Certainly! Styling a plain designer kurti for a casual day out can be a fun and creative endeavor. Here are some tips to help you effortlessly elevate your look:

1. Accessorize Thoughtfully: Add interest to your outfit by accessorizing strategically. Consider layering with a statement necklace or a stack of bangles for a pop of color and texture. A stylish belt can also cinch the waist and create a more defined silhouette.
2. Play with Bottoms: Experiment with different bottom options to complement your plain kurti. You can pair it with denim jeans for a classic, laid-back vibe, or opt for leggings or jeggings for a more streamlined look. Culottes or palazzoscan add a touch of elegance and flair to your ensemble.
3. Footwear Matters: Choose footwear that balances comfort and style. For a casual day out, you can opt for flats like ballerina shoes, sandals, or even sneakers for a more relaxed feel. If you prefer a dressier look, wedge heels or block heels can add height without sacrificing comfort.
4. Layer with Jackets or Scarves: Add layers to your outfit with a denim jacket, a lightweight cardigan, or a printed scarf. These pieces not only provide warmth but also enhance the visual appeal of your ensemble. Play with textures and patterns to create a visually dynamic look.
5. Experiment with Hairstyles: Your hairstyle can complement your outfit and tie the whole look together. Try a messy bun, loose waves, or a sleek ponytail for a chic yet effortless vibe. Accessorize with hairpins, headbands, or scarves for an extra touch of style.
6. Makeup and Accessories: Keep your makeup natural and fresh for a daytime casual look. Opt for a dewy foundation, subtle eyeshadow, and a nude lip color. Don't forget to complete your look with sunglasses, a stylish handbag, and maybe a hat for added flair.
7. Confidence is Key: Regardless of what you wear, confidence is the ultimate accessory. Own your style choices and wear them with pride. When you feel good about what you're wearing, it will naturally reflect in your demeanor and elevate your entire look.

Remember, fashion is about expressing yourself and feeling comfortable in your own skin. So, don't be afraid to experiment with different styles and have fun with your outfits!

Age
5 when his mother died, 9 when he moved in with the Abramovs, 10 going on 11 when his brother was born, 17 when he met Yhwach, 18 during the TYBW
Name
Kaz Chadaj/Abramov
Height
5 Ft 3 inches
Weight:
126 lbs
Eye Color:
Heterochromatic with a sea blue iris on his right side while an amber iris takes prominence in his left eye.
Hair Color:
Light Brown
Hair Style:
Think of the hairstyle Harry Potter had in the fourth entry of the movie series
Facial Likeness:
A soft featured face akin to Gremmy with more narrow, focused eyes
General Appearance:
Has a thin frame with some slightly toned musculature, but nothing too extraordinary. Wears the typical double breasted Wandenreich trench coat with the added accessories of a neutral gray scarf and neutral gray shoes and black buttons. Beyond those effects he sports the typical Wandenreich cap and Sternritter cloak for posterity.
Personality:
Is a bit of a workaholic and derives comfort from directing his focus to very specific goals. As a result, certain unhealthy tendencies might arise like a degree of emotional repression, and over time the results of that repression builds up especially with constant stressors which can cause Kaz to explode sometimes if he doesn't have a proper outlet to ‘work out his stress’ without acknowledging them. In spite of this however, he is emotionally intelligent and can read the room quite well despite how unaware he is of his own emotions. During his time in the Wandenreich he now has an awareness of how work is a stress outlet and while he is no longer unaware of the emotions he feels he much prefers to channel them into work rather than introspection. Beyond these tendencies he is generally polite and even friendly at times, but won't go out of his way to engage in a social situation.
Likes:
Exercise, being focused, training his Quincy abilities, learning about the nature of the world, sharpening his convictions, and engaging with friendly people, Yhwach (until Yhwach uses Auswählen), Bazz B, Robert Accortune, Gremmy Thomeaux, Litotto Lamperd, Meninas McAllon, Jugram Haschwalth.
Dislikes:
Rude people like Bambietta or Candice, creeps like Äs Nödt, being overwhelmed emotionally, stress, abject silence, darkness, the marks on his chest where he was shot with Heilig Pfiel, Hollows, Arrancars, the Shinigami's way of running the world, Yhwach (after his betrayal).
Species:
Gemischt Quincy
Backstory:
I’ve always stood by the belief that uncertainty is the principle upon which all life is built even if it doesn’t want to admit it to itself. Depending on how the dice rolls one can be born rich or poor, sickly or healthy, linguistically intelligent or mathematically intelligent, nice or nasty alongside any number of countless variables which are worked out from moment to moment in the unsteady existence of a being. However, depending on how the dice rolls, most people would never find themselves ever reflecting on the provisional nature of existence in this world. I unfortunately, never had the privilege of being one of those people for you see my life was uncertain even from the very beginning.
I could not claim to be one of the older generations of Quincies who had retreated into the Schatten Bereich, nor was I one of the Quincies born within the Wandenreich, but rather of a group of Echt Quincies still living in the world of the living. However, as luck would have it, I happened to be the black sheep of the group as my father, Maxim Abramov dissatisfied with the life he was being forced to lead in arranged marriage, had found a temporary way out eloping with his real love, my mother Nadezhda Chadaj who he had already secretly had a newly born son with. At the outset this move, while risky, was not without hope and for a time I suppose the powers that be were in approval. For the first five years of my life I had the privilege of experiencing this brief snapshot of heaven feeling the love of father and mother alike. Even to this very day I can say with confidence that nothing I’ve experienced so far could ever compare to the joy I experienced during these all too beautiful times.
Still, it did not take long for the powers that be to remind our family of their cruelty towards the affairs of life. And so as fate would have it a similar tragedy which Quincies have experienced since time immemorial would be reenacted once again. It began with a tremor, a tremor that seemed to shake the universe around both I and my father although my mother remained unaffected. I wasn’t sure what was happening and neither was my dear, sweet mother, but father, wise as he always was knew all too well the implications of what was happening when the sky gave way to distortion as a group of those horrid, faceless demons; those hollows once again engaged in their never ending hunt for souls to fill the emptiness within. And on that search it seems they had coincidentally caught wind of my father’s especially high spiritual energy having begun their trek towards his location. I would never forget the terror in my father’s eyes on that day, it was the first time I had ever seen those stern, but kind eyes reflect a kind of primal terror that I only seemed to recognize in my own face after experiencing a nightmare. This fear, this uncertainty was something I had never known after these brief, but robust years of unfettered joy; it was too terrible to be real. It was then that I remembered some of my father’s more…peculiar advice, advice he would tell me from time to time when we would practice gathering the “light” in our hands, but more important was the memory of when I in my impatience once wanted to skip our daily training with the “light” as it were and how he told me that one day I would need this light to fight against the shadows and ghouls who devour us Quincy. My heart hammered loudly, as the pressure seemed to grow closer and closer, I couldn’t breathe or move, all I knew from there was that mom and I were huddling in the basement while my father wasn’t there. As if to answer my doubts, mom, the angel that she was, consoled me telling me that my father was out there and that because he was out there everything would work out. Mom always did have a way of calming the storms of my mind, a veritable oasis where every moment spent with her was like paradise even as the fires of hell burned without. And then the pressure returned, that awful, crushing sensation that could almost be called suffocation if I didn’t know any better. A snake-like figure seemed to emerge from the shadows unbeknownst to my mother, all I knew was that danger was fast approaching so I yelled almost incoherently pointing in the direction of the evil in question, but she turned a second too late and was knocked several feet away into the wall. As for me, all hell broke loose and the brief oasis of certainty my mother exuded was all but dried up as I screamed and screamed for help, from someone, anyone as the hollow lifted me into the air. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, all was lost, all was uncertain, with no foundation in sight. As the figure began slowly lifting me to its ghastly maw, but I couldn’t let it happen…not yet…I was afraid…I didn’t want to be eaten so I did what came naturally and summoned all the force my little body could and when that wasn’t enough I summoned the light and then I flew. Feeling pain that was indescribable I could muster nary the strength to even stand as the figure began moving more rapidly, more erratically as it leapt and so my eyes closed too afraid to acknowledge the end’s approach and yet, it wouldn’t be the end, not yet. A light and a familiar one at that seemed to chase away the dark figure as another followed up to strike it and another and another until the dark figure seemed to collapse back into the shadows from whence it came, but not before taking some winnings and that was the last day I ever saw my mother.
When I came to, the room was white, come to think of it, it was not the room I was accustomed to as the storms of doubt and fear began welling up within me yet again. To make matters worse, painful flashes of what had previously transpired struck my mind afresh like fierce lightning. My eyes began to dilate, my breathing quickened, and I felt like screaming as my eyes darted from left to right for someone, anyone to lean on. Fortunately, my silent pleas were answered readily, but not in the way I anticipated. Had I not known any better I’d have never guessed the figure standing before me could be anyone’s father, let alone mine. Gone were the kind, strong eyes and in its place was a brokenness that kinda felt like mine. It disappointed me, but even so there were still flashes of it, that bold compassion, that sturdiness and so feeling uncertain what to do I let him hug me. I mean…it was all I had left and all I could do to anchor myself. And years later looking back on it all, I can tell he probably felt the same way. The next while was solemn and not one I care to remember much of, mostly spent sleeping and well trying to enjoy that sleep (despite my nightmares doing everything in their power to rob me of even that). Thankfully, I did eventually recover which was cause for some happiness even if it was the passing sort, but rather than go home, it seemed we’d both be finding a new one and so we did in the form of a basic apartment suite where we both resided for 4 years.
Those silent years were years filled with nothing, but grief, but for the most part nothing of note happened during them until the fourth year. Father was often busy working so we could make ends meet, but whenever he was available we would train. Train my body, train my stamina, and train my light. I didn't often like the intense training, but in spite of it all I trusted his authority in this matter and before long these intense training settled into my overall routine. At the end of four years however, I was suddenly overcome by sickness…terrible sickness. Sickness that kept me in the hospital for weeks, sickness that very nearly killed me stripping even my light away from me and it was this sickness that brought my father to his parent's doorstep hoping they might have a solution and fortunately for me they did as this sickness had quickly become common amongst Gemischt Quincy leading to a loss of their light, however, with proper around the clock care the sudden illness could be remedied and even one’s light could potentially be regained in much the same way that one could be cured of powerlessness due to Letzt Stil, via the risky maneuver of a Heilig Pfiel fired 19 mm to the side of my chest. At the time though I had not realized the nature of my presence and was enamored with meeting my extended family. T’was the first time I ever met my grandparents after all and despite my better judgment a part of me wanted to be excited, but the angry disapproval on both their faces that seemed to become even angrier when it was directed towards me, told me otherwise. There was a lot of yelling of course, and all I could think about was how I wish I wasn’t here, but yelling gave way to cautious silence as a younger woman entered the room about my Dad’s age. I found it strange that she looked at him with that same kind of look that my…well…mother gave him, but as with my ‘grandparents’ it seemed to sour when she looked towards me, but after I was ushered out of the room for a few minutes by the butler I was horrified to learn I would now be calling this place home would soon be calling that woman, ‘mother.’ When the conversation ended me and dad had a heart to heart telling me about how this was all for my sake and that I'd have to be strong to survive here. So as any kid would do, I agreed. I didn't quite understand the significance of my agreement, but this would not be the last time I would have to be reassured by him while I lived in this house. The next few months following this statement were hard months indeed as I began the slow journey to recovery. And then I was ushered into the training, spacious as it was in spite of my barely acceptable health and was instructed to exercise until I grew tired. After, I was surprised to see father show up, with his light shaped in the image of a bow and despite it being pointed at me I trusted him and trust was meant with searing pain, but that pain did not lead to death, but a new beginning as I once again walked this world as a (im)proper Quincy.
Now as mentioned above I was not of the proper Echt bloodline and as a result of my besmirching the bloodline I was something of a blemish in the family and was not popular with either my grandparents who were Echt Quincy fundamentalists or my new “mother” who was herself an heir to another family of Echt Quincies. In the face of these obstacles I’d dare say that everyday was its own new, fresh hell for whenever my father was away on business of any kind my “mother” would find new ways to torment me by forcing me to do grueling chores as was befitting of my Gemischt bloodline or finding ways to blame me for things I didn’t do in an attempt to cast a shadow over my already polluted reputation. Naturally, my Grandparents would take to her bait as a moth to flame more often than not forcing my father to compromise and discipline me whenever he could not argue well enough for my case. Even then, even as he showed me contempt he’d always reassure that all was well and that one day their lights would move on from this dark place free to go wherever we pleased, but all I could think of was how much I wished he would make up his d*mn mind rather than act like two people at once for as he languished in his indecision so too did my image of him languish.
From there much the same thing occurred over and over, but I grew increasingly used to the routine. Being my father’s son, he was still able to make a case for overseeing all my training in the ways of the Quincy personally and adamantly at that which was something I would never cease to respect him for as I look back on my life. Before long I had gained a reputation amongst my Gemischt peers for having a particular affinity at manipulating reishi better than most Gemischt on the estate despite my young age as I had quickly outgrown any need of the Quincy Bangle within merely a year of dedicated learning on how to properly form my ‘light’ and the feeling of that strength soothed my inner suffering. However, as always life was uncertain and the advantage I had finally gained would soon give way to a new form of instability. For in the shadows my new “mother” was already hatching a plan.
It all began with a particular dinner night on a moat auspicious day during which she had decided to personally oversee tonight's dinner hoping to woo father with his alleged favorite dish, Жаркое/Zharkoye and despite my father's general aversion to his new wife, he never could resist his favorite comfort food, especially during a particularly cold evening and on his birthday no less. And though I tended to look upon my ‘mother’ with a sense of animosity or mild frustration, even I was willing to set aside old grudges to help wish my father a happy birthday. So in a surprising display of agreement between the two of us we joined forces to build the ideal birthday for a certain special someone and while a few barbs were thrown between us a part of me almost enjoyed the experience, and against my better judgment a part of me hoped she felt the same way.
With dinner served my father’s usual stoic mask seemed to show a few cracks as a smile threatened to break through. However, that was not the only surprise we had in store for him. Following that culinary offering I and my “mother” alike came up with the brilliant idea of capping things off with his favorite dessert: bird’s milk cake. And in response to this plot twist, the cracks in his stoic appearance utterly shattered giving way to a genuine look of joyful anticipation and I loved every second of it. From then on, I could no longer resist the infectious amounts of joy swirling around the atmosphere as I wholeheartedly joined in the reverie and surprisingly my “mother” did as well. Although it wasn't the ideal, I at that very moment was convinced in the hope that this messed up place could become home for both myself and my father. How wrong was I?
A few weeks later, I was surprised to find that my “mother” had shifted in her approach to me. Whereas before she showed awful hostility she now regarded me with a stern neutrality that neither betrayed an overt sense of favor or hostility for that matter and to me that was more than enough. Meanwhile it seemed as though my father was gradually becoming closer to his new wife with his once avoidant tendencies towards her changing to a strange intimacy not unlike what he had shared with my mom before she passed away. Unfortunately, with the time the two spent together it seemed as though father had less and less time to direct my way and while I tried to think nothing of it, my mind would speculate in the silence of night.
Then on one ‘auspicious’ Sunday the family had a meeting as they always did, albeit it seemed the atmosphere was slightly more joyful than usual which I could in no wise object to. In fact, I’d daresay it felt whimsical how happy everyone was to the point where even my grandparents could join in the reverie. However, I was not sure as to what they were happy about, but I was surprised to see how willing everyone was to see my arrival as if they too were excited to bestow the source of this excitement on me. So with bated breath my father’s hand found mine and so did my ‘mother’s’ as they with beaming smiles revealed that they were expecting to which I in my naivety asked, “expecting what?” Seeing my father’s smile slightly waver I waited on him for an answer, but as usual my ‘mother’ was quick to act as she with an even wider smile said something that made my silver-laden blood run cold. “Why a brother of course?” I don’t quite remember much of what happened after that moment during the “celebration” nor did I care to. However, now that I look back on things I do recall a slight bit of malice in that wide smile of hers; like it was in response to a victory over one’s worst enemy. Who that might’ve been, I couldn’t tell you, whether it was my mom or me, but one thing was certain, they had lost, and she had won, mercilessly proving to me once again the provisional nature of life.
Following that day and some much needed time alone stewing on recent events, I slowly, but surely came to accept the idea of having a brother, and welcomed it even. I began to think of all the experiences we could have together and pondered over how I should see him, but for the time being I felt the desire to have a relationship with him. I also felt a good step in that direction would be to grow stronger so I at least could protect him from losing what matters most like I did. So whereas before I was content to train every other day, I began training daily, finding any excuse possible to enrich my Quincy prowess. However, rather than relying upon the normal methods I began opting for resistance training with a Leiden Hant so I could take things to the next level. Though there was a degree of protest when I first ran the notion by my Father given the risks of potentially losing my light, he quickly conceded, seemingly entranced by my determination as he understood much of what I felt in that moment.
Unfortunately, in spite of the new strides I began to make I couldn't help, but feel like a wedge had been drawn between myself and my Father. I didn't quite know how to confront him about the feelings I felt brewing within my soul and something tells me he couldn't be open about his feelings either. Eventually it got to the point where our interactions during the day totaled at about a half-hour at best with the majority of that time relegated to eating silently in each other's presence at meal time. It would not be until much later that I’d realize that all my avoidance to my father was on account of my insecurity, my own indecision on how to face him after I saw how his heart sank when he saw my ‘response’, however, subtle to his ‘good news.’ So after several months of expectant waiting a child was born and his name was Konstantin Abramov. A beautiful child with bright eyes filled with wonder. His gaze was so bright it seemed to cause all in its path to gravitate towards it. It was as though the whole world had stopped just for this simple, beautiful baby boy. And as more years passed it seemed as though the world had stayed in place for everyone in the house except for me. Kind as my father was, our already struggling relationship seemed to become more scant as my ‘mother’ and grandparents impressed the importance of maximizing Konstantin's Echt Quincy potential. Thus, that old sense of prejudice towards my Gemischt bloodline had returned with a vengeance in a manner more subtle and insidious than before. Whereas before it was a matter of honor now it became a matter of prioritizing one thing over the other and in the eyes of the Abramov so desperate for a legitimate heir the question of priority was one easily answered whether my Father and I were ready for it or not. Conversely, this also came with the added side effect of not seeing my brother as often as I'd like. To that end, it came as no surprise to anyone that my brother and I did not have a close relationship whatsoever. Very soon the days had come to resemble when I had first come to meet my grandparents as they barely so much as looked at me while doting on their newest addition to the family and I shuddered to think what poisonous ideas his mother was feeding him.
However, amidst the shadow of despair that threatened to encroach upon me a plan brewed within my mind, one that would shift despair into victory. And it was a simple one at that, I would be helping father train him in the ways of Quincy. Afterall, it only felt natural that all this training to protect him could protect him best if it were passed on and so for the first time in months I managed to tell father about my wishes and with a knowing smile I could tell that the plan I had been setting was already in motion. Nevertheless, convincing my grandparents to agree to my training young Konstantin would prove more difficult, but at the very least I had my father with me. And so after much arguing and much reluctance on their parts they agreed to allow me to participate in my brother's training for they could not deny the depth of my skill in spite of my impure heritage.
It was ‘mother’ who walked her precious Konstantin into the training area and though I was no friend of hers I couldn't deny how endearing it was to see how inseparable they seemed…it brought me back to old times, to better times, but as if to bring me back to reality Father had also announced his presence as he would also be helping to instruct Konstantin alongside me making it something of a family affair. And with the swiftly leaving presence of ‘mother’ my excitement for training Konstantin was palpable and a smile couldn't help, but sneak up my face…at least until he spoke to Father. Now being a young child, it was only natural his opinions would mirror his mother's, but those rational consolations did not make him asking him “why I, A Gemischt Quincy was helping him with his training” hurt any less. Still, Father with a sigh whispered something in the boy's ear and with a nod of understanding, still accompanied by a look of slight uneasiness my ‘brother’ agreed to work with me. In the end, the session was concerned primarily with properly measuring Konstantin's aptitude for shaping his Quincy light in a more controlled fashion and being his father's son it was no surprise he passed with flying colors. Even I couldn't help, but acknowledge how impressive he was as he could run circles around me when I was his age. Still, rather than dwell on the conflicting feelings inside my heart I tried my best to act and look as supportive as possible assuming that perhaps with some sleep those intrusive feelings would subside…still irregardless of how I felt, I still felt the thrum of my resolve to do this service for my brother and I would do this to the best of my ability.
The next several months were filled with back-to-back sessions that served to both measure and advance my brother's progress and in many ways I enjoyed participating in them, but over time I felt almost a kind of frustration with it all. I mean sure, it was nice to see father joyful to spend time with both his sons alongside one another, but with every success my brother accomplished in his growth, the more I began to feel this anxiety within grow more powerfully and as much as I hated to admit it, it almost hurt to see father stare at Konstantin with those vibrant, joyful eyes. It hurt to see my brother treated as the greatest blessing to grace our family even though I had already been among them for thirteen years to this point. And then to top things off, the feeling of having to face the smug look that seemed to rest upon my ‘mother's’ face every time she'd stare at my brother…it…it was almost too much to bear! And yet…and yet seeing my father's joy, my brother grew it…it was enough for me to continue to persist…yes to persist…one more time…just one more. However, my time alone ruminating was not meant to last as a familiar young shape in the form of Konstantin slowly edged in my room and while the boy was rather quiet he never looked this bashful before. Naturally, being in the mood I had been as of late I had little patience for the indirect approach and asked him to speak his piece quickly. His answer, as opposed to the curt, short responses he would normally give me and my father was anxious, worried even as he openly spoke to me about the doubts he harbored about his comprehensive training exam tomorrow. It was then that for the first time in months I had seen him as the child that he was contrary to what he or his mother would have us believe. So while I kept things brief I made sure he left on a note of encouragement reminding him of how far he'd come for while my emotions towards him were complicated, he was still my brother in the end and perhaps that was motivation enough to see things through.
Eventually, morning did arrive as an air of expectation fell upon the training room as the time to test how far Konstantin’s skills had finally come. Given how auspicious this occasion was for Konstantin, it would be conducted in the presence of Grandmother and Grandfather alike as they scoped out the progress of the emergent heir of the Abramov clan; a notion that I was neutral to, but the frustration I felt at the moment was owed to my ‘mother’ watching from above to watch how things would proceed in as smug a fashion as I'd expect. However, with one look towards Konstantin's tender, but confident smile and my father's proud smile I once again girded up my emotional strength as I took up a defensive position with an Heilig Pfiel at the ready. On the other end, was Konstantin who charged bravely with his own Heilig Pfiel in hand. Arrow after struck toward each other as both us combatants zoomed by each other, however, rather than successively fire holy arrow after holy arrow, the youngest of the duo suddenly disappeared from view, it was a textbook Hirenkyaku and a perfectly executed one at that. However, I was not caught completely off guard, as I sharply turned around to find a flurry of Heilig Pfiel's careening towards me so with seconds to act I engaged my own hirenkyaku to jump ways away from the projected blast sight. From there the spar raged on and while I was holding back on him considerably I could not ignore Konstantin’s impressive growth. It was startling to say the least and at one level I felt pride in seeing him come so far, but I felt something else, an anxious frustrated feeling similar to what I'd generally been experiencing over the last few months…it was…it was anger. Anger that Konstantin was pushing me at his youthful age, anger that I could hear the support of his mother who would cheer him on every time he executed one advanced maneuver after the next, anger at the proud look in our grandparents’ eyes as they gazed upon the young boy as though he were the only thing in the world, and most shockingly anger at my father who while clearly proud of both of us seemed to brighten up every time his youngest would get a good hit on his eldest and while I knew in my better judgment this was only supposed to be a spar I felt compelled to kick things up a notch…like my very pride was on the line. So for once, I chose ‘wrong’ and quite frankly it scared me how good it felt as I switched gears from a more defensive fighting style to an aggressive one. Suddenly the hits I seemed to get on Konstantin, increased and if his look of shock was anything to go by the odds were stacked against him as my ‘mother’ screamed out in protest that her boy was not yet ready for what was happening followed by my Grandfather and Grandmother voicing their own complaints, but father did not complain himself, content to continue watching, but I could tell he was troubled which only seemed to fuel my frustration further, but just as it seemed as though my younger sibling was on the way out of the ring, a grin appeared on his face, oh so confident as though the pain he felt were not their at all and my holy arrows were steadily being met with holy arrows of his own and where he could not hit each one he either skillfully weaved his body or took the hit head on with Blut Vene with a tired smile still resting upon his face. This continued for another minute until he at the edge of the ring, smile still shining brightly even as he just about fell over from exhaustion and that's when it hit me, the gravity of what I'd done as I dashed to stop him from falling over, but in my place was my father already holding his still determined, but tired son. On my father's face was an expression akin to a broken heart and so I surrendered before swiftly exiting the premises.
Looking back on that event now, I'd say the beautiful moments preceding this travesty were probably one of the last times I ever saw him look upon me with genuine pride. However, before reaching my room, I was greeted by my ‘mother’ and all she had to say was a thank you, a thank you for securing her bloodline culminating in my ultimate shame and humiliation today. All I could do was turn away for I had nothing to say in response.
The next day, I decided to clear my head by leaving the house and doing more hands-on training, so with hollow bait I waited for some easy pickings cause I wanted to make sure it hurt. And then something strange happened…suddenly we were greeted with far more than just basic hollows, but a virtual epidemic of them and as visions of a similar helping nightmare came to mind the only thing I could think of was of course warning the estate for it would not be long before these swarms of Hollows had finally found their way to them. What followed from there was nothing short of a nightmare, as the normally safe borders of the Estate were now under attack. Hollows crawling in from various spatial distortions were killing Gemischt guards one after one and as I smelt the familiar stench of fire or debris I knew I had to hurry. So I ran in with reckless abandon, killing hollow after hollow where I could and running past others when necessary. Before long I reached the underground tunnels where I had assumed everyone were already fleeing in and then I saw something truly terrible, my grandparents mauled to death and Gemischt bodyguards all around us bleeding out and a bit further ahead was my father every bit as fiercely determined as he always was, but bleeding from his side as seemingly pushed himself beyond his limits to fight the predatory creatures surrounding him and then I saw it, no felt it, it was in the shape of a man, but its features retained hollow characteristics, I had never seen anything like it and wondered if perhaps this was the Vasto Lorde I had heard tell of in my textbooks so with reckless abandon I rushed to defend my father, but was greeted by two other of these humanoid hollows whose presence seemed to permeate the atmosphere like a haze of sorts and believe you me, I did everything in my power to fight them, but nothing worked. All my Heilig Pfiel were tossed aside and even my Seele Schneider was rendered just about useless. And so as I saw the bleeding figure of ‘mother’ and ‘Konstantin’ clad in Blut Vene standing over her I realized what I had to do, and so with reckless abandon I loosened my Leiden Hant and released my limiter. For it meant preventing this scene from happening to someone else. I could care less if I lost the only thing tying me to my Quincy roots. And so with a shout I attacked the hollows fiercely, but it was not enough to merely engage them, rather I needed to destroy them and quickly at that and so with a mighty stroke of my Heilig Bogen amplified by Blut Arterie I slew one and in pursuit of the other I began peppering him with weaker shots to conserve as much energy as possible for the last and so pinned as he was it was almost too easy to skewer his head leaving only one loose end and unlike the others this loose end proved to be the weaker of the three. However, just as I moved to extinguish my target so too did something begin to extinguish within me as the light seemed to flit away before my very eyes which got the attention of the abomination as his eye looked upon me with a predatory sheen. And then three arrows flew my way with one hitting me square in the chest and the other skewering the beast. The pain was unbelievable, but the emotional hurt…oh that was far worse. I could only think of how my father had traded me in for my younger brother, that rage that spark, burned bright within me and the light returned to me as I called upon my Heilig Bogen to fire at will in a swift smooth motion not acknowledging the nature of my Father's actions when I fired upon him as I looked to find the evaporating corpse of a chameleon-esque hollow who snuck by us all, injuring my brother gravely as his ‘mother’ screamed in agony for his sake. All I could do was stare, but something within me pushed me to do something…anything to change the scene lying before me, but before I could reach them a Heilig Pfiel flew past my ear as I found the bleeding woman give one last look of rage towards me before she too succumbed to her injuries. Seeing as she was already gone I looked to find my father on the ground himself, grievously injured, I feared seeing his eyes, his face thinking he would hate me, hate me for what I'd done, but even in his dim, exhausted eyes there was still the steady sheen of plain and simple love as he slowly gestured towards the body of my brother before giving up the ghost. For a good moment, I could barely register what I was going on: it all happened so fast and I couldn't help, but wonder what could have been done differently, what could've prevented this as I ran through the scenarios with tear stained eyes as the realization of the truly unpredictable nature of this situation, of all situations in this life dragged my soul to the depths of sorrow. However, as if to answer my prayers I saw the slow rise of my brother's chest and with a shout of disbelief I lifted him into my arms just as I had once been lifted and left the scene hoping to see him again, hoping to see why he smiled even when I attacked him ferociously and what that meant for me, questions I knew had to be answered.
As I walked I eventually ran into…him. A man stood before me clothed in white with a red cape and hair like a black mane. He held a kind of effortless majesty that exuded from his very being and it felt as though I were drawn to him somehow. It was from him that I learned the truth of this world as he offered me his hand. And that…that was the beginning of a…new chapter in my life as I took his outstretched hand and with my brother in my arms we walked into the beginning of this new chapter together. At the Wandenreich training was hard, and finding the strength to press on even harder for I was truly and fully alone for the first time in my life without any familiarity to tie my anxieties down. Even my brother…passed quickly given his injuries and despite all that I tried had eventually died, long before I could ever truly know him. And yet despite everything that told me to give up there was another voice telling me not too, a voice I listened to however, silent they seemed. I would avenge their deaths, I would tear down the misshapenness of this current world and honor their sacrifices, I solemnly swore as I partook in the holy communion. And where once I was weak now I was strong and while I had my share of doubts relating to this war and my place in it I wouldn't let that stop me. Not now. Not ever. For as long as a world of death, a world of fickleness remained, life would always be meaningless and as one who suffered in this ruined world there was but one thing left for me to do; fight until the last breath, fight to create a world of meaning, a world without instability, a world without death!

