. See?

DOMHNALL: He doesn't quite look like a zom.

BASIL: Likely he's not finished transitioning.

DOMHNALL: Like mentor, like pupil. Well, I thought it was funny.

BASIL: Aw, bless. But you shouldn't compare yourself to him. He's a soulless monster. And now he's also a zombie!

DOMHNALL: Baz, we need to prep the surgery for plasmapheresis!

BASIL: We don't have enough plasma on hand for that, remember? He used it all up before he left, experimenting on that intern.

DOMHNALL: Of course. And it'll take more time than he has to synthesize it. I believe he's genuinely trying to tell us something!

BASIL: Get away from that cage!

[cage rattles, DOMHNALL gasps]

ZOE CRICK: Twist! Their supervisor's a zombie.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Zoe, you do know these are actual people, right? Actual people having actual lives, and him being a zombie is not great news for them.

ZOE CRICK: I'm ironically distancing myself from their pain to make it more bearable.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: See, you're saying that ironically, but actually it's completely true.

ZOE CRICK: You think I'm being ironic about being ironic?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think you're not being ironic about being ironic.

ZOE CRICK: So you're accusing me of ironically being ironic about being ironic? [sighs] My head hurts.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Maybe this next song will help. I've always found it very soothing.

DOMHNALL: Doctor Leatherby, please! I'm just trying to help you.

BASIL: He's a zom, Don. You can't reason with him. Damn it, don't lean towards his mouth!

DOMHNALL: He's trying to tell me something.

BASIL: You mug, he's trying to bite your ear! Where's my - ? Ugh. Why is there never a machete spear around when you need one. Oi, Don, did you know this thing was still broadcasting? Should we break for a musical interlude while I fetch my machete spear?

DOMHNALL: What's that? Speak up. Something about a toad? Do you mean one of the psychoactive ones? If you think that'll help alleviate your suffering, we still have a couple of Bufo alvarius. Shall I fetch one? Or I could mix up your Friday cocktail. Double shot of LSD? Hmm, Doctor Leatherby? I'm going to ask you respect Human Resources Policy 20.2.5 and not talk so close I can feel your breath on my ear. Gosh, that's ripe.

BASIL: What is wrong with you, Don? You steadfastly believed the cat was a zombie, knowing full well the virus had never displayed zoonotic tendencies, but despite Leatherby's obvious zombification – why the hell is he pointing at me? You just put that necrotic finger away, mister!

DOMHNALL: What's that, Doctor Leatherby? The cat? What about it? He just keeps saying, "the cat, the cat!"

BASIL: Oh, sod off about the cat, old man. You tortured that poor thing. If Don hadn't found the antidote -

DOMHNALL: The cat... oh, the cat! I understand now. Please, Doctor Leatherby, let me go! I know what to do.

BASIL: He's not going to – oh, would you look at that. He's let go.

DOMHNALL: BRB, Baz!

BASIL: I don't know why he does that. He never texted, even when we had a working mobile phone network. Plus, that particular acronym is not actually faster when verbalized.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Idiot zookeeper...

BASIL: As I don't know how to translate Zombie, I'm going to assume you said, "I've always admired your intellect, Doctor Hibler. I demeaned you with words like 'idiot' and 'zookeeper' and 'shit-shoveler' because I was intimidated by your genius, and jealous of your relationship with Doctor Barra." Blimey, Zombie is an efficient language.

BASIL: Where's the fire, Don? Also, didn't anyone ever tell you not to run with syringes? Needle pointing down, please.

DOMHNALL: [laughs] The cat, Don, the cat!

BASIL: You mean Pusstopher Jones?

DOMHNALL: [laughs] No.

BASIL: You mean Blister Mistoffelees?

DOMHNALL: [laughs] No.

BASIL: You mean -

DOMHNALL: I mean the cat what looked like a zombie but wasn't! The cat that we cured with the vial marked "cat antibodies", beside which I found a vial marked "me antibodies". Apologies, Doctor Leatherby. This might pinch. Don't you see, Baz? Doctor Leatherby has the same affliction as the cat, or a human variation of it, and like her, he should be as good as new in no time.

BASIL: Great.

DOMHNALL: Isn't it?

BASIL: But we keep him in the cage until we're certain he's not a zombie.

DOMHNALL: Agreed. We can't be too safe.

BASIL: And you can only keep him if you promise to feed and water him, take him for walks, and clean up when he makes a mess. We really should put newsprint down.

DOMHNALL: Baz, I know the two of you don't get on well, but he's still a human being, and he's obviously been through an ordeal. Have some compassion.

BASIL: That's the difference between us. You think everyone deserves kindness. I think people deserve what they put out.

DOMHNALL: But if that's true, then what consideration are you to be afforded by dispensing vengeance on behalf of others?

BASIL: Now who's derailing the conversation? Since when did this become a morality debate?

DOMHNALL: Don't be cross. I didn't mean -

BASIL: You're responsible for Leatherby. I have my hands full keeping the zoo. And I was only half joking about the newsprint. By the way, you are still broadcasting. If you care at all about this enterprise, you might want to consider wrapping up this segment.

DOMHNALL: Capuchin monkeys - like Melvin, our tap dancing monkey – are considered the most intelligent of all the new world monkeys. They're omnivores, and well-known for their usage of tools. They are favored by Hollywood studios and organ grinders alike.

As it is for most primates, Capuchin society is complex. Theirs is a male transfer system in which females stay in natal groups and are presided over by an alpha male. Mutual grooming creates bonds between members, but no amount of nitpicking will earn share of the kingdom. There is only room for one at the top, and Capuchins are notoriously territorial.

This is not an analogy. There are no females. I'm Domhnall Barra, and this is Melvin the tap dancing monkey, bidding you goodnight.

DOMHNALL: As far as science knows, felis silvestris catus zombiticus does not, in fact, exist. The zombie contagion is not anthroponotic, and is thus contained in the human species. As fascinating as it would have been to study the zombie state up close, there are many reasons why our findings have proved fortuitous, the main reason being that the cat formerly known as Zombie Cat is very very very very very sweet. And when one is sequestered in a hellish bunker in the middle of a dystopian, plague-ridden world, one cannot discount the value of a loving, purring cat in one's lap.

This is Afterlife On Earth, and I am your host, Domhnall Barra. And here with me today is the wee moggie previously known as zombie cat. We should probably rectify this state of namelessness. If anyone out there - either on the waves or on Rofflenet - has any suggestions, I'd be much obliged. Baz is usually in charge of naming, but I'm loathe to hand her over to him, considering the names he's proposed to date. Also, there's a chance he's not talking to me. I mean, he hasn't pointedly ignored me or anything, but I haven't seen him all day. So we'll carry on without him.

Today on the program, a quiet afternoon with felis silvestris catus, the ordinary housecat. More with our friend after this musical interlude.

DOMHNALL: Our sweet friend is a shorthair, an English Blue, with the defining characteristics of the breed. These include a steel blue coat and copper eyes, with a broad-jowled face and sturdy, compact frame, although she is malnourished at the moment. Also, her fur is patchy and growing in tufts, but Baz bathed and groomed her last night, and she's eaten, so she already looks, smells, and generally seems much better.

As an aside, Doctor Leatherby seems to be similarly progressing. Just to clarify, Baz did not bathe him, thus he does not smell nearly as sweet as the cat.

Can you hear that, listener? She's purring. Ah, now here's something fascinating. As ordinary, albeit welcome, the sound of purring is to cat owners, the mechanism itself is extraordinary. Purring has always been a defining characteristic of felinae. In fact, we have traditionally organized cats by their vocalizations. Felinae consisted of cats who purred, while pantherinae included roaring cats. We now know that the cats of pantherinae, the great cats – not that you're not great, sweet moggie – also purr, but only when they exhale.

Felinae, which include housecats, wild cats, as well as cheetahs and cougars, cannot roar. A cat's reasons for purring is ambiguous, as is the exact mechanism by which they create this sound.

[cage rattles]

Doctor Leatherby? [office door opens] Doctor Leatherby, are you awake? What's that? Speak up! What? What? Oh. Well, that's a tad hyperbolic. Certainly I'm not quite as boring as watching mold grow. Oh, so you think that simile is, in fact, accurate? That listening to me broadcast is comparable to observing mold? Oh. [cricket chirps] Tell us again why we're breeding crickets?

DOMHNALL: Welcome back, listener...s. This is Afterlife On Earth. I am here with the feline previously known as Zombie Cat, as well as my mentor, Doctor Solomon Leatherby, who will speak to us from the safety of his cage, as there is still a slight chance he may be transitioning towards zombiedom. Doctor Leatherby, please say hello to our audience.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Release me! Was... not... zombie!

DOMHNALL: I want to believe you, Doctor Leatherby, but surely you realize that is exactly what a zombie would say, and how he would say it, complete with sentence fragments and haggard ellipses.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Me... cat... cage! [?]... fool! Domhnall...

DOMHNALL: You don't have to be cruel. You would agree with this protocol if you were me, and had caught a possible zombie.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Zookeeper! Zookeeper!

DOMHNALL: Doctor Leatherby, please desist! That's not going to help your case. Now, in your own words, if you can please share with our audience – our vast audience – your experiences in the wild, living among the zombies.

BASIL: What the bloody hell is going on in here? Why is zombie Leatherby miked up?

DOMHNALL: I couldn't find you! My show was boring without a cohost.

BASIL: So you offered my position to a zom?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Not... undead! ... I... pre... cat... me!

BASIL: Ah, that trademark zombie wit.

DOMHNALL: He's likely not a zombie. He's just like the cat, and look at her! She's doing much better.

BASIL: Why's the cat out of her cage?

DOMHNALL: Um...

BASIL: Give me the cat. She has two more days on her quarantine. And for God's sake, don't let him out, either.

DOMHNALL: Obviously, I won't. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk to me as though I were a child.

BASIL: You're still broadcasting.

DOMHNALL: What does it matter to you? You're convinced no one's listening.

BASIL: Well, I'm not sure, anymore. I mean, no one gives a toss about you droning on about [?] vocalizations or goose migration patterns, but I'd tune in to listen to this drama.

DOMHNALL: What drama?

BASIL: Us, fighting

DOMHNALL: ... we're fighting?

BASIL: You should hook the old bastard up to an IV, just in case he isn't a zom. And I've left more blankets in the hall.

DOMHNALL: Thanks.

BASIL: The cat, Don. And don't take the animals without asking. Some of them are very sick. I'm fairly certain one of them badgers is a vampire. And while you're spending all your time in here nattering on, what are you doing about your injections? ... yeah, that's what I thought.

BASIL: This is not Afterlife On Earth. It's just me, Basil Hibler. Ol' Baz. [laughs] Can't sleep. Brain's racing. Usually, I wake up Don, or chat with Pedro the macaw, but I don't want to chance rousing the facility, not with Doctor Leatherby back.

There's probably no one listening. No, not because no one tunes in to Don's program, because I'm sure someone somewhere does. Obviously I'm just, you know, taking the piss out of him. [laughs] But it's late. Only ones up are the dead.

There's something soothing about the microphone, about the illusion that it's attaching me to someone somewhere who's flesh and blood and alive. Like, confession or something. Maybe that's why Don likes it so much, recovering Catholic and all.

Doctor Leatherby's got better. He's not 100%, not even 60%, but it's clear he's not a zom, which means he's back to stay. If it were me, I'd kick him out on his ass without a second thought! He survived all that time in the wild, I'm sure he can do it again.

But Don'd never go for it. We'd have another row. We never fight, except when it comes to – [sighs] Leatherby's always been good at that – dividing and conquering. For a loon, he's remarkable Machiavellian.

I mean, It may be perverse, but this facility's become our home. Now that Leatherby's back – albeit in a cage for everyone's safety – it feels like Don and I... like we've played house while the grownups were away. We've built a life! An odd one, sure, but... you know, good. And of course, the only person with enough sway to dismantle it is a cockroach capable of surviving nuclear winter.

Anyway, I'm off to check on the menagerie. Night, listener. Sleep tight. Don't let the zoms bite.

DOMHNALL: Zombie: it is a word laden with fear, pregnant with connotation. Mere mention sends our imaginations reeling with images of the shambling horde, a phalanx of ravening carnivores, sloughing off their necrotic skin, their mouths bloodied, sinew caught between their rotten teeth like wilted spinach and popcorn kernels. Memory reminds us of their stench, the bushy death musk that lingers in their wake, and our dreams entangle imagination and memory into plaguing mares of terror.

Few would venture into their path, none into their midst. None save one, and that man is with us today. This is Afterlife On Earth, and I am your host, Domhnall Barra.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Barra, you don't always open with such purple tripe, do you?

DOMHNALL: Well, I try to infuse some drama into – [nervous laugh] I can stop.

BASIL: But you won't, because your listeners like your monologues the way they are.

DOMHNALL: Thanks, Baz.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: My mistake. In my haze, I thought I overheard the zookeeper state that "no one would willingly listen to such a rambling, prosaic, insipid rubbish." His words, not mine.

BASIL: Nope. Not my words at all. Don't even know what prosaic means.

DOMHNALL: [clears throat] As you can hear, listeners, after his brief sojourne, my cohost, Doctor Basil Hibler -

BASIL: For the last time, call me Baz.

DOMHNALL: - Baz has returned to the show.

BASIL: Hello, hello, gentle listener...s.

DOMHNALL: We are both just chuffed [BASIL snorts] to introduced today's guest, a giant in the field of virology, my mentor, Doctor Solomon Leatherby.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Good afternoon.

BASIL: It's morning.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: It's four minutes after twelve, according to my watch.

DOMHNALL: Against all odds, Doctor Leatherby has returned to civilization relatively unscathed after spending an extended time living among the zombies, studying their migration patterns, the nuances of zombie society. After the break, his miraculous story, only on Afterlife On Earth.

DOMHNALL: Welcome back to Afterlife On Earth. We're here with scientific pioneer, Doctor Solomon Leatherby, newly returned to civilization after living among the zombies. Living among them, but not as one. Doctor Leatherby is alive, listeners, not undead.

BASIL: Well, he's not a zom, anyway. Jury's out on vampirism.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Ah, I see your formula, Barra. You share zoological facts with the populous in the style of those general interest nature programs, and the zookeeper infuses lowest common denominator humor in order to make you more approachable to the unwashed masses.

BASIL: Speaking of unwashed...

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: In order to fit in with this dynamic, I shall don the role of learned elder statesman who queries your thesis and leads you towards the path of scientific enlightenment in which you disprove yourself and dismantle your entire belief system.

BASIL: Yay, old times!

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Glad you're taking interest, Hibler. Your articles make even Barra's somnambulistic ramblings seem academically rigorous.

DOMHNALL: Doctor Leatherby, Baz isn't an academic, remember? He's a veterinarian.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Is he, now? I didn't realize that. I hired him because he's a fine butcher.

BASIL: Yeah, yeah, I'm a surgeon. I'm a bloody hack. All I do is cut things.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: But never the right things, Hibler. Far too many adjectives.

DOMHNALL: Doctor Leatherby, if you please, we're all on tenterhooks. How is it you survived all this time living among the ravenous horde? How did you infiltrate them? Camouflage yourself? How did you meet your own basic needs in the wasteland? Have you gleaned any new insight into the nature and potential cure of the undead mutation-virus-pathogen-bacteria-prion?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Patience, Barra. Excitable as ever, I see. I suppose you haven't had much stimulation, living down here with the rodents, apes, and the badgers.

BASIL: Well, he has me.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Yes. I said ape. As a veterinarian, you should know that humans belong to the taxonomic family Hominidae, a classification also known by the term great ape. Although in your case, the emphasis is definitely on ape.

BASIL: Yeah, well, obviously you're a great ape, too. Emphasis on the "gray". Without the T.

DOMHNALL: Baz, don't be ageist. Let's focus on the task in hand. Please, Doctor Leatherby, your story. When we return.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Fine. It all began when an intern called Johnny decided he would brave the horde to find his sweetheart, a young lady with the unfortunate name Clotilda Drudge, a name now permanently subscribed on the annals of time.

BASIL: Yeah, because the great Doctor Solomon Leatherby has deigned to speak it on record, ho ho ho.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Young Johnny's efforts always proved in vain. First, he mimicked the zombies, adopting their shuffling gait, their posture, their dead-eyed gaze. Johnny proved affective at adopting the affectation primarily because it differed only slightly from his natural mannerisms.

BASIL: Because he's young, and all young people people have poor posture and headphone-induced thousand yard stares? Now who's bloody ageist?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: He only made it partway down the lawn before the zombies noticed. I hypothesized as much. If it were as easy as mimicking zombie physicality, the teenagers would remain untouched, and the world's survivors would primarily consist of actors!

BASIL: And of course, that would spell trouble for the human race, as none of these groups know anything about the world or have any skills transferrable to survival.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Oh. Excellent. If you manage to make that conclusion, then surely the listeners would be able to as well. Let us take a break to allow for proper intellectual digestion.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: When mimicry failed the young intern, he turned to olfactory camouflage. This was a two-part test. The first time, he rolled in animal hair, urine, and excrement, as canines do. This, with a slow shuffle, allowed him a little further towards the Tesco's car park. We don't allow the interns access to the underground car park or tunnels.

