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Kaafi Cringe Matter : Strong Coffee Recommended.
2024.05.14 07:33 Thebigbangthe0ry Kaafi Cringe Matter : Strong Coffee Recommended.
I was living in Noida at the time in a rented flat and only would be home once in a while. The landlord would only text on the 1st to remind me of the rent due and duly acknowledge the payment. Very rarely did he call if ever. One of those days, he asked me to not pay rent online and instead meet his wife at the local market and give her cash. Yada Yada Yada met her in the bazaar, paid cash and went about my day. Later that evening, my phone buzzed and it was the wife. She wanted to tell me I was a polite guy and it felt good to meet someone who spoke to softly and focused only on the matter at hand. I was happy. She would regularly text after that and at one point revealed how she was jealous of her sister who lived close by. It was apparently because she was having good sex and the wife wasn't. I was surprised really if not much else. It was such a bizarre thing to say. She then proceeded to send me some of her photographs and we discussed some "things" in detail. It was slightly difficult for me to accept mentally but I decided to go on as the things went.
Cut to my last day at the flat and she texts me she is downstairs. I check through the window and sure she is there. Says hi. I was flattered if you ask me. Then she just leaves. Case closed. No communication after until one fine my facebook messenger buzzes with a message. I say I wanted to do this and that and yada yada yada. She was surprised beyond measure and I completely blanked out.
Ladies, Gentlemen and everyone else : It was her husband all along who had been sharing photos and talking smack. I felt something eerie up my spine and life has not been the same since.
submitted by Thebigbangthe0ry to delhi [link] [comments]
Cut to my last day at the flat and she texts me she is downstairs. I check through the window and sure she is there. Says hi. I was flattered if you ask me. Then she just leaves. Case closed. No communication after until one fine my facebook messenger buzzes with a message. I say I wanted to do this and that and yada yada yada. She was surprised beyond measure and I completely blanked out.
Ladies, Gentlemen and everyone else : It was her husband all along who had been sharing photos and talking smack. I felt something eerie up my spine and life has not been the same since.
2024.05.14 02:58 Adventurous-Hobbyist ABYG for lashing out on and cutting ties off my father?
Back story: i (early 30s F) used to be my father’s (mid-50s M) favorite daughter until i’m not. On going divorce processing sila ng mother ko and may ka LDR si papa sa ibang bansa na bagong relationship lang din. Safe to say nasa honeymoon stage sila. Side note: for some while na, me and my other adult sibs have diminished our respect sakanya for multiple reasons.
I have kids of my own and may kapatid akong around the same age lang ng eldest kong anak. So, pag may kailangan for school, groceries and others dinadamay ko na. I earn more naman kasi compared sa ‘rents ko so i don’t really mind. Since separated na parents namin, i and my kids live with my mom’s fam with my youngest kapatid. So lahat ng kailangan ng mga bata andito na samin. And no, walang child support binibigay tatay ko since wala din siyang source of stable income. Me and my two grown sibs no longer depend on our father’s assistance. Ang sabi na lang namin kahit wag na kami, yung bunso na lang. now, his sole role or ambag na lang is maghahatid in the morning sa mga bata to school. My youngest kapatid and my kids. Hindi niya pa magampanan yang simple role na yan kesyo wala daw gas, sira daw sasakyan and kung ano pa. Mind you, may dalawa siyang sasakyan - isa galing sa kapatid niya, isa galing sa gf niya. Both overused cars so nagkaka problema din. Of all the reasons na di siya makakasundo and hatid sa mga bata is because he wakes up late, ending either pinapasolo namin mga bata papuntang school or hinahatid ko. Btw, i work graveshift.
Eto na ang exciting part: what’s worse than him waking up late is magdamag silang magka video call ng ldr gf niya. Literally magdamag kahit tulog sila. So i cant call him via messenger, dapat phone call. Eh di naman ako nagloload kasi wherever i go, i have wifi. So this morning, after work ko since naprepare naman na ni mama bfast ng anak ko for school, and she said na nagusap na sila ni papa na magsusundo si papa umidlip na muna ako. Yung kapatid ko di makakapasok since may sinat daw.
I get off work at 5am. Tapos around 7am nakita ko di pa nasusundo anak ko. Tried calling my father via messenger kahit alam kong di uubra, desperately, nakiusap ako sa mga friends kong online na maki call pero wala din pantawag sa phone. At this point bwisit na bwisit na ako kasi naalimpungatan, puyat, and gigil na ako. Also, before today, couple of times ko na nabanggit sakanya na ang hirap niya contactin pag uumaga para gisingin siya para magsundo. The most recent one was not even a week ago. I guess he took it lightly kaya magdamag pa rin silang nakababad mag vc.
Balik tayo sa ganap this morning. When he eventually woke up, tinanong niya ako kung nasa bahay pa daw mga bata. Obvs yes. And dito na ako naglash out. Sabi ko sa chat sakanya yet again, ang hirap niya contactin. Nakikisuyo pa ako sa iba para lang matawagan siya. And napamura ako with matching exclamation points. Nagmura ako, di ko siya minura. There’s a difference. So syempre, bilang naalimpungatan din siya, natrigger siya dun sa sinabi ko, nagalit din siya. Ofc. Nasabi ko na lang na wag na siya magsundo, salamt na lang in a furious way.
So ayun, ang ending ako na naghatid sa anak ko sa school and while walking papuntang sakayan ng jeep, eto na siya, pinapalipad na sasakyan. Galit niyang sinabi sakin na siya na daw maghahatid. Nung nakita niyang wala yung kapatid ko, dumeretcho siya sa bahay kasi di niya alam na may sinat so di niya alam na di rin papasok. Few mins later, nadaanan niya ulet kami pabalik, siya na daw maghahatid. Sabi ko, no. Not anymore. Cut off na siya. And he drove away. I blocked him na. I feel so g4g() while composing this and i guess AYG. Pero sino ba yung mas g4g()? Ako o yung tatay ko? Hahahaha
submitted by Adventurous-Hobbyist to AkoBaYungGago [link] [comments]
I have kids of my own and may kapatid akong around the same age lang ng eldest kong anak. So, pag may kailangan for school, groceries and others dinadamay ko na. I earn more naman kasi compared sa ‘rents ko so i don’t really mind. Since separated na parents namin, i and my kids live with my mom’s fam with my youngest kapatid. So lahat ng kailangan ng mga bata andito na samin. And no, walang child support binibigay tatay ko since wala din siyang source of stable income. Me and my two grown sibs no longer depend on our father’s assistance. Ang sabi na lang namin kahit wag na kami, yung bunso na lang. now, his sole role or ambag na lang is maghahatid in the morning sa mga bata to school. My youngest kapatid and my kids. Hindi niya pa magampanan yang simple role na yan kesyo wala daw gas, sira daw sasakyan and kung ano pa. Mind you, may dalawa siyang sasakyan - isa galing sa kapatid niya, isa galing sa gf niya. Both overused cars so nagkaka problema din. Of all the reasons na di siya makakasundo and hatid sa mga bata is because he wakes up late, ending either pinapasolo namin mga bata papuntang school or hinahatid ko. Btw, i work graveshift.
Eto na ang exciting part: what’s worse than him waking up late is magdamag silang magka video call ng ldr gf niya. Literally magdamag kahit tulog sila. So i cant call him via messenger, dapat phone call. Eh di naman ako nagloload kasi wherever i go, i have wifi. So this morning, after work ko since naprepare naman na ni mama bfast ng anak ko for school, and she said na nagusap na sila ni papa na magsusundo si papa umidlip na muna ako. Yung kapatid ko di makakapasok since may sinat daw.
I get off work at 5am. Tapos around 7am nakita ko di pa nasusundo anak ko. Tried calling my father via messenger kahit alam kong di uubra, desperately, nakiusap ako sa mga friends kong online na maki call pero wala din pantawag sa phone. At this point bwisit na bwisit na ako kasi naalimpungatan, puyat, and gigil na ako. Also, before today, couple of times ko na nabanggit sakanya na ang hirap niya contactin pag uumaga para gisingin siya para magsundo. The most recent one was not even a week ago. I guess he took it lightly kaya magdamag pa rin silang nakababad mag vc.
Balik tayo sa ganap this morning. When he eventually woke up, tinanong niya ako kung nasa bahay pa daw mga bata. Obvs yes. And dito na ako naglash out. Sabi ko sa chat sakanya yet again, ang hirap niya contactin. Nakikisuyo pa ako sa iba para lang matawagan siya. And napamura ako with matching exclamation points. Nagmura ako, di ko siya minura. There’s a difference. So syempre, bilang naalimpungatan din siya, natrigger siya dun sa sinabi ko, nagalit din siya. Ofc. Nasabi ko na lang na wag na siya magsundo, salamt na lang in a furious way.
So ayun, ang ending ako na naghatid sa anak ko sa school and while walking papuntang sakayan ng jeep, eto na siya, pinapalipad na sasakyan. Galit niyang sinabi sakin na siya na daw maghahatid. Nung nakita niyang wala yung kapatid ko, dumeretcho siya sa bahay kasi di niya alam na may sinat so di niya alam na di rin papasok. Few mins later, nadaanan niya ulet kami pabalik, siya na daw maghahatid. Sabi ko, no. Not anymore. Cut off na siya. And he drove away. I blocked him na. I feel so g4g() while composing this and i guess AYG. Pero sino ba yung mas g4g()? Ako o yung tatay ko? Hahahaha
2024.05.14 01:51 LeftoverGarbage The Best IPTV provider in USA and Why ?
As 2024 approaches, many will be considering upgrading their IPTV subscription to take advantage of new features and channel offerings from providers. With the industry constantly evolving, selecting the right service is crucial for an exceptional viewing experience in the new year and beyond. This guide examines the top options for 2024 based on key evaluation points.
Programming Package
A comprehensive channel selection will remain central to any premium service in 2024. Leaders like promise well over 100,000 global channels by next year across live TV, VOD and PPV categories. Evaluating providers' channel roadmaps is wise to ensure your favorite networks and specialty offerings will continue expanding over the next 12 months.
Device Compatibility
Seamless access across a wide range of devices from any location will still define top IPTV experiences in 2024. Premier providers like 4KIPTVSpot commit to adding new device types and platforms regularly based on customer demands. Their universal compatibility ensures entertainment is always available however and wherever you choose to watch.