Episode 57 - "Scars"
Est. Reading Time: 25 Minutes
First Previous Support Me
Somewhere in Macre’n Highlands, Dese’de Line, Planet Sindula
Five Days Ago
Daniel leaned his head against the train car window, watching as the world rushed past him at blistering speeds. The world outside appeared blurry - smeared, somehow. All he could see were streaks of green, brown, and gray. Even while sitting in this train car, he could smell the thick, jungle air.
He glanced around his surroundings. Lyara was standing over their shared bed, rummaging through her bag in search of her moisturizer.
After seeing Ari off, the two returned to Macre’n Station. Upon their return, they hopped on the first shuttle back to Silduva Station - Sindula’s largest spaceport.
The ride back was long. They’d both awoken from their overnight train ride a half hour ago. They were due to disembark at Silduva Station in under an hour.
Their accommodations here were cramped. Their room was no more wide than Daniel’s wingspan. Still, the service was adequate, and the food they’d been provided during their trip was good enough.
At any rate, neither of the teens inhabiting the sleeper car had spoken much since parting ways with Ari at Macre’n Station. It was as though her specter seemed to stalk that narrow room, stifling any conversation that could arise.
Her absence was sorely felt. It was as though a void occupied the space she once filled - an anti-person.
He’d been sad to see Ari go.
Daniel knew, deep down, that she was right. He couldn’t fix her. She needed to discover who she was - and her purpose for living - on her own terms.
He was fine with that. It still hurt.
Lyara knew better than to press the issue with him.
Although the nature of her bond with Ari was quite different from his own, she still viewed Ari as a close friend. It’s always bittersweet to see a friend go away, not knowing when - or if - you’ll ever see them again.
Both Daniel and Lyara were also incredibly tired. They’d spent much of the last two and a half weeks stuck on some kind of transportation - whether that be jumping between waystations in a ship, stowing away on smuggler caravans, riding space elevators, or sleeping on trains - all while parting ways with their closest friends. Their voyage across the galaxy was starting to exact its toll on the weary teenagers.
Beyond Sindula, it had never once been discussed where they would be heading next.
Daniel cast a look over at Lyara as she rubbed some sort of cream into her skin. She started on her arms, then her shoulders, and then worked her way up the back of her neck.
She wasn’t leaving him. He wasn’t leaving her. They both knew this. Some things don’t need to be said.
“It’s so fuckin’ nice to have shit like this again.” Lyara commented as she closed the bottle before tossing it back in her bag.
She flopped onto the narrow bed before sitting up. She looked over at Daniel, eyeing his cast.
“How’s your arm?”
Daniel glanced down at his wounded arm. It was still bound so tightly in his chest that he couldn’t move it at all. Still, the bone hadn’t healed. Since leaving the Lixus system, he hadn’t bothered to have his arm seen by a professional.
He probably needed surgery. The bone there had most likely turned to slush when he was shot. At least the pain was more manageable.
“I’ll be fine.” he reassured her.
Lyara stared at him concernedly for a minute before reclining back onto the bed. Laying there, she clasped her hands together over her stomach and kicked her legs up against the wall. Daniel continued sitting in the windowsill, watching the world go by.
“So,” Lyara began, “What are we doing after this?”
Daniel drew in a sharp breath. He sat up straight and turned to face her. She locked eyes with him.
“I don’t know.” he answered honestly. “I guess it depends on where you want to go.”
“And why’s that?” Lyara asked, cocking her head slightly to the side.
“I haven’t had a home for a long time.” he explained. “You, on the other hand… you were taken from yours not that long ago.”
Lyara brought her legs down and sat up on the bed. She shook her head.
“Nah. I was already on my way out when those soldiers picked me up.” she corrected him.
She paused.
“There were people back home who cared for me. They loved me. And I loved them too. They were like family, y’know.” she added reflectively. “But that town was a shithole. Slinging ice - getting wasted - that’s not a life I want to live.”
She met his gaze
“I’ve still got friends there. I’d like to visit them someday. But not right now.”
“Well, if Tezcla’s out of the picture, then where else would you consider going?” Daniel posed.
Lyara released a contemplative huff.
“We can find Kyri and Lakaruch - see what they’re up to.” he suggested.
“No.” Lyara confirmed definitively. “I’m sick of fighting. Not to say their cause isn’t just - it is - but… I’ve had my fill of near-death experiences for now.”
“Alright then. Maybe we can go our own way.” Daniel offered. “Find someplace where we won’t be bothered - where we can blaze our own trail, like the others are doing.”
“But where would we go?” Lyara questioned him. “I have a bad feeling that this war is going to end up swallowing everything. And with you being a Human…” she trailed off.
“I don’t know if there’s any place that’ll be safe for both of us.”
Daniel swallowed. He looked Lyara directly in the eye.
“I can think of one place.” he murmured.
Lyara understood immediately what he was thinking. Her spots quivered.
“The Human Fleet?”
Daniel would be lying if he hadn’t considered heading back there before. Though his home aboard the Los Angeles might have been reduced to rubble, the people living there were still his people. The fleet was isolated, situated far away from the conflict in the Periphery - if war was to come to his people, it would surely be on their own terms.
“Are you sure they’ll… y’know… accept me?” Lyara asked timidly.
“To be honest, I’m not sure.” Daniel answered truthfully. “There are some aliens living there - Rahatnae included. There aren’t many, but they’re out there. There was a guy who lived in my building who owned a deli down the street from my apartment - he and his wife were Rahatnae.”
“My people warred among themselves for a very, very long time. We still do, sometimes.” he continued, thinking back to the riots he watched engulf the Los Angeles. “But being in the position we are, we’ve learned to be more accepting of each other. And - in spite of everything - that acceptance extends to your people as well.”
“We’ll be able to get jobs - find an apartment - we can make it work.” Daniel nodded.
“And you?” Lyara posed, lifting an eyebrow. “You don’t have any… apprehensions?”
Daniel thought for a moment. He shook his head.
“No.” he lied.
Lyara nodded. A slight smirk formed in the corner of her mouth.
“I’m in.”
-----
⁂
-----
Unknown Location
Now
Lyara stared into the mirror. Her reflection stared back.
She was sitting at a table in a barebones room. There was a door in the corner and a wide, one-way mirror directly in front of her.
She swallowed.
This was an interrogation room. She was sure of it.
After being caught in the Alexander’s traction field, Daniel and Lyara’s ship was reeled in and promptly boarded. Men stormed into the cabin, wielding rifles unlike any Lyara had ever seen before. They were covered from head to toe in body armor, concealing their faces. They shouted commands at her and Daniel, obviously slightly on-edge. It was clear they knew about what was happening elsewhere in the galaxy.
Lyara did as Daniel asked - she remained calm. She complied with their orders, placing her hands behind her head and getting on her knees. She was promptly cuffed and led away from the ship.
“We’re gonna be fine, Lyara, alright?! We’re gonna be fine!” were the last words Daniel told her before they were separated.
Lyara did not trust these people. But she did trust Daniel.
She was placed in a small, nondescript holding cell, where she sat for about thirty minutes before being led to another part of the ship. There, she boarded a small, windowless personnel transport - a shuttle of some kind - which promptly disembarked from the Alexander. Her trip was short - lasting no longer than an hour - before disembarking elsewhere. Lyara was led through another empty, unfamiliar hangar, and then through a series of hallways, where she found herself in another cell, where she sat in silence for another hour, with only her thoughts to keep her company. About ten minutes ago, another soldier - clad in full body armor - came to retrieve her from her cell. She was escorted down another series of hallways, before finally ending up here, sitting in this alien room.
She rubbed her wrist. Her cuffs had been removed upon sitting down. She could - theoretically - do whatever she wanted. Still, she decided to remain put.
A deluge of thoughts coursed through her head at that moment. A million hopes - a million fears.
“Stay calm.” she reminded herself, sitting stilly in her chair. She stared directly at her reflection in the mirror. “You’ve got this.”
The door in the corner of the room finally swung open. Two individuals stepped through - both were Humans.
She felt her body tense up.
These Humans looked strange - their appearance was very much unlike Daniel’s. The slimmer of the two was tall - exceptionally tall. Its hair was a striking color - blonde. Lyara had never seen such hair in her life. Creases formed at the corner of its mouth and the skin around its hands and face was beginning to thin.
Because of this individual’s slimmer profile and the presence of pronounced breasts, Lyara surmised this person to be a Human female. She was old, too - she was easily fifty or sixty years old, by the looks of it.
She was dressed in simple attire - black pants and a thin, white, button-up shirt.
Her companion was a male. He was slightly taller than Daniel as well, but even he was considerably shorter than the woman who stood beside him. His hair was dark, like Daniel’s, but his was thicker and longer - more voluminous. He was fairly old as well. He had a sandy complexion and the lower portion of his face was covered in light stubble. His attire was simple and professional, much like that of his partner, with the exception of a thick, black jacket.
There was a sort of iciness behind his dark eyes - he’d seen much in his time. Nothing could faze him.
The two Humans assumed their seats on the opposite side of the table. Even while sitting down, the woman towered over Lyara.
“Good afternoon.” the woman began in perfect Common. Though her tone was severe, Lyara could tell she was trying to sound diplomatic. It probably wasn’t often that these two ran into teenagers.
“I trust that you speak Galactic Common?” the woman continued, bringing up a tablet.
When it took Lyara a moment to respond, the woman glanced down at her.
“You can speak Common, right?”
“Y-yes. I do.” Lyara stammered awkwardly. She was strangely transfixed by the woman’s green eyes. She could feel her spots squirming about her skin.
“Good.” the woman replied.
“I’m Special Agent Miller.” she introduced herself. “My partner here is Special Agent Velasquez. We work with the Department of Central Intelligence, a governmental division within the Federation of Man, ruled by Our Executive Santiago II. You are currently aboard the O.E.S Indianapolis.”
“We mean you no harm. We’d like to ask you questions about your being here.” she said.
“Alrighty then.” she continued. “Please state your name.”
“My name is Lyara.” Lyara responded.
“You don’t have a surname? No… family name?” the woman questioned.
“I don’t know shit about my parents.” Lyara responded, folding her arms across her chest. “So… no. I don’t have a family name.”
She glanced over at the man sitting beside the Human woman. Agent Velasquez hadn’t uttered a word. His hands were clasped atop the table - Lyara couldn’t help but notice a shiny, metal band that wrapped around his index finger.
“What is your planet of origin?” the woman asked.
“Err… I was born on Tezcla.”
“Tezcla.” the woman noted with a nod, jotting down an entry on her tablet. “I hear it’s a gorgeous place.”
“For some.” Lyara scoffed.
“What is your age?”
“I’m nineteen.” Lyara answered. “Though I ought to be twenty pretty soon, if that’s any difference.”
“Are you currently infected with any diseases we should be aware of?” the woman lifted an eyebrow.
“I’d sure fuckin’ hope not.”
“And the passenger you arrived here with - the Human Daniel Reyes - what is your relation to him?” the woman asked dryly.
Her question gave Lyara pause.
“Well…” she reflected. “He’s not my life mate, I guess. But he’s more than a friend, too.”
“He is your boyfriend, then?” Agent Miller suggested.
Lyara frowned. This word - ‘boyfriend’ - sounded reductive to her. What was she to him, then - merely his ‘girlfriend’? Surely they were more than that.
“Boyfriend.” Lyara repeated, hoping to placate the agents. “Yeah. He’s my boyfriend.”
“Good. You two make an… interesting pairing. That’s for sure.” the woman commented. “Why then, are you here?”
“Listen…” Lyara began impatiently. “These past few months have been pretty fucking rough for the two of us. We decided to go here because we knew - he knew - that we’d be safe here.”
“Calm down, Lyara.” Agent Miller tried to reassure her. “All we’re doing is following protocol.”
“Don’t you fucking lie to me about some bullshit protocol you pulled out of your ass.” Lyara spat. “Do you seriously expect me to believe that you have special agents interrogating every single trader and crewmember you come across.”
“Where the fuck is Daniel?!” Lyara demanded, growing more incensed with each passing second. “Where is he?!”
“Stand. Down.” Agent Miller warned her. Her eyes were cold and her lips were pursed.
“I’m not saying another goddamn word until I see Daniel.” Lyara demanded, crossing her arms atop her chest. Her spots swirled wildly about her skin.
Agent Miller glared at her sternly. If looks could kill, Lyara would’ve been atomized then and there. Lyara stared right back.
“Listen, young lady.” the woman tried again. “There’s a war going on. We need to know if we can trust you.”
Lyara remained staunchly silent. She diverted her eyes towards the ceiling in a show of non-cooperation.
Agent Velasquez nudged his counterpart with his arm to grab her attention before tilting his head slightly to the side, suggesting that they speak in private. Agent Miller’s eyes went from Lyara, to Velasquez, and then back to her again.
The two rose from their seats in unison and started towards the door.
“Wait here.” the woman told her before starting out the door.
As the agents passed through the door, Lyara returned her eyes to the withdrawing agents. She sensed an opportunity.
When the two agents’ backs were turned, she immediately bolted from her seat. She vaulted over the table and leapt across the room, charging at the door as quickly as her legs could carry her. She burst through the doorway just before the door fell closed and emerged inside a darkened room.
She froze. Glowing holoscreens illuminated the faces of a half-dozen Human analysts and officers tasked with monitoring Lyara. Agents Miller and Velasquez stood slightly off to the side, about to engage in conversation. They moved to react to Lyara’s escape, but by then it was too late - she was already charging into the next door.
The next door emptied into a long, winding mezzanine that wrapped around a large, open-air, indoor plaza. Hundreds of people - mostly Humans - walked about the plaza floor, all dressed in very professional attire. Engraved in the granite floor, situated between tree planters and benches, was an insignia depicting some winged alien creature, beneath read the words:
“Department of Central Intelligence”
Massive buildings of glass and metal rose around her, striking in their appearance. A large, colorful banner hung from one of the upper floors of the complex, depicting another strange, foreign insignia.
Lyara glanced up, catching a glimpse of the sky. It was a very pale shade of blue, but there was something peculiar about it. Behind that blue sky, she swore she could make out the tops of buildings. There was a city in the sky, protruding downwards towards her. From where she was standing, the buildings appeared to be upside down.
“A cylinder city.” Lyara recalled. According to Daniel, most all of the ships in the Human fleet were designed in such a way.
Lyara returned her attention to the mezzanine ahead. It was packed with people - far more than any other walkway in the building. The Humans were a diverse people - she saw so many different skin tones - so many different hairstyles - so many different facial features.
Agents Miller and Velasquez were hot on her heels. Lyara needed to move. Now.
Lyara proceeded to run through the gathering crowd, pushing and shoving her way through the mass of towering Human bodies. They did not attempt to apprehend her - they simply looked on, slightly perplexed.
Agents Miller and Velasquez continued to pursue her, hurrying through the crowd.
“Stop her!” she heard Velasquez call out, but it was no use - Lyara was already halfway across the building.
Lyara felt in her gut that this crowd wasn’t normal.
“They’re here because of me.” she thought.
“No.” she scolded herself. “They’re here because of Daniel.”
Lyara knew that, at the end of this crowd, she would find Daniel.
She plunged deeper into the crowd in search of the cause of all the commotion, shoving, pushing, and elbowing her way through the mass of people. They seemed to be gathered around a room wedged deep inside the corner of the complex.
When Lyara squeezed through the crowded doorway, which emptied into another, darkened room packed with people, not unlike the one she had just recently escaped from.
Through the one-way window, Lyara could see Daniel. He was sitting at a table.
“Stop her!” came a voice from behind, but before anyone could move to react, Lyara was already approaching the doorway. She barged through the door, stumbling into another interrogation room.
Daniel locked eyes with her as soon as she entered the room. He immediately rose to his feet. Relief flooded her chest.
“Daniel…” she murmured.
-----
⁂
-----
Daniel looked on as Lyara continued to stand there, seemingly incapable of moving. At once, she darted towards him, rushing into his arms. He embraced her tightly. No one spoke. No one needed to.
Two agents - a man and woman - stumbled into the room shortly afterwards. Seeing their close connection, the agents made no motion to apprehend Lyara.
He could feel Lyara’s trepidation. Her body seemed to shudder. She was on-edge. He should’ve expected this - of course she’d be frightened here.
“It’s all right.” Daniel told her as he hugged her. “We’re fine. We’re fine.”
After a while, Lyara backed away from their embrace. Her spots squirmed and wriggled all about her skin.
They weren’t alone in the room. Eight men and women stood on the opposite side of the room, eager to ask him a plethora of questions. Daniel had informed them early on that he’d been involved in the “Lixus Incident,” and would be willing to answer any and all inquiries as to his time there, sending the entire wing into a tizzy.
Daniel was about to begin answering questions when Lyara unexpectedly barged into the room. Now, she stood by his side, still gripping his hand tightly.
He looked back at the men scattered about the room before him. They were all federal agents. In his past life, he’d thought of government workers as slimy, self-serving people that ought to be avoided at any cost. Now, standing in the same room as them - staring at his own flesh for the first time in many years - a sense of duty filled his chest. He wanted to help them. He wanted to help his people.
Daniel glanced at Lyara, and then back at the agents.
“She stays here with me.” he demanded, squeezing her hand slightly.
The agents shared glances with one another in search of a consensus. They didn’t seem to mind.
The foremost of the men - an older black man in a long, gray overcoat - offered a slight nod.
“That’s fine.”
After acquiring their assurances, Daniel sat back down in his seat. Lyara stood behind him, still holding his hand. He felt stronger with her there.
“So,” Daniel began pensively. His eyes flickered between the mixture of agents sitting and standing before him. “Where should I begin?”
-----
⁂
-----
Estate of the Minister of War, Surface Level, Planet Corodon
One Week Later
It was nighttime in the Executive District.
War Minister Alkan Abit sank into his reclining sofa, drink in-hand. He stared out the massive window before him, offering a tremendous view of Corodon’s lush, expansive executive district. In the far distance, the pyramid-shaped Li Muni rose triumphantly into the sky, radiant even in darkness. Ships coursed all throughout the air, bustling about the city even at this late hour.
The ground itself seemed to glow. Deep trenches and expansive tracts cut across the planet’s surface, revealing the uppermost of Corodon’s many sub-levels.
Alkan’s penthouse was among the most coveted in the galaxy.
For as luxurious as his suite was, Alkan’s apartment was relatively bare. The walls were empty and furnishings were scant. Whatever awards and commendations he’d received throughout his long career were tucked safely away in a drawer in his office. Alkan cared little for personal effects.
Bringing the glass to his mouth, Alkan drew a sip of his drink - tinili, an ancient Abgeri beverage. A slight burning sensation engulfed his mouth, filling his chest with warmth. He released a relieved sigh.
He had won.
The war was moving forward. Just an hour ago, he received a memo from an ally of his in the Assembly, informing him that the president’s new war production bill was set to pass. The military’s funding would be tripled through the next ten years.
New intel suggested that the Alliance’s rival states - the Ditnean Empire and the Almerzin Confederacy - were considering entering the war on behalf of the separatists. This war was about to snowball from a police action to a full-blown galactic war - just as he’d planned.
Furthermore, Friya Kava was dead. She and her academy no longer posed a threat to Corodon. While the immense loss of life in the fleet stationed over Lixus-8 and the disintegration of Project Vanguard were all regrettable, Alkan still had reason to hope. He still had many years ahead of him.
In fact, in recent weeks, he’d begun plotting the development of a successor program - Project Speartip.
He’d made a mistake in pulling the sijuan out of their training so soon. This program would last longer. He and the Bureau had also made a mistake in recruiting teenagers. They needed to start younger. Their loyalty to the cause needed to be unwavering.
Alkan took another sip from his tasteless drink. His mouth felt like fire all over again. As he continued to sit there, he thought back to last month’s leak.
Some weeks after the battle over Lixus-8, radicals in the opposition leaked a slew of documents implicating Alkan in the destruction of Albitierre. High-up politicians within the Almerzin Confederacy came forward with similar claims as well. A flurry of discussion followed, which rattled Jakim Kal-Priso’s administration to its very core.
Alkan weathered the storm. He flatly denied before the president that he had any hand in the bombings - a lie, of course, but Jakim was eager to put the whole thing to bed anyway. He later claimed during a press conference that the documents had been forged, either by foreign adversaries or dissidents whose sympathies lie with the terrorists in the Periphery. He even managed to get his allies within the Bureau to fabricate evidence tying the Rim Revolutionary Front to the supposed forgery. The whole fiasco quickly began to fade from public consciousness.
Alkan wasn’t quite out of the woods yet. Whoever had actually leaked the document was still out there, and anyone who bothered to sift through the documents in full would most likely realize that a fabrication of this magnitude would be the most impressive forgery of all time. Indeed, some of his colleagues within the War Ministry viewed him much differently now.
But in any case, even if the documents could be proven to be real, they would prove nothing. All smoke; no fire.
Alkan had won. It wasn’t a perfect victory, or even a good one, but he had survived. Just as he always had. Just as he always would.
Alkan went to take another drink when he heard shouting down the hall. His guards posted outside his penthouse were yelling at someone. His ears perked up in interest.
The shouting suddenly ceased. A period of silence followed.
Uncertainly, Alkan set his glass back on the table before him. He rose from his seat and, cautiously, started towards the door.
The door suddenly slid open, revealing two, young, female adolescents - a teenage Ishiline and a teenage Rahatnae. They were both decked from head-to-toe in tactical gear, wielding rifles and an assortment of other armaments. They waved their guns around the room.
They were not his guards.
Alkan turned to flee.
“He’s getting away!” one of the women yelled. At once, a gunshot rang out inside the penthouse - an energy bolt pierced his shoulder. Alkan yet out a pain cry as he careened towards the ground.
The two girls pursued him, keeping their rifles trained on him even as he tried to crawl away. His heart raced - his mind worked overtime to make sense of what was happening.
More people piled into the room, dressed in the same tactical gear as the two girls. He recognized both of the teens - the Ishiline girl was Kyri Vot-Amejin, Unit 1’s deceased leader, and the Rahatnae girl was Setalasa, Unit 5’s deceased leader.
“Y-you died.” Alkan gasped, stuttering as he struggled to breathe.
The girls paid no mind to his ravings. Kyri began issuing orders to her compatriots.
“Jalepos, cover the door. Kaignan - cut a hole through that window.”
“Aye captain.” came the dutiful response.
“Setalasa, give me I.D.”
The Rahatnae soldiers approached Alkan, who continued to crawl backwards across his floor. She kicked him in his side, shattering a rib and causing him to recoil in pain.
As he struggled there, she pointed a scanner at his face. She thumbed a button and stared at the holoscreen, which promptly flashed blue.
“Yep. That’s him.” she responded, putting away the scanner.
Upon hearing this, Kyri moved closer to Alkan. She placed her boot on his chest, keeping him from moving, while she trained her rifle on his head. She pulled down her mask, revealing her lean features. Her eyes were cold and her scales were dry.
“I wish we could take from you what you stole from us.” she told him sternly.
Alkan tried to plead, but it was no use.
“Death is a mercy you do not deserve.” she continued. “Yet I will bestow my mercy upon you not for your sake, but for the good of the galaxy.”
“The children of Project Vanguard still live. And while we still breathe, no one shall suffer as we once did.”
“Goodbye, Minister.” she concluded. “May you rot in hell.”
Alkan moved to shield his head with his hands, but it was too late. Without another word, Kyri squeezed the trigger, and the world went dark around him.
-----
⁂
-----
8818 Figueroa Dr., Aboard the O.E.S. Los Angeles, The Federation of Man
Now
It was dawn aboard the Los Angeles.
Silence gripped Daniel’s apartment. He lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling.
He was home.
He released a long, drawn-out breath.
He’d been here a week, but only now was the reality of his situation beginning to truly sink in.
It didn’t feel like home. Not yet, anyhow. But he’d find a way to make it work.
Daniel turned to his side. Lyara lay beside him, still deep asleep. There was a small, white patch on her arm, which administered her daily inoculations, boosting her defenses against Human-borne diseases. Her spots slowly wriggled about her face as she slept. Her shoulders rose and fell with the rhythm of her soft breaths.
She was utterly gorgeous.
-----
⁂
-----
After several hours of questioning, Daniel and Lyara were released from detention. They agreed to participate in further questioning at later intervals. The DCI wanted dearly to know what exactly occurred on Lixus-8. He and Lyara divulged any and all information they had pertaining to Project Vanguard, including a copy of the documents Yevin had stolen. He’d already given the agents the broad strokes of what had happened - future sessions would focus on the finer details, including personal testimonies and accounts of the events that took place at the academy.
Due to the extenuating circumstances concerning their arrival, Daniel and Lyara were granted temporary housing aboard a ship of their liking. Daniel, naturally, selected the Los Angeles. It was time for him to come home.
Though the DCI made sure to keep the two on a relatively short leash, Daniel and Lyara made the most of their newfound freedom - freedom from fear.
Lyara’s time aboard the Los Angeles thus far had been short, but eventful. They were too tired to do anything the first day, and they slept through much of the second. On the third day, Daniel took Lyara on a brief tour of the ship. They visited the city center, where she was amazed by the plethora of clothing and lifestyle options at a nearby mall. They ate ice cream, which she loved, and they finished the day at a local taqueria - the same one he and his parents once frequented.
They visited a museum on the fourth day. Lyara learned about the horrors - and triumphs - humanity experienced during The War. She learned about old Earth and got to see relics from mankind’s devastated homeworld, including all sorts of unique artifacts and priceless works of art. Daniel chuckled at what Lyara had to say about a print of the Mona Lisa:
“I hate the way that bitch is looking at me.”
On the fifth day, they visited a zoo, where all sorts of unusual animals from old Earth roamed. She fell in love with lemurs and dolphins, the latter of which she crowned “the most beautiful species to ever live.” Later that afternoon, Daniel had corrective surgery done on his shoulder. He was still in the recovery process.
Yesterday, Daniel and Lyara spent much of the afternoon at a fair in the Ventura district. Lyara rode on her first - and last - thrill ride. After getting off the ride, it took her nearly an hour for her to work up the courage to stand again.
It was there that she made her first friend - a six year-old girl in a princess dress named Arkady, who complimented her on her beauty.
Things had changed aboard the Los Angeles since Daniel was last here. The city recovered well from the riots that precipitated his flight from the fleet - new townhomes were being built every day to replace those that were burned. The city government had changed as well - the new administration was much more willing to make compromises between the ship’s various interests. Poverty was down and well-being was up. His old crew’s hideout - a warehouse in Gran Lopez - had been toppled, replaced by a thriving church.
Things were getting better.
-----
⁂
-----
After some time, Lyara began to stir. She yawned and stretched, grunting softly as she raised her arms over her head. She relaxed back into their bed.
Daniel looked on as she rubbed one eye.
“Goddamn.” she murmured. “What time is it?”
“It’s a little late.” Daniel admitted. “We’ve still got some time to ourselves, though. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”
“Ugh.” Lyara groaned tiredly, burying her head into the pillow. “Don’t remind me.”
The two lay there in silence for a minute. Rays of warm, gentle morning light streamed into the room, filtering through the blinds, settling on their bed.
“Y’know,” Lyara began as she adjusted the blanket around her. “I just had the weirdest fuckin’ dream.”
“What kinda dream?” Daniel inquired.
Lyara shot him a coquettish smirk. She shook her head.
“I’m not telling.”
“What do you mean?” Daniel chuckled. “You can’t just tell me you had a crazy dream and then proceed not to describe it to me.”
“Well, if I were to tell you, it wouldn’t come true.” Lyara replied, still smiling to herself.
“What kind of logic is that?” Daniel chuckled. “It must’ve been a good dream, then, right?”
Lyara paused for a moment before nodding, struggling to conceal her grin.
“That’s fine. Yes, Daniel - for your information, it was a good dream.”
“Well that’s nice.”
The two simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Daniel rested his hands atop his chest. He noticed Lyara staring at his fingers.
“That metal band some Humans wear around their fingers…” she ventured. “What’s the significance? What’s it mean?”
“Humans have this thing called marriage.” Daniel explained. “It’s kinda like the whole… life mate thing, y’know - where two people form an exclusive relationship and decide to devote themselves to their relationship.”
“Wearing that band - we call it a wedding ring - signifies that those two people are married. It’s the ultimate step in any relationship.”
“And that’s it? They’re together for life?”
“Sometimes.” Daniel admitted. “Sometimes it takes people a while to figure out that they’re not supposed to be together. Other times, it’s lasting. Depends on the people, really.”
“Interesting.” Lyara commented. “Would you like to marry me, Daniel?”
Daniel’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He nearly cringed out of his skin.
“What?” Lyara grinned, amused by his reaction. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, it’s just…” Daniel murmured, rubbing his face. “It’s not a question that can be asked lightly. You’re not supposed to propose that way.”
“Propose?”
“And to answer your question: ask me again in a year.” Daniel smiled. “We can’t marry ‘til we’re twenty-one.”
“And in that case, you’ll become Lyara Reyes. Mrs. Lyara Reyes, for that matter.” he noted.
“Fuck no.” Lyara joked, covering her hands with her face. “I take it back.”
Daniel glanced to his side. He picked a tablet up off a nearby nightstand. Displayed on the front was today’s news headline:
SANTIAGO II SIGNS CHARTER FOR RESETTLEMENT OF EARTH
Depicted below the headline was an image of Earth. It was a vast, desolate rock, not all that different in appearance from Lixus-8, sans the dust shroud. Though the seas had mostly dried up, the outlines of all the old continents were still visible.
If one were to peer closely, the oceans were beginning to return. Small, dark spots scattered throughout the planet indicated places where water was beginning to pool up.
Life was returning.
“What do you think about that?” Lyara inquired.
“I think it’s a good thing.” Daniel answered. “Congress will be pissed, given the war and all, but I think Santiago is right.”
“We can’t keep running away.”
-----
⁂
-----
It was noon now. He and Lyara had planned on doing nothing today, but late last night, he received interesting news from the DCI:
Daniel’s parents were alive.
They were listed as living in the San Dimas region, having moved there after their apartment block was destroyed.
Daniel decided that he would visit them today. Neither of them knew he was still alive.
After waking and eating breakfast, Lyara took a shower. As she was getting dressed in their bedroom, Daniel stepped into the bathroom. He slipped out of his nightwear and, turning, took a long look at himself in the mirror.
He appeared thin - shrunken, somehow. His body was covered in all sorts of scars, ranging from blaster burns to deep lacerations. His right arm was covered by a sling, still firmly bound to his chest.
“This is who I am.” he thought as the room began to fill with steam.
Daniel stepped into the shower. The warm water felt good against his skin. His muscles loosened - his shoulders relaxed. He closed his eyes and angled his head towards the showerhead, allowing water to roll down his face and neck.
When he looked down, he noticed the branding on the back his left hand:
2-1
The etched skin was raised and slightly discolored. The lettering was starting to fade - it was nearly indistinguishable from a distance - yet there it lingered, like a scar.
It was at that moment that it all came flooding back:
Project Vanguard.
The Trials.
The Tribulations.
The rivalries.
The fights.
The classrooms.
The cafeteria.
The canyon.
His cell.
The compound.
The airfield.
The Pinov’e.
His reunion with Ari.
The beach.
Daniel slipped. He fell backwards, landing on the shower floor.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t blink. He couldn’t think. All he could do was sit there as water pounded against his head.
He was here now. He was safe. Lyara was safe.
Relief and regret, hope and fear, joy and anger, love and hate - all these emotions flooded his body. It was as though a dam broke somewhere inside his chest - everything he’d spent the past two years repressing or bottling up suddenly came spilling out.
Daniel - for the first time in a very long time - started to cry.
His face broke apart, quickly becoming contorted and warped with pain. His cheeks became flushed with blood. His eyes watered. Then, he let out a long, pitiful wail. Snot bubbled out of his nose and tears streamed down his face, mixing with the water that streamed down from above.
His chest heaved up and down as he struggled to breathe, sputtering and choking for air.
Outside the bathroom, Lyara’s covered her mouth with her hand, her back to the door. Her eyes were red with tears - she struggled to contain her own sobs.
Daniel tried to rise to his feet, but failed, causing him to break apart all over again. He let out another long, anguished wail before crying so hard that no sound came from his mouth.
It was over.
-----
⁂
-----
After about a half hour of crying, Daniel began to recover. When it was all said and done, he finally stepped out of the shower. He dried himself, got dressed, and splashed some cologne on his neck. After completing his look, he stepped out of the bathroom and glanced at a nearby clock - they had only minutes to spare if they were to catch the next bus to San Dimas.
Lyara stepped into the living room. She was wearing a simple, flowery sundress that caught her eye the other day. It was supposed to be warm today.
Her eyes were still red. Daniel could tell she’d been crying, just as he had.
“You ready?” she asked him as casually as she could while she finished fixing her hair.
Daniel hesitated.
The truth was that he would never be ready. When he first set out for the Human Fleet, he’d hoped to find peace here - purpose. He had thought of the Human Fleet not as another step in his journey, but as a destination. He realized now that the Human Fleet was no destination at all. There were problems here he had to solve - trials he needed to face.
Life itself is a journey. It has no stopping points - it has no destination. It is bound to time much as we are bound to the earth beneath our feet. Life goes on, dragging us all - willingly or not - into the future.
Daniel needed to move on. Perhaps he would. Perhaps he wouldn’t. Perhaps some scars run too deep to ever fully heal. In the past, he might’ve dealt with situations like this by cutting loose and running. He couldn’t do that - not anymore.
He needed to try.
Daniel met Lyara’s gaze. She tried to probe his face, searching desperately for an answer.
“Yeah.” he lied.
THE END

