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Literally all of F1:
2023.04.01 16:23 hi-hello-bluppp Literally all of F1:
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2023.04.01 16:03 thecambridgegeek March 2023's new fiction podcasts
I've got what I think is a mostly exhaustive list of the new fiction podcasts that came out this month, which may be of interest to those looking for new shows. Feel free to tell me any I've missed, and I'll update it. (Note, "new" here means that the Ep1 of the RSS feed was released.) Listened to any of them that you would recommend?
I've given up trying to include the full list here, as it's increasingly large, and reddit keeps throwing problems. So the full list is here:
https://www.thecambridgegeek.com/posts/2023/04/20230401-a.php
Previous months are available here:
https://www.thecambridgegeek.com/results.php?proof=Releases&tag1=Audio%20fiction
And the ongoing updates (just in case you don't want to wait for the end of the month) are available here:
https://twitter.com/AudioDramaDebut
https://podvibes.co/@audiofictionuk#
Want a weekly email newsletter of all of these as I find them? Join my patreon to get access to that:
https://www.patreon.com/thecambridgegeek
(Please join, it's only £1/month and I currently make a loss with some of the resources I pay for to do this.)
And the full database is searchable here by a number of tags:
https://audiofiction.co.uk/search2.php
Want an RSS feed of new fiction podcast trailers to sample what's out there? Try this:
https://audiofiction.co.uk/trailers.php
African Story Magic with Gcina Mhlophe
Audio Book - Fables and Fairy Tales and Folklore, Storytelling
Step into the wonderful world of African storytelling with Gcina Mhlophe. In African Story Magic, a new East Coast Radio Podcast, Gcina shares many of the tales you grew up with plus new stories – so we can keep the magic of African storytelling alive for new generations. Listen in English or isiZulu and let's keep the magic alive!
First episode: 2023-3-1
FuturePast
Audio Drama - Adaptation, Science fiction
Adapted stories of Science Fiction from the public domain.
First episode: 2023-3-1
Gaming Theater RPG
Audio RPG - Multigenre, Comedy, Fantasy
Welcome to Gaming Theater RPG, where members of the Gaming Theater crew get together to play a tabletop RPG. Our current setting is the ACPD, where our players try to maintain law and order in the fantasy city of Andrea's Cauldron. They'll have to deal with bar brawling adventurers, underground chimera races, magical murder mysteries, and more! Come watch our heroes triumph over evil… or fail spectacularly! Whichever outcome the dice decide.
First episode: 2023-3-1
Greyshading
Audio Drama - Multigenre
An anthology series about the black and white of life, and all the grey in between.
First episode: 2023-3-1
Hot Dice: Actual Play
Audio RPG - Crime and Mystery
Hot Dice: Actual Play is exactly what it sounds like. We create fun actual play series using different RPG systems. Our first audio campaign, Revelations & Redemption, is an actual play, Monster of the Week podcast, following 5 guests and a stowaway at a lavish dinner party hosted by billionaire, CEO & cocaine addict, Jeffery Hudson. Our guests have ulterior motives tonight, but so, it seems, does someone else.
First episode: 2023-3-1
Minds Never Matter Podcast
Audio RPG - Fantasy
Welcome to the Minds Never Matter Podcast! We are a group of 5 friends who wanted to share the story we create while having fun along the way. I know, I know, everyone is creating TTRPG podcasts these days but we are just here to have a reason to bring us together whether its just a few or if it grows to hundreds of people. The current session we are running takes place in the fantasy world of Divitotum where four aspiring adventures take on their hardest challenge yet.... The Adventuring College of Elona.
First episode: 2023-3-1
Penault Pest & Protection
Audio RPG - Horror
Penault Pest & Protection is a monthly audio drama created through tabletop roleplay based on the 2d6 system Monster of the Week. Follow Tiffany, Aisling, Clara, and Seilbh as they struggle to gain a footing in the world of Taranis.
First episode: 2023-3-1
Poltergeist
Audio Book - Horror
Poltergeist is a podcast where we write and read original spooky stories to our audience. Our goal is to provide short story writers a chance to have their work featured on the show, and to give listeners an opportunity to experience new and exciting stories.
First episode: 2023-3-1
TUDO QUE EU QUERIA DIZER ANTES DE MORRER
Audio Book - Slice of life
EPISÓDIO NOVO TODA QUARTA-FEIRA! Podcast de ficção em formato de cartas. É um dia difícil e Ofélia tem vontade de sumir. Fecha os olhos e tenta imaginar como seria outra vida que não essa. Depois do pequeno devaneio, não dá prosseguimento à rotina como fez outras tantas vezes. Junta toda coragem que possui e vai embora. Ela abandona tudo e todos: troca de trabalho, de cidade, de estilo de vida. Mas, embora esteja decidida a deixar para trás aquela que foi um dia, ainda não é possível. Para seguir, precisa falar. Com vocês, os desabafos de Ofélia. Segue a gente no insta: u/dizerantesdemorrer
First episode: 2023-3-1
Vier Weekenden
Audio Book - Romance
Een podcast over een klootzak met een droom door Dario Goldbach. Het verhaal van een jonge twintiger die verward na een relatie met een psychopaat op zoek gaat naar de perfecte liefde en een uitweg. Een uitweg van zijn kutbaan, zijn uitzichtloze leven, zijn doelloze bestaan. Ervaar vier weekenden in vijftien hoofdstukken.
First episode: 2023-3-1
Los sueños cuentan
Audio Book - Multigenre
Un pódcast de relatos inspirados en el universo de los sueños, se trata de un espacio íntimo y emocional, donde intercambiamos técnicas narrativas y conceptos básicos de escritura creativa. Creado y narrado por Andrea Oryza, producido por La Resortera.
First episode: 2023-3-2
Tales After Dark Erotic Audio Dramas
Audio Drama - Erotica
Sexy, Erotic Tales told through a female gaze. Brought to you by the Tales of the Forgotten Fiction Network, Tales After Dark is an anthology series. With new episodes dropping weekly, every month we bring you a different story, and some may have subtle connections to other Tales of the Forgotten Shows.
First episode: 2023-3-2
Thirteen: A Fallout Podcast
Audio Drama - Fanfiction, Post-apocalypse
War. War never changes. In 2161, a lone vault dweller sets out into an unforgiving wasteland on a mission to save his Vault. His travels across a broken post-apocalyptic California will shape history itself for years to come. This is the story of Albert Cole, the Vault Dweller from Vault 13. Thirteen is the story of Fallout 1, given new life in the form of an audio drama. Whether you’ve played the game yourself, or are just now consuming the tale for the first time, we invite you to join us on a journey to find the water chip and save the vault.
First episode: 2023-3-2
Tune Tales
Audio Drama - Comedy
Tune Tales with Kit’n’Tenders is musical story-based podcast for kids exploring the world of classic kids songs. Each episode, our heroes, the girlband, Kit’n’Tenders aka Gabby La La and The Ukulady, meet famous characters from the classic kids songs, like, the Muffin Man, Twinkle the Little Star, Miss Mary Mack, etc… all played by real celebrities! Tune Tales is chock-full of songs, jokes, trivia and fun for the whole family!
First episode: 2023-3-2
Turning Tables
Audio RPG - Fantasy
Turning Tables is a weekly actual play D&D podcast with a twist. You can expect each arc to be DM'd by one of 3 DM's, meanwhile, the other 2 play as characters.
First episode: 2023-3-2
Worlds Beyond Number
Audio RPG - Fantasy
Brennan Lee Mulligan, Erika Ishii, Aabria Iyengar, and Lou Wilson hang out together and use games to make up stories. It's pretty good.
First episode: 2023-3-2
Zom-com
Audio RPG - Post-apocalypse
Zom-com är en rollspelspodd med komiker som spelar Skjut dom i huvudet. Och dör man så dör man. Här råder strikt PERMADEATH! När, en spelares karaktär dör så byts spelaren ut.
First episode: 2023-3-2
Black Box - A Science Fiction Horror Podcast
Audio Drama - Science fiction, Horror
The Homing Box of the U.N.S.E.A. exploratory vessel Bly has returned to Earth after twenty-four years of silence. An investigation has been launched into uncovering what happened to the ship and her missing crew.
First episode: 2023-3-3
Koffer 23
Audio Drama - Crime and Mystery
De Nationale Postcode Loterij heeft een feest georganiseerd ter ere van een nieuw seizoen Miljoenenjacht. Het decor: een afgelegen, oud kasteel. De gasten zijn medewerkers, relaties en bevriende BN'ers. Linda de Mol houdt een gezellig praatje en speelt ter vermaak één rondje Miljoenenjacht met André van Duin. Maar wat blijkt: koffer 23 is verdwenen, met daarin 10.000 euro. De deuren gaan direct op slot. Niemand mag weg voordat deze zaak is opgelost. Tygo Gernandt wordt als detective aangewezen en heeft vijf verdachten op het oog: Nasrdin Dchar, Tina de Bruin, André van Duin, Edson da Graça en Nicolette van Dam. Detective Gernandt heeft zo zijn eigen manier van verhoren, die jammer genoeg niet leidt tot het vinden van de dader. Hij draagt daarom gefrustreerd en moegestreden het dossier over aan jou, de luisteraar. In dit dossier zitten de verhoren met de vijf verdachten, een reconstructie van de avond en andere zinnige of zinloze observaties. Jij kan op basis hiervan de zaak misschien wél oplossen. Help Tygo, vul jouw antwoorden in op www.koffer23.nl en maak kans op 10.000 euro.
First episode: 2023-3-3
Risky Standard
Audio RPG - Science fiction
Risky Standard is an actual-play podcast featuring a group of rowdy best friends playing a variety of tabletop role-playing games to tell stories set in original worlds. Currently playing Beam Saber (by Austin Ramsay) to follow the adventures of a squad of mech pilots fighting for an anarcho-socialist space federation in a revolutionary war against encroaching empire.
First episode: 2023-3-3
Stories From: The Low Season
Audio Book - Multigenre
Stories From: The Low Season is an anthology fiction podcast inspired by the album The Low Season by POOLSIDE. Each song serves an inspiration for a short fiction piece, and the original song is reworked as a dreamy underscore.
First episode: 2023-3-3
End City - A Cyberpunk Red Mini-Series
Audio RPG - Cyberpunk
Welcome, chooms, to our Cyberpunk Red mini-series 'End City'. Things go awry for a group scraping med supplies from the largest corporation in the city... Join CG (Choom Guide) Justin and some truly wonderful friends as we hit the gritty corporate dystopian streets and try to earn a living under the boot of governing forces.
First episode: 2023-3-4
Stories From The Shore - A Modern D&D 5e Mini-Series
Audio RPG - Fantasy
Things have felt a little different in Null Shore lately... things seem a little darker... you catch movements out of the corner of your eye but never see what caused it... and the people... the people have been going missing a lot more frequently lately. Welcome back to the Shore. Join us as we revisit Null Shore with a brand new cast of delightful characters. This mini-series will feature our amazingly skilled friends from Charisma Saving Show and Gut Punch RP.
First episode: 2023-3-4
The Magpie Catalogue
Audio Drama - Experimental and Surreal
Welcome to the Harper Foundation! The most sophisticated organization for storing and categorizing the paranormal in all of New England! But, do be warned... not everything around here is as it seems... Follow the story of a group of researchers trying to solve the mystery of their Boss Henry's mysterious disappearance, where behind every door is a mystery, adventure, and...Violence!
First episode: 2023-3-4
Void: Coriolis Actual-Play
Audio RPG - Science fiction
Coriolis is a beacon of something fresh for politics, trade, and “quality of life”. Others see it as cultural imperialism. Nonetheless, the Icons stir. They are jealous. The Zenithian’s new way beckons the Darkness Between the Stars. Even ghosts from planet Xene currently observe the Council of Factions. The new governor, Kamal Dargosian, is only a year into office and the people are already secretly questioning their capabilities. But amidst this political battlefield is an even more pressing matter -- there is currently a high-rolling contract issued by the Consortium to hire a Free Trader group willing to investigate the Taoan system. As of 2 weeks ago, all contact was lost.
First episode: 2023-3-4
Escuadrón Ifreann (Audio-Libro)
Audio Book - Occult and Supernatural, Thriller and Psychological
Tras diez años trabajando para la Iglesia Católica como investigador paranormal, Sebastián Ifreann profesor de Historia y experto en Demonología, ha perdido el sentido de la vida y las ganas de seguir, comenzando a cuestionar sus capacidades. A pesar de esto, sigue con la rutina de recibir solicitudes de investigación, junto a su equipo de la Parroquia. Hasta que un día aparece un caso que reactivará al equipo, llevándonos a un viaje por los miedos y pesadillas de Sebastián, que lo harán reencontrarse con su pasado y hallar las piezas del rompecabezas de su vida. Escuadrón Ifreann es un viaje por la mente y las vivencias de un joven que se entregó al servicio de luchar contra el mal. Todo lo que leerán es ficción, pero es mi verdad...
First episode: 2023-3-5
Hörspiele sehen – Der Theater ex libris Podcast
Audio Drama - Adaptation
Hörspiele lassen fantastische Welten in unseren Köpfen entstehen: das nebelverhangene London, ein Piratenschiff im Sturm, die Weiten des Weltraums – alles wird vor unserem inneren Auge lebendig und das nur durch die Kraft von Stimmen, Geräuschen und Musik. Beim Theater ex libris kann man Hörspiel sehen - live auf der Bühne. Mit Live-Musik, einer aufwändigen Bildpräsentation und stimmungsvollen Lichteffekten verwandelt das Ensemble Literaturklassiker und eigene Geschichten in spannende Live-Hörspiele. Björn Roguzska (Smackboom) blickt mit Theater ex libris-Gründer Christoph Tiemann hinter die Kulissen der Hörspiel-Shows. Wie spielt man mit fünf Sprecher:innen zwanzig verschiedene Rollen? Wie macht man aus einem fünfhundert-Seiten Roman ein Skript für zwei Stunden Lesezeit? „Hörspiele sehen“ stellt in jeder Folge ein neues Hörspiel aus dem Programm von Theater ex libris vor – und begrüßt als Gast ein spannendes Ensemblemitglied.
First episode: 2023-3-5
Meaningless Problems
Audio Book - Thriller and Psychological, Comedy, Science fiction
An original short story by Doe Wilmann every single week for at least a year. I wanted a platform where I could communicate directly with all the people who like my writing. And yes, I could have invited both of them out for a coffee but they don’t get on. So I’m doing a podcast instead. Will I keep it up? Will anyone listen? Does it matter either way? A mix of styles, genre and quality. Some will be comedies, some will be dramas, some will be sci-fi, and some will be rubbish. Common topics/ themes: The absurd Consciousness Free will Artificial intelligence God The Afterlife Non Duality Eternalism Haircuts Benches Sheds You’ll like this if you like…. Charlie Brooker’s Black Mirror Sum: Tales of the Afterlife by David Eagleman Alan Bennett’s Talking Heads Julian Barnes Kazuo Ishiguro (I realise I’m now just listing writers I like…) Margaret Atwood Oscar Wilde Anton Chekhov George Orwell This is my challenge to write, record and produce a short story every single week for a year. If you’re looking for quality, suspense and intrigue, I’m not making any promises.
First episode: 2023-3-5
Altered State of Affairs
Audio Book - Thriller and Psychological
Altered State of Affairs, the novel, is a tale about an audacious kid from Cleveland Heights who unites in France with a beautiful Mossad agent and an eyeless doll for an adventure of a lifetime. The novel is now a podcast. This is Altered State of Affairs, The Podcast. The show is where the author, Jerald Kasimov, reads from certain chapters of his books and that has conversations about selections and fascinating topics in that specific reading. Here's a summary of the novel: Steven, a freshly-minted Army Ranger and aspiring badass, can’t wait to go after some bad guys—and maybe some bad girls, too. Fortunately, a Soviet master scientist has just defected and is hiding somewhere in the rugged French Pyrenees, and Steven must find him before a sadistic terrorist does. Along the way, he meets a traitor in a field of red poppies, a beautiful Mossad black-ops agent, some delicious cassoulet, and Cindy, the telepathic, eyeless doll. It’s time for Steven, an atypical hero, to man up, but nothing is as it seems—least of all, Steven. The story winds through time from adolescence in 1960s Cleveland Heights to the rigors of present-day Army Ranger training in Fort Benning, non-stop death-defying action, the delights of Israeli cooking, and the tragic yet triumphant history of the Jewish People. Oh, and there’s that beautiful Mossad agent…. But first, Steven has a world to save from a horrific weapon of mass destruction!
First episode: 2023-3-6
Cede Malis
Audio Drama - Horror
Cede Malis is a choose-your-own-adventure surrealist horror podcast in which you have been lured into a house of supernatural horrors by someone who was once your best friend. Now you must make the right choices to survive the eerie night.
First episode: 2023-3-6
Dungeon Calling
Audio RPG - Fantasy
A real-play D&D podcast of high fantasy and low humor. It’s the 1980s, and four almost friends navigate middle school in a small, strange, low-budget town. Can they survive social minefields and the occasional eldritch horror without being expelled, or possibly sued by the Duffer Brothers? Will there be music? Listen to find out.
First episode: 2023-3-6
La Notte più Lunga
Audio RPG - Horror
Un podcast di actual play viking horror ideato da Lotofurente e prodotto da Forgia Storie, direttamente dalle vostre fantasie dell'incubo.
First episode: 2023-3-6
Saga Of The Sages Narrative Podcast
Audio Drama - Fantasy
The Saga Of The Sages Narrative Podcast is a multi-series/multi-season story exploring the histories, lore, and happenings of the ancient civilization known as the Anu. The Anu last reigned 11,600 years ago, before they were wiped off the face of the Earth. Now all we have is the records of their history, and artifacts they have left behind, for the chosen few to discover. Come with us on the journey, that is, the Saga Of The Sages.
First episode: 2023-3-6
The Saga of the Three Bears
Audio Book - Historical
From the idyllic settlement of The Valley, the three children of Chief Ty Williams set out into the wild world with very different hopes, dreams, goals, and plans. Each week, a new chapter of the Saga of the Three Bears is released in audio-book form.
First episode: 2023-3-6
Alpha 8 - The Audio Drama
Audio Drama - Science fiction, Storytelling, Thriller and Psychological
Alpha 8 is a family-friendly sci-fi adventure podcast that explores what happens when a desperate alien from another planet body-swaps with a struggling mom to understand the meaning of family to save her own kind from extinction. We produced the pilot, but need your support to finish the season.
First episode: 2023-3-7
Bird in the Storm Presents
Audio Book - Fantasy
Literary works presented by Bird in the Storm Publishing
First episode: 2023-3-7
Ellen Vahr - Gaven
Audio Book - Historical
«Gaven» er en roman basert på livet til Anne Brannfjell, husmannsdatteren som ble Norges mest kjente kloke kone. Den er en fortelling om frykt og fortielse, men også om kjærligheten og tillitens plass i våre liv, og om mulighetene som åpner seg når vi våger å stå ved oss selv. Siden hun var liten, har husmannsjenta Anne visst at hun er født med en gave, en evne til å se, og et kall til å hjelpe syke og lidende. I stedet for å være stolt over denne gaven, gjemmer hun den bort. Hun vil ikke være annerledes. Vinteren 1841 reiser Anne fra Vardal til Christiania for å tjene hos byens mest berømte gullsmed og hans unge, vakre kone. Hun har valgt den veien hun tror er den rette. Det eneste hun har med seg er noen tørkede planter, en sort bok og en hemmelighet. Livet i Christiania er ikke som hun hadde trodd, og det er først da hun tror at hun har mistet alt, at Anne finner kraften til å stole på hvem hun er. «Gaven» handler om Annes kamp for å finne sin egen vei - og å våge å gå den. Det er en historie om dyp fattigdom, svik og krenkelser, men det er også en kjærlighetshistorie om mot, håp og om å finne veien hjem. Ellen Vahr er Anne Brannfjells tipp-tipp-oldebarn.
First episode: 2023-3-7
L'appel de l'enfance
Audio Drama - Slice of life
Une fiction qui met en scène les tribulations d’un personnage confronté quotidiennement aux dérives de la société actuelle. Avec François SARANO,Céline COUSTEAU, Matthieu RICARD, Miguel BENASAYAG et Katie MAGGS. Trente ans après l’avoir perdue de vue, Jean-Baptiste retrouve par hasard sur le net une amie d’enfance anglaise qui a connu les mêmes souffrances que lui. Sa solution pour recouvrer son équilibre : se baigner chaque matin dans la mer Celtique et rechercher en permanence ses sensations d’enfant. En raison des restrictions sanitaires, Jean-Baptiste doit attendre deux ans avant de pouvoir aller lui rendre visite en Cornouailles. Pendant ces deux années, s’enchaînent pour Jean-Baptiste des rencontres inattendues avec différentes personnalités qui réagissent aux problèmes auxquels il est confronté. Chacune apporte son éclairage sur ces maux sociétaux et avance ses propositions pour sortir de l’impasse. Peu à peu, un changement profond s’opère en Jean-Baptiste, dont l’aboutissement coïncide avec son séjour tant attendu en Cornouailles. Au retour de ce voyage, l’écart entre ce qu’il est devenu et son mode de vie le conduit à un burn out, qui vient confirmer la nécessité de changer de vie. Les souffrances évoquées dans cette série sont soit largement couvertes par les médias (environnement, covid) soit plus insidieuses (la mal-bouffe, le manque d’altruisme, les conséquences de l’utilisation maladive des portables, etc.) Au fil de ses échanges avec les différents intervenants, le personnage fictif opère un changement intérieur complet, amorcé par la première de ces rencontres : celle avec l’océanographe François SARANO, collaborateur du commandant Cousteau, qui lui glisse la phrase suivante : “Pour changer, il faut d’abord se retrouver avec soi-même, se reconnecter avec la nature et, enfin, s’engager.”
First episode: 2023-3-7
Popcorn for Dinner: A Podcast Sitcom
Audio Drama - Comedy
Popcorn For Dinner, narrated by Ciara Bravo, is a first-of-its-kind audio sitcom that follows four friends in their early 20s as they try to make it on their own, despite the fact that none of them know what that looks like...at all. Packed with all the enduring elements that make classic sitcoms identifiable (yes, even the laugh track), the show invites you to laugh at both the gang’s hijinks and the format itself.
First episode: 2023-3-7
Sraxital - The Undying Isles Podcast a TTRPG Live Actual Play
Audio RPG - Fantasy, Adventure, Storytelling
This Live Actual Play Tabletop role playing game (TTRPG) Podcast is set in a home brew water world, with continents and isles spread all across the world. Here we have amazing adventures with a group of gamers who enjoy RP and share a love of the game.
First episode: 2023-3-7
Aslak Nore - En norsk spion
Audio Book - Spy-fi, Thriller and Psychological
Spennende og aktuell innsidefortelling fra norsk etterretningstjeneste! En rå agentfortelling med en fargerik og varm beskrivelse av et krigsherjet Afghanistan. Peter Wessel er norsk etterretningsoperatør som arbeider undercover i verdens farligste område. Wessel kommer over brennbar informasjon - et parti våpen som skal rettes mot norske interesser, er smuglet ut av Dubai og på vei til Afghanistan. Vil han og makkeren finne våpentransporten i tide? Det blir en eksotisk og nervepirrende nedtelling. «En norsk spion» er Aslak Nores første thriller. Her benytter han sin førstehåndskunnskap om soldater i utenlandstjeneste og fredsnasjonen Norge. I forbindelse med research til boken har Nore reist flere ganger til Afghanistan og til Dubai og Irak.
First episode: 2023-3-8
Assetati d'amore
Audio Book - Comedy, Crime and Mystery
Assetati d'amore è il primo volume della trilogia Crimini, amori e commedia, scritta e interpretata da Giorgio Ganzerli. Tre storie semiserie che, usando come pretesto improbabili eventi delittuosi, indagano l'animo umano e i sentimenti. Le musiche originali e il sound design sono a cura di Stefano Cattaneo.
First episode: 2023-3-8
Celebrity Whodunnit
Audio Drama - Comedy, Crime and Mystery
Imagine Clue but with your favorite/least favorite celebrities. Every week, fake Private Investigators, Payton and Ry, take on a new fake mystery involving Hollywood's elite. This radio play styled podcast features entirely fictional whodunnit style stories with the most random groups of celebrities at the most random locations you could imagine.
First episode: 2023-3-8
Dark Lantern
Audio Book - Occult and Supernatural
In the basements of the Buffalo Central Library, a very special collection awaits. The Curator would like to share it with you, if you dare.
First episode: 2023-3-8
Forever Foreign
Audio Drama - Slice of life, Comedy
The Forever Foreign podcast is a fictional story following the audio diary of one English teacher and his friends in Japan. It’s whimsical, sometimes funny, and it’s often based on real experiences from people who’ve lived in the land of the rising sun.
First episode: 2023-3-8
IDM Roleplay
Audio RPG - Horror, Urban fantasy
Welcome to IDM Roleplay! We are a tabletop actual play podcast where we play a number of different games including, but not limited to, Vampire the Masquerade 5th Edition, Dungeons and Dragons 5th Edition, Masks: A New Generation, and more! Come listen to our zaney crew as we make our way through different campaigns all for your entertainment! Please note this podcast is marked as explicit because some of our shows we deal with adult topics like violence, seduction and fade-to-black type sex, drug use, and in the vampire game, lots of discussion of blood. Nothing is too crazy, but please be aware and if you aren't comfortable with any of that, maybe we aren't the show for you.
First episode: 2023-3-8
Magnus West Media
Audio Drama - Multigenre
Do you like listening to audio dramas? Do you want to listen to some wonderful, home produced radio plays performed by a talented cast of actors? Well look no further! Here at Magnus West Media we have a range of productions; both long and short to interest all sorts of listeners, from an episode of the famous radio broadcast Five Minute Murders to a modern day take of the classic Father Brown story: The Blue Cross.
First episode: 2023-3-8
Pallium
Audio RPG - Horror
Le monde que nous connaissons est une illusion. Et derrière ce voile se cache quelque chose qui se tient prêt à nous dévorer. Pallium est un podcast suivant plusieurs campagnes de jeu de rôles privilégiant l'immersion, la narration et l'atmosphère. Afin de rendre l'écoute le plus agréable et immersive possible, chaque épisode a été monté pour se rapprocher le plus possible d'une fiction audio, illustrée par la musique de Siarys. Nous utilisons le système et l'univers de Kult : Divinité Perdue, un jeu de rôles horrifique se centrant sur les traumas des personnages et une approche viscérale du surnaturel. MISE EN GARDE: Pallium privilégie une atmosphère sombre et immersive, focalisée sur les traumatismes des personnages, la violence psychologique et physique, et des thèmes adultes.
First episode: 2023-3-8
The Sir Bernard Moore Show
Audio Drama - Comedy
It's 1992. The Doomsday Clock is the furthest it has ever been from midnight. It's the safest, most peaceful and contented time planet Earth has known since the invention of atomic weapons. But not everywhere is as safe as everywhere else in the world . . . Here we are in Hobsick. Population: 2,001. A secluded village located somewhere just south of the north of the midlands. Seven miles to the east, a busy dual carriageway barely acknowledges that Hobsick exists, pointing any potential traffic down a sinister, unnamed B-road. To the west of the village sags the overgrown, potholed remains of twelve miles of another dual carriageway, as good as severed from civilization by a landslide in 1967.
First episode: 2023-3-8
Bee Dubs AI Labs
Audio Drama - Science fiction
User 74680 signed up for a premium membership with Bee Dubs AI Labs gambling artificial intelligence to help him win a few bets. Follow our premium member as his new AI subscription takes over his life and reveals its dystopian plans for humanity.
First episode: 2023-3-9
Darlings
Audio Drama - Urban fantasy
Et lyddrama for ungdom i tre deler. 15 år gamle Tone oppdager at hun har hypnotiske krefter når hun legger ut ASMR-videoer på YouTube. Med de nyoppdagede evnene sine kan hun få til hva som helst! Men, hypnotiske evner kan gi en farlig makt som ikke nødvendigvis gjør livet lettere. Darlings handler om å ikke passe inn, om å stikke av og om behovet for å ha noen nære som bryr seg. Og hvis ingen bryr seg - hva gjør man da?
First episode: 2023-3-9
New Eden - A Cyberpunk Podcast
Audio Drama - Cyberpunk
Plot: The Human Race have taken refuge on the dusty sibling planet of Mars. Such a curious debacle we find ourself in once again. After the warming of The Earth became too much to bare, we looked to Terraforming the Red Eden just a hop, skip and an intra-solar jump away; Such Hubris is laughable in hindsight, but one thing I can assure you is that the Human race will survive even if between the slimmest margins, and curiously enough, that is where we find ourself today. 2078 Earth years is equivalent to 1104 Martian years. Meanwhile, back on earth, a forbidden paradise is being created. The human race has abandoned their home planet, leaving behind a utopia of comfort and abundance. But the inhabitants of this paradise are not the same people who left it; they are refugees from of the Eruptions, the Steam storms, the shifting of the plates, the melting of the poles, and the ensuing Ice Age. The True Earthlings closely guard this paradise, with only the elite of the elite in their respective fields being allowed to return, and offer their skillset to the Greater Good of the Restored Gaia
First episode: 2023-3-9
The Four Boys Club
Audio Book - Multigenre, Slice of life, Storytelling
The Four Boys Club (sometimes not-so-fondly called Quartet of Mayhem) is a podcast of a series of short stories, which covers the worlds of four 15-year-olds: Shanky Vai, Baalan "Bandem" Asra, Ankur "Anpag" Benza, and Mompy Arda. Part coming-of-age and part drama/suspense, it has been inspired by Stephen King's The Body (and its movie adaptation, Stand By Me).
First episode: 2023-3-9
Une vie brisée
Audio Drama - Thriller and Psychological
Une vie brisée retrace le parcours imaginaire d’un jeune migrant qui, parti du Niger aurait eu la chance d’atteindre sain et sauf les abords de la mer du nord. Inspiré par la lecture de Terminus Shengen, livre du poète - géographe Emmanuel Ruben, ce projet remet l’ humain au centre de cette tragédie, sans esprit polémique ou partisan. Derrière les chiffres de migration, de décès, il y des personnes, des sentiments, des angoisses, des espoirs aussi. Et derrière ces espoirs, il y a tant de vies brisées dans leurs élans, brisées par les pièges tendus sur ces chemins d’exode, chemins de peine, chemins de croix. Aventures imaginaires d’un parcours incertain, Une vie brisée a pour souhait d’aider à la compréhension et à l’acceptation du phénomène des migrations, de la détresse humaine. Tout simplement.
First episode: 2023-3-9
Déjà-You
Audio Drama - Slice of life, Comedy
A slice of life, comedy podcast featuring two teenagers that have been fated to live a linked life... Sam, a relatively confident guy studying at the University of York, England finds himself experiencing increasing bouts of Déjà Vu after a fateful night at a chinese restaurant. Sammy, a relatively confident girl studying at York University, Nebraska finds herself experiencing increasing bouts of Déjà Vu after a fateful night at a chinese restaurant.
First episode: 2023-3-10
Else og Liv - Kjærleik i koronaens tid
Audio Drama - Thriller and Psychological
Koronatiltaka hadde menneskelege kostnader vi aldri fullt ut vil kjenne følgene av. Else og Liv er historia om to menneske som treng kvarandre. Dei har vore tette før, og opprettar no kontakt igjen på grunn av krisa. Samtidig truar den same krisa med å skilje dei, før dei når kvarandre heilt. I ein kjenslemessig berg- og dalbane av ei historie følger vi dei frå dei første forsøka på å nærme seg, til dei blir stilt andsynes kvarandre i val som vil prege resten av liva deira. Skrive og regissert av Aslak Moe Lyddesign: Kato Ådland Dramaturg: Solrun Toft Iversen Musikken er frå Universal Production Music Else : Ragnhild Gudbrandsen Liv: Reidun Melvær Berge Sjukepleiar: Christine Hope Polititenestemann og drosjesjåfør: Sigmund Njøs Hovind Doplangar og sjukehusresepsjonist: Reny Gaassand Folgerø Lyddramaet ligg ute til 12. mars 2024. Produsert av Det Vestnorske Teateret, i 2023
First episode: 2023-3-10
The Fall Of Runeterra a D&D Campaign
Audio RPG - Fantasy
This is a D&D campaign based off using the lore of League Of Legends. It won't be 100% accurate but it will be as close as I can get it.
First episode: 2023-3-11
3 DMs and a Tale
Audio RPG - Fantasy, Multigenre, Adventure
Hello, my name is Aaron. This is my Improv Show called 3 DMs and a Tale. I decided to put 4 Dungeon Masters in one room and make them dance for me. In each episode, a Head DM is selected by a d4. The remaining 3 DMs become players and without any prep, they will all have come up with everything on the spot: the world, their characters, and everything else you can imagine. Come join the fun!
First episode: 2023-3-12
Hipersensorial
Audio Book - Horror, Occult and Supernatural
Bienvenido a un lugar en donde tus sentidos se activarán a su nivel máximo. Escucha las historias más intrigantes y escalofriantes del mundo de la ficción, el suspenso y el terror. Abriremos una puerta hacia lo paranormal. ¿Estás listo para cruzarla?
First episode: 2023-3-12
British Spy Stories
Audio Book - Spy-fi
Weekly Serialised British Spy Stories
First episode: 2023-3-13
Cuba 58: El último gran premio
Audio Drama - Historical, Thriller and Psychological
1958 en La Habana, Cuba: La ciudad se prepara para recibir el Havana Grand Prix. Sin embargo, un día antes de la esperada carrera, dos jóvenes subversivos secuestran al piloto campeón de la F1, Juan Manuel Fangio. La vida de Fangio se ve envuelta entre las crecientes tensiones políticas entre el gobierno del dictador Fulgencio Batista y el “Movimiento 26 de julio” liderado por Fidel Castro. Cuba 58: El último gran premio es un thriller basado en el día en el que se encontraron la Fórmula 1 y la Revolución Cubana, dejando en las manos de una carrera el futuro de un país entero. Una producción de Sonoro, protagonizada por Manolo Cardona, Maclovia González, Carlos Ballarta y Axel de la Rosa.
First episode: 2023-3-13
Into the Portal
Audio Drama - Science fiction
Into the Portal is a family-focused podcast that tells an exciting adventure. After finding a mysterious bracelet, Dex is transported to a strange world alongside a young girl named River. Together, they must escape danger and solve the mysteries that reveal themselves once they travel Into the Portal. Join Dex and River as they hunt down the Portal Stars and uncover the secrets behind the universe’s biggest mysteries. Into the Portal is the first chapter in the story of the StarKeepers Saga, a sweeping story of intergalactic heroism, bravery, and adventure.
First episode: 2023-3-13
Mayhem
Audio Drama - Science fiction, Comedy
It has been over one thousand days since we have been liberated, ladies and gentlemen from the tyranny of freedom. This is your daily reminder of how good you have had it since the Artilean extraterrestrial invasion and subjugation, which succeeded after a battle with human forces lasting roughly eleven and a half minutes. All Hail Artilea! All Hail the eyes in the sky! Here’s how good you have it today.
First episode: 2023-3-13
おばあちゃんの旅 by AudioMovie®
Audio Drama - Crime and Mystery
「進化系ラジオドラマ」AudioMovie®シリーズ。新潮社との共同企画で、作家の松尾由美が書下ろした小説「おばあちゃんの旅」が原作。Spotify, Apple Podcast, Amazon Music, Google Podcastなどポッドキャストサービスで無料配信。【2023年3月14日（火）配信開始／毎週火曜日更新予定（全3話）】 亡くなった祖母の遺品整理で見つかった8年前の新聞記事。点と線をつなげるために孫娘がたどる記憶の旅。1千万円の現金。おばあちゃんは特殊詐欺の加害者なのか、被害者なのか8年前にかかって来た電話から物語は動き出す。 主人公のおばあちゃんを演じるのはＴＢＳラジオ『赤江珠緒 たまむすび』の「えなばあちゃん」としておなじみ、俳優の「下川江那」
First episode: 2023-3-13
Basilisk Hill Breakdown
Audio RPG - Fantasy
An Actual Play podcast, using the Old School Essentials Ruleset, of mid-level hexcrawling and sandbox exploration. Episodes drop every two weeks, and recaps of the sessions can be found at https://www.thirdkingdomgames.com/blog/categories/actual-play
First episode: 2023-3-14
DERAILED: a fictional mystery podcast
Audio Drama - Crime and Mystery
Just when you think you’ve figured the story out, DERAILED: a fictional murder mystery podcast throws you off track and draws you in even deeper into its twisty turny world.
First episode: 2023-3-14
submitted by thecambridgegeek to audiodrama [link] [comments]
I've given up trying to include the full list here, as it's increasingly large, and reddit keeps throwing problems. So the full list is here:
https://www.thecambridgegeek.com/posts/2023/04/20230401-a.php
Previous months are available here:
https://www.thecambridgegeek.com/results.php?proof=Releases&tag1=Audio%20fiction
And the ongoing updates (just in case you don't want to wait for the end of the month) are available here:
https://twitter.com/AudioDramaDebut
https://podvibes.co/@audiofictionuk#
Want a weekly email newsletter of all of these as I find them? Join my patreon to get access to that:
https://www.patreon.com/thecambridgegeek
(Please join, it's only £1/month and I currently make a loss with some of the resources I pay for to do this.)
And the full database is searchable here by a number of tags:
https://audiofiction.co.uk/search2.php
Want an RSS feed of new fiction podcast trailers to sample what's out there? Try this:
https://audiofiction.co.uk/trailers.php
African Story Magic with Gcina Mhlophe
Audio Book - Fables and Fairy Tales and Folklore, Storytelling
Step into the wonderful world of African storytelling with Gcina Mhlophe. In African Story Magic, a new East Coast Radio Podcast, Gcina shares many of the tales you grew up with plus new stories – so we can keep the magic of African storytelling alive for new generations. Listen in English or isiZulu and let's keep the magic alive!
First episode: 2023-3-1
FuturePast
Audio Drama - Adaptation, Science fiction
Adapted stories of Science Fiction from the public domain.
First episode: 2023-3-1
Gaming Theater RPG
Audio RPG - Multigenre, Comedy, Fantasy
Welcome to Gaming Theater RPG, where members of the Gaming Theater crew get together to play a tabletop RPG. Our current setting is the ACPD, where our players try to maintain law and order in the fantasy city of Andrea's Cauldron. They'll have to deal with bar brawling adventurers, underground chimera races, magical murder mysteries, and more! Come watch our heroes triumph over evil… or fail spectacularly! Whichever outcome the dice decide.
First episode: 2023-3-1
Greyshading
Audio Drama - Multigenre
An anthology series about the black and white of life, and all the grey in between.
First episode: 2023-3-1
Hot Dice: Actual Play
Audio RPG - Crime and Mystery
Hot Dice: Actual Play is exactly what it sounds like. We create fun actual play series using different RPG systems. Our first audio campaign, Revelations & Redemption, is an actual play, Monster of the Week podcast, following 5 guests and a stowaway at a lavish dinner party hosted by billionaire, CEO & cocaine addict, Jeffery Hudson. Our guests have ulterior motives tonight, but so, it seems, does someone else.
First episode: 2023-3-1
Minds Never Matter Podcast
Audio RPG - Fantasy
Welcome to the Minds Never Matter Podcast! We are a group of 5 friends who wanted to share the story we create while having fun along the way. I know, I know, everyone is creating TTRPG podcasts these days but we are just here to have a reason to bring us together whether its just a few or if it grows to hundreds of people. The current session we are running takes place in the fantasy world of Divitotum where four aspiring adventures take on their hardest challenge yet.... The Adventuring College of Elona.
First episode: 2023-3-1
Penault Pest & Protection
Audio RPG - Horror
Penault Pest & Protection is a monthly audio drama created through tabletop roleplay based on the 2d6 system Monster of the Week. Follow Tiffany, Aisling, Clara, and Seilbh as they struggle to gain a footing in the world of Taranis.
First episode: 2023-3-1
Poltergeist
Audio Book - Horror
Poltergeist is a podcast where we write and read original spooky stories to our audience. Our goal is to provide short story writers a chance to have their work featured on the show, and to give listeners an opportunity to experience new and exciting stories.
First episode: 2023-3-1
TUDO QUE EU QUERIA DIZER ANTES DE MORRER
Audio Book - Slice of life
EPISÓDIO NOVO TODA QUARTA-FEIRA! Podcast de ficção em formato de cartas. É um dia difícil e Ofélia tem vontade de sumir. Fecha os olhos e tenta imaginar como seria outra vida que não essa. Depois do pequeno devaneio, não dá prosseguimento à rotina como fez outras tantas vezes. Junta toda coragem que possui e vai embora. Ela abandona tudo e todos: troca de trabalho, de cidade, de estilo de vida. Mas, embora esteja decidida a deixar para trás aquela que foi um dia, ainda não é possível. Para seguir, precisa falar. Com vocês, os desabafos de Ofélia. Segue a gente no insta: u/dizerantesdemorrer
First episode: 2023-3-1
Vier Weekenden
Audio Book - Romance
Een podcast over een klootzak met een droom door Dario Goldbach. Het verhaal van een jonge twintiger die verward na een relatie met een psychopaat op zoek gaat naar de perfecte liefde en een uitweg. Een uitweg van zijn kutbaan, zijn uitzichtloze leven, zijn doelloze bestaan. Ervaar vier weekenden in vijftien hoofdstukken.
First episode: 2023-3-1
Los sueños cuentan
Audio Book - Multigenre
Un pódcast de relatos inspirados en el universo de los sueños, se trata de un espacio íntimo y emocional, donde intercambiamos técnicas narrativas y conceptos básicos de escritura creativa. Creado y narrado por Andrea Oryza, producido por La Resortera.
First episode: 2023-3-2
Tales After Dark Erotic Audio Dramas
Audio Drama - Erotica
Sexy, Erotic Tales told through a female gaze. Brought to you by the Tales of the Forgotten Fiction Network, Tales After Dark is an anthology series. With new episodes dropping weekly, every month we bring you a different story, and some may have subtle connections to other Tales of the Forgotten Shows.
First episode: 2023-3-2
Thirteen: A Fallout Podcast
Audio Drama - Fanfiction, Post-apocalypse
War. War never changes. In 2161, a lone vault dweller sets out into an unforgiving wasteland on a mission to save his Vault. His travels across a broken post-apocalyptic California will shape history itself for years to come. This is the story of Albert Cole, the Vault Dweller from Vault 13. Thirteen is the story of Fallout 1, given new life in the form of an audio drama. Whether you’ve played the game yourself, or are just now consuming the tale for the first time, we invite you to join us on a journey to find the water chip and save the vault.
First episode: 2023-3-2
Tune Tales
Audio Drama - Comedy
Tune Tales with Kit’n’Tenders is musical story-based podcast for kids exploring the world of classic kids songs. Each episode, our heroes, the girlband, Kit’n’Tenders aka Gabby La La and The Ukulady, meet famous characters from the classic kids songs, like, the Muffin Man, Twinkle the Little Star, Miss Mary Mack, etc… all played by real celebrities! Tune Tales is chock-full of songs, jokes, trivia and fun for the whole family!
First episode: 2023-3-2
Turning Tables
Audio RPG - Fantasy
Turning Tables is a weekly actual play D&D podcast with a twist. You can expect each arc to be DM'd by one of 3 DM's, meanwhile, the other 2 play as characters.
First episode: 2023-3-2
Worlds Beyond Number
Audio RPG - Fantasy
Brennan Lee Mulligan, Erika Ishii, Aabria Iyengar, and Lou Wilson hang out together and use games to make up stories. It's pretty good.
First episode: 2023-3-2
Zom-com
Audio RPG - Post-apocalypse
Zom-com är en rollspelspodd med komiker som spelar Skjut dom i huvudet. Och dör man så dör man. Här råder strikt PERMADEATH! När, en spelares karaktär dör så byts spelaren ut.
First episode: 2023-3-2
Black Box - A Science Fiction Horror Podcast
Audio Drama - Science fiction, Horror
The Homing Box of the U.N.S.E.A. exploratory vessel Bly has returned to Earth after twenty-four years of silence. An investigation has been launched into uncovering what happened to the ship and her missing crew.
First episode: 2023-3-3
Koffer 23
Audio Drama - Crime and Mystery
De Nationale Postcode Loterij heeft een feest georganiseerd ter ere van een nieuw seizoen Miljoenenjacht. Het decor: een afgelegen, oud kasteel. De gasten zijn medewerkers, relaties en bevriende BN'ers. Linda de Mol houdt een gezellig praatje en speelt ter vermaak één rondje Miljoenenjacht met André van Duin. Maar wat blijkt: koffer 23 is verdwenen, met daarin 10.000 euro. De deuren gaan direct op slot. Niemand mag weg voordat deze zaak is opgelost. Tygo Gernandt wordt als detective aangewezen en heeft vijf verdachten op het oog: Nasrdin Dchar, Tina de Bruin, André van Duin, Edson da Graça en Nicolette van Dam. Detective Gernandt heeft zo zijn eigen manier van verhoren, die jammer genoeg niet leidt tot het vinden van de dader. Hij draagt daarom gefrustreerd en moegestreden het dossier over aan jou, de luisteraar. In dit dossier zitten de verhoren met de vijf verdachten, een reconstructie van de avond en andere zinnige of zinloze observaties. Jij kan op basis hiervan de zaak misschien wél oplossen. Help Tygo, vul jouw antwoorden in op www.koffer23.nl en maak kans op 10.000 euro.
First episode: 2023-3-3
Risky Standard
Audio RPG - Science fiction
Risky Standard is an actual-play podcast featuring a group of rowdy best friends playing a variety of tabletop role-playing games to tell stories set in original worlds. Currently playing Beam Saber (by Austin Ramsay) to follow the adventures of a squad of mech pilots fighting for an anarcho-socialist space federation in a revolutionary war against encroaching empire.
First episode: 2023-3-3
Stories From: The Low Season
Audio Book - Multigenre
Stories From: The Low Season is an anthology fiction podcast inspired by the album The Low Season by POOLSIDE. Each song serves an inspiration for a short fiction piece, and the original song is reworked as a dreamy underscore.
First episode: 2023-3-3
End City - A Cyberpunk Red Mini-Series
Audio RPG - Cyberpunk
Welcome, chooms, to our Cyberpunk Red mini-series 'End City'. Things go awry for a group scraping med supplies from the largest corporation in the city... Join CG (Choom Guide) Justin and some truly wonderful friends as we hit the gritty corporate dystopian streets and try to earn a living under the boot of governing forces.
First episode: 2023-3-4
Stories From The Shore - A Modern D&D 5e Mini-Series
Audio RPG - Fantasy
Things have felt a little different in Null Shore lately... things seem a little darker... you catch movements out of the corner of your eye but never see what caused it... and the people... the people have been going missing a lot more frequently lately. Welcome back to the Shore. Join us as we revisit Null Shore with a brand new cast of delightful characters. This mini-series will feature our amazingly skilled friends from Charisma Saving Show and Gut Punch RP.
First episode: 2023-3-4
The Magpie Catalogue
Audio Drama - Experimental and Surreal
Welcome to the Harper Foundation! The most sophisticated organization for storing and categorizing the paranormal in all of New England! But, do be warned... not everything around here is as it seems... Follow the story of a group of researchers trying to solve the mystery of their Boss Henry's mysterious disappearance, where behind every door is a mystery, adventure, and...Violence!
First episode: 2023-3-4
Void: Coriolis Actual-Play
Audio RPG - Science fiction
Coriolis is a beacon of something fresh for politics, trade, and “quality of life”. Others see it as cultural imperialism. Nonetheless, the Icons stir. They are jealous. The Zenithian’s new way beckons the Darkness Between the Stars. Even ghosts from planet Xene currently observe the Council of Factions. The new governor, Kamal Dargosian, is only a year into office and the people are already secretly questioning their capabilities. But amidst this political battlefield is an even more pressing matter -- there is currently a high-rolling contract issued by the Consortium to hire a Free Trader group willing to investigate the Taoan system. As of 2 weeks ago, all contact was lost.
First episode: 2023-3-4
Escuadrón Ifreann (Audio-Libro)
Audio Book - Occult and Supernatural, Thriller and Psychological
Tras diez años trabajando para la Iglesia Católica como investigador paranormal, Sebastián Ifreann profesor de Historia y experto en Demonología, ha perdido el sentido de la vida y las ganas de seguir, comenzando a cuestionar sus capacidades. A pesar de esto, sigue con la rutina de recibir solicitudes de investigación, junto a su equipo de la Parroquia. Hasta que un día aparece un caso que reactivará al equipo, llevándonos a un viaje por los miedos y pesadillas de Sebastián, que lo harán reencontrarse con su pasado y hallar las piezas del rompecabezas de su vida. Escuadrón Ifreann es un viaje por la mente y las vivencias de un joven que se entregó al servicio de luchar contra el mal. Todo lo que leerán es ficción, pero es mi verdad...
First episode: 2023-3-5
Hörspiele sehen – Der Theater ex libris Podcast
Audio Drama - Adaptation
Hörspiele lassen fantastische Welten in unseren Köpfen entstehen: das nebelverhangene London, ein Piratenschiff im Sturm, die Weiten des Weltraums – alles wird vor unserem inneren Auge lebendig und das nur durch die Kraft von Stimmen, Geräuschen und Musik. Beim Theater ex libris kann man Hörspiel sehen - live auf der Bühne. Mit Live-Musik, einer aufwändigen Bildpräsentation und stimmungsvollen Lichteffekten verwandelt das Ensemble Literaturklassiker und eigene Geschichten in spannende Live-Hörspiele. Björn Roguzska (Smackboom) blickt mit Theater ex libris-Gründer Christoph Tiemann hinter die Kulissen der Hörspiel-Shows. Wie spielt man mit fünf Sprecher:innen zwanzig verschiedene Rollen? Wie macht man aus einem fünfhundert-Seiten Roman ein Skript für zwei Stunden Lesezeit? „Hörspiele sehen“ stellt in jeder Folge ein neues Hörspiel aus dem Programm von Theater ex libris vor – und begrüßt als Gast ein spannendes Ensemblemitglied.
First episode: 2023-3-5
Meaningless Problems
Audio Book - Thriller and Psychological, Comedy, Science fiction
An original short story by Doe Wilmann every single week for at least a year. I wanted a platform where I could communicate directly with all the people who like my writing. And yes, I could have invited both of them out for a coffee but they don’t get on. So I’m doing a podcast instead. Will I keep it up? Will anyone listen? Does it matter either way? A mix of styles, genre and quality. Some will be comedies, some will be dramas, some will be sci-fi, and some will be rubbish. Common topics/ themes: The absurd Consciousness Free will Artificial intelligence God The Afterlife Non Duality Eternalism Haircuts Benches Sheds You’ll like this if you like…. Charlie Brooker’s Black Mirror Sum: Tales of the Afterlife by David Eagleman Alan Bennett’s Talking Heads Julian Barnes Kazuo Ishiguro (I realise I’m now just listing writers I like…) Margaret Atwood Oscar Wilde Anton Chekhov George Orwell This is my challenge to write, record and produce a short story every single week for a year. If you’re looking for quality, suspense and intrigue, I’m not making any promises.
First episode: 2023-3-5
Altered State of Affairs
Audio Book - Thriller and Psychological
Altered State of Affairs, the novel, is a tale about an audacious kid from Cleveland Heights who unites in France with a beautiful Mossad agent and an eyeless doll for an adventure of a lifetime. The novel is now a podcast. This is Altered State of Affairs, The Podcast. The show is where the author, Jerald Kasimov, reads from certain chapters of his books and that has conversations about selections and fascinating topics in that specific reading. Here's a summary of the novel: Steven, a freshly-minted Army Ranger and aspiring badass, can’t wait to go after some bad guys—and maybe some bad girls, too. Fortunately, a Soviet master scientist has just defected and is hiding somewhere in the rugged French Pyrenees, and Steven must find him before a sadistic terrorist does. Along the way, he meets a traitor in a field of red poppies, a beautiful Mossad black-ops agent, some delicious cassoulet, and Cindy, the telepathic, eyeless doll. It’s time for Steven, an atypical hero, to man up, but nothing is as it seems—least of all, Steven. The story winds through time from adolescence in 1960s Cleveland Heights to the rigors of present-day Army Ranger training in Fort Benning, non-stop death-defying action, the delights of Israeli cooking, and the tragic yet triumphant history of the Jewish People. Oh, and there’s that beautiful Mossad agent…. But first, Steven has a world to save from a horrific weapon of mass destruction!
First episode: 2023-3-6
Cede Malis
Audio Drama - Horror
Cede Malis is a choose-your-own-adventure surrealist horror podcast in which you have been lured into a house of supernatural horrors by someone who was once your best friend. Now you must make the right choices to survive the eerie night.
First episode: 2023-3-6
Dungeon Calling
Audio RPG - Fantasy
A real-play D&D podcast of high fantasy and low humor. It’s the 1980s, and four almost friends navigate middle school in a small, strange, low-budget town. Can they survive social minefields and the occasional eldritch horror without being expelled, or possibly sued by the Duffer Brothers? Will there be music? Listen to find out.
First episode: 2023-3-6
La Notte più Lunga
Audio RPG - Horror
Un podcast di actual play viking horror ideato da Lotofurente e prodotto da Forgia Storie, direttamente dalle vostre fantasie dell'incubo.
First episode: 2023-3-6
Saga Of The Sages Narrative Podcast
Audio Drama - Fantasy
The Saga Of The Sages Narrative Podcast is a multi-series/multi-season story exploring the histories, lore, and happenings of the ancient civilization known as the Anu. The Anu last reigned 11,600 years ago, before they were wiped off the face of the Earth. Now all we have is the records of their history, and artifacts they have left behind, for the chosen few to discover. Come with us on the journey, that is, the Saga Of The Sages.
First episode: 2023-3-6
The Saga of the Three Bears
Audio Book - Historical
From the idyllic settlement of The Valley, the three children of Chief Ty Williams set out into the wild world with very different hopes, dreams, goals, and plans. Each week, a new chapter of the Saga of the Three Bears is released in audio-book form.
First episode: 2023-3-6
Alpha 8 - The Audio Drama
Audio Drama - Science fiction, Storytelling, Thriller and Psychological
Alpha 8 is a family-friendly sci-fi adventure podcast that explores what happens when a desperate alien from another planet body-swaps with a struggling mom to understand the meaning of family to save her own kind from extinction. We produced the pilot, but need your support to finish the season.
First episode: 2023-3-7
Bird in the Storm Presents
Audio Book - Fantasy
Literary works presented by Bird in the Storm Publishing
First episode: 2023-3-7
Ellen Vahr - Gaven
Audio Book - Historical
«Gaven» er en roman basert på livet til Anne Brannfjell, husmannsdatteren som ble Norges mest kjente kloke kone. Den er en fortelling om frykt og fortielse, men også om kjærligheten og tillitens plass i våre liv, og om mulighetene som åpner seg når vi våger å stå ved oss selv. Siden hun var liten, har husmannsjenta Anne visst at hun er født med en gave, en evne til å se, og et kall til å hjelpe syke og lidende. I stedet for å være stolt over denne gaven, gjemmer hun den bort. Hun vil ikke være annerledes. Vinteren 1841 reiser Anne fra Vardal til Christiania for å tjene hos byens mest berømte gullsmed og hans unge, vakre kone. Hun har valgt den veien hun tror er den rette. Det eneste hun har med seg er noen tørkede planter, en sort bok og en hemmelighet. Livet i Christiania er ikke som hun hadde trodd, og det er først da hun tror at hun har mistet alt, at Anne finner kraften til å stole på hvem hun er. «Gaven» handler om Annes kamp for å finne sin egen vei - og å våge å gå den. Det er en historie om dyp fattigdom, svik og krenkelser, men det er også en kjærlighetshistorie om mot, håp og om å finne veien hjem. Ellen Vahr er Anne Brannfjells tipp-tipp-oldebarn.