Picture Quality Advances
Industry forecasts suggest 4K and 8K live streams will become far more commonplace in 2024. 4KIPTVSpot pledges to deliver the bulk of its library at minimum 4K quality by next year to satisfy increasing resolution expectations. Their extensive network upgrades ensure customers enjoy cinema-grade entertainment directly on compatible screens at home.
Customizable Features
IPTV subscriptions moving into 2024 that offer high degrees of customization and personalization will satisfy diverse subscriber needs most effectively. Services like 4KIPTVSpot enable highly tailored channel bundles, playback options, user profiles and more for ultimate control. Their innovative feature-sets keep the experience feeling fresh for years.
Reliability Through Upgrades
Keeping pace with growing demands requires networks upgrading constantly. Top IPTV providers dedicate sizable budgets to server improvements that guarantee reliability as channel loads increase heading into 2024 and beyond. Premium IPTV promises redundant capacities to deliver an uninterrupted viewing experience under even the heaviest traffic.
Continued Value
Multi-year plans from reputable suppliers remain the most cost-effective option heading into the new year.4KIPTVSpot great long-term value starting at just $49.99 annually through 2024. Their competitive pricing and consistent feature additions over time make them a leading choice.
Customer Support Excellence
Any issues that might occur with extensive programming require fast responses. 4KIPTVSpot commits to award-winning 24/7 multi-channel support globally into 2024 to solve problems swiftly so the focus stays on enjoying entertainment. Their customer-first approach leads the industry.
In summary, prioritizing these important criteria when selecting an IPTV provider positions you to fully capitalize on all the exciting advancements coming to the industry in 2024 and take your entertainment experience to new heights in the new year. 4KIPTVSpot stands out as the top choice.
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submitted by LeftoverGarbage to iptvspot1 [link] [comments]
Programming Package
A comprehensive channel selection will remain central to any premium service in 2024. Leaders like promise well over 100,000 global channels by next year across live TV, VOD and PPV categories. Evaluating providers' channel roadmaps is wise to ensure your favorite networks and specialty offerings will continue expanding over the next 12 months.
Device Compatibility
Seamless access across a wide range of devices from any location will still define top IPTV experiences in 2024. Premier providers like 4KIPTVSpot commit to adding new device types and platforms regularly based on customer demands. Their universal compatibility ensures entertainment is always available however and wherever you choose to watch.
Picture Quality Advances
Industry forecasts suggest 4K and 8K live streams will become far more commonplace in 2024. 4KIPTVSpot pledges to deliver the bulk of its library at minimum 4K quality by next year to satisfy increasing resolution expectations. Their extensive network upgrades ensure customers enjoy cinema-grade entertainment directly on compatible screens at home.
Customizable Features
IPTV subscriptions moving into 2024 that offer high degrees of customization and personalization will satisfy diverse subscriber needs most effectively. Services like 4KIPTVSpot enable highly tailored channel bundles, playback options, user profiles and more for ultimate control. Their innovative feature-sets keep the experience feeling fresh for years.
Reliability Through Upgrades
Keeping pace with growing demands requires networks upgrading constantly. Top IPTV providers dedicate sizable budgets to server improvements that guarantee reliability as channel loads increase heading into 2024 and beyond. Premium IPTV promises redundant capacities to deliver an uninterrupted viewing experience under even the heaviest traffic.
Continued Value
Multi-year plans from reputable suppliers remain the most cost-effective option heading into the new year.4KIPTVSpot great long-term value starting at just $49.99 annually through 2024. Their competitive pricing and consistent feature additions over time make them a leading choice.
Customer Support Excellence
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2024.05.13 13:03 Sven-Ost Loving OLSP ❤️❤️
 | submitted by Sven-Ost to OLSP_system [link] [comments] |
2024.05.13 12:48 chickenalaperper 3 years to live
TW: Suicidal thoughts
First time posting here pero gusto ko lang may mapagsabihan kahit mga strangers. Sana bigyan nyo ng oras yung post ko.
I'm 26 years old and was just told by my doctor that I have 3 years left to live. For context, I had a stroke when I was 21 and my body started to become weak as time passed by. Ngayon, my blood vessels are getting thin because of a congenital condition and there's nothing I can do para baguhin yun. However, may mga sinabi yung doctor na pwede kong gawin to possibly prolong the life I have now.
Pero sa takbo ng mga pangyayari sa buhay ko, parang ayoko na. Parang gusto ko nalang i-end now. I mean why put myself through the hardship and pain of my condition kung pwede ko naman na ipahinga yung katawan ko ngayon diba?
I found the woman for me and we split 2 weeks ago. The dog I cared for also died 3 weeks ago. Family is not in the best shape to be there for me kasi lalo lang silang mas-stress kung sasabihin ko sa kanila yung buong katotohanan sa condition ko.
I'm living alone now and was told by my doctor to live life to the fullest while doing drastic changes to give myself the chance of having a healthier body. Yung definition para sa akin ng "live life to the fullest" is me being with the girl I still love and care for so much and having a life with her in the future. But that's out the window now.
Hindi naman ako masamang tao, breadwinner ako ng family namin. I've been told to be a very kind and selfless person pero bakit sa akin binigay ng mundo yung ganto. Wala naman akong pinahirapang tao sa mundong to dahil mostly self-provided yung mga bagay na meron ako ngayon. I mean walang ginastos ever sa studies ko and even nung college naging working student ako para magkaron ng pang-baon.
Ngayon, wala akong mapagsabihan kasi I'm afraid of people treating me differently. I already feel different, gusto ko lang matrato with all the love people have for me. Wala naman akong pinepwersa, gusto ko lang naman maalagaan.
It's just sad that here I am contemplating of ending my suffering alone in my apartment rather than living a life knowing that it's ending or the quality of it is going down anytime in the next 3 years.
submitted by chickenalaperper to OffMyChestPH [link] [comments]
First time posting here pero gusto ko lang may mapagsabihan kahit mga strangers. Sana bigyan nyo ng oras yung post ko.
I'm 26 years old and was just told by my doctor that I have 3 years left to live. For context, I had a stroke when I was 21 and my body started to become weak as time passed by. Ngayon, my blood vessels are getting thin because of a congenital condition and there's nothing I can do para baguhin yun. However, may mga sinabi yung doctor na pwede kong gawin to possibly prolong the life I have now.
Pero sa takbo ng mga pangyayari sa buhay ko, parang ayoko na. Parang gusto ko nalang i-end now. I mean why put myself through the hardship and pain of my condition kung pwede ko naman na ipahinga yung katawan ko ngayon diba?
I found the woman for me and we split 2 weeks ago. The dog I cared for also died 3 weeks ago. Family is not in the best shape to be there for me kasi lalo lang silang mas-stress kung sasabihin ko sa kanila yung buong katotohanan sa condition ko.
I'm living alone now and was told by my doctor to live life to the fullest while doing drastic changes to give myself the chance of having a healthier body. Yung definition para sa akin ng "live life to the fullest" is me being with the girl I still love and care for so much and having a life with her in the future. But that's out the window now.
Hindi naman ako masamang tao, breadwinner ako ng family namin. I've been told to be a very kind and selfless person pero bakit sa akin binigay ng mundo yung ganto. Wala naman akong pinahirapang tao sa mundong to dahil mostly self-provided yung mga bagay na meron ako ngayon. I mean walang ginastos ever sa studies ko and even nung college naging working student ako para magkaron ng pang-baon.
Ngayon, wala akong mapagsabihan kasi I'm afraid of people treating me differently. I already feel different, gusto ko lang matrato with all the love people have for me. Wala naman akong pinepwersa, gusto ko lang naman maalagaan.
It's just sad that here I am contemplating of ending my suffering alone in my apartment rather than living a life knowing that it's ending or the quality of it is going down anytime in the next 3 years.
2024.05.13 07:25 Willy_Fisher Count Magnus.