My three players were doing so well until we played on a Friday night and they decided to drink&play...
Spoilers for America chapter of Masks.
Going to Ju-Ju house for the first time, just after closing time, they mess around a bit and decide to go straight for a reckless forceful break-in without any proper tools. Failing a hard STR roll, they luck their way into a piece of iron and a wood wedge to push the roll, getting a generous triple bonus dice and a warning of dire consequences if they fail...
No prize for guessing what happened. As they had been quite brazen, and already failed a group luck roll approaching the courtyard, cultists were already watching, and decided to call Robson. I ended the session on a "Freeze, Police" just as they got the door open.
They are now caught red handed and cornered. What would Captain Robson do?
Additional tidbits:
- Using some Pulp rules; they are all injured from a fumbled pushed drive roll while speeding on a nighttime road trip in a snowstorm (two reckless actions; coincidence?). If they decide to fight, it's a TPK.
- 2 of 3 investigators are wanted (by description, not name) by the police for shooting at a cult member near the Lafayette Theater some days prior (and three makes a pattern!)
- The 3rd investigator has met and spoken to Robson at a speakeasy, so he might recognize her.
- They have since done a serious effort to stay low, using aliases, changing hotels, disguises etc. They are currently poorly disguised as hobos but all have changed hairstyles and colors.
- The investigators are 2 white women and 1 black man, a weird combo in nighttime Harlem
- A ritual is planned to take place the next day.
- They are basically done with NYC, except all things Erica Carlyle.
Player actions and rolls will of course decide this, but I am brainstorming ideas on how Robson should react to this scene, and what he does if the players keep fucking this up, which I think they will:
Easy mode: Robson takes them for hobos, lets them off, no further consequences. I feel I cannot let this one slide, I've let them off too easy before and don't want this to turn into D&D.
More realistic: Robson lets them off with a warning, but also warns the cult, which promptly torches the place destroying all evidence. Investigators are left with picking up the rest of clues about Carlyle et al, but the cult gets away and Hilton Adams gets the chair.
Pulpy: Arrest with a chance of escaping. May result in having to flee NYC without meeting Erica Carlyle. Robson warns the cult, who gets away while Hilton dies.
Hardcore: Robsons men knock them out / force them into wooden shipping crates which he gives to the cult. They are brought into the basement and left to stew for a day before the ritual, and can only listen to Millie being sacrificed before it is their turn...
I am leaning towards the latter two. Other ideas and feedback are most appreciated!