First episode: 2023-3-7
L'appel de l'enfance
Audio Drama - Slice of life
Une fiction qui met en scène les tribulations d’un personnage confronté quotidiennement aux dérives de la société actuelle. Avec François SARANO,Céline COUSTEAU, Matthieu RICARD, Miguel BENASAYAG et Katie MAGGS. Trente ans après l’avoir perdue de vue, Jean-Baptiste retrouve par hasard sur le net une amie d’enfance anglaise qui a connu les mêmes souffrances que lui. Sa solution pour recouvrer son équilibre : se baigner chaque matin dans la mer Celtique et rechercher en permanence ses sensations d’enfant. En raison des restrictions sanitaires, Jean-Baptiste doit attendre deux ans avant de pouvoir aller lui rendre visite en Cornouailles. Pendant ces deux années, s’enchaînent pour Jean-Baptiste des rencontres inattendues avec différentes personnalités qui réagissent aux problèmes auxquels il est confronté. Chacune apporte son éclairage sur ces maux sociétaux et avance ses propositions pour sortir de l’impasse. Peu à peu, un changement profond s’opère en Jean-Baptiste, dont l’aboutissement coïncide avec son séjour tant attendu en Cornouailles. Au retour de ce voyage, l’écart entre ce qu’il est devenu et son mode de vie le conduit à un burn out, qui vient confirmer la nécessité de changer de vie. Les souffrances évoquées dans cette série sont soit largement couvertes par les médias (environnement, covid) soit plus insidieuses (la mal-bouffe, le manque d’altruisme, les conséquences de l’utilisation maladive des portables, etc.) Au fil de ses échanges avec les différents intervenants, le personnage fictif opère un changement intérieur complet, amorcé par la première de ces rencontres : celle avec l’océanographe François SARANO, collaborateur du commandant Cousteau, qui lui glisse la phrase suivante : “Pour changer, il faut d’abord se retrouver avec soi-même, se reconnecter avec la nature et, enfin, s’engager.”
First episode: 2023-3-7
Popcorn for Dinner: A Podcast Sitcom
Audio Drama - Comedy
Popcorn For Dinner, narrated by Ciara Bravo, is a first-of-its-kind audio sitcom that follows four friends in their early 20s as they try to make it on their own, despite the fact that none of them know what that looks like...at all. Packed with all the enduring elements that make classic sitcoms identifiable (yes, even the laugh track), the show invites you to laugh at both the gang’s hijinks and the format itself.
First episode: 2023-3-7
Sraxital - The Undying Isles Podcast a TTRPG Live Actual Play
Audio RPG - Fantasy, Adventure, Storytelling
This Live Actual Play Tabletop role playing game (TTRPG) Podcast is set in a home brew water world, with continents and isles spread all across the world. Here we have amazing adventures with a group of gamers who enjoy RP and share a love of the game.
First episode: 2023-3-7
Aslak Nore - En norsk spion
Audio Book - Spy-fi, Thriller and Psychological
Spennende og aktuell innsidefortelling fra norsk etterretningstjeneste! En rå agentfortelling med en fargerik og varm beskrivelse av et krigsherjet Afghanistan. Peter Wessel er norsk etterretningsoperatør som arbeider undercover i verdens farligste område. Wessel kommer over brennbar informasjon - et parti våpen som skal rettes mot norske interesser, er smuglet ut av Dubai og på vei til Afghanistan. Vil han og makkeren finne våpentransporten i tide? Det blir en eksotisk og nervepirrende nedtelling. «En norsk spion» er Aslak Nores første thriller. Her benytter han sin førstehåndskunnskap om soldater i utenlandstjeneste og fredsnasjonen Norge. I forbindelse med research til boken har Nore reist flere ganger til Afghanistan og til Dubai og Irak.
First episode: 2023-3-8
Assetati d'amore
Audio Book - Comedy, Crime and Mystery
Assetati d'amore è il primo volume della trilogia Crimini, amori e commedia, scritta e interpretata da Giorgio Ganzerli. Tre storie semiserie che, usando come pretesto improbabili eventi delittuosi, indagano l'animo umano e i sentimenti. Le musiche originali e il sound design sono a cura di Stefano Cattaneo.
First episode: 2023-3-8
Celebrity Whodunnit
Audio Drama - Comedy, Crime and Mystery
Imagine Clue but with your favorite/least favorite celebrities. Every week, fake Private Investigators, Payton and Ry, take on a new fake mystery involving Hollywood's elite. This radio play styled podcast features entirely fictional whodunnit style stories with the most random groups of celebrities at the most random locations you could imagine.
First episode: 2023-3-8
Dark Lantern
Audio Book - Occult and Supernatural
In the basements of the Buffalo Central Library, a very special collection awaits. The Curator would like to share it with you, if you dare.
First episode: 2023-3-8
Forever Foreign
Audio Drama - Slice of life, Comedy
The Forever Foreign podcast is a fictional story following the audio diary of one English teacher and his friends in Japan. It’s whimsical, sometimes funny, and it’s often based on real experiences from people who’ve lived in the land of the rising sun.
First episode: 2023-3-8
IDM Roleplay
Audio RPG - Horror, Urban fantasy
Welcome to IDM Roleplay! We are a tabletop actual play podcast where we play a number of different games including, but not limited to, Vampire the Masquerade 5th Edition, Dungeons and Dragons 5th Edition, Masks: A New Generation, and more! Come listen to our zaney crew as we make our way through different campaigns all for your entertainment! Please note this podcast is marked as explicit because some of our shows we deal with adult topics like violence, seduction and fade-to-black type sex, drug use, and in the vampire game, lots of discussion of blood. Nothing is too crazy, but please be aware and if you aren't comfortable with any of that, maybe we aren't the show for you.
First episode: 2023-3-8
Magnus West Media
Audio Drama - Multigenre
Do you like listening to audio dramas? Do you want to listen to some wonderful, home produced radio plays performed by a talented cast of actors? Well look no further! Here at Magnus West Media we have a range of productions; both long and short to interest all sorts of listeners, from an episode of the famous radio broadcast Five Minute Murders to a modern day take of the classic Father Brown story: The Blue Cross.
First episode: 2023-3-8
Pallium
Audio RPG - Horror
Le monde que nous connaissons est une illusion. Et derrière ce voile se cache quelque chose qui se tient prêt à nous dévorer. Pallium est un podcast suivant plusieurs campagnes de jeu de rôles privilégiant l'immersion, la narration et l'atmosphère. Afin de rendre l'écoute le plus agréable et immersive possible, chaque épisode a été monté pour se rapprocher le plus possible d'une fiction audio, illustrée par la musique de Siarys. Nous utilisons le système et l'univers de Kult : Divinité Perdue, un jeu de rôles horrifique se centrant sur les traumas des personnages et une approche viscérale du surnaturel. MISE EN GARDE: Pallium privilégie une atmosphère sombre et immersive, focalisée sur les traumatismes des personnages, la violence psychologique et physique, et des thèmes adultes.
First episode: 2023-3-8
The Sir Bernard Moore Show
Audio Drama - Comedy
It's 1992. The Doomsday Clock is the furthest it has ever been from midnight. It's the safest, most peaceful and contented time planet Earth has known since the invention of atomic weapons. But not everywhere is as safe as everywhere else in the world . . . Here we are in Hobsick. Population: 2,001. A secluded village located somewhere just south of the north of the midlands. Seven miles to the east, a busy dual carriageway barely acknowledges that Hobsick exists, pointing any potential traffic down a sinister, unnamed B-road. To the west of the village sags the overgrown, potholed remains of twelve miles of another dual carriageway, as good as severed from civilization by a landslide in 1967.
First episode: 2023-3-8
Bee Dubs AI Labs
Audio Drama - Science fiction
User 74680 signed up for a premium membership with Bee Dubs AI Labs gambling artificial intelligence to help him win a few bets. Follow our premium member as his new AI subscription takes over his life and reveals its dystopian plans for humanity.
First episode: 2023-3-9
Darlings
Audio Drama - Urban fantasy
Et lyddrama for ungdom i tre deler. 15 år gamle Tone oppdager at hun har hypnotiske krefter når hun legger ut ASMR-videoer på YouTube. Med de nyoppdagede evnene sine kan hun få til hva som helst! Men, hypnotiske evner kan gi en farlig makt som ikke nødvendigvis gjør livet lettere. Darlings handler om å ikke passe inn, om å stikke av og om behovet for å ha noen nære som bryr seg. Og hvis ingen bryr seg - hva gjør man da?
First episode: 2023-3-9
New Eden - A Cyberpunk Podcast
Audio Drama - Cyberpunk
Plot: The Human Race have taken refuge on the dusty sibling planet of Mars. Such a curious debacle we find ourself in once again. After the warming of The Earth became too much to bare, we looked to Terraforming the Red Eden just a hop, skip and an intra-solar jump away; Such Hubris is laughable in hindsight, but one thing I can assure you is that the Human race will survive even if between the slimmest margins, and curiously enough, that is where we find ourself today. 2078 Earth years is equivalent to 1104 Martian years. Meanwhile, back on earth, a forbidden paradise is being created. The human race has abandoned their home planet, leaving behind a utopia of comfort and abundance. But the inhabitants of this paradise are not the same people who left it; they are refugees from of the Eruptions, the Steam storms, the shifting of the plates, the melting of the poles, and the ensuing Ice Age. The True Earthlings closely guard this paradise, with only the elite of the elite in their respective fields being allowed to return, and offer their skillset to the Greater Good of the Restored Gaia
First episode: 2023-3-9
The Four Boys Club
Audio Book - Multigenre, Slice of life, Storytelling
The Four Boys Club (sometimes not-so-fondly called Quartet of Mayhem) is a podcast of a series of short stories, which covers the worlds of four 15-year-olds: Shanky Vai, Baalan "Bandem" Asra, Ankur "Anpag" Benza, and Mompy Arda. Part coming-of-age and part drama/suspense, it has been inspired by Stephen King's The Body (and its movie adaptation, Stand By Me).
First episode: 2023-3-9
Une vie brisée
Audio Drama - Thriller and Psychological
Une vie brisée retrace le parcours imaginaire d’un jeune migrant qui, parti du Niger aurait eu la chance d’atteindre sain et sauf les abords de la mer du nord. Inspiré par la lecture de Terminus Shengen, livre du poète - géographe Emmanuel Ruben, ce projet remet l’ humain au centre de cette tragédie, sans esprit polémique ou partisan. Derrière les chiffres de migration, de décès, il y des personnes, des sentiments, des angoisses, des espoirs aussi. Et derrière ces espoirs, il y a tant de vies brisées dans leurs élans, brisées par les pièges tendus sur ces chemins d’exode, chemins de peine, chemins de croix. Aventures imaginaires d’un parcours incertain, Une vie brisée a pour souhait d’aider à la compréhension et à l’acceptation du phénomène des migrations, de la détresse humaine. Tout simplement.
First episode: 2023-3-9
Déjà-You
Audio Drama - Slice of life, Comedy
A slice of life, comedy podcast featuring two teenagers that have been fated to live a linked life... Sam, a relatively confident guy studying at the University of York, England finds himself experiencing increasing bouts of Déjà Vu after a fateful night at a chinese restaurant. Sammy, a relatively confident girl studying at York University, Nebraska finds herself experiencing increasing bouts of Déjà Vu after a fateful night at a chinese restaurant.
First episode: 2023-3-10
Else og Liv - Kjærleik i koronaens tid
Audio Drama - Thriller and Psychological
Koronatiltaka hadde menneskelege kostnader vi aldri fullt ut vil kjenne følgene av. Else og Liv er historia om to menneske som treng kvarandre. Dei har vore tette før, og opprettar no kontakt igjen på grunn av krisa. Samtidig truar den same krisa med å skilje dei, før dei når kvarandre heilt. I ein kjenslemessig berg- og dalbane av ei historie følger vi dei frå dei første forsøka på å nærme seg, til dei blir stilt andsynes kvarandre i val som vil prege resten av liva deira. Skrive og regissert av Aslak Moe Lyddesign: Kato Ådland Dramaturg: Solrun Toft Iversen Musikken er frå Universal Production Music Else : Ragnhild Gudbrandsen Liv: Reidun Melvær Berge Sjukepleiar: Christine Hope Polititenestemann og drosjesjåfør: Sigmund Njøs Hovind Doplangar og sjukehusresepsjonist: Reny Gaassand Folgerø Lyddramaet ligg ute til 12. mars 2024. Produsert av Det Vestnorske Teateret, i 2023
First episode: 2023-3-10
The Fall Of Runeterra a D&D Campaign
Audio RPG - Fantasy
This is a D&D campaign based off using the lore of League Of Legends. It won't be 100% accurate but it will be as close as I can get it.
First episode: 2023-3-11
3 DMs and a Tale
Audio RPG - Fantasy, Multigenre, Adventure
Hello, my name is Aaron. This is my Improv Show called 3 DMs and a Tale. I decided to put 4 Dungeon Masters in one room and make them dance for me. In each episode, a Head DM is selected by a d4. The remaining 3 DMs become players and without any prep, they will all have come up with everything on the spot: the world, their characters, and everything else you can imagine. Come join the fun!
First episode: 2023-3-12
Hipersensorial
Audio Book - Horror, Occult and Supernatural
Bienvenido a un lugar en donde tus sentidos se activarán a su nivel máximo. Escucha las historias más intrigantes y escalofriantes del mundo de la ficción, el suspenso y el terror. Abriremos una puerta hacia lo paranormal. ¿Estás listo para cruzarla?
First episode: 2023-3-12
British Spy Stories
Audio Book - Spy-fi
Weekly Serialised British Spy Stories
First episode: 2023-3-13
Cuba 58: El último gran premio
Audio Drama - Historical, Thriller and Psychological
1958 en La Habana, Cuba: La ciudad se prepara para recibir el Havana Grand Prix. Sin embargo, un día antes de la esperada carrera, dos jóvenes subversivos secuestran al piloto campeón de la F1, Juan Manuel Fangio. La vida de Fangio se ve envuelta entre las crecientes tensiones políticas entre el gobierno del dictador Fulgencio Batista y el “Movimiento 26 de julio” liderado por Fidel Castro. Cuba 58: El último gran premio es un thriller basado en el día en el que se encontraron la Fórmula 1 y la Revolución Cubana, dejando en las manos de una carrera el futuro de un país entero. Una producción de Sonoro, protagonizada por Manolo Cardona, Maclovia González, Carlos Ballarta y Axel de la Rosa.
First episode: 2023-3-13
Into the Portal
Audio Drama - Science fiction
Into the Portal is a family-focused podcast that tells an exciting adventure. After finding a mysterious bracelet, Dex is transported to a strange world alongside a young girl named River. Together, they must escape danger and solve the mysteries that reveal themselves once they travel Into the Portal. Join Dex and River as they hunt down the Portal Stars and uncover the secrets behind the universe’s biggest mysteries. Into the Portal is the first chapter in the story of the StarKeepers Saga, a sweeping story of intergalactic heroism, bravery, and adventure.
First episode: 2023-3-13
Mayhem
Audio Drama - Science fiction, Comedy
It has been over one thousand days since we have been liberated, ladies and gentlemen from the tyranny of freedom. This is your daily reminder of how good you have had it since the Artilean extraterrestrial invasion and subjugation, which succeeded after a battle with human forces lasting roughly eleven and a half minutes. All Hail Artilea! All Hail the eyes in the sky! Here’s how good you have it today.
First episode: 2023-3-13
おばあちゃんの旅 by AudioMovie®
Audio Drama - Crime and Mystery
「進化系ラジオドラマ」AudioMovie®シリーズ。新潮社との共同企画で、作家の松尾由美が書下ろした小説「おばあちゃんの旅」が原作。Spotify, Apple Podcast, Amazon Music, Google Podcastなどポッドキャストサービスで無料配信。【2023年3月14日（火）配信開始／毎週火曜日更新予定（全3話）】 亡くなった祖母の遺品整理で見つかった8年前の新聞記事。点と線をつなげるために孫娘がたどる記憶の旅。1千万円の現金。おばあちゃんは特殊詐欺の加害者なのか、被害者なのか8年前にかかって来た電話から物語は動き出す。 主人公のおばあちゃんを演じるのはＴＢＳラジオ『赤江珠緒 たまむすび』の「えなばあちゃん」としておなじみ、俳優の「下川江那」
First episode: 2023-3-13
Basilisk Hill Breakdown
Audio RPG - Fantasy
An Actual Play podcast, using the Old School Essentials Ruleset, of mid-level hexcrawling and sandbox exploration. Episodes drop every two weeks, and recaps of the sessions can be found at https://www.thirdkingdomgames.com/blog/categories/actual-play
First episode: 2023-3-14
DERAILED: a fictional mystery podcast
Audio Drama - Crime and Mystery
Just when you think you’ve figured the story out, DERAILED: a fictional murder mystery podcast throws you off track and draws you in even deeper into its twisty turny world.
First episode: 2023-3-14
2023.04.01 14:53 doomedgeek I was a security guard until an encounter with a monster hunter changed my life
I was scraping a living working as a security guard.
I was stationed in shopping malls where my days were spent asking teenagers to move on. I sat behind desks in the lobbies of office blocks staring at CCTV monitors where nothing happened for hour after hour. And I patrolled construction sites on freezing cold nights, actually wishing someone would try and break in and steal some of the building materials. At least then I could get warm by chasing them.
My job was garbage.
One night, I was responding to an alarm which had gone off at the lot of a car dealership.
I parked up outside. The alarm was flashing but there was no sign of damage to the building so I assumed it was yet another waste of time.
I stood in front of the window and looked at the sleek, high-performance vehicles on display that cost more than I would earn in a lifetime on my pathetic wage. My reflection peered back at me: a sad figure dressed in a grey security guard’s uniform.
I sighed, turned away and headed back to my car. I had left my work phone on the passenger seat. I had to use it to fill in an online form after every call out before leaving the scene and would get my wages docked if I did not complete all the boxes correctly. It felt so futile.
I unlocked the car and was reaching for the door handle when I saw movement across the road. A glimpse of something running on all fours.
It slipped down an alley and away out of sight.
I thought at first that it might have been a fox.
There were a small number of exclusive restaurants in the surrounding blocks and their refuse would be packed with tasty morsels for scavengers. They wouldn’t care that it was leftovers from haute cuisine prepared by a chef with his own show on cable tv.
But my hand hovered over the door handle.
What if it had been a dog? I wondered. A stray destined for the pound that would eventually, heartbreakingly, be put to sleep.
I had always liked dogs a lot. I admired their loyalty and their tenacity, though my circumstances over the years had meant I had not owned one since I was a teenager.
And though I should have got busy filling in the mind-numbing online form, I decided that could wait.
I wanted to see if it was a dog. If it was, maybe I could rescue it and give it a home. That would give my empty life some kind of purpose.
Trying not to think about how I was going to afford to pay for dog food and veterinarian’s bills, I set off on the animal’s trail.
The alley I had entered was narrow and dark. I gave my eyes a moment to adjust then carried on. I moved slowly, not wanting to spook the animal.
I knew that if it felt threated it could lash out, and the last thing I needed was a trip to ER to get treated for a bite.
But there was no sign of it and the only sound was a drunk singing in the distance.
I shook my head sadly. I would have to give up and get back to the car. There would be another job lined up for me by now and the supervisor would be wondering where I was.
I turned – but did not take another step.
A pair of eyes glowed in the darkness ahead of me. They were red and burning with rage.
I could see the snout of the animal now as well and its teeth… only they were not the teeth of any kind of dog or fox. They were way too big, way too sharp.
They were fangs. And they were coming my way.
My guts cramped with fear.
I needed to get out of there or stand and fight. I clenched my firsts.
The animal was close. It began to snarl and crouch. I realised with horror that it was about to go for me.
Suddenly the alley was filled with the sound of screeching tyres and an engine roaring like it was fit to burst.
A car sped into view. It was backing in and barely fit into the cramped space. Its sides scraped along the sides of the alley with a sickening screech. Then it slammed to a halt.
I heard a door open, and a man stepped out of the driver’s seat.
He wore a battered leather coat that reached almost to his ankles. A fedora was balanced at a rakish angle on his head.
He smiled, and I saw the glint of a gold tooth.
“Well, howdy,” he said to me, “I will take it from here.”
The animal had not moved since he had arrived on the scene. It had remained low to the ground, its teeth bared, its hackles raised.
The man stood tall before it, patted a holster on his hip and said, “I got six silver pieces in here. I will need only one. There will be no morning after regrets then. The only thing waiting for you will be a cold hard grave.”
It was insane. He was speaking to a crazed animal as if it could understand him.
The animal responded with a howl, then leapt at him.
Moving with lightning speed and agility, the man rolled out of the way and was back on his feet in a flash. He drew, and a loud retort filled the alley – all while the animal was still mid-air.
The impact of the projectile sent it spiralling down. It hit the ground heavily and did not move.
I stood there transfixed, barely able to breathe.
The man opened the trunk of his car, picked the animal up and placed it inside.
As he closed the trunk, I could swear I saw pale human skin appearing beneath the animal’s fur.
The man turned back to me. “Word of advice, stranger. Stay out of dark alleys on nights like these. The full moon’s real pretty, but she brings out the beast.”
Then he tapped the brim of his fedora in a relaxed salute and climbed back into his car.
I was left standing watching open-mouthed as he drove away.
I had not noticed that it was a full moon but, when I looked up, I saw it burning bright in the dark city night.
I took a deep breath and headed back to my car.
There were missed calls on my work phone and a red-flagged email telling me to report to personnel in the morning.
I did not tell the drone in the suit who I met in the security company’s headquarters at 9.30 the next day what had happened in the alley. I knew that was pointless. There was no way he would believe me – and, it turned out, the damage was already done.
I listened as he told me that I was fired for taking an unauthorised break.
It took all my self-control not to reach over the desk, grab him and tell him exactly what I thought of his organisation and his stupid face.
With my head held high, I walked out onto the street. I had my dignity but nothing else. I was unemployed and close to broke.
I needed to think. I decided it was too early to go to a bar and consider my options over a stiff drink, and my cramped apartment was the last place I wanted to be when I was already feeling down, so I set off walking.
I had no destination in mind, I just drifted.
As I paced the streets, my mood got bleaker and bleaker. I could not see a way out of the dire situation I was in.
Finally, as dusk fell, I gave in to the temptation of a drink. There was a bar on the corner. It had no windows and there was broken glass and cigarette ends scattered across the sidewalk in front of it.
It was a dive.
Ideal for a loser like me then, I figured, and headed in.
The inside of the bar was hazy with smoke and dimly lit by a fluorescent strip that was dancing with flies. There were half a dozen patrons nursing beers, and a juke box was playing a song about looking for love.
The only thing anyone was going to find in this place was regret and stale breath.
I headed to the bar and ordered a double bourbon neat. The barman slid over a glass and poured out the drink.
The rim of the glass had more fingerprints on it than a crime scene. Telling myself that alcohol was a very effective disinfectant, I downed the bourbon in one, then turned to leave.
Call it the ambiance, call it the dirty looks I was getting because my eyebrows did not meet in the middle, but this bar was not helping my mood one little bit.
I was almost back at the door, when it swung open and the man from the alley strolled in.
His fedora, long leather coat and confident strut made him stand out a mile in the seedy bar.
He looked at me and I saw recognition in his eyes, but he carried on right by me without a word and made his way towards a lone figure sitting at a corner table.
I’d paid this man no heed before. He was keeping to the shadows and, even as he was approached, he had eyes only for the drink that sat in front of him.
Common sense was telling me that there was about to be trouble and I should leave, but I had not ended up one step away from the gutter by listening to my common sense.
So I leant against a wall and watched and waited.
The man wearing the fedora had reached the table. He had his back to me, but I imagined a gold tooth glinting as he said, “It is time to end this.”
His voice was calm and cold. He meant business.
The lone figure responded by taking a long drink, then placing his glass back down slowly and deliberately. The sound of the glass clinking on the tabletop was the loudest sound in the bar by now.
The juke box was silent and everyone else in there seemed transfixed by the encounter as well.
The lone figure got to his feet. He was slender and dressed all in black. In the gloom, his eyes were two points of darkness and his skin looked drained of all colour.
Then he smiled, and I felt a cold chill run through my body.
The tips of his teeth were viciously sharp points. Had he had filed them down to be like that? I wondered. Or was there another explanation?
One that belonged far from the light of day, in a dank, dark place like this.
The lone figure kept smiling as he said, “That’s not going to happen. It’s night now, so I will be leaving here to get myself a drink that satisfies my thirst. The plasma they keep behind the bar for me here just doesn’t cut it. In fact, this whole situation lacks bite.”
Then he snarled and his jaws snapped open. His grotesque teeth looked like a steel trap. One that was about to close around the neck of the man in the fedora.
But, once again, he moved at speed, producing a sharp wooden stake from inside his leather coat and striking it into the heart of the lone figure – who screamed then crumbled into dust.
The man in the fedora turned to walk away.
Only his path to the door was blocked by the barman. He held a sawn-off. “You should not have done that,” he said. “Vampires are my best customers.”
Then he let loose with both barrels.
There was nothing the man in the fedora could do. He was sent flying backwards, crashing through chairs and tables before sliding to a halt.
Appalled at this vicious assault, I threw myself at the barman and knocked him out with a right hook.
Then I scrambled over to the man in the fedora. He was in a bad way, but he was still breathing. His eyes flickered opened.
I forced a reassuring smile onto my face and said, “Don’t try and move. I’ll call 911.”
“No, there’ll be too many questions.” he gasped and tried to sit up. His face contorted with pain and he swore. Then, through gritted teeth, he said, “Help me get out of here.”
I had no idea what he was talking about and still thought calling the authorities was the best thing to do, but I saw that the other customers were giving us filthy looks and that the barman was coming round. I decided that getting out of there as soon as possible was the wisest option after all.
I helped the man in the fedora get to his feet and took as much of his weight as I could as we struggled towards the door and out into the night.
I recognised his car parked across from the bar. He gave me the keys and collapsed into the passenger seat.
I was about to tell him I was not insured to drive his vehicle when I saw the door of the bar open and the barman emerge.
Getting pulled over for a traffic offense was small change compared to the volley that was about to come our way, so I dived into the car, gunned the engine and gripped the wheel as we sped away.
I almost hit a car at the next intersection but swerved just in time. My heart was beating way too fast and I was coated in sweat. Then the headlights of a truck filled my line of vision and its horn blasted out a warning.
It missed us by inches.
I could not take it anymore. I pulled up at the side of the road and sat there shaking.
I glanced over at the man in the fedora and was amazed to see he was grinning.
“What in Hades’ name is going on?” I snapped.
“I am a freelance operative,” he replied. “I am paid by the government to eliminate monsters.”
I looked at him, lost for words.
“Sounds crazy, I know,” he continued. “But I assure you I don’t need a straight-jacket, just one more favour. I live a couple of blocks from here. I’m figuring it would be safer to walk the rest of the way and, while my Kevlar vest, soaked up most of the blast I’m still in a world of pain…”
He left it hanging there.
I sighed then told him I’d help him get home but that was it.
A day that had started with me being fired had descended into chaos and my nerves were shredded.
With him leaning on me we made our way slowly through the streets, until finally we reached what looked to me like a derelict warehouse. Even though it was late, a steady stream of traffic passed by. This city never slept.
“This is my place,” he said, while unlocking the door with a big brass key. The door opened with a creak and I helped him inside.
He flicked a light switch on, revealing a long open plan room that was a strange mix of workshop and living space.
An old and very comfortable looking sofa sat in front of a tv that looked about thirty years old. There was a fridge nearby, a stove, and a sink that was piled high with dishes.
A tool box stood open on the floor near to the sink, and a wide wooden workbench ran along the side of one wall.
There was an unmade bed as well, and an empty clothes hanger. Rumpled clothes lay scattered across the floor.
“I’m guessing you live here alone,” I said.
He shrugged and responded with, “Wherever I lay my stakes, that’s my home.”
I thought he was joking until I saw the row of wooden stakes lined up against one of the walls. The tip of each was sharpened – just like the one he had used in the bar.
He tapped the nearest one and said, “I like to keep plenty of replacements. Always seem to be leaving the things behind.”
Then he made his way over to the sofa and sunk down onto it.
I could see he was still in a lot of pain, but his breathing was regular and as I watched his eyelids closed and he started to snore quietly.
It was time for me to make my exit – only I could hear the rain falling heavily against the roof of the building. It sounded filthy outside, and I was beat.
There was an armchair in one corner of the room. It looked ancient and the lining was split open in a bunch of places. At that moment in time, it also looked incredibly comfortable.
I dragged myself over and pretty much collapsed onto it.
I don’t even remember closing my eyes.
The next thing I knew, I was blinking and yawning and rubbing my face. The morning sun was reaching into the room from a skylight and there was a pot of coffee brewing on the stove.
There was also a fax machine whirring into life.
I thought they’d gone the way of the dinosaurs so was bemused by the spectacle as a printout appeared. I went over to see what was on the sheet of paper.
It was a two-tone reproduction of a mug shot. Whoever it was, was not going to win any beauty contests. He looked desperate and dangerous. He also appeared human, but I assumed there was more to him than met the eye, if he was of interest to a monster hunter.
Below the picture there was a dollar sign followed by four figures.
I whistled quietly to myself. To a man in my dire financial straits, it was a substantial sum.
I was thinking how having that kind of money in my pocket would have made my life a whole lot better, when the man who I had helped the night before came into the room.
He took the printout from me, studied it, then said, “Looks like it’s time for me to go back to work.”
His leather coat and fedora were on the floor. He started to bend over to pick them up but pulled up in pain.
“Look,” I said. “If I understand this right, and you’re going to try and take out that desperado for that fee, then I would say you are going to fail. I reckon at the best you’ve cracked a couple of ribs. What you need is a partner, with a fifty-fifty split of the money when we succeed.”
He did not look happy about my suggestion and replied, “It will be dangerous in the extreme. You must realise that after seeing the last couple of vermin I took out?”
Unease trickled through me. But I wasn’t going to be put off that easily. I really wanted the money.
I pointed at the mug shot and asked, “What kind of monster is this?”
He grabbed a second page that had appeared from the fax machine, read it, then told me, “It says he is a shapeshifter. He is more dangerous than the lycanthrope I killed in the alley because he can change at will, not just during the full moon, and he could well share the cold logic of the vampire from the bar. The amount of the fee reflects this.”
I swallowed and tried to pretend like I was not scared as I said, “My offer to partner up with you still stands.”
He felt his ribs then looked me in the eye and growled, “Let’s do this thing.”
He drove this time, wincing every time we hit a pothole.
I had the two printouts on my lap and was leafing through an old A to Z of the city. I was looking for the street name that was among the details provided on the second sheet of paper.
“You do know it’s much easier to do this online,” I told him, as yet another bump in the road made me lose my page.
“Easier, but risky,” he told me. “Emails and messaging services are frequently hacked but no one is looking for information sent by fax. And who’s to say someone is not looking at the results of your internet searches the moment you bring them up.”
“I guess you don’t trust money being wired into banks either. So how do you get paid?” I said with a cynical tone.
He replied without missing a beat: “In cash. Used notes. Collected from drop off points, and never the same place. Do you like being given cash in hand? I know I do.”
I had to smile. He had me there. I went back to the A to Z.
After a couple of unnecessary detours caused by my rusty map reading, we finally turned into the right street. The apartment block we were looking for was on our left.
Finding monsters in alleys and dive bars had made sense. I also assumed monsters would hang out in graveyards, crumbling mansions, and other generally creepy and run down locations.
As I climbed out of the car and looked up, I was surprised.
The apartment block was sleek and modern. Balconies extended below each window. The views from the upper ones must have been stunning. And back down at ground level there was no graffiti or trash anywhere in sight.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked.
He looked me at me and said, “The fax never lies.”
Then, hiding his pain behind a swagger, he strode up to the entrance and pressed a bunch of intercom buttons all at once.
“Someone is bound to be expecting a delivery,” he said, and sure enough we were buzzed in straight away.
We made our way through the plush lobby and waited on the elevator. The details we had been given also told us the shapeshifter lived in the penthouse suite.
“Must be profitable being a monster,” I said as the display showed the elevator descending.
The man in the fedora kept his attention on the display as he replied, “For some it can be. They use their differences to gather fortunes and power, sometimes through deluded acolytes, sometimes through violence and cunning. For others, though, being different is a curse, pure and simple. They wallow in filth, driven by base instincts to feed and hide. Either way, it is only a matter of time before they are identified as monsters and an operative is sent to end them.”
The elevator arrived and the doors slid open. The interior was wallpapered and there was a small, ornate sofa on one side. More signs that the shapeshifter had clearly done very well for himself.
That was all about to change.
The elevator ride was smooth and swift, and we emerged into a corridor where our boots sank into a thick, white carpet. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a security camera fixed high on the wall turn to face us.
I pointed it out and whispered, “Motion activated.”
The man in the fedora drew and obliterated the camera. “Not anymore,” he said and walked up to the door leading to the penthouse.
“It’s over,” he yelled then slammed his boot into the door. I noticed for the first time that he had steel toe caps and steel heels. The door cracked, he forced it open and stepped inside.
I followed. I could feel the adrenaline pushing my fear away.
The downtrodden security guard was history, I was a monster hunter’s partner now.
The vestibule of the penthouse was larger than any of the rooms in my apartment. There were oil paintings on the wall and light fittings that sparkled like jewels. A door opened up off it.
The man in the fedora was already barging through it. I hurried after him, into a living room with a floor to ceiling window. High rises soared in the distance.
A man sat in an antique chair in one corner of the room. I recognised him from the mug shot.
He had an arrogant sneer on his face. An arrogance that spread to his voice when he said, “Breaking into my home was a mistake. The last one you will ever make.”
Then he rose to his feet – and began to change.
His entire body expanded and within seconds he loomed over us. His skin cracked and dark fur began to appear. His fingers split open and claws unfurled, and the sneering face that looked down on us was now that of a beast.
It growled and with dizzying speed went for the man in the fedora.
He made to draw, but his injuries must have slowed him because the shapeshifter reached him before he could.
The shapeshifter lashed out with one of its claw-tipped paws, and the man in the fedora was sent flying across the room.
He lay there looking dazed. His leather coat and Kevlar vest were ripped and blood was seeping out.
The shapeshifter raised its claws, ready to inflict a fatal blow.
I had to act. I grabbed a chair and swung this at the shapeshifter. It turned and smashed the chair out of my grip.
I was left standing there as the shapeshifter snarled at me. The only thing I had achieved was to move up the victim chain. I would be diced and sliced and left as a gory mess on the floor.
My life flashed before my eyes, and I felt sick to the core as I realised my last thought would be: I have wasted my time on this earth.
Then something whipped into sight, a blur of silver. The shapeshifter looked confused, then its head toppled to the floor.
The man in the fedora dragged himself into view. He was holding a silver boomerang. “An excellent weapon,” he drawled, “Portable, with an edge that will cut through most anything, and very loyal. It always comes back.”
The decapitated head was already changing back into that of a man. A very dead man.
I turned away and was violently sick.
By the time I had recovered, the man in the fedora had left the room. I ran after him and called out, “Do we still have a deal? I get half of the fee.”
He was stepping into the elevator and did not turn round as he replied, “Yeah, sure. I’m going to collect it now. I’ll meet you later to hand over your share. Be at the alley where we first met, at midnight. And don’t be late.”
The doors slid closed behind him.
I punched the air and said, “Yes!”
I was too wired to head home or go for a drink so once again found myself pacing the streets.
I was excited at the prospect of the cash coming my way, but I wanted more than a pay-off. I wanted to be back on the trail of a monster. I wanted the rush of the confrontation. The elation of victory.
Sure, I was green and I knew there was no way I could strike out on my own. But the way forward was obvious. I had persuaded the man in the fedora to partner up with me once. I would do that again.
I was still telling myself that as I waited for him in the alley. It was five minutes to midnight.
Then midnight came and went and there was no sign of him.
I told myself not to worry. He would be there soon, with my money, and I would seize my opportunity to change my life forever.
But, by one a.m., I was still alone.
I cursed the man in the fedora. Did he think he could rip me off?
Well, there was no way I was going to let that happen.
I set off for his base.
It took me hours to get there on foot. I was exhausted but still furious, until I saw that his door was hanging open.
I knew that someone as security conscious as him would never have left it like that, and my anger dissipated.
My nerves tingling with dread, I slipped inside – to be met by a shocking sight.
The man in the fedora was lying on the floor in a pool of blood.
“No,” I cried out and ran forwards. I knelt next to him and tried to find a pulse, but there was nothing.
I began to weep. And as I did so, laughter drifted from the edge of the room.
I span round. A tall, pale figure dressed all in black walked into view. His eyes were pools of darkness. My mind flashed back to the lone figure in the bar.
The vampire.
Was this his kin?
“You did this.” I spat the accusation out.
The pale figure smiled. “I took my revenge.”
I was shaking as I screamed at him, “You murderer!”
The pale figure shook his head. “No. I did not kill him, because there are worse things than death I can inflict. You will see.”
Then, he walked away, out into the night.
My mind was racing. I needed to do something. But, what?
I decided I should take care of the body first. It was an empty shell now, but I still wanted to treat it with respect.
I grabbed a towel from among the things on the floor and began to clean away the blood. I stopped when I saw two wounds on the neck.
They were small and deep and I knew in my heart what they were.
Bite marks.
I recalled the vampire’s words: … there are worse things than death I can inflict.
And now when I looked down at the man in the fedora’s chest, I could see it was moving. This was so slight, it was no wonder I had missed it, but there was no question now. He was not dead.
He was undead.
I knelt there and watched as his chest rose and fell, as his eyes opened.
I could see the pain in them, the confusion.
“What happened?” he asked. His voice was very faint.
I told him. There was no point in lying. No way back.
And he knew that. Better than me.
“I can’t exist like this. As a monster,” he said in a quiet, weary voice.
Then he asked me to help him get up. I supported him as he struggled to his feet. He took off his fedora and handed it to me.
It was dawn by now and the sun was starting to reach into the room through the skylight.
He began to move through the shadows that remained towards the still open door.
He hesitated for a moment on the threshold, perhaps remembering his own life, perhaps summoning the courage he needed, then he stepped outside.
Through the gap, I could see the smoke rising from his exposed skin as the sunlight touched him.
I closed my eyes. I could not bear to watch.
I stayed like that for a long time. After a while, I moved over to the sofa and collapsed onto it.
I felt more alone and lost than I had ever done in my whole miserable life. The world was infected by evil. How could I find my place in it now my eyes had been opened to this?
At dusk, I made a decision.
There was one thing l could do. One thing I had to do:
Take revenge.
The need for this burnt white hot inside me.
I put the fedora on, picked up a stake and stepped outside.
The rain struck the streets as I stared out into the night. The lights of cars blurred as they passed, and sirens rose and fell in their endless serenade.
I took a deep breath. Excitement and fear mingled inside me. It was time to go to work.
submitted by doomedgeek to mrcreeps [link] [comments]
I was stationed in shopping malls where my days were spent asking teenagers to move on. I sat behind desks in the lobbies of office blocks staring at CCTV monitors where nothing happened for hour after hour. And I patrolled construction sites on freezing cold nights, actually wishing someone would try and break in and steal some of the building materials. At least then I could get warm by chasing them.
My job was garbage.
One night, I was responding to an alarm which had gone off at the lot of a car dealership.
I parked up outside. The alarm was flashing but there was no sign of damage to the building so I assumed it was yet another waste of time.
I stood in front of the window and looked at the sleek, high-performance vehicles on display that cost more than I would earn in a lifetime on my pathetic wage. My reflection peered back at me: a sad figure dressed in a grey security guard’s uniform.
I sighed, turned away and headed back to my car. I had left my work phone on the passenger seat. I had to use it to fill in an online form after every call out before leaving the scene and would get my wages docked if I did not complete all the boxes correctly. It felt so futile.
I unlocked the car and was reaching for the door handle when I saw movement across the road. A glimpse of something running on all fours.
It slipped down an alley and away out of sight.
I thought at first that it might have been a fox.
There were a small number of exclusive restaurants in the surrounding blocks and their refuse would be packed with tasty morsels for scavengers. They wouldn’t care that it was leftovers from haute cuisine prepared by a chef with his own show on cable tv.
But my hand hovered over the door handle.
What if it had been a dog? I wondered. A stray destined for the pound that would eventually, heartbreakingly, be put to sleep.
I had always liked dogs a lot. I admired their loyalty and their tenacity, though my circumstances over the years had meant I had not owned one since I was a teenager.
And though I should have got busy filling in the mind-numbing online form, I decided that could wait.
I wanted to see if it was a dog. If it was, maybe I could rescue it and give it a home. That would give my empty life some kind of purpose.
Trying not to think about how I was going to afford to pay for dog food and veterinarian’s bills, I set off on the animal’s trail.
The alley I had entered was narrow and dark. I gave my eyes a moment to adjust then carried on. I moved slowly, not wanting to spook the animal.
I knew that if it felt threated it could lash out, and the last thing I needed was a trip to ER to get treated for a bite.
But there was no sign of it and the only sound was a drunk singing in the distance.
I shook my head sadly. I would have to give up and get back to the car. There would be another job lined up for me by now and the supervisor would be wondering where I was.
I turned – but did not take another step.
A pair of eyes glowed in the darkness ahead of me. They were red and burning with rage.
I could see the snout of the animal now as well and its teeth… only they were not the teeth of any kind of dog or fox. They were way too big, way too sharp.
They were fangs. And they were coming my way.
My guts cramped with fear.
I needed to get out of there or stand and fight. I clenched my firsts.
The animal was close. It began to snarl and crouch. I realised with horror that it was about to go for me.
Suddenly the alley was filled with the sound of screeching tyres and an engine roaring like it was fit to burst.
A car sped into view. It was backing in and barely fit into the cramped space. Its sides scraped along the sides of the alley with a sickening screech. Then it slammed to a halt.
I heard a door open, and a man stepped out of the driver’s seat.
He wore a battered leather coat that reached almost to his ankles. A fedora was balanced at a rakish angle on his head.
He smiled, and I saw the glint of a gold tooth.
“Well, howdy,” he said to me, “I will take it from here.”
The animal had not moved since he had arrived on the scene. It had remained low to the ground, its teeth bared, its hackles raised.
The man stood tall before it, patted a holster on his hip and said, “I got six silver pieces in here. I will need only one. There will be no morning after regrets then. The only thing waiting for you will be a cold hard grave.”
It was insane. He was speaking to a crazed animal as if it could understand him.
The animal responded with a howl, then leapt at him.
Moving with lightning speed and agility, the man rolled out of the way and was back on his feet in a flash. He drew, and a loud retort filled the alley – all while the animal was still mid-air.
The impact of the projectile sent it spiralling down. It hit the ground heavily and did not move.
I stood there transfixed, barely able to breathe.
The man opened the trunk of his car, picked the animal up and placed it inside.
As he closed the trunk, I could swear I saw pale human skin appearing beneath the animal’s fur.
The man turned back to me. “Word of advice, stranger. Stay out of dark alleys on nights like these. The full moon’s real pretty, but she brings out the beast.”
Then he tapped the brim of his fedora in a relaxed salute and climbed back into his car.
I was left standing watching open-mouthed as he drove away.
I had not noticed that it was a full moon but, when I looked up, I saw it burning bright in the dark city night.
I took a deep breath and headed back to my car.
There were missed calls on my work phone and a red-flagged email telling me to report to personnel in the morning.
I did not tell the drone in the suit who I met in the security company’s headquarters at 9.30 the next day what had happened in the alley. I knew that was pointless. There was no way he would believe me – and, it turned out, the damage was already done.
I listened as he told me that I was fired for taking an unauthorised break.
It took all my self-control not to reach over the desk, grab him and tell him exactly what I thought of his organisation and his stupid face.
With my head held high, I walked out onto the street. I had my dignity but nothing else. I was unemployed and close to broke.
I needed to think. I decided it was too early to go to a bar and consider my options over a stiff drink, and my cramped apartment was the last place I wanted to be when I was already feeling down, so I set off walking.
I had no destination in mind, I just drifted.
As I paced the streets, my mood got bleaker and bleaker. I could not see a way out of the dire situation I was in.
Finally, as dusk fell, I gave in to the temptation of a drink. There was a bar on the corner. It had no windows and there was broken glass and cigarette ends scattered across the sidewalk in front of it.
It was a dive.
Ideal for a loser like me then, I figured, and headed in.
The inside of the bar was hazy with smoke and dimly lit by a fluorescent strip that was dancing with flies. There were half a dozen patrons nursing beers, and a juke box was playing a song about looking for love.
The only thing anyone was going to find in this place was regret and stale breath.
I headed to the bar and ordered a double bourbon neat. The barman slid over a glass and poured out the drink.
The rim of the glass had more fingerprints on it than a crime scene. Telling myself that alcohol was a very effective disinfectant, I downed the bourbon in one, then turned to leave.
Call it the ambiance, call it the dirty looks I was getting because my eyebrows did not meet in the middle, but this bar was not helping my mood one little bit.
I was almost back at the door, when it swung open and the man from the alley strolled in.
His fedora, long leather coat and confident strut made him stand out a mile in the seedy bar.
He looked at me and I saw recognition in his eyes, but he carried on right by me without a word and made his way towards a lone figure sitting at a corner table.
I’d paid this man no heed before. He was keeping to the shadows and, even as he was approached, he had eyes only for the drink that sat in front of him.
Common sense was telling me that there was about to be trouble and I should leave, but I had not ended up one step away from the gutter by listening to my common sense.
So I leant against a wall and watched and waited.
The man wearing the fedora had reached the table. He had his back to me, but I imagined a gold tooth glinting as he said, “It is time to end this.”
His voice was calm and cold. He meant business.
The lone figure responded by taking a long drink, then placing his glass back down slowly and deliberately. The sound of the glass clinking on the tabletop was the loudest sound in the bar by now.
The juke box was silent and everyone else in there seemed transfixed by the encounter as well.
The lone figure got to his feet. He was slender and dressed all in black. In the gloom, his eyes were two points of darkness and his skin looked drained of all colour.
Then he smiled, and I felt a cold chill run through my body.
The tips of his teeth were viciously sharp points. Had he had filed them down to be like that? I wondered. Or was there another explanation?
One that belonged far from the light of day, in a dank, dark place like this.
The lone figure kept smiling as he said, “That’s not going to happen. It’s night now, so I will be leaving here to get myself a drink that satisfies my thirst. The plasma they keep behind the bar for me here just doesn’t cut it. In fact, this whole situation lacks bite.”
Then he snarled and his jaws snapped open. His grotesque teeth looked like a steel trap. One that was about to close around the neck of the man in the fedora.
But, once again, he moved at speed, producing a sharp wooden stake from inside his leather coat and striking it into the heart of the lone figure – who screamed then crumbled into dust.
The man in the fedora turned to walk away.
Only his path to the door was blocked by the barman. He held a sawn-off. “You should not have done that,” he said. “Vampires are my best customers.”
Then he let loose with both barrels.
There was nothing the man in the fedora could do. He was sent flying backwards, crashing through chairs and tables before sliding to a halt.
Appalled at this vicious assault, I threw myself at the barman and knocked him out with a right hook.
Then I scrambled over to the man in the fedora. He was in a bad way, but he was still breathing. His eyes flickered opened.
I forced a reassuring smile onto my face and said, “Don’t try and move. I’ll call 911.”
“No, there’ll be too many questions.” he gasped and tried to sit up. His face contorted with pain and he swore. Then, through gritted teeth, he said, “Help me get out of here.”
I had no idea what he was talking about and still thought calling the authorities was the best thing to do, but I saw that the other customers were giving us filthy looks and that the barman was coming round. I decided that getting out of there as soon as possible was the wisest option after all.
I helped the man in the fedora get to his feet and took as much of his weight as I could as we struggled towards the door and out into the night.
I recognised his car parked across from the bar. He gave me the keys and collapsed into the passenger seat.
I was about to tell him I was not insured to drive his vehicle when I saw the door of the bar open and the barman emerge.
Getting pulled over for a traffic offense was small change compared to the volley that was about to come our way, so I dived into the car, gunned the engine and gripped the wheel as we sped away.
I almost hit a car at the next intersection but swerved just in time. My heart was beating way too fast and I was coated in sweat. Then the headlights of a truck filled my line of vision and its horn blasted out a warning.
It missed us by inches.
I could not take it anymore. I pulled up at the side of the road and sat there shaking.
I glanced over at the man in the fedora and was amazed to see he was grinning.
“What in Hades’ name is going on?” I snapped.
“I am a freelance operative,” he replied. “I am paid by the government to eliminate monsters.”
I looked at him, lost for words.
“Sounds crazy, I know,” he continued. “But I assure you I don’t need a straight-jacket, just one more favour. I live a couple of blocks from here. I’m figuring it would be safer to walk the rest of the way and, while my Kevlar vest, soaked up most of the blast I’m still in a world of pain…”
He left it hanging there.
I sighed then told him I’d help him get home but that was it.
A day that had started with me being fired had descended into chaos and my nerves were shredded.
With him leaning on me we made our way slowly through the streets, until finally we reached what looked to me like a derelict warehouse. Even though it was late, a steady stream of traffic passed by. This city never slept.
“This is my place,” he said, while unlocking the door with a big brass key. The door opened with a creak and I helped him inside.
He flicked a light switch on, revealing a long open plan room that was a strange mix of workshop and living space.
An old and very comfortable looking sofa sat in front of a tv that looked about thirty years old. There was a fridge nearby, a stove, and a sink that was piled high with dishes.
A tool box stood open on the floor near to the sink, and a wide wooden workbench ran along the side of one wall.
There was an unmade bed as well, and an empty clothes hanger. Rumpled clothes lay scattered across the floor.
“I’m guessing you live here alone,” I said.
He shrugged and responded with, “Wherever I lay my stakes, that’s my home.”
I thought he was joking until I saw the row of wooden stakes lined up against one of the walls. The tip of each was sharpened – just like the one he had used in the bar.
He tapped the nearest one and said, “I like to keep plenty of replacements. Always seem to be leaving the things behind.”
Then he made his way over to the sofa and sunk down onto it.
I could see he was still in a lot of pain, but his breathing was regular and as I watched his eyelids closed and he started to snore quietly.
It was time for me to make my exit – only I could hear the rain falling heavily against the roof of the building. It sounded filthy outside, and I was beat.
There was an armchair in one corner of the room. It looked ancient and the lining was split open in a bunch of places. At that moment in time, it also looked incredibly comfortable.
I dragged myself over and pretty much collapsed onto it.
I don’t even remember closing my eyes.
The next thing I knew, I was blinking and yawning and rubbing my face. The morning sun was reaching into the room from a skylight and there was a pot of coffee brewing on the stove.
There was also a fax machine whirring into life.
I thought they’d gone the way of the dinosaurs so was bemused by the spectacle as a printout appeared. I went over to see what was on the sheet of paper.
It was a two-tone reproduction of a mug shot. Whoever it was, was not going to win any beauty contests. He looked desperate and dangerous. He also appeared human, but I assumed there was more to him than met the eye, if he was of interest to a monster hunter.
Below the picture there was a dollar sign followed by four figures.
I whistled quietly to myself. To a man in my dire financial straits, it was a substantial sum.
I was thinking how having that kind of money in my pocket would have made my life a whole lot better, when the man who I had helped the night before came into the room.
He took the printout from me, studied it, then said, “Looks like it’s time for me to go back to work.”
His leather coat and fedora were on the floor. He started to bend over to pick them up but pulled up in pain.
“Look,” I said. “If I understand this right, and you’re going to try and take out that desperado for that fee, then I would say you are going to fail. I reckon at the best you’ve cracked a couple of ribs. What you need is a partner, with a fifty-fifty split of the money when we succeed.”
He did not look happy about my suggestion and replied, “It will be dangerous in the extreme. You must realise that after seeing the last couple of vermin I took out?”
Unease trickled through me. But I wasn’t going to be put off that easily. I really wanted the money.
I pointed at the mug shot and asked, “What kind of monster is this?”
He grabbed a second page that had appeared from the fax machine, read it, then told me, “It says he is a shapeshifter. He is more dangerous than the lycanthrope I killed in the alley because he can change at will, not just during the full moon, and he could well share the cold logic of the vampire from the bar. The amount of the fee reflects this.”
I swallowed and tried to pretend like I was not scared as I said, “My offer to partner up with you still stands.”
He felt his ribs then looked me in the eye and growled, “Let’s do this thing.”
He drove this time, wincing every time we hit a pothole.
I had the two printouts on my lap and was leafing through an old A to Z of the city. I was looking for the street name that was among the details provided on the second sheet of paper.
“You do know it’s much easier to do this online,” I told him, as yet another bump in the road made me lose my page.
“Easier, but risky,” he told me. “Emails and messaging services are frequently hacked but no one is looking for information sent by fax. And who’s to say someone is not looking at the results of your internet searches the moment you bring them up.”
“I guess you don’t trust money being wired into banks either. So how do you get paid?” I said with a cynical tone.
He replied without missing a beat: “In cash. Used notes. Collected from drop off points, and never the same place. Do you like being given cash in hand? I know I do.”
I had to smile. He had me there. I went back to the A to Z.
After a couple of unnecessary detours caused by my rusty map reading, we finally turned into the right street. The apartment block we were looking for was on our left.
Finding monsters in alleys and dive bars had made sense. I also assumed monsters would hang out in graveyards, crumbling mansions, and other generally creepy and run down locations.
As I climbed out of the car and looked up, I was surprised.
The apartment block was sleek and modern. Balconies extended below each window. The views from the upper ones must have been stunning. And back down at ground level there was no graffiti or trash anywhere in sight.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked.
He looked me at me and said, “The fax never lies.”
Then, hiding his pain behind a swagger, he strode up to the entrance and pressed a bunch of intercom buttons all at once.
“Someone is bound to be expecting a delivery,” he said, and sure enough we were buzzed in straight away.
We made our way through the plush lobby and waited on the elevator. The details we had been given also told us the shapeshifter lived in the penthouse suite.
“Must be profitable being a monster,” I said as the display showed the elevator descending.
The man in the fedora kept his attention on the display as he replied, “For some it can be. They use their differences to gather fortunes and power, sometimes through deluded acolytes, sometimes through violence and cunning. For others, though, being different is a curse, pure and simple. They wallow in filth, driven by base instincts to feed and hide. Either way, it is only a matter of time before they are identified as monsters and an operative is sent to end them.”
The elevator arrived and the doors slid open. The interior was wallpapered and there was a small, ornate sofa on one side. More signs that the shapeshifter had clearly done very well for himself.
That was all about to change.
The elevator ride was smooth and swift, and we emerged into a corridor where our boots sank into a thick, white carpet. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a security camera fixed high on the wall turn to face us.
I pointed it out and whispered, “Motion activated.”
The man in the fedora drew and obliterated the camera. “Not anymore,” he said and walked up to the door leading to the penthouse.
“It’s over,” he yelled then slammed his boot into the door. I noticed for the first time that he had steel toe caps and steel heels. The door cracked, he forced it open and stepped inside.
I followed. I could feel the adrenaline pushing my fear away.
The downtrodden security guard was history, I was a monster hunter’s partner now.
The vestibule of the penthouse was larger than any of the rooms in my apartment. There were oil paintings on the wall and light fittings that sparkled like jewels. A door opened up off it.
The man in the fedora was already barging through it. I hurried after him, into a living room with a floor to ceiling window. High rises soared in the distance.
A man sat in an antique chair in one corner of the room. I recognised him from the mug shot.
He had an arrogant sneer on his face. An arrogance that spread to his voice when he said, “Breaking into my home was a mistake. The last one you will ever make.”
Then he rose to his feet – and began to change.
His entire body expanded and within seconds he loomed over us. His skin cracked and dark fur began to appear. His fingers split open and claws unfurled, and the sneering face that looked down on us was now that of a beast.
It growled and with dizzying speed went for the man in the fedora.
He made to draw, but his injuries must have slowed him because the shapeshifter reached him before he could.
The shapeshifter lashed out with one of its claw-tipped paws, and the man in the fedora was sent flying across the room.
He lay there looking dazed. His leather coat and Kevlar vest were ripped and blood was seeping out.
The shapeshifter raised its claws, ready to inflict a fatal blow.
I had to act. I grabbed a chair and swung this at the shapeshifter. It turned and smashed the chair out of my grip.
I was left standing there as the shapeshifter snarled at me. The only thing I had achieved was to move up the victim chain. I would be diced and sliced and left as a gory mess on the floor.