By what means the papers out of which I have made a connected story came into my hands is the last point which the reader will learn from these pages. But it is necessary to prefix to my extracts from them a statement of the form in which I possess them. They consist, then, partly of a series of collections for a book of travels, such a volume as was a common product of the forties and fifties. Horace Marryat's Journal of a Residence in Jutland and the Danish Isles is a fair specimen of the class to which I allude. These books usually treated of some unfamiliar district on the Continent. They were illustrated with woodcuts or steel plates. They gave details of hotel accommodation, and of means of communication, such as we now expect to find in any well-regulated guide-book, and they dealt largely in reported conversations with intelligent foreigners, racy innkeepers and garrulous peasants. In a word, they were chatty. Begun with the idea of furnishing material for such a book, my papers as they progressed assumed the character of a record of one single personal experience, and this record was continued up to the very eve, almost, of its termination. The writer was a Mr. Wraxall. For my knowledge of him I have to depend entirely on the evidence his writings afford, and from these I deduce that he was a man past middle age, possessed of some private means, and very much alone in the world. He had, it seems, no settled abode in England, but was a denizen of hotels and boarding-houses. It is probable that he entertained the idea of settling down at some future time which never came; and I think it also likely that the Pantechnicon fire in the early seventies must have destroyed a great deal that would have thrown light on his antecedents, for he refers once or twice to property of his that was warehoused at that establishment. It is further apparent that Mr. Wraxall had published a book, and that it treated of a holiday he had once taken in Brittany. More than this I cannot say about his work, because a diligent search in bibliographical works has convinced me that it must have appeared either anonymously or under a pseudonym. As to his character, it is not difficult to form some superficial opinion. He must have been an intelligent and cultivated man. It seems that he was near being a Fellow of his college at Oxford—Brasenose, as I judge from the Calendar. His besetting fault was pretty clearly that of over-inquisitiveness, possibly a good fault in a traveller, certainly a fault for which this traveller paid dearly enough in the end. On what proved to be his last expedition, he was plotting another book. Scandinavia, a region not widely known to Englishmen forty years ago, had struck him as an interesting field. He must have lighted on some old books of Swedish history or memoirs, and the idea had struck him that there was room for a book descriptive of travel in Sweden, interspersed with episodes from the history of some of the great Swedish families. He procured letters of introduction, therefore, to some persons of quality in Sweden, and set out thither in the early summer of 1863. Of his travels in the North there is no need to speak, nor of his residence of some weeks in Stockholm. I need only mention that some savant resident there put him on the track of an important collection of family papers belonging to the proprietors of an ancient manor-house in Vestergothland, and obtained for him permission to examine them. The manor-house, or herrgård, in question is to be called Råbäck (pronounced something like Roebeck), though that is not its name. It is one of the best buildings of its kind in all the country, and the picture of it in Dablenberg's Suecia antiqua et moderna, engraved in 1694, shows it very much as the tourist may see it to-day. It was built soon after 1600, and is, roughly speaking, very much like an English house of that period in respect of material—red-brick with stone facings—and style. The man who built it was a scion of the great house of De la Gardie, and his descendants possess it still. De la Gardie is the name by which I will designate them when mention of them becomes necessary. They received Mr. Wraxall with great kindness and courtesy, and pressed him to stay in the house as long as his researches lasted. But, preferring to be independent, and mistrusting his powers of conversing in Swedish, he settled himself at the village inn, which turned out quite sufficiently comfortable, at any rate during the summer months. This arrangement would entail a short walk daily to and from the manor-house of something under a mile. The house itself stood in a park, and was protected—we should say grown up—with large old timber. Near it you found the walled garden, and then entered a close wood fringing one of the small lakes with which the whole country is pitted. Then came the wall of the demesne, and you climbed a steep knoll—a knob of rock lightly covered with soil—and on the top of this stood the church, fenced in with tall dark trees. It was a curious building to English eyes. The nave and aisles were low, and filled with pews and galleries. In the western gallery stood the handsome old organ, gaily painted, and with silver pipes. The ceiling was flat, and had been adorned by a seventeenth-century artist with a strange and hideous "Last Judgment," full of lurid flames, falling cities, burning ships, crying souls, and brown and smiling demons. Handsome brass coronæ hung from the roof; the pulpit was like a doll's-house, covered with little painted wooden cherubs and saints; a stand with three hour-glasses was hinged to the preacher's desk. Such sights as these may be seen in many a church in Sweden now, but what distinguished this one was an addition to the original building. At the eastern end of the north aisle the builder of the manor-house had erected a mausoleum for himself and his family. It was a largish eight-sided building, lighted by a series of oval windows, and it had a domed roof, topped by a kind of pumpkin-shaped object rising into a spire, a form in which Swedish architects greatly delighted. The roof was of copper externally, and was painted black, while the walls, in common with those of the church, were staringly white. To this mausoleum there was no access from the church. It had a portal and steps of its own on the northern side. Past the churchyard the path to the village goes, and not more than three or four minutes bring you to the inn door. On the first day of his stay at Råbäck Mr. Wraxall found the church door open, and made those notes of the interior which I have epitomized. Into the mausoleum, however, he could not make his way. He could by looking through the keyhole just descry that there were fine marble effigies and sarcophagi of copper, and a wealth of armorial ornament, which made him very anxious to spend some time in investigation. The papers he had come to examine at the manor-house proved to be of just the kind he wanted for his book. There were family correspondence, journals, and account-books of the earliest owners of the estate, very carefully kept and clearly written, full of amusing and picturesque detail. The first De la Gardie appeared in them as a strong and capable man. Shortly after the building of the mansion there had been a period of distress in the district, and the peasants had risen and attacked several châteaux and done some damage. The owner of Råbäck took a leading part in suppressing the trouble, and there was reference to executions of ringleaders and severe punishments inflicted with no sparing hand. The portrait of this Magnus de la Gardie was one of the best in the house, and Mr. Wraxall studied it with no little interest after his day's work. He gives no detailed description of it, but I gather that the face impressed him rather by its power than by its beauty or goodness; in fact, he writes that Count Magnus was an almost phenomenally ugly man. On this day Mr. Wraxall took his supper with the family, and walked back in the late but still bright evening. "I must remember," he writes, "to ask the sexton if he can let me into the mausoleum at the church. He evidently has access to it himself, for I saw him to-night standing on the steps, and, as I thought, locking or unlocking the door." I find that early on the following day Mr. Wraxall had some conversation with his landlord. His setting it down at such length as he does surprised me at first; but I soon realized that the papers I was reading were, at least in their beginning, the materials for the book he was meditating, and that it was to have been one of those quasi-journalistic productions which admit of the introduction of an admixture of conversational matter. His object, he says, was to find out whether any traditions of Count Magnus de la Gardie lingered on in the scenes of that gentleman's activity, and whether the popular estimate of him were favourable or not. He found that the Count was decidedly not a favourite. If his tenants came late to their work on the days which they owed to him as Lord of the Manor, they were set on the wooden horse, or flogged and branded in the manor-house yard. One or two cases there were of men who had occupied lands which encroached on the lord's domain, and whose houses had been mysteriously burnt on a winter's night, with the whole family inside. But what seemed to dwell on the innkeeper's mind most—for he returned to the subject more than once—was that the Count had been on the Black Pilgrimage, and had brought something or someone back with him.
You will naturally inquire, as Mr. Wraxall did, what the Black Pilgrimage may have been. But your curiosity on the point must remain unsatisfied for the time being, just as his did. The landlord was evidently unwilling to give a full answer, or indeed any answer, on the point, and, being called out for a moment, trotted off with obvious alacrity, only putting his head in at the door a few minutes afterwards to say that he was called away to Skara, and should not be back till evening. So Mr. Wraxall had to go unsatisfied to his day's work at the manor-house. The papers on which he was just then engaged soon put his thoughts into another channel, for he had to occupy himself with glancing over the correspondence between Sophia Albertina in Stockholm and her married cousin Ulrica Leonora at Råbäck in the years 1705-1710. The letters were of exceptional interest from the light they threw upon the culture of that period in Sweden, as anyone can testify who has read the full edition of them in the publications of the Swedish Historical Manuscripts Commission. In the afternoon he had done with these, and after returning the boxes in which they were kept to their places on the shelf, he proceeded, very naturally, to take down some of the volumes nearest to them, in order to determine which of them had best be his principal subject of investigation next day. The shelf he had hit upon was occupied mostly by a collection of account-books in the writing of the first Count Magnus. But one among them was not an account-book, but a book of alchemical and other tracts in another sixteenth-century hand. Not being very familiar with alchemical literature, Mr. Wraxall spends much space which he might have spared in setting out the names and beginnings of the various treatises: The book of the Phœnix, book of the Thirty Words, book of the Toad, book of Miriam, Turba philosophorum, and so forth; and then he announces with a good deal of circumstance his delight at finding, on a leaf originally left blank near the middle of the book, some writing of Count Magnus himself headed "Liber nigræ peregrinationis." It is true that only a few lines were written, but there was quite enough to show that the landlord had that morning been referring to a belief at least as old as the time of Count Magnus, and probably shared by him. This is the English of what was written: "If any man desires to obtain a long life, if he would obtain a faithful messenger and see the blood of his enemies, it is necessary that he should first go into the city of Chorazin, and there salute the prince...." Here there was an erasure of one word, not very thoroughly done, so that Mr. Wraxall felt pretty sure that he was right in reading it as aëris ("of the air"). But there was no more of the text copied, only a line in Latin: "Quære reliqua hujus materiei inter secretiora" (See the rest of this matter among the more private things). It could not be denied that this threw a rather lurid light upon the tastes and beliefs of the Count; but to Mr. Wraxall, separated from him by nearly three centuries, the thought that he might have added to his general forcefulness alchemy, and to alchemy something like magic, only made him a more picturesque figure; and when, after a rather prolonged contemplation of his picture in the hall, Mr. Wraxall set out on his homeward way, his mind was full of the thought of Count Magnus. He had no eyes for his surroundings, no perception of the evening scents of the woods or the evening light on the lake; and when all of a sudden he pulled up short, he was astonished to find himself already at the gate of the churchyard, and within a few minutes of his dinner. His eyes fell on the mausoleum. "Ah," he said, "Count Magnus, there you are. I should dearly like to see you." "Like many solitary men," he writes, "I have a habit of talking to myself aloud; and, unlike some of the Greek and Latin particles, I do not expect an answer. Certainly, and perhaps fortunately in this case, there was neither voice nor any that regarded: only the woman who, I suppose, was cleaning up the church, dropped some metallic object on the floor, whose clang startled me. Count Magnus, I think, sleeps sound enough." That same evening the landlord of the inn, who had heard Mr. Wraxall say that he wished to see the clerk or deacon (as he would be called in Sweden) of the parish, introduced him to that official in the inn parlour. A visit to the De la Gardie tomb-house was soon arranged for the next day, and a little general conversation ensued. Mr. Wraxall, remembering that one function of Scandinavian deacons is to teach candidates for Confirmation, thought he would refresh his own memory on a Biblical point. "Can you tell me," he said, "anything about Chorazin?" The deacon seemed startled, but readily reminded him how that village had once been denounced. "To be sure," said Mr. Wraxall; "it is, I suppose, quite a ruin now?" "So I expect," replied the deacon. "I