I need advice navigating circumstances involving my partners narcissistic mom.
I (23F) started seeing my partner (M24) in 2021. We knew each other for a few years before getting together, so I had interacted with his mom and experienced some of her bad temperament at friends’ birthdays etc. where she was invited since she went to school with some of our friends’ parents.
Partner is in STEM and working fulltime. I’m a psychologist, have my honours in community and health psychology. Where I am, you can only register as a counsellor until you get your master’s degree and specialisation, which I have deferred acceptance into so I can earn and not take another student loan. My job is important for my current issue.
To cut a long story short, my partner’s father left when he was about 8 and his mother has been his primary parent since custody was granted to her. When we started going out I was shocked to witness the way she speaks to him. It’s always negative, twisting a small difference of opinion into a personal attack on her then gaslighting and baiting ensues to try get a reaction out of him. She’s made both of us cry at points. Unsurprisingly, this woman physically abused him when he was in school and was the cause of many split lips and black eyes. She also taught him to hate his father (FIL) and to this day speaks poorly of FIL as well as his new wife and my partners 8 year old half-sister, thankfully his relationship with his dad (44M) is a lot better now that he’s realised that. About 6 months into our relationship the emotional abuse and tantrums started to be directed at me too, and the behaviour has only escalated over time. This weekend a line was crossed for me, and I’m also genuinely concerned for her mental state/stability.
The consistent toxic behaviours I see include:
Throwing tantrums and being passive aggressive if we go on dates or do activities as a couple and don’t include her.
If my partner has me and some friends over, she finds a way to force herself in and “jokingly” mock and take jabs to degrade my partner which she tries to rope people into agreement with her. Its awkward as hell.
Controlling food. She tries to force feed my partner and will even shove food in his mouth after he says no, if he avoids this she throws a tantrum and takes it as a huge rejection
Everything has to be done on her time or we’re lazy screw ups
She’s a conspiracy and religious fanatic. God forbid you got a vaccine or take meds for your mental health. She genuinely doesn’t believe in modern medicine and calls everyone stupid for trusting science not god. So another “her way is the only way” issue.
Consistent acts to undermine whatever I do. More than half of the time I do dishes or clean the kitchen she’s said she did dishes, I don’t know if she knows she’s lying or if she’s fully delusional.
She always intervenes when my partner and I cook together and I get so annoyed I just leave the room. Food is a major source of her sense of control, so god forbid you don’t prep or cook food her way.
Her body language and behaviours toward my partner are inappropriate. She’s touchy with him, and clearly gets weird when he and I are affectionate. She literally wedges herself between my partner and I when we’re standing and talking, and sits on the bed if we’re in bed and I feel so gross because we sleep naked and she doesn’t knock so I always rush to cover myself and feel like my privacy and person are not respected. She’s called me a whore because she saw me naked when she walked into the room when I was changing and she saw my nipple piercings and tattoos.
She never knocks. She has just walked in on me showering to get something out the bathroom, I now lock the door. Does this to my partner very often and its gross.
I’m a bit conservative when it comes to people seeing my body. My family has always respected the knock rule and if I say I’m not dressed they won’t come in. MIL on the other hand does not seem to grasp this social norm or respect my boundary around this and gets upset if I try keeping the door closed because I don’t want her to see my naked or half dressed body. She also walks around in just a shirt and panties often, so I tend to retreat to my partners room and try not venture out.
She tries to control everything. The recent fixation is getting my partner to change his hairstyle to one she likes. Despite his consistent and firm rejections of the idea, its been an issue and something she somehow turns into a fight every time she brings it up. She actually got him a gold ring custom made for his birthday the year before we got together, thank god she screwed up the sizing because it was apparently meant to fit his ring finger. He kinda has to wear it when he goes out or she asks why he isn’t wearing it. She expects him to treat her like his wife, the ring is just one aspect of the inappropriate nature of her interactions with him. She gets upset if he forgets to wear it out. She also expects him to look after her needs in the way a partner should, like he pays her a monthly amount which more than covers the utility bill as well as groceries, added her to his medical aid plan as a dependent, and she still keeps passive aggressively saying shit like “oh everything’s so expensive” and when he asked when the leak in the roof was going to be fixed she said he must sort it out because “its your girlfriend that’s allergic to mould” as if black mould isn’t generally toxic.
Side note: she is a hairdresser so any conversations around mine or my partners hair is done with an attitude of “You know f-all about this my opinion is right. She’s tried to cut my hair and dye it, but I politely decline because no way am I letting her near me with sharp objects and give her the ability to ruin my hairstyle.
When I started seeing my partner I was in a manic state (I’m bipolar, this is important for later) and decided to cut my hair to a jaw length bob, bleach it, and dye it a different colour every month or so. About halfway through 2021 I had enough of that admin and went back to my natural colour and have been growing my hair. This psycho had a pixie cut and then started growing her hair after she realised I was growing mine. This is another reason her constant offers to cut my hair and layer it are whack, I have tight curls because I’m mixed and prefer to have a uniform cut because of how my natural curl sits but apparently I’m wrong about how I like my own hair too.
Constant backhanded/passive aggressive comments. Her favourite used to be saying all she’s good for is being a maid, but that’s changed this year because I’ve picked up majority of the housework if I’m over. I do it as damage control, one less thing for her to have a hissy over.
Laughing behind a closed door? Illegal in the house. She barges in and asks what’s going on, why are you behaving like children, or some garbage to squash the mood.
My partner and I both had less than ideal childhoods, but because my family is nuclear I guess it was easier for us to work on our dynamics once I grew up a bit during my undergrad. He is a truly gentle soul who hadn’t been shown much patience or love without strings attached. He speaks to me in a baby talk voice I guess? It’s a good thing he feels safe enough to do that, and just let out goofy emotions by doing a little bop if I cook good food or just grabbing me and saying something along the lines of “it’s the me’s love!” excitedly. Obviously whenever she hears this she has a rant and tries to make him feel bad for doing this, like its sinful in her eyes I guess. She manages to be so abrasive and confrontational no matter what the interaction is on, she has to come out on top and win or have the last word.
So, those are the consistent toxic behaviours I take issue with. For the past 2 and a bit years I’ve been subjected to her antics. She never has anything nice to say, and she seems to only want to break her son down, and now that our relationship is clearly stable and we’re planning to move in together next year she’s getting worse to be around. Her outbursts and constant seeking for fights is getting more frequent.
Anywho, the crux of the issue: I had to admit myself to a clinic in August due to the severity of a depressive episode. In the clinic I realised this environment was a major factor in my episode, and the decision to move out of our family homes next year was set when I got out. Taking a break allowed me to realise all of this is her insecurity and I don’t take as much offense, I also speak up for myself if she tries to have a go at me which usually ends up with her being too shocked to speak.

THE DILEMMA: 

MIL is showing signs of decline. My partner has raised concerns about her forgetfulness. She’s left the garage door open and they had stuff stolen as a result on 3 occasions in the past year. She forgets to check if the gas stove burner is actually lit, and has set off the carbon monoxide alarms many times. I’ve also noticed this getting worse at a worrying pace.
Today I raised my concerns about her decline, and the fact that it could be why her behaviour is becoming worse when I saw my psychiatrist this morning. My issue was the worsening of her behaviour, increased irritability, poor memory/concentration has coincided with new whack behaviours. She has autolalia, and clanging (speech disturbances), and her already low awareness of how she interacts with the world is shrinking still. Her driving has also gotten worse. Dementia runs in her family, so I raised this and my psychiatrist agreed I should speak to my partner about it because it’s serious.
I don’t know what to do. This woman does not believe in medicine, and as someone who sees stuff like this in my work I’m concerned if she refuses to take this as concern and go to the doctor she’ll deteriorate in the same rapid way her mom did (her mom died at 70, so she isn’t far off). It’s also a difficult thing for me, because this is bad news and he’ll have to be the one to encourage her to deal with her health.
How? How can I offer care and support to someone who does not believe in the medical model and scientifically backed interventions? How can I break this to my partner and somehow sugarcoat it enough that he can encourage her to get a check up? If she declines it will obviously hurt him, and despite my dislike of the woman I don’t want her to go through that and have my partner watch his mom go in the same way his grandmother did.
Any help is appreciated. This was also a vent for me because I’m still in shock. I did not want to be right about this.
TLDR: My MIL sucks, I am concerned for her wellbeing, but I know there’ll be drama if this concern is raised based on her behaviour.

Tolkien’s Elves – both male and female – tend to be depicted in a certain way: tall, slender, beautiful, beardless, and with no significant sexual dimorphism in general (sexual dimorphism refers to the physical differences between male and female members of a species, such as size).
I have already written at length about male Elves wearing their hair long in the same way as female Elves do (https://www.reddit.com/tolkienfans/comments/x8arb5/hairstyles_and_hair_length_of_elves_and_men_in/). But I was interested in whether Elves are in fact as androgynous as they are depicted, and particularly in the differences between male Elves and men.
Beauty
One of the first things you are taught when you learn English as a foreign language is that “beautiful” the adjective used for women, while “handsome” is used for men. I was specifically taught not to use “beautiful” to describe men.
However, this is different for Elves in the Legendarium. Both male and female Elves are generally described as “beautiful” and “fair” (apart from Nerdanel, that is, who “was not among the fairest of her people”, HoME X, p. 272). Of course Lúthien, Idril, Aredhel and Galadriel are repeatedly described as beautiful.
But male Elves are also called “beautiful” and “fair”, rather than “handsome”. (The word “handsome” doesn’t appear at all in the Silmarillion and is never used for Elves in LOTR.)
Here’s a list of some descriptions of male Elves as “beautiful” or “fair”:

• Maedhros: “he was of beautiful bodily form” (HoME XII, p. 353).
• Fëanor: “He was tall, and fair of face, and masterful, his eyes piercingly bright and his hair raven-dark; in the pursuit of all his purposes eager and steadfast.” (The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion, ch. 6)
• Finrod Felagund: “Finrod was like his father in his fair face and golden hair” (HoME XII, p. 337).
• The epithet of Celegorm the Fair may refer to his looks (see my discussion here: https://www.reddit.com/tolkienfans/comments/y4md1w/cheatsheet_the_house_of_finwë_in_valino).
• Celeborn: “Very tall they were, and the Lady no less tall than the Lord; and they were grave and beautiful.” (LOTR, p. 354)

(Túrin is also described as beautiful: “dark-haired and pale-skinned, with grey eyes, and his face more beautiful than any other among mortal Men, in the Elder Days”: The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion, ch. 21. Túrin took after his mother Morwen, who had been the “proudest and most beautiful of mortal women in the days of old”, The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion, ch. 22 – and Morwen was called “Eledhwen”, because she was so like an Elf, implying that her son, who is so much like her, is also quite Elf-like.)
No beards
Male Elves generally have no beards, just like female Elves (meanwhile, both male and female Dwarves have beards, see below).

• In a very late text (1972–1973), Tolkien wrote: “This [lack of beards], I said, I supposed not to be due to any custom of shaving, but a racial characteristic. None of the Eldar had any beards, and this was a general racial characteristic of all Elves in my ‘world’.” (NoME, p. 187)
• Some years earlier, Tolkien had written that “Elves did not have beards until they entered the third cycle of life. Nerdanel’s father […] was exceptional, being only early in his second.” (NoME, p. 189, fn. 2)

Whichever it is (Elves generally never grown beards, or Elves generally only ever grow beards when very old), beards aren’t generally part of the physical characteristics of male Elves.
Voices
There doesn’t seem to be a large difference between the voices of male and female Elves. Elven voices are clear, fair and musical, and the only Elf who is noted for their deep voice is Galadriel – none of the male Elves are said to have deep voices.

• Galadriel’s voice: “Her voice was clear and musical, but deeper than woman’s wont.” (LOTR, p. 355) (As for why Galadriel’s voice is surprisingly deep for a woman, I have a not very serious theory for you: bbc.com/worklife/article/20180612-the-reasons-why-womens-voices-are-deeper-today.)
• Glorfindel’s voice: “His speech and clear ringing voice left no doubt in their hearts: the rider was of the Elven-folk. No others that dwelt in the wide world had voices so fair to hear.” (LOTR, p. 209)
• Fingon’s voice: “and his voice, strong and sweet, rang in the mournful hollows that had never heard before aught save cried of fear and woe” (HoME V, p. 251).

(In the earliest version of the Fall of Gondolin, the Elves have clearly never heard the voice of a Man like Tuor: “Then all who listened grew silent, and [Tuor’s] deep and rolling voice held them in amaze, for their own voices were fair as the plash of fountains.” (FoG, The Original Tale, p. 54) However, this is a very early text and the Elves were more “fairylike” at the time.)
Height
In general, the Elves, or at least the Noldor, were quite tall, both male Elves and female Elves.

• In Appendix F we are told that the Eldar “were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finarfin; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that now is heard.” (LOTR, p. 1137, fn omitted) A footnote specifies that this physical description “in fact applied only to the Noldor”, referring to HoME I (LOTR, p. 1137, fn. 1). Concerning this mix-up, Christopher Tolkien states: “Thus these words describing characters of face and hair were actually written of the Noldor only, and not of all the Eldar: indeed the Vanyar had golden hair […]. But I am unable to determine how this extraordinary perversion of meaning arose.” (HoME I, p. 44). Still, the Noldor at least were tall, and we see Vanyarin and Sindarin Elves being described as tall as well.
• “Fingolfin was his father’s son, tall, dark, and proud, as were most of the Ñoldor” (HoME XII, p. 336).
• Fëanor: “He was tall, and fair of face, and masterful, his eyes piercingly bright and his hair raven-dark; in the pursuit of all his purposes eager and steadfast.” (The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion, ch. 6)
• Maedhros is known as “the tall” (The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion, ch. 5).
• Indis is “golden-haired and tall, and in all ways unlike Míriel” (The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion, ch. 6).
• Turgon: “tallest of all the Children of the World, save Thingol” (UT, p. 74).
• Aredhel: “when she was grown to full stature and beauty she was tall and strong, and loved to ride and hunt in the forests.” (The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion, ch. 5)
• Galadriel and Celeborn: “Very tall they were, and the Lady no less tall than the Lord; and they were grave and beautiful.” (LOTR, The Mirror of Galadriel, p. 354). Galadriel is “the tallest of all the women of the Eldar of whom tales tell” (UT, p. 370).

However, it appears that male Elves were generally taller than female Elves, Galadriel (a Noldo who had seen the Trees) and Celeborn (a Sinda, but whose name means either “Silver-Tall” or “Silver-Tree”, https://www.elfdict.com/w/celeborn/s?include\_old=1, both of which refer to his height) notwithstanding: “The Ouendi were in origin a tall people. The Eldar were those who accepted the invitation of the Valar to remove from Middle-earth and set forth on the Great March to the Western Shores of Middle-earth.
They were in general the stronger and taller members of the Elvish folk at that time. In Eldarin tradition it was said that even their women were seldom less than 6 ft. in height; their full-grown elfmen no less than 6 ft. 6, while some of the great kings and leaders were taller.” (NoME, p. 194)
Strength
Elves tend to be strong and fast, both male and female Elves:

• “Indeed in dire straits or desperate defence, the nissi fought valiantly, and there was less difference in strength and speed between elven-men and elven-women that had not borne child than is seen among mortals.” (HoME X, p. 213) So LACE tells us that there is lower sexual dimorphism between male and female Elves (who haven’t had children yet) than between men and women.
• Indis “was golden-haired, and tall, and exceedingly swift of foot” (HoME X, p. 237).
• Aredhel: “when she was grown to full stature in beauty she was tall and strong, and loved much to ride and hunt in the forests.” (The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion, ch. 5)
• And strength was clearly prized, so much so that Elves named their children for their physical strength: Celegorm’s father-name is “Turkafinwë ‘strong, powerful (in body)’” (HoME XII, p. 352).

But it appears that even the strongest male Elves are less strong than the strongest Men:

• Fingon would certainly be strong for an Elf, being a prince of the Noldor who had seen the Trees, the older brother of “tall and strong” Aredhel, and known for his physical feats of daring; he seems to effortlessly duel Gothmog, who had just thrust Turgon and Húrin aside, and only dies because he’s attacked from behind by another Balrog during the duel: “Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, high-captain of Angband, was come; and he drove a dark wedge between the Elvenhosts, surrounding King Fingon, and thrusting Turgon and Húrin aside towards the Fen of Serech. Then he turned upon Fingon. That was a grim meeting. At last Fingon stood alone with his guard dead about him; and he fought with Gothmog, until another Balrog came behind and cast a thong of fire about him.” (The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion, ch. 20)
• However, when Maedhros gives Fingon the Dragon-helm, one of apparently many gifts exchanged between them, Fingon finds it too heavy to wear, while the strongest men in Hithlum are able to use it: “But in all Hithlum no head and shoulders were found stout enough to bear the dwarf-helm with ease, save those of Hador and his son Galdor.” (UT, p. 98) “Húrin did not wear the Dragon-helm with ease” either (UT, p. 98), but Túrin would of course later wear it and become famous for it. Túrin, grandson of Galdor, is of course one of the strongest Men in the Legendarium: “The blade scored it with a dreadful gash, but those hideous folds could not be pierced by any strength of men, not though Elf or Dwarf should forge the steel or the hand of Beren or of Túrin wield it.” (LOTR, p. 728) (Since this statement refers to “strength of men”, we cannot say that this quote proves that the strongest Men are stronger than the strongest Elves and Dwarves.)

The implication is that the strongest Men are stronger than the strongest male Elves.
What does this mean?
We know that both male and female Elves are tall and strong, although male Elves are taller, and that the strength difference between male and female Elves is less than that between men and women. How would this work? Simple: male Elves have less muscle mass than (male) Men, so that male and female Elves of the same height would have similar amounts of muscle mass.
This is also supported by a comment Tolkien made concerning depictions of Legolas. Christopher Tolkien writes that, “Ultimately, of course, the Elves shed all associations and qualities that would be now commonly considered ‘fairylike’, and those who remained in the Great Lands in Ages of the world at this time unconceived were to grow greatly in stature and in power: there was nothing filmy or transparent about the heroic or majestic Eldar of the Third Age of Middle-earth. Long afterwards my father would write, in a wrathtul comment on a ‘pretty’ or ‘ladylike’ pictorial rendering of Legolas: He was tall as a young tree, lithe, immensely strong, able swiftly to draw a great war-bow and shoot down a Nazgûl, endowed with the tremendous vitality of Elvish bodies, so hard and resistant to hurt that he went only in light shoes over rock or through snow, the most tireless of all the Fellowship.” (HoME II, p. 327)
So Legolas was tall and strong, as Elves generally are (see above) – but he was still lithe.
This is also confirmed by Niënor, a young human woman of the House of Hador, easily passing for a male Sindarin soldier: the Elven soldiers of Doriath accompanying Morwen to Nargothrond are “tall”, but Niënor is as tall or taller than most of them: “Tall and strong she seemed; for of great stature were those of Hador’s house, and thus clad in Elvish raiment she matched well with the guards, being smaller only than the greatest among them.” (CoH, p. 202)
A look at the Dwarves
Dwarves also have low (or practically non-existent) sexual dimorphism, but very differently than the Elves.

• “The Naugrim were ever, as they still remain, short and squat in stature; they were deep-breasted, strong in the arm, and stout in the leg, and their beards were long. Indeed this strangeness they have that no Man nor Elf has ever seen a beardless Dwarf – unless he were shaven in mockery, and would then be more like to die of shame than of many other hurts that to us would seem more deadly.” (HoME XI, p. 205)
• “It was said by Gimli that there are few dwarf-women, probably no more than a third of the whole people. They seldom walk abroad except at great need. They are in voice and appearance, and in garb if they must go on a journey, so like to the dwarf-men that the eyes and ears of other peoples cannot tell them apart. This has given rise to the foolish opinion among Men that there are no dwarf-women, and that the Dwarves ‘grow out of stone’.” (LOTR, App. A, p. 1080)
• If that wasn’t clear enough, Tolkien says explicitly that Dwarf-women have beards: “For the Naugrim have beards from the beginning of their lives, male and female alike; not indeed can their womenkind be discerned by those of other race, be it in feature or in gait to in voice, not in any wise save this: that they go not to war and seldom save at direst need issue from their deep bowers and halls.” (HoME XI, p. 205)

Further thoughts
I find it interesting that Tolkien has two races, the Elves and the Dwarves, that are each associated with the sexual characteristics of one sex: the Elves have more feminine or neutral physical characteristics (beardless, beautiful, lithe and with clear voices) and the Dwarves have more masculine physical characteristics (bearded, stout, with deep chests).
Interestingly, both races are strictly monogamous and marry only once in their lives:

• Elves: “The Eldar wedded once only in life, and for love or at the least by free will upon either part.” (HoME X, p. 210) When Finwë wanted to remarry, the Valar debated this and eventually allowed him to marry Indis, on the condition that Finwë, Indis and Míriel would never be alive at the same time again. Divorce isn’t an option.
• Dwarves: “For Dwarves take only one wife or husband each in their lives, and are jealous, as in all matters of their rights.” (LOTR, App. A, p. 1080)

Which of course reminded me of this quote: “According to Daly and Wilson, ‘The sexes differ more in human beings than in monogamous mammals, but much less than in extremely polygamous mammals.’” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sexual\_dimorphism, fn. 92, referring to the following source: Daly M, Wilson M (1996). “Evolutionary psychology and marital conflict”. In Buss DM, Malamuth NM (eds.), Sex, Power, Conflict: Evolutionary and Feminist Perspectives, Oxford University Press, p. 13.)
There seems to be a connection between strict monogamy and low sexual dimorphism. Is this what Tolkien had in mind? Very unlikely, but I still find it interesting.
So yes, Elves are androgynous, and there is less of a physical difference (in size, strength, voice etc.) between male and female Elves than between men and women. In general, and I know that this might be a bit too scientific, it sounds like male Elves don’t produce as much testosterone as men do, which would explain why they are generally lithe and beardless, why their voices are clear, and why there isn’t much of a strength difference between male and female Elves.
Sources:

• The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien, HarperCollins 2007 (softcover) [cited as: LOTR].
• The Silmarillion, JRR Tolkien, ed Christopher Tolkien, HarperCollins, ebook edition February 2011, version 2019-01-09 [cited as: The Silmarillion].
• Unfinished Tales of Númenor & Middle-earth, JRR Tolkien, ed Christopher Tolkien, HarperCollins 2014 (softcover) [cited as: UT].
• The Children of Húrin, JRR Tolkien, ed Christopher Tolkien, HarperCollins 2014 (softcover) [cited as: CoH].
• The Fall of Gondolin, JRR Tolkien, ed Christopher Tolkien, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt 2018 (hardcover) [cited as: FoG].
• The Book of Lost Tales Part One, JRR Tolkien, Christopher Tolkien, HarperCollins 2015 (softcover) [cited as: HoME I].
• The Book of Lost Tales Part Two, JRR Tolkien, Christopher Tolkien, HarperCollins 2015 (softcover) [cited as: HoME II].
• The Lost Road and Other Writings, JRR Tolkien, Christopher Tolkien, HarperCollins 2015 (softcover) [cited as: HoME V].
• Morgoth’s Ring, JRR Tolkien, Christopher Tolkien, HarperCollins 2015 (softcover) [cited as: HoME X].
• The War of the Jewels, JRR Tolkien, Christopher Tolkien, HarperCollins 2015 (softcover) [cited as: HoME XI].
• The Peoples of Middle-earth, JRR Tolkien, Christopher Tolkien, HarperCollins 2015 (softcover) [cited as: HoME XII].
• The Nature of Middle-earth, JRR Tolkien, ed Carl F Hostetter, HarperCollins 2021 (hardcover) [cited as: NoME].