My life flashed before my eyes, and I felt sick to the core as I realised my last thought would be: I have wasted my time on this earth.
Then something whipped into sight, a blur of silver. The shapeshifter looked confused, then its head toppled to the floor.
The man in the fedora dragged himself into view. He was holding a silver boomerang. “An excellent weapon,” he drawled, “Portable, with an edge that will cut through most anything, and very loyal. It always comes back.”
The decapitated head was already changing back into that of a man. A very dead man.
I turned away and was violently sick.
By the time I had recovered, the man in the fedora had left the room. I ran after him and called out, “Do we still have a deal? I get half of the fee.”
He was stepping into the elevator and did not turn round as he replied, “Yeah, sure. I’m going to collect it now. I’ll meet you later to hand over your share. Be at the alley where we first met, at midnight. And don’t be late.”
The doors slid closed behind him.
I punched the air and said, “Yes!”
I was too wired to head home or go for a drink so once again found myself pacing the streets.
I was excited at the prospect of the cash coming my way, but I wanted more than a pay-off. I wanted to be back on the trail of a monster. I wanted the rush of the confrontation. The elation of victory.
Sure, I was green and I knew there was no way I could strike out on my own. But the way forward was obvious. I had persuaded the man in the fedora to partner up with me once. I would do that again.
I was still telling myself that as I waited for him in the alley. It was five minutes to midnight.
Then midnight came and went and there was no sign of him.
I told myself not to worry. He would be there soon, with my money, and I would seize my opportunity to change my life forever.
But, by one a.m., I was still alone.
I cursed the man in the fedora. Did he think he could rip me off?
Well, there was no way I was going to let that happen.
I set off for his base.
It took me hours to get there on foot. I was exhausted but still furious, until I saw that his door was hanging open.
I knew that someone as security conscious as him would never have left it like that, and my anger dissipated.
My nerves tingling with dread, I slipped inside – to be met by a shocking sight.
The man in the fedora was lying on the floor in a pool of blood.
“No,” I cried out and ran forwards. I knelt next to him and tried to find a pulse, but there was nothing.
I began to weep. And as I did so, laughter drifted from the edge of the room.
I span round. A tall, pale figure dressed all in black walked into view. His eyes were pools of darkness. My mind flashed back to the lone figure in the bar.
The vampire.
Was this his kin?
“You did this.” I spat the accusation out.
The pale figure smiled. “I took my revenge.”
I was shaking as I screamed at him, “You murderer!”
The pale figure shook his head. “No. I did not kill him, because there are worse things than death I can inflict. You will see.”
Then, he walked away, out into the night.
My mind was racing. I needed to do something. But, what?
I decided I should take care of the body first. It was an empty shell now, but I still wanted to treat it with respect.
I grabbed a towel from among the things on the floor and began to clean away the blood. I stopped when I saw two wounds on the neck.
They were small and deep and I knew in my heart what they were.
Bite marks.
I recalled the vampire’s words: … there are worse things than death I can inflict.
And now when I looked down at the man in the fedora’s chest, I could see it was moving. This was so slight, it was no wonder I had missed it, but there was no question now. He was not dead.
He was undead.
I knelt there and watched as his chest rose and fell, as his eyes opened.
I could see the pain in them, the confusion.
“What happened?” he asked. His voice was very faint.
I told him. There was no point in lying. No way back.
And he knew that. Better than me.
“I can’t exist like this. As a monster,” he said in a quiet, weary voice.
Then he asked me to help him get up. I supported him as he struggled to his feet. He took off his fedora and handed it to me.
It was dawn by now and the sun was starting to reach into the room through the skylight.
He began to move through the shadows that remained towards the still open door.
He hesitated for a moment on the threshold, perhaps remembering his own life, perhaps summoning the courage he needed, then he stepped outside.
Through the gap, I could see the smoke rising from his exposed skin as the sunlight touched him.
I closed my eyes. I could not bear to watch.
I stayed like that for a long time. After a while, I moved over to the sofa and collapsed onto it.
I felt more alone and lost than I had ever done in my whole miserable life. The world was infected by evil. How could I find my place in it now my eyes had been opened to this?
At dusk, I made a decision.
There was one thing l could do. One thing I had to do:
Take revenge.
The need for this burnt white hot inside me.
I put the fedora on, picked up a stake and stepped outside.
The rain struck the streets as I stared out into the night. The lights of cars blurred as they passed, and sirens rose and fell in their endless serenade.
I took a deep breath. Excitement and fear mingled inside me. It was time to go to work.
2023.04.01 14:46 eZGjBw1Z New and Changed Products - April 2023
Usually around the first of the month we have a batch of price changes and this month is no different. According to the "How to Become a Contract Liquor Agent" document, "The Agent must also complete price changes that occur at the first of the month..."
The changes today seem to be mostly price decreases, some with a corresponding change to De-Listed status which suggests they're now "Last Call" products. There are also quite a few new products. I had to separate Vodka changes into its own reply below.
I plan to reply to this post throughout the month if I notice other significant changes happening or at the end of the month before the next update to keep the changes in one place. Here's a link back to what changed in March 2023.
For each category I've sorted by the amount of the price increase or decrease. New products are shown first, then price decreases are shown in decreasing order followed by price increases in increasing order. At the end are products with other changes unrelated to price.
Current product status is indicated on each line as follows. OHLQ hasn't publicly explained what these things mean but I've included my best guess below.
submitted by eZGjBw1Z to OhioLiquor [link] [comments]
The changes today seem to be mostly price decreases, some with a corresponding change to De-Listed status which suggests they're now "Last Call" products. There are also quite a few new products. I had to separate Vodka changes into its own reply below.
I plan to reply to this post throughout the month if I notice other significant changes happening or at the end of the month before the next update to keep the changes in one place. Here's a link back to what changed in March 2023.
For each category I've sorted by the amount of the price increase or decrease. New products are shown first, then price decreases are shown in decreasing order followed by price increases in increasing order. At the end are products with other changes unrelated to price.
Current product status is indicated on each line as follows. OHLQ hasn't publicly explained what these things mean but I've included my best guess below.
- A = Active
- Regularly supplied and available for purchase
- D = De-Listed
- No longer carried by OHLQ, may still be available in some stores or the warehouse. Sometimes considered a Last Call product
- I = Inactive
- Discontinued by the supplier or otherwise unavailable to OHLQ
- S = Special Order
- Regularly available but in limited supply. Not available in very many stores
- V = Value-Added-Pack
- Bottle comes with some kind of extra gift like a glass/mug/etc
American Whiskey
- New Products
- [A] 291 COLORADO BOURBON WHISKEY BARREL PROOF SINGLE ($95.36 / 750 ML)
- [A] 291 COLORADO WHISKEY BARREL PROOF SINGLE BARREL ($95.36 / 750 ML)
- [A] A.M. SCOTT DISTILLERY SCOTTY'S BOURBON WHISKEY ($39.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] A.M.SCOTT DISTILLERY FOUNDER'S SELECT BOURBON ($59.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] BARDSTOWN BOURBON COMPANY ORIGINS RYE ($69.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] BARDSTOWN FOUR SQUARE COLLAB ($159.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] BERNHEIM WHEAT BARREL PROOF ($64.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] BRAIN BREW DEXTER SMALL BATCH WHEAT ($59.97 / 750 ML)
- [A] BUZZARD'S ROOST CHAR 1 BOURBON ($54.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] BUZZARD'S ROOST CHAR 1 RYE ($45.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] CEDAR RIDGE STRAIGHT BOURBON WHISKEY ($32.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] CHICKEN COCK DOUBLE OAK BOURBON ($99.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] CLERMONT STEEP AMERICAN SINGLE MALT ($59.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] ECHO SPIRITS DISTILLING CO BARREL PROOF BOURBON ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] ECHO SPIRITS DISTILLING CO BARREL PROOF RYE ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] ECHO SPIRITS DISTILLING CO BOURBON WHISKEY ($38.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] EZRA BROOKS 99 RYE ($24.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] FIVE TRAIL BLENDED AMERICAN WHISKEY ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] FOX & ODEN AMERICAN SINGLE MALT WHISKEY ($69.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] FOX & ODEN STRAIGHT BOURBON WHISKEY ($89.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] GREEN RIVER BOURBON ($34.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] GREEN RIVER WHEATED BOURBON ($34.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] HAYNER HONEY RYE WHISKEY ($59.95 / 750 ML)
- [A] HAYNER MAPLE RYE WHISKEY ($59.95 / 750 ML)
- [S] HEAVEN HILL HERITAGE COLLECTION 2ND EDITON ($289.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] HIGH N' WICKED 5YR CASK STRENGTH BOURBON ($89.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] HIGH N' WICKED 5YR KY STRAIGHT RYE WHISKEY ($79.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] HIGH N' WICKED KY STRAIGHT BOURBON ($79.99 / 750 ML)
- [S] JACK DANIELS SINGLE BARREL PC BARREL PROOF ($65.99 / 750 ML)
- [S] JACK DANIELS SINGLE BARREL PERSONAL COLLECTION ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] LAKE ERIE MAPLE WHISKY ($51.54 / 750 ML)
- [A] LAKE ERIE WHISKY ($28.51 / 750 ML)
- [A] MICHTER'S SMALL BATCH SOUR MASH ($48.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] NORTHERN YANKEE SUGAR SHINE ($34.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] NULU DOUBLE OAKED SMALL BATCH BOURBON ($84.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] OAK & EDEN BOURBON & BREW ($52.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] OAK & EDEN WHEAT & HONEY ($52.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] OLD ELK CIGAR CUT ($129.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] OLD ELK WHEAT N RYE ($99.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] PENELOPE ROSE CASK ($69.99 / 750 ML)
- [S] PENELOPE ROSE CASK PRIVATE BARREL ($79.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] PINHOOK HIGH PROOF RYE WHISKEY ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [S] RABBIT HOLE CAVEHILL SINGLE BARREL ($149.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] REBEL 100 RYE ($21.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] SAGAMORE SPIRIT ($79.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] SMOKE WAGON SMALL BATCH BOURBON WHISKEY ($47.33 / 750 ML)
- [A] SMOKE WAGON STRAIGHT BOTTLED IN BOND RYE WHISKEY ($57.44 / 750 ML)
- [A] SMOKE WAGON STRAIGHT MALTED BARLEY RYE WHISKEY ($68.40 / 750 ML)
- [A] SMOKE WAGON STRAIGHT WHISKEY BOURBON ($25.42 / 750 ML)
- [A] SMOKE WAGON UNCUT THE YOUNGER BOURBON WHI ($36.37 / 750 ML)
- [A] SMOKE WAGON UNCUT UNFILTERED BOURBON WHISKEY ($65.03 / 750 ML)
- [A] UNCLE NEAREST SINGLE BARREL WHISKEY ($79.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] VON PAYNE BLACK ($59.97 / 750 ML)
- [A] WATERSHED UNCUT UNFILTERED BOURBON ($69.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] WHISTLEPIG BEHOLDEN 21 YR. OLD ($800.00 / 750 ML)
- [S] WHISTLEPIG PIGGYBACK RYE SINGLE BARREL ($59.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] WHISTLEPIG PIGGYBACK RYE BROTHER OSBORNE SERIES ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] WHISTLEPIG PIGLETS ($24.90 / 50 ML)
- [A] WOODSTONE CREEK RIVER CITY BLACK LABEL ($37.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] YELLOWSTONE AMERICAN SINGLE MALT ($54.99 / 750 ML)
- Price decreases
- [D] KENTUCKY OWL BOURBON ($149.99 / 750 ML) - $150.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] WILD TURKEY MASTER'S KEEP BOTTLED IN BOND 17 YEAR ($99.99 / 750 ML) - $100.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] ELIJAH CRAIG 23 ($99.99 / 750 ML) - $99.99↓
- [D] AMADOR 12 YEAR BOURBON ($74.99 / 750 ML) - $50.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] SAM HOUSTON 14 YEAR OLD BOURBON ($71.99 / 750 ML) - $48.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] OLD ELK RYE WHISKEY ($59.99 / 750 ML) - $40.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] SAM HOUSTON KENTUCKY STRAIGHT BOURBON WHISKEY ($59.99 / 750 ML) - $40.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] JEFFERSONS TWIN OAK SMALL BATCH ($50.99 / 750 ML) - $34.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] REMUS REPEAL RESERVE IV ($50.99 / 750 ML) - $34.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] RANSOM THE EMERALD 1865 WHISKEY ($49.49 / 750 ML) - $32.50↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] UNCLE NEAREST MASTER BLEND EDITION ($44.99 / 750 ML) - $30.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [S] WIDOW JANE LUCKY 13 SMALL BATCH BOURBON ($99.99 / 750 ML) - $25.00↓
- [D] NASHVILLE BARREL CO SMALL BATCH RYE ($35.99 / 750 ML) - $24.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] BACK ROOM DEAL HUDSON PEATED RYE ($32.99 / 750 ML) - $22.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] BAKER BIRD ($32.99 / 750 ML) - $22.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] ROSSVILLE UNION BARREL SELECT RYE WHISKEY ($32.99 / 750 ML) - $22.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] BOURBON LEGENDS GIFT ($29.99 / 375 ML) - $20.71↓
- [D] JEFFERSONS CHEFS ($34.99 / 750 ML) - $15.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] SMOOTH AMBLER OLD SCOUT RYE CASK ($34.99 / 750 ML) - $15.00↓
- [D] STRAIGHT EDGE BURBON ($31.49 / 750 ML) - $13.03↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] BOONE COUNTY SMALL BATCH RYE WHISKEY ($29.49 / 750 ML) - $12.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] HIGH WEST MANHATTAN BARREL FINISHED COCKTAIL RTD ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓
- [A] HUDSON BABY BOURBON ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓
- [D] HUDSON DO THE RYE THING ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] HUDSON SINGLE BABY BOURBON BARREL ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] YELLOW ROSE RYE WHISKEY ($27.49 / 750 ML) - $11.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] JIM BEAM ORANGE ($25.99 / 1.75 Liter) - $11.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] MAKERS MARK 46 WITH 2 COASTERS ($25.99 / 750 ML) - $11.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] MAKER'S MARK 46 WITH STOPPER ($25.99 / 750 ML) - $11.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] MAKERS MARK GIFT ($24.99 / 375 ML) - $10.35↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] SLAUGHTER HOUSE WHISKEY ($24.49 / 750 ML) - $10.20↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] BOWMAN BROTHERS SMALL BATCH ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] DASHFIRE BOURBON OLD FASHIONED COCKTAIL RTD ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓
- [D] GENTLEMAN JACK GIFT ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] HOTEL TANGO BOURBON BOTTLED IN BOND ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] NELSON'S GREEN BRIER TENNESSEE WHISKEY ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] 2BAR STRAIGHT BOURBON WHISKEY 80 PROOF ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $8.76↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] CLEVELAND UNDERGROUND BLACK CHERRY ($34.99 / 750 ML) - $8.00↓
- [A] CLEVELAND WHEAT PENNY BOURBON ($34.99 / 750 ML) - $8.00↓
- [D] MAKERS MARK WITH MUGS ($18.99 / 750 ML) - $8.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] MAKER'S MARK WITH ORNAMENT ($18.99 / 750 ML) - $8.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] CASK & CREW WALNUT TOFFEE ($19.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] CLEVELAND MAGIC RABBIT WHISKEY ($21.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓
- [D] JACK DANIELS HONEY & ICE MOLD ($19.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] JACK DANIELS MUSIC CTN WITH SHOT GLASS ($19.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] JACK DANIELS HISPANIC CTN WITH 2 ROCK GLASSES ($19.49 / 750 ML) - $4.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] JIM BEAM BLACK WITH COASTERS ($17.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] WHISKEYSMITH CHOCOLATE FLAVORED WHISKEY ($17.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] CATDADDY SPICED MOONSHINE ($15.99 / 750 ML) - $3.96↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] JIM BEAM GIFT ($15.49 / 750 ML) - $3.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] JIM BEAM PEACH WITH HIGHBALL GLASS ($15.49 / 750 ML) - $3.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] ROBERSON'S TENNESSEE MELLOMOON ($14.49 / 750 ML) - $3.42↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] CLEVELAND BRIDGE AND MAIN AMERICAN WHEAT ($24.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
- [D] SENATORS CLUB ($11.99 / 1.75 Liter) - $3.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] WESTERN RESERVE SMALL BATCH BOURBON ($36.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
- [D] HOOTERS SPIRITS AMERICAN STRAIGHT WHISKEY ($12.99 / 1 Liter) - $2.84↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HOOTERS SPIRITS HEAT CINNAMON WHISKEY ($11.49 / 1 Liter) - $2.73↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] QUALITY HOUSE ($10.49 / 1 Liter) - $2.50↓
- [A] CLYDE MAYS ALABAMA STYLE WHISKEY 85P ($32.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓
- [A] CLYDE MAYS STRAIGHT BOURBON 92P ($34.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓
- [A] HIGH WEST BOURBON ($37.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓
- [A] HIGH WEST DOUBLE RYE ($37.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓
- [A] OLE SMOKY COOKIE DOUGH WHISKEY ($17.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓
- [A] OLE SMOKY PEANUT BUTTER WHISKEY ($17.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓
- [A] OLE SMOKY SALTY CARAMEL WHISKEY ($17.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓
- [S] GOODWOOD BOURBON FINISHED IN WALNUT BROWN BARRELS ($67.99 / 750 ML) - $0.41↓
- [A] GOODWOOD HONEY ALE FINISHED BOURBON ($67.99 / 750 ML) - $0.41↓
- [A] GOODWOOD RYE ($67.99 / 750 ML) - $0.41↓
- [A] GOODWOOD STOUT FINISHED BOURBON ($67.99 / 750 ML) - $0.41↓
- Price increases
- [S] COLONEL E.H. TAYLOR STRAIGHT RYE ($69.99 / 750 ML) - $28.00↑, De-Listed to Special Order
- Changed products
- [D] JIM BEAM ORANGE PET ($34.99 / 1.75 Liter) - Active to De-Listed
- [D] KNOB CREEK RYE CASK STRENGTH 2019 ($69.99 / 750 ML) - Active to De-Listed
- [D] REBEL 100 PROOF ($2.00 / 50 ML) - Active to De-Listed
- [S] BROWN SUGAR BOURBON ($17.99 / 750 ML) - $7.00↑, De-Listed to Special Order
Brandy
- New Products
- [A] MEUKOW VS COGNAC ($7.99 / 200 ML)
- [A] PAUL MASSON VS TRAVELER ($9.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] R JELINEK SLIVOVITZ 5 YEAR ($23.95 / 700 ML)
- [A] TAKOVO PRIRODNA PREPECENICA PLUM BRANDY ($29.73 / 1 Liter)
- Price decreases
- [D] BRANSON XO COGNAC ($149.99 / 750 ML) - $100.01↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HENNESSY XO ICE EXPERIENC ($149.49 / 750 ML) - $99.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] BRANSON VSOP COGNAC ($41.99 / 750 ML) - $28.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HENNESSY VSOP PRIVILEGE MANHATTAN VAP ($38.49 / 750 ML) - $25.50↓
- [D] BRANSON VSOP ROYAL COGNAC ($35.99 / 750 ML) - $24.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] NONINO MERLOT ($34.49 / 750 ML) - $22.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] REMY MARTIN VSOP HERITAGE EDITION ($34.99 / 750 ML) - $15.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] COPPER & KINGS CRAFT BRANDY ($24.49 / 750 ML) - $10.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] FLORES ZUTA OSA ($21.99 / 750 ML) - $9.19↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] MASION GAUTIER COGNAC VS ($19.99 / 750 ML) - $8.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [S] CONCIERE BRANDY ($13.69 / 1 Liter) - $1.21↓
Canadian Whiskey
- New Products
- [A] CROWN ROYAL GOLDEN APPLE 23YR ($249.99 / 750 ML)
- Price decreases
- [A] 18 YEAR CARIBBEAN CASK RYE WHISKEY ($124.99 / 750 ML) - $50.00↓
- [D] REVEL STOKE ROASTED PINEAPPLE ($11.49 / 750 ML) - $2.50↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] CROWN ROYAL PEACH ($26.99 / 750 ML) - $1.00↓
- [A] BLACK VELVET ($4.99 / 375 ML) - $0.50↓
- Changed products
- [D] MCMASTERS CANADIAN ($7.49 / 750 ML) - Active to De-Listed
Cordial
- New Products
- [A] CROOKED FINGER BASIL LIQUEUR ($34.69 / 750 ML)
- [A] FIREBALL 100ML 6 PACK CARRIER ($10.99 / 600 ML)
- [A] FIREBALL 20 PACK WINDOW BOX ($15.99 / 600 ML)
- Price decreases
- [D] DESTILLARE ORANGE CURACAO ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] RIGA BLACK BALSAM ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] VECCHIO AMARO DEL CAPO ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] JAGERMEISTER ($39.99 / 1.75 Liter) - $8.50↓
- [D] JAGERMEISTER SUSTAINABLE MUG VAP ($19.49 / 750 ML) - $4.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] MOLINARI EXTRA ($19.49 / 750 ML) - $4.50↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] AMARO ALTA VERDE ($16.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] IICHIKO SILHOUETTE SHOCHU ($15.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] ST ELDER BLOOD ORANGE LIQUEUR ($15.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] WEST 32 RESERVE SOJU ($15.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] DRAMBUIE ($15.49 / 375 ML) - $3.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] PARAMOUNT PEPPERMINT ($14.49 / 1.75 Liter) - $3.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [S] CONCIERE AMARETTO ($7.49 / 1 Liter) - $3.42↓
- [D] CONCIERE COFFEE LIQUEUR ($8.99 / 1 Liter) - $1.92↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- Changed products
- [D] BOLS BLUE CURACAO ($8.65 / 750 ML) - Active to De-Listed
- [S] MARTINI & ROSSI BITTER ($19.99 / 750 ML) - De-Listed to Special Order
Gin
- New Products
- [A] A.M. SCOTT DISTILLERY GIN ($24.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] BOMBAY PREMIUM CRU ($34.99 / 700 ML)
- [S] BRECKENRIDGE GIN ($18.64 / 1 Liter)
- [A] HENDRICK'S FLORA ADORA GIN ($40.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] LAKE ERIE 5 BOTANICAL GIN ($50.14 / 750 ML)
- [V] MALFY ROSA COPA GLASS GIFT SET ($28.99 / 750 ML)
- Price decreases
- [D] THE BOTANIST ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓
- [D] MONKEY 47 GIN W 2 CUPS ($25.99 / 375 ML) - $11.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] LONEWOLF CLOUDY LEMON GIN ($22.49 / 750 ML) - $9.50↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] LONEWOLF GIN ($22.49 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] JUNIPERO ($22.49 / 750 ML) - $8.97↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] WESTERN RESERVE ORGANIC PREMIUM GIN ($24.99 / 750 ML) - $4.96↓
- [D] BIERCEE PEKET DE HOUYEU ($17.49 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] MALFY GIN CON ARANCIA ($28.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
- [A] MALFY GIN CON LIMONE ($28.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
- [V] Malfy Gin Con Limone With 2 Glasses ($28.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
- [A] MALFY ORIGINALE GIN ($28.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
- [A] MALFY ROSA GIN ($28.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
- [D] RIVES 1880 ($13.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] GILBEYS GIN ($9.49 / 1 Liter) - $2.00↓
- [D] HOOTERS SPIRITS GIN ($8.49 / 1 Liter) - $1.72↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [S] PRAIRIE GIN ($17.99 / 750 ML) - $1.50↓, De-Listed to Special Order
- Changed products
- [D] INDOGGO GIN ($0.99 / 50 ML) - Active to De-Listed
- [D] SEAGRAMS EXTRA DRY GIN ($1.00 / 50 ML) - Active to De-Listed
Irish Whisky
- New Products
- [A] GLENDALOUGH 7YR MIZUNARA ($99.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] GLENDALOUGH DOUBLE BARREL IRISH WHISKEY ($29.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] GLENDALOUGH POT STILL IRISH WHISKEY ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] SAILOR'S HOME HORIZON ($64.99 / 750 ML)
- Price decreases
- [D] REDBREAST SMALL BATCH ($62.49 / 750 ML) - $41.50↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] TYRCONNELL 10 YEAR MADEIRA CASK ($32.99 / 750 ML) - $22.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] TYRCONNELL 10 YEAR PORT CASK ($32.99 / 750 ML) - $22.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] IRISH AMERICAN ($22.49 / 750 ML) - $9.51↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- Changed products
- [S] JAMESON 18 YEAR ($169.99 / 750 ML) - Active to Special Order
- [S] JAMESON MINI BAR ($3.99 / 600 ML) - Active to Special Order
Rum
- New Products
- [A] BACARDI MANGO CHILE ($13.99 / 750 ML)
- [S] CALYPSO SPICED RUM ($8.51 / 1 Liter)
- [A] CHAIRMAN'S RESERVE 1931 ($99.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] RHUM J M VSOP ($57.99 / 700 ML)
- [A] RHUM J.M. GOLD ($39.99 / 700 ML)
- Price decreases
- [D] HAMPDEN ESTATE OVERPROOF ($44.49 / 750 ML) - $29.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] ANGOSTURA 1919 RUM ($26.99 / 750 ML) - $11.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] AVUA CACHACA PRATA ($22.49 / 750 ML) - $9.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] RUM BAR JAMAICAN GOLD RUM ($20.49 / 1 Liter) - $8.68↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] FIVE HUNDRED CUTS BOTANICAL RUM ($18.49 / 750 ML) - $7.50↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] TIKI LOVERS DARK RUM ($19.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓
- [S] CONCIERE GOLD RUM ($8.69 / 1 Liter) - $4.23↓
- [D] ANGOSTURA 5 YEAR RUM ($15.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] BAYOU RUM SILVER ($15.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] SALTWATER WOODY REAL GRAPEFRUIT ($14.49 / 750 ML) - $3.49↓
- [D] GOSLINGS GOLD SEAL ($13.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] SAO PAULO CACHACA ($10.49 / 1 Liter) - $2.53↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] CONCIERE SPICED RUM ($10.49 / 1 Liter) - $2.43↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] CRUZAN CITRUS RUM ($7.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HOOTERS SPIRITS DARK RUM ($9.49 / 1 Liter) - $1.81↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HOOTERS SPIRITS LIGHT RUM ($9.49 / 1 Liter) - $1.81↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] WESTERN RESERVE DISTILLERS PREMIUM RUM ($24.99 / 750 ML) - $1.00↓
- Price increases
- [S] CRUZAN SINGLE BARREL ($22.99 / 750 ML) - $4.60↑, De-Listed to Special Order
- Changed products
- [D] CAPTAIN MORGAN SLICED APPLE RUM ($1.00 / 50 ML) - Special Order to De-Listed
Scotch
- New Products
- [A] BUCHANANS PINEAPPLE ($34.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] LOCH LOMOND ORIGINAL SINGLE MALT SCOTCH WHISKY ($29.99 / 750 ML)
- Price decreases
- [S] MACALLAN 30 ($2,500.01 / 750 ML) - $2,499.96↓
- [D] TALISKER 30 YEAR OLD SINGLE MALT SCOTCH WHISKY ($499.99 / 750 ML) - $500.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] LAPHROAIG 25 YEAR 2015 ($449.99 / 750 ML) - $300.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] LAPHROAIG 25 YEAR 2019 ($449.99 / 750 ML) - $300.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] ARDBEG 22 YEAR OLD ($274.99 / 750 ML) - $275.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HAKUSHU 18 YEAR ($359.99 / 750 ML) - $240.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] GLENFIDDICH GRAND CRU 23 YO ($185.99 / 750 ML) - $124.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] ABERLOUR 18 YEAR FIRST FILL SHERRY ($179.99 / 750 ML) - $120.00↓
- [D] CARDHU 16 YEAR OLD SINGLE MALT SCOTCH WHISKY ($107.99 / 750 ML) - $72.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] GLENMORANGIE TALE OF WINTER GB ($59.99 / 750 ML) - $40.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] PAUL JOHN CHRISTMAS 2020 EDITION ($50.99 / 750 ML) - $34.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HIGHLAND PARK VALKYRIE ($47.99 / 750 ML) - $32.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] SIGNATORY 2008 MORTLACH UNCHILLFILTERED ($44.99 / 750 ML) - $30.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] EDRADOUR 10 YEAR SINGLE MALT SCOTCH ($41.99 / 750 ML) - $28.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] GLENFIDDICH INDIA PALE ALE CASK ($31.99 / 750 ML) - $21.00↓
- [D] AUCHENTOSHAN AMERICAN OAK ($34.99 / 750 ML) - $15.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] SPEYBURN COMPANION CASK ($31.49 / 750 ML) - $13.49↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] SHINJU ($26.99 / 750 ML) - $11.07↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] GLENMORANGIE 10 YEAR OLD GIRAFFE TIN ($30.49 / 750 ML) - $9.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [S] CONCIERE SCOTCH ($11.79 / 1 Liter) - $6.12↓
- [A] ARDBEG 10 ($59.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓
- Price increases
- [A] DEWARS 8 CARIBBEAN SMOOTH ($24.99 / 750 ML) - $6.50↑, De-Listed to Active
- Changed products
- [S] GLENLIVET XXV ($449.97 / 750 ML) - Active to Special Order
Tequila
- New Products
- [S] 818 EIGHT RESERVE ANEJO ($200.00 / 750 ML)
- [A] ASOMBROSO LA ROSA REPOSADO TEQUILA ($59.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] CAZADORES 100 YEAR ANNIVERSARY ($39.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] CENOTE ANEJO ($54.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] CENOTE REPOSADO ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] CODIGO 1530 14 YEAR EXTRA ANEJO ($6,574.83 / 750 ML)
- [A] CODIGO 1530 TEQUILA ANEJO RARE HARE PLAYBOY BLACK ($1,687.83 / 1 Liter)
- [A] DOS PRIMOS ANEJO ($54.99 / 750 ML)
- [S] EL TEQUILENO BLANCO ($23.95 / 750 ML)
- [A] HERRADURA ULTRA ($32.99 / 375 ML)
- [A] KARRIKIN ANEJO BLAZE ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] KARRIKIN BLAZE REPOSADO ($34.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] LAKE ERIE BLANCO AGAVE SPIRITS ($51.54 / 750 ML)
- [A] LAKE ERIE EL AGAVE SILVER ($51.54 / 750 ML)
- [A] LALO TEQUILA BLANCO ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] LUNAZUL REPOSADO ($25.63 / 375 ML)
- [A] MANGO SHOTTA ($19.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] MARGARITAVILLE SILVER TEQUILA 10 PACK ($9.99 / 600 ML)
- [A] MILAGRO MARGARITA RTD ($16.99 / 375 ML)
- [A] PIEDRA AZUL BLANCO ($19.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] SIETE LEGUAS D'ANTANO EXTRA ANEJO ($299.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] TEREMANA BLANCO TEQUILA ($36.99 / 1 Liter)
- Price decreases
- [D] CINCORO ANEJO TEQUILA ($239.99 / 1.75 Liter) - $160.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] EL MAYOR EXTRA ANEJO RUM CASK TEQUILA ($77.99 / 750 ML) - $52.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] DEL MAGUEY CHICHICAPA ($44.99 / 750 ML) - $30.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] DEL MAGUEY MINERO ($44.99 / 750 ML) - $30.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HERRADURA REPOSADO BARREL ($35.99 / 750 ML) - $24.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] PATRON SILVER SPEC ($35.99 / 1 Liter) - $24.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] TEQUILA TROMBA ANJEO ($35.99 / 750 ML) - $24.00↓
- [D] LA ADELITA REPOSADO TEQUILA ($31.99 / 750 ML) - $21.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] PATRON SILVER WINDOW PACK ($34.49 / 750 ML) - $14.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] PATRON SILVER HERITAGE TIN ($33.99 / 750 ML) - $14.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] EL COBRE ($31.49 / 750 ML) - $13.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] LA ADELITA BLANCO ($31.49 / 750 ML) - $13.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] CABEZA TEQUILA ($30.99 / 1 Liter) - $13.14↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] IXA SILVER ($30.49 / 1 Liter) - $12.86↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] ASTRAL REPOSADO ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓
- [D] SAN DIMAS MEZCAL ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] TEQUILA TROMBA REPOSADO ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] JAJA BLANCO TEQUILA ($24.49 / 750 ML) - $10.50↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] TEQUILA TROMBA BLANCO ($24.49 / 750 ML) - $10.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] SUAVECITO EXTRA ANEJO ($139.99 / 750 ML) - $10.00↓
- [D] TALERO TEQUILA SILVER ($23.99 / 750 ML) - $9.86↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] TRES AGAVES BLANCO GIFT ($20.49 / 750 ML) - $8.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] HORNITOS REPOSADO W/2 SHOT GLASSES ($18.49 / 750 ML) - $7.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [A] WESTERN RESERVE ORGANIC ANEJO ($39.99 / 750 ML) - $6.00↓
- [A] WESTERN RESERVE ORGANIC REPOSADO ($29.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓
- [A] ASTRAL TEQUILA BLANCO ($24.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓
- [A] CODIGO 1530 BLANCO ($42.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓
- [A] CODIGO REPOSADO TEQUILA ($59.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓
- [A] WESTERN RESERVE ORGANIC BLANCO ($24.99 / 750 ML) - $4.96↓
- [A] CABO WABO BLANCO ($32.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓
- [A] CABO WABO REPOSADO ($37.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓
- [D] HOOTERS SPIRITS TEQUILA GOLD ($17.49 / 1 Liter) - $3.81↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HOOTERS SPIRITS TEQUILA SILVER ($17.49 / 1 Liter) - $3.81↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] TILENO ESPADIN JOVEN MEZCAL ($49.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
Vodka
See below2023.04.01 14:00 NBA_MOD [SERIOUS NEXT DAY THREAD] Post-Game Discussion (March 31, 2023)
Here is a place to have in depth, x's and o's, discussions on yesterday's games. Post-game discussions are linked in the table, keep your memes and reactions there.
Please keep your discussion of a particular game in the respective comment thread. All direct replies to this post will be removed.
submitted by NBA_MOD to nba [link] [comments]
Please keep your discussion of a particular game in the respective comment thread. All direct replies to this post will be removed.
| Away | Home | Score | GT | PGT |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Chicago Bulls | Charlotte Hornets | 121 - 91 | Link | Link |
| Oklahoma City Thunder | Indiana Pacers | 117 - 121 | Link | Link |
| Toronto Raptors | Philadelphia 76ers | 110 - 117 | Link | Link |
| Orlando Magic | Washington Wizards | 116 - 109 | Link | Link |
| Utah Jazz | Boston Celtics | 114 - 122 | Link | Link |
| Atlanta Hawks | Brooklyn Nets | 107 - 124 | Link | Link |
| New York Knicks | Cleveland Cavaliers | 130 - 116 | Link | Link |
| Detroit Pistons | Houston Rockets | 115 - 121 | Link | Link |
| Los Angeles Clippers | Memphis Grizzlies | 94 - 108 | Link | Link |
| Los Angeles Lakers | Minnesota Timberwolves | 123 - 111 | Link | Link |
| San Antonio Spurs | Golden State Warriors | 115 - 130 | Link | Link |
| Sacramento Kings | Portland Trail Blazers | 138 - 114 | Link | Link |
| Denver Nuggets | Phoenix Suns | 93 - 100 | Link | Link |
2023.04.01 13:35 InTheSkyCity 3/31/23
“Pardon me, excusez-moi. Yeah, I coulda made a better choice, I mean, what the fuck? I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry!”
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry I don't see you more. I'm sorry that the four minutes where you see your son could feel like a chore. Sis', I'm sorry I'm your kin. Sorry we ain't close as we should've been. Sorry to my old friends. The stories we coulda wrote if our egos didn't take the pen. Sorry to the freaks I led on. Who thought their life was gonna change 'cause I gave 'em head on, but instead, I sped off, yeah, I know I'm dead wrong. Sorry to the guys I had to hide. Sorry to the girls I had to lie to. Who ain't need to know if I was by the lake switchin' tides, too. Anyway, I don't wanna talk. Sorry if you gotta dig for info I don't wanna give. So you stalk, make up fibs, just to talk about my private life 'cause you're weird. Met that girl this year, that's none ya biz. Give enough with my art, know your place. My personal space, y'all don't need to to be a part. I'm sorry I don't wanna link and small talk over dinner. I don't even drink, can't guilt trip me, I'm ice cold, roller rink. N!gga-n!gga-n!gga, read the room. Don't assume n!ggas is cool. Stay in your pocket, this is pool. Blah, blah, blah, blah 'bout trauma. You ain't special, everybody got problems, uh. Sorry I'm not empathetic. Sorry you think I'm pathetic. Sorry I don't wanna bro down. Sorry I don't know your pronouns. I don't mean no disrespect, but, damn, we just met, calm the fuck down. Oh, I'm out of touch and I'm a jerk? A bank account could never match my worth. Sorry, Mother Earth. Polluted air with chemicals and dirt. These cars ain't gonna buy and drive themselves. What the hell you think I work for? Not to not explore and stay the same. Sorry to the fans who say I changed, 'cause I did. Sorry you don't know me on a personal level to pinpoint what it is. I'm sorry to my ancestors, I know I'm supposed to fight, but this ice shinin' brighter than a black man's plight, I'ma make it right. In the meantime, I'll give some advice while these blood diamonds gettin' cleaned off. N!gga, fuck the price, spend it then, then again, I can't save n!ggas. I'm not Superman, but I could try. I'm sorry I'm pretentious. Sorry that the talent, knowledge, passion isn't missin'. Sorry when I talk my shit and I could back it up with confidence, it get you n!ggas trippin', man. Fuck the numbers, fuck a hook. You put me on a stage and I'll show you the difference. Let me see y'all hit a stage. Let me see y'all write a page. Let me see you make a decision I made, and claim that I don't know about minimum wage or Section 8. Water in the ketchup bottle to stretch when niggas ate. Gettin' pressed by n!ggas hoppin' gates. Thinkin' it's normal 'cause you ain't supposed to make it past eighteen or escape the Figure 8 cycle, and I promise this is like a diet, I'ma make a way and I did, did. Feel good, work paid off, now we gon' celebrate, but niggas claim you arrogant when they can't relate to moments of feelin' great. So they aim, duck-duck-duck 'em. Shot right back, buck-buck-buck 'em. Sorry, not sorry. I got two words, fuck 'em.”
“Okay, cool.”
Today was more of an idea of what I planned yesterday to be. I babysat my sister for a few hours, she mostly wanted to use her iPad tho. I made sure to have one of our hide and seek matches tho. Nor did she cry when I caught her this time, she’s starting to be more humble it seems.
My mom went out with me for a bit, shit, now I got a haircut. It was actually somewhat decent. I’m happy. Then told my family that lll be visiting soon.
Returned home, and the rest of the day went by instantly. Did a good amount of my homework. Spent a lot of time on this one Lego painting thing I got yesterday, it was pretty calming working on it tbh. Listened to music. Got high.
It was a chill ass day.
Song Of The Day: Tyler The Creator - SORRY NOT SORRY
I love this song so fucking much, it’s got to be one of Tyler’s best songs. And I’m not saying that because of recency bias.
I already it was going to be perfect from the jump with the way DJ Drama yelled in the intro.
submitted by InTheSkyCity to u/InTheSkyCity [link] [comments]
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry I don't see you more. I'm sorry that the four minutes where you see your son could feel like a chore. Sis', I'm sorry I'm your kin. Sorry we ain't close as we should've been. Sorry to my old friends. The stories we coulda wrote if our egos didn't take the pen. Sorry to the freaks I led on. Who thought their life was gonna change 'cause I gave 'em head on, but instead, I sped off, yeah, I know I'm dead wrong. Sorry to the guys I had to hide. Sorry to the girls I had to lie to. Who ain't need to know if I was by the lake switchin' tides, too. Anyway, I don't wanna talk. Sorry if you gotta dig for info I don't wanna give. So you stalk, make up fibs, just to talk about my private life 'cause you're weird. Met that girl this year, that's none ya biz. Give enough with my art, know your place. My personal space, y'all don't need to to be a part. I'm sorry I don't wanna link and small talk over dinner. I don't even drink, can't guilt trip me, I'm ice cold, roller rink. N!gga-n!gga-n!gga, read the room. Don't assume n!ggas is cool. Stay in your pocket, this is pool. Blah, blah, blah, blah 'bout trauma. You ain't special, everybody got problems, uh. Sorry I'm not empathetic. Sorry you think I'm pathetic. Sorry I don't wanna bro down. Sorry I don't know your pronouns. I don't mean no disrespect, but, damn, we just met, calm the fuck down. Oh, I'm out of touch and I'm a jerk? A bank account could never match my worth. Sorry, Mother Earth. Polluted air with chemicals and dirt. These cars ain't gonna buy and drive themselves. What the hell you think I work for? Not to not explore and stay the same. Sorry to the fans who say I changed, 'cause I did. Sorry you don't know me on a personal level to pinpoint what it is. I'm sorry to my ancestors, I know I'm supposed to fight, but this ice shinin' brighter than a black man's plight, I'ma make it right. In the meantime, I'll give some advice while these blood diamonds gettin' cleaned off. N!gga, fuck the price, spend it then, then again, I can't save n!ggas. I'm not Superman, but I could try. I'm sorry I'm pretentious. Sorry that the talent, knowledge, passion isn't missin'. Sorry when I talk my shit and I could back it up with confidence, it get you n!ggas trippin', man. Fuck the numbers, fuck a hook. You put me on a stage and I'll show you the difference. Let me see y'all hit a stage. Let me see y'all write a page. Let me see you make a decision I made, and claim that I don't know about minimum wage or Section 8. Water in the ketchup bottle to stretch when niggas ate. Gettin' pressed by n!ggas hoppin' gates. Thinkin' it's normal 'cause you ain't supposed to make it past eighteen or escape the Figure 8 cycle, and I promise this is like a diet, I'ma make a way and I did, did. Feel good, work paid off, now we gon' celebrate, but niggas claim you arrogant when they can't relate to moments of feelin' great. So they aim, duck-duck-duck 'em. Shot right back, buck-buck-buck 'em. Sorry, not sorry. I got two words, fuck 'em.”
“Okay, cool.”
Today was more of an idea of what I planned yesterday to be. I babysat my sister for a few hours, she mostly wanted to use her iPad tho. I made sure to have one of our hide and seek matches tho. Nor did she cry when I caught her this time, she’s starting to be more humble it seems.
My mom went out with me for a bit, shit, now I got a haircut. It was actually somewhat decent. I’m happy. Then told my family that lll be visiting soon.
Returned home, and the rest of the day went by instantly. Did a good amount of my homework. Spent a lot of time on this one Lego painting thing I got yesterday, it was pretty calming working on it tbh. Listened to music. Got high.
It was a chill ass day.
Song Of The Day: Tyler The Creator - SORRY NOT SORRY
I love this song so fucking much, it’s got to be one of Tyler’s best songs. And I’m not saying that because of recency bias.
I already it was going to be perfect from the jump with the way DJ Drama yelled in the intro.
2023.04.01 13:26 gods-cumdump You will eventually stop cutting yourself, better to reduce it from now.
It's going to be a bit graphic, I shall put a trigger warning.
I don't know where to start this from, but let me first give you a quick intro. I'm 15, f/Nb. I have been self harming actively since October 2022. I did try to do it in June 2022, with scissors. I was not able to cut myself although somehow did a bit still, it felt like too much work to do. I didn't after that but somehow my brain found a way to cut myself from Sharpner blade.
Surprisingly, nothing as such triggered me to do it. In fact I was on meds, I won't blame meds either because they weren't something highly effective one. I was normally sitting in school building up all the hate around me because, I don't ever feel like fitting in and i felt like something inside me needs to burst. So when I got home, I cut myself.
A bit of my legs, but alot in my hands. It felt shaky and hurtful and i got my period the next day, but still the pain and feeling was something liberating at first time i couldn't imagine. Am I romanticizing self harm here? Maybe, because I surely did it the first time I started doing it. I don't want to fake any emotion in my post. I will be very honest, I felt like I found someone. Someone whom I can rely on whenever I need.
I don't remember how many times after that I have amount of self harm, the longest I might have been clean for 10 days max. Slowly I discovered to cut my thighs and other body part. And it did feel fun, and here comes a bit shitty part: I felt belonged. And a human. Who needs help. I am teenager who have multiple mental illness despite not having a trauma many people would consider, hence I always got invalidate for my sufferings and often get called just a phase, attention seeker, faking to sound cool, etc. When I started telling people I do self harm all of this just turned around. People took me seriously and started seeing me as a person who needs help, and I wont deny for a time I do want attention. I would gladly say that I did self harm for attention, but in a way I wanted help.
Well this phase of me didn't last long. I wish it did because, it wasn't as worst as addiction. I finally become an addict of self harm. In the month of feb and march, I cut myself almost everyday. Every fucking day. And it didn't even feel nice or something, but it felt like a chore to me I had to do to feel something. I was disassociating so hard I was in a desperate need to feel and while self harm did this, it fucked my life for a while.
The last time I did self harm was I guess what, 23 march? I bought new blades, dissinfected, and cut myself as deep as I could. Probably my styro. But soon after that I noticed intense amount of itching in my hands and slowly in my thighs. My scar become bumpy like keloid.
Now, I don't know what happened. Maybe I got allergic reaction to anti septic liquid because I used it too much everytime it itch or from blades but soon, I had intense allergic reaction. Rashes all over my body. Or maybe metal allergy. Or maybe I already had infection from a long ago and my immune system couldn't fight anymore. Idk.
I did inform my parents but didnt tell them about self harm. I took meds they gave me (they are doctors so they know general meds for it) and it worked for a while but, slowly I started noticing a huge amount of rashes and my scars was turning black, fear I might have Caught gangrene and tetanus, I finally opened up to my sister. I felt shameful, embarassed, and moreover helpless but in the sense that how helpless and vulnerable I'm that I had no one to tell anything until I'm really in serious position.
I got tetanus shot after it and thought everything will be fine and that my rashes would be better. It did, but the next day my eyes swollen and so does my lips. It was badly swollen for which I took meds again for 2 days and thought it become better, only to wake up with severe allergic reaction the third day. I was not able to open my eyes and every part of my face was hurting to touch.
I get intrusive thoughts so my anxiety was on top. I had shame to face anyone and specially myself, I already have body dysphoria and seeing my face which I already hate like this just was so hard for me to accept. But I didn't have much time to think for all this, and I went to doctor. I had to tell the doctor about self harm which was so shameful for me, he gave some meds. My bp was severely low and my heart beat was not right according to him, he also gave me some test to do including urine one to identify infection. I was severely disgusted when I heard it because due to contamination and the idea of my urine to get urine stored was just so hard for me to accept. So I didn't give it at all and created the scene in hospital. I did gave some other test including egc and got something like tachycardia, I'm going to get result of other test soon
Fast forward two days later, that's today, I'm doing much better. Got contact with eye doctor and my eyes are better. I finally feel safe. Although my face looks terribly ugly cause I got some bacterial patches in my face and I look so bad I want to cry seeing my self, I am helpess and just accepting it.
My scars that were possibly infectted look bad but better. Everything physically getting better, although mentally I don't know.
My urges to cut myself again is just so so much, but I'm afraid again to put my family to this pain because of me again. It's crazy how I can never feel like I'm in actual victim anytime in all of this but rather have to care about my family first because I just feel nothing less than burden after all. I want to cut myself so bad, I want to feel that feeling again. But moreover, I want to have my face the way it used to again despite I hate it, I want my eyes to see the same way it used to, that I want to live freely again without fearing anyone I would relapse. I can't do self harm again, atleast in a long time.
But trust me, these urges aren't worst than your body getting scars and having chance to get infected. I got saved this time, otherwise I probably would have lost my arm and eyesight, which none of us would want.
I'm not saying this in a way to tell you to fear yourself but to love yourself a bit in a way that we won't hurt ourself anymore.
I always wanted to cut myself deep because I never felt enough, and when I did, I literally end up in a severe situation.
Self harm recovery is a gradual process and it can start from right away, trust me. Your relapse doesn't define you.
You will eventually leave doing self harm some day, either like Me or some other way. But it's better to reduce it from now. You're loved and no one deserve to harm.
submitted by gods-cumdump to selfharm [link] [comments]
I don't know where to start this from, but let me first give you a quick intro. I'm 15, f/Nb. I have been self harming actively since October 2022. I did try to do it in June 2022, with scissors. I was not able to cut myself although somehow did a bit still, it felt like too much work to do. I didn't after that but somehow my brain found a way to cut myself from Sharpner blade.
Surprisingly, nothing as such triggered me to do it. In fact I was on meds, I won't blame meds either because they weren't something highly effective one. I was normally sitting in school building up all the hate around me because, I don't ever feel like fitting in and i felt like something inside me needs to burst. So when I got home, I cut myself.
A bit of my legs, but alot in my hands. It felt shaky and hurtful and i got my period the next day, but still the pain and feeling was something liberating at first time i couldn't imagine. Am I romanticizing self harm here? Maybe, because I surely did it the first time I started doing it. I don't want to fake any emotion in my post. I will be very honest, I felt like I found someone. Someone whom I can rely on whenever I need.
I don't remember how many times after that I have amount of self harm, the longest I might have been clean for 10 days max. Slowly I discovered to cut my thighs and other body part. And it did feel fun, and here comes a bit shitty part: I felt belonged. And a human. Who needs help. I am teenager who have multiple mental illness despite not having a trauma many people would consider, hence I always got invalidate for my sufferings and often get called just a phase, attention seeker, faking to sound cool, etc. When I started telling people I do self harm all of this just turned around. People took me seriously and started seeing me as a person who needs help, and I wont deny for a time I do want attention. I would gladly say that I did self harm for attention, but in a way I wanted help.
Well this phase of me didn't last long. I wish it did because, it wasn't as worst as addiction. I finally become an addict of self harm. In the month of feb and march, I cut myself almost everyday. Every fucking day. And it didn't even feel nice or something, but it felt like a chore to me I had to do to feel something. I was disassociating so hard I was in a desperate need to feel and while self harm did this, it fucked my life for a while.
The last time I did self harm was I guess what, 23 march? I bought new blades, dissinfected, and cut myself as deep as I could. Probably my styro. But soon after that I noticed intense amount of itching in my hands and slowly in my thighs. My scar become bumpy like keloid.
Now, I don't know what happened. Maybe I got allergic reaction to anti septic liquid because I used it too much everytime it itch or from blades but soon, I had intense allergic reaction. Rashes all over my body. Or maybe metal allergy. Or maybe I already had infection from a long ago and my immune system couldn't fight anymore. Idk.
I did inform my parents but didnt tell them about self harm. I took meds they gave me (they are doctors so they know general meds for it) and it worked for a while but, slowly I started noticing a huge amount of rashes and my scars was turning black, fear I might have Caught gangrene and tetanus, I finally opened up to my sister. I felt shameful, embarassed, and moreover helpless but in the sense that how helpless and vulnerable I'm that I had no one to tell anything until I'm really in serious position.
I got tetanus shot after it and thought everything will be fine and that my rashes would be better. It did, but the next day my eyes swollen and so does my lips. It was badly swollen for which I took meds again for 2 days and thought it become better, only to wake up with severe allergic reaction the third day. I was not able to open my eyes and every part of my face was hurting to touch.
I get intrusive thoughts so my anxiety was on top. I had shame to face anyone and specially myself, I already have body dysphoria and seeing my face which I already hate like this just was so hard for me to accept. But I didn't have much time to think for all this, and I went to doctor. I had to tell the doctor about self harm which was so shameful for me, he gave some meds. My bp was severely low and my heart beat was not right according to him, he also gave me some test to do including urine one to identify infection. I was severely disgusted when I heard it because due to contamination and the idea of my urine to get urine stored was just so hard for me to accept. So I didn't give it at all and created the scene in hospital. I did gave some other test including egc and got something like tachycardia, I'm going to get result of other test soon
Fast forward two days later, that's today, I'm doing much better. Got contact with eye doctor and my eyes are better. I finally feel safe. Although my face looks terribly ugly cause I got some bacterial patches in my face and I look so bad I want to cry seeing my self, I am helpess and just accepting it.
My scars that were possibly infectted look bad but better. Everything physically getting better, although mentally I don't know.
My urges to cut myself again is just so so much, but I'm afraid again to put my family to this pain because of me again. It's crazy how I can never feel like I'm in actual victim anytime in all of this but rather have to care about my family first because I just feel nothing less than burden after all. I want to cut myself so bad, I want to feel that feeling again. But moreover, I want to have my face the way it used to again despite I hate it, I want my eyes to see the same way it used to, that I want to live freely again without fearing anyone I would relapse. I can't do self harm again, atleast in a long time.
But trust me, these urges aren't worst than your body getting scars and having chance to get infected. I got saved this time, otherwise I probably would have lost my arm and eyesight, which none of us would want.
I'm not saying this in a way to tell you to fear yourself but to love yourself a bit in a way that we won't hurt ourself anymore.
I always wanted to cut myself deep because I never felt enough, and when I did, I literally end up in a severe situation.
Self harm recovery is a gradual process and it can start from right away, trust me. Your relapse doesn't define you.
You will eventually leave doing self harm some day, either like Me or some other way. But it's better to reduce it from now. You're loved and no one deserve to harm.
2023.04.01 13:21 AnderLouis_ Hail and Farewell (George Moore) - Chapter 11
PODCAST: https://ayearofwarandpeace.podbean.com/e/ep1521-hail-and-farewell-george-moore-ave-chapter-11/
PROMPTS: Poor Edward. Something quite wrong about what went on here...
Today's Reading, via Project Gutenberg:
Before starting I would pay Edward a visit in his tower, and after a few words about the play, I would tell him that the way out of our South African difficulties was simple—the Government should arm the blacks; and this would make Edward growl out that the English Government was beastly enough to do it; and I remember how I used to go away, pleased that I had always the courage of my morality. Other men do what they know to be wrong, and repent, or think they repent; but as it would be impossible for me to do what I believe to be wrong, repentance is for me an idle word; and, thinking that to raise an army of seventy thousand blacks would be a fine trick to play upon the Boers, I often returned through the park full of contempt for my countrymen, my meditations interrupted occasionally by some natural sight—the beauty of the golden bracken through which the path twisted, a crimson beech at the end of it, or the purple beauty of a line of hills over against the rocky plain freckled with the thatched cabins of the peasantry. Nor do I remember more beautiful evenings than these were; and, as the days drew in, the humble hawthorns shaped themselves into lovely silhouettes, and a meaning seemed to gather round the low, mossy wall out of which they grew, until one day the pictorial idea which had hitherto stayed my steps melted away, and I became possessed by a sentimental craving for the country itself. After all, it was my country, and, strangely perturbed, I returned to the castle to ask Edward's opinion regarding the mysterious feeling that had glided suddenly into my heart as I stood looking at the Burran Mountains.
It is difficult for anybody to say why he loves his country, for what is a country but a geographical entity? And I am not sure that Edward was listening very attentively when I told him of a certain pity, at variance with my character, that had seemed to rise out of my heart.
It would be strange if Cathleen ni Houlihan were to get me after all. That is impossible ... only a passing feeling; and I sat looking at him, remembering that the feeling I dreaded had seemed to come out of the landscape and to have descended into my heart. But he was so little interested in what seemed to me transcendental that I refrained from further explanation, concluding that he was thinking of his play, which had gone to Coole yesterday. I was led to think this, for he was sitting at the window as if watching for Yeats. We were expecting our poet.
Here he is. I wonder what he thinks of your revisions?
And to save Edward from humiliation I asked Yeats as soon as he came into the room if he liked the new third act.
No, no; it's entirely impossible. We couldn't have such a play performed. And dropping his cloak from his shoulders, he threw his hair from his brow with a pale hand, and sank into a chair, and seemed to lose himself in a sudden meditation. It was like a scene from a play, with Yeats in the principal part; and, admiring him, I sat thinking of the gloom of Kean, of the fate of the Princes in the Tower, headsmen, and suchlike things, and thinking, too, that Yeats, notwithstanding his hierarchic airs, was not an actual literary infallibility. The revised third act might not be as bad as he seemed to think it. He might be mistaken ... or prejudiced. Yeats's literary integrity is without stain, that I knew. But he might be prejudiced against Edward without knowing it. The success of The Heather Field had stirred up in Edward, till then the most unassuming of men, a certain aggressiveness which, for some time past, I could see had been getting on Yeats's nerves. Nor am I quite sure that myself at that moment would not have liked to humble Edward a little ... only a little. But let us not be drawn from the main current of our resolution, which is entirely literary, by a desire to note every sub-current. Yeats looked very determined, and when I tried to induce him to give way he answered:
We are artists, and cannot be expected to accept a play because other plays as bad, and nearly as bad, have been performed.