have heard some of our old priests say that Antichrist is to be born there; and there are tales——" "Ah! what tales are those?" Mr. Wraxall put in. "Tales, I was going to say, which I have forgotten," said the deacon; and soon after that he said good night. The landlord was now alone, and at Mr. Wraxall's mercy; and that inquirer was not inclined to spare him. "Herr Nielsen," he said, "I have found out something about the Black Pilgrimage. You may as well tell me what you know. What did the Count bring back with him?" Swedes are habitually slow, perhaps, in answering, or perhaps the landlord was an exception. I am not sure; but Mr. Wraxall notes that the landlord spent at least one minute in looking at him before he said anything at all. Then he came close up to his guest, and with a good deal of effort he spoke: "Mr. Wraxall, I can tell you this one little tale, and no more—not any more. You must not ask anything when I have done. In my grandfather's time—that is, ninety-two years ago—there were two men who said: 'The Count is dead; we do not care for him. We will go to-night and have a free hunt in his wood'—the long wood on the hill that you have seen behind Råbäck. Well, those that heard them say this, they said: 'No, do not go; we are sure you will meet with persons walking who should not be walking. They should be resting, not walking.' These men laughed. There were no forest-men to keep the wood, because no one wished to hunt there. The family were not here at the house. These men could do what they wished. "Very well, they go to the wood that night. My grandfather was sitting here in this room. It was the summer, and a light night. With the window open, he could see out to the wood, and hear. "So he sat there, and two or three men with him, and they listened. At first they hear nothing at all; then they hear someone—you know how far away it is—they hear someone scream, just as if the most inside part of his soul was twisted out of him. All of them in the room caught hold of each other, and they sat so for three-quarters of an hour. Then they hear someone else, only about three hundred ells off. They hear him laugh out loud: it was not one of those two men that laughed, and, indeed, they have all of them said that it was not any man at all. After that they hear a great door shut. "Then, when it was just light with the sun, they all went to the priest. They said to him: "'Father, put on your gown and your ruff, and come to bury these men, Anders Bjornsen and Hans Thorbjorn.' "You understand that they were sure these men were dead. So they went to the wood—my grandfather never forgot this. He said they were all like so many dead men themselves. The priest, too, he was in a white fear. He said when they came to him: "'I heard one cry in the night, and I heard one laugh afterwards. If I cannot forget that, I shall not be able to sleep again.' "So they went to the wood, and they found these men on the edge of the wood. Hans Thorbjorn was standing with his back against a tree, and all the time he was pushing with his hands—pushing something away from him which was not there. So he was not dead. And they led him away, and took him to the house at Nykjoping, and he died before the winter; but he went on pushing with his hands. Also Anders Bjornsen was there; but he was dead. And I tell you this about Anders Bjornsen, that he was once a beautiful man, but now his face was not there, because the flesh of it was sucked away off the bones. You understand that? My grandfather did not forget that. And they laid him on the bier which they brought, and they put a cloth over his head, and the priest walked before; and they began to sing the psalm for the dead as well as they could. So, as they were singing the end of the first verse, one fell down, who was carrying the head of the bier, and the others looked back, and they saw that the cloth had fallen off, and the eyes of Anders Bjornsen were looking up, because there was nothing to close over them. And this they could not bear. Therefore the priest laid the cloth upon him, and sent for a spade, and they buried him in that place." The next day Mr. Wraxall records that the deacon called for him soon after his breakfast, and took him to the church and mausoleum. He noticed that the key of the latter was hung on a nail just by the pulpit, and it occurred to him that, as the church door seemed to be left unlocked as a rule, it would not be difficult for him to pay a second and more private visit to the monuments if there proved to be more of interest among them than could be digested at first. The building, when he entered it, he found not unimposing. The monuments, mostly large erections of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, were dignified if luxuriant, and the epitaphs and heraldry were copious. The central space of the domed room was occupied by three copper sarcophagi, covered with finely-engraved ornament. Two of them had, as is commonly the case in Denmark and Sweden, a large metal crucifix on the lid. The third, that of Count Magnus, as it appeared, had, instead of that, a full-length effigy engraved upon it, and round the edge were several bands of similar ornament representing various scenes. One was a battle, with cannon belching out smoke, and walled towns, and troops of pikemen. Another showed an execution. In a third, among trees, was a man running at full speed, with flying hair and outstretched hands. After him followed a strange form; it would be hard to say whether the artist had intended it for a man, and was unable to give the requisite similitude, or whether it was intentionally made as monstrous as it looked. In view of the skill with which the rest of the drawing was done, Mr. Wraxall felt inclined to adopt the latter idea. The figure was unduly short, and was for the most part muffled in a hooded garment which swept the ground. The only part of the form which projected from that shelter was not shaped like any hand or arm. Mr. Wraxall compares it to the tentacle of a devil-fish, and continues: "On seeing this, I said to myself, 'This, then, which is evidently an allegorical representation of some kind—a fiend pursuing a hunted soul—may be the origin of the story of Count Magnus and his mysterious companion. Let us see how the huntsman is pictured: doubtless it will be a demon blowing his horn.'" But, as it turned out, there was no such sensational figure, only the semblance of a cloaked man on a hillock, who stood leaning on a stick, and watching the hunt with an interest which the engraver had tried to express in his attitude. Mr. Wraxall noted the finely-worked and massive steel padlocks—three in number—which secured the sarcophagus. One of them, he saw, was detached, and lay on the pavement. And then, unwilling to delay the deacon longer or to waste his own working-time, he made his way onward to the manor-house. It is curious," he notes, "how on retracing a familiar path one's thoughts engross one to the absolute exclusion of surrounding objects. To-night, for the second time, I had entirely failed to notice where I was going (I had planned a private visit to the tomb-house to copy the epitaphs), when I suddenly, as it were, awoke to consciousness, and found myself (as before) turning in at the churchyard gate, and, I believe, singing or chanting some such words as, 'Are you awake, Count Magnus? Are you asleep, Count Magnus?' and then something more which I have failed to recollect. It seemed to me that I must have been behaving in this nonsensical way for some time." He found the key of the mausoleum where he had expected to find it, and copied the greater part of what he wanted; in fact, he stayed until the light began to fail him. "I must have been wrong," he writes, "in saying that one of the padlocks of my Count's sarcophagus was unfastened; I see to-night that two are loose. I picked both up, and laid them carefully on the window-ledge, after trying unsuccessfully to close them. The remaining one is still firm, and, though I take it to be a spring lock, I cannot guess how it is opened. Had I succeeded in undoing it, I am almost afraid I should have taken the liberty of opening the sarcophagus. It is strange, the interest I feel in the personality of this, I fear, somewhat ferocious and grim old noble." The day following was, as it turned out, the last of Mr. Wraxall's stay at Råbäck. He received letters connected with certain investments which made it desirable that he should return to England; his work among the papers was practically done, and travelling was slow. He decided, therefore, to make his farewells, put some finishing touches to his notes, and be off. These finishing touches and farewells, as it turned out, took more time than he had expected. The hospitable family insisted on his staying to dine with them—they dined at three—and it was verging on half-past six before he was outside the iron gates of Råbäck. He dwelt on every step of his walk by the lake, determined to saturate himself, now that he trod it for the last time, in the sentiment of the place and hour. And when he reached the summit of the churchyard knoll, he lingered for many minutes, gazing at the limitless prospect of woods near and distant, all dark beneath a sky of liquid green. When at last he turned to go, the thought struck him that surely he must bid farewell to Count Magnus as well as the rest of the De la Gardies. The church was but twenty yards away, and he knew where the key of the mausoleum hung. It was not long before he was standing over the great copper coffin, and, as usual, talking to himself aloud. "You may have been a bit of a rascal in your time, Magnus," he was saying, "but for all that I should like to see you, or, rather——" "Just at that instant," he says, "I felt a blow on my foot. Hastily enough I drew it back, and something fell on the pavement with a clash. It was the third, the last of the three padlocks which had fastened the sarcophagus. I stooped to pick it up, and—Heaven is my witness that I am writing only the bare truth—before I had raised myself there was a sound of metal hinges creaking, and I distinctly saw the lid shifting upwards. I may have behaved like a coward, but I could not for my life stay for one moment. I was outside that dreadful building in less time than I can write—almost as quickly as I could have said—the words; and what frightens me yet more, I could not turn the key in the lock. As I sit here in my room noting these facts, I ask myself (it was not twenty minutes ago) whether that noise of creaking metal continued, and I cannot tell whether it did or not. I only know that there was something more than I have written that alarmed me, but whether it was sound or sight I am not able to remember. What is this that I have done?" Poor Mr. Wraxall! He set out on his journey to England on the next day, as he had planned, and he reached England in safety; and yet, as I gather from his changed hand and inconsequent jottings, a broken man. One of several small notebooks that have come to me with his papers gives, not a key to, but a kind of inkling of, his experiences. Much of his journey was made by canal-boat, and I find not less than six painful attempts to enumerate and describe his fellow-passengers. The entries are of this kind: "24. Pastor of village in Skåne. Usual black coat and soft black hat. "25. Commercial traveller from Stockholm going to Trollhättan. Black cloak, brown hat. "26. Man in long black cloak, broad-leafed hat, very old-fashioned." This entry is lined out, and a note added: "Perhaps identical with No. 13. Have not yet seen his face." On referring to No. 13, I find that he is a Roman priest in a cassock. The net result of the reckoning is always the same. Twenty-eight people appear in the enumeration, one being always a man in a long black cloak and broad hat, and the other a "short figure in dark cloak and hood." On the other hand, it is always noted that only twenty-six passengers appear at meals, and that the man in the cloak is perhaps absent, and the short figure is certainly absent. On reaching England, it appears that Mr. Wraxall landed at Harwich, and that he resolved at once to put himself out of the reach of some person or persons whom he never specifies, but whom he had evidently come to regard as his pursuers. Accordingly he took a vehicle—it was a closed fly—not trusting the railway, and drove across country to the village of Belchamp St. Paul. It was about nine o'clock on a moonlight August night when he neared the place. He was sitting forward, and looking out of the window at the fields and thickets—there was little else to be seen—racing past him. Suddenly he came to a cross-road. At the corner two figures were standing motionless; both were in dark cloaks; the taller one wore a hat, the shorter a hood. He had no time to see their faces, nor did they make any motion that he could discern. Yet the horse shied violently and broke into a gallop, and Mr. Wraxall sank back into his seat in something like desperation. He had seen them before. Arrived at Belchamp St. Paul, he was fortunate enough to find a decent furnished lodging, and for the next twenty-four hours he lived, comparatively speaking, in peace. His last notes were written on this day. They are too disjointed and ejaculatory to be given here in full, but the substance of them is clear enough. He is expecting a visit from his pursuers—how or when he knows not—and his constant cry is "What has he done?" and "Is there no hope?" Doctors, he knows, would call him mad, policemen would laugh at him. The parson is away. What can he do but lock his door and cry to God? People still remembered last year at Belchamp St. Paul how a strange gentleman came one evening in August years back; and how the next morning but one he was found dead, and there was an inquest; and the jury that viewed the body fainted, seven of 'em did, and none of 'em wouldn't speak to what they see, and the verdict was visitation of God; and how the people as kep' the 'ouse moved out that same week, and went away from that part. But they do not, I think, know that any glimmer of light has ever been thrown, or could be thrown, on the mystery. It so happened that last year the little house came into my hands as part of a legacy. It had stood empty since 1863, and there seemed no prospect of letting it; so I had it pulled down, and the papers of which I have given you an abstract were found in a forgotten cupboard under the window in the best bedroom.