Isabelle is a very well liked and popular Animal Crossing character due to mainly her cuteness and how helpful she is. Personally, I really enjoy Animal Crossing, and I do enjoy learning about lore, and have learned a lot about the main NPCs and their backstories. While I (for the most part) like Isabelle's design, I don't really like her character, and I'll explain why.
Going back to some of the original NPCs, they actually had some stories behind them, and believable stories at that as well as believable personalities. I know, they're video game animals, but hear me out. Tom Nook has a whole backstory about growing up and essentially being a lil country bumpkin boy who has dreams and a best friend. After he got into some pretty bad situations in the city and was betrayed and robbed by Redd, Tom was shaped into a more street-smart man as well as a depressed and cynical outlook on life. He'd snap at his friends and his values became twisted. Overtime, he's become kinder and more soft, becoming a single father figure to two boys he adopted. However, in the older games, there has been dialog of villagers not liking Tom Nook, thinking he's a pompous jerk.
Now let's move on to the Able Sisters. Sable had a tragic backstory of her parents dying while she and her sisters were young. Label moved away to chase her dreams, souring the relationship between her and Sable. Sable had to spend her life raising Mabel and working non-stop to provide for her. Her best friend moved to the city and shaped him into a person she really didn't want him to become. It drove a wedge between them in their adulthood, and Sable even started to hate city people. Losing four people she was close to, it's safe to assume that Sable may have trust and abandonment issues, as well as a hard time letting go of the past, as she constantly brings it up, even in older games. I'm not saying I hate her, but it's something I've noticed.
Next are the pelicans; Pelly, Phyllis, and Pete. Wholesome at first glance, but there is an entire section of drama dedicated to these three. Pelly is sweet and wholesome, while her sister is more grouchy and less tolerant of childish behavior. However, despite Pelly's hard crush on Pete, he has taken a strong liking and even an obsession to Phyllis. It makes her paranoid because Pete stalks Phyllis, even at her home, and she knows it's him. She greatly dislikes Pelly's crush on him, but doesn't to see her sister hurt by crushing her feelings. A very drama-filled love triangle for the three.
All of these characters have believable and well thought out backstories and personalities, making them likable, fleshed out characters.
Now, let's look at Isabelle.
Isabelle's design is cute; A blonde, sweet puppy with a cute hairstyle and a bell hair accessory that jingles as she walks. Her backstory however...Has no issues. Comparing her to the others, she doesn't seem to have a past struggle. It was said she and her twin brother lived in a cardboard box when they were younger, but in New Horizons, they still have parents that are doing great. She apparently has NINETEEN bachelor's degrees in engineering, which is pretty insane when you think about it. She had 19 bachelor's degrees of a a difficult major, only to become a secretary in New Leaf and an assistant to Tom later on. To add onto it, it was said she did it 'for fun'. A bachelor's takes about 4 years, doing the math, that's 76 years. (Also, the debt she has accrued must be detrimental.) However, thankfully, this piece of lore isn't mentioned at all in New Horizons. Isabelle is also always sweet, smiling, and helpful. She's never angry or irritable. If there is a resident causing trouble, she'll act as if she's mischievously enjoying the idea of confrontation. But if you tell her not to worry about it, she'll say 'Oh that's good, I don't like confrontation, hehe!' With all the degrees she supposedly has, she acts clumsy, cute, supportive, and always happy. Isabelle seems like this perfect character with all this talent and nothing other than positive emotions and no troubles in her life, which makes her fall flat compared to the other characters. She almost makes poor Sable look like a sad heap in comparison. Isabelle is a friendly social butterfly with a bunch of schooling and a squeaky clean record while Sable is shy, introverted, doesn't have a mentioned degree, and her parents are deceased. She had to raise Mabel and work and presumably, didn't have time for school as well as Tom who absolutely worked himself to near insanity. (I personally don't ship anyone, but if Nintendo decided to make Tom and Isabelle a couple in a future game, and if there was anything between Tom and Sable in the past, then what chance did Sable have against a perfect dog woman with seemingly no negative emotions and a head shaped like a bag of bells?)
This isn't meant to be an angry rant, but rather just an analogy coupled with some shower thoughts.

I think I first noticed them on a night like tonight: clear, the moon a fat wedge above, a million stars spread out like chips of ice on black velvet. I noticed them, but I didn’t think they noticed me. I was sure of it.
I can’t sleep. Primary insomnia, my doctor calls it. Hell is what I call it. Melatonin, trazodone, mirtazapine--I’ve tried them all, and not one of them did a thing. The doc then pulled out the big guns, writing me a scrip for stronger stuff. An Ambien a day keeps the insomnia at bay. Or at least that’s how it was supposed to work. For me? Nah.
I’ve been operating on two hours of sleep a night for five months. Did I say two hours? Hell, that’s on a good night. You don’t want to know about the bad nights. The bad nights come with bad ideas, ideas about the one sure cure for all of my ills.
What was I getting at? I think I’ve lost track.
I first noticed them on a night like tonight. Yes, that’s it. But maybe that’s not entirely accurate, because I didn’t notice them all at once. There was no bullet of realization that hit me in the head, opening eyes that I hadn’t even been aware were shut. I noticed them a little bit at a time, over a period of several weeks.
I take walks at night, see? I can’t sleep, and there’s nothing but the same old crap on TV, so I need to find something to pass the time. Sometimes the night air does me good, and I’m able to catch a few winks when I get back home. Not always, but sometimes. The town where I live, it isn’t Hicksville, but it ain’t no big city neither. There aren’t many people out and about at the hours that I go walking. Or at least there shouldn’t be. That was the first thing that caught my attention. I’d gotten used to seeing one or two people during my walks. Then it was four or five. Then at least a dozen, every night.
You might be thinking, so what?, what’s the big deal?
The big deal is that when I started looking at the people, I mean really taking them in, that’s when I noticed they all looked the same. I don’t just mean that I saw the same people from night to night, I mean that I saw the same people from one block to another. But not the same, exactly. Almost the same. If I saw the same exact guy standing on the corner of Seventh as I had seen down on Fourth, or the same couple out for a late-night stroll on Randolph I had seen huddled near an alleyway on Finch a few blocks back, then it wouldn’t have been so bad.
But they weren’t exactly the same. Some of the men had mustaches or beards, and some were clean-shaven. Some were bald, some had shaggy hair. Some of the women had long hair, others short. The heights may be different, or the body types. But it was the faces. When you looked closely you could see it: only two types of faces, one male and one female. Like a doll factory that only has two molds for faces, and simply changes them up a little, different hairstyles and stuff like that, before sticking the heads on an assortment of doll bodies of varying types.
Not the same exactly, but when you saw their faces…
I tried to tell a few people about it, but the words came out all wrong. Nobody could understand. And every time I went out for a late walk, they would be there, on street corners, standing in the doorways of shops which were closed for the night. Waiting. Never in the daytime; I’ve only seen them at night.
One night I worked up the courage, after weeks of thinking about it, to follow one of them back to wherever it is that they go. I watched one of them, a short man with that familiar face, from the shadows in front of the library. He was alone. I waited until he was a good way up the street, and then I slipped from the shadows and followed after him. I was careful to keep some distance between us. When he turned the corner at the park, I hurried, slowing my steps as I turned the corner myself.
And there he was. For one frozen moment I was staring down into his eyes, and then he moved quickly, and…well, I’m not entirely sure what he did. What I do know as that I was out for a bit, and when I came to I was flat on my back, and the guy was standing over me. He wasn’t alone, though. There were three of them: the short guy, a taller man with an identical face, and a woman. The woman’s lips were parted, and I thought her teeth looked like razorblades, but when I blinked and looked again they were just teeth.
“Don’t follow us,” the short man said.
“Don’t watch us,” the taller man said.
“This is your only warning,” the woman said.
They walked away, all three of them turning down Oak Street. I walked home, seeing no more of them on the way. I tried my best to steer clear of deeper shadows, something that wasn’t easy in the dark early hours of a new morning. When I got home I locked the door, making sure to throw the bolt, and then I checked all the windows, locking the ones that weren’t already locked. I spent at least an hour peeking out through the curtains, checking to see if they were down there on the street, worried they’d changed their minds and decided a warning wasn’t good enough. I hadn’t thought they had noticed me noticing them, but I was wrong.
That night I fell asleep with the lights on. I think I got an hour of sleep. One of the bad nights.
I should have stopped then, I know that. It would have been the smart play. Take the warning, and just leave it be. And I did leave it be for a few nights, but my apartment got to feeling like a prison at night. I was also curious, I don’t deny that. I still wanted to know what was happening, who they were. So after a few nights staying in, I went out for another walk.
That first night back out I didn’t see any of them, and I began to wonder if I had imagined it all. Insomnia can wreak havoc on a person’s mind. Hallucinations, both visual and auditory, are not unusual for people suffering from a severe lack of sleep. No sleep could drive you crazy, and certifiably so.
On the second night I thought I saw a couple of them. Two men with nearly identical faces, except one had a mustache and one a full beard. One had glasses. They ducked around a corner, and when I ran over, I turned the corner to find the street deserted. I checked a few alleys, peeped in the dark windows of a few closed shops, but I didn’t find them. They were just…gone. I hurried home, always checking my tail, paranoid that one of them might be following me.
The next night I didn’t see any, but the night after that I saw seven of them. Five men, two women. I saw them, and they saw me. Not one of them looked directly at me, by I could feel them watching me from the corners of their eyes. It felt like spiders crawling on my skin. I didn’t try to follow any of them that night. Went I got back to my apartment I locked everything up good, once more checking every window to make sure they were all secure. I got maybe an hour of sleep, and the next day I shaved off a thin layer of skin at work when my finger got too close to the deli slicer. It’s hard to concentrate when you’re inhumanly tired.
For the next week I continued my night walks, and every night I saw them. I didn’t try following after them, but continued to feel their eyes on me. Sometimes I could even feel their eyes on me when I couldn’t see any of the anywhere. I looked around, trying to see into the pools of darkness existing in the long stretches between streetlights. I couldn’t see them, but they were there, I was sure of it. Watching me.
Last night I decided to follow one of them again. I hadn’t been planning it; it was a spur of the moment decision. I was following a man and woman who would appear to all the world as a nice-looking middle-aged couple who were out for a romantic late-night stroll. But the faces, those same faces I had seen on so many of them.
I followed them, part of my mind screaming at me to stop, to go home and try to get to sleep. I left more distance between them and myself than I had on that night when I had followed the short fella. I couple times I lost track of them, and thought they’d disappeared like the two men who’d seemed to vanish into thin air. But both times I was able to find them again, they having simply turned off into another street.
I couldn’t feel any eyes on me, that’s what gave me the confidence to keep following. I’d gotten so used to that creepy, crawly feeling, and it felt so good not to have the sensation of being watched by strange eyes.
The man and the woman turned into an alley at the corner of Maple and Seventh. When I finally got to the alley and peeked in, I saw a door swinging closed. The building was a large brick structure. I walked around it, searching for any clue as to what was housed within. I had passed that building a thousand times, and never wondered what it was. If it was a business, surely there would be a sign out front to let people know what services were on offer, but there was nothing. The windows at the front were blank, dark squares reflecting back a far-away streetlight and a ghostly reflection of my own face.
I walked back around to the alley and went up to the door I’d seen swinging shut. I reached up, grabbing onto a tarnished knob, thinking the door would be locked, and that would be that; having no choice, I would just go back home. When I twisted the knob and pulled, the door opened. I opened it slowly, pausing only when the hinges let out a lone squeal. I looked inside, seeing only a dark hall whose end was lost in darkness.
Knowing that it was crazy, I slipped inside, and let the door close softly behind me. I was in perfect dark then, and I had the disorienting feeling that I was floating freely in a weightless abyss. That was absurd, though. I wasn’t floating at all; I could feel the floor beneath me. I stepped forward slowly, one wary step at a time, my hands held out before me like a blind man trying to make his way across a strange room. I strained to hear something, anything, but there was only the sound of blood rushing in my ears, the noise like the waves of a foreign sea. I took ten steps, and then another dozen, thinking the hallway seemed impossibly long, too long for the size of the building as seen from the outside.
Then up ahead I saw a faint, shimmering light. I stopped, waited. I could hear a low murmur, as of people whispering in another room. I started forward again, and the light grew brighter. The light had an unsteady, flickering feel to it, like candlelight. There was an open doorway through which the light was coming. When I was maybe fifteen steps away from the doorway I came upon a stairway leading up and to the right. I decided to take the stairs.
I walked up through the dark stairway, leaving behind the light down below and rising toward more light above. At the top of the stairway there was another hallway. To the right the hall disappeared into darkness. To the left, the hall ended at an opening guarded by a low rail. The light was coming from that direction.
I walked to the rail and peered out. There was a large, circular chamber bathed in that soft, flickering orange-white light. Directly across from me there was an identical rail, but nobody stood there. I looked down into the chamber, and my breath caught in my throat.
There were a lot of them. Forty, maybe more. They were gathered in two circles, an outer ring and an inner one. The first thought that came to my mind was monks gathered for some arcane ritual, but there were no monk’s robes here. They were all dressed in street clothes. And there were only two different faces, one male and one female. Two faces for all those people.
I backed up a step, trying to stay in the shadows as best as I could but still see what was going on below. In the center of them room, in the middle of the inner circle of people, there was a high table about five feet long and three feet wide. Draped over the table was a dark red blanket. Along the walls of the chamber torches were hanging at irregular intervals, the source of the uneven light.
Below, the murmur of whispers fell silent as if at a signal, and the peach fuzz at the back of my neck was standing on end. I sensed something was getting ready to happen, and I was sure that I didn’t want to see whatever it was. But I was helpless; I kept watching in spite of myself.
A man entered the chamber from a concealed door, and this man was wearing a robe, bringing to mind the earlier image of monks. The robe was black, and a hood was pulled up over the man’s head. I looked closely, expecting to see that familiar face, but as he moved into the light I saw that he had no face. What I mean is, he was wearing a mask. A white mask with dark holes for the eyes, a rigid smile fixed eternally in place, a red stripe running down the mask from scalp to chin.
The outer ring opened to let the masked man through, as did the inner ring, both of them closing ranks again once he was in the center of the room. The man moved to the table and paused, looking at some of the faces of the people gathered around him. (If he was troubled by the sameness of those faces, he gave no sign of it.)
The masked man reached out, two pale arms snaking out from the dark folds of the robe, and he grabbed at the red blanket covering the table. He pulled the blanket aside, dropping it to the floor. I gasped audibly, unable to stop myself. Down there, lying on the table, was a little girl who looked no older than eight or nine. She had on a long white dress reaching down to two small bare feet, and her hands were resting on top of one another upon her stomach. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared to be asleep.
I shifted my gaze to look at the masked man, and found that the masked man was looking back at me. It was that audible gasp--he must have heard it. He was looking at me, and so were the rest of them, all but the little girl whose eyes remained shut. There was no clamor, there was no screeching like something out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. They just stood there, looking up at me.
I turned away from the rail then and ran. When I reached the top of the stairs I considered heading down, but already I could hear them moving down there. They would be at the bottom of the stairs when I got there.
So I kept going, passing the stairs and continuing down the hallway. There was no need to stay quiet, but I still couldn’t move too fast, having no idea what might be in my way. I could hear footsteps on the stairs, rushing up after me. I passed two doors, but both were locked, so I kept moving. I found a third door, and when I tried the knob it turned, the door swinging open. The room was empty, and there was a window on the far wall. I shut the door behind me, searching for a lock. There was no lock, and nothing to block the door with.
I ran to the window, struck with a sudden certainty that the window would not open, that I would be trapped in the room, waiting for them to find me. The window did open, though, and I pushed it up as far as it would go. I looked out and down, and saw directly below me a half-filled Dumpster. Behind me I could hear heavy footsteps approaching the door to the room I was in. I wriggled out onto the ledge as I heard the door opening, heard steps crossing the room to me. Without looking back I jumped, landing dead center in the Dumpster. I wasted no time heaving myself out onto the ground; it was the alley I’d entered to get into the building. I ran toward the opening of the alleyway, hobbling on an ankle I’d evidently twisted without even realizing it, either in the jump from the window or the jump down from the Dumpster.
I passed the door that I had entered earlier, and then I was out of the alley. I ran into the middle of the street and ran as fast as my bad ankle would allow. I checked behind me, but there was nobody following me. I kept on, hurrying, turning down several streets, seeing nobody. I kept watching for pursuers, but saw none.
When I got home I locked up, and sat at the kitchen table trying to catch my breath, my heart hammering at its cage. I got no sleep, sure they would find me, that they would kick down my door and drag me out screaming. But they didn’t come that night.
This morning I called in sick to work. I didn’t have to lie; I just said that I hadn’t gotten any sleep. The boss understood. I stayed in all day, trying to convince myself the previous night had all been a waking dream, a hallucination brought on by chronic lack of sleep. I couldn’t believe my own lies, though. It had happened, all of it.
And now it’s night again--clear, the moon a fat wedge above, a million stars spread out like chips of ice on black velvet. Down there, across the street, two of them are standing and looking back up at me as I peek out the window. I can feel their insane eyes upon me. I tried to call the cops, picking up the phone and dialing 911, intending to tell them there were suspicious characters loitering in the neighborhood who might be up to no good. I hoped that a cop car rolling by might scare them off. Instead of an emergency operator picking up, it was one of them, the voice oozing out of the phone like audible oil.
“We warned you not to follow us. You should have listened.”
The line went dead.
I have insomnia. I can’t sleep. Even if it weren’t for the insomnia, I don’t think I would be getting any sleep tonight. Because they are out there, and they’re watching me. They know where I live. They warned me, but I didn’t heed the warning. They are watching me, and waiting. They are waiting for some silent, invisible clock to strike the proper hour, and then they will come for me.

So these days we're expected to accept that gender identity comes from inside and is just "something you feel".
Well, in my almost 40 years of being female, I can tell you that this hasn't been my experience. I don't feel like a woman because of some nebulous, impossible-to-explain internal compass pointing me that way.
I feel like a woman because of my lived experience as a female.
The bitchy backstabbing of pre-teen and teenage girls was my first introduction to my gender. I was more often the butt of other girls' jokes than the one doing the teasing, not because I'm actually a boy inside, but because I'm a decent person with a high level of empathy.
Then there were the crushes on boys who didn't fancy me back and later, being pressured into sex before I was ready. More bitchy girls. Then came the objectification and catcalling by boys and men.
As a young adult, I learned to keep the top of my glass covered in clubs and walk home with my keys wedged between my fingers in case I needed to defend myself.
Sexism in the workplace was a thing in my twenties too. Most of the admin staff in the offices were women, while most of the sales staff were men. There was one way of working for them, and another for us. We were the "little women" who helped out - i.e. actually kept the business running!
Living with periods, being pregnant, giving birth, breastfeeding, and mothering - these are all significant elements of my womanhood. Of course, women who choose not to have children are no less womanly for that choice, but for me, those experiences are a part of how I feel like a woman. I bonded with other women over our shared experiences. After avoiding close friendships with women for years after what I experienced as a girl, I found my tribe of kind, empathetic women and reconnected with my womanhood because of it.
Now, as I approach perimenopause, it's another rite of passage as a woman that is clearly the result of being biologically female.
I've yet to find a gender identity ideologist who can explain to me what shared experiences I'm supposed to connect with transwomen over.
For sure, transgender people have their own unique challenges and experiences. Those who present as their chosen gender, rather than their biological sex, are a demographic highly likely to be victims of violent crime. This is obviously unacceptable and I do empathise with that situation. We may share the key-wedge experience.
But for the rest?
When a trans person says they "just know", or "feel" their gender inside, I'm afraid I can't quite believe them because that hasn't been my experience at all.
Where is this knowledge or feeling coming from? We know that scientifically speaking, the hormones and brain patterns of trans-identified people prior to taking physical steps to transition, are no different to those of their natal sex. In fact, there are no discernable gendered differences in brain patterns at all. The way we think isn't gendered. It's our life experiences that gender us. It's our biology.
So this feeling inside is...? A desire? A need to be the opposite sex? Could that be a trauma response or suppressed homophobia? Could it be peer pressure? Wanting to belong to a select and trendy club?
When a little boy, or teenager, or grown man says they're actually a girl/woman inside, how can that be? Where is that coming from? It's sure as hell not from the experiences that I and most other women have had. What do we have in common that unites us as women?
It's not biology, or thought patterns, or behaviours. It's not life experineces.
I'm a writer. Words matter to me. I like exploring the meanings of words. So when we define a thing, it needs to actually have a definition. Zebras have black and white stripes. Horses have hooves and have to deal with the annoyance of flies. They have things in common that we can point at and say "that's a horse".
I know some people won't like this, but "man" and "woman" need to be the same. If they are to be useful words, they need definitions that we can use in day-to-day life. If there is literally nothing in common between me and a transwoman, then how can we both be women?
It isn't our hairstyles, or hobbies, or preferences either, because none of those things are gender-specific. See my previous post for more on that subject.
So what is it? What makes us both the same?
There's no rational, reasonable answer to that question. That should tell us all something significant.