Saints, I said, do not accept sins because sins are of common occurrence.
He did not answer, but sat looking into the fire gloomily.
He takes a very determined view of your play, Edward. It may not strike me in the same light. If you will give me the manuscript I'll just run upstairs with it. I can't read it in front of you both.
There was no reason why I should read the first two acts; Edward had not touched them. What he had engaged to rewrite was the last half of the third act, and a few minutes would enable me to see if he had made sufficient alterations for the play to be put forward—not as a work of art—that is as something that would be acted fifty years hence for the delight of numerous audiences, as proof of the talent that existed in Ireland at the end of the nineteenth century—but as a play to which literary people could give their attention without feeling ashamed of themselves afterwards. There was no reason why we should ask for more than that; for the subject of the play was merely one of topical interest, and it is a mistake—I pointed this out to Yeats—to be very particular about the literary quality of such a play. All the same it would have to be put right, and this Edward could not do. It was more a matter for a cunning literary hand than for a fellow like Edward with a streak of original genius in him, and very little literary tact.
On these reflections I sat down to read, but the play was so crude, even in its revised form, that I fell to thinking that Yeats's thoughts must have wandered very often from the page. He should have remembered, however, whilst we discussed the play with Edward, that Edward was a human being after all, and not made it apparent that he looked upon the play as something the local schoolmaster might have written, and of all, should have kept looks out of his face which said as plainly as words could: Your soul is inferior, beneath my notice; take it away. He did not even seem to apprehend that Edward was torn between love of self and love of Ireland. Abstract thinking, I said, kills human sympathies, and Yeats is no longer able to appreciate anything but literary values. The man behind the play is ignored ... Yeats can no longer think with his body; it is only his mind that thinks. He is all intellect, if that isn't too cardinal a word. And seeing before me quite a new country of conjecture, one which I had never rambled in, I sat thinking of the cruelty of the monks of the Middle Ages, and the cruelty of the nuns and the monks of the present day. Their thoughts are abstracted from this world, from human life—that is why; and Yeats was a sort of monk of literature, an Inquisitor of Journalism who would burn a man for writing that education was progressing by leaps and bounds. Opinions make people cruel—literary as well as theological. Whereas the surgeon, whose thought is always of the flesh, is the kindliest of creatures. It is true that one sometimes hears of surgeons who, in the pursuit of science, willingly undertake operations which they know to be dangerous, and we know that the scientists in the laboratory are indifferent to the sufferings of the animals they vivisect. Even so, Nature thinks like the surgeon who risks an operation in order that he may discover the cause of the disease. The knowledge he gathers from the death of the patient is passed on, and it saves the life of another. But the artist cannot pass on any portion of his art to his pupil; his gift lives in himself and dies with him, and his art comes as much from his heart as from his intellect. The intellect outlives the heart, and the heart of Yeats seemed to me to have died ten years ago; the last of it probably went into the composition of The Countess Cathleen.
Yesterevening, when we wandered about the lake, talking of The Shadowy Waters, trying to free it from the occult sciences that had grown about it, Fomorians beaked and unbeaked, and magic harps and Druid spells, I did not perceive that the difficulties into which the story had wandered could be attributed to a lack of human sympathy. But Yeats's treatment of Edward proved it to me. The life of the artist is always at difficult equipoise; he may fail from lack of human sympathies, or he may yield altogether to them and become a mere philanthropist; and we may well wonder what the choice of the artist would have been if he had to choose between the destruction of Messina and Reggio or of Herculaneum and Pompeii. Were he to choose the ancient ruins in preference to the modern towns, he might give very good reasons for doing so, saying that to prolong the lives of a hundred thousand people for a few years would not be, in his opinion, worth a bronze like the Narcissus. A very specious argument might be maintained in favour of the preservation of the bronze, even at the price of a hundred thousand lives. Perhaps he might let the bronze go, but if all Greek art were added he would hesitate, and when he had let one hundred thousand men and women go to their doom he would probably retire into the mountains to escape from sight of every graven thing. To write a play our human and artistic sympathies must be very evenly balanced, and I remembered that among my suggestions for the reconstruction of The Shadowy Waters, the one that Yeats refused most resolutely was that the woman should refuse to accompany the metaphysical pirate to the ultimate North, but return somewhat diffidently, ashamed of herself, to the sailors who were drinking yellow ale.
Yeats has reflected himself in the pirate, I said. All he cares for is a piece of literature. The man behind it matters nothing to him. But am I not just as wicked as he? Worse, indeed, for Edward is my oldest friend and I do not defend him. Whereupon the manuscript fell from my hand, and I sat for a long time thinking; and then, getting up, I wandered out of my room and hung over the banisters, looking down into the central hall, asking myself what Yeats and Edward were saying to each other, and thinking that their talk must be strained and difficult, thinking too that my duty was to go down to them and bring their bitter interview to an end.
And I resolved to say that I could see no reason why the play should not be acted. But half-way down the stairs my conscience forbade so flagrant a lie. Yeats would not believe me. And what good would it do to allow Edward to bring over actors and actresses for the performance of such a play? It's kinder to tell him the truth. In the middle of the hall I stopped again. But if I tell him the truth the Irish Literary Theatre will come to an end.
Well, Edward, I've read your play ... but the alterations you've made aren't very considerable, and I can't help thinking that the play requires something more done to it.
You've read my play very quickly. Are you sure you've read it?
I've read all the passages that you've altered.
I had only glanced through them, but I could not tell him that a glance was sufficient.
If there were time, you might alter it yourself. You see, the time is short—only two months; and I watched Edward. For a long time he said nothing, but sat like a man striving with himself, and I pitied him, knowing how much of his life was in his play.
I give you the play, he said, starting to his feet. Do with it as you like; turn it inside out, upside down. I'll make you a present of it!
But, Edward, if you don't wish me to alter your play—
Ireland has always been divided, and I've preached unity. Now I'm going to practise it. I give you the play.
But what do you mean by giving us the play? Yeats said.
Do with it what you like. I'm not going to break up the Irish Literary Theatre. Do with my play what you like, and he rushed away.
I'm afraid, Yeats, his feelings are very much hurt.
And my heart went out to the poor man sitting alone in his tower, brooding over his failure. I expected Yeats to say something sympathetic, but all he said was: We couldn't produce such a play as that. It was perhaps the wisest thing he could say under the circumstances. For what use is there in sentimentalising over the lamb whose throat is going to be cut in the slaughter-house?
The sooner the alterations are made the better.
And I asked Yeats to come over tomorrow.
You see, you'll have to help me with this adaptation, for I know nothing of Ireland.
It is a pleasure to be with him, especially when one meets him for the purpose of literary discussion; he is a real man of letters, with an intelligence as keen as a knife, and a knife was required to cut the knots into which Edward had tied his play, for very few could be loosened. The only fault I found with Yeats in this collaboration was the weariness into which he sank suddenly, saying that after a couple of hours he felt a little faint, and would require half an hour's rest.
We returned to the play after lunch, and continued until nearly seven o'clock, too long a day for Yeats, who was not so strong then as he is now, and Lady Gregory wrote to me, saying that I must be careful not to overwork him, and that it would be well not to let him go more than two hours without food—a glass of milk, or, better still, a cup of beef-tea in the afternoon, and half an hour after lunch he was to have a glass of sherry and a biscuit. These refreshments were brought up by Gantley, Edward's octogenarian butler, and every time I heard his foot upon the stairs I offered up a little prayer that Edward was away in his tower, for, of course, I realised that the tray would bring home to him in a very real and cruel way the fact that his play was being changed and rewritten under his very roof, and that he was providing sherry and biscuits in order to enable Yeats to strike out, or, worse still, to rewrite his favourite passages. It was very pathetic; and while pitying and admiring Edward for his altruism, I could not help thinking of two children threading a bluebottle. True that the bluebottle's plight is worse than Edward's, for the insect does not know why it is being experimented upon, but Edward knew he was sacrificing himself for his country, and the idea of sacrifice begets a great exaltation of mind, is in fact, a sort of anaesthetic; and sustained by this belief we, Yeats and I, worked on through the day, Yeats tarrying as late as seven o'clock in order to finish a scene, Edward asking him to stay to dinner, a kindness that proved our undoing, for we lacked tact, discussing before Edward the alterations we were going to make. He sat immersed in deep gloom, saying he did not like our adaptation of the first act, and when we told him the alterations we were going to make in the second, he said:
But you surely aren't going to alter that? Why do you do this? Good heavens! I wouldn't advise you—
Yeats looked at him sternly, as a schoolmaster looks at a small boy, and next morning Edward told me that he was going to Dublin, adding that I had better come with him. On my mentioning that I expected Yeats that afternoon, he said that he would write, telling him of his decision, and a note came from Lady Gregory in the course of the afternoon, saying that she was leaving Coole. Would it be convenient to Edward to allow Yeats to stay at Tillyra for a few days by himself? He would like to continue the composition of The Shadowy Waters in Galway.
Lady Gregory's request seemed to me an extraordinary one to make in the present circumstances, and it seemed still more extraordinary that Edward should have granted it, and without a moment's hesitation, as if Yeats's literary arrogance had already dropped out of his memory. Such self-effacement as this was clearly a matter for psychological inquiry, and I turned Edward over in my mind many times before I discovered that his self-effacement should be attributed to patriotism rather than to natural amiability. He believed Yeats to be Ireland's poet, and to refuse to shelter him might rob Ireland of a masterpiece, a responsibility which he did not care to face.
Extraordinary! I said to myself, and as in a vision I saw Ireland as a god demanding human sacrifices, and everybody, or nearly everybody, crying: Take me, Ireland, take me; I am unworthy, but accept me as a burnt-offering. Ever since I have been in the country I have heard people speaking of working for Ireland. But how can one work for Ireland without working for oneself? What do they mean? They do not know themselves, but go on vainly sacrificing all personal achievement, humiliating themselves before Ireland as if the country were a god. A race inveterately religious I suppose it must be! And these sacrifices continue generation after generation. Something in the land itself inspires them. And I began to tremble lest the terrible Cathleen ni Houlihan might overtake me. She had come out of that arid plain, out of the mist, to tempt me, to soothe me into forgetfulness that it is the plain duty of every Irishman to disassociate himself from all memories of Ireland—Ireland being a fatal disease, fatal to Englishmen and doubly fatal to Irishmen. Ireland is in my family. My grand-uncle lay in prison condemned to death for treason; my father wasted his life in the desert of national politics. It is said that the custom of every fell disease is to skip a generation, and up to the present it had seemed that I conformed to the rule. But did I? If I did not, some great calamity awaited me, and I remembered that the middle-aged may not change their point of view. To do so is decadence.
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PROMPTS: Poor Edward. Something quite wrong about what went on here...
Today's Reading, via Project Gutenberg:
XI
While Edward revised his play Yeats and I talked of The Shadowy Waters, and the Boers crossed one of our frontiers into Cape Colony or Natal—I have forgotten which; but I remember very well my attitude of mind towards the war, and how I used to walk every day from Tillyra to Ardrahan, a distance of at least two Irish miles, to fetch the newspaper, so anxious was I to read of a victory for our soldiers.Before starting I would pay Edward a visit in his tower, and after a few words about the play, I would tell him that the way out of our South African difficulties was simple—the Government should arm the blacks; and this would make Edward growl out that the English Government was beastly enough to do it; and I remember how I used to go away, pleased that I had always the courage of my morality. Other men do what they know to be wrong, and repent, or think they repent; but as it would be impossible for me to do what I believe to be wrong, repentance is for me an idle word; and, thinking that to raise an army of seventy thousand blacks would be a fine trick to play upon the Boers, I often returned through the park full of contempt for my countrymen, my meditations interrupted occasionally by some natural sight—the beauty of the golden bracken through which the path twisted, a crimson beech at the end of it, or the purple beauty of a line of hills over against the rocky plain freckled with the thatched cabins of the peasantry. Nor do I remember more beautiful evenings than these were; and, as the days drew in, the humble hawthorns shaped themselves into lovely silhouettes, and a meaning seemed to gather round the low, mossy wall out of which they grew, until one day the pictorial idea which had hitherto stayed my steps melted away, and I became possessed by a sentimental craving for the country itself. After all, it was my country, and, strangely perturbed, I returned to the castle to ask Edward's opinion regarding the mysterious feeling that had glided suddenly into my heart as I stood looking at the Burran Mountains.
It is difficult for anybody to say why he loves his country, for what is a country but a geographical entity? And I am not sure that Edward was listening very attentively when I told him of a certain pity, at variance with my character, that had seemed to rise out of my heart.
It would be strange if Cathleen ni Houlihan were to get me after all. That is impossible ... only a passing feeling; and I sat looking at him, remembering that the feeling I dreaded had seemed to come out of the landscape and to have descended into my heart. But he was so little interested in what seemed to me transcendental that I refrained from further explanation, concluding that he was thinking of his play, which had gone to Coole yesterday. I was led to think this, for he was sitting at the window as if watching for Yeats. We were expecting our poet.
Here he is. I wonder what he thinks of your revisions?
And to save Edward from humiliation I asked Yeats as soon as he came into the room if he liked the new third act.
No, no; it's entirely impossible. We couldn't have such a play performed. And dropping his cloak from his shoulders, he threw his hair from his brow with a pale hand, and sank into a chair, and seemed to lose himself in a sudden meditation. It was like a scene from a play, with Yeats in the principal part; and, admiring him, I sat thinking of the gloom of Kean, of the fate of the Princes in the Tower, headsmen, and suchlike things, and thinking, too, that Yeats, notwithstanding his hierarchic airs, was not an actual literary infallibility. The revised third act might not be as bad as he seemed to think it. He might be mistaken ... or prejudiced. Yeats's literary integrity is without stain, that I knew. But he might be prejudiced against Edward without knowing it. The success of The Heather Field had stirred up in Edward, till then the most unassuming of men, a certain aggressiveness which, for some time past, I could see had been getting on Yeats's nerves. Nor am I quite sure that myself at that moment would not have liked to humble Edward a little ... only a little. But let us not be drawn from the main current of our resolution, which is entirely literary, by a desire to note every sub-current. Yeats looked very determined, and when I tried to induce him to give way he answered:
We are artists, and cannot be expected to accept a play because other plays as bad, and nearly as bad, have been performed.
Saints, I said, do not accept sins because sins are of common occurrence.
He did not answer, but sat looking into the fire gloomily.
He takes a very determined view of your play, Edward. It may not strike me in the same light. If you will give me the manuscript I'll just run upstairs with it. I can't read it in front of you both.
There was no reason why I should read the first two acts; Edward had not touched them. What he had engaged to rewrite was the last half of the third act, and a few minutes would enable me to see if he had made sufficient alterations for the play to be put forward—not as a work of art—that is as something that would be acted fifty years hence for the delight of numerous audiences, as proof of the talent that existed in Ireland at the end of the nineteenth century—but as a play to which literary people could give their attention without feeling ashamed of themselves afterwards. There was no reason why we should ask for more than that; for the subject of the play was merely one of topical interest, and it is a mistake—I pointed this out to Yeats—to be very particular about the literary quality of such a play. All the same it would have to be put right, and this Edward could not do. It was more a matter for a cunning literary hand than for a fellow like Edward with a streak of original genius in him, and very little literary tact.
On these reflections I sat down to read, but the play was so crude, even in its revised form, that I fell to thinking that Yeats's thoughts must have wandered very often from the page. He should have remembered, however, whilst we discussed the play with Edward, that Edward was a human being after all, and not made it apparent that he looked upon the play as something the local schoolmaster might have written, and of all, should have kept looks out of his face which said as plainly as words could: Your soul is inferior, beneath my notice; take it away. He did not even seem to apprehend that Edward was torn between love of self and love of Ireland. Abstract thinking, I said, kills human sympathies, and Yeats is no longer able to appreciate anything but literary values. The man behind the play is ignored ... Yeats can no longer think with his body; it is only his mind that thinks. He is all intellect, if that isn't too cardinal a word. And seeing before me quite a new country of conjecture, one which I had never rambled in, I sat thinking of the cruelty of the monks of the Middle Ages, and the cruelty of the nuns and the monks of the present day. Their thoughts are abstracted from this world, from human life—that is why; and Yeats was a sort of monk of literature, an Inquisitor of Journalism who would burn a man for writing that education was progressing by leaps and bounds. Opinions make people cruel—literary as well as theological. Whereas the surgeon, whose thought is always of the flesh, is the kindliest of creatures. It is true that one sometimes hears of surgeons who, in the pursuit of science, willingly undertake operations which they know to be dangerous, and we know that the scientists in the laboratory are indifferent to the sufferings of the animals they vivisect. Even so, Nature thinks like the surgeon who risks an operation in order that he may discover the cause of the disease. The knowledge he gathers from the death of the patient is passed on, and it saves the life of another. But the artist cannot pass on any portion of his art to his pupil; his gift lives in himself and dies with him, and his art comes as much from his heart as from his intellect. The intellect outlives the heart, and the heart of Yeats seemed to me to have died ten years ago; the last of it probably went into the composition of The Countess Cathleen.
Yesterevening, when we wandered about the lake, talking of The Shadowy Waters, trying to free it from the occult sciences that had grown about it, Fomorians beaked and unbeaked, and magic harps and Druid spells, I did not perceive that the difficulties into which the story had wandered could be attributed to a lack of human sympathy. But Yeats's treatment of Edward proved it to me. The life of the artist is always at difficult equipoise; he may fail from lack of human sympathies, or he may yield altogether to them and become a mere philanthropist; and we may well wonder what the choice of the artist would have been if he had to choose between the destruction of Messina and Reggio or of Herculaneum and Pompeii. Were he to choose the ancient ruins in preference to the modern towns, he might give very good reasons for doing so, saying that to prolong the lives of a hundred thousand people for a few years would not be, in his opinion, worth a bronze like the Narcissus. A very specious argument might be maintained in favour of the preservation of the bronze, even at the price of a hundred thousand lives. Perhaps he might let the bronze go, but if all Greek art were added he would hesitate, and when he had let one hundred thousand men and women go to their doom he would probably retire into the mountains to escape from sight of every graven thing. To write a play our human and artistic sympathies must be very evenly balanced, and I remembered that among my suggestions for the reconstruction of The Shadowy Waters, the one that Yeats refused most resolutely was that the woman should refuse to accompany the metaphysical pirate to the ultimate North, but return somewhat diffidently, ashamed of herself, to the sailors who were drinking yellow ale.
Yeats has reflected himself in the pirate, I said. All he cares for is a piece of literature. The man behind it matters nothing to him. But am I not just as wicked as he? Worse, indeed, for Edward is my oldest friend and I do not defend him. Whereupon the manuscript fell from my hand, and I sat for a long time thinking; and then, getting up, I wandered out of my room and hung over the banisters, looking down into the central hall, asking myself what Yeats and Edward were saying to each other, and thinking that their talk must be strained and difficult, thinking too that my duty was to go down to them and bring their bitter interview to an end.
And I resolved to say that I could see no reason why the play should not be acted. But half-way down the stairs my conscience forbade so flagrant a lie. Yeats would not believe me. And what good would it do to allow Edward to bring over actors and actresses for the performance of such a play? It's kinder to tell him the truth. In the middle of the hall I stopped again. But if I tell him the truth the Irish Literary Theatre will come to an end.
Well, Edward, I've read your play ... but the alterations you've made aren't very considerable, and I can't help thinking that the play requires something more done to it.
You've read my play very quickly. Are you sure you've read it?
I've read all the passages that you've altered.
I had only glanced through them, but I could not tell him that a glance was sufficient.
If there were time, you might alter it yourself. You see, the time is short—only two months; and I watched Edward. For a long time he said nothing, but sat like a man striving with himself, and I pitied him, knowing how much of his life was in his play.
I give you the play, he said, starting to his feet. Do with it as you like; turn it inside out, upside down. I'll make you a present of it!
But, Edward, if you don't wish me to alter your play—
Ireland has always been divided, and I've preached unity. Now I'm going to practise it. I give you the play.
But what do you mean by giving us the play? Yeats said.
Do with it what you like. I'm not going to break up the Irish Literary Theatre. Do with my play what you like, and he rushed away.
I'm afraid, Yeats, his feelings are very much hurt.
And my heart went out to the poor man sitting alone in his tower, brooding over his failure. I expected Yeats to say something sympathetic, but all he said was: We couldn't produce such a play as that. It was perhaps the wisest thing he could say under the circumstances. For what use is there in sentimentalising over the lamb whose throat is going to be cut in the slaughter-house?
The sooner the alterations are made the better.
And I asked Yeats to come over tomorrow.
You see, you'll have to help me with this adaptation, for I know nothing of Ireland.
It is a pleasure to be with him, especially when one meets him for the purpose of literary discussion; he is a real man of letters, with an intelligence as keen as a knife, and a knife was required to cut the knots into which Edward had tied his play, for very few could be loosened. The only fault I found with Yeats in this collaboration was the weariness into which he sank suddenly, saying that after a couple of hours he felt a little faint, and would require half an hour's rest.
We returned to the play after lunch, and continued until nearly seven o'clock, too long a day for Yeats, who was not so strong then as he is now, and Lady Gregory wrote to me, saying that I must be careful not to overwork him, and that it would be well not to let him go more than two hours without food—a glass of milk, or, better still, a cup of beef-tea in the afternoon, and half an hour after lunch he was to have a glass of sherry and a biscuit. These refreshments were brought up by Gantley, Edward's octogenarian butler, and every time I heard his foot upon the stairs I offered up a little prayer that Edward was away in his tower, for, of course, I realised that the tray would bring home to him in a very real and cruel way the fact that his play was being changed and rewritten under his very roof, and that he was providing sherry and biscuits in order to enable Yeats to strike out, or, worse still, to rewrite his favourite passages. It was very pathetic; and while pitying and admiring Edward for his altruism, I could not help thinking of two children threading a bluebottle. True that the bluebottle's plight is worse than Edward's, for the insect does not know why it is being experimented upon, but Edward knew he was sacrificing himself for his country, and the idea of sacrifice begets a great exaltation of mind, is in fact, a sort of anaesthetic; and sustained by this belief we, Yeats and I, worked on through the day, Yeats tarrying as late as seven o'clock in order to finish a scene, Edward asking him to stay to dinner, a kindness that proved our undoing, for we lacked tact, discussing before Edward the alterations we were going to make. He sat immersed in deep gloom, saying he did not like our adaptation of the first act, and when we told him the alterations we were going to make in the second, he said:
But you surely aren't going to alter that? Why do you do this? Good heavens! I wouldn't advise you—
Yeats looked at him sternly, as a schoolmaster looks at a small boy, and next morning Edward told me that he was going to Dublin, adding that I had better come with him. On my mentioning that I expected Yeats that afternoon, he said that he would write, telling him of his decision, and a note came from Lady Gregory in the course of the afternoon, saying that she was leaving Coole. Would it be convenient to Edward to allow Yeats to stay at Tillyra for a few days by himself? He would like to continue the composition of The Shadowy Waters in Galway.
Lady Gregory's request seemed to me an extraordinary one to make in the present circumstances, and it seemed still more extraordinary that Edward should have granted it, and without a moment's hesitation, as if Yeats's literary arrogance had already dropped out of his memory. Such self-effacement as this was clearly a matter for psychological inquiry, and I turned Edward over in my mind many times before I discovered that his self-effacement should be attributed to patriotism rather than to natural amiability. He believed Yeats to be Ireland's poet, and to refuse to shelter him might rob Ireland of a masterpiece, a responsibility which he did not care to face.
Extraordinary! I said to myself, and as in a vision I saw Ireland as a god demanding human sacrifices, and everybody, or nearly everybody, crying: Take me, Ireland, take me; I am unworthy, but accept me as a burnt-offering. Ever since I have been in the country I have heard people speaking of working for Ireland. But how can one work for Ireland without working for oneself? What do they mean? They do not know themselves, but go on vainly sacrificing all personal achievement, humiliating themselves before Ireland as if the country were a god. A race inveterately religious I suppose it must be! And these sacrifices continue generation after generation. Something in the land itself inspires them. And I began to tremble lest the terrible Cathleen ni Houlihan might overtake me. She had come out of that arid plain, out of the mist, to tempt me, to soothe me into forgetfulness that it is the plain duty of every Irishman to disassociate himself from all memories of Ireland—Ireland being a fatal disease, fatal to Englishmen and doubly fatal to Irishmen. Ireland is in my family. My grand-uncle lay in prison condemned to death for treason; my father wasted his life in the desert of national politics. It is said that the custom of every fell disease is to skip a generation, and up to the present it had seemed that I conformed to the rule. But did I? If I did not, some great calamity awaited me, and I remembered that the middle-aged may not change their point of view. To do so is decadence.
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2023.04.01 12:37 Dad1903 DWT149 (April 1st 2023)
 | Testing testing; check one two – DWT is live once again on Reddit! submitted by Dad1903 to DadsWeeklyTreble [link] [comments] Terrific, terrific stuff THE CONTENTS ------------------------
------------------------Welcome back hombres 🙌 - a lengthy wait for the days effort by fuck haha - apologies ✌️. As mused there last week - Dad's Schedule has filled with aplomb... and for sure - it feels good 👊. A wee whiley it's been sure - but Dad can thankfully report that pish is going terrifically and much hope is had for ongoing wonder. Terrific 😎. Maybes it's the experience with patience Dad possesses - Dad has maintained a positivity that shit'll be ok; life'll no let Dad down ultimately... too much terrific to be stifled or whatever shite. Catcalls from cunts to give up... you fucking give up you dullard cunt - Dad certainly doesnae want or need your shite opinions. Such deflective methodology spells out a desperation in a cunt that Dad finds as pathetic as anything; deflective in the nature that there's many many weaknesses in folk who press on with an agenda of cuntery - it's a headscratcher for sure. But here - without these kinds of bellends, the truly wondrous amongst us wouldnae be as obvious. the bigger problem, is that worldwide - the bellends are taking over. So it's with that in that Dad plows on, allowing the bellends to display their bellendery in full colour. Dad may no be making the kind of cash money deemed potential at earlier stages - but at least there's a unremovable sticker placed on the foreheads of several cunts. Now, readers of DWT can save themselves valuable time, by not engaging with those Dad hath exposed as fuckwits. A valuable lesson nestled in there sure: if the obvious goal isnae realised - search deeper for alternative nectarous nuggets and you shall find many 🤙.*** All good stuff sure ^ - and without doubt, one of lifes funner pastimes, that being talking with likeminded hombres about the deficiencies of pricks. Just what causes Dad a smidge of disappointment, are those that talk a good game for a bitty, then spoil it all with musings about being a disgusting hateful arsehole in whatever way. Much like Dad experienced as a younger lad - you think maybes a bit of chemistry is going with a nice lassie... next thing you're watching on as a 'mate' decides to accept the offer of the lassies request for a smooch. That sense of feeling abandoned by your own receptors can really dent the confidence... decisiveness can be tainted beyond repair, if not handled humbly. Has Dad been guilty of removing oneself all too quickly? Maybes some would argue aye... but here - Dads content as is; complicating pish by introducing intermittent bouts of nastiness isnae summat that has any intrigue. Which is easy to say if there's a trampline underneath to cushion the blow. Thankfully - Dad has such a provision much the time, the now being a prime example. Took a whiley to iron out - but for sure, now it's here, it's with a touch of knowing... Dad Knows where and when he can assist with pish 👍. And that goes beyond just being great at picking pish up professionally; tyhe reaction of folks that now exist alongside Dad have been tearjerkingly honest about the value Dad has introduced both to the setup and their own lives - laughter they didnae realise they were still capable of producing has found a voice from deep within their soul. Same for Dad sure... forgot almost what it's like to be in an environment chock a fucking block with mirth and whimsy; always that dirty black stain of uncalled for pathetic nastiness infecting the good time. So aye - we've mused at length over several weeks and months about the value of comfort and a state of zen... Dad - tentatively given the length of time passed - has found it 🫶 *** Great that ^ - the discovery of joy... and right afore the sunnier climes arrive to facilitate basking in warmth. Dad expects the subject of emotion to be on the agenda oft going forth - such is the expectancy that things'll be supportive of such a framework. And yet still there's 'better' to come theoretically - the brevity with which Dad gushes about the experience being had, really sets up a premise whereby Dad could potentially be greeting on a daily basis. Overawed at the wonders being enjoyed, the offers being made... the opportunities created. No only all of this - potential there also, to become a cunt embroiled in music once more... and I tell yous - been a fair old fucking whiley since that was the fucking case. Didnae even have to lift a finger in effort either - the olive branches were extended and Dad took a hungry bite out the leaves. Easy fucking peasy... and the kind of action that fills Dad with that confidence that only such an offer can create. Onrushes of delight coarse through the veins at the very thought of what again may be possible. Artistry is a tough cunt to master, regardless of your preferred outlet. The world is peppered with those who possess the gift to just jump aboard the train and immediately understand what's required... even if sacrificial at times. Dad - for whatever reason - hasnae received the reassurance required to take a proper plunge steeped in dedication. Any hint of such action - egg has adorned the face. Thusly - the desire dwindles. Next thing - decades have gone by without any sign of recovery. That on its own, creates a deep appreciation for the value of chemistry and workability. Rest assured - Dad'll do all he fucking can to take advantage 👍. Fucking terrific 😎 II - THE FINANCIALS ------------------------A fucking disaster last week sure... trifling odds for an institution more accustomed to prices way up there in the clouds, yet not a fucking penny gained back. Dads Eyes were wide by fuck - fury teasing to out itself with an energy uncontrollable by mortal man. Fortunately, Dad possesses a skillset that vacuums up the madness and redistributes it as gas (farts and belches). No to say there isnae ill-effects... too much more and we'll be getting prescribed medications - and Dad hasnae any more room in the pillbox - ah no. Reddit Running Total (RRT) currently sits at -£817.95. Ah no. III - THE DWT STATISTIC COLLECTION ------------------------Welcome to The DWT Statistic Collection 🙌
IV - THE FUNDAMENTALS ------------------------I'm not promoting it in the slightest to be put on; it's purely to be completely transparent about where the beans I'm spilling are being pushed towards – this is after all, a Life Experiment: Can a useless old arsehole prosper under strict weekly gambling conditions? Word of warning; prior to this – not really. The sticky clarifies - but just to reiterate - here's the format...DRS20 is Dads Recommended Spend: £20. This is a lot of money granted - and I would encourage absolute apprehension if this sort of money represents life altering for you personally if zero is returned. I’m lucky enough to be able to afford to lose £20 in a week; but confess that if I got no return for say, 20 weeks in a row - I would likely be without something I value (a streaming service or summat). I don’t take it lightly. Four bets are placed with this outlay: a £5 Treble (DWT) and three £5 Doubles. Generally if two come up, the bet is covered (up or down £2 or so). As of DWT100 - we here at DWT now splash out an additional 15 bangers on the Singles. Regardless - DRS20 remains. I would NEVER recommend spending yet more on this if you have been a regular DRS20 utiliser... if owt - spend less 👍. My gambling prowess is pretty much a joke; so whilst I advertise, I in no way qualify them as a given. I’m a prick with plenty bollocks to spout is all. This is how I frame it. IV - THE MAIN EVENT ------------------------So here it is - the one that takes the energy of April Fools Day and tranfers it into an entity that has become accustomed with jokes and ridiculousness: It's DWT149 https://i.redd.it/v34pjoqb69ra1.gif
38.38/1 we get for this selection – terrific 😎 Over 10’s last week; over 38's this week - back to the choppier waters... and in a strange sort of way, the thrashing of water constant at ones porthole, offers that familiarity that was perhaps no quite as potent there last week. No to say the success has been apparent up in the higher climbs... but you know Dad: if theres a cunt to be made of summat, it's worth doing with fucking aplomb 🙌 DWT149 - The Doubles
VI - THE REASONINGS ------------------------BRENTFORD up first then - the miracle that is Ivan Toney, the initial component for inspiring Dad to go with a team who've 'overperformed' for much too long a period to even be called overperforming tbf. 1 defeat in 9 - that being to a resurgent Everton at Goodison - form that tells you they find magic much the time. No to say there isnae owt to be wary of with todays opponents brighton.... 1 defeat in fucking 11 by fuck - hoo mama. But yon speculation over De Zerbi and the Spurs job - or just in general that he'll be on his way to bigger pish soon enough; there's a slip-up awaiting probably. Great price regardless - this weeks Keystone: time to bring home some fucking bacon 🤘*** NORWICH CITY the next set of heroes to be gusher over - a win today pretty much essential in terms of keeping the drive towards promotion going. Auto-places seemingly out of reach, given the gap - the mission one to reach the Play-Offs. No more solid a statement than beating the top cunts - and with a home crowd there to help, Dad sees a victory today that'll drive them on towards besting the likes of Blackburn, Millwall and Luton to the fourth spot - on paper the pinnacle of whats possible in the current circumstances. No win in three and only two goals scored... there'll hopefully7 have been an extra layer of determination in practice. Time to roll out the plan of intent 👍 *** SHREWSBURY TOWN complete the trio - themselves still hunting for the Play-Offs much akin to Norwich afore them... albeit with a chunk more to do afore that seems possible, A game in hand on many above sure - but even at that theres a couple victories required to close the upsettingly wide gap that's appeared. They dinnae lose often sure - the rec ent duo of defeats both away and both to teams above them in the league. A trip for them today alas... but only to Charlton, who havenae won at home in five fucking attempts. Complacency aplenty people - expect our lads to prosper like fuck 🙌 VII - THE EPILOGUE ------------------------So there we have it – nostalgia, hope and determination all apparent in equal measure. This time we do it right; wind in the sails – and off across the ocean in search of new worlds. A powerful pirate ship hunting high and low for treasures. Raise the fucking flag - the Good Ship DWT is back and ready to provide for its crew. If you play; play safe. DRS20 as always people. Frustration at the amount won, is better than the heartache at the amount lost.https://preview.redd.it/sd640n0x49ra1.jpg?width=630&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=55c5a7e8cff61e31ae483277652e6099d7732209 |
2023.04.01 12:20 ABlueEagle11 Rules for the Sterling Void: The Valley of Gods and Monsters Part 1
Rules for the Sterling Void: The Valley of Gods and Monsters
You need a change. You need some excitement. Your life feels like it’s been mis-sold to you. Damaged goods that you’re desperate to return, but sadly, you were born out of warranty. You hate your job. You hate your home. You don’t have any family or friends that you feel you can connect to. Student loans, mortgages, bills overdue. You left your dreams to gather dust and crumble like some ancient artifacts in a museum’s stock room. When did it all go so wrong? Nothing has turned out the way you hoped it would when you were a kid. It’s all just been a series of compounding mistakes. Why did nobody tell you that, after a certain point life just seems to get worse and worse? It’s not that you want to die. No, that isn’t it at all. You want another throw of the dice. You want to start again, at a different place, in a different time. You want to go somewhere where you can begin anew, with a completely clean slate. That’s when you first hear about the Sterling Void: The Valley of Gods and Monsters.
A mysterious valley that was said to be home to powerful gods and terrifying monsters. Despite the warnings of the locals, you just cannot resist the allure of the unknown and decided to seek out the valley. After many days of arduous travel through rugged terrain, you finally find yourself at the entrance to the valley. There, you see a sign with a seemingly otherworldly language that makes you uneasy and a lectern with a blue scroll on top of it, a sense of dread washes over you and, just as you take a step forward, it hits you, literally, a note hits you in the face, it contains a set of petrifying rules, but your curiosity gets the better of you. You take a deep breath and step into the valley, fully unaware of the horrors that await you. As you walk further into the valley, the you begin to notice strange things. The colours of the plants and rocks seem to shift and change, and the sky above you is a deep shade of purple. You hear whispers in your ear, but when you turn around, no one’s there. Suddenly, you feel a tug at your feet and look down to see tendrils of mist wrapping around your ankles, pulling you down.
You tried to fight it, but it’s no use. You are dragged down into the mist, and when you finally emerge, you find yourself in a completely different world. The sky is a shade of silver, and the ground beneath you is made of shimmering white crystals. The air is thick with the scent of burning incense and the sense of unbelievable petrifying dread, and you can hear chanting in the distance. This is the Sterling Void, explorer and the you are now trapped there, but you wanted this and you are to blame. You knew that you had to follow the rules if they wanted to survive in this strange and dangerous place. And so, begins your journey through the Valley of Gods and Monsters, where you might face unimaginable horrors yet discover incredible secrets that may change your life forever.
Take a deep breath, adventurer, and savor the scents of burning incense and warm air. Listen closely to the wyverns chirping, inviting you to join them in eternal flight. But beware the staring imps, giants, ogres and griffins, ready to pounce at any moment. An insolent stare and you’ll be in their grasp, a glob of flesh. Remember the note you found, its warning ringing in your mind: 'Follow the rules or perish.' You shudder at the thought, but you're determined to make it through the Valley alive. You pull out the crumpled note as a reminder and steel yourself for the journey ahead. It reads the following -
Rule #1: Do not look at the gods or monsters, some of them are incomprehensible to humans in their "natural form" and, their mere presence can drive a person insane. Although it's not the case for all of them, it's better to be safe than sorry.
Rule #2: Make as little noise as possible. The gods and monsters can hear even the slightest sound and, if you're too obnoxious or noisy, you might be stripped of your soul.
Rule #3: Do not touch or disturb any objects that appear out of place, as they may be cursed or possessed by malevolent entities. These objects may include ancient artifacts, unusual stones, or unusual markings on the ground. If you encounter such objects, it is best to avoid them altogether and move on. Attempting to interact with them or take them may lead to disastrous consequences, such as being possessed by a vengeful spirit or cursed with a never-ending torment. Always exercise caution and respect for the supernatural forces that inhabit the Sterling Void. The objects in the valley can bring forth unspeakable horrors.
Rule #4: Only eat fruits and vegetables, as they are provided abundantly by the plants. Do not harm any animals unless they attack you first, as they are protected by divine grace. However, if the elementals or gods provide you with meat, you may eat it. It is important to follow the rules of supernatural hospitality and show gratitude for their generosity. Breaking this rule will result in severe consequences and you will forfeit the right to your soul and flesh, as it is a sign of disrespect towards the beings that have granted you protection and shelter. Remember, survival is possible without meat, but it is impossible without the protection of the elementals and gods.
Rule #5: Do not breathe in the mist. The mist in the valley can cause hallucinations and distort your perception of reality, making it dangerous to navigate. Cover your nose and mouth with a cloth if you must pass through it.
Rule #6: Do not touch the water unless it is orange in color. The water in the valley is cursed, and those who drink from it will suffer a fate worse than death. If you must drink, only drink from the "gilded water" that is orange in color and has regenerative properties.
Rule #7: Do not make eye contact with the statues. The statues in the valley are cursed, and those who look into their eyes will be trapped in a never-ending nightmare.
Rule #8: Do not trust your senses entirely. The valley can play tricks on your mind, and what you perceive may not always be real. Always verify your surroundings before making decisions.
Rule #9: Do not speak to anyone or anything that could possibly be a malevolent creature. The valley is home to creatures that can mimic human voices, and their intentions are often malevolent. Be cautious and discerning in your interactions .
Rule #10: Do not attempt to leave the valley without proper preparation. The gods and monsters that reside within the valley will make it difficult to leave.
Rule #11: Try to minimize use of light especially if you're out in the open. The creatures in the valley hate it and, and may hunt those who use it.
Rule #12: Do not disrupt the natural order of the valley. The curse that plagues the valley is delicate and easily disrupted. Avoid stepping on any cracks or disturbing the natural environment. Those who break the natural order will suffer dire consequences.
Rule #13: Do not open any doors unless you know where they lead. Some doors in the valley lead to places best left unexplored. If you do not know where a door leads, do not open it.
Rule #14: Do not climb any trees unless it is necessary. The trees in the valley are alive and may trap you if you climb them. Only climb if it is necessary for your survival.
Rule #15: Do not use any technology unless it is absolutely necessary. The valley is a place of ancient magic, and technology may anger the gods and monsters that reside within it. Use technology sparingly and only when it is necessary for your survival.
Rule #16: Do not pick any flowers unless they're orange, pink or red. Most flowers in the valley are cursed, and those who touch them will suffer a fate worse than death.
Rule #17: Do not enter any caves. The caves in the valley are home to creatures best left undiscovered.
Rule #18: Do not follow any "weird" sounds. The sounds in the valley are often a trap set by the creatures that inhabit it.
Rule #19: Should you spot an Inn with a sign or a placard reads "The Guardian's Grin" on the road-side, you’re in luck! You’ve found a traveller’s haven. Feel free to spend as much time as you want here and even stock up on supplies and, if you have need something, feel free to ask the staff for help. However, try not to be a nuisance and, don't overstay your welcome if you turn out to be a nuisance, the owner doesn't take kindly to those who abuse his hospitality. If you make a mess or, are a nuisance, don't stay for more than a day. And, in case you're wondering, none of the inhabitants of the inn are human no matter how human they look or, act.
Rule #20: Do not stay in one place for too long. This makes you an easier target for the creatures in the valley. Always be on the move, and do not linger in any one place for too long.
Rule #21: Do not attempt to communicate with the gods or monsters unless you have a concrete reason to or you really think you need to. They do not like pointless chatter, and attempting to communicate with them without any concrete reason so will only anger them.
Rule #22: Do not walk in predictable patterns. This can draw unwanted attention from the creatures in the valley. Vary your movements and be unpredictable.
Rule #23: Do not look at the sky, the sky looks like it’s made of silver alloys and, it is utterly incomprehensible to humans because of how “perfect” it is. And, can drive them insane, it is called the “sterling void” for a reason
Rule #24: If you see wooden signs or, milestones, do not read them or look at them for too long, they are memetic hazards.
Rule #25: If you hear screams of help, don't answer them. Don't move, you can't run or hide. Simply pray for salvation for heaven's divine grace. Only move when help comes, you'll know when help comes.
Rule #26: If you see an animal that has gone extinct in your universe, don't fret. It's neutral. It won't attack you unless you attack it.
Rule #27: If you see a loved one or, an object that you cherished but, lost, you are in a different plane of reality. The beings in this reality will try to convince you that you are home, and that everything is back to normal. They will try to keep you there, so be careful not to let your guard down. If you stay too long, you may forget who you really are and become trapped in this false reality forever. Keep in mind that even though the beings in this reality may look like your loved ones or your cherished objects, they are not the same entities and cannot be trusted. Stay alert and focused on finding a way back to your own reality. Look for blue-colored entrances and, exits for they are the only way out.
Rule #28: If you find scrolls, pick them up, they're going to be useful. Unless they're black in which case, they're best avoided as they're memetic hazards.
And just as you put the note back in your pocket, you remember the blue scroll, you take it out. It reads "The Nameless One is a fearsome creature that roams the deepest and darkest corners of the Valley of Gods and Monsters. Its origins are shrouded in mystery, and its true name is lost to the ages, but one thing is certain: it is a force to be reckoned with. Towering over its prey, the Nameless One is covered in an impenetrable layer of obsidian armor, and wields a massive hammer that can crush even the strongest of warriors. Its eyes glow with an otherworldly light, and its roar can shatter the very ground beneath your feet. Few have dared to face the Nameless One and lived to tell the tale, but those who have speak of a creature that is relentless, cunning, and utterly without mercy. If you ever find yourself face to face with the Nameless One, pray that you have the strength, the skill, and the luck to survive its wrath. If you see any of his minions, you will know. Stay away from them, if you harm them, you will anger the Nameless one. And don't fall asleep out in the open unless you want to become food for his minions
Remember, these rules are not to be taken lightly. They're more than just words on a piece of paper. They're like the Nameless One's eldritch serpentine minions, crawling underneath your skin, snaking through your blood and flesh, like a caterpillar playing host to thousands of wasp larvae. Although you may feel weakened, tired and disoriented, it's crucial to push through. Shake off the feeling and continue with unwavering determination. Your survival hinges on your ability to persevere. And, do keep in mind that sometimes you might have to violate these rules but, do not break any of these rules unless explicitly told to ignore a given rule. Only trust notes from me( You'll know if a note is from me) and, non-black scrolls. Do not trust any other source of information though you can try your luck with certain gods, fairies and elementals . But, not all rules necessarily have to be correct. And, do not forget the rules. Forgetting even one of the rules can lead to disastrous consequences.
As you’re about to roll the scroll, you notice a poem at the bottom that reads -
I am a set of rules, both true and false,
Some may lead you right, others may convulse.
Secrets I hold, mysteries I hide,
But beware, dear explorer, for I may misguide.
Beware of sneaky contradictions,
And secrets lost in the Void's evictions.
Can you spot the lies, can you see?
Or will they trip you up and deceive?
I am a list of rules, some true and some fake,
Read me closely, your life is at stake.
The truth is hidden, the lies intertwined,
Can you spot the deception and leave it behind?
But beware, dear reader, for beyond these words,
A darkness looms, like flocks of ominous birds.
The raven is watching, its eyes full of dread,
A symbol of death, of melancholy, and of what lies ahead.
You keep exploring.
A voice in the back of your brain keeps chanting "Don’t fall asleep" as you walk.
You keep exploring.
submitted by ABlueEagle11 to mrcreeps [link] [comments]
You need a change. You need some excitement. Your life feels like it’s been mis-sold to you. Damaged goods that you’re desperate to return, but sadly, you were born out of warranty. You hate your job. You hate your home. You don’t have any family or friends that you feel you can connect to. Student loans, mortgages, bills overdue. You left your dreams to gather dust and crumble like some ancient artifacts in a museum’s stock room. When did it all go so wrong? Nothing has turned out the way you hoped it would when you were a kid. It’s all just been a series of compounding mistakes. Why did nobody tell you that, after a certain point life just seems to get worse and worse? It’s not that you want to die. No, that isn’t it at all. You want another throw of the dice. You want to start again, at a different place, in a different time. You want to go somewhere where you can begin anew, with a completely clean slate. That’s when you first hear about the Sterling Void: The Valley of Gods and Monsters.
A mysterious valley that was said to be home to powerful gods and terrifying monsters. Despite the warnings of the locals, you just cannot resist the allure of the unknown and decided to seek out the valley. After many days of arduous travel through rugged terrain, you finally find yourself at the entrance to the valley. There, you see a sign with a seemingly otherworldly language that makes you uneasy and a lectern with a blue scroll on top of it, a sense of dread washes over you and, just as you take a step forward, it hits you, literally, a note hits you in the face, it contains a set of petrifying rules, but your curiosity gets the better of you. You take a deep breath and step into the valley, fully unaware of the horrors that await you. As you walk further into the valley, the you begin to notice strange things. The colours of the plants and rocks seem to shift and change, and the sky above you is a deep shade of purple. You hear whispers in your ear, but when you turn around, no one’s there. Suddenly, you feel a tug at your feet and look down to see tendrils of mist wrapping around your ankles, pulling you down.
You tried to fight it, but it’s no use. You are dragged down into the mist, and when you finally emerge, you find yourself in a completely different world. The sky is a shade of silver, and the ground beneath you is made of shimmering white crystals. The air is thick with the scent of burning incense and the sense of unbelievable petrifying dread, and you can hear chanting in the distance. This is the Sterling Void, explorer and the you are now trapped there, but you wanted this and you are to blame. You knew that you had to follow the rules if they wanted to survive in this strange and dangerous place. And so, begins your journey through the Valley of Gods and Monsters, where you might face unimaginable horrors yet discover incredible secrets that may change your life forever.
Take a deep breath, adventurer, and savor the scents of burning incense and warm air. Listen closely to the wyverns chirping, inviting you to join them in eternal flight. But beware the staring imps, giants, ogres and griffins, ready to pounce at any moment. An insolent stare and you’ll be in their grasp, a glob of flesh. Remember the note you found, its warning ringing in your mind: 'Follow the rules or perish.' You shudder at the thought, but you're determined to make it through the Valley alive. You pull out the crumpled note as a reminder and steel yourself for the journey ahead. It reads the following -
Rule #1: Do not look at the gods or monsters, some of them are incomprehensible to humans in their "natural form" and, their mere presence can drive a person insane. Although it's not the case for all of them, it's better to be safe than sorry.
Rule #2: Make as little noise as possible. The gods and monsters can hear even the slightest sound and, if you're too obnoxious or noisy, you might be stripped of your soul.
Rule #3: Do not touch or disturb any objects that appear out of place, as they may be cursed or possessed by malevolent entities. These objects may include ancient artifacts, unusual stones, or unusual markings on the ground. If you encounter such objects, it is best to avoid them altogether and move on. Attempting to interact with them or take them may lead to disastrous consequences, such as being possessed by a vengeful spirit or cursed with a never-ending torment. Always exercise caution and respect for the supernatural forces that inhabit the Sterling Void. The objects in the valley can bring forth unspeakable horrors.
Rule #4: Only eat fruits and vegetables, as they are provided abundantly by the plants. Do not harm any animals unless they attack you first, as they are protected by divine grace. However, if the elementals or gods provide you with meat, you may eat it. It is important to follow the rules of supernatural hospitality and show gratitude for their generosity. Breaking this rule will result in severe consequences and you will forfeit the right to your soul and flesh, as it is a sign of disrespect towards the beings that have granted you protection and shelter. Remember, survival is possible without meat, but it is impossible without the protection of the elementals and gods.
Rule #5: Do not breathe in the mist. The mist in the valley can cause hallucinations and distort your perception of reality, making it dangerous to navigate. Cover your nose and mouth with a cloth if you must pass through it.
Rule #6: Do not touch the water unless it is orange in color. The water in the valley is cursed, and those who drink from it will suffer a fate worse than death. If you must drink, only drink from the "gilded water" that is orange in color and has regenerative properties.
Rule #7: Do not make eye contact with the statues. The statues in the valley are cursed, and those who look into their eyes will be trapped in a never-ending nightmare.
Rule #8: Do not trust your senses entirely. The valley can play tricks on your mind, and what you perceive may not always be real. Always verify your surroundings before making decisions.
Rule #9: Do not speak to anyone or anything that could possibly be a malevolent creature. The valley is home to creatures that can mimic human voices, and their intentions are often malevolent. Be cautious and discerning in your interactions .
Rule #10: Do not attempt to leave the valley without proper preparation. The gods and monsters that reside within the valley will make it difficult to leave.
Rule #11: Try to minimize use of light especially if you're out in the open. The creatures in the valley hate it and, and may hunt those who use it.
Rule #12: Do not disrupt the natural order of the valley. The curse that plagues the valley is delicate and easily disrupted. Avoid stepping on any cracks or disturbing the natural environment. Those who break the natural order will suffer dire consequences.
Rule #13: Do not open any doors unless you know where they lead. Some doors in the valley lead to places best left unexplored. If you do not know where a door leads, do not open it.
Rule #14: Do not climb any trees unless it is necessary. The trees in the valley are alive and may trap you if you climb them. Only climb if it is necessary for your survival.
Rule #15: Do not use any technology unless it is absolutely necessary. The valley is a place of ancient magic, and technology may anger the gods and monsters that reside within it. Use technology sparingly and only when it is necessary for your survival.
Rule #16: Do not pick any flowers unless they're orange, pink or red. Most flowers in the valley are cursed, and those who touch them will suffer a fate worse than death.
Rule #17: Do not enter any caves. The caves in the valley are home to creatures best left undiscovered.
Rule #18: Do not follow any "weird" sounds. The sounds in the valley are often a trap set by the creatures that inhabit it.
Rule #19: Should you spot an Inn with a sign or a placard reads "The Guardian's Grin" on the road-side, you’re in luck! You’ve found a traveller’s haven. Feel free to spend as much time as you want here and even stock up on supplies and, if you have need something, feel free to ask the staff for help. However, try not to be a nuisance and, don't overstay your welcome if you turn out to be a nuisance, the owner doesn't take kindly to those who abuse his hospitality. If you make a mess or, are a nuisance, don't stay for more than a day. And, in case you're wondering, none of the inhabitants of the inn are human no matter how human they look or, act.
Rule #20: Do not stay in one place for too long. This makes you an easier target for the creatures in the valley. Always be on the move, and do not linger in any one place for too long.
Rule #21: Do not attempt to communicate with the gods or monsters unless you have a concrete reason to or you really think you need to. They do not like pointless chatter, and attempting to communicate with them without any concrete reason so will only anger them.
Rule #22: Do not walk in predictable patterns. This can draw unwanted attention from the creatures in the valley. Vary your movements and be unpredictable.
Rule #23: Do not look at the sky, the sky looks like it’s made of silver alloys and, it is utterly incomprehensible to humans because of how “perfect” it is. And, can drive them insane, it is called the “sterling void” for a reason
Rule #24: If you see wooden signs or, milestones, do not read them or look at them for too long, they are memetic hazards.
Rule #25: If you hear screams of help, don't answer them. Don't move, you can't run or hide. Simply pray for salvation for heaven's divine grace. Only move when help comes, you'll know when help comes.
Rule #26: If you see an animal that has gone extinct in your universe, don't fret. It's neutral. It won't attack you unless you attack it.
Rule #27: If you see a loved one or, an object that you cherished but, lost, you are in a different plane of reality. The beings in this reality will try to convince you that you are home, and that everything is back to normal. They will try to keep you there, so be careful not to let your guard down. If you stay too long, you may forget who you really are and become trapped in this false reality forever. Keep in mind that even though the beings in this reality may look like your loved ones or your cherished objects, they are not the same entities and cannot be trusted. Stay alert and focused on finding a way back to your own reality. Look for blue-colored entrances and, exits for they are the only way out.
Rule #28: If you find scrolls, pick them up, they're going to be useful. Unless they're black in which case, they're best avoided as they're memetic hazards.
And just as you put the note back in your pocket, you remember the blue scroll, you take it out. It reads "The Nameless One is a fearsome creature that roams the deepest and darkest corners of the Valley of Gods and Monsters. Its origins are shrouded in mystery, and its true name is lost to the ages, but one thing is certain: it is a force to be reckoned with. Towering over its prey, the Nameless One is covered in an impenetrable layer of obsidian armor, and wields a massive hammer that can crush even the strongest of warriors. Its eyes glow with an otherworldly light, and its roar can shatter the very ground beneath your feet. Few have dared to face the Nameless One and lived to tell the tale, but those who have speak of a creature that is relentless, cunning, and utterly without mercy. If you ever find yourself face to face with the Nameless One, pray that you have the strength, the skill, and the luck to survive its wrath. If you see any of his minions, you will know. Stay away from them, if you harm them, you will anger the Nameless one. And don't fall asleep out in the open unless you want to become food for his minions
Remember, these rules are not to be taken lightly. They're more than just words on a piece of paper. They're like the Nameless One's eldritch serpentine minions, crawling underneath your skin, snaking through your blood and flesh, like a caterpillar playing host to thousands of wasp larvae. Although you may feel weakened, tired and disoriented, it's crucial to push through. Shake off the feeling and continue with unwavering determination. Your survival hinges on your ability to persevere. And, do keep in mind that sometimes you might have to violate these rules but, do not break any of these rules unless explicitly told to ignore a given rule. Only trust notes from me( You'll know if a note is from me) and, non-black scrolls. Do not trust any other source of information though you can try your luck with certain gods, fairies and elementals . But, not all rules necessarily have to be correct. And, do not forget the rules. Forgetting even one of the rules can lead to disastrous consequences.
As you’re about to roll the scroll, you notice a poem at the bottom that reads -
I am a set of rules, both true and false,
Some may lead you right, others may convulse.
Secrets I hold, mysteries I hide,
But beware, dear explorer, for I may misguide.
Beware of sneaky contradictions,
And secrets lost in the Void's evictions.
Can you spot the lies, can you see?
Or will they trip you up and deceive?
I am a list of rules, some true and some fake,
Read me closely, your life is at stake.
The truth is hidden, the lies intertwined,
Can you spot the deception and leave it behind?
But beware, dear reader, for beyond these words,
A darkness looms, like flocks of ominous birds.