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You will naturally inquire, as Mr. Wraxall did, what the Black Pilgrimage may have been. But your curiosity on the point must remain unsatisfied for the time being, just as his did. The landlord was evidently unwilling to give a full answer, or indeed any answer, on the point, and, being called out for a moment, trotted off with obvious alacrity, only putting his head in at the door a few minutes afterwards to say that he was called away to Skara, and should not be back till evening. So Mr. Wraxall had to go unsatisfied to his day's work at the manor-house. The papers on which he was just then engaged soon put his thoughts into another channel, for he had to occupy himself with glancing over the correspondence between Sophia Albertina in Stockholm and her married cousin Ulrica Leonora at Råbäck in the years 1705-1710. The letters were of exceptional interest from the light they threw upon the culture of that period in Sweden, as anyone can testify who has read the full edition of them in the publications of the Swedish Historical Manuscripts Commission. In the afternoon he had done with these, and after returning the boxes in which they were kept to their places on the shelf, he proceeded, very naturally, to take down some of the volumes nearest to them, in order to determine which of them had best be his principal subject of investigation next day. The shelf he had hit upon was occupied mostly by a collection of account-books in the writing of the first Count Magnus. But one among them was not an account-book, but a book of alchemical and other tracts in another sixteenth-century hand. Not being very familiar with alchemical literature, Mr. Wraxall spends much space which he might have spared in setting out the names and beginnings of the various treatises: The book of the Phœnix, book of the Thirty Words, book of the Toad, book of Miriam, Turba philosophorum, and so forth; and then he announces with a good deal of circumstance his delight at finding, on a leaf originally left blank near the middle of the book, some writing of Count Magnus himself headed "Liber nigræ peregrinationis." It is true that only a few lines were written, but there was quite enough to show that the landlord had that morning been referring to a belief at least as old as the time of Count Magnus, and probably shared by him. This is the English of what was written: "If any man desires to obtain a long life, if he would obtain a faithful messenger and see the blood of his enemies, it is necessary that he should first go into the city of Chorazin, and there salute the prince...." Here there was an erasure of one word, not very thoroughly done, so that Mr. Wraxall felt pretty sure that he was right in reading it as aëris ("of the air"). But there was no more of the text copied, only a line in Latin: "Quære reliqua hujus materiei inter secretiora" (See the rest of this matter among the more private things). It could not be denied that this threw a rather lurid light upon the tastes and beliefs of the Count; but to Mr. Wraxall, separated from him by nearly three centuries, the thought that he might have added to his general forcefulness alchemy, and to alchemy something like magic, only made him a more picturesque figure; and when, after a rather prolonged contemplation of his picture in the hall, Mr. Wraxall set out on his homeward way, his mind was full of the thought of Count Magnus. He had no eyes for his surroundings, no perception of the evening scents of the woods or the evening light on the lake; and when all of a sudden he pulled up short, he was astonished to find himself already at the gate of the churchyard, and within a few minutes of his dinner. His eyes fell on the mausoleum. "Ah," he said, "Count Magnus, there you are. I should dearly like to see you." "Like many solitary men," he writes, "I have a habit of talking to myself aloud; and, unlike some of the Greek and Latin particles, I do not expect an answer. Certainly, and perhaps fortunately in this case, there was neither voice nor any that regarded: only the woman who, I suppose, was cleaning up the church, dropped some metallic object on the floor, whose clang startled me. Count Magnus, I think, sleeps sound enough." That same evening the landlord of the inn, who had heard Mr. Wraxall say that he wished to see the clerk or deacon (as he would be called in Sweden) of the parish, introduced him to that official in the inn parlour. A visit to the De la Gardie tomb-house was soon arranged for the next day, and a little general conversation ensued. Mr. Wraxall, remembering that one function of Scandinavian deacons is to teach candidates for Confirmation, thought he would refresh his own memory on a Biblical point. "Can you tell me," he said, "anything about Chorazin?" The deacon seemed startled, but readily reminded him how that village had once been denounced. "To be sure," said Mr. Wraxall; "it is, I suppose, quite a ruin now?" "So I expect," replied the deacon. "I have heard some of our old priests say that Antichrist is to be born there; and there are tales——" "Ah! what tales are those?" Mr. Wraxall put in. "Tales, I was going to say, which I have forgotten," said the deacon; and soon after that he said good night. The landlord was now alone, and at Mr. Wraxall's mercy; and that inquirer was not inclined to spare him. "Herr Nielsen," he said, "I have found out something about the Black Pilgrimage. You may as well tell me what you know. What did the Count bring back with him?" Swedes are habitually slow, perhaps, in answering, or perhaps the landlord was an exception. I am not sure; but Mr. Wraxall notes that the landlord spent at least one minute in looking at him before he said anything at all. Then he came close up to his guest, and with a good deal of effort he spoke: "Mr. Wraxall, I can tell you this one little tale, and no more—not any more. You must not ask anything when I have done. In my grandfather's time—that is, ninety-two years ago—there were two men who said: 'The Count is dead; we do not care for him. We will go to-night and have a free hunt in his wood'—the long wood on the hill that you have seen behind Råbäck. Well, those that heard them say this, they said: 'No, do not go; we are sure you will meet with persons walking who should not be walking. They should be resting, not walking.' These men laughed. There were no forest-men to keep the wood, because no one wished to hunt there. The family were not here at the house. These men could do what they wished. "Very well, they go to the wood that night. My grandfather was sitting here in this room. It was the summer, and a light night. With the window open, he could see out to the wood, and hear. "So he sat there, and two or three men with him, and they listened. At first they hear nothing at all; then they hear someone—you know how far away it is—they hear someone scream, just as if the most inside part of his soul was twisted out of him. All of them in the room caught hold of each other, and they sat so for three-quarters of an hour. Then they hear someone else, only about three hundred ells off. They hear him laugh out loud: it was not one of those two men that laughed, and, indeed, they have all of them said that it was not any man at all. After that they hear a great door shut. "Then, when it was just light with the sun, they all went to the priest. They said to him: "'Father, put on your gown and your ruff, and come to bury these men, Anders Bjornsen and Hans Thorbjorn.' "You understand that they were sure these men were dead. So they went to the wood—my grandfather never forgot this. He said they were all like so many dead men themselves. The priest, too, he was in a white fear. He said when they came to him: "'I heard one cry in the night, and I heard one laugh afterwards. If I cannot forget that, I shall not be able to sleep again.' "So they went to the wood, and they found these men on the edge of the wood. Hans Thorbjorn was standing with his back against a tree, and all the time he was pushing with his hands—pushing something away from him which was not there. So he was not dead. And they led him away, and took him to the house at Nykjoping, and he died before the winter; but he went on pushing with his hands. Also Anders Bjornsen was there; but he was dead. And I tell you this about Anders Bjornsen, that he was once a beautiful man, but now his face was not there, because the flesh of it was sucked away off the bones. You understand that? My grandfather did not forget that. And they laid him on the bier which they brought, and they put a cloth over his head, and the priest walked before; and they began to sing the psalm for the dead as well as they could. So, as they were singing the end of the first verse, one fell down, who was carrying the head of the bier, and the others looked back, and they saw that the cloth had fallen off, and the eyes of Anders Bjornsen were looking up, because there was nothing to close over them. And this they could not bear. Therefore the priest laid the cloth upon him, and sent for a spade, and they buried him in that place." The next day Mr. Wraxall records that the deacon called for him soon after his breakfast, and took him to the church and mausoleum. He noticed that the key of the latter was hung on a nail just by the pulpit, and it occurred to him that, as the church door seemed to be left unlocked as a rule, it would not be difficult for him to pay a second and more private visit to the monuments if there proved to be more of interest among them than could be digested at first. The building, when he entered it, he found not unimposing. The monuments, mostly large erections of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, were dignified if luxuriant, and the epitaphs and heraldry were copious. The central space of the domed room was occupied by three copper sarcophagi, covered with finely-engraved ornament. Two of them had, as is commonly the case in Denmark and Sweden, a large metal crucifix on the lid. The third, that of Count Magnus, as it appeared, had, instead of that, a full-length effigy engraved upon it, and round the edge were several bands of similar ornament representing various scenes. One was a battle, with cannon belching out smoke, and walled towns, and troops of pikemen. Another showed an execution. In a third, among trees, was a man running at full speed, with flying hair and outstretched hands. After him followed a strange form; it would be hard to say whether the artist had intended it for a man, and was unable to give the requisite similitude, or whether it was intentionally made as monstrous as it looked. In view of the skill with which the rest of the drawing was done, Mr. Wraxall felt inclined to adopt the latter idea. The figure was unduly short, and was for the most part muffled in a hooded garment which swept the ground. The only part of the form which projected from that shelter was not shaped like any hand or arm. Mr. Wraxall compares it to the tentacle of a devil-fish, and continues: "On seeing this, I said to myself, 'This, then, which is evidently an allegorical representation of some kind—a fiend pursuing a hunted soul—may be the origin of the story of Count Magnus and his mysterious companion. Let us see how the huntsman is pictured: doubtless it will be a demon blowing his horn.'" But, as it turned out, there was no such sensational figure, only the semblance of a cloaked man on a hillock, who stood leaning on a stick, and watching the hunt with an interest which the engraver had tried to express in his attitude. Mr. Wraxall noted the finely-worked and massive steel padlocks—three in number—which secured the sarcophagus. One of them, he saw, was detached, and lay on the pavement. And then, unwilling to delay the deacon longer or to waste his own working-time, he made his way onward to the manor-house. It is curious," he notes, "how on retracing a familiar path one's thoughts engross one to the absolute exclusion of surrounding objects. To-night, for the second time, I had entirely failed to notice where I was going (I had planned a private visit to the tomb-house to copy the epitaphs), when I suddenly, as it were, awoke to consciousness, and found myself (as before) turning in at the churchyard gate, and, I believe, singing or chanting some such words as, 'Are you awake, Count Magnus? Are you asleep, Count Magnus?' and then something more which I have failed to recollect. It seemed to me that I must have been behaving in this nonsensical way for some time." He found the key of the mausoleum where he had expected to find it, and copied the greater part of what he wanted; in fact, he stayed until the light began to fail him. "I must have been wrong," he writes, "in saying that one of the padlocks of my Count's sarcophagus was unfastened; I see to-night that two are loose. I picked both up, and laid them carefully on the window-ledge, after trying unsuccessfully to close them. The remaining one is still firm, and, though I take it to be a spring lock, I cannot guess how it is opened. Had I succeeded in undoing it, I am almost afraid I should have taken the liberty of opening the sarcophagus. It is strange, the interest I feel in the personality of this, I fear, somewhat ferocious and grim old noble." The day following was, as it turned out, the last of Mr. Wraxall's stay at Råbäck. He received letters connected with certain investments which made it desirable that he should return to England; his work among the papers was practically done, and travelling was slow. He decided, therefore, to make his farewells, put some finishing touches to his notes, and be off. These finishing touches and farewells, as it turned out, took more time than he had expected. The hospitable family insisted on his staying to dine with them—they dined at three—and it was verging on half-past six before he was outside the iron gates of Råbäck. He dwelt on every step of his walk by the lake, determined to saturate himself, now that he trod it for the last time, in the sentiment of the place and hour. And when he reached the summit of the churchyard knoll, he lingered for many minutes, gazing at the limitless prospect of woods near and distant, all dark beneath a sky of liquid green. When at last he turned to go, the thought struck him that surely he must bid farewell to Count Magnus as well as the rest of the De la Gardies. The church was but twenty yards away, and he knew where the key of the mausoleum hung. It was not long before he was standing over the great copper coffin, and, as usual, talking to himself aloud. "You may have been a bit of a rascal in your time, Magnus," he was saying, "but for all that I should like to see you, or, rather——" "Just at that instant," he says, "I felt a blow on my foot. Hastily enough I drew it back, and something fell on the pavement with a clash. It was the third, the last of the three padlocks which had fastened the sarcophagus. I stooped to pick it up, and—Heaven is my witness that I am writing only the bare truth—before I had raised myself there was a sound of metal hinges creaking, and I distinctly saw the lid shifting upwards. I may have behaved like a coward, but I could not for my life stay for one moment. I was outside that dreadful building in less time than I can write—almost as quickly as I could have said—the words; and what frightens me yet more, I could not turn the key in the lock. As I sit here in my room noting these facts, I ask myself (it was not twenty minutes ago) whether that noise of creaking metal continued, and I cannot tell whether it did or not. I only know that there was something more than I have written that alarmed me, but whether it was sound or sight I am not able to remember. What is this that I have done?" Poor Mr. Wraxall! He set out on his journey to England on the next day, as he had planned, and he reached England in safety; and yet, as I gather from his changed hand and inconsequent jottings, a broken man. One of several small notebooks that have come to me with his papers gives, not a key to, but a kind of inkling of, his experiences. Much of his journey was made by canal-boat, and I find not less than six painful attempts to enumerate and describe his fellow-passengers. The entries are of this kind: "24. Pastor of village in Skåne. Usual black coat and soft black hat. "25. Commercial traveller from Stockholm going to Trollhättan. Black cloak, brown hat. "26. Man in long black cloak, broad-leafed hat, very old-fashioned." This entry is lined out, and a note added: "Perhaps identical with No. 13. Have not yet seen his face." On referring to No. 13, I find that he is a Roman priest in a cassock. The net result of the reckoning is always the same. 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People still remembered last year at Belchamp St. Paul how a strange gentleman came one evening in August years back; and how the next morning but one he was found dead, and there was an inquest; and the jury that viewed the body fainted, seven of 'em did, and none of 'em wouldn't speak to what they see, and the verdict was visitation of God; and how the people as kep' the 'ouse moved out that same week, and went away from that part. But they do not, I think, know that any glimmer of light has ever been thrown, or could be thrown, on the mystery. It so happened that last year the little house came into my hands as part of a legacy. It had stood empty since 1863, and there seemed no prospect of letting it; so I had it pulled down, and the papers of which I have given you an abstract were found in a forgotten cupboard under the window in the best bedroom.