On his sprint back, he collect body parts that had fallen off various zombies, as I'd earlier instructed. The second part of this test involved using the smell of dead human flesh. This netted the most success. He very nearly made it to his car. But I propose that his natural living odor permeated the shield of decay. The stress and physical activity would have encouraged sweat production, especially in a young man prone to lethargy.

The zombies caught Johnny before he could jump over the fence into the car park. In hindsight, he should have brought along wire cutters, as he wouldn't have successfully scaled the fence, even if the horde hadn't swarmed him.

DOMHNALL: And this led you back to the lab?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Yes. I realized that in order to fool the zombies, our camouflage had to begin at the cellular level. As we had several interns, we conducted multiple experiments. First, having the interns consume foods known to change human scent. Onions, garlic, asparagus, plastic analogous cheese products. While none proved successful, some showed the theory promising. 

If you recall, Barra, two years ago, we worked on bacterial strain V-A12LEP095, which targeted the skin and glands. One of the early symptoms of this strain was the smell of what could only be classified as death. Most early stage symptoms were mild, primarily skin issues that could be treated topically. In later stages, the strain proved painful, and occasionally fatal. But as zombification always proved fatal, I felt it worth the risk. 

I still had two interns, and thus injected them both with modified strains of V-A12LEP095. To my delight, both made it to their cars in the car park. Of course, I couldn't allow them to leave without doing follow-up on the experiment, so I had my research assistant Lola take the underground tunnel to the other side of the car park to drive nails in all the tires.

BASIL: Bloody hell.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Oh, don't fret, zookeeper. Lola wasn't an intern. She was allowed to use the tunnels.

DOMHNALL: What happened to the interns, Doctor Leatherby? We know they're no longer at the facility with us.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Well, one of them didn't take well to V-A12LEP095. He tried to escape and was gunned down by a random woman on a horse! The other one left with Lola and Marianne.

BASIL: Who the hell is Marianne?

DOMHNALL: Marianne was Doctor Leatherby's car.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: In hindsight, we probably shouldn't have let research assistants in the underground car park, either.

DOMHNALL: You left the facility not long after that.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: I injected myself with the stable strain of V-A12LEP095. Leading up to my experiment, I practiced my zombie mimicry and collected fouled clothing. With trepidation, I infiltrated the horde. They accepted me without curiosity. 

When I grew bolder, I joined a shamble of nomadic zombies – a shamble being a collective noun for a cohort of zombies. I packed charcoal water purifiers and desalinators, food, vitamins and medication to help stem the progression of V-A12LEP095, and left, following the shamble through the city.

DOMHNALL: And what did you discover, Doctor Leatherby?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Well, as expected, zombie movement patterns are dictated by a small number of variables. One: sound. They are not discriminating. Any sound indicates life, thus, food. Two: smell, for the same reason. Three: movement, see above. Four: resistance. If not in pursuit of sustenance, zombie movements are seemingly random. However, environmental resistance limits locomotion. Even a small pothole can disrupt zombie movement.

Feeding patterns are similar to pack dynamics such as a pride of lions, with no special consideration given to child zom. I have observed zoms grooming each other in ways similar to that of living primates, but with less motor skill and social gain. Most likely a vestigial habit.

DOMHNALL: How fascinating! Isn't it, Baz?

BASIL: So why'd you come back, then?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: As I said earlier, V-A12LEP095 can be dangerous in later stages. I need the cure.

BASIL: And why'd you dose the poor cat?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: I needed to leave a clue about my procedure in case I required medical assistance upon return. I wasn't about to inject Barra, and I couldn't find you.

BASIL: Did you ever think about, oh, I don't know, leaving a note?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Not that I have to explain myself to you, but I didn't want to chance someone else conducting my experiment before I had my chance.

BASIL: You mean someone like Don or me.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: And of course, if Barra knew what I was doing, he would have attempted to stop me, or come with.

BASIL: And you didn't want to share the glory.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: I didn't want him harmed in case the experiment didn't work.

DOMHNALL: You're right. I would have tried to stop you, and then wouldn't have collected all this fascinating data!

BASIL: You... you killed six interns.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: False. I only killed five. The last one stole my automobile. But I should very much like to kill that one, I think.

BASIL: Ugh. And on that note, this is Baz Hibler, and on behalf of Domhnall Barra and I, thank you for tuning in to Afterlife On Earth.

DOMHNALL: Hang on, that's my job - ! [audio cuts off]

DOMHNALL: Welcome back to Afterlife On Earth. I am your host, Domhnall Barra, here with my copilot, Baz Hibler.

BASIL: Hello, hello!

DOMHNALL: And the cat formerly known as Zombie Cat.

BASIL: She's purring! I'll hold her up to the mic so folks can hear.

[cat formerly known as Zombie Cat purrs]

DOMHNALL: Today's show will not focus on the cat formerly known as Zombie Cat, but we wanted to open the segment with sharing a few of the name suggestions we've received via Rofflenet. The fact that we've received suggestions from multiple users indicates what, Baz?

BASIL: I'll concede. There are at least five people listening to this program. Or your listener has at least four friends. Good on you, listener.

DOMHNALL: Baz, would you kindly read out the names?

BASIL: So, here are your suggestions: Beauregard, Catchy, Figaro, Selena Kyle, and Pretty Polly Leapshadow! All excellent names for a cat.

DOMHNALL: Thank you all. And do keep the names coming. We'll consider every suggestion, and announce our decision at a later date. Now, Baz will take the cat away and bring out our next guest.

BASIL: We can't have them out at the same time. They'll fight like cats and dogs. Because they are. Cats and dogs. Won't be a moment.

DOMHNALL: As we wait, let me give a brief introuction to our next – [office door opens] Oh, hello, Doctor Leatherby. Would you like to, uh - ?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Barra, I have no further interest in this enterprise. I just wanted to know what it is you're cooking up in Lab C.

DOMHNALL: Lab C? Oh, uh, it's nothing.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Nothing? Good to know. Because it looked as though you were synthesizing testosterone from DHEA and propionyl and hydride.

DOMHNALL: I may have been trying to synthesize some hormones.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: I gather you haven't had the courage to inject yourself yet? When did the subcutaneous pellet expire?

DOMHNALL: It's been a while. After that, I was injecting the samples you fabricated earlier, but...

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Fine. Leave it to me.

DOMHNALL: Really?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: You're a good assistant, Barra. You're obedient, with fine motor skills and neat handwriting. And occasionally, you show some insight. But you are no pioneer, and no toolshed drug cooker. I'll synthesize your hormone. Unless you want to revert to being a shy, mannish girl. You might consider it, given that the nearly eradicated human race will requires breeders.

DOMHNALL: Thank you, Doctor Leatherby. I appreciate your help in the lab.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: I should have made you a batch before I left. It appears I was naive, expecting you'd devote yourself to your research while I was away. What a shock to return to find you hosting a silly radio program and playing house with the zookeeper. Like children.

DOMHNALL: I'm sorry.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: And here I was thinking you'd accompany me on my next expedition.

DOMHNALL: To study the zombies?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Of course. The last trip was just for curiosity's sake. The real research lies in studying the changes in their unbiology. This is the term we will use when describing undead physiology – unphysiology! We will add "un" to everything.

DOMHNALL: Very sensible.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: We need to get on this before that fame monger, Van Ark, does. This unplague is exactly the kind of crackpottery that knee-jerk experimentalist is hankering for. We have to crack this before he does. He always had those government connections, but I won't let him steal one more tax payer penny from me.

BASIL: Just a moment.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: So, that settles it. I will synthesize your hormones, and following that, an improved strain of V-A12NEL095. When my body can handle another dose, we'll leave.

DOMHNALL: I... wow!

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Excellent. I'll leave you to your little radio program.

BASIL: Here we are. Say hello to the keeper of the underworld!

DOMHNALL: Cerberus.

BASIL: Who's a good boy? And who else is a good boy? Yes, you are! And you are! You both are! We all are! [laughs] Oi, Don. Pet him, will you? He's got two heads, after all.

DOMHNALL: Right. Good boys, Cerberus.

[Cerberus barks]

BASIL: What's wrong with you?

DOMHNALL: Nothing.

BASIL: Was that old coot in here? Did he say something to you?

DOMHNALL: Why don't you tell our listeners about our dog?

BASIL: Well, his name's Cerberus. Yes, he has two heads. Not in a creepy, transplanty, Demikhov kind of way. In a natural, conjoined sort of way. He's actually perfectly healthy otherwise. He has two hearts, four lungs, three kidneys, and a penchant for liver sticks. This particular two-headed dog is a Rottweiler poodle mix. A Rottenpoo, if you will.

DOMHNALL: Cerberus is not a Rottenpoo! Stop trying to coin that.

DOMHNALL: What else can you tell our listeners about this particular two-headed dog, Baz?

BASIL: Uh, it's not enough that he's got two heads?

DOMHNALL: This is supposed to be educational, remember? So, the domestic dog, uh, canus lupus familiaris, man's best friend... I guess most people know about dogs.

BASIL: Well, we could talk about how dog breeds emerged, both naturally and due to human manipulation. Or we could -

DOMHNALL: Doctor Leatherby wants me to go back out in the field with him.

BASIL: What?

DOMHNALL: Doctor Leatherby -

BASIL: You mean with the zoms?

DOMHNALL: Yes, but – [BASIL laughs] You know how successful his – his experiment proved - !

BASIL: He plans to inject you with a leprosy cocktail and drag you out into the ruined waste to live with the flesh eating undead, and you're going to let him?

DOMHNALL: Baz, this will allow us to study zombification, to monitor the progression of the actual unaffliction, to take unliving samples that we can bring back to the lab to study. We could even possibly create a cure, or innoculation. Baz, it's my responsibility as a scientist!

BASIL: This is mental! Don't you think if zombification could have been cured, it would have been by now?

DOMHNALL: I have to try.

BASIL: No, you don't. Leatherby is mad. He killed all those interns unnecessarily. He tortures these animals. For God's sake, he tortures us! He doesn't give a damn about you. If you're lucky, you'll be eaten alive. If you're not, you'll be shambling around with the rest of them "un-fools". [opens office door]

DOMHNALL: Sit down, please!

BASIL: I'm taking Cerberus for a walk. Bloody braindead dead brain trust. Come on, dog.

DOMHNALL: Baz! Damn it. We're still broadcast – oh, damn it again! This is Domhnall Barra for Afterlife On Earth, and just – just piss off! Baz! Baz, you came - Doctor Leatherby. [BASIL shouts] What are you doing? What's – what's in that syringe?

BASIL: Let go of me, old man!

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: 10 years, and you still haven't learned respect, zookeeper. Barra, you will accompany me on my next excursion. I am director of this facility, and you are my employee. I am not asking, I am assigning you to this task. It will make your career, and could save the lives of many people. I will not have you jeopardize this experiment so you can run amok with the menagerie and play [?] with this imbecile.

DOMHNALL: Of course! I mean, I don't understand what you just said, but never mind that! I'll go with you! I plan to!

BASIL: Don, don't!

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: If you don't stop wriggling, zookeeper, I'll stick you with this, and we'll get to test the effects of botulinum toxin on veterinarian, and I assure you, at this dose, all we'll be measuring is how long it takes you to meet Cerberus at the gates of hell! [Cerberus howls] Damn dog! And damn those interns!

What's that blinking light? Blast you, Barra. Are you still broadcasting? Turn it off, now! [audio cuts off]

ZOE CRICK: That just doesn't seem fair.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No, it doesn't.

ZOE CRICK: Where does he get off dragging poor Domhnall into God knows what dangers?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, he's his boss, I suppose. It's still crappy, though.

ZOE CRICK: It really is. What if something happens to him? What will Baz do? Also, calling Baz an imbecile is not okay.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Baz is emotionally intelligent.

ZOE CRICK: Exactly. And that's the last recording we've got of theirs?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So far. But you know, they might send out more.

ZOE CRICK: They'd better. Baz, Domhnall, if you're listening to this – actually, if you are listening to this, we're really sorry about broadcasting your private-ish conversations to lots of people without your permission. But also, please get in touch. We're worried about you.

#zombies run #zrs4 #s4 radio #s4 radio part 2 #zr transcript

[thehighlandhealer]

Honeysuckle in the Snow || Bronwyn & Tobias

Bronwyn: -Might be sneakily making it snow-

Tobias: There is a man in the woods trying to build a snow fence around his tree.

Bronwyn: She comes to a stop in surprise. She didn't expect to see someone out here this early in the morning. And certainly not when she'd indulged herself by wearing a floor length cloak.

"Good mornin'."

Tobias: The Ananasi jolted with a start, breath caught in his chest. He should have been paying more attention.

"Good m - oh. Good morning."

Bronwyn: "Didn't think I'd run into anyone at this hour." She smiled at his fence. "Enjoyin' the snow?"

Tobias: "I - I hear it doesn't last around this area."

Bronwyn: "Somethin' tells me it will this year."

Tobias: He took a deep breath and smiled. "Yes. It will."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn grinned back and held out a hand. "I'm Bronwyn by the way."

Tobias: Ah, he knew this custom. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I'm - I'm... Tobias."

Bronwyn: Oh! Well wasn't that a pleasant surprise?

"It's lovely to meet ye, Tobias. Do ye live around here?"

Tobias: "I...live here."

Bronwyn: "In the woods?"

Tobias: "Yes."

Bronwyn: She looked around. There was nothing but trees in every direction. "Where's yer cabin?"

Tobias: "I-I ... I'm going to build it...someday."

Bronwyn: "Seems to be a popular option in this town."

Tobias: The man smiled politely. "Maybe."

Bronwyn: "My cousin remodeled his house, his best friend did the same. They both own businesses in town, maybe they could help ye."

Tobias: "O-Oh um...no, no thank you. I...I have everything I need."

Bronwyn: "Have ye chosen a site?"

Tobias: "Right...Right here, miss."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn took another look around. "It's a lovely spot," she said softly, smiling at the still, snow-covered wood. "There's a pond through there that's good for swimmin' and fishin', but I'm sure ye know that. And the wild lavender will bring ye lots of good luck."

Tobias: "I know of the pond. It's good for swimming." Bathing. "The lavender is nice. I wish there was honeysuckle."

Bronwyn: "There's some over there." She pointed back the way she came.

Tobias: "This time of year?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave him a mysterious smile and nodded toward the path. "Want to take a look?"

Tobias: There was a moment of silence, studying this woman standing in the middle of the snow, the sun at her back, causing him to squint. That scent was familiar.

Tobias: "Pixie?"

Bronwyn: Tobias was given a measuring look. Well how about that? It seemed that she hadn't run into just anyone in the woods.

"Verra close."

Tobias: "Show me, then."

Bronwyn: "Come along." She smiled over her shoulder and started down the path.

Tobias: The stranger quietly followed her. It would be easy to assume he was homeless, what with the dirt on his cheek and the general disheveled fashion of his clothes. His jeans were a popular name brand, scattered in tears and grass stains. It was snowing, yet he wore no shoes. The only article of clothing that he seemed attentive of was his hoodie.

Bronwyn: Having spent her fair share of time covered in dirt and grass stains in the woods, Bronwyn didn't think too much of his attire. The lack of shoes was a little concerning though.

"Are yer feet cold?"

Tobias: "I don't like, uh, most shoes." Modern shoes seemed uncomfortable.

Tobias: "Like wearing a vice."

Bronwyn: "My da was of the same opinion. Wore leather boots for most o' his life."

Tobias: "Why boots? Aren't they heavy?"

Bronwyn: "One o' his brothers is a tanner. Outfitted the whole family with boots. Still does actually." Bronwyn came to a stop and held out her boot-clad foot.

Tobias: "Impressive. That's a good profession."

Bronwyn: "It is," she agreed, beaming with pride for her uncle Carlow. She continued to lead him, coming to a stop again a few moments later in a small grove positively overflowing with sweet blooming honeysuckle.

Tobias: His eyes widened, once more finding something to be joyful about in this town. "Is this your doing?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave a content little sigh. "I couldn't resist."

Tobias: "Why honeysuckles?"

Bronwyn: "They're pretty and they smell good."

Tobias: "They do. They're good memories every time I see them."

Bronwyn: "Really? Well then I'm doubly glad I made them bloom."

Tobias: "I was taught fae were mischievous creatures, stealing children and sweets. So far I've yet to meet such an image."

Bronwyn: "They tend to be, aye. Luckily they made us in their image only."

Tobias: The Ananasi blinked. "You're a druid."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn looked impressed. Not many people could guess that. "Aye."

Tobias: "I'm glad to see you're still around."

Bronwyn: "So are we," she said with a smile. "Around, alive, and thrivin'."

Tobias: "Then why is the Great Web unweaving?"

Bronwyn: "Because humanity will always be afraid of and try to exploit what it doesn't understand."

Tobias: "It's not all humanities fault. They're being manipulated."

Bronwyn: "They usually are."

Tobias: "That's it?"

Bronwyn: "That does sound a wee bit bleak, doesn't it? I wish it weren't so. But it's hard to maintain faith sometimes when ye can't fulfill yer purpose."

Tobias: "It's the wyrm-servents. They can't win. The vampires...someone has to stop them."

Bronwyn: "Vampires aren't the only problem. Ev'ryone has the own agenda. The demons, the angels, God, Lucifer, evil humans, ignorant humans. The list is depressin'ly long."

Tobias: "God and Lucifer mean nothing."

Bronwyn: "Let's just say I have reason to have a personal vendetta against them both."