Knock knock knock knock knock. I woke up to the sound of swift knocking on my bedroom door. My mother was calling me from the other side. “Aliana?”
“Mmmh,” I moaned softly, my mind not yet processing the correct response. I opened my eyes and stretched as I heard the door creak open.
“Aliana,” said Mamá, approaching my bed, “estás lista? It’s almost time!”
I rolled over on my bed and cried out as something poked me in my side. Mamá reached down and pulled a book out from underneath me. “You fell asleep reading again,” she chuckled softly, tossing the book aside. “You are always reading, mi chiquita!”
“I know, mamá.” I propped myself up on my elbows, sheepishly avoiding her glance.
“Come on, love.” She reached over and helped me sit up. “Let’s get up. We leave for la casa Madrigal soon.”
“Oh, yeah!” My face brightened as I remembered what tonight was. I looked up to see sunlight still coming through my window high on the wall. “It’s almost sundown?”
“Yes, it is almost sundown!” said Mamá, smiling at me. I was learning to tell time. “Very good!” I beamed back at her.
I stood up on the bed and craned my neck in an attempt to see out the window. “Can I see?” Mamá hoisted me onto her hip and carried me over to the window so I could look with her. I pointed into the distance. “Look, there’s the house!”
As if alluding to the Madrigals being the center of our Encanto, the sun rose and set behind la casa Madrigal, the Madrigal house. When each Madrigal child turned five, the house bestowed a magical gift upon them. Tonight my best friend, Mirabel Madrigal, would receive her gift from the house.
Mirabel and I had basically been friends since birth. Born in the same year three months apart, we were destined to be friends for life. We were the same age, our parents were around the same age, we both came from big families, and even our names were similar. We both had double initials—Aliana Álvarez and Mirabel Madrigal. I was the only other child in the village who was the same age as Mirabel—apart from her cousin Camilo. His gifting ceremony had taken place three months earlier, and he had received the gift of shape-shifting. The whole town was excited and anxious to see what Mirabel’s gift would be.
“I think I can see Mirabel’s room from here,” I noted.
“Oh, really?” Mamá asked. She turned her head to see where I was looking. “Which one is it?”
I pointed again. “The one where the door’s not lit up.”
Mamá chuckled. “Yes, I see it.” She kissed my cheek before setting me back down on my own feet. "Alright, señorita,” she said, palming my head. “Go on and get dressed. Then we can brush your hair.”
She left my room to give me some privacy. I went over to my closet and pulled my new purple button-down dress off its hanger in the corner. Mamá had bought it for me a month ago, and I'd saved it just for the special occasion. I carefully put the dress on, then collected my purse. I picked up the book I’d been reading and started to put it in the purse. Then I stopped and decided against it. This was my mejor amiga, my best friend, and she deserved my undivided attention. I could finish my book another time.
I left the book on my bed and met Mamá out in the hallway. She took me into the washroom to stand in front of the mirror. She picked up the cepillo and started to brush my hair. "Are you excited to see Mirabel get her gift?" she asked.
"Yeah!" I cheered, and Mamá chuckled. "Me too," she said. "I've always wondered what her gift would be."
"Maybe her glasses will make it so she can see everything," I suggested. It was obvious I had put some thought into it. "Like how her cousin Dolores can hear everything? Maybe she'll be able to see everything."
"Huh," said Mamá. "You know, I never thought of that." She smiled down at me. "Muy interesante." She tickled my neck, making me giggle.
After Mamá had finished styling my hair, I looked in the mirror at it. She had made one long thick braid running past my left ear and down the side of my face. Then she’d combed out the rest of my hair and let it shade the other side of my face. It was the first time she had ever tried that style on me. That hairstyle, combined with my fancy new dress, made me feel like a princess. I remember running my fingers through my hair and feeling so sophisticated. I twirled in the mirror. I’m a princess tonight, I was thinking. And so is Mirabel. We’re both gonna be princesses tonight.
Mamá and I walked down the stairs to our comedor, our dining room, where my two-year-old brother Jordán was having supper with Papá. Jordán smiled at us as we came into the room. "Hi!" he said, waving enthusiastically. He had mashed papas dulces all over his face and hands. I giggled at him and waved back.
Papá looked over his shoulder and noticed us. "Well, well, well," he said, a smile growing across his face. "Look at my beautiful ladies!" I curtsied in my new dress, giggling even more.
Mamá chuckled as well. “We’re leaving for the Madrigals' now,” she informed my dad.
"Okay, then," my Papá said, standing up to see us off. He was only an inch or so taller than Mamá, as she was quite tall herself. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then bent down to kiss my forehead. “Say hello to Mirabel for me,” he whispered.
“I will,” I whispered back, hugging him. I blew a kiss at my little brother. “Buenas noches, hermanito,” I said.
Jordán blew kisses back at me, flinging food on the table as he did so. Papá chuckled as he lifted Jordán out of his highchair and set him on his hip. "Come here, you." Papá picked up his napkin and wiped Jordán’s hands. "Let's get you cleaned up."
Mamá took my hand and squeezed it. "We should get going," she announced. She started walking towards the door with me in tow. "We'll see you later!"
"Night, Pá," I called over my shoulder.
“Have a good time, you two!" Papá called back. "¡Hasta luego!"
“Bye!!” yelled Jordán.
* * *
Encanto was crowded that night. Everyone was getting ready for, or on their way to, the gifting ceremony. The whole town had been invited. Mamá held my hand so I wouldn’t get lost in the crowd.
“So Aliana,” my mother asked me. “If you had a gift, what do you think it would be?”
“Ummm. . .” I thought about it a while. “Dancing!”
“But you’re already a dancer,” she said. "That's already your gift."
“Oh yeah.” I giggled, and she smiled down at me. "Ummm. . .” I tilted my head in thought. “How about. . . singing?"
She smiled. "Like your Tía Ana?"
“Yeah!” I said, hopping up and down in my excitement.
Ana Álvarez, my father's sister, was a popular singer in her hometown. She would sometimes stay with us in Encanto, and she loved teaching me her favorite songs. Every time she came to visit, I would learn a new song from her. She sat at the piano and played while she sang, and I'd do an interpretive dance as I sang along.
As I got older, I’d realized Tía Ana had always been coming to visit me and Jordán and Mamá and Papá. But we had never gone to visit her. We had never once left Encanto. But I’d never questioned it. At least, not when I’d first noticed.
After a few minutes of walking, weaving in and out of the crowd, we finally arrived at la casa Madrigal. There was a long line leading up to the doorway, but it was moving rather quickly.
I noticed Señor Osvaldo a few paces ahead of us in line, on the back of a donkey as usual. A tall girl in a dark blue skirt and wearing her hair in a ponytail walked over to the donkey and helped Señor Osvaldo dismount. Then she hoisted the donkey high over her head and carried it away. This was Luisa, Mirabel’s big sister. Luisa was nine years old and her gift was super strength. She could push, pull and lift anything and everything. I’d seen her carry everything from donkeys to pushcarts to houses to the bridge that traversed the brook. Sometimes they would even ask her to reroute the river. She could do anything and basically did everything.
I watched Luisa set the donkey down on the fenced pasture and close the gate behind her. I then turned my attention back to the moving line. At the front door, I noticed a young woman greeting an exact duplicate of herself. I peered at them, confused. Then I saw one of the two identical women transform into a little boy with curly hair who was about my height. I chuckled to myself. Of course! This was Mirabel’s shape-shifting cousin, Camilo. I watched closer as he shifted into Señor Osvaldo and shook his hand, then shifted right back into himself. How does he do that?
We soon reached the front of the line. I watched Camilo carefully, but he was watching my mom. “Buenas tardes, Señora Álvarez,” he greeted. He extended his hand for her to shake, as it was customary for children to greet their elders with a handshake. “¿Cómo está usted?”
“Estoy muy bien, Camilo,” Mamá said, taking his hand. “And we’re waaay past the handshaking stage now. Come here, you!” She pulled him in for a hug, and he giggled as he wrapped her arms around her torso.
"And you remember my daughter, Aliana,” my Mamá said, gesturing towards me. Camilo pulled away to look at me. I smiled at him and gave him a small, shy wave. He shifted into me and returned the smile and wave, motion for motion. Mamá laughed, and I did too, although I'd been caught off guard a little.
Camilo grinned as he shifted back into himself. "It's my new gift!" he explained to my surprised face. He looked back up at Mamá. "I can do you, too! Watch!" He transformed into an identical version of my mother, except a little bit shorter. "Wait, hold on." He suddenly sprouted up an inch, and then he was exactly her height. "There we go!" I laughed again, amused this time.
Julieta, Mirabel’s mother, approached us just then. She paused, noticing Camilo’s new form, and feigned shock. “Oh, no. Which one is Camilo?” she quipped, looking back and forth between the two of them.
Camilo giggled and shifted back into himself. “It’s me, Tía Julieta,” he said, hugging her and leaning into her skirt.
“Oh, thank goodness,” laughed Señora Julieta. She ruffled his hair with one hand and held out the other to my mom. “Buenas tardes, Greta,” she greeted.
“Buenas tardes, Julieta,” Mamá replied, smiling brightly. She took Señora Julieta’s hand in both of hers, and the two women kissed each other’s cheeks in the customary greeting. Then she turned to me and shook my hand. “Buenas tardes, Aliana.”
"Buenas tardes," I replied, giving her a big smile.
Señora Julieta then turned back to her nephew. “Now that Aliana and her mother have arrived,” she told him, “you are relieved of your post duties. You can go take her to see Mirabel.”
“Yaaay!” Camilo cheered, giving his aunt another hug. “Thanks, Tía Julieta!” He pulled away from her and turned to me. “You wanna go see Mirabel now?”
“Yeah!” I said, nodding enthusiastically.
“Come on.” He grabbed my hand and led me inside through the open door. The house was bustling with noise. People were chatting, music was playing, and the aroma of food was in the air. As we made our way through the kitchen, we passed oblong tables laden with platters of appetizers. Camilo grabbed an arepa con queso off a platter with his free hand and wedged it between his teeth.
“Easy on the arepas, Milo!” his father, Félix, boomed from the other side of the room. Félix Madrigal was a big-chested man with a powerful voice that could carry across any room.
“Sorry, papi,” mumbled Camilo. He took the arepa out of his mouth and surreptitiously slipped it into his shirt pocket under his ruana. I chuckled quietly. “I’m saving it for later,” he whispered, then held a finger to his lips. I did the same, and he smiled in response.
We continued weaving in and out of the large crowd of people, making our way towards the wooden staircase. “Mirabel!” Camilo yelled up in the direction of Mirabel’s room. “Mirabel, look who’s here!” Camilo started marching up the stairs, and I quickly followed. “Mirabe-” All of a sudden the stairs flattened themselves out into a smooth surface and we slid all the way back down to the bottom. I shrieked as I tumbled onto the floor and Camilo fell on top of me. I’d completely forgotten the Madrigal house was magic.
“Casita,” Camilo groaned, using the nickname the Madrigals had given their house. He quickly scrambled to his feet and clenched his fists. “We want to see Mirabel!”
The staircase creaked loudly, as if replying. I looked back and forth between them and Camilo, wondering what the house was communicating to him.
Camilo cleared his throat and clasped his hands in front of him. “May we please go upstairs to see Mirabel?” he asked in a softer tone of voice.
The staircase creaked again as the stairs rearranged themselves.
“¡Gracias, Casita!” Camilo exclaimed brightly. He turned back to me and held out his hand again. “Come on.” I took his hand, he helped me up off the floor, and we climbed the stairs. Then he pulled me down the hallway to the nursery, which had been Mirabel’s room for the past five years. “Mirabel!” he cried, hammering on the door with a cupped hand. “Mirabel! Guess who’s here!” Knock knock knock knock knock. “Mirabeeeeel!”
There was a sound as the door creaked open and Mirabel poked her head out. “Who’s here, Milo?”
Camilo grinned at her and gestured towards me. “Ta-daaa!”
Mirabel’s face lit up, and she rushed forward to embrace me. “You came!” she cried happily, gripping me in a tight squeeze and rocking back and forth.
“Hola, Mirabel,” I giggled, returning the squeeze. I stepped back to get a good look at her. “You look like a princess!” I exclaimed.
And she did. She was wearing a pristine white dress with gold embroidery, cushioned white sandals, and a white ribbon in her hair, tied in a little bow. She twirled in a happy little circle. “I am a princess!” she insisted. “And so are you! We can both be princesses together!”
“Yeah!” I cheered. I was delighted, as this was exactly the same thought I’d had earlier that night before Mamá and I arrived at la casa Madrigal. It was as if Mirabel and I had the same mind.
“I guess that makes me a prince, then,” said Camilo, posing with his chest out and fluffing up his ruana in an attempt to give himself a more regal look. I giggled at him.
“Too bad you’re not dressed like one,” Mirabel pointed out. Camilo made a face at her.
“He could still be a prince, though,” I chimed in, trying not to laugh again at Camilo’s face. “Princes and princesses still wear regular clothes. I read it in a book.”
“Oh, really?” Mirabel replied.
“Yeah!” I insisted. “They only wear fancy clothes to go to parties and stuff. They’re just like us.”
Camilo smirked defiantly at Mirabel, and this time she and I both burst out laughing.
Just then, another door down the hall creaked open and Pepa Madrigal stepped out. Dolores, Camilo’s big sister, emerged from the room as well. “What's going on out there?" Señora Pepa called, her voice carrying down the long hall.
"¡Mami!" Camilo exclaimed, running all the way down the hall and into his mother’s arms.
Dolores furrowed her brow. “I thought you were supposed to be greeting people at the door?” she asked her little brother.
“I was!” Camilo quickly replied. “Tía Julieta said I could bring Aliana to see Mirabel.”
“Hola, Tía Pepa. Hola, Dolores,” said Mirabel as she greeted her aunt and her older cousin with a hug.
“Hola, Aliana," Pepa greeted me as well as I shook her hand. "Are you ready to get your gift, Mirabel?” Pepa asked her niece, her smiling face glowing like the sun. Pepa could change the weather with her mood, which was entertaining at times, but inconvenient at others.
“Yup!” said Mirabel enthusiastically. “And look at our dresses!” She twirled once more, then grabbed me by the hand and pulled me closer to her. “Aliana and I are going to be princesses together!”
“You both look very nice,” said Dolores, offering a smile. Dolores was very soft-spoken. This was probably due to her magical gift of enhanced hearing.
Camilo pulled the arepa he’d been saving out of his pocket and took a bite.
“Milo!” his mother exclaimed, a small, dark cloud forming over her head. She placed her hands on her hips. “What did I tell you about stashing food in your clothes?”
“It’s fresh!” Camilo defended. “Probably didn’t leave any crumbs.” He checked underneath his ruana just to make sure.
“That’s not the point!” Señora Pepa retorted, and the cloud flashed. She took a deep breath, and the cloud soon lost its dark color. "The food still soils the cloth," she continued in a softer tone of voice, "and it becomes harder to clean."
"You should have wrapped it in your hankie," Dolores whispered from behind her hand.
"Dolores!" Señora Pepa chided, but Dolores shrugged and flashed her mother an innocent glance.
"I'm sorry, mami," Camilo murmured remorsefully, leaning against her skirt. He looked up at her and offered her his food. "Do you want the rest of my arepa?"
Señora Pepa's cloud disappeared as she smiled down at her son. "You can finish it, mijo," she said as she stroked his hair. "But it's your last one for today," she added.
Camilo smiled back at her and gratefully took another bite of his arepa. Pepa chuckled.
There was a loud sound from above and we all looked up just in time to see fireworks explode against the darkened sky. Dolores jumped, as she was sensitive to these loud noises.
"Oh!" said Señora Pepa. "It's almost time for your ceremony, Mirabel!"
"Yaaay!" Camilo and I cheered. I couldn't wait to see Mirabel get her gift.
"Let's go!" Grabbing Camilo with her other hand, Mirabel led the two of us quickly down the stairs and back to the party.
* * *
The lights in Casita went down as everyone gathered in the main room around the staircase. The ceremonial drums began to play. Parents shushed their young children as Abuela, the oldest Madrigal, walked into the room. In her hands she carried the miracle candle, which gave all the Madrigals their magic powers. Abuela ascended the stairs halfway and turned around to address the congregation. The drumming came to a halt.
“Forty years ago, in our darkest moment,” Abuela began, holding the miracle candle aloft, “this candle blessed us with a miracle. And the greatest honor of our family, the Madrigal family, has been to use our blessings to serve this beloved community. Tonight, we gather once more as another Madrigal steps into the light to make us proud.”
The drumming started up again. The curtains at the opposite end of the room parted to reveal Mirabel on the other side. The congregation burst into energetic applause. I cheered and pumped my fists in the air. Camilo put two fingers in his mouth and whistled as loud as he could, causing Dolores to slam her hands over her ears.
A polite hush fell over the crowd as Mirabel stepped into the light. She took a deep breath, then began the ceremonial walk across the room, making her way up the stairs and over to where Abuela stood at the top of the stairs beside the new magic door. Abuela lowered the miracle candle to Mirabel’s height, and Mirabel placed her hands on it.
“Will you use your gift to honor our miracle?” Abuela asked. “Will you serve this community and strengthen our home?”
“I will,” Mirabel replied with a single, solemn nod. She then removed her hands from the candle and looked over at the magic door, covered in golden sparkles, which would lead to her new room. A bright smile spread across her face as she walked over to it.
“Go on, Mirabel,” I whispered quietly to myself, excited for her. “Open your door.”
Mirabel wiped her palms on her dress and gingerly placed her hand on the brass doorknob. The golden sparkles shifted themselves and slowly dimmed. Mirabel pulled away and watched as her door disintegrated, from top to bottom, into a cloud of golden dust. When the dust cleared, there was nothing but a wall left.
Mirabel’s door was gone.

Post by www.dedecouture.com

100 years of fashion - History and evolution from 1920s to 2020s

To fully understand an era, just dwell on the history of fashion and trends. Always evolving, fashion transforms, changes year after year. Past eras are characterized by traditional fashions and counterculture trends, but there is always a common thread that unites them: society. Starting from the 1920s we will see a real evolution, of thought and culture and how these influence the way of life, dressing, hairstyles, make-up and much more. Let's start our journey through time!

The 1920s

The 1920s are synonymous with rebirth, change. These are the keywords that fully describe this era. The First World War has just ended and the company wants to impose itself and prevail over everything. The woman renews the way of dressing and appearing, wants to have fun, smokes, drives the car, goes wild in the dance halls. Charleston is born. The current fashion is made of elegant clothes, fringes, beads, feathers, sequins, flashy and comfortable outfits to be able to move freely. Precise and studied make-up, simple hairstyles, short cuts, hats and bangs. What about shoes? High, but comfortable to be able to rampage on the track. Coco Chanel is the idol of the moment. In this era of innovation, he manages to create his own style and make it enjoyable to the whole world. The fashion of little black dress, of tailleur in tweed and jersey and of the perfume: Chanel No. 5 .

The 1930s

The 30s fashion is smart fashion. Women prefer to sew on their own, following patterns, magazines, catalogs. Comfort prevails over elegance and women... wear pants! In earlier times this would have been unacceptable. But in the 30s the jeans, the country style, the high waist marked by a belt, big collars and the tartan! At the same time the market launches synthetic fibers: Nylon arrives and with it tights. Finally women also show off their shapes in the evening dresses which wrap the body and open to sensual necklines on the back. As for make-up, the lips are very important with red lipstick. What about eyelashes? Black more than ever!

The 1940s

In the 1940s the bikini was born. Start from here. Because, this costume was born to save fabric. The government had to ration the materials that would mainly serve to make the uniforms for the military at the front. And so the woman discovers her body even more. The skirts are shortened and the legs acquire importance. Those who could not afford the much loved nylon stockings, drew a long black line at the center of the legs, on the back. What does it remind you of? Pin-ups are born. Shapely bodies, lingerie often in view, but sensuality is natural, ironic. Full skirts, narrow waist, ballet flats. Pois. Pois. Pois! Super short bangs, waves, long hair. Cat-eye, red lipstick, perfect skin. And not least, the gestures: it happens, for example, that the wind lifts the skirt of a pin up, or that a fishing hook takes off her bikini! At the same time, in Italy, the atelier of Sorelle Fontana. Their clothes cross Italian borders, bringing our fashion to the top. The Sorelle Fontana with their clothes have dressed numerous Hollywood actresses, including Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, and Liz Taylor.

The 1950s

Beautiful and sad as Marilyn . His image is now an icon of the 1950s . So popular, he risks diminishing what his real contribution to fashion has been. Marilyn Monroe is a true " influencer" of fashion in the 50s. With her daily outfits, she influences the way women dress. High-waisted jeans , white shirts , camel coats with belt . And how can we forget the pleated dress in golden lamé for "Men prefer blondes" or see-through dress , decorated with beads, which apparently sewed them on the set of the film. The eyeliner is inevitable. As well as the neo drawn on the face. The skin is perfect and hydrated, thanks to the new face creams that all go crazy!

The 1960s

Mini skirt , uncoordinated posture, unique eyelashes, yes, we are talking about Twiggy. The fashion of the 60s follows its look. Especially when he launches the new and scandalous miniskirt . Its long and slender legs overturn the canons of fashion, launching new trends, up to conquering the covers of Elle and Vogue. In the meantime, while Twiggy conquers the catwalks all over the world, on the other side, the Hippies, the children of the flowers , are born. And there were so many flowers on their floral clothes: a riot of colors, loose and light dresses, psychedelic patterns, floral prints and high wedges. The wardrobes smell of freedom.

The 1970s

Sex, drug & rock’n’roll . Epoch of glamor , of legendary rock stars , of glitter and disco music . Stars like David Bowie play with gender identity, redefining the boundaries between male and female. The use of jeans and sneakers , overalls and suits genderless they are all inventions of this era. Excess, sparkling outfits, maxi lengths. The disc-style suits, showy and tight with their acid colors, stood out. Linear, unisex suits, with blazer, palazzo trousers. Turbans, high boots, fur jackets. Skirts wide, flounces, ethnic. And the maxi dress, iconic garment of this decade.

The 1980s

Years pass and society changes. We have reached the economic boom, the models of perfect and conservative society. But it is precisely the time when young people fully express their unease. In London , the Punk is born, a non-movement that rejects everything and everyone. The ugly aesthetic is born. Anger, desire for protest. Young people wear dirty, indecorous, mistreated clothes, reminiscent of the factory workers' uniforms, and together, they match us jackets and ties that refer to the clothing of the bourgeoisie. In parallel, the skater's clothing acquires importance. Streetwear appears in the New York suburbs. Culture hip hop was born, loose jeans , oversized sweatshirts , Converse shoes.

The 1990s

The 90s arrive between T op Model , catwalks, the style of the paninari and the big names in Italian fashion. Between Spice Girl and Backstreet Boys are born the bomber jacket , the Dr. Martens , the nail in leather , the shirts with checks and the grunge fake unkempt style. The sweaters cropped discover the navel, the Choker and the outfits completely in denim are worn by stars such as Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera . And with the Chunky style, the much-loved shoes Buffalo are born, which today, in 2000, are back in vogue among the girls. Together with the elegant models like Kate Moss , the logo-mania of Christian Dior and Dolce and Gabbana , over the years 90 was born, in countertendency, the Raver style, exaggerated. A youth subculture that begins in the United Kingdom and France, and then spreads to the rest of the continent. Wide pants and sagging, oversized t-shirts, tracksuits with iridescent colors, platform shoes and many more, many piercings . The first Cyber​​, humans in symbiosis with technology, with the first Cyber ​​Dread, the phosphorescent glowstick, the use of the Pvc. New famous brands appear like Cyberdog, PlastikWrap, Spacetrip.

The 2000s

The icon of the 2000s for all teenagers is definitely Paris Hilton . And if you name Paris, you can't help but think of a color: pink . Strictly low-waisted pink jumpsuit, micro top, Carrera glasses, and Pinko Bag . Belt jewel D&G , very high wedges and Bucket Hat , known by many as the fisherman hat. The tracksuits are worn by everyone, especially the Adidas ones. From acetate models, to those in cotton, flared, with side buttons. The suit becomes the new Must Have of the moment. In these years together with the Dr. Martens, the platform wedges and sneakers, the Sabot, the famous shoes with the uncovered heel, are very popular. The tartan is also back, which gives the more formal outfits a dandy touch.