The raven is watching, its eyes full of dread,
A symbol of death, of melancholy, and of what lies ahead.
You keep exploring.
A voice in the back of your brain keeps chanting "Don’t fall asleep" as you walk.
You keep exploring.
2023.04.01 11:36 MaikiaCrakedEgg UPDATE: I Have A Date Friday PT2
Hi girls im back after the date! srry if its a little long!
so oki when i woke up today i was in a pure panic mode as i had so much to do in like 4 hrs. i showered and shaved so i can be all clean and soft and also in case of “adult activities” 😼 (nothing in the sense happened at all of that). i had to vacuum and craft the dinner table and couch & yes i made a dinner table outta a night stand and a cooler and put a tablecloth on top of it. crafty aint i. 😼😸
then i started preparing dinner and luckily my sister was home to do my makeup and hair. SHOUT OUT TO MY SISTER 😻🫶!! he texted me saying that he was one his way while i was still getting ready and i almost had my mind explode 🤯 from the excitement and stress! well we finished up pretty much right on time for me getting ready because not even 10mins later he showed up! (during the entire 4 hrs of prior i was on the verge of breaking down and vomiting, i was so nervous)
but when i say him, it kinda made it melt away. he was so sweet and would apologize for something as simple as being a little clumsy. he was so cute and polite too. i was still cooking when he showed up and he offered to help me immediately! once dinner was made and we made it to my room, we started to eat and chat. and he immediately loved my cooking 👩🍳🫶
unfortunately the dang wine bottles cork took like 10 mins open. it wasn’t even good wine 😖
but it was good dinner and we just talked a lot. he played me some music on my guitar and he was good. apparently he owns 6 guitars so mans got magic fingers lmao 🤣😝 after dinner we played 5/20 questions as its as far as we got til we decided to watch the movie as each question was answered within 15 mins of talking about it. somewhat what’s the about his past in the Navy, which I find very interesting.
do we get the movie started and we share a joint to calm our nerves a little more. and chat during the movie and watch it. later as were buzzed and high, he tells me he does recordings and music. and he shows me a song that he wrote with an ex friend and oh my God it was so good it was like hard, metal rock, but oh my God I loved it. he told me afterwards that he was so embarrassed to show me it and I told him that I loved it. It was so hot because he had his own guitar solo and oh my God. just shredded that guitar in that song. I actually asked him it posted somewhere as i really wanted to listen to it.
after that we continued chatting and watching the movie. after the movie ended he pretty much had to go home as it was late for him. but we hugged before he left.
My rating my of first date ever, soild 8/10! he rating was the same, soild 8/10! ps he did tell me that he was in a relationship for two years but it’s been a year and he says he is ready to try again on dating! so ill be patient with him!
submitted by MaikiaCrakedEgg to StraightTransGirls [link] [comments]
so oki when i woke up today i was in a pure panic mode as i had so much to do in like 4 hrs. i showered and shaved so i can be all clean and soft and also in case of “adult activities” 😼 (nothing in the sense happened at all of that). i had to vacuum and craft the dinner table and couch & yes i made a dinner table outta a night stand and a cooler and put a tablecloth on top of it. crafty aint i. 😼😸
then i started preparing dinner and luckily my sister was home to do my makeup and hair. SHOUT OUT TO MY SISTER 😻🫶!! he texted me saying that he was one his way while i was still getting ready and i almost had my mind explode 🤯 from the excitement and stress! well we finished up pretty much right on time for me getting ready because not even 10mins later he showed up! (during the entire 4 hrs of prior i was on the verge of breaking down and vomiting, i was so nervous)
but when i say him, it kinda made it melt away. he was so sweet and would apologize for something as simple as being a little clumsy. he was so cute and polite too. i was still cooking when he showed up and he offered to help me immediately! once dinner was made and we made it to my room, we started to eat and chat. and he immediately loved my cooking 👩🍳🫶
unfortunately the dang wine bottles cork took like 10 mins open. it wasn’t even good wine 😖
but it was good dinner and we just talked a lot. he played me some music on my guitar and he was good. apparently he owns 6 guitars so mans got magic fingers lmao 🤣😝 after dinner we played 5/20 questions as its as far as we got til we decided to watch the movie as each question was answered within 15 mins of talking about it. somewhat what’s the about his past in the Navy, which I find very interesting.
do we get the movie started and we share a joint to calm our nerves a little more. and chat during the movie and watch it. later as were buzzed and high, he tells me he does recordings and music. and he shows me a song that he wrote with an ex friend and oh my God it was so good it was like hard, metal rock, but oh my God I loved it. he told me afterwards that he was so embarrassed to show me it and I told him that I loved it. It was so hot because he had his own guitar solo and oh my God. just shredded that guitar in that song. I actually asked him it posted somewhere as i really wanted to listen to it.
after that we continued chatting and watching the movie. after the movie ended he pretty much had to go home as it was late for him. but we hugged before he left.
My rating my of first date ever, soild 8/10! he rating was the same, soild 8/10! ps he did tell me that he was in a relationship for two years but it’s been a year and he says he is ready to try again on dating! so ill be patient with him!
2023.04.01 11:20 goldentouchuae Get Sparkling Clean with Cleaning Services in Abu Dhabi
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submitted by goldentouchuae to u/goldentouchuae [link] [comments]
#CleaningServiceinAbuDhabi
2023.04.01 11:19 MirkWorks Notes and Fragments from Twilight of Phantoms: On Resentment and Sympathy
“The lover carves into his soul the model of the beloved. In that way, the soul of the lover becomes the mirror in which the image of the loved one is reflected.” - Marsilio Ficino, Commentary on Plato's Symposium
Nietzsche’s criticisms of Hegel are often conflated with Schopenhauer’s. Often by people who type things like, “I’m in the Schopenhauer camp when it comes to Hegel and his ilk.” In a series of Beeps-and-Boops they copy-and-paste Schopenhauer’s loathing without any of Schopenhauer’s substance (which would require actually engaging with Schopenhauer and Hegel) instead these Thinkers exists as little framed photos on a candle covered shrine in Geocities. Even if they’re correct they’re still wrong and worthy of immediate scorn and derision. We must express the most profound sense of Christian Pity and Charity at the sight of their nakedness.
It’s easy to spiral on this particular subject but unbecoming, revealing, even damning. What they don’t seem to process, is that the seethe and the scolding and the tantrums are in their manner the highest form of compliment either philosopher could muster. That the younger Schopenhauer’s response to Hegel’s semantic blunder should be a kind of ecstatic fury that propelled his career as a philosopher. That Schopenhauer is endearing when he puts pen to paper and writes:
“May Hegel's philosophy of absolute nonsense - three-fourths cash and one-fourth crazy fancies - continue to pass for unfathomable wisdom without anyone suggesting as an appropriate motto for his writings Shakespeare's words: "Such stuff as madmen tongue and brain not," or, as an emblematical vignette, the cuttle-fish with its ink-bag, creating a cloud of darkness around it to prevent people from seeing what it is, with the device: mea caligine tutus. - May each day bring us, as hitherto, new systems adapted for University purposes, entirely made up of words and phrases and in a learned jargon besides, which allows people to talk whole days without saying anything; and may these delights never be disturbed by the Arabian proverb: "I hear the clappering of the mill, but I see no flour." - For all this is in accordance with the age and must have its course.”
Tempestuous little man. Without Hegel’s error what would’ve become of Schopenhauer? Would he have attempted to actively compete against Hegel? Hegel as the Phantom of Eric Roberts in the Killers Miss Atomic Bomb music video? The Other-Ghost, Hegel’s Smirking Geist cucking Schopenhauer, Sophia in his arms, Schopenhauer casts the wedding ring to the ground and runs away. As was the case in respect to Kierkegaard. Cucked out of marriage by the Ghost & Machine. “And it’s all in my head, but she’s touching his chest now, he takes off her dress now, LET ME GO. And I just can’t look it’s killing me. And taking control.”
An error is a wound is a mercy.
Nietzsche is different. Unlike Schopenhauer he doesn’t pretend to create a superior metaphysical system (the Platonic Carnivalesque) to rival Hegel’s.
I think the spirit of a Nietzschean critique of Hegel is best exemplified by aphorism 317 in Daybreak,
“The judgment of the evening. - He who reflects on the work he has done during the day and during his life, but does so when he has finished it and is tired, usually arrives at a melancholy conclusion: this however is not the fault of his day or his life, but of his tiredness. - In the midst of our work we usually have no leisure to pass judgment on life and existence, nor in the midst of our pleasures: but if we should happen to do so, we should no longer agree with him who waited for the seventh day and its repose before he decided that everything was very beautiful - he had let the better moment go by.”
Hegel as a Christian Nihilist and the Dialectic as Slave Morality. All finite forms of life attain their truth in the process of self-overcoming. Hegel uses Negativity to pacify an excess of Negativity. Hegel’s System annuls the Abyss. The Truth of any given determination is realized in its exhaustion. This Truth is what Remains. As part of a Whole. Eternal. Defeat for Hegel is what brings us to our Truth. That the subject’s defeat should purify it of its particularities and its impositions. My thoughts are already part of reality. This Knowledge leads to renunciation. I’m no longer attempting to impose or enforce myself on reality, to shape it in the heat of my perverse gaze. I look up at the stars and recognize a series of sores oozing out a brilliant light. In the Beggar’s Eye I see Christ. Saint Lazarus draped in indigo rags surrounded by dogs. In the Eyes of the King of the World, Christ. In the Illness the Cure. In the Poison the Medicine.
Hegel stands next to his student, the student looks up at the starry sky in awe. “They are the abode of the blessed.” Hegel grumbles, “The stars, hum! Hum! The stars are only a gleaming leprosy in the sky.’” Like Lorde, he never watches the stars because there’s so much down here. As he puts it in one lecture,
“The human being is this Night, this empty nothing which contains everything in its simplicity - a wealth of infinitely many representations, images, none of which occur to it directly, and none of which are not present. This [is] the Night; the interior of [human] nature, existing here - pure Self - [and] in phantasmagoric representations it is night everywhere: here a bloody head suddenly shoots up and there another white shape, only to disappear as suddenly. We see this Night when we look a human being in the eye, looking into a Night which turns, terrifying. [For from his eyes] the night of the world hangs out towards us.”
Let us then briefly think with Hegel whose underling problem is, from the very beginning of his thought, that of love.
What is Blue?
According to Goethe in his Theory of Colors,
“As yellow is always accompanied with light, so it may be said that blue still brings a principle of darkness with it.
This color has a peculiar and almost indescribable effect on the eye. As a hue it is powerful — but it is on the negative side, and in its highest purity is, as it were, a stimulating negation. Its appearance, then, is a kind of contradiction between excitement and repose.
As the upper sky and distant mountains appear blue, so a blue surface seems to retire from us.
But as we readily follow an agreeable object that flies from us, so we love to contemplate blue — not because it advances to us, but because it draws us after it.
Blue gives us an impression of cold, and thus, again, reminds us of shade. We have before spoken of its affinity with black.
Rooms which are hung with pure blue, appear in some degree larger, but at the same time empty and cold.
The appearance of objects seen through a blue glass is gloomy and melancholy.”
Goethe and a defense of Goethe’s critique of Newton’s Opticks unites Hegel and Schopenhauer. That color is produced by light and by what stands against it. Goethe who said that were the eye not of the sun how could we behold the light. Brilliant in the poetic continuity this expresses. A golden chain from Empedocles to Plato and Aristotle to the Stoics and so on. Summarized here elegantly by the physicist Arthur Zajonc, “the interior light coalesces with daylight, like to like, forming thereby a single homogenous body of light. That body, a marriage of inner light and outer, forges a link between the objects of the world and the soul. It becomes the bridge along which the subtle motions of an exterior object may pass, causing the sensation of sight.” Aristotle proposed the existence of a Proton Organon or Primary Instrument, an organ of congealed pneuma, located in the heart, that reconciles the division between the sensible and the intelligible. The Stoics would go on the rename this Mercurial (both volatile-subtle and fixed) Instrument, the Hegemonikon, the synthesizer or icon-maker. Whose function is to produce phantasms. The instrument through which the soul transmits all vital activities to the body and also the body’s way of capturing the sensations from the five senses and translating them into phantasms or images that could be understood by the soul.
The Lover longing loving unrequited. Smiling like she means it. Being-thrown into this World. Never fully at home, refracted, out of joint. That this affliction is our common inheritance. I think this is our patrimony. We are the heirs of this Abyss. It is to some degree I think fundamentally "Western" fundamentally "Romantic". Regardless of political opinion or alignment. It speaks to us. Through us. Perhaps it's because the Republic of Letters is largely comprised of Melancholic Perverts. Nostalgia or homesickness, as a longing for a reality which can only be possessed through the imagination and through the dream, the genuine site of anamnesis or recollection in the unreal. Evoking for us the movement of the soul described by the Venetian Magician-Philosopher Guilio Camillo; descending through the Lunar Gate of Cancer (of man), drinking from the cup of Bacchus and, depending on how much one imbibes, forgetting about all the things ‘up there’ before making our way back through the Saturnine Gate of Capricorn (of the gods). Tightrope walking to Luna. I see her so very clearly. My Corporeal Dasha, Giordano Bruno would rebuke me harshly, that I should Simp as I do for "these eyes, these ears, this blush, this tongue, this tooth, this hair, this dress, this coat, this little shoe .. . , this sun in eclipse, this crazy person, this slut, this stench, this deathbed, this privy, this mensturation, this corpse... which, by means of a superficial appearance, a shadow, a phantasm, a dream, a Circe-like charm in the service of procreation, deceives us by taking the form of beauty." Fuck it. Yet there is an Image behind the Image, a Woman behind my woman. The Platonic Dasha. Daria the Luminous Homunculi. Madonna Intelligenza who has served as a guide throughout this journey. “Keep your eyes on me.” I wobble on the tightrope, your eyes are what kept me, you and your rose-wreathed heart lit. A Unity-of-Opposites. Georges Bataille writes in The Sorcerer's Apprentice, “The image through which, in an instant, destiny has become alive thus finds itself projected into a world foreign to everyday agitation. The woman toward whom a man is draw, as to his human destiny, no longer belongs to the space that money controls. Her sweetness escapes the real world, through which she moves without allowing herself to be any more imprisoned than a dream. Misfortune would ravage the spirit anyone who lets himself be possessed by the need to reduce her.”
On Love Hegel writes, “Since love is a sensing of something living, lovers can be distinct only in so far as they are mortal and do not look upon this possibility of separation as if there were really a separation or as if reality were a sort of conjunction between possibility and existence. In the lovers there is no matter; they are a living whole.” That the Unity of Love is informed precisely by the division or difference between the Lover and the Beloved. The Union of Love, “…can remain so only as long as the separate lovers are opposed solely in the sense that the one loves and the other is loved, i.e., that each separate lover is one organ in a living whole.”
Here we might ponder Hegel’s Philosophy as a Philosophy of Death. The vespers-born melancholy conclusion is perhaps being that all Love is Unrequited. As Marsilio Ficino notes in his Commentary on Plato’s Symposium, “Insofar as it is death, it is bitter, and insofar it is voluntary, it is sweet. He who loves dies; for his consciousness, oblivious of himself, is devoted exclusively to the loved one, and a man who is not conscious of himself is certainly not conscious in himself. Therefore, a soul that is so affected, does not function in itself, because the primary function of the soul is consciousness…. Therefore, the unrequited lover lives nowhere; he is completely dead.”
Blue the color of Sulfur ignited. Blue the color of the Ocean of the Dead, of Dasein. The blue knees of a prayerful lover and the blue lips of the lovelorn fool, “Here’s to my love - O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. - Thus with a kiss I die.” That the smell of bitter almonds should remind the good doctor of unrequited love.
Such a melancholy conclusion can only be produced by a proper melancholic. Melancholy was regarded by Ficino as one of seven exemptions in which the bond between body and soul was weakened, allowing the soul to take flight and acquire the gifts of premonition and clairvoyance. Saint Albertus Magnus writes of the two kinds of melancholy. Hot melancholy and its two primary effects on the subject’s phantasmic activity he describes thusly,
“The first consists in the mobility of the phantasms within the subtle organism: the second, in the great capacity of phantasms to stay impressed upon the pneuma. This brings with it, besides a prodigious memory, an extraordinary capacity for analysis. This is why, Ficino tells us, 'all the great man who have ever excelled in an art have been melancholic. Either because they were born so or become so through assiduous meditation.”
Philosophy begins with this Unhappy Consciousness. The Alienated Soul lithe and loveless, which is the consciousness of self as a divided nature, a doubled and merely contradictory being. Dissatisfied with its Self and the World it retreats inward, like a Nymph fleeing Pan, fleeing into Reflection, which might likewise take the form of a fleeing into Nature (think Thoreau’s Walden). Herein is the mirk. This Narcissistic dialectic between Subject and Phantasmata. The Ouroboric Narcissism of the Beautiful Soul.
Another affliction associated with Melancholy is Hysteria. The Psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan refers to Hegel as the most Sublime Hysteric. The Hysteric asks questions because they experience their own desire as if it were the desire of the Other.
The Spirit retreats into a pre-rational state of life, a Life of Feeling, that this feeling expresses a movement in which the soul is no longer simply natural, but able to realize a mastery over itself.
“Finally, in the “feeling of self,” the individual becomes “a sensitive totality.” But the gradual formation of the ‘I’ is paradoxically accompanied by a loss of fluidity, leading to “ruin and disaster within the conscious spirit.” This crisis results from the fact that the subject, being constituted in a free relation to the self, feels at the same time like ‘another’, and this tension pushes it into a state of ‘trembling’ (durchzittern).” The Future of Hegel, Plasticity, Temporality, Dialectics, Catherine Malabou.
How does Hegel escape? Or perhaps more accurately how can we escape this trap? This Pneumatic Mirror-World. Of Subject-Mirror-Phantasmata. The Romantic Prison? Of one who learns of Love in order to be Loveless? Hold that thought.
Returning to the color blue, the psychologist James Hillman writes in Alchemical Psychology,
“This is the realm of the alchemical (kyanos, blue; kynos, dog); blue takes on a dog-like quality: hangdog and dirty dog, both. Why does depression seek porn? For arousal? For Eros and Priapos and Venus to come to life? Rather, I think, to maintain the depression, to re-direct the verticality of desire downward and backward (doggy fashion), clipping the wings of eros. Pornography - an opus contra naturam, a counter-instinct of the psyche, perverting the conventionally natural, enslaving, torturing; an erotics of despair.
To translate these esoteric references into the blue dog’s perverse obsessions we discover this: Invisible Hades appears in the world as Dionysus. There is a divine (i.e., invisible, unfathomable) impulse that seeks to enter ordinary life. It wants to know the soul in the Biblical sense. Carnal knowledge, intimate knowledge, knowledge of intimates. (Hence the innumerable images of copulation throughout alchemy.) The soul longs for this copulation, and sings its longing in the blues, blueing its own flesh, drawing the divine down into the ordinary body. (Hence the blues’ libidinous mood.)”
My Cup Overfloweth.
Pure thinking-subjectivity is phantasmological or hauntological. The role of the Phantasmata in the context of medieval philosophy, is described exquisitely by Mauricio Loza in The Hounds of Actaeon. The Phantasm or Phantom is understood “as a mental image with effects reaching not only the level of perception but that of social construction, the phantasm exists in the twilight between the objective and the subjectivity, the material and the immaterial, a zone of indistinction between reality and unreality. This is why the phantasm pulls us towards the twilight from whence it comes: Its central action is to drag us into the shadow of the world.”
Minerva’s Owls unfurls its wings only with the falling of dusk.
For the great Persian scholar Avicenna, sensory phantasms were processed through five virtues or powers corresponding to five cavities in the cranium; phantasy or common sense, imagination, cogitative virtue, the estimative virtue, and finally the reminiscent virtue. According to Georgio Agamben in his work Stanzas: Word and Phantasm in Western Culture, Avicenna conceives of this gradation through the inner senses as a "progressive 'disrobing' (denudatio) of the phantasm from its material accidents."
Material accidents in this instance, evoking the etymological origins and proliferation into common speech of the word "accident" itself.
Ad - 'towards to' and cadere - 'to fall'. The Latin Accident - 'happening' used in late Middle English to refer to 'an Event'. Used to refer to the parts of the sacred bread and wine that remained after the transubstantiation through the sacrament of The Holy Eucharist,
“Thus, throughout the history of Scholasticism we have to do with a sort of triangle of intellectual forces: Realism and Nominalism fighting a five hundred years’ war, and the Church, in its official capacity, anxiously endeavouring to hold the balance between them. One wonders whether the three parties to this ancient dispute may not have found symbolic expression in Tweedledum, Tweedledee, and the ‘Monstrous Crow’ of nursery legend. But it is no disparagement of the intellects of that day to say that to us the chief interest of their polemics lies in the many new and accurate instruments of thought with which they provided us. The common word accident is an excellent example. We use it every day without realizing that it was only imported from Latin by the indefatigable efforts of the Schoolmen to reconcile the doctrine of Realism with the Catholic dogma of Transubstantiation. The accidents, when they first came into the English language, meant that part of the sacred bread and wine which remained after the substance had been transmuted into the body and blood of Christ.” History in English Words, Owen Barfield
Here we see a process of Pneuma returning to Pneuma through this process of Rising and Falling. That the Absolute Idea is a Radiant Star. That the Phantasm undergoes a kind of purification process, from the sensible to the spiritual to the mnemonic. That this purification entails a kind of excremental remainder. A material accident. An excess which goes?
This brings to mind the question that the Sophist Parmenides (in Plato's Parmenides) raises to Socrates, which forces Socrates to admit to his own limitations. It utterly stumps the Apostate Tragedian. That being whether or not there is an eidos or Pure Idea of the lowest material things. Things like excrement and dust and I might add these eyes, these ears, this blush, this tongue, this tooth, this hair, this dress, this coat, this little shoe .. . , this sun in eclipse, this crazy person, this slut, this stench, this deathbed, this privy, this mensturation, this corpse...
The Ghost and The Star
Recall the episode with Hegel comparing stars to leprosy sores. This got out around town and Hegel found himself having to address this controversy,
"It has been rumoured round the town that I have compared the stars to a rash on an organism where the skin erupts in an countless mass of red spots: or to an ant-heap in which too, there is Understanding and necessity. In fact, I do rate what is concrete higher than what is abstract, and an animality that develops into no more than a slime, higher than the starry host."
The rock is a rock.
Hegel defines the Domain of Art as the “sensible appearing of the idea”… or the Idea given expression in Sensuous Form. This is to be understood as The Star shining through The Ghost. This opposition between Form and Content. This Contradiction is what animates the Motion of Spirit. From Art towards Philosophy.
She is and is not. Ah wait. I'm not her. But in this regard I am the same and suddenly the Ghost is Concretized.
Alexandre Kojève in his Lectures on the Phenomenology of Spirit writes,
"It is known that Hegel asserted that his knowledge is circular, and that circularity is the necessary and sufficient condition of absolute truth - that is, of complete, universal, and definitive (or "eternal") truth."
The Hysterics quandary finds some resolution. The question of the Other is reflexively transformed into the answer to the question.
"In the Wise Man's absolute Knowledge, each question is its own answer, but is so only because he goes through the totality of questions-answers that forms the entirety of the System. Likewise, in his existence, the Wise Man remains in identity with himself, he is closed up in himself; but he remains in identity with himself because he passes through the totality of others, and is closed up in himself. Which (according to the Phenomenology) means, quite simply, that the only man who can be Wise is a Citizen of the universal and homogeneous State - that is to say, the State of the Tun Aller und Jeder, in which each man exists only through and for the whole, and the whole exists through and for each man."
We return to Self-Consciousness. We're not the same. We're different. Tonight.
Eros pins Pan. Chronos clips Eros’ wings. Compulsion is overcome by Love. Love is overcome by Time. Love can only be actualized and concretized through Time. When it must Dwell in a given Space. This is the Poetic-Plasticity. This is the Commitment.
“Desire has reserved to itself the pure negating of the object and thereby unalloyed feeling of self. This satisfaction, however, just for that reason is itself only a state of evanescence, for it lacks objectivity or subsistence. Labour, on the other hand, is desire restrained and checked, evanescence delayed and postponed; in other words, labour shapes and fashions the thing.” (Phenomenology of Spirit)
We begin with the Problem of Love and in the Problem find the Solution. Love is the Answer to the Question of Love. Loving is to give what one does not have.
Our Unrequited Love is Mutual,
“In fact, there is only one death in mutual love, but there are two resurrections, for a lover dies within himself the moment he forgets about himself, but he returns to life immediately in his loved one as soon as the loved ones embraces him in loving contemplation. He is resurrected once more when he finally recognizes himself in his beloved and no longer doubts that he is loved. O, happy death, which is followed by two loves. O, wondrous exchange in which each gives himself up for the other, and has the other, yet does not cease to have himself.” Commentary on Plato's Symposium, Marsilio Ficino.
To be Overcome is to Animate. This is the Labor of Love. Productive Labor as Art.
You understand why Hegel is so very frustrating? In his System. In the Movement from East to West back East. We find the Heiros Gamos, the Sacred Matrimony of Eros and Sophia, and in this Unity of Opposites the philosopher becomes the Sage. In the production of this Heiros Gamos, Hegel's System becomes the Perfect Pneumatic Circle.
I make of Nietzsche a traveling companion through Hegel’s Aesthetics. Why? Because The Birth of Tragedy is crudely Hegelian. Here we find ourselves encountering what is so very frustrating about Hegel and his Pneumatic Circle, his method and his system. From the occultists perspective this is because Hegel’s System is an Artifice of Sacral or Mythic Time, of Cyclical Time. The genuinely infuriating thing is realizing that the Artifice, the “Copy” is in fact the original. This is why some speak of the feminizing effect of Hegel. Feminizing in the way Achilles’ is feminized by Scamander. That not only do we never step in the same river twice and that the river is the site of the Doom-driven Hero’s self-fulfilling prophesy.
As Nietzsche himself puts it, “one cannot refute an eye disease.” I thought it would be stimulating to read The Birth of Tragedy through the lens of Hegel’s Lectures on Aesthetics. Framing Nietzsche and his insights within a Hegelian Tableaux. Nietzsche who denounces Metaphysical Systematization. Demurely objecting he says, “unhand me woman,” with a little blush. Does he mean it? I don’t think it was Hegel’s Dialectical Method or Logic that Nietzsche objected too. Denouncing instead the refraction between the Philosopher and the Logic (an ironic detachment)… that the Philosopher and his Logic are not two separate beings. That for him the Philosopher is Alkahest or Universal Solvent. Body and Soul collapse into a singularity, Art and Artists. No, in a sense Nietzsche celebrates the animating antagonism at the Heart of Hegel’s work. That this refraction is what results in the System which Nietzsche saw as modeling contemporary German Bourgeois fearfulness and timidity simply solidifies into Consensus. “I’m old and I don’t want to be alone.” That the System should be a kind of Metaphysical Prison concretized around the Fiery Pneuma, the brilliance of Hegel’s Esprit.
The application of the Dialectical Method is evidenced throughout The Birth of Tragedy; The Apollonian thesis, the Dionysian antithesis, the Tragic synthesis. Or perhaps in a manner more accurate to Hegel; The Dionysian Abstract, the Apollonian Negation, the Tragic Negation-of-Negation, and the Socratic Concretization.
The section dedicated to a retrospective appraisal of The Birth of Tragedy in Ecce Homo, Nietzsche concludes that all the good things he had ever written about Richard Wagner were actually about him. He was talking about himself the whole time without even realizing it, “"Even psychologically all decisive traits of my own nature are projected into Wagner’s - the close proximity of the brightest and the most calamitous forces, the will to power as no man ever possessed it, the ruthless courage in matters of the spirit, the unlimited power to learn without damage to the will to act.” Poor Nietzsche he who was too high-strung for his own good. Comes to a conclusion paralleling Hegel as it concerns Art, specifically Music. Perhaps one day, there will be Dionysian future for music. But for now, the Pneuma roils through space-and-time, and it culminates in Nietzsche or Zarathustra, as the Last Philosopher or the first Tragic Philosopher. Who despite all the aristocratic pretensions cannot help but write in a popular and accessible manner. Writing into motion the conditions for the Dionysian resurgence he had once thought was being spearheaded by the compositions of Richard Wagner.
He goes so far as to be both Beethoven and Goethe’s response to Beethoven in the anticipation of his works and in the need for them to remain ‘exclusive’ despite their undeniably popular character. Goethe in his old age weeping softly to Beethoven’s sonatas, proclaims “If such music were performed by a large orchestra, it would destroy everything around it.”
The stylish and inspirited Vitalism of Nietzsche’s ruminations is Pneumatic. A red dot in the center of a dark blue sphere.
Dialectics reveals an Infinite Spiral. The Circle divided by a straight-line. Containing the spiral. The straight-line breaks through the circle. Above and Below. Revealing three other spheres. Above the configuration one spiral. Beneath it two spirals; one winding up and the other winding down. On a Hegelian theological note. God the Father and God the Holy Spirit proceed from God the Son. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” John 1:1.
Here we might locate the Traumatic Temporality of Christianity. The introduction of History. Time as Chronos. With God the Son. Without the historical personage of Jesus Christ, there wouldn’t be a Trinitarian Unity and Division. From God the Son proceeds God the Father and God the Holy Spirit. In this wound we are brought to an awareness of another Time. A Timeless-Time or a Time sans History. “In the Beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God,” a time in which God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit had always been. The Triune God. Whether or not, in this Aionic Time, God the Holy Spirit proceeds from God the Father or from God the Father and God the Son, is the division between East and West.
This Times overlap and nowhere is this more evident than in the anachronisms or perhaps more accurately, the Archeo-modernity, of the romantic painting. Or perhaps further still, in the Ethiopian depiction of Christ, in the Korean depiction of Christ, and in the Italian depiction of Christ. Black Jesus, Asian Jesus, and European Jesus.
As that obscure note by Nietzsche produced by Gilles Deleuze in his work Nietzsche and Philosophy goes, “Universal chaos which excluded all purposeful activity does not contradict the idea of the cycle; for this idea is only an irrational necessity.” Here we see Nietzsche approaching something akin to the Infinite Dialectic realized and developed in Mao Zedong’s contributions to Dialectical and Historical Materialism. As Mao writes in On Contradiction, “The universality or absoluteness of contradiction has a twofold meaning. One is that contradiction exists in the process of development of all things, and the other is that in the process of development of each thing a movement of opposites exists from beginning to end.”
The stylish and inspirited Vitalism of Nietzsche’s ruminations is Pneumatic. Being Pneumatic it is Phantasmic. Here we locate the Girardian critique of Nietzsche. As Nietzsche proclaims in Ecce Homo that everything his was praising Wagner for is in fact praise he was unconsciously directing at himself, at his values or innate dignities, the obverse is true. For Nietzsche every great philosophical work is a confessional, an involuntary and unconscious autobiography. He invents the Overman and by extension the Last Man. Will to Power and Ressentiment. One cannot exist without the other and in Nietzsche they collapse into a singularity (a point worth keeping in mind when we eventually venture into Deleuze and his Anti-Hegelianism). The Last Philosopher. In sum Girard’s contention is that in the production of these Phantasmata, Nietzsche ends up offering to his audience another Scapegoat. The Man of Ressentiment and the Slave Morality. Obviously within Nietzsche the potential for this is treated triumphantly. Nietzsche refuses to have his Poetic Revelry stifled by timorous considerations. That stupid people might read his works and take it as an excuse to persecute Christians or to locate the Man of Ressentiment in their political adversaries. That they might completely forget the contradictions inherent to the very office of “Tragic Philosopher” and how the Vagabond and the Prophet are a singular figure, hybrid and lovelorn and glorious. “If I had power I’d know how to immediately and brutally exercise it.” None of this concerns Nietzsche. People will misinterpret you regardless. Still the points are well worth reflecting on and prove stimulating as we move from the Symbolic-Classical to the Classical-Romantic.
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Nietzsche’s criticisms of Hegel are often conflated with Schopenhauer’s. Often by people who type things like, “I’m in the Schopenhauer camp when it comes to Hegel and his ilk.” In a series of Beeps-and-Boops they copy-and-paste Schopenhauer’s loathing without any of Schopenhauer’s substance (which would require actually engaging with Schopenhauer and Hegel) instead these Thinkers exists as little framed photos on a candle covered shrine in Geocities. Even if they’re correct they’re still wrong and worthy of immediate scorn and derision. We must express the most profound sense of Christian Pity and Charity at the sight of their nakedness.
It’s easy to spiral on this particular subject but unbecoming, revealing, even damning. What they don’t seem to process, is that the seethe and the scolding and the tantrums are in their manner the highest form of compliment either philosopher could muster. That the younger Schopenhauer’s response to Hegel’s semantic blunder should be a kind of ecstatic fury that propelled his career as a philosopher. That Schopenhauer is endearing when he puts pen to paper and writes:
“May Hegel's philosophy of absolute nonsense - three-fourths cash and one-fourth crazy fancies - continue to pass for unfathomable wisdom without anyone suggesting as an appropriate motto for his writings Shakespeare's words: "Such stuff as madmen tongue and brain not," or, as an emblematical vignette, the cuttle-fish with its ink-bag, creating a cloud of darkness around it to prevent people from seeing what it is, with the device: mea caligine tutus. - May each day bring us, as hitherto, new systems adapted for University purposes, entirely made up of words and phrases and in a learned jargon besides, which allows people to talk whole days without saying anything; and may these delights never be disturbed by the Arabian proverb: "I hear the clappering of the mill, but I see no flour." - For all this is in accordance with the age and must have its course.”
Tempestuous little man. Without Hegel’s error what would’ve become of Schopenhauer? Would he have attempted to actively compete against Hegel? Hegel as the Phantom of Eric Roberts in the Killers Miss Atomic Bomb music video? The Other-Ghost, Hegel’s Smirking Geist cucking Schopenhauer, Sophia in his arms, Schopenhauer casts the wedding ring to the ground and runs away. As was the case in respect to Kierkegaard. Cucked out of marriage by the Ghost & Machine. “And it’s all in my head, but she’s touching his chest now, he takes off her dress now, LET ME GO. And I just can’t look it’s killing me. And taking control.”
An error is a wound is a mercy.
Nietzsche is different. Unlike Schopenhauer he doesn’t pretend to create a superior metaphysical system (the Platonic Carnivalesque) to rival Hegel’s.
I think the spirit of a Nietzschean critique of Hegel is best exemplified by aphorism 317 in Daybreak,
“The judgment of the evening. - He who reflects on the work he has done during the day and during his life, but does so when he has finished it and is tired, usually arrives at a melancholy conclusion: this however is not the fault of his day or his life, but of his tiredness. - In the midst of our work we usually have no leisure to pass judgment on life and existence, nor in the midst of our pleasures: but if we should happen to do so, we should no longer agree with him who waited for the seventh day and its repose before he decided that everything was very beautiful - he had let the better moment go by.”
Hegel as a Christian Nihilist and the Dialectic as Slave Morality. All finite forms of life attain their truth in the process of self-overcoming. Hegel uses Negativity to pacify an excess of Negativity. Hegel’s System annuls the Abyss. The Truth of any given determination is realized in its exhaustion. This Truth is what Remains. As part of a Whole. Eternal. Defeat for Hegel is what brings us to our Truth. That the subject’s defeat should purify it of its particularities and its impositions. My thoughts are already part of reality. This Knowledge leads to renunciation. I’m no longer attempting to impose or enforce myself on reality, to shape it in the heat of my perverse gaze. I look up at the stars and recognize a series of sores oozing out a brilliant light. In the Beggar’s Eye I see Christ. Saint Lazarus draped in indigo rags surrounded by dogs. In the Eyes of the King of the World, Christ. In the Illness the Cure. In the Poison the Medicine.
Hegel stands next to his student, the student looks up at the starry sky in awe. “They are the abode of the blessed.” Hegel grumbles, “The stars, hum! Hum! The stars are only a gleaming leprosy in the sky.’” Like Lorde, he never watches the stars because there’s so much down here. As he puts it in one lecture,
“The human being is this Night, this empty nothing which contains everything in its simplicity - a wealth of infinitely many representations, images, none of which occur to it directly, and none of which are not present. This [is] the Night; the interior of [human] nature, existing here - pure Self - [and] in phantasmagoric representations it is night everywhere: here a bloody head suddenly shoots up and there another white shape, only to disappear as suddenly. We see this Night when we look a human being in the eye, looking into a Night which turns, terrifying. [For from his eyes] the night of the world hangs out towards us.”
Let us then briefly think with Hegel whose underling problem is, from the very beginning of his thought, that of love.
What is Blue?
According to Goethe in his Theory of Colors,
“As yellow is always accompanied with light, so it may be said that blue still brings a principle of darkness with it.
This color has a peculiar and almost indescribable effect on the eye. As a hue it is powerful — but it is on the negative side, and in its highest purity is, as it were, a stimulating negation. Its appearance, then, is a kind of contradiction between excitement and repose.
As the upper sky and distant mountains appear blue, so a blue surface seems to retire from us.
But as we readily follow an agreeable object that flies from us, so we love to contemplate blue — not because it advances to us, but because it draws us after it.
Blue gives us an impression of cold, and thus, again, reminds us of shade. We have before spoken of its affinity with black.
Rooms which are hung with pure blue, appear in some degree larger, but at the same time empty and cold.
The appearance of objects seen through a blue glass is gloomy and melancholy.”
Goethe and a defense of Goethe’s critique of Newton’s Opticks unites Hegel and Schopenhauer. That color is produced by light and by what stands against it. Goethe who said that were the eye not of the sun how could we behold the light. Brilliant in the poetic continuity this expresses. A golden chain from Empedocles to Plato and Aristotle to the Stoics and so on. Summarized here elegantly by the physicist Arthur Zajonc, “the interior light coalesces with daylight, like to like, forming thereby a single homogenous body of light. That body, a marriage of inner light and outer, forges a link between the objects of the world and the soul. It becomes the bridge along which the subtle motions of an exterior object may pass, causing the sensation of sight.” Aristotle proposed the existence of a Proton Organon or Primary Instrument, an organ of congealed pneuma, located in the heart, that reconciles the division between the sensible and the intelligible. The Stoics would go on the rename this Mercurial (both volatile-subtle and fixed) Instrument, the Hegemonikon, the synthesizer or icon-maker. Whose function is to produce phantasms. The instrument through which the soul transmits all vital activities to the body and also the body’s way of capturing the sensations from the five senses and translating them into phantasms or images that could be understood by the soul.
The Lover longing loving unrequited. Smiling like she means it. Being-thrown into this World. Never fully at home, refracted, out of joint. That this affliction is our common inheritance. I think this is our patrimony. We are the heirs of this Abyss. It is to some degree I think fundamentally "Western" fundamentally "Romantic". Regardless of political opinion or alignment. It speaks to us. Through us. Perhaps it's because the Republic of Letters is largely comprised of Melancholic Perverts. Nostalgia or homesickness, as a longing for a reality which can only be possessed through the imagination and through the dream, the genuine site of anamnesis or recollection in the unreal. Evoking for us the movement of the soul described by the Venetian Magician-Philosopher Guilio Camillo; descending through the Lunar Gate of Cancer (of man), drinking from the cup of Bacchus and, depending on how much one imbibes, forgetting about all the things ‘up there’ before making our way back through the Saturnine Gate of Capricorn (of the gods). Tightrope walking to Luna. I see her so very clearly. My Corporeal Dasha, Giordano Bruno would rebuke me harshly, that I should Simp as I do for "these eyes, these ears, this blush, this tongue, this tooth, this hair, this dress, this coat, this little shoe .. . , this sun in eclipse, this crazy person, this slut, this stench, this deathbed, this privy, this mensturation, this corpse... which, by means of a superficial appearance, a shadow, a phantasm, a dream, a Circe-like charm in the service of procreation, deceives us by taking the form of beauty." Fuck it. Yet there is an Image behind the Image, a Woman behind my woman. The Platonic Dasha. Daria the Luminous Homunculi. Madonna Intelligenza who has served as a guide throughout this journey. “Keep your eyes on me.” I wobble on the tightrope, your eyes are what kept me, you and your rose-wreathed heart lit. A Unity-of-Opposites. Georges Bataille writes in The Sorcerer's Apprentice, “The image through which, in an instant, destiny has become alive thus finds itself projected into a world foreign to everyday agitation. The woman toward whom a man is draw, as to his human destiny, no longer belongs to the space that money controls. Her sweetness escapes the real world, through which she moves without allowing herself to be any more imprisoned than a dream. Misfortune would ravage the spirit anyone who lets himself be possessed by the need to reduce her.”
On Love Hegel writes, “Since love is a sensing of something living, lovers can be distinct only in so far as they are mortal and do not look upon this possibility of separation as if there were really a separation or as if reality were a sort of conjunction between possibility and existence. In the lovers there is no matter; they are a living whole.” That the Unity of Love is informed precisely by the division or difference between the Lover and the Beloved. The Union of Love, “…can remain so only as long as the separate lovers are opposed solely in the sense that the one loves and the other is loved, i.e., that each separate lover is one organ in a living whole.”
Here we might ponder Hegel’s Philosophy as a Philosophy of Death. The vespers-born melancholy conclusion is perhaps being that all Love is Unrequited. As Marsilio Ficino notes in his Commentary on Plato’s Symposium, “Insofar as it is death, it is bitter, and insofar it is voluntary, it is sweet. He who loves dies; for his consciousness, oblivious of himself, is devoted exclusively to the loved one, and a man who is not conscious of himself is certainly not conscious in himself. Therefore, a soul that is so affected, does not function in itself, because the primary function of the soul is consciousness…. Therefore, the unrequited lover lives nowhere; he is completely dead.”
Blue the color of Sulfur ignited. Blue the color of the Ocean of the Dead, of Dasein. The blue knees of a prayerful lover and the blue lips of the lovelorn fool, “Here’s to my love - O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. - Thus with a kiss I die.” That the smell of bitter almonds should remind the good doctor of unrequited love.
Such a melancholy conclusion can only be produced by a proper melancholic. Melancholy was regarded by Ficino as one of seven exemptions in which the bond between body and soul was weakened, allowing the soul to take flight and acquire the gifts of premonition and clairvoyance. Saint Albertus Magnus writes of the two kinds of melancholy. Hot melancholy and its two primary effects on the subject’s phantasmic activity he describes thusly,
“The first consists in the mobility of the phantasms within the subtle organism: the second, in the great capacity of phantasms to stay impressed upon the pneuma. This brings with it, besides a prodigious memory, an extraordinary capacity for analysis. This is why, Ficino tells us, 'all the great man who have ever excelled in an art have been melancholic. Either because they were born so or become so through assiduous meditation.”
Philosophy begins with this Unhappy Consciousness. The Alienated Soul lithe and loveless, which is the consciousness of self as a divided nature, a doubled and merely contradictory being. Dissatisfied with its Self and the World it retreats inward, like a Nymph fleeing Pan, fleeing into Reflection, which might likewise take the form of a fleeing into Nature (think Thoreau’s Walden). Herein is the mirk. This Narcissistic dialectic between Subject and Phantasmata. The Ouroboric Narcissism of the Beautiful Soul.
Another affliction associated with Melancholy is Hysteria. The Psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan refers to Hegel as the most Sublime Hysteric. The Hysteric asks questions because they experience their own desire as if it were the desire of the Other.
The Spirit retreats into a pre-rational state of life, a Life of Feeling, that this feeling expresses a movement in which the soul is no longer simply natural, but able to realize a mastery over itself.
“Finally, in the “feeling of self,” the individual becomes “a sensitive totality.” But the gradual formation of the ‘I’ is paradoxically accompanied by a loss of fluidity, leading to “ruin and disaster within the conscious spirit.” This crisis results from the fact that the subject, being constituted in a free relation to the self, feels at the same time like ‘another’, and this tension pushes it into a state of ‘trembling’ (durchzittern).” The Future of Hegel, Plasticity, Temporality, Dialectics, Catherine Malabou.
How does Hegel escape? Or perhaps more accurately how can we escape this trap? This Pneumatic Mirror-World. Of Subject-Mirror-Phantasmata. The Romantic Prison? Of one who learns of Love in order to be Loveless? Hold that thought.
Returning to the color blue, the psychologist James Hillman writes in Alchemical Psychology,
“This is the realm of the alchemical (kyanos, blue; kynos, dog); blue takes on a dog-like quality: hangdog and dirty dog, both. Why does depression seek porn? For arousal? For Eros and Priapos and Venus to come to life? Rather, I think, to maintain the depression, to re-direct the verticality of desire downward and backward (doggy fashion), clipping the wings of eros. Pornography - an opus contra naturam, a counter-instinct of the psyche, perverting the conventionally natural, enslaving, torturing; an erotics of despair.
To translate these esoteric references into the blue dog’s perverse obsessions we discover this: Invisible Hades appears in the world as Dionysus. There is a divine (i.e., invisible, unfathomable) impulse that seeks to enter ordinary life. It wants to know the soul in the Biblical sense. Carnal knowledge, intimate knowledge, knowledge of intimates. (Hence the innumerable images of copulation throughout alchemy.) The soul longs for this copulation, and sings its longing in the blues, blueing its own flesh, drawing the divine down into the ordinary body. (Hence the blues’ libidinous mood.)”
My Cup Overfloweth.
Pure thinking-subjectivity is phantasmological or hauntological. The role of the Phantasmata in the context of medieval philosophy, is described exquisitely by Mauricio Loza in The Hounds of Actaeon. The Phantasm or Phantom is understood “as a mental image with effects reaching not only the level of perception but that of social construction, the phantasm exists in the twilight between the objective and the subjectivity, the material and the immaterial, a zone of indistinction between reality and unreality. This is why the phantasm pulls us towards the twilight from whence it comes: Its central action is to drag us into the shadow of the world.”
Minerva’s Owls unfurls its wings only with the falling of dusk.
For the great Persian scholar Avicenna, sensory phantasms were processed through five virtues or powers corresponding to five cavities in the cranium; phantasy or common sense, imagination, cogitative virtue, the estimative virtue, and finally the reminiscent virtue. According to Georgio Agamben in his work Stanzas: Word and Phantasm in Western Culture, Avicenna conceives of this gradation through the inner senses as a "progressive 'disrobing' (denudatio) of the phantasm from its material accidents."
Material accidents in this instance, evoking the etymological origins and proliferation into common speech of the word "accident" itself.
Ad - 'towards to' and cadere - 'to fall'. The Latin Accident - 'happening' used in late Middle English to refer to 'an Event'. Used to refer to the parts of the sacred bread and wine that remained after the transubstantiation through the sacrament of The Holy Eucharist,
“Thus, throughout the history of Scholasticism we have to do with a sort of triangle of intellectual forces: Realism and Nominalism fighting a five hundred years’ war, and the Church, in its official capacity, anxiously endeavouring to hold the balance between them. One wonders whether the three parties to this ancient dispute may not have found symbolic expression in Tweedledum, Tweedledee, and the ‘Monstrous Crow’ of nursery legend. But it is no disparagement of the intellects of that day to say that to us the chief interest of their polemics lies in the many new and accurate instruments of thought with which they provided us. The common word accident is an excellent example. We use it every day without realizing that it was only imported from Latin by the indefatigable efforts of the Schoolmen to reconcile the doctrine of Realism with the Catholic dogma of Transubstantiation. The accidents, when they first came into the English language, meant that part of the sacred bread and wine which remained after the substance had been transmuted into the body and blood of Christ.” History in English Words, Owen Barfield
Here we see a process of Pneuma returning to Pneuma through this process of Rising and Falling. That the Absolute Idea is a Radiant Star. That the Phantasm undergoes a kind of purification process, from the sensible to the spiritual to the mnemonic. That this purification entails a kind of excremental remainder. A material accident. An excess which goes?
This brings to mind the question that the Sophist Parmenides (in Plato's Parmenides) raises to Socrates, which forces Socrates to admit to his own limitations. It utterly stumps the Apostate Tragedian. That being whether or not there is an eidos or Pure Idea of the lowest material things. Things like excrement and dust and I might add these eyes, these ears, this blush, this tongue, this tooth, this hair, this dress, this coat, this little shoe .. . , this sun in eclipse, this crazy person, this slut, this stench, this deathbed, this privy, this mensturation, this corpse...
The Ghost and The Star
Recall the episode with Hegel comparing stars to leprosy sores. This got out around town and Hegel found himself having to address this controversy,
"It has been rumoured round the town that I have compared the stars to a rash on an organism where the skin erupts in an countless mass of red spots: or to an ant-heap in which too, there is Understanding and necessity. In fact, I do rate what is concrete higher than what is abstract, and an animality that develops into no more than a slime, higher than the starry host."
The rock is a rock.
Hegel defines the Domain of Art as the “sensible appearing of the idea”… or the Idea given expression in Sensuous Form. This is to be understood as The Star shining through The Ghost. This opposition between Form and Content. This Contradiction is what animates the Motion of Spirit. From Art towards Philosophy.
She is and is not. Ah wait. I'm not her. But in this regard I am the same and suddenly the Ghost is Concretized.
Alexandre Kojève in his Lectures on the Phenomenology of Spirit writes,
"It is known that Hegel asserted that his knowledge is circular, and that circularity is the necessary and sufficient condition of absolute truth - that is, of complete, universal, and definitive (or "eternal") truth."
The Hysterics quandary finds some resolution. The question of the Other is reflexively transformed into the answer to the question.
"In the Wise Man's absolute Knowledge, each question is its own answer, but is so only because he goes through the totality of questions-answers that forms the entirety of the System. Likewise, in his existence, the Wise Man remains in identity with himself, he is closed up in himself; but he remains in identity with himself because he passes through the totality of others, and is closed up in himself. Which (according to the Phenomenology) means, quite simply, that the only man who can be Wise is a Citizen of the universal and homogeneous State - that is to say, the State of the Tun Aller und Jeder, in which each man exists only through and for the whole, and the whole exists through and for each man."
We return to Self-Consciousness. We're not the same. We're different. Tonight.
Eros pins Pan. Chronos clips Eros’ wings. Compulsion is overcome by Love. Love is overcome by Time. Love can only be actualized and concretized through Time. When it must Dwell in a given Space. This is the Poetic-Plasticity. This is the Commitment.
“Desire has reserved to itself the pure negating of the object and thereby unalloyed feeling of self. This satisfaction, however, just for that reason is itself only a state of evanescence, for it lacks objectivity or subsistence. Labour, on the other hand, is desire restrained and checked, evanescence delayed and postponed; in other words, labour shapes and fashions the thing.” (Phenomenology of Spirit)
We begin with the Problem of Love and in the Problem find the Solution. Love is the Answer to the Question of Love. Loving is to give what one does not have.
Our Unrequited Love is Mutual,
“In fact, there is only one death in mutual love, but there are two resurrections, for a lover dies within himself the moment he forgets about himself, but he returns to life immediately in his loved one as soon as the loved ones embraces him in loving contemplation. He is resurrected once more when he finally recognizes himself in his beloved and no longer doubts that he is loved. O, happy death, which is followed by two loves. O, wondrous exchange in which each gives himself up for the other, and has the other, yet does not cease to have himself.” Commentary on Plato's Symposium, Marsilio Ficino.
To be Overcome is to Animate. This is the Labor of Love. Productive Labor as Art.
You understand why Hegel is so very frustrating? In his System. In the Movement from East to West back East. We find the Heiros Gamos, the Sacred Matrimony of Eros and Sophia, and in this Unity of Opposites the philosopher becomes the Sage. In the production of this Heiros Gamos, Hegel's System becomes the Perfect Pneumatic Circle.
I make of Nietzsche a traveling companion through Hegel’s Aesthetics. Why? Because The Birth of Tragedy is crudely Hegelian. Here we find ourselves encountering what is so very frustrating about Hegel and his Pneumatic Circle, his method and his system. From the occultists perspective this is because Hegel’s System is an Artifice of Sacral or Mythic Time, of Cyclical Time. The genuinely infuriating thing is realizing that the Artifice, the “Copy” is in fact the original. This is why some speak of the feminizing effect of Hegel. Feminizing in the way Achilles’ is feminized by Scamander. That not only do we never step in the same river twice and that the river is the site of the Doom-driven Hero’s self-fulfilling prophesy.
As Nietzsche himself puts it, “one cannot refute an eye disease.” I thought it would be stimulating to read The Birth of Tragedy through the lens of Hegel’s Lectures on Aesthetics. Framing Nietzsche and his insights within a Hegelian Tableaux. Nietzsche who denounces Metaphysical Systematization. Demurely objecting he says, “unhand me woman,” with a little blush. Does he mean it? I don’t think it was Hegel’s Dialectical Method or Logic that Nietzsche objected too. Denouncing instead the refraction between the Philosopher and the Logic (an ironic detachment)… that the Philosopher and his Logic are not two separate beings. That for him the Philosopher is Alkahest or Universal Solvent. Body and Soul collapse into a singularity, Art and Artists. No, in a sense Nietzsche celebrates the animating antagonism at the Heart of Hegel’s work. That this refraction is what results in the System which Nietzsche saw as modeling contemporary German Bourgeois fearfulness and timidity simply solidifies into Consensus. “I’m old and I don’t want to be alone.” That the System should be a kind of Metaphysical Prison concretized around the Fiery Pneuma, the brilliance of Hegel’s Esprit.
The application of the Dialectical Method is evidenced throughout The Birth of Tragedy; The Apollonian thesis, the Dionysian antithesis, the Tragic synthesis. Or perhaps in a manner more accurate to Hegel; The Dionysian Abstract, the Apollonian Negation, the Tragic Negation-of-Negation, and the Socratic Concretization.
The section dedicated to a retrospective appraisal of The Birth of Tragedy in Ecce Homo, Nietzsche concludes that all the good things he had ever written about Richard Wagner were actually about him. He was talking about himself the whole time without even realizing it, “"Even psychologically all decisive traits of my own nature are projected into Wagner’s - the close proximity of the brightest and the most calamitous forces, the will to power as no man ever possessed it, the ruthless courage in matters of the spirit, the unlimited power to learn without damage to the will to act.” Poor Nietzsche he who was too high-strung for his own good. Comes to a conclusion paralleling Hegel as it concerns Art, specifically Music. Perhaps one day, there will be Dionysian future for music. But for now, the Pneuma roils through space-and-time, and it culminates in Nietzsche or Zarathustra, as the Last Philosopher or the first Tragic Philosopher. Who despite all the aristocratic pretensions cannot help but write in a popular and accessible manner. Writing into motion the conditions for the Dionysian resurgence he had once thought was being spearheaded by the compositions of Richard Wagner.
He goes so far as to be both Beethoven and Goethe’s response to Beethoven in the anticipation of his works and in the need for them to remain ‘exclusive’ despite their undeniably popular character. Goethe in his old age weeping softly to Beethoven’s sonatas, proclaims “If such music were performed by a large orchestra, it would destroy everything around it.”
The stylish and inspirited Vitalism of Nietzsche’s ruminations is Pneumatic. A red dot in the center of a dark blue sphere.
Dialectics reveals an Infinite Spiral. The Circle divided by a straight-line. Containing the spiral. The straight-line breaks through the circle. Above and Below. Revealing three other spheres. Above the configuration one spiral. Beneath it two spirals; one winding up and the other winding down. On a Hegelian theological note. God the Father and God the Holy Spirit proceed from God the Son. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” John 1:1.
Here we might locate the Traumatic Temporality of Christianity. The introduction of History. Time as Chronos. With God the Son. Without the historical personage of Jesus Christ, there wouldn’t be a Trinitarian Unity and Division. From God the Son proceeds God the Father and God the Holy Spirit. In this wound we are brought to an awareness of another Time. A Timeless-Time or a Time sans History. “In the Beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God,” a time in which God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit had always been. The Triune God. Whether or not, in this Aionic Time, God the Holy Spirit proceeds from God the Father or from God the Father and God the Son, is the division between East and West.
This Times overlap and nowhere is this more evident than in the anachronisms or perhaps more accurately, the Archeo-modernity, of the romantic painting. Or perhaps further still, in the Ethiopian depiction of Christ, in the Korean depiction of Christ, and in the Italian depiction of Christ. Black Jesus, Asian Jesus, and European Jesus.