Tobias: "I have to start somewhere, and the biggest threat for thousands of years has always been Caine's children."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn studied Tobias for a few moments. "What are ye?" she asked softly.

Tobias: He took a deep breath. "I'd rather not. Never goes over well."

Bronwyn: "I can respect that. But should ye feel inclined to share, keep in mind I've seen my share of creatures."

Tobias: "Others...like me...don't appreciate my kind...because we're not Luna's children."

Bronwyn: "Luna?"

Tobias: The spider blinked. "I thought you were a druid?"

Bronwyn: "I am. A Druid healer."

Tobias: "And have you never meet a changing breed?"

Bronwyn: "I have."

Bronwyn: So that's what he was.

Tobias: "Luna, the Celestine, embodiment of Earth's Moon. Gives sway to their changing?"

Bronwyn: Her lessons came flooding back. "Oh, yes! Forgive my lapse in memory."

Tobias: Well, it was no wonder then, that there was such trouble in this world. He seemed defeated.

Bronwyn: "It seems that no matter what species we are, whether we're human or no', our brethren always find a reason to discriminate each other."

Tobias: "They are of a lower class," he smirked.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed softly. "Case in point. Although I'm hardly one to talk." Didn't she have an award-winning rant about witches?

Tobias: "They stink. Why do they have to smell like dead animal?"

Bronwyn: "The vampires? Because they're dead."

Tobias: "No, the Ovids. Werewolves and Bastet. The Camazotz especially."

Bronwyn: "Well that's because they spend ev'ry full moon rompin' around."

Tobias: The spider grinned. "This is true."

Tobias: Her new acquaintance took a seat in the snow. "Have you guessed?"

Bronwyn: "Well." She took a seat beside him. "Ye look down on those who romp, which means yer species doesn't do a whole lot of it. So no' a bird, canine, or feline."

Tobias: "Very good." He plucked the nearest honeysuckle and inhaled it.

Bronwyn: "That leaves....insects, bats--although they do romp a wee, and creatures of myth."

Tobias: "How many Ovids do you know?"

Bronwyn: "Several."

Tobias: "Hmm."

Bronwyn: "Since ye're in the woods, I'm goin' to guess some type of insect."

Tobias: "And you associate with any of those?"

Bronwyn: "I did once. Unfortunately we didn't make it past bein' acquaintances."

Tobias: "Died?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded.

Tobias: "Shame that."

Tobias: He said that, though he was smiling.

Bronwyn: "It was. They were lovely." No pronouns for the sake of protecting Fletcher's privacy.

Tobias: "Might I ask...what were they? Hornet? Locust?"

Bronwyn: "A beetle." Close enough.

Tobias: "A beetle?" Now he seemed legitimately surprised.

Bronwyn: "Aye. A heroic one, though they didn't believe it." Nor did their trigger-happy mother.

Tobias: So sometime in his imprisonment Cockroach must have made a creation in his image. That was the only explanation he could think of without knowledge of Pentex.

"Probably for the best. Most insect races fell into...heh, bad fortune." Meaning the Ananasi obliterated them.

Bronwyn: "That's another bad pattern in this world. The humans already outnumber us without our kind dyin' off."

Tobias: "Means the Garou aren't doing their job, or the Ratkin, or anyone for that matter."

Bronwyn: "Even if ev'ryone was doin' their job perfectly, there are still billions of humans to contend with."

Tobias: "That's staggering. When was the last plague?"

Bronwyn: "Fourteenth century."

Tobias: "No others?"

Bronwyn: "Nothin' on that scale. Unless you count the various genocides."

Tobias: Wars, plagues, small, but nothing so great as there was in his time. The Ananasi laid back in the snow and sighed.

Bronwyn: "Ye seem disappointed."

Tobias: "Of course. Our purpose isn't being fulfilled."

Bronwyn: "We do what we can with what we're given."

Tobias: "I haven't heard anything...no whisper. My meditation is disappointing."

Bronwyn: "What have ye been hopin' to hear?"

Tobias: "Direction."

Bronwyn: "Seek yer own."

Tobias: "That's not how it works."

Bronwyn: "Ye're a warrior then?"

Tobias: He nodded. "Somewhat. Not my foundation."

Bronwyn: "Where did ye get yer direction before ye found yerself here?"

Tobias: "From my Queen."

Bronwyn: "Where is she?"

Tobias: "I don't know." I've been gone so long. Maybe she doesn't recognize me anymore, he thought.

Bronwyn: "Have ye tried to look for her?"

Tobias: "Easier said than done."

Bronwyn: "Accordin' to my mama, that's true of all things worth doin'."

Tobias: "Anything worth having is worth earning, too. I know a few phrases."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "Also verra true. So why can't ye look for yer queen?"

Tobias: "She's not seen, only heard."

Bronwyn: "How Fae-like."

Tobias: "Mm. I can see the mirror of it."

Bronwyn: "If no' from yer queen, where will ye get yer direction?"

Tobias: "I just have to wait. Establish myself as someone worth listening to."

Bronwyn: "I'm sure ye will," she said with another smile, picking a little spray of honeysuckle and offering it. "Plenty of chances to prove yerself in this world."

Tobias: "Your life is about...Life, yes?" The flower was taken and inhaled.

Bronwyn: "It is, aye." She studied him for a moment, expression softening. It was oddly comforting to have it put that way. "I heal, I nurture, I restore."

Tobias: "You're a Wylder," he finally said. "I haven't met one in so long."

Bronwyn: "My kind aren't exactly common in these parts."

Tobias: "You belong where I was born."

Bronwyn: "Were ye born in Scotland?"

Bronwyn: "Wait, no."

Bronwyn: She studied him some more. "Ye're...Welsh?"

Tobias: "I'm a spider...But sure. You may call me that."

Bronwyn: "Ah, then I was right. Yer other form is an insect."

Tobias: He made a face.

Bronwyn: "A spider," she amended with a smile.

Tobias: "You didn't say it. You still lost."

Bronwyn: "I was in the ballpark."

Tobias: "Ballpark?"

Bronwyn: "Aye. I was in the general vicinity o' the correct answer."

Tobias: "Oh. Ballpark," he repeated.

Tobias: From his back pocket he pulled a small top flip notebook, writing down the word.

Bronwyn: She watched him with a curious expression. "Tryin' to learn the workin's of modern language?"

Tobias: "Mm. I still don't understand some of them."

Tobias: This message has been removed.

Bronwyn: "Any I could help with?"

Tobias: "Why do some people say "cool" and others "hot" for the same thing? What's the different in context?"

Bronwyn: "I believe it's mostly personal preference, but I've always associated 'hot' with somethin' that looks appealin' and 'cool' with somethin' that someone finds appealin'."

Tobias: "So...alright."

Tobias: The Ananasi sighed.

Bronwyn: "It's verra messy and complicated."

Bronwyn: "The English language is a mess."

Tobias: "Try Welsh."

Bronwyn: She laughed softly. "Never could get the hang o' Welsh. Learnin' Gaelic was complicated enough."

Tobias: "My sister, Agnes, had a near perfect ear for language. Tried to teach all of us."

Bronwyn: "Did she succeed?"

Tobias: "How is my English?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "Excellent."

Tobias: The spider smiled.

Bronwyn: "What other languages do ye speak?"

Tobias: "Broken forms of Gaelic. I think...I can't recall..."

Bronwyn: "Been a while since ye thought about it?" she asked, eyes landing on a patch of honeysuckle she'd missed.

She moved over, causing them to bloom by simple touch.

Tobias: "Centuries," he replied, watching her every move.

Bronwyn: "Centuries?" Bronwyn turned to him just as the delicate branches of the honeysuckle went from brown to green.

Tobias: "Seems so."

Bronwyn: "Can I ask how old ye are?"

Tobias: "I'm not sure. When I explain how things used to be...the dates people give me vary."

Bronwyn: "Well, if I had to venture a guess, I'd wager ye were born in Medieval times."

Tobias: "Why then?"

Bronwyn: "Ye kissed my hand and bowed and ye haven't questioned or even blinked at the fact that I'm wearin' a cloak instead of a jacket."

Tobias: "Did all of that die outside of Medieval?"

Bronwyn: "They died sometime after, but there's just...somethin' about ye that puts me in mind o' kings and queens and castles and knights and epic battles."

Tobias: "And all of that died as well?"

Bronwyn: "A lot of castles still remain, and there are some kings and queens, but it's nothin' like ye might remember."

Tobias: "Medieval sounds appropriate."

Bronwyn: "Ye've been around a verra long time, Tobias."

Tobias: "Much of my life I've spent in stasis. Is that the correct word?" he asked himself. "In a glass prison."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded, brow furrowing. "Aye, that's the correct word. Ye were imprisoned?"

Tobias: He nodded. "Mm."

Bronwyn: "My sympathies."

Tobias: "I don't want it."

Bronwyn: Another nod. "Sympathies rescinded."

Tobias: Salt kept his eyes on the honeysuckle, trying his best not to think about his predicament. He didn't want sympathy, he wanted to pull weeds.

Bronwyn: "What other flowers do ye like?" Bronwyn asked after a moment.

Tobias: "The red spikes."

Bronwyn: "Seen any around here?"

Tobias: "No."

Bronwyn: "Hmm. Any others?"

Tobias: "...The flower that first blooms in the snow."

Bronwyn: She smiled. "The heroic ones that stubbornly brave the frost?"

Tobias: He smiled. "Mm."

Bronwyn: Without preamble Bronwyn knelt on the ground, closing her eyes as she buried her hands in the snow. As if she were feeling for something.

Tobias: "Your hands are going to go numb."

Bronwyn: "I can warm them. There's just one wee thing...." She grinned. "There."

She took a deep breath and moments later, tender green shoots were spearing out of the ground, reaching up through the snow toward the heavens. Once bloomed, they were a splash of glorious, rioting color on a perfect white canvas.

Tobias: "You...made the snow, and then triumphed over it. You're an artist," praised the Ananasi.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn's expression lit with warmth. "I do believe that's one o' the loveliest things anyone's ever said to me." She got to her feet again and set about returning the feeling to her hands. "It's only recently that I started doin' this type o' magic again."

Tobias: "And what was it you did before? Healing the sick? Laid hands on them?"

Bronwyn: "Aye," she said with a nod. "For a long time that's all I did. I warded, I healed. And after a while my magic started bein' more...utilitarian than anythin' else."

Tobias: "I'm sure your powers, the ones benefitting from it, they must be grateful. Others...they don't understand."

Bronwyn: Truer words had ever been spoken, Bronwyn thought, thinking of Logan's Dana. "They were, and I was as well for bein' able to help. Especially when it came to the people I love. But then one day a verra dear friend o' mine gave me a gift that brought joy for my magic back into my life."

Tobias: His thoughts were falling upon witches, the ones he had seen burned over the years.

"What was that?"

Bronwyn: "A familiar."

Tobias: "You have a familiar? What animal?"

Bronwyn: "I do. He's a bird that can shift into various species in the corvidae family. He's a raven most o' the time."

Tobias: "Oh! I knew one of those."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn's expression was practically sunny. "I hope they were as lovely as my familiar."

Tobias: That was a matter of opinion. Not the discussion he wanted to have. "How did your familiar bring you joy for your magic?"

Bronwyn: "Well, magic's a lot like muscles. If ye don't use them, they atrophy and ye become weaker. Only with magic, it can build up and explode out o' ye with disastrous results. No' letting my familiar's magic atrophy or build up is important to his well-bein' so I started doin' spells and things with him. One of them was bringin' a dead tree back to life, a task on par with divine creation in my book."

Tobias: "I didn't know that." He wondered if it counted for all creatures, or specifically things like familiars. So very old and still so much to learn.

"I was beginning to worry that the world had gone to Hell."

Bronwyn: She gave a small shrug. "It some ways it has. Too much war, too much corruption, too much pollution. But it's still beautiful. It's retained its wonder. And sometimes, if ye're really lucky, ye get to bring a lovely old tree back to life."

Tobias: "That's the way it should be. I wish there were more people like you, ma'am."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled, touched. "That's a nice sentiment, Tobias, thank ye. I'm just...tryin' my best."

Tobias: "You're not straying from your purpose. Anyone should be so lucky."

Bronwyn: "My purpose has brought me all the things I treasure in my life. And if I can help people along the way, all the better. I do some of my finest work when I'm covered in blood and mendin' bones."

Tobias: "Same, but...different," the werespider replied. "I miss my original purpose."

Bronwyn: "What's keepin' ye from it?"

Tobias: "I've only just obtained freedom. I have no idea if my human profession has altered."

Bronwyn: "What did ye do before ye were imprisoned?"

Tobias: "I was one of the resident executioners of the land."

Bronwyn: ".....Well then. Um...I think ye'll find that executions now are a lot more complicated."

Tobias: "It was a grim job, but I honored my duty to pull the weeds from society. Were the job too great or too delicate for the public, I was paid to be descrete. My sister was a linguist. The baby of our family, hatched a day late, was a page. Guy wanted to be a knight. One was a bard. We all had something, a skill where we excelled. I didn't take it with me."

Bronwyn: "Yer family sounds lovely. Did Guy realize his dream? Did he become a knight?"

Bronwyn sighed. "There are far too many weeds in this world. And our taxes pay for them to have cable."

Tobias: "I... N-No, he...died. He might have and I never known. I never will." He wanted to bite into the flower itself for something a little bitter. "Cable? Probably not the correct image in mind."

Bronwyn: "I'm sorry, Tobias," she said softly. "Truly."

"It's a form of entertainment. Completely unnecessary for people convicted of rape and murder and theft."

Tobias: "Rapists weren't given as much attention as they should have. Some cared. Others not at all." A slow, deep inhale was taken, stress of the subject exhaled. "What must I do to regain my profession?"

Bronwyn: "Yer profession isn't the same as ye remember. It's been made more complex and expensive."

Tobias: "You said that."

Bronwyn: "These days, especially in this country, executions are performed via lethal injection."

Tobias: His brow wrinkled. A feat for his smooth skin. "Venom? Poison?"

Bronwyn: "A man-made version of a poison that causes the person injected to suffocate. The government's attempt to be humane."

Bronwyn: "In my view a humane death is a swift one."

Tobias: "Suffocation is anything but."

Bronwyn: "Precisely."

Bronwyn: "This world loves to pretend it's civilized."

Tobias: "I probably can't pick up where I left off," he pondered aloud. "Under the table, perhaps, but I'd rather a human guise as well."

Bronwyn: "Some magical organizations still employ executioners, includin' some Druid tribes."

Tobias: "I'd rather not work for Ovids."

Bronwyn: "Might have better luck with the Druids."

Tobias: "I doubt your people would give me steady work."

Bronwyn: "Ye'd be surprised. I've heard tell of a tribe in France that's kept the same executioner for hundreds of years."

Tobias: To that he perked.

Bronwyn: "Actually, rumor has it that the man himself is older than Jesus Christ."

Tobias: "Not a difficult feat."

Bronwyn: "It is for a Druid. Immortality is a rare gift for my kind."

Tobias: "Not a gift for mine at all, but I've seen things from the water...things that would intimidate demons. I envy the gift."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave a humorless chuckle. "Don't even get me started on the water. I don't fear a lot in this world, but I fear the ocean."

Tobias: "You have every reason to. The most dangerous creatures live there. I'll take on a wolf any day."

Bronwyn: "My feelin's exactly. The last thing I need is a mermaid tryin' to eat me."

Tobias: The spider grinned. "Sirins and rokea and krakens."

Bronwyn: "My great-great grandda claims to have taken on a kraken."

Tobias: "How?" He was naturally incredulous.

Bronwyn: "Well, he operated a ferry to the mainland, and accordin' to him the beast came upon him on his last journey back to Arran. Smashed the boat to bits." She smiled. "He was conveniently the only person on the ship at the time, of course, and the ferry boat was hardly smashed to bits. My great-great grandmamma always believed he had too much whiskey and steered into some rocks."

Tobias: "Ha." He missed tall tales. The stories around the fire, be it in a castle or in the middle of the wilderness were always the highlight of any journey. "The last tale I heard was of a sea monster to the very south of my land. Was actually a failed experiment, escaped the grasp of its mage."

Bronwyn: She tsked and shook her head. "Never a good thing to have happen. Was the beast ever sighted?"

Tobias: "Mm. Mistaken for various creatures, mermaids and sirins. Humans were too afraid to venture near. It lived out its days relatively peacefully from what I knew."

Bronwyn: "Pretty much a happy endin' then." Not for the terrorized humans, of course, but at least their fear had kept them from causing harm. "They're lucky it wasn't a siren or a mermaid."

Tobias: "I've never met either. Only hearsay."

Bronwyn: "My uncle Angus faced one. A mermaid that is."

Tobias: "Is it true of their beauty? Did he say?"

Bronwyn: "He told us she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen right before she tried to take a chunk out o' his shoulder."

Bronwyn: "Never dated another blonde, let me tell ye."

Tobias: "A blonde woman that tried to eat him. The opposite of their angelic image," he mused.

Bronwyn: "Aye. And it's that angelic image that has been lurin' sailors to their death since time immemorial."

Tobias: "I'm partial to strawberry hair, myself. Curls...free hair. Just...freedom in body and in mind. Almost like innocence but...aware."

Bronwyn: "Ye've good taste, Tobias."

Tobias: "People would assume things from how I earned my living."