The 2010s

Our journey through time ends in 2010 and fashion has never changed much in 10 years. Here's what happened: it was understood that Big Brands will exist forever, thanks to diversified consumption. Again there is almost nothing, today's fashion is a mix of 100 years of trends . The freedom of thought of our years is reflected in the multiple styles that each of us has. One day put on the suit, the next day dress and tights. Bomber jackets and sneakers in the morning, coat and décolleté in the evening. Everyone dresses as they want , and the beauty is just that.
2020 has just begun... what will we have in store? Today everything is possible!
Post by www.dedecouture.com

Does anyone (would especially love to hear from adult half siblings) have thoughts/experience with kids having different last names?
Since getting pregnant, DH and I have done what we can to make the kids feel part-of and excited. I’m of a mind that there’s no reason they should ever refer to the baby as their “half-sibling” unless it’s to explain the intricacies of their family. However, this kid is going to have a different upbringing. They won’t be raised in the church that SKs mom belongs to (neither I nor SO are in) or go to the schools of that religion, they will be allowed to do things BM doesn’t approve of (going to sleep-away camp, choosing their own hairstyle, extracurriculars, etc) and probably zillions of other differences I can’t predict. I worry that this will cause a divide, no matter how much we try to keep things fair.
Which brings me to naming the baby. Our plan has been for the baby to have my last name. My husband is fine with this (I have asked him so many times because I don’t want there to be a chance he agrees then resents it… he assures me he’d say something if he cared) but as we get closer to baby’s birthday, I wonder if having a different last name will drive a wedge between the siblings. Will having the same last name help them feel closer? Am I making a big deal out of something that doesn’t really matter? What are things we can do to foster the kids’ bonding?
I feel like most pregnant people are spending time gazing at their nursery and basking in joy but I’m over here frantically trying to make sure everyone comes out of this transition ok and we still feel like a family :/

A little knowledge about me. I abide by almost all words and teachings from adults, no I've not strayed at all I am 14 years old so you may or may not think of me as a mindless teenager but I am truthfully affected and mostly hurt by the curcumstances I'm facing at this point.
My step mother disregards my grandpa, imagining his room being used as my father's office when he passes on. I don't know if I'm being too sensitive about it but i feel like it's so disrespectful, at the expense of his life. Mind you, I am not someone who snitch. And even if I do, I don't think my father will take my word for it lol.
I don't think she regards me as her daughter. Never once has she addressed me as her daughter even when I call her mom. I've always been referred to as my father's daughter. Moreover, she tells everyone about how much she loves me so much so that she doesn't want a child of her own. However, I can't help but think that I'm just a cover-up, a pawn. Why? Because she dislikes kids, and probably enjoys her free time more, risking her life for a child she doesn't even want is just another add-on. But my point being, she's using me as her emergency plan. She tells me all about how she could live a long life with me to support her, being the only reason she invests time and money in me. Quoting, "What else could I use you for?" It is so painful to know that your father found a mother figure only for you to be used by for her own reasons.
She talks about marrying my father in front of me. (Yes, I called her mom even before the marriage and I'll explain it later) kissing in front of me, there stood my step mother and my father. Without a care in the world what the child of the other marriage thinks. You have no idea how painful it is to see them so happy as you suffer.
She's an emergency find by my father. I grew up without a mother figure. I was 5-7 so you can imagine how confusing it is for a little girl. I got pressured into calling her mom for 2 years by all my relatives. Quickly, the 6 year old girl met in a dilemma. Being treated soo well by this aunt. The first impression. Soon met with my birth mother, she said she'd give up on me if I did call her my mom. Soon enough I did, only because I felt stressed out that everyone couldn't relax aboit the situation. I cried so hard realising that I would never have the chance to meet my biological mother ever again. I am regretting it till this day.
Back on to my step mother..
She hates me communicating with my father (probably) glaring at me when she comes home to find me and my father laughing at silly videos. Quickly excuses me to go clean trash and talks to my father. For at least an hour, (around 11pm so i had to go sleep anyways) I have no intention to drive them apart but it felt as if she's creating a wedge between my father and I. She never engages in conversation where I tell her about my day but I have to listen to her complains.
She treats everything with me like a competition. She's the reason I never wear dresses and skirts. Always jeans or sports shorts, baggy shirts and never trying out hairstyles. She is short and more on the chubby side so she's weight concious. Even a baking competition and she lets me eat all the cookies once done, we don't share it because she's on a diet. To the point where I'm jokingly saying that I'd like a rich man to take care of me and she ridicules the way I look. I do not think that I look unattractive at all and I'm quite confident in many things I do. She always tells me "your face is so ugly, who would even want to marry you." Of course, I am not very insecure about something I don't even care about but it still hurts coming from a mother figure.
Threatening to leave the house when engaging in an arguement with me over a small pile of clothes and some books on the floor. Trashes my entire room, the one I spent so much time on to align even all the books into a straight line. Of course, when she leaves, my father would blame me for it. To the point I'm starting to question if I loved my father anymore.
With all that said, I feel like it's probably my fault. I am after all the defect in the family and countless of times I've been told that my opinions were one of the teen phases. That I should just forget about it. But since I can't I'm turning to the internet for help, perhaps to even humble myself since up til now all I did was complain and saw nothing but the selfish side of a step parent.
Please help me out! I need opinions on my thoughts. It's been haunting me for 9, nearing 10 years

Halloween Season 2021. Lord love a dayglo rubber ducky, Lockwood, where do I even start?
I’m going to do my best to be gentle, but I'm not gonna lie here. Compared to the last two years of Avakin Life Halloweens I’ve experienced, this year’s Halloween ranked somewhere between extremely disappointing and a natural disaster.
Here, in my personal opinion, are the things that went wrong, and also some of the things that I think had more potential to be successes if only they had been introduced differently. My opinions might vary in some ways from others’ opinions on this forum, but I think you can already tell from all the feedback that has been posted here in the past few weeks that this year's event was not generally perceived as a resounding success.
My personal favorite release this Halloween (and possibly this entire year) was the Broomstick Animation Set. As a Harry PotteWizarding World fan, I have been longing for something of this sort for years, so I was ecstatic to see that item launched this year. This was the biggest highlight of my Halloween 2021, so because God only knows we need a bit of positivity right now, I’ll lead off this post-mortem with that. Kudos for accepting that suggestion (which, as I recall, was suggested here on our subreddit multiple times) and running with that ball.
BUT...as desired as that item was, there were two things about that launch which prevented it from being universally celebrated. 1) It was released as a bundle rather than in the regular Shop. I have mixed feelings about highly-desirable, much-requested items being released in bundles. The upside is, at least bundled items are not in a coin pack, which not all players are able to purchase because not all players are able to spend real world money in the app. So in theory, bundles are available for more players to be able to purchase. HOWEVER, 2) these items were bundled in with other items which most players already owned, and there was no way at all to purchase just the animation set and broom separately. Added to this, the bundle price was extremely expensive, which added insult to injury for the players who were forced to pay the full purchase price in order to gain only the two new items in it. Had the bundle been made available at a more reasonable price, and if it had only contained the new set and broom, I think the feedback on that item would have been a lot more positive. But by packaging it with “luxe” pricing while stuffing it in a bundle containing older items that most players who wanted them already owned, it came across as a cash grab.
It can’t have escaped your attention that a frequent complaint on this forum for the past year or more is the perception that “Lockwood is greedy,” so why the company seems to almost go out of its way to create situations of this sort that continue to add substance to that perception is beyond my comprehension. We know that time, effort, and creative energy go into creating these new items for us. We’re not expecting new stuff the company devs have worked hours, days, or sometimes weeks to create to just be given away to us for free. That said, we’re also not looking to be price gouged in some way every time a really cool new item appears on the scene, and that is what new releases of highly requested items have felt like for us players lately. Lately, it seems like the marketing strategy has been “If it’s unoriginal and/or uninspiring, toss it in the Shop, but if it’s original and fun, slap the biggest price tag on it you can get away with and make it harder or impossible for all players to attain, preferably by sticking it in a high-end coin pack. Take that, my little pretties! Muahahahaha! Oh, and throw glitter paint on it toooooo!!!!1!!!” So kudos to you at least for making the broomstick available in a form that made it theoretically available for all players, but you still could have done better at not pricing it too far out of the ballpark for many to be willing to pay simply to obtain the two bundled items they did not already own. (I think when players purchase a coin pack which contains items they already own, they receive the coin value equivalent for those items instead, in addition to any other coins that pack contains. Why is this not done with bundles also?)
My second favorite release this October was the Los Cabos Hideaway apartment, but let’s stop and think about that one for a minute. The entire month of October in Avakin Life is traditionally devoted to celebrating Halloween, or at the very least, autumn. So while I was excited to finally get my dream beach house with what (IMO) has the perfect balance of swimmable ocean and beachfront property, what is it about a beach house that screams “Halloween” to you? Because honestly, I’m not seeing the connection. When I think “beach house,” I think June, July, or August. I do not think of any month with a “-ber” occurring in the name. Months that end with “-ber” are synonymous with “brrrr”! So while I am delighted to own the apartment, I am baffled by the business decision to include a beach house with a Halloween themed seasonal event. I might have been able to wrap my head around it if you'd decorated it for Christmas, slapped some sort of Southern Hemisphere hints on it, and marketed it as a Christmas beach house for people in parts of the world whose Christmas happens to fall in their summer. But a regular beachfront property, no special decor, released for Halloween? Color me perplexed.
The only release this Halloween that baffles me even more than the release of a beach house was the demonic horde of Babykins you have unleashed upon the universe. I mean, granted, at my post-menopausal age I can think of few things more horrific than finding myself saddled with a baby in a sling that I am unable to give back to his Mum at the end of the day, so maybe this actually does fit in with the seasonal theme. If your intent was to inspire widespread horror among the player base, then perhaps you’ve succeeded beyond your wildest dreams with this one item. Did no one foresee the ways that these Babykins can be misused by the many players who care nothing about the Avakin Life Terms of Service or the Player Code of Conduct? No one considered the possibility of a rise in player sexual harassment of the “Hey, cutie, let’s go to your place and get our freak on, and I’ll give you a baby!” sort in social scene direct messages? (You know, those direct messages we keep begging you for a way to be allowed to opt in or out of receiving FOR A REASON?) Let alone the unfortunate messaging that “babies are cute possessions” sends to young teen players, including vulnerable teen girls who sometimes deliberately try to fall pregnant in the real world because they think a baby will meet their need for unconditional love, without stopping to consider that this is an adult-level decision because raising a helpless infant human being is an adult-level responsibility. I don’t think for a moment that this is the type of thinking that LKWD is deliberately trying to encourage, yet that is the sort of irresponsible message that “Here, buy your own Babykin for the absurdly low price (for a real world yacht) of 11K + small change” sends to the entire player base.
Then there’s the rest of the...um...clothing? Costumes?...To be honest, most of the other items we received this year were so forgettable, I’m having trouble recalling exactly what else was released. I remember we got a few actions and animations that were nice, and I know I personally would have appreciated the spell casting actions a lot more if I’d also owned the spell book that people who purchased the Halloween event booster got (more on that later), but since I didn’t purchase that for reasons I will get into later in this post, I can only cast recipes out of my book of herbal lore I picked up at the recent cottagecore event earlier in the year. (By the way, that cottagecore event showed more creative design, had some nice prizes, and was actually pretty fun. I only wish the same amount of effort had gone into planning Halloween.) I know we also got some more of the shiny reflective clothing that has been overdone in recent months (and that’s coming from someone who actually likes that effect on some items, when used in moderation, not splashed liberally on every blessed article of clothing like spilled whisky on an inebriated drunkard in desperate need of an intervention), but nothing along the lines of the really creative costuming and seasonally-inspired and/or Goth looking clothing that we received the previous two years that I played. I have vague memories of some clothing items that look like they fell into a vat of red glitter paint. I can think of no reason for this sudden drought of creative Halloween fashions, given how many Halloween suggestions have been posted on this forum throughout the preceding months which ought to have provided the artists with a wealth of creative inspiration. Even if the design teams have collectively forgotten how to read, we posted lots of pretty pictures for you. Lots. Hella lots.
Wait, we did get some nice hair. That much, I do remember, since I’ve bought several new styles, even though those were mostly not really Halloween themed either. I do appreciate the new hairstyles, and I like the idea of the new Flare Salon as well, although I think the practical application of that idea needs more work. In theory, I like the idea of having the Salon added as a new job site, since we have needed something fresh and new, but in practice I don’t think anyone fully thought through that once customers have bought the one or two new hairstyles per week that they like and don’t already own, they tend to leave, so stylists may pick up a few customers right after a fresh hairstyle release, but after a few hours it’s much harder to get clientele. News flash: Unlike a food or beverage item, you can’t re-sell a hairstyle or other shop item that everyone who wants it has already bought. Maybe if all hairstyles were released via the Salon, that would keep business more steady, but right now there isn’t much incentive to keep customers in the scene and continuing to make purchases so stylists can work. Perhaps if, instead of having a very limited in-scene menu of styles to choose from, the Shop UI were set up to redirect *all* hair style purchases to the Salon, so purchasing hair from the Shop would instantly teleport you to the Salon, people willing to style hair to earn in-app income would have more actual work available and wouldn’t have to just stand beside their salon chair bored and begging other players to select something from the paltry list of new hairstyles that they already purchased earlier in the day. Or perhaps other beauty items could also be sold at the Salon. Give those stylists something to do besides standing around contemplating whether prayer will bring in customers or if they ought to try Petkin sacrifices instead. Because, y’know, Halloween.
So now that I’m done with damning with faint praise and praising with faint damns, let me get around to my biggest concern, which is not just regarding the Halloween prize event, but any other prize or social event in the app which rewards players differently who purchase a booster pack. If you take nothing else in this post to heart, Lockwood, please at least consider this: Booster Packs (and other “Pay Real World Cash for Deluxe Prizes/Special Access” items) are a major offender in creating a wedge between the “Haves” and the “Have Nots” in Avakin Life--i.e., the players who are Avacoin and/or real world cash rich and those who are Avacoin and/or real world cash poor. Creating obstacles for poorer players to get the same amount and quality of event rewards as the wealthier players leads to feelings of resentment across the player base, and the more such events you create, the more that you perpetuate this cycle. It artificially creates a class system within Avakin Life that says “If you’ve got the extra cash on hand to buy the cool stuff, own all the fun gadgets, dress like a supermodel, be recognized as a Big Shot Celebrity in our little virtual world, then You Matter and We Value You. If you don’t, then You Don’t Matter, but here are some cheap consolation prizes if you want them. Now go away and shut up.” If the purpose of an event is to build community within your player base, then creating booster packs to give certain privileged players an advantage over others is NOT the way to foster this spirit of cooperative play.
Players--ALL players--in a social app want to feel included in the fun, yet our players come from a vast spectrum of ages, countries (with currencies that may have much more or less buying power compared to the UK pound or the USD), personal disposable incomes, etc. Therefore a thirteen-year-old Avakin player without a debit card, a job, or a steady allowance, might have difficulty getting enough cash to make an IAP compared to an adult player with a steady income and the ability to set aside money for monthly coin pack or other IAP purchases. On the other hand, an adult player whose real world business (or whose personal health) has recently suffered due to the pandemic might have more pressing spending needs at this time compared to the college student still financially supported by Mom and Pop, whose tuition and school fees have already been paid for and they’ve got a spare $20 or two burning a hole in their pocket. Or that player in a developing world country might not be able to afford the IAP that, for me, is just the cost of a dinner for two at a mid-priced restaurant, but for him is the price of a week’s wages. The. Inability. To. Pay. Any. Amount. Of. Any. Currency. Should. NEVER. Be. A. Barrier. To. Full. Enjoyment. And. Participation. In. The. Social. Events. In. An. App. Whose. Main. Purpose. Is. Allegedly. To. Be. A. Social. App. That. Builds. Community. End Of Sentence. Period. Full Bloody Freaking Stop. When I first started playing Avakin Life, I was experiencing a lot of personal financial hardship. Your app was my favorite virtual world retreat to help me get through the stress of daily life, and up until recently, despite the occasional bump in the road, it served that purpose well. You had enriched my life in so many ways with your app, I wanted to give back. A social app should help foster a sense of community, not tear a community apart, and it should help ease stress in people’s lives, not create more stress. I think in your quest to generate more income, you lost sight of the greater purpose at the heart of creating a Social App. So this is why I do not buy booster packs and why I am increasingly passionate about not supporting this business model. I want Lockwood to remember when its focus used to be on creating scenes and events where players could gather, play together, and create community, not just on hyping overpriced merch and creating fractures and divisions in the player base where divisions didn’t used to exist. I miss the Avakin Life that I keep seeing slowly slipping away and turning into a morass of commercialism and materialistic avariciousness. (And no, that’s not just a thinly veiled way of whinging that “Lockwood is greedy.” Players have become increasingly greedy and entitled-acting too. It’s an incredibly ugly look on this community, no matter which side of the cash register it is coming from. But if players seem to be all about “Gimme gimme gimme!,” maybe it’s time to take a closer look at what, on the company’s side of things, is fueling that mentality. If the game and the official Avakin social media is all set up to make players think that materialism and Having All The Things is All That Matters, and All That Makes US Matter, and the entire community has been locked into a continuing class struggle between the Haves and the Have Nots, then that’s a form of Hell that maybe you’ve had more than a small hand in helping to create. Maybe it’s time to go back to the drawing board and consider, “How can we redesign our game incentives, our social media outreach, our rewards system, and everything else that is perpetuating this dysfunction, and make Avakin Life about creativity, community, and cooperative play once again?” )
You want a constructive rather than destructive way to use Booster Packs? Try this: reserve them for the final day or week of an event, and use them as a means to let players who are behind on their daily gift collecting catch up with the rest. Some players can’t play daily due to real world commitments. (October, for instance, isn’t just Halloween season, it is the time of year when a lot of university students are busy studying for mid-term exams, so if a student has a job and also needs classroom and study time, there will likely be days when they’re not able to log on. November and December are often peak times for people who work retail or similar service jobs. They might be working more double shifts to keep up with the Christmas Shopping rush.) New players join the game in mid-event all the time, sometimes too late to catch up even with daily play. Or other players might be trying to hit the job sites as much as they can to earn enough coins to buy that special seasonal item they can only purchase during a limited time. So if you want to sell booster packs, if that business model is making money for you, then move those sales to the end of the event. Instead of buying daily points or tokens with them, maybe on that last event day or two players can buy their missing prize gifts outright. You could even make it a tiered thing. For instance, let’s say that the event allowed players to win up to nine gifts overall, but some players didn’t manage to earn enough points to win all nine prizes. So if you allow catch-up boosters, then the lowest price booster might let the players select their Top Three prize items to purchase before the opportunity to get them is gone. Middle priced booster lets you pick your Top Six. Highest priced booster lets you just buy all nine prize items outright. But by making players wait until the very end of the event, when others who participated daily have collected all of the rewards, for those paying players to catch up, that makes things fairer for the players who did all the tasks to gain the prizes, because those people should have the opportunity to enjoy the fruits of their efforts first.
Why would I support this suggested Booster Pack model over the one you have now? Because it’s inclusive, not exclusive. Because players are still encouraged to experience the fun of participation, yet there is a more level playing field for players who are truly unable to participate daily. And if you are willing to charge Avacoins or Gems for the packs, that would make them even more inclusive, especially if there is some way to make that offer an eitheor one. “Select Three Prizes--3000 Avacoins or $2.99.” Let the customer decide which form of currency works best for them. (And also make sure any three prizes they might select would have the average value of 1000 avacoins per prize, with the quality one would expect in an item we’d normally pay 1000 for, otherwise lower that booster pack price because again, players want good value for their money!)
Speaking of all players wanting to be included in the fun of an event, that also implies that players actually want events to be fun. This year, the main Halloween event felt strangely lacking. There didn’t seem to be much of any cooperative or even competitive play involved, no team goal or Winners’ Prize to work towards, not even much in the way of event prizes to win, even for those who did pay for the Booster Pack. And it was over far too soon. Yes, there was the late addition of a new gold badge (thanks for listening to that feedback, at least), but by that point a lot of players assumed the event was totally over, with half a month left to go, and therefore didn’t continue on to earn enough points to win the gold badge. I missed at least a week’s worth of participation because I thought continuing to play was pointless, even though it was the Wizard School week that ordinarily I would have loved, but I didn’t want to waste my Avacoins to buy magic spells for an event that I thought I’d collected every single prize gift from already. (Had you charged gems for those items, I probably would have stopped by there nightly regardless, just because I have more gems than the entire British Monarchy has ever stored away at the Tower of London in the last millennium, but even as a monthly coin pack buyer I don’t have coins to just throw around like confetti!)
Yes, we get that Lockwood is a business, and at the end of the day the company needs to make enough profit to pay for staff salaries and needs, and for company growth, and that in order to do so, you need to charge for some (or probably most) things. That is completely fair; all we ask is that the pricing for those things be equally fair, and that no matter what the pricing is, that we get good value for our money. Similarly, I know there is some demand from some players for exclusive items and/or more expensive “luxe” items which are perceived to have some prestige value. While I’m not in the market for that sort of thing and am personally not a fan of that mindset (because that’s another thing that I think drives a wedge between cash rich and cash poor players), I know that you’ve already long since set up those expectations, those luxe goods are important to some players, and quite likely those purchases are quite beneficial to your coffers as well, so fine. Maintain that status quo (without needlessly expanding on it) if that helps bring in more income. But we already have a lot of blingy luxe items in the regular Shop, so everything new doesn’t need to be super expensive. We also have the more expensive coin pack options for players who have the means to pay for additional luxe items and want to flaunt their gold-plated whatevers. That’s fine, let them be magpies and collect all the shiny things if they want to, as long as we can also continue to get some more moderately or low-priced coin pack options as well, and more nice quality items available in the regular Shop without ever having to make an IAP to obtain them. A lot of people would be less annoyed by most of the cool stuff being put into coin packs if there were very similar (but non-identical) items also available in the regular Shop. (For instance, I was briefly happy when the tablet and ear buds first came out, until I discovered the coin pack they were in were priced above my ability to pay. But you know what? I don’t really need a fancy gold-ornamented tablet. What I would have really appreciated, though, would have been if you had released some less fancy black or white tablets in the regular Shop at the same time. If you widened our buying options, you would probably see more sales, so I have no clue why you haven’t created less expensive, more readily available models of other luxe items as well. I’ve seen several requests on our subreddit for a non-gold, not overpriced helicopter to be sold in the regular Shop, for instance. I would buy the heck out of that!) You’ve also started introducing themed bundles at graduating price points, with more items being included in the higher priced bundles than in the lower priced ones. Again, that’s perfectly fair, as long as players aren’t forced to pay premium prices to get the one or two items that they want that can’t be obtained any other way...and that brings me right back to where I started this post!
Happy players are equally happy to help support a game that they love and enjoy, and even those who are unable to provide much financial support can and often do support the game in other ways that can bring in more players who can provide more financial support. Unhappy players, on the other hand, make for a very unhappy, confused, and dysfunctional community dynamic, often turning toxic and turning on each other as well as on Lockwood, and spreading their negative impressions of the game to the gamer community at large, which in the long run is unlikely to help attract new players and help your bottom line.
Despite this debacle of a Halloween season, I still love Avakin Life, though I’ve had to turn to playing another game for my stress relief this month, which is heartbreaking for me because this game has so much potential, but I am just so very frustrated with you lovely Lockwood people just now. I just wish it could be easier to hold out hope that our feedback and suggestions here will lead to future improvements in the game rather than conditions continuing to get worse. I’m sorry if this post seems harsh, but because I love you and want to see this game thrive and flourish for all of your (the company staff’s) sakes as much as for the player community and my own personal gameplay enjoyment, I have to be honest.
Your company, your choices. But please, for the sake of the community you are trying to foster, please listen to your players’ feedback. And please make better choices.