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Jika Anda sedang tidak beruntung, lebih baik berhenti dan mencoba lagi lain kali. Mengejar kerugian bisa berakibat pada kehilangan lebih banyak uang.2024.05.11 22:52 Xiaochiii 2 months lang pero nasaktan.
I (26F) have a BF (27M) and I ended my 3 yr. relationship because I felt like wala na kaming spark, kilig at intimacy. We are both busy people, wala ng time sa isa't-isa. Pag uwi nya galing work, he would always play Dota 2 and Valo agad with friends and then call me after (mga 12am onwards usually natatapos ang game) and I am already asleep by that time kasi 6am ang work ko. I have always been vocal about his time with me pero he receives them as "nagging" so I eventually stopped asking for his time. Months went on and I finally decided to end it on January. Sabi nya ang bilis ko naman daw magdecide. Bakit daw parang ang dali na lang sakin mag let go. Di nya alam, months in the making ko to pinaghandaan. I was waitinf for him to change, pero walang nangyari. Masakit ba? Oo, medyo. On the scale of 1-10 on how painful that break up was? Solid 5.
After the break up, I became active on Valorant ulit. Played with existing friends and made new ones too. And there's this one specific guy that caught my attention. Posted in ValoPH with my code para random na lang papasok. He was one of them. Bronze pako that time and suuuuuper nagalingan ako sa kanya. As in. Tapos nung bigla syang nag comms, the voice? FUKIN DEEP. And I am a sucker for deep voices. Instant add. He's a smurf. He's ascendant. BUT! HE'S A BABY BOY (22). And we played the whooole night. Hanggang sa araw araw na kaming naglalaro, biglang araw araw na din nag uusap sa discord. Tapos yung calls naging VC, to the point na 5 hrs kaming magka VC and papasok ako ng walang tulog. All the things that my ex lacked was fulfilled by him. The kilig, the pag aalala, the spark? Solid. March came and he finally told me that he likes me. I said I liked him too. We went on with what was happening between "us" for a month ulit (PS: no label pa to ha). Until one day, sabi nya gustong gusto na nya ako makita pero matagal pa sya makakaipon to see me kasi student palang sya and lives in Naga (Bicol). So me, as a marupok girl that I am that has been craving for pagmamahal. WENT to Naga to see and be with him for the first time. It was a very loooong and dreadful 12hr bus ride pero super worth it nung nakita ko na sya. We had fun. I met his friends. Uminom kami and we did the "deed". Did not regret. Totoo nga na baby boys are good. lol. Prior to this pala, me and my ex has not been doing the deed for 5 months na kasi pagod daw sya and wala sa mood. So, sis was dry. Sorry na. Akala ko after meeting up he would ghost me but our communication became better and mas naging sweet sya and all.
2 weeks after our first meet up, sinabihan nya ulit ako na miss na nya ako and he wants to see me. Ako si tanga, PUNTA AGAD. Same thing happened nung first na nagkita kami. Hang out with his friends, drink and wapak wapak. Ang mali ko lang is, onnmy last day in Naga (spent 2D1N there) I asked him "ano ba tayo?" he PAUSED. a veeery long pause. He said "gusto kita, mahal kita pero di pako ready for commitment" I choked. "is this what they call situationship??" I asked. "Di ko alam" he said. Di na ako nagsalita since medyo na hurt ako. And just hugged him and slept. Nung pauwi nako ng Manila, magkachat pa kami sa messenger hanggang bahay. Nung nasa bahay nako (4am) nagpaalam na sya na matutulog na since hinintay nya lang naman ako makauwi bago matulog. 5PM nagising ako kasi may work pako at 6pm (GY duty). Walang paramdam from him. "Baka tulog pa" I said. 8PM, I messaged him na na sana ok lang sya kasi di pa sya nagigising. I was checking my phone every hour. Pero di na sya nagparamdam. Ah, alam ko na. baka eto na yun. Baka iniwan na ako at ghinost. I was overthinking sa buong 12hrs duty ko. 4am came (24 hrs since his last chat) I decided to end what was happening between 'us'. Sent him a long message. Super lungkot ko. Super nasaktan ako. Grabe.
BUT, here's the catch. Napagtripan ko lang icheck tiktok chatbox namin and I saw na "active 6 hrs ago" sya. I was mad. So that confirmed na he was ignoring me all day. Sent another message na nakita ko ngang OL sya sa tiktok and blocked him on FB (didn't block him on tiktok or Discord to give him a chance to reachout). Sabi ko pag di sya nag reach out in 12 hrs, edi totoo lahat. Went home at 6am and slept. Woke up at 3pm and to my surprise nag PM sya sa tiktok. he said " sorry kung di ako nakapagchat sayo. Nanakaw phone ko. Nakikihiram lang ako ngayon kay mama" NATAWA AKO. I replied "May PC ka diba? Bakit hindi mo gamitin?" and sineen nya lang yun. Gusto ko pa ichat sya and ask him bakit nya to ginagawa sakin pero I don't want to look desperate. Super nasaktan ako sa nangyari. Grabeng effort ang binigay ko all for nothing. I am so broken and alone na ulit. Pero that was one of the best 2 months that ever happened to me. I genuinely believed that we was my person and I was his. The chemistry was real, we vibe so good and we have lots of things in common. On the scale of 1-10. This was a solid 8.5 sa pain na nararamdaman ko right now.
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After the break up, I became active on Valorant ulit. Played with existing friends and made new ones too. And there's this one specific guy that caught my attention. Posted in ValoPH with my code para random na lang papasok. He was one of them. Bronze pako that time and suuuuuper nagalingan ako sa kanya. As in. Tapos nung bigla syang nag comms, the voice? FUKIN DEEP. And I am a sucker for deep voices. Instant add. He's a smurf. He's ascendant. BUT! HE'S A BABY BOY (22). And we played the whooole night. Hanggang sa araw araw na kaming naglalaro, biglang araw araw na din nag uusap sa discord. Tapos yung calls naging VC, to the point na 5 hrs kaming magka VC and papasok ako ng walang tulog. All the things that my ex lacked was fulfilled by him. The kilig, the pag aalala, the spark? Solid. March came and he finally told me that he likes me. I said I liked him too. We went on with what was happening between "us" for a month ulit (PS: no label pa to ha). Until one day, sabi nya gustong gusto na nya ako makita pero matagal pa sya makakaipon to see me kasi student palang sya and lives in Naga (Bicol). So me, as a marupok girl that I am that has been craving for pagmamahal. WENT to Naga to see and be with him for the first time. It was a very loooong and dreadful 12hr bus ride pero super worth it nung nakita ko na sya. We had fun. I met his friends. Uminom kami and we did the "deed". Did not regret. Totoo nga na baby boys are good. lol. Prior to this pala, me and my ex has not been doing the deed for 5 months na kasi pagod daw sya and wala sa mood. So, sis was dry. Sorry na. Akala ko after meeting up he would ghost me but our communication became better and mas naging sweet sya and all.