Bronwyn: "What we are isn't as important as who we are."

Tobias: "I don't know. 'Who are you?' One might ask. 'An executioner,' I might reply. Who am I? I am a spider named Tobias to humans. What I am is also who I am."

Bronwyn: "That's somethin' only ye can decide, despite what other people think."

Tobias: "You might be surprised, perhaps confused, by how many woman sought my attention with my title in mind."

Bronwyn: "I'd be more surprised if they hadn't. Yer titled carried power. Some people are greatly drawn to power and those who hold it."

Tobias: "I wasn't a duke. I held no true power except for the blessings and warrants to kill."

Bronwyn: "For brief moments, ye were God, Tobias. Ye held life in yer hands and decided the exact moment death came. How swiftly it took someone. Believe me. That's a great deal of power."

Tobias: His thoughts wandered to Morgan. What a life he had led. Had...as though there was nothing now. "My hands ache for purpose."

Bronwyn: "If ye like, I could inquire with a friend o' mine if any tribes are in need of yer particular brand o' services."

Tobias: "I would have to leave this land?"

Bronwyn: She nodded. "I suppose ye would."

Tobias: "Hmm." Just a few days in this quiet town and he was reluctant to leave.

Bronwyn: "Ye don't want to go back to the Isles?"

Tobias: "Would it be anything to me anymore but familiar trees? Doubtful."

Bronwyn: "That'd be more familiar than this place. Probably safer too."

Tobias: "My own safety was never a concern, not - not really. Only...pulling weeds."

Bronwyn: "Speakin' from experience, safety is worth its weight in gold. It's a lot harder to fulfill yer purpose when people are tryin' to kill ye."

Tobias: "Or being trapped in glass. I should know my lesson but, I'm afraid of...what it would look like, my old home."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "Modern touches have been added, but I can assure ye the Isles are as beautiful as ever."

Tobias: "Could...you inquire, first?"

Bronwyn: "Of course," she said with a nod.

Tobias: "Thank you. That's very kind of you."

Bronwyn: "It's no trouble at all, Tobias. I'm happy to do it." Not what she expected to ever say to an executioner but oh well.

Tobias: The Ananasi's smile was bashful and awkward. This was dissimilar to the ones given during assassinations or days waiting to drop the blade. This was someone gentle and agreeable. In her eyes he probably seemed like a wyrmling.

Bronwyn: Tobias wasn't far off the mark. Bronwyn was having a hell of a time believing that this soft spoken, honeysuckle-loving man standing in the snow with her was an executioner.

Then again, didn't everyone say that still waters ran deep?

"Would ye like to join me for a cup of tea?"

Tobias: "You'd - You'd want that with me?"

Bronwyn: "Verra much. Ye're lovely company."

Tobias: "As are you," he said, standing and offering his hand.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled as she took it, leading them out of the winter garden. "Ye're a sweet man, Tobias."

Tobias: "You're actually not the first to say that about me," Salt replied.

Bronwyn: "Oh? Who else had told ye?"

Tobias: "I assure you, it's been all women."

Bronwyn: "Men haven't been of the same opinion?"

Tobias: "No opinion that I want," Salt quietly replied.

Bronwyn: "Even the good ones?"

Tobias: "Not from men."

Bronwyn: "What about from women? Ye did say they were drawn to ye quite a bit."

Tobias: "Women... are fine."

Bronwyn: "Did ye have someone, back in yer time?"

Tobias: "Yes and no. Her affection was...I...I feel that it was misguided."

Bronwyn: "Why's that?"

Tobias: "I executed her father," said simply.

Bronwyn: "And she fell in love with ye afterward?"

Tobias: "I suppose so. When I would ask, she would..." he swallowed.

Bronwyn: "It's all right," Bronwyn said gently. "Ye don't have to tell me if it makes ye uncomfortable."

Tobias: "It's just... sexual."

Bronwyn: "Sex is a part o' life, Tobias."

Tobias: "But it's improper to speak of in front of a lady."

Bronwyn: "That's another thing that's changed, Tobias."

Tobias: "I don't know if I like that."

Bronwyn: "It's always better to be open and mature about these things."

Tobias: "But...with a lady?" He couldn't wrap his mind around it.

Bronwyn: "Aye, even with ladies."

Tobias: The spider considered the maturity she spoke of, if he could speak to her as he could his brothers, the castle guards, or any random vagabond.

"She, when I would ask if she loved me, would become...sexual. Instead of answering me, she'd...bed me."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn considered. "Well, way I see it there are two possibilities. Either she wasn't one for words and wanted to show her affection physically or she didn't want to deal with any feelin's and wanted to distract you with sex."

Tobias: "Either way, we never said the words. After a while...things began to feel...stale between us. It was never going to go anywhere."

Bronwyn: "Is she the only person you've felt drawn to?"

Tobias: "Sexually, yes."

Bronwyn: "What about romantically?"

Tobias: His lips thinned, looking away as they walked.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn was going to take that as a yes, and also as a sign that whatever that romantic interest had been, it hadn't ended well.

Tobias: "And you, miss?"

Bronwyn: "Have I had any sexual and/or romantic interests?"

Tobias: The Ananasi nodded.

Bronwyn: "I've had my share of both. Hasn't always turned out well."

Tobias: "Have you been...handled...?"

Bronwyn: "Oh, aye," Bronwyn chuckled. "And then some. That ship sailed when I was sixteen."

Tobias: "You were abused at sixteen?"

Tobias: He gestured with his left hand. "You said not all turned out well..."

Bronwyn: "No, nothin' like that. It was completely consensual. The no' turnin' out well has usually applied to the romantic aspect of my relationships."

Tobias: "O-Oh." If he was blushing, it was masked by the frozen air.

Bronwyn: "I can't seem to make any o' them stick, ye see. Either circumstance takes me away or the man is an asshole or...it's probably no' meant to last."

Tobias: "Enjoy while they last is the phrase I'm familiar with. Don't know if that applies to women."

Bronwyn: "What if they don't last long enough?" She wondered.

Tobias: "Isn't that up to you?"

Bronwyn: "In this...most recent case I'm no' really sure."

Tobias: "Why is that?"

Bronwyn: "He and I had...an interestin' start. Even before we started this thing between us we both knew it wasn't goin' to last."

Tobias: "Then why begin it?"

Bronwyn: "Because we couldn't help ourselves." Or rather they hadn't been able to resist each other.

Tobias: "Like children resisting sweeties?"

Bronwyn: "More like moths resistin' flames."

Tobias: "Sounds more dangerous."

Bronwyn: "Infinitely more dangerous."

Tobias: "Is that what you love about it?"

Bronwyn: "I won't deny that it's...allurin' to be with someone I probably shouldn't be with, but it's no' just that. He's interestin' and attractive." And amazing in bed.

Tobias: "Why is it not meant to be, if you love everything about him?"

Bronwyn: Uh-oh, there was that L word she was trying so hard to avoid.

"Because he lives in Iceland and he's got...issues to settle that conflict with issues I have to settle and...well. I'm sort of a package deal?"

Tobias: "Issues are a good enough excuse to not tether yourself."

Bronwyn: "Exactly. That's why it won't last. That and the distance and my boys and a dozen other things I probably haven't thought of."

Tobias: "If you wanted it, then you would find a way. It's easier to say no if you can list why, even if they're meaningless. When I left Morgan, it was because I didn't want to go through the trouble."

Bronwyn: Did she want it? Had she been telling herself it wasn't possible for her relationship with Torsten to last just to keep herself from wanting it, wanting him?

"Definitely food for thought," she mused as they finally came upon Callum's house.

Tobias: There was something about the house that led the Ananasi to slow, cautious steps just shy of the druid wards. "It's warm here."

Bronwyn: "That'll be the wards. Don't pay them any mind, they won't hurt ye."

Tobias: "You placed them? Are you certain?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Yes to both."

Tobias: His hand waved over the warmth, testing her honesty.

Bronwyn: That gentle warmth was all Tobias would feel. Had he wicked intentions, the barrier would've become hot and pushed him back.

Tobias: Slipping through the ward, the Ananasi looked back to his hostess and smiled. "Is there a need for such protection?"

Bronwyn: "It's mostly a precautionary measure," said Bronwyn, smiling as she followed Salt. "For my cousin's sake."

Tobias: "Because of the vampires in this town?"

Bronwyn: "For anyone that seeks to harm him."

Tobias: "That would be vampires."

Bronwyn: "There are a lot more things in this world to fear than vampires, Tobias. I, unfortunately, have experience with some of them."

Tobias: "What would that be?" What could possibly be worse than those awful creatures?

Bronwyn: "Demons come most readily to mind."

Tobias: "Oh. Those. My brother claimed to have seen one."

Bronwyn: "I was stalked by one. Both of my brothers have been possessed by them." One was also a dear friend of hers, but Mason was the exception not the rule.

Tobias: "How many siblings do you have?"

Bronwyn: "By blood, one. By devotion, two."

Tobias: "Mm." He didn't know what else to say.

Bronwyn: "And ye? How many siblin's?"

Tobias: "As a clutch, too many. Out of the chaos came twelve of us, if memory serves."

Bronwyn: "Were ye one of the eldest or the youngest?"

Tobias: "We all came from one...sac. I suppose if it's based on which hatched first I would be a middle child."

Bronwyn: "At what age are yer kind able to change into a human form?"

Tobias: "Depends on the mother. We were able to after a year. Most are unable to shift until adolescence, sometimes older."

Bronwyn: "Those are good genes ye have, Tobias. I take it ye can change at will? Ye mentioned no' bein' one of Luna's children."

Tobias: "Mmhmm." He sighed. "It's been an interesting life."

Tobias: He shook his head. "Sorry."

Bronwyn: "Whatever for?"

Tobias: "Avoiding your question."

Bronwyn: "Ye didn't avoid it. Ye just didn't elaborate, which is fine."

Tobias: "I feel as though I'm constantly explaining myself, even if no one is around."

Bronwyn: "Ye don't have to. No' here."

Tobias: "Is there anything else you want to know?"

Bronwyn: "Just one thing."

Tobias: "Yes ma'am?"

Bronwyn: "What kind o' tea would ye like?"

Tobias: "I-I haven't had tea in a very long time. I don't know how my stomach will handle it. A lot of herbs?"

Bronwyn: "That can definitely be arranged," she said with a smile. "We Druids tend to make all our tea ourselves."

Tobias: "You grow herbs or find them?"

Bronwyn: "Grow them."

Tobias: "Which kinds?"

Bronwyn: "Ev'ry kind ye can imagine and some ye can't."

Tobias: "I'd like to see that."

Bronwyn: "Come on," Bronwyn detoured off the path to Callum's back door and headed through his mostly dormant garden to one of his greenhouses.

Tobias: "This is lovely," Salt praised. "This feels familiar. Something...here," he tapped his chest.

Bronwyn: She beamed at him. "Wonderful feelin', isn't it? My cousin's done a lovely job."

Tobias: "Druids...you people are wonderful."

Bronwyn: "We do what we can with what the gods give us."

Tobias: "Your kind have always been beautiful. Suffered so much. I've killed for your kind before."

Bronwyn: "People tend to fear what they don't understand. And if they do, some will always try to take advantage. How many of my kind have ye known?"

Tobias: Salt stood still and closed his eyes. Such a long time to think back on, and yet it was only just months ago in his memories. Before the jar and all of the killing with every release. There was blood on his hands long before that.

"Five," he finally said.

Bronwyn: "Were they warriors, healers?"

Tobias: "They were a family. Husband and wife, sister, children."

Bronwyn: "Do you remember what became of them?"

Tobias: "No. We traveled on the same road for a week. Some were probably human, but they all called themselves druid."

Bronwyn: "They might have practiced Druid magic or simply considered themselves Druid by marriage or loyalty."

Tobias: "They were being harassed. People tried to separate them from their children, claimed they would be better off sold."

Bronwyn: "Let me guess. They didn't want the children growin' up with heathens?"

Tobias: "In the purest sense of the word heathen, yes. The children were crying and I had to do something."

Bronwyn: "Once God came into the picture my people were reviled. Heathens were probably the nicest things they were called."

Tobias: "Once I stopped the guards, they wanted nothing to do with me. Either they lost their children and their lives, or they kept them and cast me from their road. Someone was going to be damned."

Bronwyn: "That's usually the way it goes," Bronwyn sighed. "But ye helped them. No' ev'ryone would've done the same. There's honor in that."

Tobias: "If it helped them sleep at night to yell at me, to have their hands clean while I did the dirty work for them, while I slaughtered while they would have allowed it, fine. Druids have to keep themselves pure. Angels hold swords; angels strike the wicked, but those druids wanted nothing but peace, even at the expense of their lives." He was speaking more to himself at this point.

Bronwyn: "If only all Druids did manage to keep themselves pure," she lamented as she walked over the herbs and began selecting a few for tea. "The fact that they don't is why some tribes have employed executioners. We're punished verra severely for strayin' from our path."

Tobias: "At least the one that orders it doesn't have to drop the blade." He was fascinated by whatever this herb was. He couldn't recall having ever seen it before.

Bronwyn: "True enough." She walked over to him. "That's stevia. Native to Paraguay and Brazil. It's used as a sweetener."

Tobias: "Stevia? Where is Paraguay and Brazil?"

Bronwyn: "South America. This wee plant is several hundred times sweeter than sugar."

Tobias: "South America?"

Bronwyn: "I'll show ye," she said, pulling up a world map on her phone.

Tobias: "Oh." He took a step back.

Bronwyn: "Have ye encountered one of these before?"

Tobias: "Clamorous noise came from it."

Bronwyn: "Music or general noise?"

Tobias: "He said music."

Bronwyn: "Probably should've started ye off with somethin' more familiar."

Bronwyn: "What sort of music do ye like?"

Tobias: "Gregorian chants...music of...the church. The music considered old now."

Bronwyn: "Like this?" she asked, playing some for him.

Tobias: He was backing up in case there was a mistake in his explanation, but the sound that came from her phone had him smiling.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled in return. "There, ye see? These contraptions aren't all bad. Have ye been to church since ye've been here?"

Tobias: "That terribly ugly Baptist one."

Bronwyn: "What about the Catholic one?"

Tobias: "I-I haven't seen it."

Bronwyn: "It's in the exact opposite direction o' the Baptist church, along the same road as that inn that sits on the bluff."

Tobias: "I haven't seen that, either."

Bronwyn: "I could take ye there sometime if ye like. Or at least point ye in the right direction."

Tobias: "I...I'd like to go with you sometime."

Tobias: He eyed the herbs again. "It wouldn't insult you?"

Bronwyn: "No' at all. I've no quarrel with those that practice peacefully, and I've met the priest in charge. He's a kind man."

Tobias: "They should be, considering their purpose."

Bronwyn: "I'm happy to say that the priests I've met have all been good men. Granted, I've only known a handful."

Tobias: "Not all of them are, I know. You're lucky to have met the proper, with integrity."

Bronwyn: "Aye, I believe so too. How do ye feel about chamomile?"

Tobias: "Smells nice," he answered.

Bronwyn: "Verra well, then I do believe we have the makin's of some lovely tea here. Come." She led him back through the garden and into the back door to the kitchen.

Tobias: The Ananasi followed behind like a faithful servant, content with playing the follower.

Bronwyn: This time of day the kitchen would be empty and quiet, save of course for the white and gray bundle of fur napping under one of the stools at the counter.

"Make yerself at home," said Bronwyn, filling the kettle.

Tobias: "Oh...a dog," he commented. Oh...a dog. "They don't normally appreciate my...well, me."

Bronwyn: "I think ye'll find this one verra sweet and acceptin'. As all animals with non-human owners are."

Tobias: "I...suppose. We'll see if it wakes." He was still going to keep his distance.

Bronwyn: "Wee lad usually naps this time o' day, bored as he is without his brother."

Bronwyn: "When he's older he can go to the shop as well."

Tobias: "Brother?" he asked.

Bronwyn: "Aye. My cousin also has a cat named Prospero. That there is Jolly Roger."

Tobias: "And a cat. Aren't I lucky."

Bronwyn: She chuckled. "If they can get along with each other then they can get along with ye."

Tobias: "We'll see. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Bronwyn: "I've got it well in hand. Ye go on and sit. Would ye like somethin' besides tea? Cake, a scone?"

Tobias: "I can't have solid food. Not...really. The tea is fine."

Bronwyn: "Verra well. How do ye take it?"

Tobias: "How do you take it?"

Bronwyn: "I've always liked it plain."

Tobias: "I'll have it that way, then. Didn't have much sweet things."

Bronwyn: "Plain it is." Bronwyn set the tea to steep and got down two mugs from the cabinet. "I always found it amusin' that I like my tea plain and my coffee with plenty o' sugar. Though I credit my mama with that."

Tobias: "I don't think I've had coffee before."

Bronwyn: "It's one o' life's true wonders, if I say so myself. And a boon to have when ye can't stay awake."

Tobias: "I miss the smells of the castle kitchen."

Tobias: He blinked. "Random, but..."

Bronwyn: "No' at all. I miss the smell o' my mama's kitchen, too."

Tobias: "They would make this thing...bread with some kind of meat inside it. I can't eat it, as I've said, but the smell was wonderful."

Bronwyn: "Sounds like they were makin' meat pies. Those always smell wonderful when they're bein' made. My mama makes them when I go to visit."