As that obscure note by Nietzsche produced by Gilles Deleuze in his work Nietzsche and Philosophy goes, “Universal chaos which excluded all purposeful activity does not contradict the idea of the cycle; for this idea is only an irrational necessity.” Here we see Nietzsche approaching something akin to the Infinite Dialectic realized and developed in Mao Zedong’s contributions to Dialectical and Historical Materialism. As Mao writes in On Contradiction, “The universality or absoluteness of contradiction has a twofold meaning. One is that contradiction exists in the process of development of all things, and the other is that in the process of development of each thing a movement of opposites exists from beginning to end.”
The stylish and inspirited Vitalism of Nietzsche’s ruminations is Pneumatic. Being Pneumatic it is Phantasmic. Here we locate the Girardian critique of Nietzsche. As Nietzsche proclaims in Ecce Homo that everything his was praising Wagner for is in fact praise he was unconsciously directing at himself, at his values or innate dignities, the obverse is true. For Nietzsche every great philosophical work is a confessional, an involuntary and unconscious autobiography. He invents the Overman and by extension the Last Man. Will to Power and Ressentiment. One cannot exist without the other and in Nietzsche they collapse into a singularity (a point worth keeping in mind when we eventually venture into Deleuze and his Anti-Hegelianism). The Last Philosopher. In sum Girard’s contention is that in the production of these Phantasmata, Nietzsche ends up offering to his audience another Scapegoat. The Man of Ressentiment and the Slave Morality. Obviously within Nietzsche the potential for this is treated triumphantly. Nietzsche refuses to have his Poetic Revelry stifled by timorous considerations. That stupid people might read his works and take it as an excuse to persecute Christians or to locate the Man of Ressentiment in their political adversaries. That they might completely forget the contradictions inherent to the very office of “Tragic Philosopher” and how the Vagabond and the Prophet are a singular figure, hybrid and lovelorn and glorious. “If I had power I’d know how to immediately and brutally exercise it.” None of this concerns Nietzsche. People will misinterpret you regardless. Still the points are well worth reflecting on and prove stimulating as we move from the Symbolic-Classical to the Classical-Romantic.
2023.04.01 11:12 ShadowDragon8685 [Ace is the Only Sane Pirate 17]Breaking Out like a Rolling Stone.
"About time!" Lu t'Cca thundered at her. "Split find hiding spot!
Najia backpedaled, giving the irate Split prisoner plenty of room to get past without coming into arms' length of her. At least he seemed to get that this was a prison break, and he made no move for her or her firearm, darting well clear of her, and out from the cell block.
Axiom's voice cut the sudden quiet that was otherwise punctuated only by her racing heart. "While you two were chatting, I've found a way to temporarily disable security in the hangar. That's where we'll hitch our ride. Head for the second level; the Ministry seems to have installed more switches. They'll require some adjustment, but I know you love a good puzzle." Najia snorted. She did, in fact, love a good puzzle, but breaking out of a prison was not the time to indulge in that. Usually. Unless one looked at the prison as the puzzle. She shook her head, huffing, and drew her pistol again. There was no marked pathway this time, but she made better time; it was reckless, but she jogged, since the place was seemingly totally unguarded. And, if it wasn't, chances were that Lucca would run into the guards first, and she'd hear the struggle ahead. She passed the lift, glancing towards it, and hurrying past in the other direction she hadn't been yet, coming to a door. Slowing, she closed enough with it that it opened automatically.
Najia let out a huff; Lu t'Cca was on the other side, but so was Axiom. She stepped forward, and looked from Axiom, who nodded to her, to Lucca, who snarled. "Creature reveal Split hiding spot! Creature nothing better to do?" This is a hiding spot? Najia shook her head; the two of them were literally standing in the middle of an intersection, in front of an airlock with two branches off on either side. She huffed, looking at Lu t'Cca. "Hey, Mellerd said -"
"Split not talk about friend-foes!" Lucca ranted. "Kriss went against family! Betrayal followed petty betrayal! Way of Windfall, yes. Way of some Split, maybe, but not how real warriors do revenge!" He made a guttural sound of anguish, shaking his head vehemently. Kris? He was on a first-name basis with her? The fact that Ace had spoken so frankly of xenosexual encounters popped into her head, the constant talk of betrayal, pettiness, personal matters, and suddenly it was obvious; somehow, this was personal. Personal; and none of her damn business. She held her hand up placatingly, holstering her other pistol, trusting to Axiom's physical presence to keep peace between her and Lucca. "Fine. I'll leave you to it," she said. "Split thought so," Lu t'Cca spat, looking back to Axiom. She looked to Axiom as well. "Switches, Wildcard. Get to it."
Najia nodded, and darted down the left-hand branch of the intersection, fuming all the while. It ran into a dead-end, and she uttered "ah fuck," turning and sprinting in the other direction, slaloming between Maestro and Lucca. At the end, she dead-ended there, and exasperated raised her voice, "the hell?!" Back in the middle, she examined the airlock carefully; she could see that it connected to nothing, which is why she discounted it previously. Carefully she moved into the airlock, her hand on her pistol just in case Lucca tried to kill her by cycling it, but he and Axiom seemed to be in the process of discussing old times.
Exasperated, Najia stepped back out of the airlock. "Axiom, where are these buttons you're talking about? How are we supposed to get out of here?" "Er..." Axiom blinked, tri-ocularly, at her, and looked around. He looked at his datapad. "They should be... Through..." He let out a discontent rumble. "Oh my. That is not obvious on a computer systems diagram schematic." "They're on the other side of the frigging airlock," Najia said. "You're probably already aware that humans can't survive in vacuum, let alone maneuver in it, right?" She snorted, her sarcasm at least getting a sheepish shuffle on his long legs out of Axiom. "Can we get out the way we came back in? Even if it means abandoning the Raven?"
"No," Axiom said gravely. "The tampering I did to activate the cell block doors will be caught by someone sooner or later - probably later than sooner, but sooner if we try to leave the cell block." "Split has been implanted with a tracking device," Lucca growled. "It will raise quite the ruckus when Split leave the cell block!" "If we're leaving by... Unconventional mechanisms, that will be no trouble," Axiom noted. "But if we enter the lift, it will lock down and security will be summoned immediately."
"Outstanding," Najia huffed. "Let me double-check something, see if I can think of something." She turned and left the way she had come from. She bypassed the lift; she had no intention of simply bailing on them. But now, she had two options. Neither was good, but one was significantly less good, so she hoped the other option worked. She opened a channel to Boso Ta. "Boso Ta, I hope to hell you've been listening in." "I have, Assistant!" Boso Ta's voice came through loud and clear. "You are in quite the conundrum. I hope you see a manner in which I may be able to extricate you, for I do not." "You and the Professor have been upgrading teleporters with the ability to upgrade themselves. To do so, you've been transporting equipment, right?" "Hai!" Professor Nakagawa's voice cut in. Clearly he was on the line. "This capability is within our grasp. What is your proposal, Takio-San?" "Can you teleport my EV suit to me?"
There was silence for a long few moments which felt like an eternity. "Potentially," Boso Ta broke the silence. "Have it placed in one of our lifts." "I'll get right on that," Marta cut in on the line. Najia smiled to hear her voice. "Any other requirements?" "If this will work, we will need very precise measurements," Professor Nakagawa said. "The teleporter is more your project than mine, Boso Ta. My thought is that it will require at least three triangulating vessels, and a beacon, and a substantial amount of open space." "Will an empty cell block do for that," Najia asked, hustling down the corridor. "It should yes... Yes! That will work." Rei Stringer cut in on the call, and Najia blinked as she saw Rei's comm-code. "I can arrange the fly-by," she said. It had been awhile since Najia had heard from the friend she had left in charge of the Eighteen Billion Terran-tech construction supplies factory, and generally, in charge of Eighteen Billion affairs. "There's a patrol of Katana in the area already, it won't look suspicious if they do a swing-by of Wormwood Scrubs."
Najia set her datapad down on the floor in the middle of the cell block. "I put my datapad down on the floor. Is that beacon enough," she asked. "Hai, Takio-San," the aged professor's voice informed her. "But I would endeavor to be in another room when the teleport takes place. This is... Highly experimental." "Vacating the room," Najia said, sprinting out into the hallway and down it. "Tell me when it's gonna happen."
"In... About twenty seconds," Boso Ta informed her. "You might want to cover your ears, assistant." Najia didn't even bother to complain about being called 'Assistant' again, she simply crouched and closed her eyes, covering her ears and tried to become one with the railing. She counted to thirty, then opened her eyes. "Did anything happen?" "Your EV suit and EMU aren't in the lift anymore," Marta said to her. "Better go check."
Najia did, and she laughed heartily. Her hardshell carapace EV suit and EMU were sitting on the floor of the cell block. "A perfect teleport! I didn't even hear anything." "Fantastic," Boso Ta said. "You had best hurry, Assistant."
One fast donning later, Najia opened the door to where Axiom and Lucca were still standing around, chatting like old gossips. They both started when they saw her, and she held her hand up. "Easy, guys, it's me." She was hauling her EMU with her. "Split wonders where creature was hiding that," Lu t'Cca said, pointing at her. "Ancient secrets," Najia flippantly answered, as she hefted her EMU into the airlock, and sat in it, strapping in. "Right, let's do this." Reaching up, Najia slapped the airlock cycle button. The door behind her hissed shut; air was evacuated. Her suit indicated a total drop of external pressure, and the airlock's A-grav let go, letting her float free, and so she pushed off the floor.
"Excellent!" Axiom crowed at her, over the comm. "Level 2 is right through there. That exhaust fan may impede your movements, but it won't make our mission impossible. See those alcoves? There's where I'd hide if I were you, whenever the fan is blowing at full speed."
Exhaust fan? I'm in vacuum! Najia carefully maneuvered out. She was in vacuum and microgravity; but she was also inside a large, cylindrical space. Below her was something like a massive fuse-box with a big holographic turret outline, and she jetted down to examine it, but could see no obvious way to tamper with it without most likely setting off major alarms, so she looked back up - just as a synthesized alert klaxxon sounded.
I hate this place, Naija thought, as she saw a fan at the top of the cylinder spin up. At a guess she thought, perhaps it was something like an exhaust, which struck as horrifically wasteful in space, but she could only grit her teeth, watching it spin. At the bottom of the cylindrical space, she only felt the slightest of buffeting; it might have been substantially stronger closer to the top. I am very confused, very frustrated, and I just want to get the hell out of here, she thought. She was seriously considering revisiting her first plan, which had been to simply teleport herself, Axiom and Lucca to Ace's ship.
But now, though, she was pissed, and she wanted to poke something spiteful in Mellerd's eye herself. So she jetted to the top of the cylinder, looking around. As she did, Axiom popped up in her comms. "These airlocks are shut, so you'll need to find a way to bypass their locks." She responded with only a quick "roger," looking around. One airlock, contrary to Axiom's words, was hanging open, but the lights next to it were red. She tried it anyway; but for once, Axiom was spot-on. The airlock door might have been open, but its functions were locked out, the panel totally nonresponsive. She returned below, and looked around; there was an open airlock opposite Axiom and Lucca, so she tried it, and it worked for her automatically.
"Well, let's see what's down this way," Najia muttered to herself, slipping out of her EMU and leaving it in the lock. She unholstered the pistol that was now clamped to her hardshell-clad thigh, and started to look around again.
To her surprise, she found only another cell block - it was a dead end! She was about to hiss in frustration, when she heard someone call to her. "You there! You! Hey! You are not supposed to be here!" Najia turned to face the Teladi voice, her pistol half-raised, when she saw that the figure in question was imprisoned. She lowered her aim to the floor, and appraoched the bars. Standing within was a Teladi, who looked rather forelorn. Najia's shoulders slumped. Well, this is awkward, she thought. When the Teladi seemed to realize she wasn't a guard, she started to ask, "Oh please, please, please! You cannot leave me here! I am friends with Urgu... Ugusa... I can help you make profitsss! I promise."
Najia sighed at the pathetic display, but she understood the Teladi's desire for freedom; though, on the balance, she also had no idea what this Teladi had done to become imprisoned. Knowing Kriss Mellerd, it was a total crap-shoot; she might be a real scum-bag, or she might be being shaken down. Axiom cut in on her. "I sympathize with the little lizard, really I do, but we cannot compromise this mission in the name of charity."
Najia huffed out a sigh, and looked around. Frustratedly, she slapped the door panel on the imprisoned Teladi's cell, and to her surprise - and the prisoner's surprise - it opened. The prisoner looked around, confusedly, and Najia was glad that her mirrored helmet hid her gaze. "That's the best I can do," she said, resignedly. "You'll have to effect your own escape from here, if you can. Good luck." Turning, she huffed back into the airlock, slapping the button to cycle it as the Teladi prisoner looked around in tentative confusion, taking a few steps out of her cell.
Najia pulled her EMU's straps back on. "Well, that was a fucking bust," she snarled. "I'm about to start lasering shit," she muttered, floating back into the massive vacuum cylinder, and back up towards the locked airlocks. She found a third floor of airlocks, but they only offered some shelter from the fans starting up. After waiting that, frustratedly she flew back out again, and started looking around. "Axiom, there aren't any switches here!" "My diagrams say there are switches, Wildcard. Look more carefully - and swiftly."
Najia let out a guttural growl of frustration, and switched to her cutting laser. Giving in to a pique of frustration, she hit her Mk.2 thrusters, blowing past level 1 to the sub-level, coming up level with the big fuse-box. "Right, let's see what this does," she said with a snarl, and targeted her suit's cutting laser on the big set of what looked like fuses.
She blazed a neat line down the middle of them, and, gratifyingly, the 'Turrets' hologram switched to a big red repair icon... She looked around for a moment. Nothing happened. Najia smirked. "On the one hand, this place is frustrating, confusing, and I kind of want to blow it up out of spite by now. But on the other hand, the gross criminal negligence on display is really working in my favor. Fuck it. Lasers for everything," she said, snarling and going back up the shaft. There were a bunch of unmarked panels, and, giving in to the frustration she felt earlier - which she had barely restrained herself from allowing herself to hold Lu t'Cca at gunpoint - she started lasering the panels like a schoolgirl hooligan on a vandalism spree.
"Your new laser is low-powered, but if you keep it aimed at the lock, it will break eventually," Axiom said. Najia blinked. New laser? This is my laser and I've had it for a while, and... Oh, piss on this! She laughed, however, as she saw that one of the panels had indeed fractured.
One deeply-cathatic vandalism spree later, every panel had been opened, and had revealed that inside the two panels nearest the top-level airlocks were two further, smaller panels, with similar mechanisms. With the fan starting up again, Najia took shelter in one of the alcoves at the top, just under an airlock, and, deciding to use her time productively, she lasered the opposite airlock's control panel. After holding her laser on the box for awhile, it was a glowing ruin, and Axiom commed her. "Partial access to level two established," he informed her.
Najia nodded. She didn't even bother to sarcastically snark at him, though the phrase no shit, Sherlock ran through her mind. Rather, she charitably assumed he was reporting to her something he was learning electronically, and turned around. This is gonna be bright, she thought, as she trained her laser at close range on the near access box, and closed her eyes. She held in the firing stud, and held it - counting in her head to seven, when Axiom's comm made her let up off the laser. "And just like that, we have free reign over level two! They can't stop you now!"
Najia grinned, and opened her eyes to behold a molten, glowing hole drilled into the electronics she had blasted. "Right. Let's get this show on the highway."
On the level above her, in the half just above, she slipped in, and found herself facing a door to another cell block, just through the airlock. She went in and looked; no prisoners. Walking out, she huffed, and decided to walk the half-circuit around the big cylinder again. To her surprise, she found a console, just attached haphazardly to a railing. Really? Najia examined it, and snorted; it looked shoddy, ad-hoc. She tapped the console's screen, and it simply changed color. Axiom piped up. "Magnificent! That'll give you access to half of the switches! There must be another console nearby that will let you remove the second cover."
"Got it. Moving on," Najia said. Back to the airlock she went, after checking the other half of the crescent hallway she was in; without any luck, she just floated across to the other airlock on her EMU. Predictably, she found that, on the opposite railing in the other half of the level, was another console haphazardly attached to a railing, and she rapped it quite firmly with her knuckles. It flashed. "How's that, Axiom?" "Both covers confirmed open," Axiom informed her. "Let's flip some switches. Get back into your spacesuit."
"Never got out of it. Who has time to undress four times? Anyway, switches, yaaay switches," she snarked, as she cycled the airlock again, strapping her EMU back on. "Whoever designed this place is both a madman and criminally negligent."
Once the airlock cycled through again, Najia saw that the two panels she had manipulated had caused five boxes that she had previously taken as unimportant junction boxes to slide their panels open. She groaned to herself when she saw that there were five more lock-like switches within. "Great, time for more vandalism, yay." She lasered the first of the boxes' interiors, the one that was lit, and held it for a long few moments.
"Something's not right," Axiom said, comming her. She had a sinking feeling. "The switches are also setting the state of their neighbors," he declared. Sure enough, she had blasted the leftmost switch, and the second had lit up. Worryingly, the leftmost switch did not look damaged in the slightest. "You'll have to find a combination which turns them all off," Axiom said, as Najia groaned. "I don't think a game of whack-a-mole will get you there," Axiom continued. "Though... Actually, it might!"
Najia groaned, and briefly considered calling for a five-hundred-some member boarding party attack from two capital ships instead. "What tail-hole thought this was a good idea," she bitched. "Who dreamed this up? Why install it like this? Don't anybody answer that, those questions were rhetorical," she snarked, as she set about the process of shooting the junction boxes like they were a juvenile 'turn them all off' game.
About eighty seconds and the false start of thinking she could shoot an inactive switch to switch it on and switch its neighbors states (it transpired that she could only make an active switch toggle neighbors' states), all five boxes were dark, and Najia snarled, bristling with outrage that this was evidently considered part of a high security system and not a child's game.
"You got it, Wildcard!" Axiom commed her. "Access to Level 3 established. And it turned off the darned fan! Off to the hangar, then." Up one level, Najia cycled herself into the airlock, and groaned. She was getting mightily tired of this, and she rolled her shoulders. "I am going to need a massage and to soak for an hour in the shower," she griped to no-one in particular. She hefted her EMU half-over her left shoulder, unholstering her pistol, just in case. The EMU was very heavy, but her EV suit had a fairly substantial low-profile power assist mechanism. Not enough to turn her into a super-soldier by any means, but enough to let her heft a 150kg load like a bulky and cumbersome backpack. She was tempted to leave it behind... But it was a good thing she didn't. The corridor she found was only a straight shot to - and she groaned - another airlock. As she approached it, Axiom unhelpfully congratulated her. "Excellent," he said. "Yo're approaching the internal hangar now. Our getaway ship is right over there." Cycling through, she passed into the deep well of an internal ship hangar - and groaned.
Najia was looking at a Magpie. That was the big, innovative, unique ship?
"If we want to make it out of here, you'll have to destroy the clamps on the hangar doors," Axiom informed her. Najia groaned, sighed, and rolled her shoulders. "Right. I can do that. All this for a..." She seethed, and looked back at the ship.
No, it wasn't a Magpie, but it sure as hell looked like one. It was clearly a derivative design, but it had not the Magpie's massive cargo pods; rather, it had smaller pods, and a lot more gubbins - antennae, dishes, and the like. Fan-dabbie-dozie she thought balefully to herself as she set about finding and destroying the lockdown clamps. As she did so, she also saw a couple more panels that had a turret hologram over them, and, thinking, why the hell not, fried them, too. Moments later, the lockdown clamps fell, too, and she saw a red light glare through one of the hangar windows.
Axiom piped up, "Holy triangle, that's the station alarm! Lucca and I are going to make a run for the ship!" She blinked, looking up - two EVA-suited figures, with full EMUs, cycled through the airlock she had come through.
What, she thought. Where... I... What... Where...? In a moment of dumbfounded confusion, she stared openly, unmoving, before both of them dipped between the ship's large thrusters, and headed for its belly, while Axiom said, "approaching the dock. Be with you in a moment!" Fearing being left behind, Najia abandoned the question of where they had gotten EV suits, let alone EMUs, in favor of making haste to join them.
As Najia negotiated into the airlock, Axiom and Lucca reported that they had boarded, and Axiom was working on powering up the ship's systems, and Axiom was transferring the ship's ownership - and hence, control - to her. They were trying to talk over one another, making it confusing, but, as she got into the ship and shed her MMU, running for the seat, Axiom noted, "This prototype ship does not appear to have an emergency eject system. I assume it was supposed to be added later." "Great," she snarled. "This is going tits-up and I'm in a little ship with no ejection system." "Split been moving into position," Maestro informed her, in a bit of good news. "Alarm must have mobilized more Ministry forces than Split anticipated."
"Thrice blasted!" Axiom roared from the back. "Mellerd deployed a capital ship to head off the Arcadian Endeavour!" Najia groaned, checking her map. A Pheonix-class vessel named Rolling Rock was engaging the Arcadian Endeavor.
As Najia got the Raven's struts up and pushed it forward, she got a comm from the Rolling Rock itself. She snarled as she saw Kriss Mellerd in her comm pane. "Thank you for leading the old man, and his crew of clowns, right to my doorstep. Crossing them off the Ministry's list will do wonders for my career advancement."
Najia gawped at her, in shock at the sheer gall on display, as Mellerd laughed. "You just stumbled into this whole affair, so I will offer you a one-time chance to get out of this. All you have to do is dock at my ship and hand over the pirates youy are currently harboring. You won't be able to keep the ship, but -"
Najia cut her off, snarling in anger. "You just love the sound of your own voice, bitch. Even if I was inclined to take an 'out,' though, nobody can trust you. For anything." Najia switched the comms to her ships, as she powered the Raven up to full. It seemed to be armed with two cannons; she test-fired them by holding in the trigger. They didn't fire immediately, but when she let go, they let fly. "Woah. These must be those Teladi charger things," she muttered. "Whatever. Ladies? This bitch cannot be trusted to keep her word. End her rightly!"
The Rolling Rock was already exchanging fire with Arcadian Endeavor, while Ace nipped at her heels, firing off shots from that launcher and the frontal cannon. Shiv and Kunai - the name chosen for the Paramerion - lifted from the Jackdaw and Arcadian Endeavour respectively, while Jackdaw and the Snapping Tortoise broke from formation with it to engage.
"L beam turrets... Problematic," Najia muttered to herself. "Let me see what I can do about that," she added, as she set the Raven prototype in motion. She could only hope, at least, that Kriss was at least rethinking her decision, now that the odds had tilted decidedly against her.
She dove into action against Rolling Rock, testing out the Muon Chargers, as the ships with her split and attacked. The destroyer was big, and problematic, but it seemed rather... Awkward to control, in fact. Ponderous, its turrets, even the lasers, seemed slow to respond. She nipped around it, firing a few times, as her four ships slipped past it. A plasma bolt struck her shields, and she yelped, diving to evade. "That's it," she heard Rei - not over the open comms, but in her earbud. "I am not letting you get your ass killed like this. I'm dispatching help," she said, and Najia winced.
Great. So this is how the war with the Ministry starts? And yet, oddly... There was no sign of Ministry reinforcements. Najia fled from the immediate vicinity to recharge her shields, coming in close to the Arcadian Endeavour, and watched as the Eighteen Billion Katana squads roared in. She winced as she saw that Okayama and her defense fleet had also been dispatched - a Destroyer squadron was going to bear down on Rolling Rock... Eventually. And yet, the Ministry was doing nothing.
It hit her suddenly; Kriss was rogue. Was doing this on her own. She snarled and grinned. The Ministry might be mad, when this shook out, but they'd have a hard time proving her involvement. Especially if she could play it as her ships responding to a distress call because a rogue vessel with an unaffiliated transponder had attacked a ship. It was flimsy... But it was enough. "Bear down on her, ladies. Tear that thing apart." Najia crowed, as she pulled the Raven in to touch down on the Arcadian Endeavour's landing pad. She looked back. "Axiom, they're gonna need you in the engine room. Lucca, you're not gonna wanna be on this ship!" The back ramp was dropping as she settled down; neither waited for her to have landed fully, they dropped from the ship and sprinted past, to the lift.
"So, you've decided to go down with the sinking ship? One less loose end for me to tie up later!" Mellerd crowed at her, and Najia smirked; of course she knew she couldn't trust Mellerd. "You're worse than a pirate, Kriss. Nobody can trust you," Najia said. "Prepare to kiss your ass goodbye."
Maestro was rattling on in her ear, but Najia could barely hear him over the combat calls. She hoped he was smart enough not to fire upon the T.E. vessels responding - it would be awkward later, and they were joining the fight on his side, after all. He was saying something about escape, and turrets. Najia snorted. "Actually, we're just going to blow this thing up," Najia declared. "We can't leave someone like Kriss Mellerd at our backs."
Things seemed to be doing well at first; the Rolling Rock was handling clumsily, awkwardly, as if she was critically undermanned. That gave Najia an odd hope that she might actually succeed at boarding her; the responding vessels were quickly tearing down her turrets and shields.
Then, everything went dramatically pear-shaped. Najia yelped as lasers tickled the the Raven's shields down and she got them back up again; again and again this happened, each time the hull started to fracture more and more. She made attack runs, damaged a surface element, and then things got worse. Where were those lasers coming from?
"Missile. Incoming missile." She slapped the countermeasures button, only to see the screen flash ammo empty. "Fuck!" A missile slammed into her, followed by a fly-by from a starfighter. She didn't catch it, but she took a pot-shot at it as it went past. Things were going from bad, to worse, when she heard someone howl, "Jackdaw's taking heavy fire! Jackdaw's... Oh fuck!"
Najia felt a moment of total disassociation. Numbly, her hand drifted over the stick, trying to maneuver the clunky ship like a starfighter, whilst fighting through mental fog.
Marta.
"We've got them!" Rei stringer called out, over her line. "I've got the crew of Jackdaw at the depot, but now we're under attack by a Ministry warship!" Najia gasped, shoving her stick forward, hard. Her ship was flying apart around her, and she snarled. "Someone get these motherfuckers!" "We're coming in," she heard - both the first, and last, person she wanted to hear. "Fenrir, engaging!" "Okayama, engaging." "Kagawa, engaging!" "Ark Royal, moving to engage!"
Najia laughed, incredulously. That was four fleets. Four fleets that most definitely were not supposed to be engaging to support the Arcadian Endeavour. One of them the Teladi wasn't even supposed to know about - Alarms blared. The Raven had taken a nasty hit, and a Ministry Kea was lining up on her six. She tried to pull away - she wasn't going to be fast enough - the ship jerked - the world went white.
Najia crashed forward to the deck, yelping, arms up to guard her head. She looked up; a Marine was standing next to her, offering her hand to Najia. "Better get to the skipper, ma'am," the Marina said. "We're Koshirae." Najia laughed, taking the proffered hand and climbing to her feet, hustling down to the bridge's main deck. Selaia Kevlin was standing in the middle like the Maestro, calmingly barking out orders with command presence. She looked up at Najia, briefly, smirking at her. "Does the owner have the conn?"
Najia shook her head, laughing. "Fight the ship, captain. I've got to coordinate this clusterfuck." Selaia laughed at her and nodded, barking out, "bring us up ninety, show her our broadside. Turret gunners, you are cleared to engage."
She hustled down to the fleet coordination console; the crewwoman at it hopping away for her. "This is Takio," she said, hopping on the controls. "Ladies, clear my skies of red. I don't know what the hell has gotten into the Ministry, attacking our stations like this, but if it's hostile out there, we kill it."
Rolling Rock was not having a good day, and it was getting exponentially worse. Her engines had been disabled, and Najia heard Maestro call out over the pirate channel, "Her engines are disabled. Now is the time to get away! But, where is Wildcard?" Najia winced. How was she going to explain that? Did she even want to? "This is Snapping Tortoise," Raleen, the captain of her pirate Baku called out. "We are picking up the crew of Jackdaw and Raven. Let these big bruisers fight, we'll get back to you."
"No!" Kriss Mellerd called out, yelping. "I don't wanna die!" Rolling Rock was coming apart under the growing tide of fire it was enduring, and more ships were still arriving. Najia snarled. Part of her wanted to bid Kriss a bon voyage to the afterlife, but she looked up to Selaia. "If anyone gets out of that ship, I want them. And we don't tell the Ministry."
"Roger that," Selaia said, and barked out orders to the helm to move closer to Rolling Rock. Najia looked back - a Ministry Razorbill was thoroughly engaged, and another had just blown up, attacking the construction depot.
She gritted her teeth, snorting hard. There was going to be hell to pay for this later. Righteous indigation - no, fury - was going to be the order of the day. Her ships had responded to a distress call from a Windfall trader, by an unidentified vessel. It was attacking relentlessly, wasn't on-record as being anything official. Then Ministry vessels, apparently heeding the aggressor's pleas, had jumped in, attacking Takio Enterprises assets, and the inevitable happen.
That was the tack she was going to have to take, and she clenched her fist. Outside, Rolling Rock came apart in a dazzling blossom of red that polarized the bridge windows for a long several moments. When they cleared, the ship was a debris field. Part of her hoped that Mellerd was dead; part of her hoped she wasn't. There was going to be a butcher's bill for today, and she tried - probably vainly - to make peace with that.
"Get us close enough to the Ministry Wharf to make contact," Najia said, looking to Selaia. "I've some barking to do." Selaia smirked at her. "After this? They should know damn well your bark isn't nearly as bad as your bite. They should be happy to get barked at. You should put on a respectable jacket at least." Najia let out a huff of exasperation, hurrying to do just that.
Najia needed to work to summon the righteous indignation she required for the bluff, but she reminded herself of the fate of Ace's mother to do so; the Ministry were assholes, even if they were also the lawful authority; and they had attacked her. She had clear and convincing evidence that Mellerd was up to no damn good. Not that she waas going to reveal it to anyone.
Hence, she found herself with eyes coldly blazing over the comms to the Ministry Police Kea craft which had departed from the wharf to intercept Koshirae. "Enough is enough," she snarled over the holo, standing in the conference room. "My ships responded to an attack upon a free trader from a destroyer that was not transmitting appropriate Ministry codes - not that the Ministry should be allowed to attack random traders, either."
"Your ships fired upon Ministry vessels," the captain of the Kea shot back, clearly outraged - but also, like the pilot who had followed her through the rift - terrified at being massively outnumbered and outgunned.
"Let me be clear, on the record, so there is no ambiguity," Najia said, leaning forward, placing her fist on the table. The effect was to lean closer to the hologram - and on the little attack ship's screen, her face would loom larger. "My ships responded to a distress call from a ship being attacked by an unknown vessel not transmitting appropriate ID. The Ministry, for whatever reasons, chose to respond to the event by siding with the aggressor and attacking my ships. Takio Enterprises warships responded by destroying the Ministry vessels." Her heart was thumping in her chest, but she narrowed her eyes. "If this is the gratitude of the Ministry of Finance, for all that Takio Enterprises has done here in Eighteen Billion, in Grand Exchange and at large, for the Ministry and the company, up to and including constructing facilities and securing neutral diplomats to mediate the dispute between the Company and the Ministry... Well, you might want to check with your superiors before you write a check they have to make good on. To be absolutely clear, this is a threat; you are the highest-ranking Ministry combat officer in Eighteen Billion. It is your decision whether this conflict continues or ceases, here and now. Ah - ah! Shut your fucking muzzle and listen to me carefully," she snapped, as the pilot opened her muzzle to retort.
"If you say anything but words to the effect of 'this was a horrible misunderstanding and we should deescalate the situation' - if you, personally, choose to escalate the situation, the first step I will take will be ordering all of my shipyards to stop producing vessels for the Ministry. The second step will be that I shall cripple the Ministry's ability to replace vessels by destroying the Ministry Shipyard and Wharf here in Eighteen Billion. I shall then proceed onward to prosecute this destructive and pointless war - a war chosen by you, pilot, here and now - by destroying each and every Ministry of Trade station I can find, until someone with some competent authority asks me to please stop doing that. You can see the weight of tonnage I have here, you know the Ministry does not have the tonnage to stop me. The choice is in your claws, pilot; war, or peace. War, or peace. Escalate, or deescalate. Your call."
The Kea pilot visibly shrank backwards in her command chair, obviously struggling to attempt to retain composure and command respect in the face of an overt and direct threat to bring fire and flame directly to the Ministry of Finance. Finally she steeled herself, straightening up in her chair. "This has obviously been a dreadful misunderstanding, miss Takio. The Ministry is undoubtedly going to demand reparations for our lost warships, but such matters are the purview of the financiers, not myself. If you will cease giving offense, we too shall cease attacks upon your vessels."
"Thank you," Najia said, leaning back. She fought not to visibly slump and sigh in relief, or to show how badly her heart was racing. "As for the reparations, they can take that up with the diplomat I have on payroll. Out." She cut the channel, and collapsed back into the chair behind her.
A moment later, the comm lit up again, and she flicked it on. It was a huge conference call, with the commanders of her fleets, the captain of Koshirae, Marta on the Snapping Tortoise with a small bandage on her forehead; Rei Stringer on the 18B construction depot, Tsukiko Peterson back at the headquarters, Professors Nakagawa and Okoye - whom Najia realized with a pang of guilt she hadn't yet formally re-introduced herself to -, Boso Ta,, and Ace. Najia let out a heavy sigh of relief. "Please for the love of god tell me we didn't lose anybody," she said, first off.
"Nobody from Jackdaw, Marta confirmed. "I took a headcount. We got lucky. "That seems to be a recurring theme," added Captain - probably should be Commodore - Xiaowen Kapoor - one of Najia's older friends, and currently the commander of T.E.S. Fenrir. "It helps that we responded with overwhelming firepower. My fleet is reporting no fatalties; thirteen casualties, mostly caused by haste in the heat of battle."
That proved to be the recurring theme; all of her responders reported sustaining injuries, mostly 'workplace accidents' incurred whilst in the heat of battle, but though some were serious, none were life-threatening.
"Najia Takio," Professor Yoriko Okoye - an aged-but-not-venerable, steel-haired professor-turned diplomat said, with the same tone of voice that she had used when reproaching Najia in class. "You are now, as ever you were, charmed, lucky, and reckless. You choose to act with passion first and foremost. This is a fine mess that I'm going to have to clean up, you understand. Can I expect this sort of thing to deal with in the future?"
Najia took in a breath, glancing around at her fellows. Barring a few, they were all young - Tsukiko was the third-oldest and Najia knew she was closer to thirty-five than forty - barely. Most of them looked grave, but not mutinious. She sighed, and smiled, wryly. "While I don't plan to go to war with the Ministry, there may be future... Rough spots to smooth over, yes. If you'd like to resign and go home -" "Not yet," the aged professor said, sharply. "But for dealing with this, I am going to require a pay rise!"
A chorus of chuckles surrounded her, and Najia sighed, face-palming and smiling. "That's fair, professor. We're going to have a fine time untangling this. Ace, how are the Curs?"
Ace looked into her eyes, then looked away for a moment, then back to her. "Secure in Windfall, awaiting your hopefully-safe return." She trilled, and Najia nodded. "Next stop, then."
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Najia backpedaled, giving the irate Split prisoner plenty of room to get past without coming into arms' length of her. At least he seemed to get that this was a prison break, and he made no move for her or her firearm, darting well clear of her, and out from the cell block.
Axiom's voice cut the sudden quiet that was otherwise punctuated only by her racing heart. "While you two were chatting, I've found a way to temporarily disable security in the hangar. That's where we'll hitch our ride. Head for the second level; the Ministry seems to have installed more switches. They'll require some adjustment, but I know you love a good puzzle." Najia snorted. She did, in fact, love a good puzzle, but breaking out of a prison was not the time to indulge in that. Usually. Unless one looked at the prison as the puzzle. She shook her head, huffing, and drew her pistol again. There was no marked pathway this time, but she made better time; it was reckless, but she jogged, since the place was seemingly totally unguarded. And, if it wasn't, chances were that Lucca would run into the guards first, and she'd hear the struggle ahead. She passed the lift, glancing towards it, and hurrying past in the other direction she hadn't been yet, coming to a door. Slowing, she closed enough with it that it opened automatically.
Najia let out a huff; Lu t'Cca was on the other side, but so was Axiom. She stepped forward, and looked from Axiom, who nodded to her, to Lucca, who snarled. "Creature reveal Split hiding spot! Creature nothing better to do?" This is a hiding spot? Najia shook her head; the two of them were literally standing in the middle of an intersection, in front of an airlock with two branches off on either side. She huffed, looking at Lu t'Cca. "Hey, Mellerd said -"
"Split not talk about friend-foes!" Lucca ranted. "Kriss went against family! Betrayal followed petty betrayal! Way of Windfall, yes. Way of some Split, maybe, but not how real warriors do revenge!" He made a guttural sound of anguish, shaking his head vehemently. Kris? He was on a first-name basis with her? The fact that Ace had spoken so frankly of xenosexual encounters popped into her head, the constant talk of betrayal, pettiness, personal matters, and suddenly it was obvious; somehow, this was personal. Personal; and none of her damn business. She held her hand up placatingly, holstering her other pistol, trusting to Axiom's physical presence to keep peace between her and Lucca. "Fine. I'll leave you to it," she said. "Split thought so," Lu t'Cca spat, looking back to Axiom. She looked to Axiom as well. "Switches, Wildcard. Get to it."
Najia nodded, and darted down the left-hand branch of the intersection, fuming all the while. It ran into a dead-end, and she uttered "ah fuck," turning and sprinting in the other direction, slaloming between Maestro and Lucca. At the end, she dead-ended there, and exasperated raised her voice, "the hell?!" Back in the middle, she examined the airlock carefully; she could see that it connected to nothing, which is why she discounted it previously. Carefully she moved into the airlock, her hand on her pistol just in case Lucca tried to kill her by cycling it, but he and Axiom seemed to be in the process of discussing old times.
Exasperated, Najia stepped back out of the airlock. "Axiom, where are these buttons you're talking about? How are we supposed to get out of here?" "Er..." Axiom blinked, tri-ocularly, at her, and looked around. He looked at his datapad. "They should be... Through..." He let out a discontent rumble. "Oh my. That is not obvious on a computer systems diagram schematic." "They're on the other side of the frigging airlock," Najia said. "You're probably already aware that humans can't survive in vacuum, let alone maneuver in it, right?" She snorted, her sarcasm at least getting a sheepish shuffle on his long legs out of Axiom. "Can we get out the way we came back in? Even if it means abandoning the Raven?"
"No," Axiom said gravely. "The tampering I did to activate the cell block doors will be caught by someone sooner or later - probably later than sooner, but sooner if we try to leave the cell block." "Split has been implanted with a tracking device," Lucca growled. "It will raise quite the ruckus when Split leave the cell block!" "If we're leaving by... Unconventional mechanisms, that will be no trouble," Axiom noted. "But if we enter the lift, it will lock down and security will be summoned immediately."
"Outstanding," Najia huffed. "Let me double-check something, see if I can think of something." She turned and left the way she had come from. She bypassed the lift; she had no intention of simply bailing on them. But now, she had two options. Neither was good, but one was significantly less good, so she hoped the other option worked. She opened a channel to Boso Ta. "Boso Ta, I hope to hell you've been listening in." "I have, Assistant!" Boso Ta's voice came through loud and clear. "You are in quite the conundrum. I hope you see a manner in which I may be able to extricate you, for I do not." "You and the Professor have been upgrading teleporters with the ability to upgrade themselves. To do so, you've been transporting equipment, right?" "Hai!" Professor Nakagawa's voice cut in. Clearly he was on the line. "This capability is within our grasp. What is your proposal, Takio-San?" "Can you teleport my EV suit to me?"
There was silence for a long few moments which felt like an eternity. "Potentially," Boso Ta broke the silence. "Have it placed in one of our lifts." "I'll get right on that," Marta cut in on the line. Najia smiled to hear her voice. "Any other requirements?" "If this will work, we will need very precise measurements," Professor Nakagawa said. "The teleporter is more your project than mine, Boso Ta. My thought is that it will require at least three triangulating vessels, and a beacon, and a substantial amount of open space." "Will an empty cell block do for that," Najia asked, hustling down the corridor. "It should yes... Yes! That will work." Rei Stringer cut in on the call, and Najia blinked as she saw Rei's comm-code. "I can arrange the fly-by," she said. It had been awhile since Najia had heard from the friend she had left in charge of the Eighteen Billion Terran-tech construction supplies factory, and generally, in charge of Eighteen Billion affairs. "There's a patrol of Katana in the area already, it won't look suspicious if they do a swing-by of Wormwood Scrubs."
Najia set her datapad down on the floor in the middle of the cell block. "I put my datapad down on the floor. Is that beacon enough," she asked. "Hai, Takio-San," the aged professor's voice informed her. "But I would endeavor to be in another room when the teleport takes place. This is... Highly experimental." "Vacating the room," Najia said, sprinting out into the hallway and down it. "Tell me when it's gonna happen."
"In... About twenty seconds," Boso Ta informed her. "You might want to cover your ears, assistant." Najia didn't even bother to complain about being called 'Assistant' again, she simply crouched and closed her eyes, covering her ears and tried to become one with the railing. She counted to thirty, then opened her eyes. "Did anything happen?" "Your EV suit and EMU aren't in the lift anymore," Marta said to her. "Better go check."
Najia did, and she laughed heartily. Her hardshell carapace EV suit and EMU were sitting on the floor of the cell block. "A perfect teleport! I didn't even hear anything." "Fantastic," Boso Ta said. "You had best hurry, Assistant."
"Excellent!" Axiom crowed at her, over the comm. "Level 2 is right through there. That exhaust fan may impede your movements, but it won't make our mission impossible. See those alcoves? There's where I'd hide if I were you, whenever the fan is blowing at full speed."
Exhaust fan? I'm in vacuum! Najia carefully maneuvered out. She was in vacuum and microgravity; but she was also inside a large, cylindrical space. Below her was something like a massive fuse-box with a big holographic turret outline, and she jetted down to examine it, but could see no obvious way to tamper with it without most likely setting off major alarms, so she looked back up - just as a synthesized alert klaxxon sounded.
I hate this place, Naija thought, as she saw a fan at the top of the cylinder spin up. At a guess she thought, perhaps it was something like an exhaust, which struck as horrifically wasteful in space, but she could only grit her teeth, watching it spin. At the bottom of the cylindrical space, she only felt the slightest of buffeting; it might have been substantially stronger closer to the top. I am very confused, very frustrated, and I just want to get the hell out of here, she thought. She was seriously considering revisiting her first plan, which had been to simply teleport herself, Axiom and Lucca to Ace's ship.
But now, though, she was pissed, and she wanted to poke something spiteful in Mellerd's eye herself. So she jetted to the top of the cylinder, looking around. As she did, Axiom popped up in her comms. "These airlocks are shut, so you'll need to find a way to bypass their locks." She responded with only a quick "roger," looking around. One airlock, contrary to Axiom's words, was hanging open, but the lights next to it were red. She tried it anyway; but for once, Axiom was spot-on. The airlock door might have been open, but its functions were locked out, the panel totally nonresponsive. She returned below, and looked around; there was an open airlock opposite Axiom and Lucca, so she tried it, and it worked for her automatically.
"Well, let's see what's down this way," Najia muttered to herself, slipping out of her EMU and leaving it in the lock. She unholstered the pistol that was now clamped to her hardshell-clad thigh, and started to look around again.
To her surprise, she found only another cell block - it was a dead end! She was about to hiss in frustration, when she heard someone call to her. "You there! You! Hey! You are not supposed to be here!" Najia turned to face the Teladi voice, her pistol half-raised, when she saw that the figure in question was imprisoned. She lowered her aim to the floor, and appraoched the bars. Standing within was a Teladi, who looked rather forelorn. Najia's shoulders slumped. Well, this is awkward, she thought. When the Teladi seemed to realize she wasn't a guard, she started to ask, "Oh please, please, please! You cannot leave me here! I am friends with Urgu... Ugusa... I can help you make profitsss! I promise."
Najia sighed at the pathetic display, but she understood the Teladi's desire for freedom; though, on the balance, she also had no idea what this Teladi had done to become imprisoned. Knowing Kriss Mellerd, it was a total crap-shoot; she might be a real scum-bag, or she might be being shaken down. Axiom cut in on her. "I sympathize with the little lizard, really I do, but we cannot compromise this mission in the name of charity."
Najia huffed out a sigh, and looked around. Frustratedly, she slapped the door panel on the imprisoned Teladi's cell, and to her surprise - and the prisoner's surprise - it opened. The prisoner looked around, confusedly, and Najia was glad that her mirrored helmet hid her gaze. "That's the best I can do," she said, resignedly. "You'll have to effect your own escape from here, if you can. Good luck." Turning, she huffed back into the airlock, slapping the button to cycle it as the Teladi prisoner looked around in tentative confusion, taking a few steps out of her cell.
Najia pulled her EMU's straps back on. "Well, that was a fucking bust," she snarled. "I'm about to start lasering shit," she muttered, floating back into the massive vacuum cylinder, and back up towards the locked airlocks. She found a third floor of airlocks, but they only offered some shelter from the fans starting up. After waiting that, frustratedly she flew back out again, and started looking around. "Axiom, there aren't any switches here!" "My diagrams say there are switches, Wildcard. Look more carefully - and swiftly."
Najia let out a guttural growl of frustration, and switched to her cutting laser. Giving in to a pique of frustration, she hit her Mk.2 thrusters, blowing past level 1 to the sub-level, coming up level with the big fuse-box. "Right, let's see what this does," she said with a snarl, and targeted her suit's cutting laser on the big set of what looked like fuses.
She blazed a neat line down the middle of them, and, gratifyingly, the 'Turrets' hologram switched to a big red repair icon... She looked around for a moment. Nothing happened. Najia smirked. "On the one hand, this place is frustrating, confusing, and I kind of want to blow it up out of spite by now. But on the other hand, the gross criminal negligence on display is really working in my favor. Fuck it. Lasers for everything," she said, snarling and going back up the shaft. There were a bunch of unmarked panels, and, giving in to the frustration she felt earlier - which she had barely restrained herself from allowing herself to hold Lu t'Cca at gunpoint - she started lasering the panels like a schoolgirl hooligan on a vandalism spree.
"Your new laser is low-powered, but if you keep it aimed at the lock, it will break eventually," Axiom said. Najia blinked. New laser? This is my laser and I've had it for a while, and... Oh, piss on this! She laughed, however, as she saw that one of the panels had indeed fractured.
One deeply-cathatic vandalism spree later, every panel had been opened, and had revealed that inside the two panels nearest the top-level airlocks were two further, smaller panels, with similar mechanisms. With the fan starting up again, Najia took shelter in one of the alcoves at the top, just under an airlock, and, deciding to use her time productively, she lasered the opposite airlock's control panel. After holding her laser on the box for awhile, it was a glowing ruin, and Axiom commed her. "Partial access to level two established," he informed her.
Najia nodded. She didn't even bother to sarcastically snark at him, though the phrase no shit, Sherlock ran through her mind. Rather, she charitably assumed he was reporting to her something he was learning electronically, and turned around. This is gonna be bright, she thought, as she trained her laser at close range on the near access box, and closed her eyes. She held in the firing stud, and held it - counting in her head to seven, when Axiom's comm made her let up off the laser. "And just like that, we have free reign over level two! They can't stop you now!"
Najia grinned, and opened her eyes to behold a molten, glowing hole drilled into the electronics she had blasted. "Right. Let's get this show on the highway."
On the level above her, in the half just above, she slipped in, and found herself facing a door to another cell block, just through the airlock. She went in and looked; no prisoners. Walking out, she huffed, and decided to walk the half-circuit around the big cylinder again. To her surprise, she found a console, just attached haphazardly to a railing. Really? Najia examined it, and snorted; it looked shoddy, ad-hoc. She tapped the console's screen, and it simply changed color. Axiom piped up. "Magnificent! That'll give you access to half of the switches! There must be another console nearby that will let you remove the second cover."
"Got it. Moving on," Najia said. Back to the airlock she went, after checking the other half of the crescent hallway she was in; without any luck, she just floated across to the other airlock on her EMU. Predictably, she found that, on the opposite railing in the other half of the level, was another console haphazardly attached to a railing, and she rapped it quite firmly with her knuckles. It flashed. "How's that, Axiom?" "Both covers confirmed open," Axiom informed her. "Let's flip some switches. Get back into your spacesuit."
"Never got out of it. Who has time to undress four times? Anyway, switches, yaaay switches," she snarked, as she cycled the airlock again, strapping her EMU back on. "Whoever designed this place is both a madman and criminally negligent."
Once the airlock cycled through again, Najia saw that the two panels she had manipulated had caused five boxes that she had previously taken as unimportant junction boxes to slide their panels open. She groaned to herself when she saw that there were five more lock-like switches within. "Great, time for more vandalism, yay." She lasered the first of the boxes' interiors, the one that was lit, and held it for a long few moments.
"Something's not right," Axiom said, comming her. She had a sinking feeling. "The switches are also setting the state of their neighbors," he declared. Sure enough, she had blasted the leftmost switch, and the second had lit up. Worryingly, the leftmost switch did not look damaged in the slightest. "You'll have to find a combination which turns them all off," Axiom said, as Najia groaned. "I don't think a game of whack-a-mole will get you there," Axiom continued. "Though... Actually, it might!"
Najia groaned, and briefly considered calling for a five-hundred-some member boarding party attack from two capital ships instead. "What tail-hole thought this was a good idea," she bitched. "Who dreamed this up? Why install it like this? Don't anybody answer that, those questions were rhetorical," she snarked, as she set about the process of shooting the junction boxes like they were a juvenile 'turn them all off' game.
About eighty seconds and the false start of thinking she could shoot an inactive switch to switch it on and switch its neighbors states (it transpired that she could only make an active switch toggle neighbors' states), all five boxes were dark, and Najia snarled, bristling with outrage that this was evidently considered part of a high security system and not a child's game.
"You got it, Wildcard!" Axiom commed her. "Access to Level 3 established. And it turned off the darned fan! Off to the hangar, then." Up one level, Najia cycled herself into the airlock, and groaned. She was getting mightily tired of this, and she rolled her shoulders. "I am going to need a massage and to soak for an hour in the shower," she griped to no-one in particular. She hefted her EMU half-over her left shoulder, unholstering her pistol, just in case. The EMU was very heavy, but her EV suit had a fairly substantial low-profile power assist mechanism. Not enough to turn her into a super-soldier by any means, but enough to let her heft a 150kg load like a bulky and cumbersome backpack. She was tempted to leave it behind... But it was a good thing she didn't. The corridor she found was only a straight shot to - and she groaned - another airlock. As she approached it, Axiom unhelpfully congratulated her. "Excellent," he said. "Yo're approaching the internal hangar now. Our getaway ship is right over there." Cycling through, she passed into the deep well of an internal ship hangar - and groaned.
Najia was looking at a Magpie. That was the big, innovative, unique ship?
"If we want to make it out of here, you'll have to destroy the clamps on the hangar doors," Axiom informed her. Najia groaned, sighed, and rolled her shoulders. "Right. I can do that. All this for a..." She seethed, and looked back at the ship.
No, it wasn't a Magpie, but it sure as hell looked like one. It was clearly a derivative design, but it had not the Magpie's massive cargo pods; rather, it had smaller pods, and a lot more gubbins - antennae, dishes, and the like. Fan-dabbie-dozie she thought balefully to herself as she set about finding and destroying the lockdown clamps. As she did so, she also saw a couple more panels that had a turret hologram over them, and, thinking, why the hell not, fried them, too. Moments later, the lockdown clamps fell, too, and she saw a red light glare through one of the hangar windows.
Axiom piped up, "Holy triangle, that's the station alarm! Lucca and I are going to make a run for the ship!" She blinked, looking up - two EVA-suited figures, with full EMUs, cycled through the airlock she had come through.
What, she thought. Where... I... What... Where...? In a moment of dumbfounded confusion, she stared openly, unmoving, before both of them dipped between the ship's large thrusters, and headed for its belly, while Axiom said, "approaching the dock. Be with you in a moment!" Fearing being left behind, Najia abandoned the question of where they had gotten EV suits, let alone EMUs, in favor of making haste to join them.
As Najia negotiated into the airlock, Axiom and Lucca reported that they had boarded, and Axiom was working on powering up the ship's systems, and Axiom was transferring the ship's ownership - and hence, control - to her. They were trying to talk over one another, making it confusing, but, as she got into the ship and shed her MMU, running for the seat, Axiom noted, "This prototype ship does not appear to have an emergency eject system. I assume it was supposed to be added later." "Great," she snarled. "This is going tits-up and I'm in a little ship with no ejection system." "Split been moving into position," Maestro informed her, in a bit of good news. "Alarm must have mobilized more Ministry forces than Split anticipated."
"Thrice blasted!" Axiom roared from the back. "Mellerd deployed a capital ship to head off the Arcadian Endeavour!" Najia groaned, checking her map. A Pheonix-class vessel named Rolling Rock was engaging the Arcadian Endeavor.
As Najia got the Raven's struts up and pushed it forward, she got a comm from the Rolling Rock itself. She snarled as she saw Kriss Mellerd in her comm pane. "Thank you for leading the old man, and his crew of clowns, right to my doorstep. Crossing them off the Ministry's list will do wonders for my career advancement."
Najia gawped at her, in shock at the sheer gall on display, as Mellerd laughed. "You just stumbled into this whole affair, so I will offer you a one-time chance to get out of this. All you have to do is dock at my ship and hand over the pirates youy are currently harboring. You won't be able to keep the ship, but -"
Najia cut her off, snarling in anger. "You just love the sound of your own voice, bitch. Even if I was inclined to take an 'out,' though, nobody can trust you. For anything." Najia switched the comms to her ships, as she powered the Raven up to full. It seemed to be armed with two cannons; she test-fired them by holding in the trigger. They didn't fire immediately, but when she let go, they let fly. "Woah. These must be those Teladi charger things," she muttered. "Whatever. Ladies? This bitch cannot be trusted to keep her word. End her rightly!"
The Rolling Rock was already exchanging fire with Arcadian Endeavor, while Ace nipped at her heels, firing off shots from that launcher and the frontal cannon. Shiv and Kunai - the name chosen for the Paramerion - lifted from the Jackdaw and Arcadian Endeavour respectively, while Jackdaw and the Snapping Tortoise broke from formation with it to engage.
"L beam turrets... Problematic," Najia muttered to herself. "Let me see what I can do about that," she added, as she set the Raven prototype in motion. She could only hope, at least, that Kriss was at least rethinking her decision, now that the odds had tilted decidedly against her.
She dove into action against Rolling Rock, testing out the Muon Chargers, as the ships with her split and attacked. The destroyer was big, and problematic, but it seemed rather... Awkward to control, in fact. Ponderous, its turrets, even the lasers, seemed slow to respond. She nipped around it, firing a few times, as her four ships slipped past it. A plasma bolt struck her shields, and she yelped, diving to evade. "That's it," she heard Rei - not over the open comms, but in her earbud. "I am not letting you get your ass killed like this. I'm dispatching help," she said, and Najia winced.
Great. So this is how the war with the Ministry starts? And yet, oddly... There was no sign of Ministry reinforcements. Najia fled from the immediate vicinity to recharge her shields, coming in close to the Arcadian Endeavour, and watched as the Eighteen Billion Katana squads roared in. She winced as she saw that Okayama and her defense fleet had also been dispatched - a Destroyer squadron was going to bear down on Rolling Rock... Eventually. And yet, the Ministry was doing nothing.
It hit her suddenly; Kriss was rogue. Was doing this on her own. She snarled and grinned. The Ministry might be mad, when this shook out, but they'd have a hard time proving her involvement. Especially if she could play it as her ships responding to a distress call because a rogue vessel with an unaffiliated transponder had attacked a ship. It was flimsy... But it was enough. "Bear down on her, ladies. Tear that thing apart." Najia crowed, as she pulled the Raven in to touch down on the Arcadian Endeavour's landing pad. She looked back. "Axiom, they're gonna need you in the engine room. Lucca, you're not gonna wanna be on this ship!" The back ramp was dropping as she settled down; neither waited for her to have landed fully, they dropped from the ship and sprinted past, to the lift.
"So, you've decided to go down with the sinking ship? One less loose end for me to tie up later!" Mellerd crowed at her, and Najia smirked; of course she knew she couldn't trust Mellerd. "You're worse than a pirate, Kriss. Nobody can trust you," Najia said. "Prepare to kiss your ass goodbye."