2 weeks after our first meet up, sinabihan nya ulit ako na miss na nya ako and he wants to see me. Ako si tanga, PUNTA AGAD. Same thing happened nung first na nagkita kami. Hang out with his friends, drink and wapak wapak. Ang mali ko lang is, onnmy last day in Naga (spent 2D1N there) I asked him "ano ba tayo?" he PAUSED. a veeery long pause. He said "gusto kita, mahal kita pero di pako ready for commitment" I choked. "is this what they call situationship??" I asked. "Di ko alam" he said. Di na ako nagsalita since medyo na hurt ako. And just hugged him and slept. Nung pauwi nako ng Manila, magkachat pa kami sa messenger hanggang bahay. Nung nasa bahay nako (4am) nagpaalam na sya na matutulog na since hinintay nya lang naman ako makauwi bago matulog. 5PM nagising ako kasi may work pako at 6pm (GY duty). Walang paramdam from him. "Baka tulog pa" I said. 8PM, I messaged him na na sana ok lang sya kasi di pa sya nagigising. I was checking my phone every hour. Pero di na sya nagparamdam. Ah, alam ko na. baka eto na yun. Baka iniwan na ako at ghinost. I was overthinking sa buong 12hrs duty ko. 4am came (24 hrs since his last chat) I decided to end what was happening between 'us'. Sent him a long message. Super lungkot ko. Super nasaktan ako. Grabe.
BUT, here's the catch. Napagtripan ko lang icheck tiktok chatbox namin and I saw na "active 6 hrs ago" sya. I was mad. So that confirmed na he was ignoring me all day. Sent another message na nakita ko ngang OL sya sa tiktok and blocked him on FB (didn't block him on tiktok or Discord to give him a chance to reachout). Sabi ko pag di sya nag reach out in 12 hrs, edi totoo lahat. Went home at 6am and slept. Woke up at 3pm and to my surprise nag PM sya sa tiktok. he said " sorry kung di ako nakapagchat sayo. Nanakaw phone ko. Nakikihiram lang ako ngayon kay mama" NATAWA AKO. I replied "May PC ka diba? Bakit hindi mo gamitin?" and sineen nya lang yun. Gusto ko pa ichat sya and ask him bakit nya to ginagawa sakin pero I don't want to look desperate. Super nasaktan ako sa nangyari. Grabeng effort ang binigay ko all for nothing. I am so broken and alone na ulit. Pero that was one of the best 2 months that ever happened to me. I genuinely believed that we was my person and I was his. The chemistry was real, we vibe so good and we have lots of things in common. On the scale of 1-10. This was a solid 8.5 sa pain na nararamdaman ko right now.
2024.05.11 22:25 guilder_reddit ¿Dónde se consigue Signal? Signal está disponible para Android, iPhone y iPad. También hay un cliente de escritorio de Signal para Windows, Mac y Linux. Para unirse, todo lo que necesita es un número de teléfono. Es gratis. Signal no es propiedad de una gran empresa de tecnología. En su lugar, Sign
submitted by guilder_reddit to signal_latino_america [link] [comments]
2024.05.11 21:13 SanderSo47 Directors at the Box Office: Wes Craven
 | https://preview.redd.it/5jhcjegtjuzc1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=71a26f361e87730152e07e12f1bc76322db0b023 submitted by SanderSo47 to boxoffice [link] [comments] Here's a new edition of "Directors at the Box Office", which seeks to explore the directors' trajectory at the box office and analyze their hits and bombs. I already talked about a few, and as I promised, it's Wes Craven's turn. Craven earned a master's degree in philosophy and writing from Johns Hopkins University. He subsequently bought a 16mm film camera and began making short movies. His friend Steve Chapin informed him of a messenger position at a New York City film production co, where his brother, future folk-rock star Harry Chapin worked. He started in the industry as a sound editor, before transitioning as a porn director. He said he made "many hardcore X-rated films" under pseudonyms. And then he transitioned into directing for the big screen. From a box office perspective, how reliable was he to deliver a box office hit? That's the point of this post. To analyze his career. It should be noted that as he started his career in the 1970s, some of the domestic grosses here will be adjusted by inflation. The table with his highest grossing films, however, will be left in its unadjusted form, as the worldwide grosses are more difficult to adjust.The Last House on the Left (1972)"Mari, seventeen, is dying. Even for her, the worst is yet to come."His directorial debut. The film stars Sandra Peabody, Lucy Grantham, David Hess, Fred J. Lincoln, Jeramie Rain, and Marc Sheffler. The plot follows Mari Collingwood, a teenager who is abducted, raped, and tortured by a family of violent fugitives led by Krug Stillo on her seventeenth birthday. When her parents discover what happened to her, they seek vengeance against the family, who have taken shelter at their home. Craven, who had no money at the time, was put on the job of synchronizing dailies for Sean S. Cunningham's Together. They became friends, and Hallmark Releasing gave them $90,000 to make another film. Craven considered a hardcore film, but decided to tone it down a bit. The idea for this film came from Ingmar Bergman's The Virgin Spring, and Craven wanted to make a film in which the violence would be shown in detail onscreen, as he felt that many popular films of the era, such as Westerns, glamorized violence and the "vigilante hero", and gave the public a misleading representation of death in the wake of the Vietnam War. The film attracted negative media attention for its heavy graphic content, and there were calls for some theaters to drop the film. But you know, bad buzz is still buzz and that translated to a pretty good run in theaters, earning up to $3 million in its initial run. Even to this day, the film is polarizing due to its violence and themes. But Craven just made his name well known.
The Hills Have Eyes (1977)"A nice American family. They didn't want to kill. But they didn't want to die."His second film. The film stars Susan Lanier, Michael Berryman and Dee Wallace. The film follows the Carters, a suburban family targeted by a family of cannibal savages after becoming stranded in the Nevada desert. Craven wanted to make a non-horror, but he found that his investors only wanted films with graphic content. At the New York Public Library, Craven checked the library's forensics department, and learned of the legend of Sawney Bean - the alleged head of a 48-person Scottish clan responsible for the murder and cannibalization of more than one thousand people. He drew influences from this, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and The Grapes of Wrath. Craven also had to cut a lot of scenes to avoid getting an X rating. The film once again drew negative attention for its violence. But it made over $25 million at the box office, which was an even bigger success than House. It subsequently earned a cult following.
Deadly Blessing (1981)"Pray you're not blessed."His third film. It stars Ernest Borgnine, Maren Jensen, Susan Buckner, and Sharon Stone, and tells the story of a strange figure committing murder in a contemporary community that is not far from another community that believes in ancient evil and curses. It received negative reviews, but it was another box office success for Craven.
Swamp Thing (1982)"Science transformed him into a monster. Love changed him even more!"His fourth film. Based on the DC Comics character created by Len Wein and Bernie Wrightson, it stars Louis Jourdan and Adrienne Barbeau. It tells the story of scientist Alec Holland who is transformed into the monster known as Swamp Thing through laboratory sabotage orchestrated by the evil Anton Arcane. Later, he helps a woman named Alice Cable and battles the man responsible for it all, the ruthless Arcane. The film made $2.5 million domestically, despite mixed reviews.
A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)"If Nancy doesn't wake up screaming, she won't wake up at all."His fifth film. It stars Heather Langenkamp, John Saxon, Ronee Blakley, Johnny Depp, and Robert Englund. The film's plot concerns a group of teenagers who are targeted by Freddy Krueger, an undead child killer who can murder people through their dreams, as retribution against their parents who burned him alive. The film was inspired by several newspaper articles printed in the Los Angeles Times in the 1970s about Hmong refugees, who, after fleeing to the United States because of war and genocide in Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam, suffered disturbing nightmares and refused to sleep. Some of the men died in their sleep soon after. This, along with the song "Dream Weaver" by Gary Wright, motivated Craven to craft a horror film focused on people dying through their sleep. The film's villain, Freddy Krueger, is drawn from Craven's early life. One night, a young Craven saw an elderly man walking on the sidepath outside the window of his home. The man stopped to glance at a startled Craven and walked off. This served as the inspiration for Krueger. Initially, Fred Krueger was intended to be a child molester, but Craven eventually characterized him as a child murderer to avoid being accused of exploiting a spate of highly publicized child molestation cases that occurred in California around the time of the film's production. He settled on the name Freddy Krueger, which was based on a childhood bully of his. The process of writing the film went smoothly, the real problem was finding a studio. Craven sent it to most studios, and all rejected it. The first studio to show interest was Disney, but Craven declined their offer as they wanted a more toned-down kid-friendly PG-13 flick. When Paramount and Universal also turned it down, Craven decided to go to the independent studio New Line Cinema. The studio only distributed films, but they agreed in financing the film. As they lacked the financial resources for the production, New Line had to turn to external financiers. Despite opening in just 165 theaters, the film earned $1.2 million in its opening weekend, making it clear that it would be an immediate box office success. It eventually closed with $25 million domestically, and $57 million worldwide. It received critical acclaim, and has been referred as one of the best and most influential slashers ever made. Freddy Krueger would soon be hailed as one of the most emblematic figures of horror, and Craven quickly earned a reputation as a horror legend. But most importantly, it was the beginning of New Line Cinema as a studio, which is why it's referred as "the house that Freddy built." The film would later spawn a franchise, although Craven wouldn't direct any of the "sequels." Why the quotation marks? We'll get to that later on.
The Hills Have Eyes Part II (1985)"So you think you're lucky to be alive."His sixth film. The sequel to The Hills Have Eyes, it stars Tamara Stafford, Kevin Spirtas, John Bloom, Michael Berryman, Penny Johnson, Janus Blythe, John Laughlin, Willard E. Pugh, Peter Frechette and Robert Houston. It follows a group of bikers who become stranded in the desert and find themselves fighting off a family of inbred cannibals who live off the land. The film was shot on a very low budget, and it simply ended prematurely because they ran out of funds. There are no box office numbers available, but it received awful reviews. Deadly Friend (1986)"There's no one alive who'll play with the girl next door."His seventh film. Based on the novel Friend by Diana Henstell, it stars Matthew Laborteaux, Kristy Swanson, Michael Sharrett, Anne Twomey, Richard Marcus, and Anne Ramsey. Its plot follows a teenage computer prodigy who implants a robot's processor into the brain of his teenage neighbor after she is pronounced brain dead; the experiment proves successful, but she swiftly begins a killing spree in their neighborhood. Craven wanted to make a PG-rated science fiction film, with a similar tone to Starman, hoping to prove that he could make something that wasn't horror-themed. An unfinished version of the film was screened to a test audience of Craven's fanbase, and it was poorly received for its lack of violence and gore like his previous films. So WB decided to rewrite the film, adding more scenes with tons of gore. This made the final film appear tonally jumbled, and it went from easy PG to struggling to not get an X rating. The film was poorly received for its story and inconsistent tone. It also marked a huge flop at the box office, not even hitting $10 million. Craven lost interest in the film after WB inserted their own version, and he has since disowned the film.