Tobias: "They tried to feed it to me once, the two oldest women. I ate it to be polite, but..."

Bronwyn: "Made ye sick?"

Tobias: "Mm," he nodded. "Not in their presence. Felt rude."

Bronwyn: "Probably a wise call. Here we are." Bronwyn set his mug in front of him. "Herbal and gentle."

Tobias: "Thank you." It was deeply inhaled before being deeply inhaled, mug tilted back as the drink was chugged.

Bronwyn: "Easy does it now," she said, taking the seat Jolly Roger was sleeping under.

Tobias: "Apologies. I'm not used to being slow."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn chuckled. "Ye remind me o' Vincent. He's so excited about food I worry he'll choke one day."

Tobias: "Vincent?"

Bronwyn: "My familiar."

Tobias: "Oh...yes. The slowest I drink - drank - was in taverns, wasting time."

Bronwyn: She nodded as she sipped. "I've done plenty o' that myself."

Tobias: "Wasting time waiting for something important?"

Bronwyn: "Sittin' in a tavern and drinkin'."

Tobias: "Forgive me, but you didn't seem the type."

Bronwyn: "I'm no' usually. But some time back I was...goin' through a bit of a rough patch."

Tobias: "Did you - Have you ever killed anyone?"

Bronwyn: "I've come close, but no. I've only seen restless spirits to the afterlife."

Tobias: "Then why were you so upset?"

Bronwyn: "Because the one nearly killed was me, among other things."

Tobias: "Because you're druid?"

Bronwyn: "I wish it were as simple as that. This was far more personal, and far darker."

Tobias: "Something I shouldn't ask about?"

Bronwyn: "I wouldn't know how to begin to explain if ye did."

Tobias: "We can expose ourselves, just...honesty. Wouldn't be the first time since my freedom. People seem to want it from me."

Bronwyn: "From me as well. I'm a healer, after all. Even if I can make things right people still want to know how bad they've been."

Tobias: "Hmm." Fingertips played over the rim of his mug. "Blood vendetta or rape," he uttered.

Bronwyn: "Both."

Tobias: "Of course. It wouldn't have been marriage or alliances. Not with a druid in this modern time."

Bronwyn: "We have turned away from that, to much protest from some."

Tobias: "I don't blame them. Alliances keep blood from spilling as much."

Bronwyn: "And sometimes alliances fail ye," she sighed.

Tobias: "Sometimes. That's when the blood really spills."

Bronwyn: "Aye, it is. That's when Fate steps in, I suppose."

Tobias: "I suppose."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn took another sip of tea, contemplating. "I told ye before that vampires weren't the only things to fear in this world. That's because I've seen somethin' worse and it nearly destroyed me."

Tobias: "Some would say that would be us. The changing breeds."

Bronwyn: Her smile was sad. "Oh no, Tobias. Species has nothin' to do with it. Imagine...imagine seein' the face of someone ye love transformed into somethin' dark. Somethin' evil that seeks to harm ye, that looks at ye with such hatred that...it's as if no trace of that person ye love remains."

Tobias: Tobias Mordred leaned back in his seat and considered. Cyn, Agnes, Rhys, any of them. "I can't," said after much attempt. "I've seen evil, but not like that."

Bronwyn: "I have." Another sip of tea. "A few years ago I was helpin' a verra dear friend o' mine. I couldn't heal what ailed him but I tried to make it so that its effect was diminished, so nothin' and no one was lost for no reason. My brother was helpin', too."

Tobias: "What was his affliction?"

Bronwyn: "He was possessed, and his tormentor locked inside his mind with him."

Tobias: "Possession. Now that's something I haven't heard about in this new world."

Bronwyn: "I'm afraid it's still runnin' rampant."

Tobias: "Astounding." Eyelashes lifted, looking over his hostess critically. He wasn't the most intelligent, but he could be observant. "It got out, hurt you? I said blood vendetta and rape and you said both."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye, it did. It shouldn't have been able to, the cell he was locked in would've held, but my brother...." She sighed. "He had feelin's for this friend, ye see. And knowin' he was locked in there, that he was hurtin'...he couldn't let it stand, even if he knew it wasn't Mason. No' at that moment. He opened the door, and the evil got out and went after me. Its tormentor."

Tobias: "Did you kill it for what it did to you?"

Bronwyn: "No. He came after me, held me down, mocked me. I knew exactly what he was goin' to do with me and he knew that I knew. He relished it." Bronwyn's voice sounded far away now, as if she were back in that basement with Carl and her screams still ringing in her ears.

"But when he got my skirt out of his way, when he...when he tore my undergarments away, he happened to touch my Mark. The piece of my soul that was etched into my skin when I was fifteen, as it is for all Druids."

Tobias: "I've never seen that. Didn't know of it. Touching it...it finished him? Held him off?" It was a sensitive subject, but it wasn't finish. He would have to give in equal share.

Bronwyn: "It did," Bronwyn said with a nod. "The moment he touched it, it burned him so severely that it knocked him unconscious, incapacitated him. I can still hear his scream. Son of a bitch certainly hadn't been expectin' that."

Tobias: "Very useful for a woman, especially if he was so much larger than you."

Bronwyn: "He wasn't, but his strength was far greater than mine. Far greater than any man's."

Tobias: "Wonder how he would have fared against my attacker "

Bronwyn: "Only the gods know. In any case, the damage was already done. He didn't get the chance to....but he still hurt me."

Tobias: "Well, I can relate to you better than others."

Bronwyn: There was that sad smile again. "I can still see his eyes when I sleep. They were endless black pits, nothin' like the warm brown o' Mason's. Seein' them is what almost killed me. I couldn't bear the pain of it. I didn't care enough to live and I didn't care enough to kill myself. So I sat in a tavern and drank."

Tobias: "For me it was...the stench. Waking up to the malodorous beast hovering over me. A castle guard, someone trusted. Something - The dank musky scent still haunts me."

Bronwyn: "It never gets easier, does it?" Bronwyn finished her tea, refilled her cup. "No matter how much joy ye find, it's always there lurkin' in the shadows, remindin' ye that it had ye in its clutches and only God or Fate or blind dumb luck saved ye."

Tobias: "It's not that important now. I've killed many people in my lifetime. I'm sure I'm the stuff of nightmares for many. All I have now is a haunting memory of a scent. My blade in his temple was enough to heal me."

Bronwyn: "That's where we differ. Love was what healed me. Love and Mason's determination no' to let me die in a ditch."

Tobias: "There is where we differ. Death soothes me. I balanced the scales, preventing him from ever handling anyone ever again. You...You needed support."

Bronwyn: "Aye. Though I wish it had been possible to stick a knife through Carl's temple and have done with it. Set myself and Mason free. But I can't. So I live with it."

Tobias: "By killing him, you would have had to kill Mason, yes?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Can't have one without the other. That's his curse."

Tobias: "How did Mason feel once he was freed?"

Bronwyn: "The first thing he did when he woke was hug me."

Tobias: "I can't imagine," he repeated, "had he been possessed, I still would have associated. Stabbed him."

Bronwyn: "I would have, but his eyes were brown. His eyes were brown."

Tobias: "I wonder now, had things been different, had he asked instead of took, would I have allowed it."

Tobias: Long lashes shielded his eyes, looking elsewhere. "My own musings."

Bronwyn: "These are the questions we're left to wonder about. The what-ifs and the if-onlys."

Tobias: "What are yours?"

Bronwyn: "I always wonder how things would've gone if my brother had listened to me. If he'd left the door alone."

Tobias: "Then all would be well, I imagine."

Bronwyn: "Aye. And I'm as haunted by that as I am by Carl."

Tobias: "Our talking about it can't possibly be helpful."

Bronwyn: "Ye know...I think it is. This is the first time I've talked about it to someone outside my family. Really talked about it."

Tobias: "Only one other, just recently. Taken centuries and I've met two victims in just days."

Bronwyn: "Far too many."

Tobias: "He said rape wasn't something as normalized but I'm thinking he's mistaken."

Bronwyn: "Normalized, no. Common? Unfortunately yes."

Tobias: "Definition is askew, too."

Bronwyn: "Aye, it is. Like so many others."

Tobias: "Thank you for the tea." New subject.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "Ye're welcome. Was it to yer likin'?"

Tobias: "I'll drink slower next time." If there would be a next time.

Bronwyn: "See to it that ye do. Wouldn't want ye chokin'."

Tobias: "Not going to choke."

Bronwyn: "I'll hold ye to that. Would ye like some more?"

Tobias: "Are you having more?"

Bronwyn: "I rather think I will."

Tobias: "Then yes, please and thank you."

Bronwyn: "Comin' right up." She topped off both their cups and went to get some shortbread for herself.

Tobias: "Anything I can do?"

Tobias: He began to fidget in his chair. "I don't like being useless."

Bronwyn: "Well..." She looked around for a task to assign him. "Would ye like to help peel potatoes? They're for tonight's dinner."

Tobias: "Yes, please." He was already getting to his feet.

Bronwyn: "Excellent." She grabbed the peeler from the drawer and a little basket and set both beside the bowl of washed potatoes next to the sink.

"Potatoes in the bowl, peels in the basket."

Tobias: "Are you going to use these for something?" he asked, staring at the peeler for a moment before testing it on the largest potato.

Bronwyn: "Aye, for soup."

Tobias: "Peels in soup? Sounds like a commoner's dish."

Bronwyn: "Oh no, the peels are for the garden. Only the potato for the soup."

Tobias: "For the garden?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "They enrich the soil and fertilize the plants."

Tobias: "Has a potato ever accidentally sprouted?"

Bronwyn: "I don't believe so, although ye do run that risk when ye spread old fruit and vegetables. Especially pumpkins."

Tobias: "Pumpkin..." He smiled to himself.

Bronwyn: "Aye. Ye can get dozens o' them if ye throw even a few seeds in a compost heap."

Tobias: "You can do much with it, I'm sure."

Bronwyn: "Ye definitely can. Ye can put them in pies and soup and cookies, ye can roast them."

Tobias: "I love the scent."

Bronwyn: "I think that's the best part."

Tobias: He wanted to ask what her favorite scent was but decided against it. He returned his attention to the potatoes, quietly.

Tobias: "So..."

Bronwyn: "So." Bronwyn smiled as she sipped her tea. "Ask whatever ye want to know. It's only fair."

Tobias: "I don't know," he said to the potatoes.

Bronwyn: "A question about magic then."

Tobias: "That's a conversation we could have for years."

Bronwyn: "As well it should be, for magic is vast and ever expandin'. Like the universe."

Tobias: "The universe is intimidating." More than what humans could possibly understand.

Bronwyn: "It is at that. Intimidatin' and awe-inspirin'. There's so much we don't know, so much we've left to discover. Then again, we know more than the humans do."

Tobias: "Humans were only just beginning to grasp. From what I can tell, much has expanded."

Bronwyn: She nodded. "Aye. We're sendin' satellites to other planets and peerin' into other galaxies."

Tobias: "All of this great expansion and we're still not publically recognized. What does that tell you?"

Bronwyn: "That for all the progress we've made, we're barely out o' the jungle. Hell, I was all but called a heathen no' that long ago."

Tobias: "Well, you are a heathen."

Bronwyn: "Only accordin' to religion. The person that insulted me did it no' because I'm a pagan, but because I'm no' human. As if humans are all shinin' examples o' virtue."

Tobias: "They weren't back in my day, that much I'm certain."

Bronwyn: "They're still no', but try tellin' them that. They like to think they rule this planet."

Tobias: "In a way they do. Rule of oblivion."

Bronwyn: "That's why they manage to get themselves into so many scrapes. Playin' with Ouija boards, summonin' demons for fun."

Tobias: "Some are precious creations, though."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn thought of her family and friends and smiled. "Aye. Precious beyond words."

Tobias: "Worth the shit we have to walk through to get to them, aren't they?"

Bronwyn: "That they are. More than anythin' else."

Tobias: "I have noticed something else about conversation in this modern age."

Bronwyn: "What's that?"

Tobias: "It's grim. Not the same kind of grim. In the past, through villages and on the road, death was a subject. Starvation, disease, murder. It was everyday chat. Still, many kept their spirits. Here, without any such topics, there is are wrinkles on the corners of people's mouths."

Bronwyn: "That's hardly a wonder. We have starvation, disease, and murder, aye, but it's constantly in our faces. It's in all the papers, always on the news. Sometimes it seems like there are no glad tidin's to be had. Cryin' shame, because there are glad tidin's. They're just quieter and harder to see."

Tobias: "A glad tiding was grain and good rain in my day. Surely, there is more good than that today? Those phones I've seen carry all sorts of news."

Bronwyn: "There is, even if it doesn't seem like it. Countries are finally lettin' people marry who they choose, doctors are makin' strides with curin' diseases, the planet is healin' in small ways."

Tobias: "After everything else that's been told to me, I appreciate hearing that."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "And I appreciate knowin' it. Sometimes joy is in the wee things."

Tobias: He could only smile to that. "Almost done with these."

Bronwyn: "Ye're doin' a lovely job with them."

Tobias: "Such flattery," smile turned to grin.

Bronwyn: She laughed softly. "Well earned flattery. When my sister used to help my mama half the potato came away with the peel."

Tobias: "I'm skilled with a knife." He paused. "Apologies."

Bronwyn: "None required. As we speak there's a dirk in my boot. My da taught us to always be armed."

Tobias: "Good teachings."

Bronwyn: "I've always thought so. Plus, a blade always comes in handy. Especially for a healer."

Tobias: "Every woman should know where to slice and where to stab."

Bronwyn: "I agree completely. Another benefit o' bein' a healer." She smiled. "I know where all the major arteries are."

Tobias: "If someone had a um...a wound that had healed, but still there was a foreign entity, how would you go about removing it?"

Bronwyn: "Just a matter o' slicin' through the scar tissue, removin' the object, and closin' the wound again."

Tobias: "I don't think it would be that simple," he grumbled to himself.

Bronwyn: "Is it embedded deeply or stuck in bone?"

Tobias: "Just a discomfort in my core." He placed his hand near his navel as indication.

Bronwyn: "Any major organs hit?"

Tobias: "Firearms have improved over the years," just rhetoric. "Probably, but they've healed. Now it's just... whatever this is."

Bronwyn: "I've removed a dragon's horde worth o' bullets over the years. I can have it out in a trice."

Tobias: "I would owe you a debt."

Bronwyn: "Let me just clear off and clean the table."

Tobias: "But we haven't finished the food."

Bronwyn: "The only thing I had left to prep were the potatoes. Dinner's still a long way off."

Tobias: "What else do the potatoes need?"

Bronwyn: "They just need to simmer with the rest o' the soup ingredients."

Tobias: "I've had this discomfort a while. A little longer wouldn't matter."

Bronwyn: "I won't have ye wait longer than it takes to get ev'rythin' ready. No arguments now."

Tobias: She had rendered the Ananasi speechless, guffawing at the situation of such a young druid bossing him.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn just smiled and began clearing off the kitchen table. With any luck she'd be able to find something to drape over it.

Tobias: "Here? Not a shed or bath?"

Bronwyn: "I used to have a workroom when I lived in my old house in Montana but these days I do my work anywhere there's a flat surface and a ready supply of water."

Tobias: "Perhaps a bath would be more appropriate," said the spider.

Bronwyn: "Would a bath help ye feel more comfortable?"

Tobias: "Surgery in a kitchen seems..." He made a face.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn chuckled. "As ye will then. Let me go bleach the tub. Back in a wee."

Tobias: "Bleach? Wh - It's just me."

Bronwyn: "It's for yer sake. I won't risk infection."

Tobias: "Like such a thing could happen," he scoffed.

Bronwyn: "Better safe than sorry."

Tobias: "You really are a druid." What was that smell? He followed it against better judgement, making a face as he entered the bathroom.

Bronwyn: "I certainly am. It'll just take a wee." The smell might not have been pleasant, but the worst of it was rinsed away.

Tobias: "What are you going to do to me?"

Bronwyn: "I'm goin' to clean the area and feel for the bullet with my magic first. Then I'm goin' to make a small incision and extract it. Afterward I'll reseal the cut and heal it."

Tobias: "Incisions, and yet I wanted to pretend that wasn't going to happen."

Bronwyn: "I'll numb the area so ye won't feel any pain."

Tobias: "My last surgery was so long ago. A blade broke during an altercation. Here," he motioned to his right kidney.

Bronwyn: "Did the surgeon remove it successfully?"

Tobias: "I...It was incredibly painful, but he managed." The thought had him rubbing his hand over the painful memory.

Bronwyn: She gave him a reassuring smile. "Well don't worry. There won't be any pain this time around. The world's progressed in that area too."

Tobias: "How will you numb me?"

Bronwyn: "With a local anesthetic. How do ye feel about needles?"

Tobias: "I have no opinion," he said.

Bronwyn: "I do believe that'll be to yer benefit." With the tub now clean, they could move on. "Now, I'll need ye to remove yer shirt and get into the tub. I need to fetch my work chest."

Tobias: Without word the Ananasi stripped, folding his shirt and placing it on the tank of the toilet. "Are you sure I don't need to be naked? You're a clean surgeon?"

Bronwyn: "I can't say for sure until I see exactly where the bullet is," Bronwyn called from near the pantry. "I might also need to shave the surroundin' area."

Tobias: Salt looked down at his stomach and his acuminate hair pattern. "That's fine," he said. "Just make it symmetrical or remove everything if you have to."