Maestro was rattling on in her ear, but Najia could barely hear him over the combat calls. She hoped he was smart enough not to fire upon the T.E. vessels responding - it would be awkward later, and they were joining the fight on his side, after all. He was saying something about escape, and turrets. Najia snorted. "Actually, we're just going to blow this thing up," Najia declared. "We can't leave someone like Kriss Mellerd at our backs."
Things seemed to be doing well at first; the Rolling Rock was handling clumsily, awkwardly, as if she was critically undermanned. That gave Najia an odd hope that she might actually succeed at boarding her; the responding vessels were quickly tearing down her turrets and shields.
Then, everything went dramatically pear-shaped. Najia yelped as lasers tickled the the Raven's shields down and she got them back up again; again and again this happened, each time the hull started to fracture more and more. She made attack runs, damaged a surface element, and then things got worse. Where were those lasers coming from?
"Missile. Incoming missile." She slapped the countermeasures button, only to see the screen flash ammo empty. "Fuck!" A missile slammed into her, followed by a fly-by from a starfighter. She didn't catch it, but she took a pot-shot at it as it went past. Things were going from bad, to worse, when she heard someone howl, "Jackdaw's taking heavy fire! Jackdaw's... Oh fuck!"
Najia felt a moment of total disassociation. Numbly, her hand drifted over the stick, trying to maneuver the clunky ship like a starfighter, whilst fighting through mental fog.
Marta.
"We've got them!" Rei stringer called out, over her line. "I've got the crew of Jackdaw at the depot, but now we're under attack by a Ministry warship!" Najia gasped, shoving her stick forward, hard. Her ship was flying apart around her, and she snarled. "Someone get these motherfuckers!" "We're coming in," she heard - both the first, and last, person she wanted to hear. "Fenrir, engaging!" "Okayama, engaging." "Kagawa, engaging!" "Ark Royal, moving to engage!"
Najia laughed, incredulously. That was four fleets. Four fleets that most definitely were not supposed to be engaging to support the Arcadian Endeavour. One of them the Teladi wasn't even supposed to know about - Alarms blared. The Raven had taken a nasty hit, and a Ministry Kea was lining up on her six. She tried to pull away - she wasn't going to be fast enough - the ship jerked - the world went white.
Najia crashed forward to the deck, yelping, arms up to guard her head. She looked up; a Marine was standing next to her, offering her hand to Najia. "Better get to the skipper, ma'am," the Marina said. "We're Koshirae." Najia laughed, taking the proffered hand and climbing to her feet, hustling down to the bridge's main deck. Selaia Kevlin was standing in the middle like the Maestro, calmingly barking out orders with command presence. She looked up at Najia, briefly, smirking at her. "Does the owner have the conn?"
Najia shook her head, laughing. "Fight the ship, captain. I've got to coordinate this clusterfuck." Selaia laughed at her and nodded, barking out, "bring us up ninety, show her our broadside. Turret gunners, you are cleared to engage."
She hustled down to the fleet coordination console; the crewwoman at it hopping away for her. "This is Takio," she said, hopping on the controls. "Ladies, clear my skies of red. I don't know what the hell has gotten into the Ministry, attacking our stations like this, but if it's hostile out there, we kill it."
Rolling Rock was not having a good day, and it was getting exponentially worse. Her engines had been disabled, and Najia heard Maestro call out over the pirate channel, "Her engines are disabled. Now is the time to get away! But, where is Wildcard?" Najia winced. How was she going to explain that? Did she even want to? "This is Snapping Tortoise," Raleen, the captain of her pirate Baku called out. "We are picking up the crew of Jackdaw and Raven. Let these big bruisers fight, we'll get back to you."
"No!" Kriss Mellerd called out, yelping. "I don't wanna die!" Rolling Rock was coming apart under the growing tide of fire it was enduring, and more ships were still arriving. Najia snarled. Part of her wanted to bid Kriss a bon voyage to the afterlife, but she looked up to Selaia. "If anyone gets out of that ship, I want them. And we don't tell the Ministry."
"Roger that," Selaia said, and barked out orders to the helm to move closer to Rolling Rock. Najia looked back - a Ministry Razorbill was thoroughly engaged, and another had just blown up, attacking the construction depot.
She gritted her teeth, snorting hard. There was going to be hell to pay for this later. Righteous indigation - no, fury - was going to be the order of the day. Her ships had responded to a distress call from a Windfall trader, by an unidentified vessel. It was attacking relentlessly, wasn't on-record as being anything official. Then Ministry vessels, apparently heeding the aggressor's pleas, had jumped in, attacking Takio Enterprises assets, and the inevitable happen.
That was the tack she was going to have to take, and she clenched her fist. Outside, Rolling Rock came apart in a dazzling blossom of red that polarized the bridge windows for a long several moments. When they cleared, the ship was a debris field. Part of her hoped that Mellerd was dead; part of her hoped she wasn't. There was going to be a butcher's bill for today, and she tried - probably vainly - to make peace with that.
"Get us close enough to the Ministry Wharf to make contact," Najia said, looking to Selaia. "I've some barking to do." Selaia smirked at her. "After this? They should know damn well your bark isn't nearly as bad as your bite. They should be happy to get barked at. You should put on a respectable jacket at least." Najia let out a huff of exasperation, hurrying to do just that.
Hence, she found herself with eyes coldly blazing over the comms to the Ministry Police Kea craft which had departed from the wharf to intercept Koshirae. "Enough is enough," she snarled over the holo, standing in the conference room. "My ships responded to an attack upon a free trader from a destroyer that was not transmitting appropriate Ministry codes - not that the Ministry should be allowed to attack random traders, either."
"Your ships fired upon Ministry vessels," the captain of the Kea shot back, clearly outraged - but also, like the pilot who had followed her through the rift - terrified at being massively outnumbered and outgunned.
"Let me be clear, on the record, so there is no ambiguity," Najia said, leaning forward, placing her fist on the table. The effect was to lean closer to the hologram - and on the little attack ship's screen, her face would loom larger. "My ships responded to a distress call from a ship being attacked by an unknown vessel not transmitting appropriate ID. The Ministry, for whatever reasons, chose to respond to the event by siding with the aggressor and attacking my ships. Takio Enterprises warships responded by destroying the Ministry vessels." Her heart was thumping in her chest, but she narrowed her eyes. "If this is the gratitude of the Ministry of Finance, for all that Takio Enterprises has done here in Eighteen Billion, in Grand Exchange and at large, for the Ministry and the company, up to and including constructing facilities and securing neutral diplomats to mediate the dispute between the Company and the Ministry... Well, you might want to check with your superiors before you write a check they have to make good on. To be absolutely clear, this is a threat; you are the highest-ranking Ministry combat officer in Eighteen Billion. It is your decision whether this conflict continues or ceases, here and now. Ah - ah! Shut your fucking muzzle and listen to me carefully," she snapped, as the pilot opened her muzzle to retort.
"If you say anything but words to the effect of 'this was a horrible misunderstanding and we should deescalate the situation' - if you, personally, choose to escalate the situation, the first step I will take will be ordering all of my shipyards to stop producing vessels for the Ministry. The second step will be that I shall cripple the Ministry's ability to replace vessels by destroying the Ministry Shipyard and Wharf here in Eighteen Billion. I shall then proceed onward to prosecute this destructive and pointless war - a war chosen by you, pilot, here and now - by destroying each and every Ministry of Trade station I can find, until someone with some competent authority asks me to please stop doing that. You can see the weight of tonnage I have here, you know the Ministry does not have the tonnage to stop me. The choice is in your claws, pilot; war, or peace. War, or peace. Escalate, or deescalate. Your call."
The Kea pilot visibly shrank backwards in her command chair, obviously struggling to attempt to retain composure and command respect in the face of an overt and direct threat to bring fire and flame directly to the Ministry of Finance. Finally she steeled herself, straightening up in her chair. "This has obviously been a dreadful misunderstanding, miss Takio. The Ministry is undoubtedly going to demand reparations for our lost warships, but such matters are the purview of the financiers, not myself. If you will cease giving offense, we too shall cease attacks upon your vessels."
"Thank you," Najia said, leaning back. She fought not to visibly slump and sigh in relief, or to show how badly her heart was racing. "As for the reparations, they can take that up with the diplomat I have on payroll. Out." She cut the channel, and collapsed back into the chair behind her.
A moment later, the comm lit up again, and she flicked it on. It was a huge conference call, with the commanders of her fleets, the captain of Koshirae, Marta on the Snapping Tortoise with a small bandage on her forehead; Rei Stringer on the 18B construction depot, Tsukiko Peterson back at the headquarters, Professors Nakagawa and Okoye - whom Najia realized with a pang of guilt she hadn't yet formally re-introduced herself to -, Boso Ta,, and Ace. Najia let out a heavy sigh of relief. "Please for the love of god tell me we didn't lose anybody," she said, first off.
"Nobody from Jackdaw, Marta confirmed. "I took a headcount. We got lucky. "That seems to be a recurring theme," added Captain - probably should be Commodore - Xiaowen Kapoor - one of Najia's older friends, and currently the commander of T.E.S. Fenrir. "It helps that we responded with overwhelming firepower. My fleet is reporting no fatalties; thirteen casualties, mostly caused by haste in the heat of battle."
That proved to be the recurring theme; all of her responders reported sustaining injuries, mostly 'workplace accidents' incurred whilst in the heat of battle, but though some were serious, none were life-threatening.
"Najia Takio," Professor Yoriko Okoye - an aged-but-not-venerable, steel-haired professor-turned diplomat said, with the same tone of voice that she had used when reproaching Najia in class. "You are now, as ever you were, charmed, lucky, and reckless. You choose to act with passion first and foremost. This is a fine mess that I'm going to have to clean up, you understand. Can I expect this sort of thing to deal with in the future?"
Najia took in a breath, glancing around at her fellows. Barring a few, they were all young - Tsukiko was the third-oldest and Najia knew she was closer to thirty-five than forty - barely. Most of them looked grave, but not mutinious. She sighed, and smiled, wryly. "While I don't plan to go to war with the Ministry, there may be future... Rough spots to smooth over, yes. If you'd like to resign and go home -" "Not yet," the aged professor said, sharply. "But for dealing with this, I am going to require a pay rise!"
A chorus of chuckles surrounded her, and Najia sighed, face-palming and smiling. "That's fair, professor. We're going to have a fine time untangling this. Ace, how are the Curs?"
Ace looked into her eyes, then looked away for a moment, then back to her. "Secure in Windfall, awaiting your hopefully-safe return." She trilled, and Najia nodded. "Next stop, then."
2023.04.01 10:29 RaptorChaser Washing hands after touching certain things
TLDR: Wondering if it's extreme to ask bf and roommates to wash hands after touching certain things like money, debit cards, garbage can, moldy food
I have OCD surrounding germs and cleanliness. I already had certain rules in place for my roommates when it came to cleaning, sweep and mop once a week, dishes done on a schedule, for several years. Wash your hands when you come back from the grocery store/work and enter the house, and before you cook. Even for non OCD people I feel this is "normal" behavior.
After COVID came about my OCD got way worse and my rules increased to make myself feel safe around my roommates. I also got a boyfriend throughout the pandemic, which has been an adjustment. To me it seems like common sense to clean commonly touched objects, or items that used to belong to someone else when they come into your possession.
One thing I now ask my roommates and bf to wash their hands after touching is money, their wallet or debit card. There's endless studies that show how disgusting money is, and even if your debit card isn't dirty, you can't control what's on everyone else's debit card that's put in that chip machine. You then touch the debit numbers to put in your PIN and touch your debit card back in your wallet. There's so much germ transfer. My bf will pick up change/money/his debit card on the dresser to move it from one place to another and then touch his phone/me. It drives me insane. I have told him 30+ times to wash his hands after touching that stuff and he just "forgets." Is this an unreasonable request? I personally did this before COVID, always washed my hands touching money or wallets but didn't care if my roommate did because I wasn't in their room, they have their own living room in the house, we don't share. We just share the kitchen so asking them to wash their hands before cooking solves that. Since COVID I make sure my bf does it all the time because we share the same bed, living room, ect.
I have a garbage can with a foot peddle. I got it for the point of not having to touch the garbage. My bf has a habit of lifting the lid instead of using the foot peddle. Then immediately grab his phone and check fb or whatever. It's the literal garbage. I thought anyone who touched garbage would know to wash their hands. He says it's just the lid though, but he's never once washed the garbage can in our 1.5 year relationship. How is the lid clean? I've disinfected it, but not as much as I wish I did. It's like pulling teeth asking him to wash his hands after.
If something in the fridge went moldy it makes sense to me to wash your hands after throwing it out before touching the food you're going to use to cook with. But this is also too much for my bf and roommate to do. I feel money, garbage, moldy food are all reasonable things to wash your hands after touching. Am I unreasonable?
This next one is a little more out there but the front door handle. If they answer the door for mail I ask them to wash their hands because the front door is the last thing touched when you enter the house, it's germy from when you came home last. I disinfect the doorknob once a week after bringing the garbage to the curb, but my bf works everyday, bringing germs home.
When family, parents and grandparents visit I include them in these rules and make them wash their hands when entering, and they use the argument I just sanitized my hands in the car, to not have to wash their hands. But they still touch the car door handle, side of the car door to close it and house door handle to get in, which could all have germs on them. Is it too much to ask someone who just sanitized their hands in the car before touching 3 surfaces to wash them? Also there's studies showing soap and water are better than hand sanitizer.
A different rule I have for my bf is to change clothes when he's at home and in public. He does home care with people who are not very sanitary and wipes poop all over the house. At first I asked him to get a shower when coming home from work, but that's too much for him. He wants one BEFORE work to be clean for his client, who wipes shit on the walls. But not get a shower after work to be clean for sex with ME!? Okay?? So we compromised in him changing his clothes when he gets home. But I'm still scared everytime I kiss his face if there's shit on it because he's careless. Today he came home from work, and didn't change his clothes and sat on the couch, on top of one of my pillows, where my head goes if I want to nap on the couch. I don't understand why he can't shower for me to feel comfortable to have sex with him. I don't understand why he fights me on changing his clothes and "forgets" when this has been a rule for 18 months. I feel like normally this would be weird to ask someone to change clothes but as I explained, his customer wipes shit around the house, on the couch, he could accidentally sit in shit at anytime. Then come home and sit on my PILLOW!
AM I UNREASONABLE!? Are these normal things to expect, or is this just OCD? Do "normal" people touch their debit card and then cook food after? Do you have any advice to help my boyfriend understand my fears, because he just calls me crazy or insane when I explain germ transfer. I'm at my wits end, I don't know how much more I can take living with him, being terrified of getting sick. I've laid out specific rules that haven't changed in 18 months. I'm sick of having to watch him to make sure he follows the rules, and every single day there's something I catch he's not following. Touching the money, or garbage and not washing his hands. What do I do? Am I the problem?
submitted by RaptorChaser to OCD [link] [comments]
I have OCD surrounding germs and cleanliness. I already had certain rules in place for my roommates when it came to cleaning, sweep and mop once a week, dishes done on a schedule, for several years. Wash your hands when you come back from the grocery store/work and enter the house, and before you cook. Even for non OCD people I feel this is "normal" behavior.
After COVID came about my OCD got way worse and my rules increased to make myself feel safe around my roommates. I also got a boyfriend throughout the pandemic, which has been an adjustment. To me it seems like common sense to clean commonly touched objects, or items that used to belong to someone else when they come into your possession.
One thing I now ask my roommates and bf to wash their hands after touching is money, their wallet or debit card. There's endless studies that show how disgusting money is, and even if your debit card isn't dirty, you can't control what's on everyone else's debit card that's put in that chip machine. You then touch the debit numbers to put in your PIN and touch your debit card back in your wallet. There's so much germ transfer. My bf will pick up change/money/his debit card on the dresser to move it from one place to another and then touch his phone/me. It drives me insane. I have told him 30+ times to wash his hands after touching that stuff and he just "forgets." Is this an unreasonable request? I personally did this before COVID, always washed my hands touching money or wallets but didn't care if my roommate did because I wasn't in their room, they have their own living room in the house, we don't share. We just share the kitchen so asking them to wash their hands before cooking solves that. Since COVID I make sure my bf does it all the time because we share the same bed, living room, ect.
I have a garbage can with a foot peddle. I got it for the point of not having to touch the garbage. My bf has a habit of lifting the lid instead of using the foot peddle. Then immediately grab his phone and check fb or whatever. It's the literal garbage. I thought anyone who touched garbage would know to wash their hands. He says it's just the lid though, but he's never once washed the garbage can in our 1.5 year relationship. How is the lid clean? I've disinfected it, but not as much as I wish I did. It's like pulling teeth asking him to wash his hands after.
If something in the fridge went moldy it makes sense to me to wash your hands after throwing it out before touching the food you're going to use to cook with. But this is also too much for my bf and roommate to do. I feel money, garbage, moldy food are all reasonable things to wash your hands after touching. Am I unreasonable?
This next one is a little more out there but the front door handle. If they answer the door for mail I ask them to wash their hands because the front door is the last thing touched when you enter the house, it's germy from when you came home last. I disinfect the doorknob once a week after bringing the garbage to the curb, but my bf works everyday, bringing germs home.
When family, parents and grandparents visit I include them in these rules and make them wash their hands when entering, and they use the argument I just sanitized my hands in the car, to not have to wash their hands. But they still touch the car door handle, side of the car door to close it and house door handle to get in, which could all have germs on them. Is it too much to ask someone who just sanitized their hands in the car before touching 3 surfaces to wash them? Also there's studies showing soap and water are better than hand sanitizer.
A different rule I have for my bf is to change clothes when he's at home and in public. He does home care with people who are not very sanitary and wipes poop all over the house. At first I asked him to get a shower when coming home from work, but that's too much for him. He wants one BEFORE work to be clean for his client, who wipes shit on the walls. But not get a shower after work to be clean for sex with ME!? Okay?? So we compromised in him changing his clothes when he gets home. But I'm still scared everytime I kiss his face if there's shit on it because he's careless. Today he came home from work, and didn't change his clothes and sat on the couch, on top of one of my pillows, where my head goes if I want to nap on the couch. I don't understand why he can't shower for me to feel comfortable to have sex with him. I don't understand why he fights me on changing his clothes and "forgets" when this has been a rule for 18 months. I feel like normally this would be weird to ask someone to change clothes but as I explained, his customer wipes shit around the house, on the couch, he could accidentally sit in shit at anytime. Then come home and sit on my PILLOW!
AM I UNREASONABLE!? Are these normal things to expect, or is this just OCD? Do "normal" people touch their debit card and then cook food after? Do you have any advice to help my boyfriend understand my fears, because he just calls me crazy or insane when I explain germ transfer. I'm at my wits end, I don't know how much more I can take living with him, being terrified of getting sick. I've laid out specific rules that haven't changed in 18 months. I'm sick of having to watch him to make sure he follows the rules, and every single day there's something I catch he's not following. Touching the money, or garbage and not washing his hands. What do I do? Am I the problem?
2023.04.01 10:15 tefhhygf My nparwnts don’t care that there is a mouse in the house but blame me
A few months ago I found a mouse in my room. My parents seein to blame the scapegoat (me) the reason for the mouse coming into the house. They seem to think the mouse just teleports into the house because of me specifically. No. Mouse tend to enter a home through a hole or a pipe system connected in the house to a outing. Looking for shelter or food. It didn’t just travel to my room randomly.
Whenever there’s a problem whether it be infestation or operational like the toilet not working, they blame it on me even if I didn’t touch it or use it. THEY are never the issue or problem. They don’t even consider that they might’ve done it. It’s always pinned on me even if I’m in room all day.
Ugh anyways so you can guess that I was blamed for the mouse. I saw it come from a hole in my room that my own parents carved out. It came from my nmoms room and I wasn’t suprised. My mom is a very messy person. I’m clean. She leaves food out in her room every day. Her clothes are all over the ground. It’s a hoarding room.
So you’re gonna blame the cleanest person in the house over the most dirtiest?? I taped up every place I could, set every trap I could. It sucks and my parents aren’t doing anything about it. I tell them and they literally say “okay” and don’t anything!!!!
Why??? They are so loud wirh blaming me but once I introduce a way to FIX it they go silent. Wtf? I don’t even bother telling my shit parents stuff anymore cuz they do nothing.
submitted by tefhhygf to raisedbynarcissists [link] [comments]
Whenever there’s a problem whether it be infestation or operational like the toilet not working, they blame it on me even if I didn’t touch it or use it. THEY are never the issue or problem. They don’t even consider that they might’ve done it. It’s always pinned on me even if I’m in room all day.
Ugh anyways so you can guess that I was blamed for the mouse. I saw it come from a hole in my room that my own parents carved out. It came from my nmoms room and I wasn’t suprised. My mom is a very messy person. I’m clean. She leaves food out in her room every day. Her clothes are all over the ground. It’s a hoarding room.
So you’re gonna blame the cleanest person in the house over the most dirtiest?? I taped up every place I could, set every trap I could. It sucks and my parents aren’t doing anything about it. I tell them and they literally say “okay” and don’t anything!!!!
Why??? They are so loud wirh blaming me but once I introduce a way to FIX it they go silent. Wtf? I don’t even bother telling my shit parents stuff anymore cuz they do nothing.
2023.04.01 09:30 grafmafe Very dirty vintage dyed suede. How to get the dirt out?
 | I just bought this vintage suede 2 piece set (probably about 50 yrs old) online but I didn't realize how extrenely dirty it was. I've tried a few different cleaning methods and nothing seems to be effective and at this point I'm at a loss. I am thinking about taking it to a professional, but I've already spent about $200 on the set, and I don't think I can afford to spend another $100 at least getting it cleaned if I can reasonably accomplish it at home. Any suggestions on methods to try to get all this dirt out would be extremely appreciated! I don't care if it's tedious as long as it's tried and true to get the dirt and dust out, and if it minimizes damage to the material and colors. I'm not opposed to getting it re-dyed at some point, but I would like to avoid this for as long as possible in order to save money. Please see below for descriptions od what I've already tried and how it worked. submitted by grafmafe to CleaningTips [link] [comments] Description: The light pink panels panels are completely discolored by dirt and/or dust. The first picture shows from left to right the outside of the vest, the inside of the vest, and the inside of the skirt. I believe the inside of the skirt is the cleanest part of the set, so that's about the color it should be, while the outside of the vest is the dirtiest part and is clearly very dark and discolored. I tried to post pictures where you can see the dirt, but it's actually worse in person. One of those things where it's so dirty I didn't even realize it was discolored until I looked up close. These pieces were made to match so they were originally all dyed using the same colors. Some pieces aren't the highest quality suede and have wrinkes, which make those parts a little more delicate. Goal: I want to clean the dirt and dust out so the colors are more uniform. The dark plum panels don't appear as discolored (though they're probably dirty too) but the light pink panels are really bad. I want to prevent color transfer and bleeding. I don't think the dye is colorfast due to how it came off a bit when I used a suede cleaner, though that cleaner has taken color out of everything I've used it on. I am a beginner at suede and leather care and have cleaned and treated a number of other garments and shoes at home with no issues, but this stuff is just extremely filthy and nothing in doing is working. What I've tried and results: I've dry brushed most of the inside and outside of both pieces using a combination synthetic and brass brush, a gentle boar bristle brush, and a nap brush. This has minimally helped discoloration, mostly by bringing the nap back which helps even the color a little, but doesn't appear to really remove any dirt. I've already dry brushed quite a bit and it seems to have helped some areas (ex. a 4 square inch area that wasn'tvery dirty to start out with that I brushed for about 15 minutes straight), but in other areas I wonder if I'm just damaging the nap more than I'm effectively removing dirt. I need you to understand this is decades of embedded dirt and dust, I can smell it every time I get close to it and it gets all over my hands when I touch it. If someone else has successfully gotten this level of dirt out of suede just by brushing I'm willing to do it, but I just need to hwar a testimonial so I know I'm not wasting my time. I've used a rubber suede eraser on spots and entire panels to little avail. It mostly seems to leave behind residue and not be effective at actually removing dirt. It could be the eraser but I've successfuly used it on other pieces. I've used a Mr. Clean magic eraser which has worked better than the rubber eraser, but is most effective on panels that arent as dirty and discolored. It seems to also be removing some of the pink dye as I can see pink residue on the sponge, but it's hard to tell if that's not just dirt. I've used isopropyl alcohol on a washcloth, gently dabbed and rubbed on spots and dirty areas with a washcloth or microfiber towel. This has been the most successful method, but only on small very dirty dark spots, especially when combined with the magic eraser, but is less effective on panels. This has not stained the suede, but it does make it feel a bit dry. I do plan on buying a conditioneprotectant when I'm finally done cleaning it. Finally I've tried using Jason Markk Premium Deep Cleaning solution, the bottle says it's good for suede. Instructions say to add water but I didn't since it's suede. I dipped a small paintbrush in a very small amount of solution, dabbed off excess, gently scrubbed a small discolored area, then wiped it with a washcloth or microfiber towel. I then waited for it to completely dry, and brushed discoloration caused by the solution away qith my combination brush. The solution doesn't seem to stain, but it seems more effective at removing the dye than the dirt. For this reason I think the dye is not colorfast. Seems to have discolored it further slightly as well. |
2023.04.01 09:20 Lem0n_Lord Displacement - Azur Lane
I decided to go through with it, and finished my first chapter. I've posted it on AO3 'n stuff, figured I'd put it here anyway. I also wanna preface the chapter by briefly saying what it's about to avoid (some) confusion.
"Displacement" is a line of self-insert fanfics I'm writing where a random person get's "Displaced" into the universe of the series it's based on. There's no lore to the teleporting, but the teleporting does happen more than once, and it happens at often crucial times to put the character into a new scenario.
Any text with italics without " " will be the thoughts of the MC, which I'll constantly just be referring to as "you". I really should start writing in 3rd person, but right now I'm stuck in a horrible loop where I keep writing in a mix.
I preface each chapter by putting lyrics from the song it's named after, which are emboldened and put in italics.
Chapter 1 - Dead On Arrival
As dawn arrives, we still survive.
Nobody knows what's goin' on, Tearin' my town limb by limb.
Where are your mom and dad..?
Was it shocking for you?
Somethin is scaring you?
Enemies will hunt you, no matter what you do!
But we'll fight for you, to defeat them all.
If not, there's no way out.
What in the hell just happened?
You'd landed on your hands, which ached immensely from the poor angle you somehow fell from. In absolute confusion, you flipped onto your back and used your elbows as supports to lean on, looking upwards.
Above you was but a regular ceiling with lights, nothing out of the ordinary. It seems you had fallen through the ground by some contrivance and into an archaic office of sorts.
There was a total lack of memory from anything that had transpired both leading up to the events that had just occurred, and even some memories predating that.
Such simple things such as your name were somehow eluding you. Questions of who you were rebounded in your head over and over like an echo-chamber filled with nothing.
As your thoughts spiraled, you had a splitting headache. A pained groan escaped your lips as you stood up in defiance. You looked around the room, trying to assess your situation the best you could.
Multiple red banners fit with black Iron Crosses decorated the walls.
An underlying sense of dread built up as you continued exploring the room in search for answers. You approached curtains behind the desk, they seemed relatively well cleaned. With a gentle tug, you pulled them back.
Lying beyond the curtains was a view you thought you'd never see.
Just where in the hell am I?
Looking down from the window, you could see huge warships docked at a port. Some people down below, the size of pinpricks, were walking along the concrete ground. More crimson banners littered the streets away from the docks.
"Oh, no, no, no, no, no..." You whispered to yourself, backing away from the glass.
In an attempt to find out where you were, you flew open the desk drawers. Paper flew like confetti as you looked for answers.
A date eventually stood out to you.
"1-1941?!" You said out loud, dumbfounded.
You continued sifting through the pages in denial, finding the very same date over and over again. After a while, you were surrounded by a sea of white sheets each imprinted with evidence of the impossible.
The drawers all lay empty with nothing more to prove.
You looked towards the multiple banners in the room and silently cursed.
Where the fuck am I? In the Führer's office?
Two doors were present in the room. One opposite the desk, and another to your right.
Testing your luck, you opened the one opposite where you currently were.
It was in the middle of a clean carpeted hallway. The walls were an ivory white, while the carpet was a bleeding vibrant red. Even more banners littered the walls.
This was no time to just start wandering around the Reichstag.
Well... Did Hitler live in the Reichstag? Was this the equivalent? The Reichstag was never built so close to the sea, let alone having a view right over a German port...
A figure turned the corner from down the hall, which you quickly noticed. After silently closing the door, you quietly opened the 2nd.
It was a relatively well kept bedroom with an unidentified blonde woman sleeping on the bed. On the bed-side table was an officers cap fitted with a rising golden eagle alongside a red and white band.
A window view facing the sea was left open; letting in a cooling breeze drift into the room.
An idea struck your mind.
If I'm were going to escape this place alive, I'm gonna need some kind of disguise. Atleast, something other than a T-shirt and shorts.
You could only imagine what they'd do to you if they'd found some random person in what you thought was the Führer's quarters.
As silently as was humanly possible, you crept up to the wardrobe.
You thought "What woman was high-ranking during World War 2? ".
Perhaps the woman sleeping was Hitlers wife or something?
The closet responded to your touch with a high pitched squeak. Despite it being an inanimate object, you motioned for it to shut up with your hand. Your head spun around to see if the woman had woken up.
She did not.
With a silent thank you to god, you looked inside for some kind of uniform. What you instead found was... Womens' apparel?
You reached further in and looked deeper. There was no men's uniforms, which was quite surprising. Further scanning the wardrobe, you came across what appeared to be her undergarments.
You would've slammed the door shut, but the sound of the woman behind you snoring left a constant reminder that there was a SLIGHT element of danger.
Instead of risking it making another creaking sound, you left it open and left the room with a blush. You dove back into the marked papers and read them more thoroughly. Mentions of... Ship girls? Wisdom cubes?
No, no, no, that can't be right.
Standing back up, you struggled to formulate any kind of plan.
If you were going to survive, you'd need a weapon. Surely you could kill one with a surprise attack, then take his gun, and perhaps find a way out of here.
...
The closest thing resembling a weapon was a pen on the table.
Yep, that's fine, I'll just John Wick them...
You huffed and sat down on the more throne-like chair. It was quite comfortable, but it didn't spin like an office chair. It'd be 35 years before office chairs would be invented unfortunately.
The pen wasn't a ballpoint such as the ones you were used to; instead it was a dip pen. A half empty inkwell laid next to it. Out of boredom, you opened it. The smell of ink wafted out of the glass container.
Didn't they have fountain pens by now? Weird.
Your eyes were drawn to a map on the wall to the right of you. It depicted a slightly distorted version of the world you once called home. If you were uneducated, it wouldn't be unfeasible to identify it as the real thing. Perhaps even interchangeable should you be intoxicated enough, there were only slight discrepancies which broke the illusion.
You shook your head in disbelief. Either you were truly out of your depth or what you thought were the Nazi's were just pitifully incompetent.
At that point, it felt like you were in one of those TV pranks. You started probing the room for cameras or hidden microphones. With one glance at the open doorway, you immediate ignored it and continued the search elsewhere.
With a sigh, you surveyed the room one last time while leaning in a corner.
This couldn't be some sort of prank or something. Nobody would spend all of this money just to get a reaction from someone.
Your eyes traced the boundaries of the window.
Especially with all of those battleships and the like. God, the steel alone would cost millions...
The door leading to the bedroom slammed shut due to the wind from the open window.
You snapped your neck around to look at it, terror and trepidation coiled around your soul like a knot. Well... Now that's just great, isn't it?
The noise was so loud, you unconsciously held your ears in reaction to it.
You ran towards the window behind the desk and tried to get it open. There was no handle or any sort of way to open the window unfortunately.
Panic rushed through your body as you heard rapid footsteps approaching from the hallway on the other side of the wall. Grabbing the pen, you dashed over to get yourself in a good position to stab whoever was going to enter.
By the time I kill the first guard, I'll easily be able to deal with the girl in the other room. Shouldn't be too difficult as long as I land this blow.
Eventually, a figure opened the doors.
"Bisma-"
The pen somehow deflected off of her head, even though you used all of your strength.
"Eh? "
A dumbfounded look was imprinted onto your face, and she returned the expression.
Both of you stared at each other awkwardly, both of your minds were trying to assess the situation. She had a skirt that was a mixture of a brilliant red and foggy grey. Despite the look on her face, she had quite an imposing stature. Alongside her flat chest were golden buttons fitted to the exterior; 8 in total.
The pen tip was completely bent and disfigured, unlike the persons face you'd just attempted stabbing. There wasn't a single scratch or mark from your inept strike.
You crept around the stunned girl and into the hall, almost tripping on your own feet. As you backed up, she turned around and apprehensively pointed at you.
"You! What do you think you're do-" She was interrupted by the door to the bedroom being burst open.
"That man! Hipper! Detain him at once!" A tall half-dressed blonde ordered from the doorway.
You started backing away, you knew you had to run but it almost felt like you'd forgotten how to.
The inimical woman in front of you was poised to lunge at you, but her eyes gazed at something beyond you. Eventually you had backed up into something warm.
With a gulp, you slowly turned around.
You were face to face with, yet, another female.
Why were they all women? It's only 1941, surely they're not being pushed on all fronts?
An Iron Cross adorned her neck along with two more embroidered onto the wrist section of her clothing. Instead of blonde, her hair was a chalky white that was tied up in twin tails. Something else you noticed is that they all had thigh-highs on.
"Eugen, I order you to capture that spy!"
"Whatever you say, sis~" Eugen replied with a teasing grin.
"This is a huge misunderstanding! If you'll just let me-" You squealed shortly before being picked up by your shoulders. Her strength was extremely surprising to say the least. You attempted to maneuver yourself out of her grasp, but had no such luck.
Eugen effortlessly tossed you like a speeding missile down the hall and through a door labeled "Canteen".
"Why did you- EUGH! YOU ALWAYS DO THIS!" A irked Hipper scolded before giving chase.
"Oops~ " Eugen giggled with content, following with a gait of elegance.
The blonde put on her cap, and finished getting dressed before rushing in the opposite direction.
...
You'd just breached the doors of the cafeteria, landing on your shoulder and tumbling into the floorboards. You released a loud groan of agony as you made a clumsy uncoordinated attempt of rising to your feet.
Your mind was briefly rendered into tomato soup for a good few seconds before you regained your bearings.
How the hell did she just whizz me around like that? And how did that other girl just completely ignore my strike? What in the name of Christ is going on here..?
As you finally stood on two feet, one of your hands instinctively reached for your shoulder. It really felt like you broke something, but you knew that if you really had broken something, you'd probably be on the floor crying.
"Who is that?"
Your eyes widened as you realized you were in a room full of women draped in all kinds of modified Kriegsmarine uniforms. Some of them forewent their uniforms entirely, wearing skimpy, very revealing clothing for god knows why.
They were of all shapes and sizes. Though, putting it like that makes it sound like they're abnormal godless creatures.
It wasn't too far from the truth, some of them had what seemed to be horns. A good number of them also looked like children.
You struggled to get some words out in a very poor attempt of deception.
"I-I, uh... Für den Kaiser? " You stuttered in a horrible German accent. Everyone was silent. "No? Too early? Damn..."
A feminine voice crackled in from the P.A system, a ringing alarm repeatedly blared.
"Intruder alert! Spy in the base! Prevent him from leaving at all costs!"
Chatter erupted all over the room.
"There's a spy in the base?" Someone repeated.
Only fragments of conversations were intelligible from the mess of different voices and German. The talking slowly died down until the room was in absolute silence. Every single one of them were staring at you.
Your eyes went from face to face, they were innumerable.
You immediately turned you back on them and began your great escape.
It started with a thundering of rushing and mangled cries of "Get him!" and other variations of apprehensive phrases. Multiple lunch trays clattered to the floor. The flat blonde you'd met before burst through the doors, using her arms in an X fashion as a brace.
Hipper didn't see you slip out of her way and slink back into the hallway before continuing into a sprint.
"W-where did he go?" She sputtered in a blunder. Her breath was raggedy and frequent.
They all pointed behind her, some of them started running towards her which prompted an annoyed groan from Hipper, who began to give chase to the human.
...
A look of steely determination was imprinted onto your face as you ran with all of your might. Crimson banners, vanilla wallpaper, and the wall-lamps all whizzed by in a amalgamated blur.
You looked behind you to see how much a lead you had.
They were gaining, Hipper was still leading the charge. In a panic, you hurriedly chose a random door flying by.
Eenie, meenie, miney, mo!
You braced and charged through the wooden pair of doors. What you saw in that room was interesting to say the least.
Yet another woman was sitting on some sort of throne. The masonry itself was crumbled at the edges, armrests draped in light amethyst hair.
The woman herself was crossing her legs with her hands joined in her lap. Behind her was a large cathedral-like window showering the room with light, unveiling the darkness. Unlit wax candles ran along the walls with two golden chandeliers hanging above.
She cocked her head slightly to the right, intrigued by your form. Her presence alone sent chills up your spine. Something about her gave off an incredibly ominous vibe.
As you stood there, stunned, the girls behind you had finally caught up. But instead of entering the room and apprehending you with shouts and whatnot, they were quietly gossiping behind closed doors.
"... Think he'll come out alive?"
"August is scary!"
"Quiet, morons!" Hipper hushed them with a quick strike to their foreheads. Muffled whimpers of pain came from the other side of the wall while the figure in front of you stared you down.
There was a profuse silence that was eventually broken by the woman speaking to you.
"It seems you're this Spy. "
She spoke with an air of sophistication and superiority. More silence followed before being broken up yet again. with a sigh she stood up, albeit slowly.
"I must admit, you caught me off guard. "
You watched in a combination of wonder and horror as a mass of azure cubes passed through the floor and walls, amassing themselves into a metal dragon. Instead of wings, it had half of a deck of an aircraft carrier on each wing.
"Your bravery is worthy of admiration, although whether it is folly or valor..." The dragon took a thunderous step towards you, turrets on the deck seemed to be locked onto your head. "I shall decide."
Each of the steps towards you made you flinch.
"You... Want me... To fight... That?" You said while backing up against the door. "What in the name of Christ..? "
What kind of world was this? A world where dragons just... Exist? A world where someone can just pick you up and hurl you without any effort?
This was but another wake-up call to where you had been thrown into.
"Will you falter in the face of such trials?" She ignored your very obvious indirect plea for mercy.
Your hands wrapped around the knob of the door and turned it violently. The door did not open. In a desperate escape attempt, you rammed your shoulder into it repeatedly to no avail.
Seeing how it wasn't working, you backed up towards the dragon and prepared to ram the door down one last time with all of your might.
"Have you given up already?" The woman sneered, a hint of disappointment rang in her voice.
You ran at the door and made one poor excuse of a dropkick while closing your eyes.
...
It felt... Warm. Your body impacted the ground without ever hitting anything with your feet.
For the second time that day, you were dropped onto the floor. Hard.
You let out an exasperated gasp after opening your eyes. Sunlight hit your body from above, no longer held back by a structure.
You were now in a street, occasionally people would pass by. Some looked on with concern, but without the courage to assist. Wooden buildings lined the busy streets, the archaic stone pathway was littered with the tapping of footsteps.
It was just like when you had first arrived here. Though this time, you remembered.
With a silent thank you to whatever deity might've saved you, you stood up with a grin.
Elsewhere...
"Where did he go?!"
"I'm afraid that's not something I know."
"B-but... How?! He can't just vanish! Unless..."
Hipper scratched her chin, her right eye twitching in increasing frustration.
"He must be a submarine! He might have some... Some sort of camouflage! Yes, that must be it!" She whipped around to the crowd of startled onlookers. "Scour the base! I want no stone unturned! Every cabinet, wardrobe and desk!"
Most of the ships saluted with a coordinated "Jawohl!" before dispersing in different directions. Some merely nodded in a sultry state, upset that their lunch had been ruined.
The ones remaining infront of her were none other than Bismarck and Prinz Eugen.
"I just got my rigging on too! Damn him!" Admiral Hipper raised her shaking fist to the sky in rage.
"I'm sure you'll get him next time~" Eugen jokingly assured Hipper, slinging her arm around her sisters neck.
Already teetering on the edge of rage, she had an outburst.
"IT'S YOUR FAULT ANYWAY!" She flew Eugens arm off her shoulder. "I-if you didn't toss him like you did, we could've easily-"
"Eugen, don't go overboard on your games. What is done is done, though do expect to hear from me in the coming days."
Eugen let out a "Hmpf. " and walked away.
Bismarck approached Hipper with a serious gaze. She immediately got the message and composed herself, straightening her posture.
"I believe you were closest to him. Can you describe his face? Eye color, or anything of the sort?"
Admiral Hipper profusely nodded.
"Good."
And that ends the first chapter. As you can probably tell, I'm a novice writer, and most of you are probably twice my age. (Surprisingly, most of you seem to be above the age of 20.) I'm also very new to the fandom, and am looking to improve my writing of dialogue and vast amount of personalities (most of which are tropes), and I'm quite afraid I wrote August/Eugen wrong.
I also have a few questions for any hard-core Azur Lane fans that I'd appreciate if you could answer:
1: Is the German language just called "Ironblood"? Is Japanese called "Sakura" or something? 2: Does the game or anime happen first? Or, are they in separate timelines? I haven't seen Crosswave myself, so I don't know. I was going to follow the events of the anime, then maybe into the game, then into Slow Ahead.
3: (most important one) Are men just... Really rare? Is there a reason why all the ships are females, or why we never see any men, anywhere?
If you've somehow read all of this, thank you, I appreciate people reading my work. Cheers from Australia.
submitted by Lem0n_Lord to AzureLane [link] [comments]
"Displacement" is a line of self-insert fanfics I'm writing where a random person get's "Displaced" into the universe of the series it's based on. There's no lore to the teleporting, but the teleporting does happen more than once, and it happens at often crucial times to put the character into a new scenario.
Any text with italics without " " will be the thoughts of the MC, which I'll constantly just be referring to as "you". I really should start writing in 3rd person, but right now I'm stuck in a horrible loop where I keep writing in a mix.
I preface each chapter by putting lyrics from the song it's named after, which are emboldened and put in italics.
Chapter 1 - Dead On Arrival
As dawn arrives, we still survive.
Nobody knows what's goin' on, Tearin' my town limb by limb.
Where are your mom and dad..?
Was it shocking for you?
Somethin is scaring you?
Enemies will hunt you, no matter what you do!
But we'll fight for you, to defeat them all.
If not, there's no way out.
What in the hell just happened?
You'd landed on your hands, which ached immensely from the poor angle you somehow fell from. In absolute confusion, you flipped onto your back and used your elbows as supports to lean on, looking upwards.
Above you was but a regular ceiling with lights, nothing out of the ordinary. It seems you had fallen through the ground by some contrivance and into an archaic office of sorts.
There was a total lack of memory from anything that had transpired both leading up to the events that had just occurred, and even some memories predating that.
Such simple things such as your name were somehow eluding you. Questions of who you were rebounded in your head over and over like an echo-chamber filled with nothing.
As your thoughts spiraled, you had a splitting headache. A pained groan escaped your lips as you stood up in defiance. You looked around the room, trying to assess your situation the best you could.
Multiple red banners fit with black Iron Crosses decorated the walls.
An underlying sense of dread built up as you continued exploring the room in search for answers. You approached curtains behind the desk, they seemed relatively well cleaned. With a gentle tug, you pulled them back.
Lying beyond the curtains was a view you thought you'd never see.
Just where in the hell am I?
Looking down from the window, you could see huge warships docked at a port. Some people down below, the size of pinpricks, were walking along the concrete ground. More crimson banners littered the streets away from the docks.
"Oh, no, no, no, no, no..." You whispered to yourself, backing away from the glass.
In an attempt to find out where you were, you flew open the desk drawers. Paper flew like confetti as you looked for answers.
A date eventually stood out to you.
"1-1941?!" You said out loud, dumbfounded.
You continued sifting through the pages in denial, finding the very same date over and over again. After a while, you were surrounded by a sea of white sheets each imprinted with evidence of the impossible.
The drawers all lay empty with nothing more to prove.
You looked towards the multiple banners in the room and silently cursed.
Where the fuck am I? In the Führer's office?
Two doors were present in the room. One opposite the desk, and another to your right.
Testing your luck, you opened the one opposite where you currently were.
It was in the middle of a clean carpeted hallway. The walls were an ivory white, while the carpet was a bleeding vibrant red. Even more banners littered the walls.
This was no time to just start wandering around the Reichstag.
Well... Did Hitler live in the Reichstag? Was this the equivalent? The Reichstag was never built so close to the sea, let alone having a view right over a German port...
A figure turned the corner from down the hall, which you quickly noticed. After silently closing the door, you quietly opened the 2nd.
It was a relatively well kept bedroom with an unidentified blonde woman sleeping on the bed. On the bed-side table was an officers cap fitted with a rising golden eagle alongside a red and white band.
A window view facing the sea was left open; letting in a cooling breeze drift into the room.
An idea struck your mind.
If I'm were going to escape this place alive, I'm gonna need some kind of disguise. Atleast, something other than a T-shirt and shorts.
You could only imagine what they'd do to you if they'd found some random person in what you thought was the Führer's quarters.
As silently as was humanly possible, you crept up to the wardrobe.
You thought "What woman was high-ranking during World War 2? ".
Perhaps the woman sleeping was Hitlers wife or something?
The closet responded to your touch with a high pitched squeak. Despite it being an inanimate object, you motioned for it to shut up with your hand. Your head spun around to see if the woman had woken up.
She did not.
With a silent thank you to god, you looked inside for some kind of uniform. What you instead found was... Womens' apparel?
You reached further in and looked deeper. There was no men's uniforms, which was quite surprising. Further scanning the wardrobe, you came across what appeared to be her undergarments.
You would've slammed the door shut, but the sound of the woman behind you snoring left a constant reminder that there was a SLIGHT element of danger.
Instead of risking it making another creaking sound, you left it open and left the room with a blush. You dove back into the marked papers and read them more thoroughly. Mentions of... Ship girls? Wisdom cubes?
No, no, no, that can't be right.
Standing back up, you struggled to formulate any kind of plan.
If you were going to survive, you'd need a weapon. Surely you could kill one with a surprise attack, then take his gun, and perhaps find a way out of here.
...
The closest thing resembling a weapon was a pen on the table.
Yep, that's fine, I'll just John Wick them...
You huffed and sat down on the more throne-like chair. It was quite comfortable, but it didn't spin like an office chair. It'd be 35 years before office chairs would be invented unfortunately.
The pen wasn't a ballpoint such as the ones you were used to; instead it was a dip pen. A half empty inkwell laid next to it. Out of boredom, you opened it. The smell of ink wafted out of the glass container.
Didn't they have fountain pens by now? Weird.
Your eyes were drawn to a map on the wall to the right of you. It depicted a slightly distorted version of the world you once called home. If you were uneducated, it wouldn't be unfeasible to identify it as the real thing. Perhaps even interchangeable should you be intoxicated enough, there were only slight discrepancies which broke the illusion.
You shook your head in disbelief. Either you were truly out of your depth or what you thought were the Nazi's were just pitifully incompetent.
At that point, it felt like you were in one of those TV pranks. You started probing the room for cameras or hidden microphones. With one glance at the open doorway, you immediate ignored it and continued the search elsewhere.
With a sigh, you surveyed the room one last time while leaning in a corner.
This couldn't be some sort of prank or something. Nobody would spend all of this money just to get a reaction from someone.
Your eyes traced the boundaries of the window.
Especially with all of those battleships and the like. God, the steel alone would cost millions...
The door leading to the bedroom slammed shut due to the wind from the open window.
You snapped your neck around to look at it, terror and trepidation coiled around your soul like a knot. Well... Now that's just great, isn't it?
The noise was so loud, you unconsciously held your ears in reaction to it.
You ran towards the window behind the desk and tried to get it open. There was no handle or any sort of way to open the window unfortunately.
Panic rushed through your body as you heard rapid footsteps approaching from the hallway on the other side of the wall. Grabbing the pen, you dashed over to get yourself in a good position to stab whoever was going to enter.
By the time I kill the first guard, I'll easily be able to deal with the girl in the other room. Shouldn't be too difficult as long as I land this blow.
Eventually, a figure opened the doors.
"Bisma-"
The pen somehow deflected off of her head, even though you used all of your strength.
"Eh? "
A dumbfounded look was imprinted onto your face, and she returned the expression.
Both of you stared at each other awkwardly, both of your minds were trying to assess the situation. She had a skirt that was a mixture of a brilliant red and foggy grey. Despite the look on her face, she had quite an imposing stature. Alongside her flat chest were golden buttons fitted to the exterior; 8 in total.
The pen tip was completely bent and disfigured, unlike the persons face you'd just attempted stabbing. There wasn't a single scratch or mark from your inept strike.
You crept around the stunned girl and into the hall, almost tripping on your own feet. As you backed up, she turned around and apprehensively pointed at you.
"You! What do you think you're do-" She was interrupted by the door to the bedroom being burst open.
"That man! Hipper! Detain him at once!" A tall half-dressed blonde ordered from the doorway.
You started backing away, you knew you had to run but it almost felt like you'd forgotten how to.
The inimical woman in front of you was poised to lunge at you, but her eyes gazed at something beyond you. Eventually you had backed up into something warm.
With a gulp, you slowly turned around.
You were face to face with, yet, another female.
Why were they all women? It's only 1941, surely they're not being pushed on all fronts?
An Iron Cross adorned her neck along with two more embroidered onto the wrist section of her clothing. Instead of blonde, her hair was a chalky white that was tied up in twin tails. Something else you noticed is that they all had thigh-highs on.
"Eugen, I order you to capture that spy!"
"Whatever you say, sis~" Eugen replied with a teasing grin.
"This is a huge misunderstanding! If you'll just let me-" You squealed shortly before being picked up by your shoulders. Her strength was extremely surprising to say the least. You attempted to maneuver yourself out of her grasp, but had no such luck.
Eugen effortlessly tossed you like a speeding missile down the hall and through a door labeled "Canteen".
"Why did you- EUGH! YOU ALWAYS DO THIS!" A irked Hipper scolded before giving chase.
"Oops~ " Eugen giggled with content, following with a gait of elegance.
The blonde put on her cap, and finished getting dressed before rushing in the opposite direction.
...
You'd just breached the doors of the cafeteria, landing on your shoulder and tumbling into the floorboards. You released a loud groan of agony as you made a clumsy uncoordinated attempt of rising to your feet.
Your mind was briefly rendered into tomato soup for a good few seconds before you regained your bearings.
How the hell did she just whizz me around like that? And how did that other girl just completely ignore my strike? What in the name of Christ is going on here..?
As you finally stood on two feet, one of your hands instinctively reached for your shoulder. It really felt like you broke something, but you knew that if you really had broken something, you'd probably be on the floor crying.
"Who is that?"
Your eyes widened as you realized you were in a room full of women draped in all kinds of modified Kriegsmarine uniforms. Some of them forewent their uniforms entirely, wearing skimpy, very revealing clothing for god knows why.
They were of all shapes and sizes. Though, putting it like that makes it sound like they're abnormal godless creatures.
It wasn't too far from the truth, some of them had what seemed to be horns. A good number of them also looked like children.
You struggled to get some words out in a very poor attempt of deception.
"I-I, uh... Für den Kaiser? " You stuttered in a horrible German accent. Everyone was silent. "No? Too early? Damn..."
A feminine voice crackled in from the P.A system, a ringing alarm repeatedly blared.
"Intruder alert! Spy in the base! Prevent him from leaving at all costs!"
Chatter erupted all over the room.
"There's a spy in the base?" Someone repeated.
Only fragments of conversations were intelligible from the mess of different voices and German. The talking slowly died down until the room was in absolute silence. Every single one of them were staring at you.
Your eyes went from face to face, they were innumerable.
You immediately turned you back on them and began your great escape.
It started with a thundering of rushing and mangled cries of "Get him!" and other variations of apprehensive phrases. Multiple lunch trays clattered to the floor. The flat blonde you'd met before burst through the doors, using her arms in an X fashion as a brace.
Hipper didn't see you slip out of her way and slink back into the hallway before continuing into a sprint.
"W-where did he go?" She sputtered in a blunder. Her breath was raggedy and frequent.
They all pointed behind her, some of them started running towards her which prompted an annoyed groan from Hipper, who began to give chase to the human.
...
A look of steely determination was imprinted onto your face as you ran with all of your might. Crimson banners, vanilla wallpaper, and the wall-lamps all whizzed by in a amalgamated blur.
You looked behind you to see how much a lead you had.
They were gaining, Hipper was still leading the charge. In a panic, you hurriedly chose a random door flying by.
Eenie, meenie, miney, mo!
You braced and charged through the wooden pair of doors. What you saw in that room was interesting to say the least.
Yet another woman was sitting on some sort of throne. The masonry itself was crumbled at the edges, armrests draped in light amethyst hair.
The woman herself was crossing her legs with her hands joined in her lap. Behind her was a large cathedral-like window showering the room with light, unveiling the darkness. Unlit wax candles ran along the walls with two golden chandeliers hanging above.
She cocked her head slightly to the right, intrigued by your form. Her presence alone sent chills up your spine. Something about her gave off an incredibly ominous vibe.
As you stood there, stunned, the girls behind you had finally caught up. But instead of entering the room and apprehending you with shouts and whatnot, they were quietly gossiping behind closed doors.
"... Think he'll come out alive?"
"August is scary!"
"Quiet, morons!" Hipper hushed them with a quick strike to their foreheads. Muffled whimpers of pain came from the other side of the wall while the figure in front of you stared you down.
There was a profuse silence that was eventually broken by the woman speaking to you.
"It seems you're this Spy. "
She spoke with an air of sophistication and superiority. More silence followed before being broken up yet again. with a sigh she stood up, albeit slowly.
"I must admit, you caught me off guard. "
You watched in a combination of wonder and horror as a mass of azure cubes passed through the floor and walls, amassing themselves into a metal dragon. Instead of wings, it had half of a deck of an aircraft carrier on each wing.
"Your bravery is worthy of admiration, although whether it is folly or valor..." The dragon took a thunderous step towards you, turrets on the deck seemed to be locked onto your head. "I shall decide."
Each of the steps towards you made you flinch.
"You... Want me... To fight... That?" You said while backing up against the door. "What in the name of Christ..? "
What kind of world was this? A world where dragons just... Exist? A world where someone can just pick you up and hurl you without any effort?
This was but another wake-up call to where you had been thrown into.
"Will you falter in the face of such trials?" She ignored your very obvious indirect plea for mercy.
Your hands wrapped around the knob of the door and turned it violently. The door did not open. In a desperate escape attempt, you rammed your shoulder into it repeatedly to no avail.
Seeing how it wasn't working, you backed up towards the dragon and prepared to ram the door down one last time with all of your might.
"Have you given up already?" The woman sneered, a hint of disappointment rang in her voice.
You ran at the door and made one poor excuse of a dropkick while closing your eyes.
...
It felt... Warm. Your body impacted the ground without ever hitting anything with your feet.
For the second time that day, you were dropped onto the floor. Hard.
You let out an exasperated gasp after opening your eyes. Sunlight hit your body from above, no longer held back by a structure.
You were now in a street, occasionally people would pass by. Some looked on with concern, but without the courage to assist. Wooden buildings lined the busy streets, the archaic stone pathway was littered with the tapping of footsteps.
It was just like when you had first arrived here. Though this time, you remembered.
With a silent thank you to whatever deity might've saved you, you stood up with a grin.
Elsewhere...
"Where did he go?!"
"I'm afraid that's not something I know."
"B-but... How?! He can't just vanish! Unless..."
Hipper scratched her chin, her right eye twitching in increasing frustration.
"He must be a submarine! He might have some... Some sort of camouflage! Yes, that must be it!" She whipped around to the crowd of startled onlookers. "Scour the base! I want no stone unturned! Every cabinet, wardrobe and desk!"
Most of the ships saluted with a coordinated "Jawohl!" before dispersing in different directions. Some merely nodded in a sultry state, upset that their lunch had been ruined.
The ones remaining infront of her were none other than Bismarck and Prinz Eugen.
"I just got my rigging on too! Damn him!" Admiral Hipper raised her shaking fist to the sky in rage.