The diplomat Eradin bemoaned her lot as she looked at the “clothes” that laid before her. It was all well and good that the new “support staff” within the researchers were proving so adept at deciphering the human culture, but she wondered why she had to fit in this much with it. They had been refining their designs while she and the others who had been singled out as representatives were in pre-quarantine. Sadly this meant that she couldn’t object quite as quickly as before now that her communication options didn’t include barging into their lab with a rolled up plate-bread. She suspiciously held up the strange garments they had produced. They had at least been good enough to attach an instructional document with the package or she wouldn’t have dared to even attempt to wear it all. She had just completed her hygiene time and with half an hour left before the dinner was to commence she stood there in her quarters with equal parts dread and excitement, both at the prospects of the evening, and at what she would be wearing throughout it all.
Without any hint of shame the support staff had sent her something that she held at arms length after finding out how it was meant to be worn, it was barely more than a tiny patch of fabric held together with strings and lace.
She uttered a curse directed at the universe at large and its sense of humour towards her, then she muttered to herself that this wasn’t meant to be seen so why would she bother, yet her own curiosity got the better of her and she took the tiny garment over to the mirror. It was awkward to get into and her annoyance only grew as she adjusted how it fit. She cursed loudly, she cursed the humans who came up with this, she cursed the support staff who thought it was a good idea to copy, she cursed herself for trying it on, and she cursed the underwear for making her look that. Damn. Good.
Eradin looked at the time, it was plenty enough for her to calm down again before she had to take part in the dinner event, she couldn’t afford to lose her cool now, this mission and this dinner was far too important. She pushed her head-tails down with her hands, making a conscious effort for them to not wriggle around like those of an agitated spawnling. Where was that damned “crown” she wondered, rifling through the collection of clothes. She found what she was looking for and had to stop, close her eyes and just focus on breathing for several seconds. Not only was this a new model from the support staff meant to mimic a different “hairstyle” than her more professional meeting crown, it was covered in large crystals of compressed carbon which reflected enough light that Eradin swore she would look more like a lamp than a respectable diplomat.
Despite this she threaded it onto her head and shifted her head-tails into place until they rested comfortably within the hoops and crescents of the piece. Fighting against her better judgement she turned back to the mirror and looked, and looked. With a tilt of the head and a confounded expression she paused, then she gently rested one hand just above where the ribs on her lower abdomen began and shifted her weight. Then she swore, then she laughed, then she cursed the humans while laughing. She finally got it, she saw the way she looked and she understood why this would work. During the time she had been in talks with the earth delegation the research team had been sifting cultural data from every source they could and they had stumbled over the fictional video recordings they had heard was called “movies” or “films”, etymologically both of these names were stupid since the former stemmed from how the picture “moved” and the latter came from the early storage and production system, where reels of “film” captured the action. Of course the researchers had gobbled up this obvious source of incredibly well kept pop culture history. They had held nightly “movie marathons” and obsessed so much even the captain was annoyed, because the crew would be drawn in and stay up watching these recordings instead of resting for their next shift.
Regardless, the researchers had kept going and they had become especially fascinated if not fixated on a subset called “gangster movies”, and now, now Eradin stared into the mirror and saw how the support staff had gone out of their way to turn her into a “femme fatale” archetype for this dinner. It was too comical for her to even worry anymore and with a gleeful sound she resigned herself to this fate. She threw the deep red sparkling dress over her head and pulled the fabric down over her body, its hue contrasted vividly against her natural, light-ish blue skin. The design was precisely as outrageous as she would have feared but by now her brain had stopped noticing the signals that should result in shame, outrage and indignation. Looking back in the mirror she adjusted the tight garment to the right fit, with every move she made the fabric stretched against her skin, the neckline wasn’t as deep as she feared but the backside ended just above her buttocks, exposing her entire back for anyone to see. The fabric made to cover her legs had a long split split on both sides and any time she moved her feet the fabric rolled back and exposed her legs. At least it made it fairly easy to move in.
It was a garment that spoke volumes in its own way and Eradin couldn’t help but enjoy it, her training kicking in and telling her that the way she would stand out, she would have the attention of everyone whenever she wanted it, and that was a strong advantage. She finally turned to her shoes and uttered a statement of relief as she saw that the support staff had enough sense to not try and give her those monstrosities with elevating spikes on them.
Now all that remained were accessories, and here tradition would triumph over accommodating the humans. She picked up the golden broad collar necklace and carefully arranged it onto herself, it wasn’t very surprising in hindsight but the dress neckline matched almost perfectly with the necklace, there were even small points on the shoulders where the necklace could attach. To the humans this would likely look like a statement of wealth but to the Sholeg this was a statement of Eradin’s status as the diplomatic and political leader on this mission. Alongside the dress there lay a sheer piece of cloth that she now picked up, according to the guidance of the support staff it was meant for her to drape loosely over her shoulders, at least it provided a little bit of coverage for her back.
There wasn’t much time left but all the diplomat had left was the translator. She took up the small black oval transmitter and stuck the adhesive surface against the base of her throat. Then she attached the matching receivers to the openings of her hearing canals. Something no one had thought of initially was that the humans had some form of cartilage to direct sound into theirs, showing their much dryer heritage. With the translator in place Eradin thought herself fully ready to go, she even had seven minutes to spare. Luckily she did a final sweep and found the golden coverings to the devices that had been made to match her necklace, for once she felt genuinely thankful for the efforts of the support crew.
​
———
​
Solar marine Sandra Gyllenbrandt was pacing back and forth in her quarters. She didn’t like this, she didn’t like this at all. She didn’t get why she was chosen to be part of this big important dinner, sure she was technically some kind of hero after being the first marine to survive getting the Ceres award for exceptional conduct, but still not anyone who should be involved in something as momentous as this. Annoyingly though, the thing she didn’t like the most was how anxious she was over this, she wasn’t some rookie about to do their own training drop, she was a hardened veteran.
Suddenly the speaker on the wall crackled to life, “Miss Gyllenbrandt, the quarantine time will end in just a few minutes, are you fully prepared?” the operator on the other end said, startling Sandra and sending her jumping into the air.
“Yeah, sure,” she answered, looking at the timer situated just above the door. Her mind kept creeping back to the same question: why would the visitors care for her?Sandra didn’t know, and she hated it, it wasn’t likely she’d get any answers either, her higher ups were extremely tight lipped, claiming “classified” on anything to do with this whole ordeal. Classified! She was part of it and didn’t get shit!Well she did at the briefing but then all they said was that “she’d represent human valour and the current state of our military ways." Which didn’t really mean anything beyond, “you’re a war hero with a rack, make us look good." She the tugged at her hair and let out a groan in frustration before recomposing herself and brushing it back into shape, it was not a good time to look unprofessional. After putting the brush back in its drawer and went back to pacing. A short buzzer alerted her of how little time was left.
The last minutes dragged by but finally the buzzer sounded again followed by a loud click and whoosh as the doors to her quarters unlocked and opened. Sandra straightened her clothes one last time and stepped into the “airlock” of her quarantine room. The door sealing behind her before nozzles embedded in the walls sprayed a mist that would kill most pathogens, while also bathing her in a faint UV light, enough to further kill off bacteria, but not so much that it was any danger to her.
Finally she could step out into the corridor beyond. She scratched at the back of her hand absentmindedly before walking in the direction that the signage indicated lead to the “meeting place”.
The meeting place was made up of several rooms and areas, first there was the gathering rooms, glorified waiting areas, one on each side of the main diplomatic area, these waiting rooms connected to the quarantine areas of its respective delegation. From there another further airlock operating with a positive pressure atmosphere lead into the main areas, which had a communal dining room and two recreational areas connecting to individual cabin rooms, once again tailored to fit each delegation.
This effectively placed the dining and conference room as the true neutral ground as the recreational areas were more akin to “home turf” for either the visitors, or the humans.
All of this had been constructed extremely rapidly and had only been completed a day before the quarantine period would be ended, this included the extensive sterilisation of the entire structure. Sandra was glad to see that she wasn’t the only fish out of water, although the man who had made it to the gathering room first seemed even more nervous than her.
Before her stood a somewhat short man in a dark grey suit, not particularly muscular, probably in his 30s, clear asian heritage, definitely a decent looker in terms of his face, short black hair in a very unassuming but trendy styling, he wore small square glasses with thin rims and was furiously scribbling notes. Sandra thought back to her briefing and ran through the names and occupations of the other delegates, only one fit with this person. She called out to him as she came closer, “mr. Duan Wen? I’m Sandra Gyllenbrandt, nice to finally meet." The man looked up at her with a startled expression, then scribbled a final figure into his notes before answering, “yes, so it is, you’ll have to excuse me, I was simply making some preliminary estimations and predictions."
Sandra nodded, Duan Wen had been selected for his, “knowledge on human bureaucracy, apolitical governmental tasks and our relations to institutions."
To her that just sounded like they were saying that he was the closest thing they had to a planetary accountant and lawyer all in one. Before she had time to truly ponder this however, they were joined by another from their delegation, “well hello there, glad to see I’m not last at least."
The man who had joined them looked old, with grey hair and a small pointy beard / moustache combination. His clothes did nothing to lessen this aged appearance, as he sported a white shirt, pressed tweed trousers and a deep green sleeveless jumper. All in all, he exuded academia. “Professor Gonzales, what a pleasure to see you,” Duan Wen said in a familiar tone, clearly the two of them had met before. Once again Sandra recalled what she had learnt in the briefing. Professor Eduard Gonzales, a historian, specialising on some of the worst acts humans had done historically. He was also known as a radically outspoken anti-fascist, something Sandra appreciated. “Ah young Wen. It must’ve been years since I presented that diploma to you, I see you’ve put it to good use,” the professors small talk helpfully allowed Sandra to fill in some spots in her mental map of connections.
The trio made introductions and some small talk but soon Sandra stood in silence as the two intellectuals were in deep discussion on the finer points of statecraft. Luckily for her the fourth (and second to last) member of their delegation was arriving at that time. A woman with curly red hair in a ponytail approached the trio, she was sporting a nearly pitch black suit, her stride was confident and her stance such that Sandra instinctively adjusted herself into a guarded stance, not noticeable to the two civilians, but the pair with training were sizing each other up in a silent staring match. Sandra racked her brain, the only other female name was Gwenneth Hughes, and if the reasoning for the rest of the delegation was scarce, the reasoning on her inclusion was non existent. “Ms. Hughes?” Sandra almost hissed, her eyes cold. The woman cracked a smirk, “Indeed I am, relax, we’re not combatants here." Hearing that it all clicked for Sandra, it was all in how the woman talked, or rather in how she didn’t. She didn’t speak with any accent, not even the subtle accent all military life brings with it. This was someone who had worked intel, a person used to adopting personas, voices and appearances as her work demanded it, in short, a spy. That stared rounding out the delegation almost to a scary degree, they had a historian, a legislative genius, a “war hero”, and a spy, and the last member of the delegation was…“Oh my, I hope I’m not late,” a booming voice said, dragging everyones attention towards its owner. Günther Spahr was a tall man, despite his name and home country he had a dark hue to his skin, and the dreadlocks that made up his hair was by far the longest hair in the whole delegation. He wore a garishly bright short sleeved shirt with blue waves and orange flowers on it. If she didn’t know better Sandra would’ve said he’d mistaken this for a trip to the beach. “Hardly,” she said before beginning to make introductions.
———
Eradin stood impatiently next to captain Mezka, he too had been kitted out by the newly formed support staff and had a massive, dark blue, anachronistic, asymmetrical and frankly impractically embellished long-coat over a similarly over the top uniform in a light grey, blending the type used by the Sholeg and humans. Given her own predicament she admitted to herself that this, was not surprising. They also had one of the scientists alongside them. A junior researcher called Rok’tem, but by now all their colleagues called them Timmy.
Timmy was wearing an orange, impractically bulky jumpsuit rolled down and tied together at the waist, with a “tank top” and adjustable elastic bands of fabric on their upper body. From the human cultural media Eradin had seen this was likely an effort to emulate human engineers as the frankly useless rigging-suspenders combination didn’t actually hold anything beyond a few small pouches and clasps.
The final member from their end was another scientist, a biologist and medical expert called Hok’shla, that had received the nickname of Huxley. His outfit consisted of a long white coat without any embellishments, beneath this he had a tight fitting red “turtlenecked” top as well as the trousers Eradin had come to expect from human clothing.
The captain awkwardly adjusted the cap he had been given alongside the rest of his outfit.
Eradin looked at the rest of her delegation and asked, “since we are all here, should we proceed?”They all nodded to her and she pressed her hand against the button to the door, which slid open with a hiss and a rush of air.
Opening the airlock on their side would cause the airlock on the human side to open as well, but the system reported all delegates as present so this did not worry Eradin.
The two delegations both had to enter this final airlock and go through a final decontamination. The Sholeg diplomat felt a rush of excitement as the cold disinfectant filled the airlock as a thin mist.
She stepped out and studied the five humans in front of her. One was a tall woman, muscular build, short dark blonde hair, wearing a slate grey uniform. Next to her was a man in glasses with black hair, and a dull suit much akin to those she’d seen a hundred times by now. Her eyes skimmed over the elderly man and the red haired agent before she blinked multiple times. The final member of their group wore something unlike anything she had actually seen in person before, not only that, the man also seemed to have intricate markings on his skin but Eradin couldn’t tell what the meaning of the patterns were.
The human delegation did step forward but did not speak, seemingly stunned.
———
Sandra clenched her hands as the final airlock doors opened, she had heard descriptions of the visitors but actual images were being kept even more classified than descriptions.
As the doors slid open what seemed to her as far too slowly she got her first glimpses of blue, red, flashes of white and orange was there as well, she figured that they were probably dressed up as well, she had been told that they did wear clothes at least.
What she hadn’t anticipated was the sight that she was met with. The visitors were tall, easily 2 and a half meters, their proportions were leaner than humans but with a form mostly familiar. Their hands had five fingers but were of a more symmetrical form than human ones, essentially giving them two thumbs and three central fingers. Sandra also made note of the retractable webbing between the fingers, thinking to herself that the visitors had to be aquatic to some degree. A thought that was reinforced as she saw the slits on their necks rhythmically open and close in a breathing pattern, in other words, they had gills.
Still none of that was too far beyond human imagination really, more questions would’ve been raised by their faces however, they did not have any form of nose, but they did have four eyes, with the top pair smaller and further apart than their lower pair.
Each of the four Visitors had their own outfit and stood out in their own right. One looked like an overly decorated admiral with scars all over, a mechanical hand and a demeanour that oozed veteran-sailor. Another looked like a doctor in a lab-coat, only filtered through an alien way of thinking. The same went for the engineer, this one was notably shorter than the rest but still stood at around even height with the human delegates.
The Visitor in the… attention grabbing red dress and jewelry stepped forward and parted her thin lips, revealing a smile that stretched wider than a humans with teeth that looked far sharper, clearly a mainly predatory species in their natural habitat, in a way they reminded her of the teeth a seal would have. The final detail that differentiated the two species was the tentacles that sprouted from the Visitors’ heads, looking like thick prehensile hair. “It is a pleasure to finally be able to meet a human face to face,” the delegate said, its voice replicated near perfectly through the translation devices they all had.
Sandra nodded and opened her mouth to speak when Duan Wen spoke instead. “We are equally honoured to receive such dignified guests, we hope this residence will be satisfactory, as we did not have time to fully fabricate anything more elegant at this time,” he said in something Sandra thought was an almost condescendingly humble tone. The Visitor in the dress, who assumedly was the one nominally in charge, inclined its head. “You need not worry over that, these quarters are not quite so spartan as you may think them to be, and even so their expansion would be a simple matter at this point,” it said, the calmness of the translated voice soothing the minds of the delegates.
Soon introductions had been made and the two delegations found themselves seated at the table in the centre of the meeting room.
Sandra realised that there was no cooks nor cooking facilities that any of them could access. She decided to voice this concern and said, “excuse me but, how are we going to actually get the food?”The Visitor apparently called Timmy lit up at this question and answered, “Oh that’s an excellent point, but no need to worry, see we actually have a fully functioning automaton kitchen that is built on top of this room capable of an extraordinarily wide range of cooking techniques. I myself didn’t actually get to take part in the process but I’ve been told it was a quite complex process to satisfy the human food technicians that not only would the mechanical preparing aids do the job just as well as they would, but also that all their techniques and methods would be represented properly. Of course all the raw ingredients has been brought in the regular way but will be put through proper decontamination during the preparation process."
The humans just nodded to this, this was a lot more information than their own people had given them prior to this. Eradin, the leading diplomat made a slight vibrating buzzing from her gills and the engineer apologetically sank back into their seat. “Quite, now if I didn’t misunderstand that… we should begin to signal that the preparations should begin yes?” She said, and by now the humans were sure it was a she they were talking to.
Sandra voiced her enthusiasm, as did Günther’s stomach. “Ehm before that, I have to admit that I need to ask an… awkward question, why me? I, honestly I get the reason everyone else was picked but I can’t actually tell why my presence would be so… well, why I matter in this?” Sandra said, despite the absolutely deadly look she could feel Gwenneth giving her she completed her sentence. To her surprise the entire Visitor delegation reacted similarly, with completely sincere surprise. “This… I… captain if you could?” Eradin began, her seeming loss off words sent the wave of surprise right back at the human delegates. The captain made a sound similar to the one the delegate had made when taking over from the engineer, the conclusion the humans came to was that it was their equivalent of clearing their throat, at this the Sholeg diplomat rose from her seat and strode over to a control panel placed on the wall, assumedly sending a signal to the kitchen-bots to start cooking.
Then he spoke in a voice that translated as that of a veteran seafarer, “Our mission has been one of discovery, and from the first meeting we had, it became clear you Humans were a martial species, not devoid of the philosophy, but war’s in your genes, fighting’s what you’re good at and it shows, thus, this coming time where our kinds will be sharing this space is all meant to help us both begin to understand each other better."
Sandra nodded with confusion still clear on her face but voiced her thoughts to confirm her suspicions, “so I really am here to represent the way humans fight?”The captain simply nodded in response, then he took a swig of the water that had already been placed on the table.
It wasn’t long until both delegations began asking questions without many answers being given. Eradin finally had enough of this and with a loud sound drew the attention of everyone before saying, “I understand how everyone has oh so many questions but quite frankly we cannot all have them answered at once, I propose we leave the topics be for now and later, after we have eaten we can engage in more separated discussions and pursue whatever topics we choose."
This was thankfully met with agreement and they all sat back down. Only a few minutes later did the first dishes appear from a hatch in the ceiling, a robotic arm lowered down with a large tray covered by a cloche. It placed the tray in front of the human delegation before zipping back up and returning with another similarly sized tray for the Visitors. The arm made two more trips and returned with another tray for each side of the table, the humans receiving one with stoneware cups (without ears) and a large pitcher of amber liquid while the Visitors received a wine glass each alongside a large bottle of wine. It had already been confirmed in the planning stages of this dinner that the Sholeg could consume alcohol, with similar results to humans, although their tolerance was far lower.
With the drinks delivered the robotic arm retreated back into the ceiling, leaving the table in awkward silence, nobody quite sure who should go first.
Sandra broke the silence, “since it seems the first course is here, let’s not sit around and let it cool too much." To this everyone nodded their agreement and the cloches were lifted at the same time, revealing the mysterious foods hidden underneath. What was being served to the Sholeg was a roasted salmon dish, four small plates, with carefully stacked pieces of salmon was encircled with carefully piped and lightly charred pomme duchesse, as well as a tasteful sprinkling of herbs and a single lemon wedge. On the side of this stood a sauce boat with a small hint of steam rising from it.
The food served to the humans was initially surprising, but they all came to see that it was no more surprising to them than their own cuisine was to the Visitors. They had been served a large steamed crustacean which lay with its many small legs arching in on its exposed belly, somewhat resembling a ribcage Sandra grimly thought to herself. The crustacean was surrounded by a significant number of fruits, or maybe they were root vegetables, they had a deep green internal colour and a thick yellowy orange skin that had been cut with a simple X shape on the top, allowing the skin to peel itself open a bit and steam emitted from the entire tray. Most striking was the smell however, it was immediately reminiscent of sharp spices, not at all like most seafood served on earth, the roots smelled vaguely like pears, but with a much earthier tone and much less sweetly. The taste was equally alien, it was definitely a heavily spiced dish, but the meat of the crustacean was also sweet with a rich juiciness, perfectly weighing up for the dry flouriness of the roots, which on their own would have been very tart in their flavour. Together they balanced out brilliantly, and paired with the deep, dark flavour of the fruit juice being served alongside it, there was no one in the human delegation who could complain about the food that evening. Similarly, the Visitors seemed ecstatic over their elegant meal and kept on singing the praises of the fine wine, which thankfully turned out to be very appreciated by their palate, apparently they picked up on flavours the humans did not, but in a stroke of pure luck, those flavours were not unpleasant ones. Another aspect that kept them astounded was the intricacy of the potato dish, it wasn’t an inherently foreign concept to them to have recipes which involved multiple rounds of “cooking” but it was not all that common either.
What had been served up didn’t last long, and soon all plates were empty, with almost only hard shells and lemon peels remaining. The Sholeg captain had inadvertently had the most wine and was now spinning tales of deep space adventures and old war engagements, Timmy had fallen asleep with their face against the table and was doing the equivalent of snoring to much amusement for the humans who weren’t captivated by the mad tales of a veteran navy officer.
Eradin sat comfortable in her seat taking in the whole ordeal while the scientist was taking notes at a furious pace, not wanting any of the evenings experiences to be wasted.
As the captain laughed loudly Sandra turned away from the spacefarer, she looked over to see the diplomat in the red dress sit across the table with a smirk. She had been preparing for this for weeks, but now… now it had happened, and she thought to herself, “first contact fucking rocks."
​
​
​
​
First. --- Previous.
​
​
Post Scriptum: Finally got this finished, been tinkering on this part for a while now, got a rough outline of where this is going and it shouldn't take this long for the next part, or be this massive when done, hopefully. (Edit. Fiddled with the links, that's all. )
​

hi i’m really trying to figure out what this hairstyle is so i can Just Know, and do more research on it and stuff :)
https://decadent-hag.tumblr.com/post/160917270716
https://prominentmen.tumblr.com/post/184953072585
i’ve seen other people call it a wedge or firefly, and while the latter is closer i think neither are exactly It yk.
thanks in advance!