Bronwyn: "As ye will." She returned a couple of minutes later with work chest in hand. "All right, Tobias, into the tub. Let's see exactly where that bullet is."

Tobias: The tub was colder than he had expected, causing him to wince as he laid back, air leaving his lungs.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry about that. Yer body heat will warm it soon."

With that, she took a deep breath and opened herself to her magic, laying her hands on Tobias' abdomen to feel for the bullet and gauge its depth.

Tobias: The bullet was somewhere behind his stomach after so long. One of the few bullets that refused to be a through-and-through.

"I think I feel your magic."

Bronwyn: That was deeper than she would have liked, but a little magic should help bring it up a little.

"If ye feel a tingle, then aye, that's my magic. All right." Bronwyn removed her hand and grabbed a new disposable razor and shaving cream. "Stay still now."

Tobias: "I've...I've never had a woman shave me before." He would have chuckled but there was a razor involved.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "I meanwhile, have shaved more torsos than ye can shake a stick at." After filling a small bowl--grabbed from the workchest--with water, Tobias' middle was coated with shaving cream and the task of cleaning the area began. She worked quickly and with ease, proving her earlier statement.

Tobias: "Have any tried to hurt you after you saved their lives? Bury the evidence, so to speak?"

Bronwyn: "I've had people bitch at me before, durin', and after but so far I've been fortunate. May the gods let that good fortune last."

Tobias: "Happened to me once as a child. Came across a man with an arrow - arrows, now that I'm recalling - in his body."

Bronwyn: "What reason did he give? For lashin' out."

Tobias: "I was evidence. The witness that had seen his face."

Bronwyn: "Isn't that always the way," she sighed.

Tobias: "I'm obviously fine. No need to sigh."

Bronwyn: "That's no' why I'm sighin'."

Tobias: That did make him smile. "Presumptuous of me. Apologies."

Bronwyn: "None required, though I am glad ye lived to tell the tale." She patted his stomach dry and set the shaving implements aside.

"It's just that I knew this verra lovely and verra wise old drunk who always used to tell me people never thank ye for savin' them. That's disheartenin' enough. Nearly bein' killed just adds injury to insult."

Tobias: "People expect others to save them. Feel like the world owes them compensation for taking their first breath."

Bronwyn: "If that isn't the height of arrogance I don't know what is. Makes me even more glad for thankin' my saviors."

Tobias: "How many times have you stood at Death's door?"

Bronwyn: "Twice."

Tobias: "Two too many."

Bronwyn: "I'm of the exact same opinion. But they made me who I am, and for that at least I can be grateful."

Tobias: "...You didn't ask what happened to the Arrow Man."

Bronwyn: "Did ye dispatch him to the next life?"

Tobias: "Does that bother you?"

Bronwyn: "If it did I'd be a hypocrite."

Tobias: "But you don't kill."

Bronwyn: "I haven't yet, but under the right circumstances I would."

Tobias: "Anyone can say that."

Bronwyn: "Aye, but no' many believe it. But believe me when I say that there are no lengths to which I would no' go and no depths to which I would no' sink to protect the people I love."

Tobias: "Lengths I understand, but depths?"

Bronwyn: "To the verra pit of Hell."

Tobias: "So you don't mean pride and self-respect?"

Bronwyn: "If it preserved the life o' those I love I'd beg, steal, and sell myself."

Tobias: "I don't think I like that, but we've only just met." His hand roamed his new bare skin. "But you are about to slice into me and I'm about to trust you."

Bronwyn: "I don't think my loved ones would either," she chuckled, getting out a pack of sterile instruments and surgical soap before going over to the sink to wash her hands.

Tobias: "This is a great trust I'm placing on you, Bronwyn." It was almost a warning.

Bronwyn: "It is. I give ye my word that it's well placed."

Tobias: He needed to distract himself, the best way he knew how was to talk through his surgery. "Before, when we spoke of work integration..."

Bronwyn: "Aye?" Gloves were put on, Tobias' abdomen cleaned, the anesthetic injected.

Tobias: "If it falls through, what do I need to blend into human society?" His eyes closed to the injections.

Bronwyn: "That depends on yer personal preference. Ye could choose no' to integrate. Make yer home somewhere remote, live off the land. Or ye can get a job, a place to live, reveal nothin' of what ye really are except to a trusted few."

Tobias: "Before, someone I knew risked their safety to help...someone. It was all for the sake of something called "papers" and I don't know where to begin."

Bronwyn: "Those can be a bit of an endeavor if ye choose the societal integration route. And unfortunately, ye can't do without them."

Tobias: "I suppose in that case, this is my only route."

Bronwyn: "Fortuitously enough, ye have a choice. I know someone who can get identification papers for ye."

Tobias: "What must I do to obtain them?"

Bronwyn: "Ask."

Tobias: "Where are they? I'll ask face to face."

Bronwyn: "I believe he's home in New York at the moment. Last time I saw him was in November."

Tobias: "Where is that?"

Bronwyn: "All the way up the coast. It's a vast, loud, filthy city. It horrified me the first time I visited it."

Tobias: "I'll make the trek."

Bronwyn: "I can ask him to come here. I'm his employer. Sort of."

Tobias: Eyes opened to question silently.

Bronwyn: "He's my man of affairs."

Tobias: "Are you already cutting into me? I'm not looking."

Bronwyn: "No, no' yet. I was givin' the anesthetic a wee. I think it's been long enough." She opened the package of instruments, letting her magic guide the location of the incision. "I'm goin' to cut once, inject ye again, and then cut one more time, all right?"

Tobias: "It's fine. I'm ready." Man of affairs, he was still trying to understand what that entailed.

Bronwyn: Because she wasn't sure how Tobias was going to react to any of this, she thought it best to speak as she worked and give him a little distraction.

"Stay verra still for me now, all right?" she said as she made the first cut. "I don't want to jostle that bullet into a place that's more difficult to reach." After the second injection and cut, she grabbed a separator and began to chant to slow his blood flow.

Tobias: The more she worked, the harder it was for him to keep his eyes peeled. He body was drained of energy, his mind like cotton. "This...is so much trust...so much in you." She could kill him, sever his spinal cord, slice his throat. He was thinking of every way possible and yet cemented in place.

Bronwyn: "Healin' is a leap of faith," Bronwyn said when she finished chanting. She swabbed the blood that was in her way, reached for the tweezers. "Ye're goin' to feel the bullet begin to move in a bit. Tell me if ye feel any pain."

She began chanting again, this time to encourage the bullet to unearth itself and place itself within reach.

Tobias: He couldn't call it pain, more of a discomfort, an unyielding pressure trying to steal the air out of his lungs. "It's fine," hissed the spider.

Bronwyn: Just a little more. Bronwyn didn't want to go poking with the tweezers until she was certain she'd get what she was looking for. To do otherwise was unnecessarily risky.

Aaaaaaaand there it was.

Bronwyn carefully took hold of the bullet and pulled it out.

Tobias: All Salt could do was stare for a time. That had been inside him, nestled behind his stomach. Ronan had tried to remove everything, but only managed he chaos of a shotgun.

"It's...horrific looking."

Bronwyn: There was certainly no denying that. "Ye're lucky it stayed whole," she said, grabbing a suture so she could close the incision. "When one o' those shatters inside someone...it is truly horrific."

Tobias: "She had it pressed to my stomach, but I was...quite different at the time."

Bronwyn: "Then ye're doubly lucky that it didn't shred yer stomach or another vital organ."

Tobias: "I might have. I heal."

Bronwyn: "Well this time ye're goin' to have some help." She tied off the first set of sutures and began on the second.

Tobias: Eyes were forced open again, looking down at his wound. It felt too surreal. Never before had he experienced such intentional numbness. His breath quickened and he couldn't fathom why.

Bronwyn: "Tobias?" Bronwyn said softly, hand stilling. "Is ev'rythin' all right?"

Tobias: "Yes." He had to close his eyes again, focus on something else. He couldn't allow his fear to overwhelm him. She was being nothing but helpful. Slow, deep breaths. Not too deep.

Bronwyn: "Just a wee bit longer, I promise. After I've sealed this, I'll heal it and we'll be done and dusted."

Tobias: "I can...I can do it myself."

Bronwyn: "Are ye sure? It's no trouble for me. Just a wee bit o' salve and a quick chant."

Tobias: "Fine. Fine..."

Tobias: He needed to save his vitae for something more important, if that be the case.

Bronwyn: "That's the spirit." She tied off the stitches and cleaned the wound with some hydrogen peroxide before reaching for the jar of salve in her work chest.

"Ye're goin' to feel a wee tingle here in a bit," she told him as she slathered the incision. "And ye're goin' to see some white light come out o' my fingers."

Tobias: Please don't try to murder me, he thought, bracing his hand on the edge of the tub. All he could do was nod.

Bronwyn: Had she known the lay of Tobias' thoughts she would've told him to have a bit of faith. Trust had already gotten them this far.

One more deep breath, one more chant, and the healing white light appeared to do its job.

Tobias: "Ha," he breathed. What a strange sensation. Knowing and respecting druids didn't mean he knew the intricacies of their power. "Does it - Does it always tingle?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded, never pausing in her chanting.

Tobias: "Is this it?"

Bronwyn: She nodded again as the white light faded, leaving behind nothing but smooth skin. "That's it. All good as new again."

Tobias: "You actually did it...?"

Bronwyn: "Aye. Ye're bullet free and completely mended."

Tobias: "What do I owe you?"

Bronwyn: "Nothin'. Consider it a favor between buddin' friends."

Tobias: "I don't like favors."

Bronwyn: "What would ye liken to give in return then?"

Tobias: "Need something guarded, protected? Transported? Anything."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn thought for a moment. "Nothin' that comes readily to mind."

Tobias: Salt sighed. "Does no one need services anymore in this world?"

Bronwyn: She chuckled. "I'm sure there are plenty that do." A beat of silence. "Actually, there is some information I need that so far I haven't had much success in findin'. Perhaps ye have the knowledge I seek."

Tobias: The edge of the tub wasn't comfortable, but it was better than lying in the druid's presence. "Yes?"

Bronwyn: "Do ye know anythin' about djinn?"

Tobias: The Ananasi blinked.

Bronwyn: "Or genies, as they're called in some places."

Tobias: "Um...what...do you know about them? Anything I can go on?"

Bronwyn: "All I know is that they have the power to grant a person's deepest desires, but never the way one would expect and often with limitations. I guess...I want to know just how powerful their magic is and if its effects can be undone."

Tobias: "I'm probably getting my information mixed, but such creatures I've heard of were from a far away land, a land...east."

Bronwyn: She nodded. "I've read that as well."

Tobias: "Fire."

Bronwyn: "I'm sorry?"

Tobias: He shook his head. "Something about Fire, and the - sorry...long time since I had to think about it. I swear my brother said - said they hate water. They're made of fire."

Bronwyn: That coincided with what Vincent had told her, though it still didn't make sense. Why would a creature made of fire set up shop in a city of water?

Then again, she didn't know for sure that the djinn she was after was based in New Orleans. It was...a gut feeling.

"Do ye remember if he knew about their magic?"

Tobias: Salt closed his eyes. What had Honde said? "A glass artist. The one he had met dealt with all things glass. Hid in the rain, died."

Bronwyn: "I wonder if that's a trait o' their kind or if it was just that particular one's trade."

Tobias: "I've only heard of the one."

Bronwyn: "Still bears considerin'." Bronwyn heaved a long sigh. "I just wish I knew where to look for my quarry."

Tobias: "How do you know you're looking for a djinn?"

Bronwyn: "Because o' the symbol it left behind. It's verra similar to those of other djinn I've found."

Tobias: "You've found others?"

Bronwyn: "Only in research."

Tobias: "So you want to kill it?"

Bronwyn: She shook her head. "I just want some of its magic undone."

Tobias: "I can help. That'll be what I owe you."

Bronwyn: "I'd appreciate that, thank ye, Tobias."

Tobias: "So you need to find this creature. Do you have anything of it? Any material its touched? Anything at all?"

Bronwyn: "Just the symbol. And, well....Mason."

Tobias: A sigh. "This Mason person was affected by it?"

Bronwyn: She nodded. "Except he doesn't know he has been. He thinks he's someone named Lawrence and has an entire lifetime of false memories to back it up."

Tobias: "I've never used my power to look for someone through another. We could make attempts here."

Bronwyn: "Do ye think it would work with somethin' that belonged to Mason?"

Tobias: "If the djinn laid hands on it."

Bronwyn: "I have no idea if it did, but surely it couldn't hurt to try. I'll be right back." And off she dashed.

Tobias: "Might be better if I just touched this Mason person."

Bronwyn: "That might be a wee hard to arrange," Bronwyn called.

Tobias: "With false memories, I'm sure it would be."

Bronwyn: "I haven't dared call him, though god knows I've wanted to."

Tobias: "Why?"

Bronwyn: "I don't want to upset him. Or myself."

Tobias: "How do you know this, then?"

Bronwyn: "The man he's in a relationship with went to see him and got a hell of a shock."

Tobias: "I can do it."

Bronwyn: When Bronwyn returned, she was clutching a leather jacket. "Go see him?"

Tobias: "Yes. I can lie and find a way to touch him."

Bronwyn: "He's a notary public, if that helps."

Tobias: "Is he a holy man?"

Bronwyn: Wouldn't that be the king of all ironies? "No, he's no'."

Tobias: "Hmm. Alright. Can you show me where he lives?"

Bronwyn: "Aye. I could even accompany ye if that'd be easier. I'd leave the actual visit to ye of course."

Tobias: "Yes, please."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled and nodded. "Verra well. We'll make the trip together."

Tobias: "When shall we begin?" His shirt felt different now with a smooth stomach. He wasn't sure whether he liked it.

Bronwyn: "I'm needed at home for the next few days. The next bit o' free time I have isn't until Saturday."

Tobias: "You want to wait until Saturday?"

Bronwyn: "It's no' that far off. And who knows what information I'll gather between now and then."

Tobias: "If that's what you want."

Bronwyn: It wasn't really, but she was just so worried. So nervous. She didn't think she could face this just yet, even if she wasn't the one going to this Lawrence's door.

"Have ye ever teleported before?"

Tobias: "In a...yes."

Bronwyn: "Would it be all right if we traveled that way? Faster than drivin'."

Tobias: "That's fine. My body's been through worse, I'm sure," the last said sotto voce.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn just nodded. She didn't doubt that for a moment. "Saturday then. We'll go see Lawrence, you'll find an excuse to touch him, and we'll hopefully be a bit closer to solvin' this mystery."

Tobias: "It's a deal." He smiled. This was work. Odd though it might be, there was honor in it. "Thank you."

Bronwyn: "Thank ye," she said, smiling back. "Ye're doin' me a verra great service."

Tobias: "I'm only too happy to have purpose."

Bronwyn: "A mutually beneficial arrangement then. Which reminds me, how can I contact ye? In case my time frees up before Saturday?"

Tobias: "I can come by every morning?"

Bronwyn: "I'm no' always here. I live in New Orleans."

Tobias: "... Right, teleportation."

Bronwyn: "Aye. We could meet in the grove with the honeysuckle?"

Tobias: "I'll be there every day. You don't show, that's fine."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "The grove it is."

Tobias: "I'll be on my way then. Until tomorrow, yes?"

Bronwyn: Another nod, this time accompanied by a deep breath. "Aye, here's hopin'."

#Honeysuckle in the Snow #tobysalt

[daddyslittlejuliet]

7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell

The post 7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell by Maria Goodavage appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

People have known for millennia that a dog’s sense of smell is very different than ours. But science has recently learned all kinds of wow-worthy info about our dogs’ olfaction. Check out seven of latest, greatest findings about a dog’s sense of smell.

1. A dog’s sense of smell is way stronger than ours

A dog’s sense of smell is much stronger than a human’s sense of smell. Photography ©BiMKA | Thinkstock.

Yeah, you can read that two ways, but think back to what your dog smells like when wet, and you’ll figure out the right meaning. When it comes to nose sensitivity, dogs are the paws-down winners over humans. Numbers abound about how much better a dog’s sense of smell is than ours. There are so many variables that it’s almost impossible to quantify. I’ve seen figures indicating that a dog’s sense of smell is from 10 to 100 to 1,000 to 1,000,000 times better. Scientists I’ve spoken with say that dogs can detect some, if not most, odors at concentrations of parts per trillion.

Psychologist and prolific dog book author Stanley Coren gave me an example of what that huge sniffer sensitivity looks like. Let’s say you have a gram of a component of human sweat known as butyric acid. Surprisingly, humans are quite good at smelling this. If you let it evaporate in the space of a 10-story building, many of us would still be able to detect a faint scent upon entering the building. Not bad, for a human nose. But consider this: If you put the 135-square-mile city of Philadelphia under a 300-foot-high enclosure, evaporated the gram of butyric acid and let a dog in, the average dog would still be able to detect the odor.

2. To a dog, you stink

As clean as you are, and as much soap and perfume and deodorant you wear, you are still splendidly stinky to your dog. Every human has a unique scent fingerprint, and that’s pretty much everything a dog needs to tell one person from another. “To our dogs, we are our scent,” says canine cognition expert Alexandra Horowitz, author of the enlightening book, Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know. In that book, she writes this wonderful description about a dog’s sense of smell:

“Humans stink. The human armpit is one of the most profound sources of odor produced by any animal; our breath is a confusing melody of smells; our genitals reek. The organ that covers our body — our skin — is itself covered in sweat and sebaceous glands, which are regularly churning out fluid and oils holding our particular brand of scent. When we touch objects, we leave a bit of ourselves on them; a slough of skin, with its clutch of bacteria steadily munching and excreting away. This is our smell, our signature odor.”