"I'm sure you'll get him next time~" Eugen jokingly assured Hipper, slinging her arm around her sisters neck.
Already teetering on the edge of rage, she had an outburst.
"IT'S YOUR FAULT ANYWAY!" She flew Eugens arm off her shoulder. "I-if you didn't toss him like you did, we could've easily-"
"Eugen, don't go overboard on your games. What is done is done, though do expect to hear from me in the coming days."
Eugen let out a "Hmpf. " and walked away.
Bismarck approached Hipper with a serious gaze. She immediately got the message and composed herself, straightening her posture.
"I believe you were closest to him. Can you describe his face? Eye color, or anything of the sort?"
Admiral Hipper profusely nodded.
"Good."
And that ends the first chapter. As you can probably tell, I'm a novice writer, and most of you are probably twice my age. (Surprisingly, most of you seem to be above the age of 20.) I'm also very new to the fandom, and am looking to improve my writing of dialogue and vast amount of personalities (most of which are tropes), and I'm quite afraid I wrote August/Eugen wrong.
I also have a few questions for any hard-core Azur Lane fans that I'd appreciate if you could answer:
1: Is the German language just called "Ironblood"? Is Japanese called "Sakura" or something? 2: Does the game or anime happen first? Or, are they in separate timelines? I haven't seen Crosswave myself, so I don't know. I was going to follow the events of the anime, then maybe into the game, then into Slow Ahead.
3: (most important one) Are men just... Really rare? Is there a reason why all the ships are females, or why we never see any men, anywhere?
If you've somehow read all of this, thank you, I appreciate people reading my work. Cheers from Australia.
2023.04.01 09:19 Diyinteriorplanning 10 Simple Small Living Room Ideas for Minimalist Style
 | submitted by Diyinteriorplanning to u/Diyinteriorplanning [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/51dieuip48ra1.jpg?width=940&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=41c0aa19ff6ac88ae657903cf85f008a28f5e225 A living room is often a home hub and is personable to you and your needs. It needs to be uber-stylish, functional and comfortable. Also known as Baithak kaksh or Divanakhana, the living area is a place where we all congregate, laugh, and play. The minimalist style is a design trend that has been gaining popularity in recent years. This style is characterized by its simplicity, functionality, and minimal use of decor. When it comes to small living rooms, minimalist style is a great way to make the most out of the space you have. In this article, we will discuss 10 simple small living room ideas for minimalist styleDeclutterThe first step in achieving a minimalist living room is to declutter. Remove any unnecessary items such as knick-knacks, magazines, or other clutter that may be taking up space. This will create a clean and open space that is essential for minimalist design.Select a neutral color paletteWhen selecting a color palette for your living room, choose neutral colors such as white, beige, or gray. These colors are perfect for minimalist design as they create a calm and peaceful environment. You can also add in pops of color with accessories or artwork.Incorporate natural materialsNatural materials such as wood or stone can add warmth and texture to a minimalist living room. You can incorporate these materials through furniture or decor such as a wooden coffee table or stone vase.Invest in multifunctional furnitureIn a small living room, it is important to make the most out of the space you have. Investing in multifunctional furniture such as a sofa bed or storage ottoman can help you maximize your space.Use simple window treatmentsWhen it comes to window treatments, keep it simple with plain curtains or blinds. Avoid heavy drapes or complicated patterns, as they can be distracting in a minimalist living room.Maximize lightingLighting is crucial in a minimalist living room as it can help create the illusion of a larger space. Maximize lighting by using natural light, adding mirrors to reflect light, and incorporating task lighting such as a floor lamp or pendant light.Keep accessories to a minimumIn minimalist design, less is more. Keep accessories to a minimum and choose ones that are functional and add to the overall design of the room. For example, a statement plant or a simple vase can add a touch of elegance to a minimalist living room.Create a focal pointA focal point can help anchor a minimalist living room and give it a sense of purpose. Create a focal point by adding a statement piece of furniture, a piece of artwork, or a unique light fixture.Incorporate geometric shapesGeometric shapes such as circles, squares, and triangles can add interest and depth to a minimalist living room. You can incorporate these shapes through furniture, decor, or artwork.Keep it balancedBalance is key in minimalist design. Keep the furniture and decor in your living room balanced by placing them in a symmetrical arrangement. This will create a sense of harmony and order in the room.In conclusion, a minimalist living room design can be achieved with a few simple design principles. Decluttering, selecting a neutral color palette, incorporating natural materials, investing in multifunctional furniture, using simple window treatments, maximizing lighting, keeping accessories to a minimum, creating a focal point, incorporating geometric shapes, and keeping it balanced are all important aspects of minimalist design. By following these simple tips, you can create a living room that is both functional and stylish, even in a small space. Also Read: What is the best way to interior design a bedroom? Thanks For Reading! |
2023.04.01 09:08 BlueFishcake Sexy Space Babes - The Video Game
The gas giant loomed large in the viewport, ballooning as the ship coasted toward it, the colorful blue hues of its swirling bands reflecting the glow of the system’s star.
Darren could make out the bright, scarred surface of an ice moon drifting lazily past, framed against the rivers of flowing hydrogen and helium. Silhouetted against the Jupiter-mass object was their destination – Halfpoint Station.
Having come from Earth, which was still a backwater when compared to many of the Imperium’s more developed worlds, the sheer size and grandeur of the structure took his breath away.
It was hard to gauge its true scale in the vacuum of space where there was no atmospheric haze, and there were no landmarks for reference, the unfiltered light creating harsh shadows. As they drew nearer, however, he was able to pick out some of the massive fuel tankers that swarmed its ports like clouds of gnats.
Those vessels put anything created by Humanity to shame – their purpose being to dip into the upper atmosphere of the gas giant, harvesting its resources to fuel the ships that made their berth here.
Calling it enormous was an understatement. It must have been nine miles tall, the main hull of the station forming a long, relatively thin vertical shaft. Surrounding that shaft were half a dozen rotating rings, each one connected to the central column by spokes, the pinpoints of innumerable windows glinting as they slowly turned.
At its apex was a dome of immense proportions, sitting proudly atop the structure, the crystalline material that made up its transparent hull glittering in the starlight. Inside, he could make out glimpses of regal skyscrapers and patches of parkland – an entire city encapsulated in a habitat that had a breathtaking view of the planet.
Darren pursed his lips as he looked down at the device on his wrist, the tiny display showing the familiar text of an article he must have read at least a dozen times by this point.
Halfpoint Station was situated on the outskirts of the Imperium’s sphere of influence, a region of space known only as the Periphery. This put it soundly outside of Purp jurisdiction, but the place still saw a lot of traffic, as the station was right in the middle of a relatively well-traveled shipping route between the three big powers.
While it had started its life as little more than a place to fuel up and get resupplied, being located outside any of the major spheres of influence had its benefits, and the station had garnered a bit of a reputation for its more permissive policies. Now, it was said to be populated by hired guns, smugglers, gamblers, and anyone else who might appreciate discretion.
The Human frowned as he looked out the window once more and tried to reconcile the gleaming edifice before him with the dark reputation the article in his hands presented.
He didn’t have long to dwell on it before the pilot’s crackly voice came through a hidden intercom in the cabin, informing the passengers that they were commencing docking procedures.
The woman spoke in accented Shil. What that accent was, Darren had no clue, but he knew it wasn’t the same one spoken by his professors – linguistic or mechanical.
He glanced around at his fellow travelers, seeing a few species that he didn’t recognize, along with the more familiar Shil’vati. The aliens were easily identifiable by the purple hue of their skin, their sharp tusks, and their seven-foot height.
Several of them returned his gaze, some curious, some covetous.
Males were rare in the Imperium.
Hell, males were rare, period.
By the standards of most races out in the galaxy, Humanity were the strange ones for having an equal number of men and women. Even six years into the occupation, most were still struggling to adapt to the new paradigm brought on by that reality.
Darren was no exception.
Still, he managed to ignore the stares, turning his attention to the smart display on his wrist, bringing up his itinerary. He was headed to Hab-Ring Five, and the only information that he’d been given beyond that were some coordinates to who-knew-where.
He sighed, wishing – not for the first time – that he might have a fellow first timer to converse with.
Unfortunately, that was a pipe dream.
The lack of other Humans on his ship wasn’t surprising. The Imperium had only recently relaxed enough to begin authorizing travel visas allowing Humans to leave Earth, and his kind were still a rarity on the Galactic stage.
As to why he was out here out in the ass end of space?
He’d been offered a job.
He was an engineer by trade, at least according to his degree, and he specialized in the combination of alien and Human technology. It might seem like an oddly specific skillset, but it was one that was in high demand, as just about every industry on Earth was trying to take advantage of the opportunities provided by the Imperium’s literal space-age technology.
It was complicated work, but he was quite good at it, if he said so himself – and his professors seemed to agree. His gift had catapulted him through university and had apparently landed him a very lucrative offer to take up a position on Halfpoint.
How they’d heard of him, he wasn’t too sure. Nor did he truthfully know exactly what the job entailed. Apparently, he was to be briefed on-location.
Regardless, off-world work was a rare opportunity for any Human, let alone one fresh out of school, and visiting an alien space station was a lot more interesting than backpacking around Europe for a year.
Whatever happened, it was going to be an adventure.
The ship matched velocity with one of the rotating rings, the structure at least half a mile tall in its own right, covered in tiny windows that made it look like a whole city block had been condensed down into the shape of a donut.
Now that he was a little closer, Darren could see that the station was actually far from pristine. Its hull was pocked with haphazard repairs, the newer sections shining brighter than their older counterparts, its armored panels pitted with little craters from space debris and micro-meteorite impacts.
The ship lined up with a docking port, and an umbilical walkway began to extrude from the ring, reaching out towards them. It looked like the jib of a crane, covered over with a flexible material that bore a suspicious resemblance to a grey tarp.
Surely it wasn’t actually a tarp? No, it had to be some kind of alien supertech – too advanced for him to recognize at a glance.
Right?
His thoughts did little to reassure him as the umbilical connected to the shuttle’s airlock with a tangible thud.
Shaking his head, he retrieved his travel bag, then made his way down the aisle to join the queue of passengers who were waiting to disembark. More of them crammed in behind him, and he tried to ignore their uncomfortable proximity.
He hadn’t actually spent a lot of time around aliens during his schooling. One of his professors had been a Shil, but she had been professional to a fault and had always kept a healthy distance from her students.
Of course, she had still managed to be rather intimidating despite that, her head seeming to scrape the ceiling every time she stepped into the classroom. However, Darren was rapidly discovering that being surrounded by women who stood head and shoulders above him was a different experience altogether.
It was nothing to get worked up over, though. He just needed to-
The Shil standing behind him pressed close – uncomfortably close – Darren swearing that there was room enough in the aisle for her to keep her distance. Suddenly, he felt a sharp twinge in his rear.
Had she just...pinched him? No, it had to have been a mistake.
He turned to glance over his shoulder, looking up at the towering Purp. “Sorry, Ma’am, I must have bumped into you.”
Her sly smile faded as she furrowed her brow in confusion. Before she had time to formulate a reply, the intercom above the exit beeped.
“Oh, looks like we’re moving again!” Darren chimed as he began to follow the queue. “Sorry!”
He followed the procession of towering women into the passenger ship’s airlock. Both of the pressurized doors were open, and before him stretched the umbilical. The worryingly thin material that protected them from the deadly vacuum of space was wrapped taut around a metal frame, and the walkway beneath his feet was made up of a simple grate.
After a short walk, they emerged into a cavernous dock area, so large that it was more like standing in some kind of indoor stadium than anything that could be compared to a space station. There were stacks of shipping containers and unidentifiable machinery everywhere he looked.
It was a challenge not to stop and examine the equipment, each new sight piquing his interest, each strange device begging to be investigated. As he followed the other passengers to the far end of the room – his head on a swivel – he almost bumped into one of the containers. To his surprise, it was floating a foot off the ground, suspended on an anti-gravity cushion.
It was funny – no matter how many times he saw it, it never stopped being surreal to see something just…float.
As he stooped to look beneath it, an irritated dockworker leaned out from behind it to yell at whoever was in her way. She stopped when she saw him, raising a skeptical eyebrow. She was a Rakiri, if Darren remembered correctly. She resembled a towering werewolf, a pair of cat-like eyes peering out from beneath her black fur, her facial features strangely leonine. She was clad in dirty, yellow coveralls that hung loosely from her broad shoulders, exposing the ragged tank top that she wore beneath it. Tufts of her dark coat poked out around the faded garment, giving her a surprisingly fluffy appearance.
“You lost, boy?” she asked as she shooed him out of her path. “Stay behind the yellow warning markings unless you want to get that cute butt smushed,” she added with a nod toward the deck. She continued to push her heavy container, moving it effortlessly on its gravity cushion.
More dock workers were assembling to stare at him, perhaps having never seen a Human before. Or perhaps it was because he was male? It was hard to tell. Either way, a small crowd of yellow-clad women saw him off, a couple of them hooting at him and waving. Not sure if this was some kind of alien greeting, he shyly waved back, eliciting laughter from them after a moment of surprise.
One started to make her way over to him before a menacing growl from her superior made her freeze in place sheepishly. Darren took that as his cue to move on – he didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble by being in the way.
He arrived at a security gate, and after being asked to show his visa, he was subjected to a very thorough – and in his opinion unnecessary – pat-down. Once he was cleared, he emerged into the station proper. He stepped out of the way of the women behind him, then set his travel bag down on the metal deck, taking in the alien sights and sounds for a moment.
Far from being a sterile, clinical environment, he found himself in a bustling bazaar worthy of any city back on Earth. It scarcely felt like he was standing inside a station at all, what passed for the ceiling so high above his head that he could barely make out the crisscrossing support beams and maintenance catwalks.
It was styled like a cramped street, too small for cars, almost like the city center of some old European town had been reimagined in an industrial style. Civilian quarters that resembled apartment blocks rose up towards the ceiling, connecting to it in some places, likely leading up to higher levels of the station.
In every nook and cranny – anywhere there was room – the denizens of the hab-ring had set up little stalls where they were hawking their wares to the tourists who had just boarded. Colorful awnings fluttered in the artificial breeze from the air recyclers, and insulated cables that had been patched from the station’s systems trailed along walls and floors, powering streetside food stands and colorful neon signs.
Speaking of the denizens, they came in all shapes and sizes. Darren had never seen so many varieties of alien in one place before. He could make out a few Shil and Rakiri, but most were unknown to him, the varied hues of their skin and clothes creating a bustling sea of color.
He checked the device on his wrist again, pulling up the coordinates that his new employer had forwarded to him. This was indeed Hab-Ring Five, and he’d been given what passed for an address in this strange environment. Hefting his bag once more, he made his way into the throng, having to dodge and weave between the towering aliens. Many of them barely seemed to register his presence, probably due to his comparatively small stature, though some seemed to stop and stare in confusion.
Well, I suppose Humans are pretty new on the galactic scene, he thought to himself.
The scents of strange, alien food assailed him as he navigated the cramped streets, a few of the criers singling him out. They had sharp instincts, he’d give them that. It seemed the locals could smell a tourist at thirty paces.
Maybe it was all the staring he was doing?
Eventually, he arrived at his destination, glancing up from his display to see a dingy bar. It was open to the street, built into an overhang at the base of one of the many buildings, little more than a long counter with a few stools. Above it was a blinking neon sign in a script that he couldn’t read. As he made his way inside and struggled up onto one of the tall stools, the small handful of patrons who were sitting off to his left paused their conversation to examine him.
They were Nighkru, their goat-like horns and the bruise-purple hue of their skin giving them away. Their silver eyes were striking, almost seeming to glow in the dim light of the bar, as reflective as those of a cat. Their clothing was all tight leather and straps, their skin strategically exposed in places to show off their stunning bioluminescent tattoos, the swirling patterns trailing down slender limbs and across toned midriffs.
He kept his gaze aimed forward, knowing that their kind didn’t think much of the Imperium to which he now belonged.
…Then again, that was true for pretty much every race that wasn’t a part of the massive interstellar empire. Say what you would about the Purps, but they knew how to make an impression.
The bartender walked over to him, leaning on the counter as she looked him up and down skeptically. It was another Rakiri like the dockworkers, her feline nose twitching as she took in his scent.
“You lost, or do you want something to drink?” she asked.
“No thank you, I’m waiting for someone,” he replied sheepishly as he lowered his eyes to his device again.
He was right on time, but as he looked around, there was no sign of his contact. He was supposed to meet them here, right?
The Rakiri shrugged her furry shoulders, then left him to his own devices, moving over to the small group of Nighkru.
Perhaps one of them was his contact?
He certainly hoped not. While he didn’t have anything against a person enjoying themselves with a good drink after hours, it wasn’t a good way to make a positive first impression on a prospective employee.
Fortunately for him, the surprise on one of the trio’s grey skinned faces when she happened to blearily peer in his direction dashed that possibility. Just a trio of young women out for a drink.
Unfortunately for him, after a few hastily whispered words to her friends, the group made their way over to him.
“Don’t see many males round these parts,” one of them said, her faux leather getup creaking as she planted her hands on the bar to his left. Another leaned on the counter to his right, the third posting up behind him.
“A Human, too,” the woman to his right added with a sly chuckle. “Now, what’s a Human doing all alone out on the Periphery?”
“I didn’t think the Purps were letting their pets off the leash.” the one behind him snickered.
“I don’t know,” the first said with an exaggerated shrug. “Maybe he snuck out in search of a real woman? I think we’ve all heard how Humans can be.”
That set the three of them laughing.
All the while, Darren wasn’t sure where to look, turning his head left and right as he struggled to pick a Nighkru. He settled on the woman to his left, having to lift his head to meet her gaze, those reflective eyes shining like a pair of silver coins.
“I...uh...was actually supposed to be meeting someone here.” he stammered, a little of his anxiety bleeding through.
The Nighkru gave him a warm smile that wasn’t reflected in her eyes, leaning a little closer. He tried to pull away reflexively but found another Nighkru waiting for him, something rather soft pressing against his back.
“Well, I don’t see anyone else in here but me and my friends,” one of them said as she tutted dramatically. “Maybe they stood you up?”
“Poor form, that,” the one behind him whispered into his ear. He lurched in his seat, surprised by her proximity. “Leaving a pretty young thing like you hanging.”
The first one nodded, as if that was a piece of sagely wisdom. “I know – how about my friends and I give you a personal tour of the station to make up for it?” she asked, reaching out to brush a piece of errant fluff from his collar. “We’ll even carry your luggage for you – we’re nice like that.”
She signaled to one of her compatriots with a curt nod, who then plucked his travel bag off the deck.
“Oh, that’s really not-”
He tried to stand, but he was cut off as two of the women placed their hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down into his seat. Their touch was gentle, but firm, letting him know that he wasn't going anywhere.
Darren looked to the Rakiri bartender for help, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the turn of events, but she was staying out of it. She was feigning disinterest, cleaning a glass with a rag that didn’t look clean enough for the job.
It was clear that he wouldn’t be getting any help from her.
Was this really going to be his first experience on the station – kidnapped by a gang of alien grifters?
Just as he was getting ready to – likely ineffectually – start swinging like his life depended on it, he heard a voice ring out in a language he didn’t recognize.
The Nighkru turned their heads as one, and he followed their gaze, seeing another of their kind step in from the street. Her skin had the same twilight hue, her silvery hair pulled back into a long ponytail that trailed behind her as she strode towards them. She wore a jet-black body suit that left little to the imagination, so tight that it might have been sewn onto her, the garment open at the front to expose a chiseled midriff and the beginnings of her cleavage. Her eyes were mesmerizing, his gaze drawn to the glowing tattoos that served to accentuate them.
Oddly, unlike the trio surrounding him, she had no horns.
The stranger walked with purpose, her heels clicking on the deck, her hair swishing behind her as she came to a stop to stare down the three other women. They were already backing off, the Nighkru who had taken his bag setting it back down gingerly beside his seat. Did they know this person? They seemed so wary of her.
“Maybe we’ll see you around,” one of them whispered, her hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment before she followed her friends out into the street.
Once they were finally out of sight, Darren breathed a sigh of relief and turned to thank the newcomer. Before he could utter so much as a word, she beat him to the punch.
“You shouldn’t wander around Halfpoint alone,” she said, skipping the preamble. Her voice had a melodic tone, one that was almost musical to Darren’s ears. She planted her hands on her hips, scrutinizing him with a skeptical expression. “You’re just asking for trouble.”
“I’m just...waiting for someone,” he replied. “Thank you, by the way. I’m-”
“Do you have a weapon on you?” she asked, cutting him off. “A handgun under that jacket? Defense spray? A pocket knife?”
“What? No,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “Why would I have a gun?”
Even with a few inches of titanium-alloy plating between everyone aboard and a messy death by explosive decompression, using a firearm on the station seemed risky.
She snorted derisively, almost as though she couldn’t believe his reply.
“For your sake, I hope that whoever you’re waiting for is smarter than you are,” she said with a roll of her silver eyes. “This isn’t Earth, boy. There are no Shil Marines around to babysit you. Next time you want to play tourist, go somewhere closer to home.”
With a flick of her long hair, she turned about, vanishing into the crowd once more to leave him sitting at the bar in confusion.
Darren felt another hand on his shoulder and turned to see an Edixi wearing grease-stained overalls standing behind him. The tool belt that hung loosely about her hips let him know that she was a mechanic before she’d even had time to open her mouth.
Her kind were evolved for an aquatic environment, and although they were fully amphibious, they retained many of their ancient features. Their bodies were smooth and streamlined, with lean, lightly-muscled frames that made them look like Olympic swimmers. Her eyes were a striking ocean-green, and her azure skin was patterned with faded tiger stripes, darkening as it neared her extremities.
“You’re the new engineer, right?” she chirped excitedly.
“Darren Fogle, pleased to meet you,” he confirmed as he extended a hand. She took it, shaking it eagerly, and he noted that her fingers were webbed.
He was a little surprised by how smooth her skin was. Given the sharklike appearance of the Edixi – and her vocation – he’d expected it to be rough and scaly. Maybe cold and slimy, too. By contrast, it was warm and soft, her small scales smooth like a snake’s rather than sharp like those of a fish.
Odd.
“Oh, it is. It very much is. The boss told me to fetch you,” she said before turning back towards the street. “Don’t get lost, you hear? There are some rough types around these parts.”
Yes, she could say that again. He stooped to pick up his bag, then hurried after her, trying not to lose sight of her in the crowd. He also belatedly realized that she hadn’t told him her own name.
Was that an Edixi thing or was she just in a hurry?
The mechanic led him through the streets, which seemed to be arranged in a kind of grid pattern, always flanked by the towering hab-blocks. It was as challenging as ever to navigate when so many of the station’s inhabitants stood a head taller than him. It made him feel like a bug that was trying to avoid being stepped on.
He could only assume he’d get used to it. His guide seemed to have no problem getting around, and she was a few inches shorter than him.
Their destination was some kind of service elevator – a large platform that seemed designed to carry heavy cargo up from the docks, wide enough that a couple of trucks could have parked on it side by side. There were still a few cargo containers stacked off to one side that hadn’t been unloaded yet.
He watched as the woman hit a touch panel beside the double doors, and they began to slide shut, the platform lurching as Darren felt it start to rise. There was no grinding of machinery, no vibrations, only a sensation of getting heavier. It was obviously gravity-manipulation tech. It wasn’t too surprising – the Shil seemed to use it for just about everything, so it wasn’t too strange that the rest of the universe did as well.
Convergent technological development, he could almost imagine his Shil instructor saying as they started to descend. Good tech is good tech.
The hab-ring’s many levels flashed by one by one, until finally, the elevator slid to a smooth stop. Darren followed the happily humming mechanic out into a garage, his eyes lighting up as he took in his new surroundings.
Were those… mecha?
The bay’s walls were lined with bulky harnesses that were obviously designed to hold the machines in place, a few of the berths already occupied by half-disassembled vehicles.
They were!
“Real life mecha,” he mumbled.
As a mechanic, he wasn’t ignorant of the genre. After all, what kind of engineer didn’t hold a soft spot for giant stompy robots? Of course, as an engineer, he also held an inherent disdain for anyone that actually thought said machines were even remotely practical outside of the realm of fiction.
The Square Cube Law was a harsh mistress.
The long and short of it was that if you doubled a machine's height while keeping it the same shape, you ended up with four times the muscle power moving eight times the mass. As a result, instead of having the same relative agility as the original, the double-sized machine actually had only half.
That was why ants could lift so much relative to their weight. If you scaled one up, you’d end up with a much less impressive power to weight ration.
And, the problem only got worse the bigger you went. Giant robots would be slow, cumbersome, and they would inevitably suffer from exploding ankles if they tried to move too fast. They’d also sink in just about any terrain that was even slightly porous.
All in all, mecha were a cool concept with absolutely zero real world applications.
Which was why he was so stunned to see some in real life. Sure, the Shil military liked to use exos, but they were really just power armor by any other name with thrusters attached. Besides, the only reason those things could skip around like they did was because they had anti-grav generators…
His thoughts trailed off as an idea occurred to him. He jogged over to the nearest machine, peering up at the twenty-foot humanoid monstrosity. Its legs had been detached, leaving only a bulky torso covered in half-stripped sensory equipment, lenses and scanners visible where their protective covers had been removed. The cockpit was open, revealing the pilot’s seat, along with the surrounding neural interface cables that hung loose like the entrails of some mechanical beast. Its weapon attachments were empty, but it was nonetheless an awe-inspiring sight.
Sure enough, there were two oversized humps on the back. One was clearly for the thing’s fusion engine – and the other must have held the anti-grav generator.
“Darren?” the mechanic asked, having only just realized that he wasn’t behind her. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Y-yeah,” he said, jogging for a few paces to catch up. “That’s a mecha!”
The blue-hued alien nodded slowly. “Yes?”
“A mecha,” he reiterated.
Which prompted another slow nod. “You’ve never seen a gladiator mech before?”
“No.”
“Didn’t they tell you what job you’d be doing?” the mechanic asked, cocking her head in a rather adorable manner.
“No?” This time it was his turn to cock his head.
Several emotions seemed to fly across the alien’s face. He saw surprise, confusion, and dismay before she finally settled on irritation.
“Typical,” she grunted. “Just… follow me.”
AN: https://youtu.be/a3Xp1WhRQ9Q
submitted by BlueFishcake to HFY [link] [comments]
Darren could make out the bright, scarred surface of an ice moon drifting lazily past, framed against the rivers of flowing hydrogen and helium. Silhouetted against the Jupiter-mass object was their destination – Halfpoint Station.
Having come from Earth, which was still a backwater when compared to many of the Imperium’s more developed worlds, the sheer size and grandeur of the structure took his breath away.
It was hard to gauge its true scale in the vacuum of space where there was no atmospheric haze, and there were no landmarks for reference, the unfiltered light creating harsh shadows. As they drew nearer, however, he was able to pick out some of the massive fuel tankers that swarmed its ports like clouds of gnats.
Those vessels put anything created by Humanity to shame – their purpose being to dip into the upper atmosphere of the gas giant, harvesting its resources to fuel the ships that made their berth here.
Calling it enormous was an understatement. It must have been nine miles tall, the main hull of the station forming a long, relatively thin vertical shaft. Surrounding that shaft were half a dozen rotating rings, each one connected to the central column by spokes, the pinpoints of innumerable windows glinting as they slowly turned.
At its apex was a dome of immense proportions, sitting proudly atop the structure, the crystalline material that made up its transparent hull glittering in the starlight. Inside, he could make out glimpses of regal skyscrapers and patches of parkland – an entire city encapsulated in a habitat that had a breathtaking view of the planet.
Darren pursed his lips as he looked down at the device on his wrist, the tiny display showing the familiar text of an article he must have read at least a dozen times by this point.
Halfpoint Station was situated on the outskirts of the Imperium’s sphere of influence, a region of space known only as the Periphery. This put it soundly outside of Purp jurisdiction, but the place still saw a lot of traffic, as the station was right in the middle of a relatively well-traveled shipping route between the three big powers.
While it had started its life as little more than a place to fuel up and get resupplied, being located outside any of the major spheres of influence had its benefits, and the station had garnered a bit of a reputation for its more permissive policies. Now, it was said to be populated by hired guns, smugglers, gamblers, and anyone else who might appreciate discretion.
The Human frowned as he looked out the window once more and tried to reconcile the gleaming edifice before him with the dark reputation the article in his hands presented.
He didn’t have long to dwell on it before the pilot’s crackly voice came through a hidden intercom in the cabin, informing the passengers that they were commencing docking procedures.
The woman spoke in accented Shil. What that accent was, Darren had no clue, but he knew it wasn’t the same one spoken by his professors – linguistic or mechanical.
He glanced around at his fellow travelers, seeing a few species that he didn’t recognize, along with the more familiar Shil’vati. The aliens were easily identifiable by the purple hue of their skin, their sharp tusks, and their seven-foot height.
Several of them returned his gaze, some curious, some covetous.
Males were rare in the Imperium.
Hell, males were rare, period.
By the standards of most races out in the galaxy, Humanity were the strange ones for having an equal number of men and women. Even six years into the occupation, most were still struggling to adapt to the new paradigm brought on by that reality.
Darren was no exception.
Still, he managed to ignore the stares, turning his attention to the smart display on his wrist, bringing up his itinerary. He was headed to Hab-Ring Five, and the only information that he’d been given beyond that were some coordinates to who-knew-where.
He sighed, wishing – not for the first time – that he might have a fellow first timer to converse with.
Unfortunately, that was a pipe dream.
The lack of other Humans on his ship wasn’t surprising. The Imperium had only recently relaxed enough to begin authorizing travel visas allowing Humans to leave Earth, and his kind were still a rarity on the Galactic stage.
As to why he was out here out in the ass end of space?
He’d been offered a job.
He was an engineer by trade, at least according to his degree, and he specialized in the combination of alien and Human technology. It might seem like an oddly specific skillset, but it was one that was in high demand, as just about every industry on Earth was trying to take advantage of the opportunities provided by the Imperium’s literal space-age technology.
It was complicated work, but he was quite good at it, if he said so himself – and his professors seemed to agree. His gift had catapulted him through university and had apparently landed him a very lucrative offer to take up a position on Halfpoint.
How they’d heard of him, he wasn’t too sure. Nor did he truthfully know exactly what the job entailed. Apparently, he was to be briefed on-location.
Regardless, off-world work was a rare opportunity for any Human, let alone one fresh out of school, and visiting an alien space station was a lot more interesting than backpacking around Europe for a year.
Whatever happened, it was going to be an adventure.
The ship matched velocity with one of the rotating rings, the structure at least half a mile tall in its own right, covered in tiny windows that made it look like a whole city block had been condensed down into the shape of a donut.
Now that he was a little closer, Darren could see that the station was actually far from pristine. Its hull was pocked with haphazard repairs, the newer sections shining brighter than their older counterparts, its armored panels pitted with little craters from space debris and micro-meteorite impacts.
The ship lined up with a docking port, and an umbilical walkway began to extrude from the ring, reaching out towards them. It looked like the jib of a crane, covered over with a flexible material that bore a suspicious resemblance to a grey tarp.
Surely it wasn’t actually a tarp? No, it had to be some kind of alien supertech – too advanced for him to recognize at a glance.
Right?
His thoughts did little to reassure him as the umbilical connected to the shuttle’s airlock with a tangible thud.
Shaking his head, he retrieved his travel bag, then made his way down the aisle to join the queue of passengers who were waiting to disembark. More of them crammed in behind him, and he tried to ignore their uncomfortable proximity.
He hadn’t actually spent a lot of time around aliens during his schooling. One of his professors had been a Shil, but she had been professional to a fault and had always kept a healthy distance from her students.
Of course, she had still managed to be rather intimidating despite that, her head seeming to scrape the ceiling every time she stepped into the classroom. However, Darren was rapidly discovering that being surrounded by women who stood head and shoulders above him was a different experience altogether.
It was nothing to get worked up over, though. He just needed to-
The Shil standing behind him pressed close – uncomfortably close – Darren swearing that there was room enough in the aisle for her to keep her distance. Suddenly, he felt a sharp twinge in his rear.
Had she just...pinched him? No, it had to have been a mistake.
He turned to glance over his shoulder, looking up at the towering Purp. “Sorry, Ma’am, I must have bumped into you.”
Her sly smile faded as she furrowed her brow in confusion. Before she had time to formulate a reply, the intercom above the exit beeped.
“Oh, looks like we’re moving again!” Darren chimed as he began to follow the queue. “Sorry!”
He followed the procession of towering women into the passenger ship’s airlock. Both of the pressurized doors were open, and before him stretched the umbilical. The worryingly thin material that protected them from the deadly vacuum of space was wrapped taut around a metal frame, and the walkway beneath his feet was made up of a simple grate.
After a short walk, they emerged into a cavernous dock area, so large that it was more like standing in some kind of indoor stadium than anything that could be compared to a space station. There were stacks of shipping containers and unidentifiable machinery everywhere he looked.
It was a challenge not to stop and examine the equipment, each new sight piquing his interest, each strange device begging to be investigated. As he followed the other passengers to the far end of the room – his head on a swivel – he almost bumped into one of the containers. To his surprise, it was floating a foot off the ground, suspended on an anti-gravity cushion.
It was funny – no matter how many times he saw it, it never stopped being surreal to see something just…float.
As he stooped to look beneath it, an irritated dockworker leaned out from behind it to yell at whoever was in her way. She stopped when she saw him, raising a skeptical eyebrow. She was a Rakiri, if Darren remembered correctly. She resembled a towering werewolf, a pair of cat-like eyes peering out from beneath her black fur, her facial features strangely leonine. She was clad in dirty, yellow coveralls that hung loosely from her broad shoulders, exposing the ragged tank top that she wore beneath it. Tufts of her dark coat poked out around the faded garment, giving her a surprisingly fluffy appearance.
“You lost, boy?” she asked as she shooed him out of her path. “Stay behind the yellow warning markings unless you want to get that cute butt smushed,” she added with a nod toward the deck. She continued to push her heavy container, moving it effortlessly on its gravity cushion.
More dock workers were assembling to stare at him, perhaps having never seen a Human before. Or perhaps it was because he was male? It was hard to tell. Either way, a small crowd of yellow-clad women saw him off, a couple of them hooting at him and waving. Not sure if this was some kind of alien greeting, he shyly waved back, eliciting laughter from them after a moment of surprise.
One started to make her way over to him before a menacing growl from her superior made her freeze in place sheepishly. Darren took that as his cue to move on – he didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble by being in the way.
He arrived at a security gate, and after being asked to show his visa, he was subjected to a very thorough – and in his opinion unnecessary – pat-down. Once he was cleared, he emerged into the station proper. He stepped out of the way of the women behind him, then set his travel bag down on the metal deck, taking in the alien sights and sounds for a moment.
Far from being a sterile, clinical environment, he found himself in a bustling bazaar worthy of any city back on Earth. It scarcely felt like he was standing inside a station at all, what passed for the ceiling so high above his head that he could barely make out the crisscrossing support beams and maintenance catwalks.
It was styled like a cramped street, too small for cars, almost like the city center of some old European town had been reimagined in an industrial style. Civilian quarters that resembled apartment blocks rose up towards the ceiling, connecting to it in some places, likely leading up to higher levels of the station.
In every nook and cranny – anywhere there was room – the denizens of the hab-ring had set up little stalls where they were hawking their wares to the tourists who had just boarded. Colorful awnings fluttered in the artificial breeze from the air recyclers, and insulated cables that had been patched from the station’s systems trailed along walls and floors, powering streetside food stands and colorful neon signs.
Speaking of the denizens, they came in all shapes and sizes. Darren had never seen so many varieties of alien in one place before. He could make out a few Shil and Rakiri, but most were unknown to him, the varied hues of their skin and clothes creating a bustling sea of color.
He checked the device on his wrist again, pulling up the coordinates that his new employer had forwarded to him. This was indeed Hab-Ring Five, and he’d been given what passed for an address in this strange environment. Hefting his bag once more, he made his way into the throng, having to dodge and weave between the towering aliens. Many of them barely seemed to register his presence, probably due to his comparatively small stature, though some seemed to stop and stare in confusion.
Well, I suppose Humans are pretty new on the galactic scene, he thought to himself.
The scents of strange, alien food assailed him as he navigated the cramped streets, a few of the criers singling him out. They had sharp instincts, he’d give them that. It seemed the locals could smell a tourist at thirty paces.
Maybe it was all the staring he was doing?
Eventually, he arrived at his destination, glancing up from his display to see a dingy bar. It was open to the street, built into an overhang at the base of one of the many buildings, little more than a long counter with a few stools. Above it was a blinking neon sign in a script that he couldn’t read. As he made his way inside and struggled up onto one of the tall stools, the small handful of patrons who were sitting off to his left paused their conversation to examine him.
They were Nighkru, their goat-like horns and the bruise-purple hue of their skin giving them away. Their silver eyes were striking, almost seeming to glow in the dim light of the bar, as reflective as those of a cat. Their clothing was all tight leather and straps, their skin strategically exposed in places to show off their stunning bioluminescent tattoos, the swirling patterns trailing down slender limbs and across toned midriffs.
He kept his gaze aimed forward, knowing that their kind didn’t think much of the Imperium to which he now belonged.
…Then again, that was true for pretty much every race that wasn’t a part of the massive interstellar empire. Say what you would about the Purps, but they knew how to make an impression.
The bartender walked over to him, leaning on the counter as she looked him up and down skeptically. It was another Rakiri like the dockworkers, her feline nose twitching as she took in his scent.
“You lost, or do you want something to drink?” she asked.
“No thank you, I’m waiting for someone,” he replied sheepishly as he lowered his eyes to his device again.
He was right on time, but as he looked around, there was no sign of his contact. He was supposed to meet them here, right?
The Rakiri shrugged her furry shoulders, then left him to his own devices, moving over to the small group of Nighkru.
Perhaps one of them was his contact?
He certainly hoped not. While he didn’t have anything against a person enjoying themselves with a good drink after hours, it wasn’t a good way to make a positive first impression on a prospective employee.
Fortunately for him, the surprise on one of the trio’s grey skinned faces when she happened to blearily peer in his direction dashed that possibility. Just a trio of young women out for a drink.
Unfortunately for him, after a few hastily whispered words to her friends, the group made their way over to him.
“Don’t see many males round these parts,” one of them said, her faux leather getup creaking as she planted her hands on the bar to his left. Another leaned on the counter to his right, the third posting up behind him.
“A Human, too,” the woman to his right added with a sly chuckle. “Now, what’s a Human doing all alone out on the Periphery?”
“I didn’t think the Purps were letting their pets off the leash.” the one behind him snickered.
“I don’t know,” the first said with an exaggerated shrug. “Maybe he snuck out in search of a real woman? I think we’ve all heard how Humans can be.”
That set the three of them laughing.
All the while, Darren wasn’t sure where to look, turning his head left and right as he struggled to pick a Nighkru. He settled on the woman to his left, having to lift his head to meet her gaze, those reflective eyes shining like a pair of silver coins.
“I...uh...was actually supposed to be meeting someone here.” he stammered, a little of his anxiety bleeding through.
The Nighkru gave him a warm smile that wasn’t reflected in her eyes, leaning a little closer. He tried to pull away reflexively but found another Nighkru waiting for him, something rather soft pressing against his back.
“Well, I don’t see anyone else in here but me and my friends,” one of them said as she tutted dramatically. “Maybe they stood you up?”
“Poor form, that,” the one behind him whispered into his ear. He lurched in his seat, surprised by her proximity. “Leaving a pretty young thing like you hanging.”
The first one nodded, as if that was a piece of sagely wisdom. “I know – how about my friends and I give you a personal tour of the station to make up for it?” she asked, reaching out to brush a piece of errant fluff from his collar. “We’ll even carry your luggage for you – we’re nice like that.”
She signaled to one of her compatriots with a curt nod, who then plucked his travel bag off the deck.
“Oh, that’s really not-”
He tried to stand, but he was cut off as two of the women placed their hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down into his seat. Their touch was gentle, but firm, letting him know that he wasn't going anywhere.
Darren looked to the Rakiri bartender for help, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the turn of events, but she was staying out of it. She was feigning disinterest, cleaning a glass with a rag that didn’t look clean enough for the job.
It was clear that he wouldn’t be getting any help from her.
Was this really going to be his first experience on the station – kidnapped by a gang of alien grifters?
Just as he was getting ready to – likely ineffectually – start swinging like his life depended on it, he heard a voice ring out in a language he didn’t recognize.
The Nighkru turned their heads as one, and he followed their gaze, seeing another of their kind step in from the street. Her skin had the same twilight hue, her silvery hair pulled back into a long ponytail that trailed behind her as she strode towards them. She wore a jet-black body suit that left little to the imagination, so tight that it might have been sewn onto her, the garment open at the front to expose a chiseled midriff and the beginnings of her cleavage. Her eyes were mesmerizing, his gaze drawn to the glowing tattoos that served to accentuate them.
Oddly, unlike the trio surrounding him, she had no horns.
The stranger walked with purpose, her heels clicking on the deck, her hair swishing behind her as she came to a stop to stare down the three other women. They were already backing off, the Nighkru who had taken his bag setting it back down gingerly beside his seat. Did they know this person? They seemed so wary of her.
“Maybe we’ll see you around,” one of them whispered, her hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment before she followed her friends out into the street.
Once they were finally out of sight, Darren breathed a sigh of relief and turned to thank the newcomer. Before he could utter so much as a word, she beat him to the punch.
“You shouldn’t wander around Halfpoint alone,” she said, skipping the preamble. Her voice had a melodic tone, one that was almost musical to Darren’s ears. She planted her hands on her hips, scrutinizing him with a skeptical expression. “You’re just asking for trouble.”
“I’m just...waiting for someone,” he replied. “Thank you, by the way. I’m-”
“Do you have a weapon on you?” she asked, cutting him off. “A handgun under that jacket? Defense spray? A pocket knife?”
“What? No,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “Why would I have a gun?”
Even with a few inches of titanium-alloy plating between everyone aboard and a messy death by explosive decompression, using a firearm on the station seemed risky.
She snorted derisively, almost as though she couldn’t believe his reply.
“For your sake, I hope that whoever you’re waiting for is smarter than you are,” she said with a roll of her silver eyes. “This isn’t Earth, boy. There are no Shil Marines around to babysit you. Next time you want to play tourist, go somewhere closer to home.”
With a flick of her long hair, she turned about, vanishing into the crowd once more to leave him sitting at the bar in confusion.
Darren felt another hand on his shoulder and turned to see an Edixi wearing grease-stained overalls standing behind him. The tool belt that hung loosely about her hips let him know that she was a mechanic before she’d even had time to open her mouth.
Her kind were evolved for an aquatic environment, and although they were fully amphibious, they retained many of their ancient features. Their bodies were smooth and streamlined, with lean, lightly-muscled frames that made them look like Olympic swimmers. Her eyes were a striking ocean-green, and her azure skin was patterned with faded tiger stripes, darkening as it neared her extremities.
“You’re the new engineer, right?” she chirped excitedly.
“Darren Fogle, pleased to meet you,” he confirmed as he extended a hand. She took it, shaking it eagerly, and he noted that her fingers were webbed.
He was a little surprised by how smooth her skin was. Given the sharklike appearance of the Edixi – and her vocation – he’d expected it to be rough and scaly. Maybe cold and slimy, too. By contrast, it was warm and soft, her small scales smooth like a snake’s rather than sharp like those of a fish.
Odd.
“Oh, it is. It very much is. The boss told me to fetch you,” she said before turning back towards the street. “Don’t get lost, you hear? There are some rough types around these parts.”
Yes, she could say that again. He stooped to pick up his bag, then hurried after her, trying not to lose sight of her in the crowd. He also belatedly realized that she hadn’t told him her own name.
Was that an Edixi thing or was she just in a hurry?
The mechanic led him through the streets, which seemed to be arranged in a kind of grid pattern, always flanked by the towering hab-blocks. It was as challenging as ever to navigate when so many of the station’s inhabitants stood a head taller than him. It made him feel like a bug that was trying to avoid being stepped on.
He could only assume he’d get used to it. His guide seemed to have no problem getting around, and she was a few inches shorter than him.
Their destination was some kind of service elevator – a large platform that seemed designed to carry heavy cargo up from the docks, wide enough that a couple of trucks could have parked on it side by side. There were still a few cargo containers stacked off to one side that hadn’t been unloaded yet.
He watched as the woman hit a touch panel beside the double doors, and they began to slide shut, the platform lurching as Darren felt it start to rise. There was no grinding of machinery, no vibrations, only a sensation of getting heavier. It was obviously gravity-manipulation tech. It wasn’t too surprising – the Shil seemed to use it for just about everything, so it wasn’t too strange that the rest of the universe did as well.
Convergent technological development, he could almost imagine his Shil instructor saying as they started to descend. Good tech is good tech.
The hab-ring’s many levels flashed by one by one, until finally, the elevator slid to a smooth stop. Darren followed the happily humming mechanic out into a garage, his eyes lighting up as he took in his new surroundings.
Were those… mecha?
The bay’s walls were lined with bulky harnesses that were obviously designed to hold the machines in place, a few of the berths already occupied by half-disassembled vehicles.
They were!
“Real life mecha,” he mumbled.
As a mechanic, he wasn’t ignorant of the genre. After all, what kind of engineer didn’t hold a soft spot for giant stompy robots? Of course, as an engineer, he also held an inherent disdain for anyone that actually thought said machines were even remotely practical outside of the realm of fiction.
The Square Cube Law was a harsh mistress.
The long and short of it was that if you doubled a machine's height while keeping it the same shape, you ended up with four times the muscle power moving eight times the mass. As a result, instead of having the same relative agility as the original, the double-sized machine actually had only half.
That was why ants could lift so much relative to their weight. If you scaled one up, you’d end up with a much less impressive power to weight ration.
And, the problem only got worse the bigger you went. Giant robots would be slow, cumbersome, and they would inevitably suffer from exploding ankles if they tried to move too fast. They’d also sink in just about any terrain that was even slightly porous.
All in all, mecha were a cool concept with absolutely zero real world applications.
Which was why he was so stunned to see some in real life. Sure, the Shil military liked to use exos, but they were really just power armor by any other name with thrusters attached. Besides, the only reason those things could skip around like they did was because they had anti-grav generators…
His thoughts trailed off as an idea occurred to him. He jogged over to the nearest machine, peering up at the twenty-foot humanoid monstrosity. Its legs had been detached, leaving only a bulky torso covered in half-stripped sensory equipment, lenses and scanners visible where their protective covers had been removed. The cockpit was open, revealing the pilot’s seat, along with the surrounding neural interface cables that hung loose like the entrails of some mechanical beast. Its weapon attachments were empty, but it was nonetheless an awe-inspiring sight.
Sure enough, there were two oversized humps on the back. One was clearly for the thing’s fusion engine – and the other must have held the anti-grav generator.
“Darren?” the mechanic asked, having only just realized that he wasn’t behind her. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Y-yeah,” he said, jogging for a few paces to catch up. “That’s a mecha!”
The blue-hued alien nodded slowly. “Yes?”
“A mecha,” he reiterated.
Which prompted another slow nod. “You’ve never seen a gladiator mech before?”
“No.”
“Didn’t they tell you what job you’d be doing?” the mechanic asked, cocking her head in a rather adorable manner.
“No?” This time it was his turn to cock his head.
Several emotions seemed to fly across the alien’s face. He saw surprise, confusion, and dismay before she finally settled on irritation.
“Typical,” she grunted. “Just… follow me.”
AN: https://youtu.be/a3Xp1WhRQ9Q
2023.04.01 08:43 GreatHornedRat_UWU Hjulbrek Hunhivehr's Book of Grudges Written by Hjulbrek, Dwarf Templar of Hoar Entry #7: The Dance of the Dire's Web
[Out of Character Warning: If you have arachnophobia, please read at your own risk.]
submitted by GreatHornedRat_UWU to DnDGreentext [link] [comments]
Ches 08th, 1320 DR, Somewhere near Flint Rock in the Evermoor.I decided to shut up after that. She read me like a book; and here I thought we were careful. Speaking of "we", I think it's time I get some answers from that elf.
We've stopped this morning. Fiona says we need to wait for someone; she was vague about exactly who we were meeting at what time, but she said he was going to be a business partner. Come to think of it, I don't actually know what it is Fiona does as a Merchant; what exactly we are carrying with the carriage is obviously the usual spices, food-stuffs, and appliances that people can't get within Northern Faêrun, but there are three specific crates that are considered high value by her, even though she doesn't tell us what's in them. I bring this up because I tried asking about them this morning, more out of boredom than anything; she replied by giving me this odd smirk with a glint in her eye, and just told me:
"Don't worry that scowling mug of yours, darling. All you need to know is that it's going to make us a lot of coin; nothing too dangerous or morally questionable, though it depends on how you look at it. Besides, don't think I don't know that you had something to do with what happened in Rakkarin's Fjord. Why the face? What, you seriously thought that you and V'vyana disappearing for several hours, only for five mangled bodies to turn up once you reappear didn't seem a bit suspicious? We all got our secrets, love, and from what I heard you're little activities weren't unwarranted, at least by my standards. However, if we're going to work together as partners, you're going to have to at least tell me when and why you're going to go all judge, jury, and executioner on people. Bad for business, is all I'm saying, and I don't really like the prospect of being put on an actual bounty-list anytime soon."
Person of interest: V'vyana Bathory, Elf Ranger. Currently employed as a mercenary under Fiona Stoutbroad…Stoutbroad? Is that slang for bigass? What the fuck am I thinking?!End Entry
Ever since the incident at Rakkarin's Fjord, I'm becoming more and more paranoid about who she really is; she isn't any normal ranger, that's for sure.
Cleaning up evidence, an adept with poisons, even her story doesn't make much sense. She says that she grew up in Luskan, one of the cities on the Northwest Coast that I whole-heartedly wished Hoar had burned to the ground for all the scum-ridden, irredeemable cutthroats produced by that sin-ridden metropolis. However, that makes me trust her even less; most rangers usually get their start away from metropolises or by contract in rural counties or with a Caravan company. Unless…you work as a slave-hunter or tracker for one of the many Matriarchal Houses in Luskan. All I know is that she is dangerous, and I have no idea why she came to Citadel Felbarr three weeks ago with Caldin.
We've stopped by a nearby cave, and Fiona told us that we'd have to leave the carriage here for now and begin unloading goods inside, specifically those three crates of heavy cargo. The carriage will be fine, as apparently this person we were meeting had people on standby in case anyone or anything tried to raid us…now that she mentions it, I'm getting this weird feeling that we're being watched, but I don't see or hear anyone off-road or within the hilly landscape. I could sworn I saw something moving above us, in the overhead caves, but I chalked it up to being a wild animal; either way, I don't like it here. The caves and the landscape around us are just too quiet.
Update, mid-afternoon
We've unloaded the cargo into one of the larger caves that go into the multiple canyons surrounding Flint's Rock. Big surprise, these caves weren't as uninhabited as we though; while keeping watch, I heard the scream of either V'vyana or Caldin echo from the inside of the cave. Me, Gus, and Fiona just looked at each other; Gus opted out, said he would really be much help in the darkness of the cave…that, and even though I've seen him lob off the head of a goddamned wyvern (a tale of which I'll definitely write up sometime), he's a coward when it comes being in any enclosed space underground.
Looks like it's up to me. Gus and Fiona are really worried about me heading in there; in desperation, Gus even offered to come with me, but we all knew that it would only slow me down, and I didn't like the idea of Fiona being alone. Reluctantly, Fiona agreed, but asked that I bring some chalk to mark where I'm going in case she needed to go after me as well. With the hot and damp climate that surrounded Flint's Rock coming from the Evermoor Swamps, I knew that donning my splint-mail for entering the cave would be like entering a furnace. Reluctantly, I had to go with a leather jerkin with chainmail underneath. I can hear the shrieks of what sounds to be V'vyana moving further down the cave; maybe I can just leave them there, not risk it?
Update, not sure what time.
Good news and bad news. I think I'm on the right track; came to this large Crossroad after running about five minutes. Looks like I was right about the heat because it's starting to get very musky in here; why is it so hot, could it be…
Right, good news. At the crossroads, I found what looks like be Caldin and V'vyana's equipment. Mostly just water and a cartography kit scattered about, but I did find a map of the cave-area that Caldin must have drawn up. Now onto the bad news…I found a blood trail moving down the centre-most tunnel, and I can tell it isn't from an animal. I need to hurry; Caldin wrote up a warning pointing to the tunnel with the blood-trail: "Weird, chattering noises and lots of webs. Best stay away."
I'm marking an arrow with my chalk so that Fiona and Gus will know where I'm going if they come look for me…maybe it's best that they don't follow me, but Fiona can be a stubborn lass.
Update, I need to get the fuck out of here.
Caldin was right. The cave has started grow thick with spider-webs; I had to use my torch to burn a path forward, but I can hear myself getting closer to the screaming. However, I'm no longer alone anymore, and I'm starting to get paranoid about anything that might be crawling on the cave-ceiling or on the ground. At first it was only a few spiders, silently scuttling in the shadows of this cave; however, as I got deeper and deeper, I started seeing hundreds of them. Big ones the size of a dog were watching me from inside burrows; the torch must be keeping them away, because all they can do is hiss and back away to the light's edge. I'm more terrified of the smaller ones, though; they're more silent, and I can see that they seem…bloated with what seems like venom. Hoar give me strength.
Update, still alive for now.
I've found Caldin, who seems to be taking the new surrounding rather well. The scorched marks and burned corpses of spiders lead me to him in a small burrow; nearly got my head blown off by blast of flames as I entered, having to shout Caldin down that it was just me. His robes were ragged and covered in webbing, and he seemed to have lost that stupid hat of his somewhere during the chase.
I asked him what the fuck happened to them, and where in Pharasma's Ethereal ass was V'vyana? His answer seemed to make things even more grim. While mapping out the two other crossways that split off from the centre-most area, Caldin noticed several old signs that covered the walls of the cave; he couldn't read what they said, but V'vyana could, saying it appeared to be Thief Cant in written form. While mostly a verbal language, Thief Cant can be written down, but it's more of a hieroglyphic style where certain combinations of symbols mean code-words or phrases. They found out exactly why these were written down after reaching the dead-end of the left path, finding the remains of what looked like a gang of smugglers.
This cave was used as a smuggling route, and whatever happened to these guys wasn't good. Three specific messages read:
"6th day of trek, 12 arcane crystals, 5 mithril chestplates. Rest for tonight, leave in morning."
"7th day, route is condemned! If see message, get out fast; only death here. Gnarl fucked us,he and five others stole haul while we slept, didn't tell us cave was home to a dire-spider nest! Don't know what he did, nest woke up; campfire keeps spiders away, but we have nowhere to go. 3 dead, dragged off by those eight-legged freaks, only four of us left now."
"8th day, can't breath. Smoke hurting, no sleep; Nyric, Sage, and Martyn tried to make a run for it, couldn't take it anymore. They got Nyric and dragged him off, but I think Sage managed to get away through a tunnel; Martyn's bitten, poison hurt. He told me to do it."
"9th, I've run out of wood, down to last torch. I can't let them get me like the others. I love you, Sage."
Both V'vyana and Caldin were ready to run the fuck out of there, but then they noticed that the two bodies in the make-shift campsight were beginning to move. The first body, bloated and writhing, started to break apart its flesh as a giant, 6ft spider just burst out; the second body began to pour out from its mouth and chest-cavity hundreds of tiny spiders, all swarming towards both V'vyana and Caldin.
It was V'vyana whose scream seemed to wake up the nest; didn't know that she was particularly afraid of spiders. After that, it was all a blur, and next thing Caldin knew he was running with V'vyana out of the dead-end. She must have mistaken the centre-most path as the exit, but in that moment Caldin just went with instinct and followed after her. He got grabbed by one of the big ones and dragged away to a burrow, but thanks to a bit of fire-magic Caldin was push them back. For the last thirty minutes, all he's been doing is burning anything that comes near the burrow entrance.
This is…a lot to process. I'm going after V'vyana, and Caldin agreed to follow me; he believes that, while she was bitten, he thinks that it wasn't one of the more poisonous varieties. We're heading out the burrow and following the blood trail. Hoar give me strength.