3. A dog’s sense of smell picks up all sorts of invisible things

With every step you take, you shed loads of skin flakes — kind of like the Peanuts character Pigpen and his ubiquitous dirt cloud. Real people have the same billow, only it’s made up of skin cells, which, when in this flake form, are known as rafts, or scurf.

Get this: We shed 50 million skin cells each minute. Wow! “They fall like microscopic snowflakes,” Coren says. I am sitting here only moving my fingers on my keyboard because I really don’t want to shed, but no matter what I do, I’m just a snowstorm. Thankfully, we can’t see this winter wonderland ourselves. But these rafts and scurf, with their biological richness, including the bacteria that sheds with them, are very “visible” to dogs’ noses.

4. You can’t fool your dog’s sense of smell

Research indicates that it’s quite likely that a dog’s sense of smell can pick up fear, anxiety and even sadness. The flight-or-fight hormone, adrenaline, is undetectable by our noses, but dogs can apparently smell it. In addition, fear or anxiety is often accompanied by increased heart rate and blood flow, which sends telltale body chemicals more quickly to the skin surface. Trying to mask your strong feelings with a casual smile may fool your friends, but it’s not going to fool a dog’s sense of smell.

5. Dogs use their smell to send messages through peeing

I love this description of dog communiques from Coren: “Dogs read about the world through their noses, and they write their messages, at least to other dogs, in their urine.” It’s tempting to drag your dog along on a walk when he’s sniffing everything annoyingly slowly, but give him chance to read the neighborhood gossip column, and let him do a little writing while he’s at it.

6. This is what’s happening when dogs smell each other’s nether regions

When dogs start sniffing each other’s nether regions, chances are they’re learning far more about each other than you and the other dog’s owner are learning through idle chitchat. Exactly what the dogs are learning, and what they do with that information, has yet to be figured out by science. But it’s very likely far beyond “Nice weather we’re having, eh?” It’s probably more along the lines of, “Oh, you’re a nice dog, and you had chicken recently, and you’re about, um, 10 years old?”

7. Scientists are studying dogs’ noses as never before

Maybe it’s because of dogs’ role in the military as incomparable IED detectors. (See my book Soldier Dogs for lots more on how dogs do their job in the military.) Or maybe it’s that dog noses and a dog’s sense of smell are just so amazing, and the more we know, the more we want to know. A dog’s sense of smell is being studied more than ever at universities around the world. But to get to some of the more interesting research, you have to read through papers with titles like, The fluid dynamics of canine olfaction: unique nasal airflow patterns as an explanation of macrosmia. (Does Google offer a translation programs for scientific lingo?)

I look forward to sniffing out what they come up with next in regard to a dog’s sense of smell.

Plus, put your dog’s sense of smell to use with nose work or K9 nose work >>

This piece was originally published in 2017. 

Thumbnail: Photography ©Kira-Yan | iStock / Getty Images Plus.

Read more about dog noses and a dog’s sense of smell:

How the Smells Around Your House Might Delight or Offend Your Dog

Keep Your Dog’s Nose and Paws Moisturized With Natural Ingredients

What Causes Nosebleeds in Dogs?

The post 7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell by Maria Goodavage appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

hunger - chapter 2

Hunger master post. 

The dog is still breathing when Stiles clambers out of the back of the SUV that hit it. The driver is in shock, and has been apologizing profusely ever since it happened. And Stiles knows it’s not the guy’s fault. The dog was going for the man who’d hurt Stiles in the alley, and ran out in front of the SUV. Which makes this Stiles’s fault, doesn’t it?

The animal clinic isn’t open, but there’s a light on inside and someone moving around, so Stiles bangs on the door. It’s opened by a dark-haired boy who looks no older than him.

“My dog,” is all Stiles manages to get out before he’s crying again.

The boy and the driver carry the dog inside on a picnic blanket from the back of the driver’s SUV, and into the examination room. Stiles curls his fingers through the dog’s ruff, and leans down close to his ear to whisper to him again how sorry he is.

The driver slips toward the door, and Stiles thinks about chasing after him for a second and demanding he pay the bill for whatever this is going to cost, but what if the guy refuses? Then the dark-haired boy will know Stiles has no money.

“It’s okay,” he whispers to the dog instead. “You’ll be okay.”

The dark-haired boy checks for a heartbeat. “His heart sounds good,” he says. He runs his hands though the dog’s fur. “I think maybe his leg is broken, and some ribs?” His forehead wrinkles with a frown as he carefully manipulates the dog’s hind leg. “Actually, maybe it’s not a break. I should really call my boss in. I just work here after school.”

“Vet school?” Stiles asks, still sniffling.

“High school,” the boy answers. He wrinkles his nose as he presses his knuckles gently against the dog’s ribcage. “I could have sworn I felt a break a second ago. He really needs an x-ray.”

Stiles nods, despite the jolt of worry that goes through him. He can’t afford that. He’s got three dollars and seventy cents in the pocket of his jeans. He’s got nothing. And, when the boy turns his worried gaze from the dog to Stiles, and rakes it down his body, he knows he can tell.

It doesn’t matter how clean Stiles tries to keep himself. It doesn’t matter if he washes his spare shirt under the faucet in the diner bathroom every few days. He’s still filthy. He can’t remember the last time he showered, or washed his hair. He can’t remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t greasy or half-rotten. He knows he looks like shit. He knows he probably stinks like shit too, and so does the dog.

The boy runs his fingers through the dog’s fur again. “Is this a wolf hybrid?”

“I don’t…I don’t know.”

The boy casts him a worried look. “You’re not supposed to own them in California.”

Stiles feels a sudden flash of panic. He moves forward and nudges the boy out of the way. “We’ll go. We’ll just go.”

The dog blinks his eyes open and fixes his gaze on Stiles.

“Dude,” the boy says, sounding reproachful and regretful all at once, “I’m not going to report you. Just, if anyone finds out, he might get seized and put down.”

The dog rumbles out a growl.

“He’s fine,” Stiles says, his voice catching. “He’s fine, right?”

 “Um… I guess?” The boy looks puzzled. “He looked pretty bad when you got him here though. I really should call my boss.”

“No!” Stiles tugs at the dog’s ruff. “Come on. Come on, boy. Please get up. Come on.”

The dog rumbles again.

The boy puts a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “Dude, don’t freak out, okay? I won’t call my boss if you don’t want me to. I won’t…” He chews his bottom lip for a moment. “You’re homeless, right?”

Stiles feels stripped bare, cold and naked. His breath hitches, and he jerks his chin in a nod.

“Look,” the boy says, squaring his shoulders. “I’m gonna give your dog some fluids, no charge, because I can really use the practice, and my mom packed me some dinner that I haven’t eaten yet. You want some?”

Stiles blinks at him for a moment. “What?”

“Homemade tamales,” the boy says, and wrinkles his nose. “I’m Scott, by the way.”

“St-Stiles,” Stiles says, his heart thumping loudly.

***

 The wolf’s boy is called Stiles.

The wolf huffs at that.

Stiles.

What is a Stiles?

A Stiles is pack. A Stiles is salt tears and smiles. A Stiles is skinny fingers that taste like the grease from burgers, and clothes that smell of stale sweat. A Stiles is feet that fall into step with the wolf’s own. A Stiles is amber eyes and pale skin and moles. A Stiles is a tug on the wolf’s instincts, on his aching heart. A Stiles is pack.

Stiles sits on the floor of the surgery, pressed up against the wolf’s side, and shares his tamales with the wolf while Scott cleans up. Scott has shaved a tiny patch of fur on the wolf’s foreleg. There’s a canula taped to the pale skin underneath, and a tube attached to a bag of some liquid that’s feeding slowly into the wolf. It smells strange, but it doesn’t make the wolf feel sick. If anything, it seems to speed his healing.

“I work here on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays after school,” Scott says as he works. “Mostly I just clean out the cages and feed the animals after my boss finishes up for the day. I also call him in if any emergencies turn up. I’m usually here until about nine. I’m here on Sunday afternoons as well, to walk the dogs that need walking, and feed whoever needs feeding.”

The wolf rests his chin on the floor and watches Scott through narrow eyes.

“So, you know,” Scott says to Stiles, “if you wanted to stop by, I could check out how your dog’s going. What’s his name, by the way?”

The wolf and his boy exchange a look.

“He, um, he doesn’t really have a name,” Stiles says at last. “I don’t own him or anything. We look after each other.”

Scott pauses with a bottle of antiseptic spray in his hand. “Oh.”

“He found me when I was sick,” Stiles says, “and brought me food.”

Scott’s jaw drops and his eyes widen. “Seriously? That’s amazing.”

The wolf huffs.

Stiles smiles at him. “Yeah, he’s pretty amazing.”

The wolf growls softly, and Stiles shares another tamale with him.

 ***

 The wolf distrusts Scott McCall, even though he smells like the truth. The wolf distrusts everyone, and hot jealousy burns in his belly when he sees the way that his boy unfolds in Scott’s presence, the hard lines and angles of his body relaxing into something softer, something sweeter, the way he does when he’s sprawled out asleep beside the wolf. The wolf doesn’t like that Scott McCall can inspire that same instinctive trust in his boy.

His boy—his Stiles—is pack.

Scott is not pack.

The wolf is a simple creature who makes simple calculations.

He doesn’t like Scott. He doesn’t want his boy to make connections here in the town. He and the boy need to go into the woods where it is safer. They need to build a den there and hunt for prey and never come into the oil-grease-smoke-stench of the town again. Nothing grows in the town. Nothing thrives here. Death stalks them both in the town.

In the woods there will be no talk of money or guns.

In the woods there will be no deputies peering into the dark after them.

In the woods there will be no narrow-eyed men who try to push Stiles to his knees.

In the woods they will be safe.

The wolf growls when Scott removes the canula from his foreleg, and bares his teeth when the boy runs his hands over him, unasked and unwelcome, feeling for damage that has long since healed.

“I should call him Mr. Cranky Pants,” Stiles says, and Scott laughs.

The wolf turns his face away.

“Hey.” Stiles kneels on the floor in front of him, and presses their foreheads together. “I was just teasing. Just teasing.” His breath is hot against the wolf’s fur. He lays a trembling hand against the wolf’s shoulder. “You saved me. You saved me, okay? Tonight, and every night, you save me.”

The wolf closes his eyes and sighs, content.

 ***

 It’s late when they get back to their alley, and Stiles has a belly full of food, a hoodie that Scott promised he didn’t need, and a bundle of sample packs of dog treats that he and the dog are totally going to share. It’s less gross than eating out of a trashcan. Slightly less gross, anyway.

He and the dog curl up behind their cardboard shelter, and lean into one another. It’s another cold night. Stiles wears Scott’s hoodie over his own and tugs the sleeves down to cover his hands.

He’s tired.

It’s been three months, give or take, since he ran from his last placement. There’s a weird sort of hierarchy in foster home placements that Stiles has become intimately familiar with over the past four years. Get a reputation as a troublemaker, as a habitual runaway, and the good families aren’t interested. Or the case workers don’t want to punish them or scare them off by sending them the worst kids, at least. His last few homes, Stiles figures he would have run from anyway, even if he didn’t have something to run toward. It would have been enough to just get the fuck out.

There were…incidents.

And so he’d run.

He’d made it all the way back to Beacon Hills this time. He had no money, and not much of a plan, but it was this or stay in that fucking house and flinch every time he heard the floorboards creak outside his bedroom at night.

It wasn’t…it wasn’t bad. It never came to anything, but no fucking question that’s where it was headed. Stiles had woken up twice to find his foster mother’s boyfriend standing naked in his doorway, dick in hand, and what? He was going to wait around to see how that turned out? Fuck that. He’d take his chances on the streets, thanks.

He swallows around the lump in his throat.

Except how well is that going for him? He’d almost got the dog killed tonight. And the dog saved his life when he was sick, and saved him again tonight. The dog is his best friend. The dog is his only friend. 

The dog is the only creature who has made Stiles feel safe in four long years, since he was dragged screaming out of his dad’s arms by a court orderly.

His eyes sting at the memory.

“Stiles. Stiles, kiddo. It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

Such a lie. Such a dirty fucking lie. The last thing his dad ever said to him, and it was a lie. It’s not the sort of lie Stiles can hate him for though. Not when he knows it killed his dad to say it as much as it killed Stiles to hear it.

He closes his eyes and hot tears slide down his cheeks.

The dog licks them away.

“It was supposed to be easy,” Stiles says at last, opening his eyes. The dog cocks his ears and looks at him intently. “Coming back to Beacon Hills.” He sighs. “But everything looks really different than I remember. It’s been so long. How am I supposed to figure it out?” He shivers, and curls closer to the dog. “How am I supposed to make it right?”

#sterek #teen wolf #fan fic #discontentedwinter #hunger

[buynewsoul]

7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell

The post 7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell by Maria Goodavage appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

People have known for millennia that a dog’s sense of smell is very different than ours. But science has recently learned all kinds of wow-worthy info about our dogs’ olfaction. Check out seven of latest, greatest findings about a dog’s sense of smell.

1. A dog’s sense of smell is way stronger than ours

A dog’s sense of smell is much stronger than a human’s sense of smell. Photography ©BiMKA | Thinkstock.

Yeah, you can read that two ways, but think back to what your dog smells like when wet, and you’ll figure out the right meaning. When it comes to nose sensitivity, dogs are the paws-down winners over humans. Numbers abound about how much better a dog’s sense of smell is than ours. There are so many variables that it’s almost impossible to quantify. I’ve seen figures indicating that a dog’s sense of smell is from 10 to 100 to 1,000 to 1,000,000 times better. Scientists I’ve spoken with say that dogs can detect some, if not most, odors at concentrations of parts per trillion.

Psychologist and prolific dog book author Stanley Coren gave me an example of what that huge sniffer sensitivity looks like. Let’s say you have a gram of a component of human sweat known as butyric acid. Surprisingly, humans are quite good at smelling this. If you let it evaporate in the space of a 10-story building, many of us would still be able to detect a faint scent upon entering the building. Not bad, for a human nose. But consider this: If you put the 135-square-mile city of Philadelphia under a 300-foot-high enclosure, evaporated the gram of butyric acid and let a dog in, the average dog would still be able to detect the odor.

2. To a dog, you stink

As clean as you are, and as much soap and perfume and deodorant you wear, you are still splendidly stinky to your dog. Every human has a unique scent fingerprint, and that’s pretty much everything a dog needs to tell one person from another. “To our dogs, we are our scent,” says canine cognition expert Alexandra Horowitz, author of the enlightening book, Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know. In that book, she writes this wonderful description about a dog’s sense of smell:

“Humans stink. The human armpit is one of the most profound sources of odor produced by any animal; our breath is a confusing melody of smells; our genitals reek. The organ that covers our body — our skin — is itself covered in sweat and sebaceous glands, which are regularly churning out fluid and oils holding our particular brand of scent. When we touch objects, we leave a bit of ourselves on them; a slough of skin, with its clutch of bacteria steadily munching and excreting away. This is our smell, our signature odor.”

3. A dog’s sense of smell picks up all sorts of invisible things

With every step you take, you shed loads of skin flakes — kind of like the Peanuts character Pigpen and his ubiquitous dirt cloud. Real people have the same billow, only it’s made up of skin cells, which, when in this flake form, are known as rafts, or scurf.

Get this: We shed 50 million skin cells each minute. Wow! “They fall like microscopic snowflakes,” Coren says. I am sitting here only moving my fingers on my keyboard because I really don’t want to shed, but no matter what I do, I’m just a snowstorm. Thankfully, we can’t see this winter wonderland ourselves. But these rafts and scurf, with their biological richness, including the bacteria that sheds with them, are very “visible” to dogs’ noses.

4. You can’t fool your dog’s sense of smell

Research indicates that it’s quite likely that a dog’s sense of smell can pick up fear, anxiety and even sadness. The flight-or-fight hormone, adrenaline, is undetectable by our noses, but dogs can apparently smell it. In addition, fear or anxiety is often accompanied by increased heart rate and blood flow, which sends telltale body chemicals more quickly to the skin surface. Trying to mask your strong feelings with a casual smile may fool your friends, but it’s not going to fool a dog’s sense of smell.

5. Dogs use their smell to send messages through peeing

I love this description of dog communiques from Coren: “Dogs read about the world through their noses, and they write their messages, at least to other dogs, in their urine.” It’s tempting to drag your dog along on a walk when he’s sniffing everything annoyingly slowly, but give him chance to read the neighborhood gossip column, and let him do a little writing while he’s at it.

6. This is what’s happening when dogs smell each other’s nether regions

When dogs start sniffing each other’s nether regions, chances are they’re learning far more about each other than you and the other dog’s owner are learning through idle chitchat. Exactly what the dogs are learning, and what they do with that information, has yet to be figured out by science. But it’s very likely far beyond “Nice weather we’re having, eh?” It’s probably more along the lines of, “Oh, you’re a nice dog, and you had chicken recently, and you’re about, um, 10 years old?”

7. Scientists are studying dogs’ noses as never before

Maybe it’s because of dogs’ role in the military as incomparable IED detectors. (See my book Soldier Dogs for lots more on how dogs do their job in the military.) Or maybe it’s that dog noses and a dog’s sense of smell are just so amazing, and the more we know, the more we want to know. A dog’s sense of smell is being studied more than ever at universities around the world. But to get to some of the more interesting research, you have to read through papers with titles like, The fluid dynamics of canine olfaction: unique nasal airflow patterns as an explanation of macrosmia. (Does Google offer a translation programs for scientific lingo?)

I look forward to sniffing out what they come up with next in regard to a dog’s sense of smell.

Plus, put your dog’s sense of smell to use with nose work or K9 nose work >>

This piece was originally published in 2017. 

Thumbnail: Photography ©Kira-Yan | iStock / Getty Images Plus.

Read more about dog noses and a dog’s sense of smell:

How the Smells Around Your House Might Delight or Offend Your Dog

Keep Your Dog’s Nose and Paws Moisturized With Natural Ingredients

What Causes Nosebleeds in Dogs?

The post 7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell by Maria Goodavage appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

[jeffreyrwelch]

7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell

The post 7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell by Maria Goodavage appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

People have known for millennia that a dog’s sense of smell is very different than ours. But science has recently learned all kinds of wow-worthy info about our dogs’ olfaction. Check out seven of latest, greatest findings about a dog’s sense of smell.

1. A dog’s sense of smell is way stronger than ours

A dog’s sense of smell is much stronger than a human’s sense of smell. Photography ©BiMKA | Thinkstock.

Yeah, you can read that two ways, but think back to what your dog smells like when wet, and you’ll figure out the right meaning. When it comes to nose sensitivity, dogs are the paws-down winners over humans. Numbers abound about how much better a dog’s sense of smell is than ours. There are so many variables that it’s almost impossible to quantify. I’ve seen figures indicating that a dog’s sense of smell is from 10 to 100 to 1,000 to 1,000,000 times better. Scientists I’ve spoken with say that dogs can detect some, if not most, odors at concentrations of parts per trillion.

Psychologist and prolific dog book author Stanley Coren gave me an example of what that huge sniffer sensitivity looks like. Let’s say you have a gram of a component of human sweat known as butyric acid. Surprisingly, humans are quite good at smelling this. If you let it evaporate in the space of a 10-story building, many of us would still be able to detect a faint scent upon entering the building. Not bad, for a human nose. But consider this: If you put the 135-square-mile city of Philadelphia under a 300-foot-high enclosure, evaporated the gram of butyric acid and let a dog in, the average dog would still be able to detect the odor.

2. To a dog, you stink

As clean as you are, and as much soap and perfume and deodorant you wear, you are still splendidly stinky to your dog. Every human has a unique scent fingerprint, and that’s pretty much everything a dog needs to tell one person from another. “To our dogs, we are our scent,” says canine cognition expert Alexandra Horowitz, author of the enlightening book, Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know. In that book, she writes this wonderful description about a dog’s sense of smell:

“Humans stink. The human armpit is one of the most profound sources of odor produced by any animal; our breath is a confusing melody of smells; our genitals reek. The organ that covers our body — our skin — is itself covered in sweat and sebaceous glands, which are regularly churning out fluid and oils holding our particular brand of scent. When we touch objects, we leave a bit of ourselves on them; a slough of skin, with its clutch of bacteria steadily munching and excreting away. This is our smell, our signature odor.”

3. A dog’s sense of smell picks up all sorts of invisible things

With every step you take, you shed loads of skin flakes — kind of like the Peanuts character Pigpen and his ubiquitous dirt cloud. Real people have the same billow, only it’s made up of skin cells, which, when in this flake form, are known as rafts, or scurf.

Get this: We shed 50 million skin cells each minute. Wow! “They fall like microscopic snowflakes,” Coren says. I am sitting here only moving my fingers on my keyboard because I really don’t want to shed, but no matter what I do, I’m just a snowstorm. Thankfully, we can’t see this winter wonderland ourselves. But these rafts and scurf, with their biological richness, including the bacteria that sheds with them, are very “visible” to dogs’ noses.

4. You can’t fool your dog’s sense of smell

Research indicates that it’s quite likely that a dog’s sense of smell can pick up fear, anxiety and even sadness. The flight-or-fight hormone, adrenaline, is undetectable by our noses, but dogs can apparently smell it. In addition, fear or anxiety is often accompanied by increased heart rate and blood flow, which sends telltale body chemicals more quickly to the skin surface. Trying to mask your strong feelings with a casual smile may fool your friends, but it’s not going to fool a dog’s sense of smell.

5. Dogs use their smell to send messages through peeing

I love this description of dog communiques from Coren: “Dogs read about the world through their noses, and they write their messages, at least to other dogs, in their urine.” It’s tempting to drag your dog along on a walk when he’s sniffing everything annoyingly slowly, but give him chance to read the neighborhood gossip column, and let him do a little writing while he’s at it.

6. This is what’s happening when dogs smell each other’s nether regions

When dogs start sniffing each other’s nether regions, chances are they’re learning far more about each other than you and the other dog’s owner are learning through idle chitchat. Exactly what the dogs are learning, and what they do with that information, has yet to be figured out by science. But it’s very likely far beyond “Nice weather we’re having, eh?” It’s probably more along the lines of, “Oh, you’re a nice dog, and you had chicken recently, and you’re about, um, 10 years old?”

7. Scientists are studying dogs’ noses as never before

Maybe it’s because of dogs’ role in the military as incomparable IED detectors. (See my book Soldier Dogs for lots more on how dogs do their job in the military.) Or maybe it’s that dog noses and a dog’s sense of smell are just so amazing, and the more we know, the more we want to know. A dog’s sense of smell is being studied more than ever at universities around the world. But to get to some of the more interesting research, you have to read through papers with titles like, The fluid dynamics of canine olfaction: unique nasal airflow patterns as an explanation of macrosmia. (Does Google offer a translation programs for scientific lingo?)

I look forward to sniffing out what they come up with next in regard to a dog’s sense of smell.

Plus, put your dog’s sense of smell to use with nose work or K9 nose work >>

This piece was originally published in 2017. 

Thumbnail: Photography ©Kira-Yan | iStock / Getty Images Plus.

Read more about dog noses and a dog’s sense of smell:

How the Smells Around Your House Might Delight or Offend Your Dog

Keep Your Dog’s Nose and Paws Moisturized With Natural Ingredients

What Causes Nosebleeds in Dogs?

The post 7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell by Maria Goodavage appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

[stiles-wtf]

7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell

The post 7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell by Maria Goodavage appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

People have known for millennia that a dog’s sense of smell is very different than ours. But science has recently learned all kinds of wow-worthy info about our dogs’ olfaction. Check out seven of latest, greatest findings about a dog’s sense of smell.

1. A dog’s sense of smell is way stronger than ours

A dog’s sense of smell is much stronger than a human’s sense of smell. Photography ©BiMKA | Thinkstock.

Yeah, you can read that two ways, but think back to what your dog smells like when wet, and you’ll figure out the right meaning. When it comes to nose sensitivity, dogs are the paws-down winners over humans. Numbers abound about how much better a dog’s sense of smell is than ours. There are so many variables that it’s almost impossible to quantify. I’ve seen figures indicating that a dog’s sense of smell is from 10 to 100 to 1,000 to 1,000,000 times better. Scientists I’ve spoken with say that dogs can detect some, if not most, odors at concentrations of parts per trillion.

Psychologist and prolific dog book author Stanley Coren gave me an example of what that huge sniffer sensitivity looks like. Let’s say you have a gram of a component of human sweat known as butyric acid. Surprisingly, humans are quite good at smelling this. If you let it evaporate in the space of a 10-story building, many of us would still be able to detect a faint scent upon entering the building. Not bad, for a human nose. But consider this: If you put the 135-square-mile city of Philadelphia under a 300-foot-high enclosure, evaporated the gram of butyric acid and let a dog in, the average dog would still be able to detect the odor.

2. To a dog, you stink

As clean as you are, and as much soap and perfume and deodorant you wear, you are still splendidly stinky to your dog. Every human has a unique scent fingerprint, and that’s pretty much everything a dog needs to tell one person from another. “To our dogs, we are our scent,” says canine cognition expert Alexandra Horowitz, author of the enlightening book, Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know. In that book, she writes this wonderful description about a dog’s sense of smell:

“Humans stink. The human armpit is one of the most profound sources of odor produced by any animal; our breath is a confusing melody of smells; our genitals reek. The organ that covers our body — our skin — is itself covered in sweat and sebaceous glands, which are regularly churning out fluid and oils holding our particular brand of scent. When we touch objects, we leave a bit of ourselves on them; a slough of skin, with its clutch of bacteria steadily munching and excreting away. This is our smell, our signature odor.”

3. A dog’s sense of smell picks up all sorts of invisible things

With every step you take, you shed loads of skin flakes — kind of like the Peanuts character Pigpen and his ubiquitous dirt cloud. Real people have the same billow, only it’s made up of skin cells, which, when in this flake form, are known as rafts, or scurf.

Get this: We shed 50 million skin cells each minute. Wow! “They fall like microscopic snowflakes,” Coren says. I am sitting here only moving my fingers on my keyboard because I really don’t want to shed, but no matter what I do, I’m just a snowstorm. Thankfully, we can’t see this winter wonderland ourselves. But these rafts and scurf, with their biological richness, including the bacteria that sheds with them, are very “visible” to dogs’ noses.

4. You can’t fool your dog’s sense of smell

Research indicates that it’s quite likely that a dog’s sense of smell can pick up fear, anxiety and even sadness. The flight-or-fight hormone, adrenaline, is undetectable by our noses, but dogs can apparently smell it. In addition, fear or anxiety is often accompanied by increased heart rate and blood flow, which sends telltale body chemicals more quickly to the skin surface. Trying to mask your strong feelings with a casual smile may fool your friends, but it’s not going to fool a dog’s sense of smell.

5. Dogs use their smell to send messages through peeing

I love this description of dog communiques from Coren: “Dogs read about the world through their noses, and they write their messages, at least to other dogs, in their urine.” It’s tempting to drag your dog along on a walk when he’s sniffing everything annoyingly slowly, but give him chance to read the neighborhood gossip column, and let him do a little writing while he’s at it.

6. This is what’s happening when dogs smell each other’s nether regions

When dogs start sniffing each other’s nether regions, chances are they’re learning far more about each other than you and the other dog’s owner are learning through idle chitchat. Exactly what the dogs are learning, and what they do with that information, has yet to be figured out by science. But it’s very likely far beyond “Nice weather we’re having, eh?” It’s probably more along the lines of, “Oh, you’re a nice dog, and you had chicken recently, and you’re about, um, 10 years old?”

7. Scientists are studying dogs’ noses as never before

Maybe it’s because of dogs’ role in the military as incomparable IED detectors. (See my book Soldier Dogs for lots more on how dogs do their job in the military.) Or maybe it’s that dog noses and a dog’s sense of smell are just so amazing, and the more we know, the more we want to know. A dog’s sense of smell is being studied more than ever at universities around the world. But to get to some of the more interesting research, you have to read through papers with titles like, The fluid dynamics of canine olfaction: unique nasal airflow patterns as an explanation of macrosmia. (Does Google offer a translation programs for scientific lingo?)

I look forward to sniffing out what they come up with next in regard to a dog’s sense of smell.

Plus, put your dog’s sense of smell to use with nose work or K9 nose work >>

This piece was originally published in 2017. 

Thumbnail: Photography ©Kira-Yan | iStock / Getty Images Plus.

Read more about dog noses and a dog’s sense of smell:

How the Smells Around Your House Might Delight or Offend Your Dog

Keep Your Dog’s Nose and Paws Moisturized With Natural Ingredients

What Causes Nosebleeds in Dogs?

The post 7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell by Maria Goodavage appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

[grublypetcare]

7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell

The post 7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell by Maria Goodavage appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren't considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

People have known for millennia that a dog’s sense of smell is very different than ours. But science has recently learned all kinds of wow-worthy info about our dogs’ olfaction. Check out seven of latest, greatest findings about a dog’s sense of smell.

1. A dog’s sense of smell is way stronger than ours

A dog’s sense of smell is much stronger than a human’s sense of smell. Photography ©BiMKA | Thinkstock.

Yeah, you can read that two ways, but think back to what your dog smells like when wet, and you’ll figure out the right meaning. When it comes to nose sensitivity, dogs are the paws-down winners over humans. Numbers abound about how much better a dog’s sense of smell is than ours. There are so many variables that it’s almost impossible to quantify. I’ve seen figures indicating that a dog’s sense of smell is from 10 to 100 to 1,000 to 1,000,000 times better. Scientists I’ve spoken with say that dogs can detect some, if not most, odors at concentrations of parts per trillion.

Psychologist and prolific dog book author Stanley Coren gave me an example of what that huge sniffer sensitivity looks like. Let’s say you have a gram of a component of human sweat known as butyric acid. Surprisingly, humans are quite good at smelling this. If you let it evaporate in the space of a 10-story building, many of us would still be able to detect a faint scent upon entering the building. Not bad, for a human nose. But consider this: If you put the 135-square-mile city of Philadelphia under a 300-foot-high enclosure, evaporated the gram of butyric acid and let a dog in, the average dog would still be able to detect the odor.

2. To a dog, you stink

As clean as you are, and as much soap and perfume and deodorant you wear, you are still splendidly stinky to your dog. Every human has a unique scent fingerprint, and that’s pretty much everything a dog needs to tell one person from another. “To our dogs, we are our scent,” says canine cognition expert Alexandra Horowitz, author of the enlightening book, Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know. In that book, she writes this wonderful description about a dog’s sense of smell:

“Humans stink. The human armpit is one of the most profound sources of odor produced by any animal; our breath is a confusing melody of smells; our genitals reek. The organ that covers our body — our skin — is itself covered in sweat and sebaceous glands, which are regularly churning out fluid and oils holding our particular brand of scent. When we touch objects, we leave a bit of ourselves on them; a slough of skin, with its clutch of bacteria steadily munching and excreting away. This is our smell, our signature odor.”

3. A dog’s sense of smell picks up all sorts of invisible things

With every step you take, you shed loads of skin flakes — kind of like the Peanuts character Pigpen and his ubiquitous dirt cloud. Real people have the same billow, only it’s made up of skin cells, which, when in this flake form, are known as rafts, or scurf.

Get this: We shed 50 million skin cells each minute. Wow! “They fall like microscopic snowflakes,” Coren says. I am sitting here only moving my fingers on my keyboard because I really don’t want to shed, but no matter what I do, I’m just a snowstorm. Thankfully, we can’t see this winter wonderland ourselves. But these rafts and scurf, with their biological richness, including the bacteria that sheds with them, are very “visible” to dogs’ noses.

4. You can’t fool your dog’s sense of smell

Research indicates that it’s quite likely that a dog’s sense of smell can pick up fear, anxiety and even sadness. The flight-or-fight hormone, adrenaline, is undetectable by our noses, but dogs can apparently smell it. In addition, fear or anxiety is often accompanied by increased heart rate and blood flow, which sends telltale body chemicals more quickly to the skin surface. Trying to mask your strong feelings with a casual smile may fool your friends, but it’s not going to fool a dog’s sense of smell.

5. Dogs use their smell to send messages through peeing

I love this description of dog communiques from Coren: “Dogs read about the world through their noses, and they write their messages, at least to other dogs, in their urine.” It’s tempting to drag your dog along on a walk when he’s sniffing everything annoyingly slowly, but give him chance to read the neighborhood gossip column, and let him do a little writing while he’s at it.

6. This is what’s happening when dogs smell each other’s nether regions

When dogs start sniffing each other’s nether regions, chances are they’re learning far more about each other than you and the other dog’s owner are learning through idle chitchat. Exactly what the dogs are learning, and what they do with that information, has yet to be figured out by science. But it’s very likely far beyond “Nice weather we’re having, eh?” It’s probably more along the lines of, “Oh, you’re a nice dog, and you had chicken recently, and you’re about, um, 10 years old?”

7. Scientists are studying dogs’ noses as never before

Maybe it’s because of dogs’ role in the military as incomparable IED detectors. (See my book Soldier Dogs for lots more on how dogs do their job in the military.) Or maybe it’s that dog noses and a dog’s sense of smell are just so amazing, and the more we know, the more we want to know. A dog’s sense of smell is being studied more than ever at universities around the world. But to get to some of the more interesting research, you have to read through papers with titles like, The fluid dynamics of canine olfaction: unique nasal airflow patterns as an explanation of macrosmia. (Does Google offer a translation programs for scientific lingo?)

I look forward to sniffing out what they come up with next in regard to a dog’s sense of smell.

Plus, put your dog’s sense of smell to use with nose work or K9 nose work >>

This piece was originally published in 2017. 

Thumbnail: Photography ©Kira-Yan | iStock / Getty Images Plus.

Read more about dog noses and a dog’s sense of smell:

How the Smells Around Your House Might Delight or Offend Your Dog

Keep Your Dog’s Nose and Paws Moisturized With Natural Ingredients

What Causes Nosebleeds in Dogs?

The post 7 Amazing Facts About Your Dog’s Sense of Smell by Maria Goodavage appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren't considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.