The Serpent and the Rainbow (1988)"Don't bury me, I'm not dead!"His eighth film. It stars Bill Pullman, and is loosely based on the life of ethnobotanist Wade Davis, recounting his experiences in Haiti investigating the story of Clairvius Narcisse, who was allegedly poisoned, buried alive, and revived with a herbal brew which produced what was called a zombie. The film received mixed reactions, but it was a much needed box office success for Craven.
Shocker (1989)"No more Mr. Nice Guy."His ninth film. It stars Michael Murphy, Peter Berg, Cami Cooper, and Mitch Pileggi, and follows a serial killer who uses electricity to come back from the dead and carry out his vengeance on the football player who turned him in to the police. Another mixed bag for Craven, but it was still profitable.
The People Under the Stairs (1991)"In every neighborhood, there's one house that adults whisper about and children cross the street to avoid."His tenth film. It stars Brandon Adams, Everett McGill, Wendy Robie, and A. J. Langer. The plot follows a young boy and two adult robbers who become trapped in a house belonging to a neighborhood's crooked landlords after breaking in to steal their collection of gold coins as the boy learns a dark secret about them and what also lurks in their house. After a slate of mixed performers, the film received Craven's best reviews since Elm Street. To the surprise of Universal, it was also a box office success.
Wes Craven's New Nightmare (1994)"This time, the terror doesn't stop at the screen."His 11th film. The installment in the A Nightmare on Elm Street franchise, it stars Robert Englund, Heather Langenkamp, Miko Hughes and John Saxon. The film is not part of the same continuity as previous films, and it portrays Freddy Krueger as a fictional movie villain who invades the real world and haunts the cast and crew involved in the making of the films about him. While Craven co-wrote the franchise's third installment, Dream Warriors, he wasn't that involved with the rest of the franchise. He wanted to make a deliberately more cerebral film than recent entries to the franchise, as he considered them as being cartoonish, and not faithful to his original themes. Specifically, he wanted Freddy to resemble his original vision: far darker and less comical. To reinforce this, the character's make-up and outfit were enhanced, with one of the most prominent differences being that he now wears a long blue/black trenchcoat. In addition, the signature glove was redesigned for a more organic look, with the fingers resembling bones and having muscle textures in between. The film received high praise, and was considered as the best film in the franchise since the original (it was Englund's favorite). But the franchise has been bleeding interest at the box office, and New Nightmare unfortunately had to suffer. It was profitable, but it became the lowest grossing film in the franchise.
Vampire in Brooklyn (1995)"A comic tale of horror and seduction."His 12th film. It stars Eddie Murphy, Angela Bassett, Allen Payne, Kadeem Hardison, John Witherspoon, Zakes Mokae, and Joanna Cassidy. It follows a Caribbean vampire who seduces a Brooklyn police officer who has no idea that she is half-vampire. The film had awful reviews, and despite the presence of a huge star like Eddie Murphy, it disappointed at the box office. Craven really needed a hit.
Scream (1996)"Someone has taken their love of scary movies one step too far."His 13th film. It stars David Arquette, Neve Campbell, Courteney Cox, Matthew Lillard, Rose McGowan, Skeet Ulrich and Drew Barrymore. Set in the fictional town of Woodsboro, California, Scream's plot follows high school student Sidney Prescott and her friends, who, on the anniversary of her mother's murder, become the targets of a costumed serial killer known as Ghostface. As he was trying to make it in the industry, Kevin Williamson watched a Turning Point documentary about serial killer Danny Rolling which he said left him unsettled. Williamson later noticed an open window, armed himself with a knife, and called his friend for support. The pair began discussing horror characters that had resonated with them such as Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees. This experience prompted Williamson to start developing a concept wherein a girl is haunted by a caller. He started writing a film titled Scary Movie, and even left an outline for possible sequels. The concept was part of an era where there was debate over the influence of cinematic violence on audience, with Williamson coming up with a brilliant line "movies don't create psychos, movies make psychos more creative." It was inspired by many 1980s slashers, even though the genre was on decline by that point. His characters were intentionally designed to be knowledgeable about these horror films and their typical elements, with the intention of creating a unique killer who was not only aware of horror film clichés but also exploited them for his own advantage. While Williamson struggled with his previous films, this script was part of a bidding war with the studios, to the point that Oliver Stone himself wanted to direct it. Miramax (through Dimension Films) bought the script, and Williamson made some rewrites to scale back the violence. Bob Weinstein also wanted to change the name, as he believed the audiences would think the film is a comedy. The studio considered Danny Boyle, Tom McLoughlin, Sam Raimi, Robert Rodriguez, George A. Romero, Quentin Tarantino, and Anthony Waller as prime candidates to direct the film, but they all preferred to view the film as a comedy. Wes Craven was considered, but the studio believed he couldn't direct a satire. Craven also wasn't planning on directing it, as he wanted to focus on more mainstream films to salvage his career. Craven's assistant Julie Plec (who would collaborate with Williamson on The Vampire Diaries) convinced him in helming the project. By signing, Craven decided to get back some of the gore that was missing in the previous drafts. A huge contrast to the horror films of the era was that the film had established actors as the leads, as Craven and Williamson wanted to prove that no character was safe. Drew Barrymore had already starred in a few recognizable names, Neve Campbell was on the hit show Party of Five, Rose McGowan was known for Encino Man and The Doom Generation, David Arquette, Matthew Lillard and Skeet Ulrich were recognizable supporting characters, and Courteney Cox obviously was known for Friends. Vince Vaughn and Natasha Lyonne were the preferred choices for Billy and Tatum, but external problems caused them to drop out. After viewing the dailies raw footage, the Weinsteins criticized the quality of Craven's work as "workmanlike at best", believing it lacked tension and had an inconsistent tone. The Weinsteins also disliked the mask design, and said Barrymore lacked sex appeal because of the pageboy hairstyle she had chosen. While filming the final fight, Campbell's stuntwoman accidentally stabbed Ulrich with an umbrella tip, missing the protective vest he was wearing and hitting the site of an open heart surgery Ulrich had as a child. During post-production, Harvey Weinstein decided to name the film as Scream based on the Michael and Janet Jackson song. In a surprising move, the Weinsteins decided to release the film during the holiday season as counter-programming, offering teenagers an alternative to more traditional holiday fare. The decision was unpopular with the cast and crew, with Williamson expecting the film to fail. The film opened with $6.4 million and finishing in fourth place, leading analysts to consider the film as a bomb. But the film just kept growing. Buoyed by positive word of mouth, the Weinsteins increased marketing and the film managed to increase in its second and third weekends. It closed with $103 million domestically and $173 million worldwide, becoming the highest grossing slasher film ever and Craven's highest grossing film ever. The film received critical acclaim for its characters and writing, and has since been deemed as one of the most influential horror films of all time. It rekindled interest in horror, resurrected Craven's career and launched the careers of Williamson and the cast.
Scream 2 (1997)"Someone has taken their love of sequels one step too far."His 14th film. The sequel to Scream, it stars David Arquette, Neve Campbell, Courteney Cox, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Jamie Kennedy, Laurie Metcalf, Jerry O'Connell, Elise Neal, Timothy Olyphant, Jada Pinkett, and Liev Schreiber. The film takes place two years after the first film and again follows the character of Sidney Prescott, along with other survivors of the Woodsboro massacre, at the fictional Windsor College in Ohio where they are targeted by a copycat killer using the guise of Ghostface. As Williamson already had plans for sequels, the idea was for Sidney to attend college while being stalked by a copycat Ghostface killer. As filming began, Williamson's script had four killers: Derek, Hallie, Cotton Weary, and Nancy Loomis. But after Williamson transferred his script to the production, it was leaked onto the Internet in full, revealing the identity of the killers and a large amount of the involved plot. This resulted in the production continuing to film with only a partial script while Williamson conducted extensive rewrites, changing much of the film's finale, the identities of the film's killers and drastically altering the roles of other characters such as Randy Meeks and Joel. With a short deadline, Williamson couldn't fully compromise on the final script, forcing Craven to fill in the gaps himself. So the film was one of the very first cases where the Internet leaked major aspects of a film. As the Weinsteins wanted the film ready for December, it was able to capitalize on the audience's word of mouth to the original. It opened with $32 million in its first weekend, almost five times as big as the original, and the biggest December debut. It didn't hold as great as the original due to the competition, such as Titanic, but it still made $172.3 million worldwide, almost matching the original's gross. It also received very positive reviews, and so a profitable franchise was already underway.
Music of the Heart (1999)"She gave them a gift they could never imagine. They gave the system a fight it would never forget."His 15th film. The film stars Meryl Streep, Aidan Quinn, Angela Bassett, Gloria Estefan, Jane Leeves, Kieran Culkin and Jay O. Sanders. The film is a dramatization of the true story of Roberta Guaspari, who co-founded the Opus 118 Harlem School of Music and fought for music education funding in New York City public schools. After seeing the documentary Small Wonders, Craven was inspired to make a full-length film about Guaspari. Madonna was originally signed to play the role of Guaspari, but left the project before filming began, citing "creative differences" with Craven. When she left, Madonna had already studied for many months to play the violin. Streep learned to play Bach's Concerto for 2 Violins for the film. The project marked a huge departure for Craven; it was his first and only film to be rated PG, and his only one to not be horror or thriller. It received generally positive reviews, but it bombed at the box office. It received 2 Oscar nominations for Best Actress and Best Original Song, the only Craven film to get any noms.
Scream 3 (2000)"The most terrifying scream is always the last."His 16th film. The third installment in the Scream franchise, it stars David Arquette, Neve Campbell, Courteney Cox Arquette, Parker Posey, Patrick Dempsey, Scott Foley, Lance Henriksen, Matt Keeslar, Jenny McCarthy, Emily Mortimer, Deon Richmond, and Patrick Warburton. The film's story takes place one year after the previous film's events and follows Sidney Prescott, who has gone into self-imposed isolation following the events of the previous two films but is drawn to Hollywood after a new Ghostface begins killing the cast of the film within a film Stab 3. The plans for a sequel were already underway since Williamson sold the script, although Williamson still didn't write a script yet. When the Weinsteins approached him to write the film, Williamson was already busy with many projects (including his directorial debut), and was unavailable to perform his duties. He only made a 20-page outline wherein Ghostface would return just as production on a fictional film Stab 3 would be filmed. His plan was to show the killers were part of a Stab fan club (this idea would later be adapted into his show, The Following). With Williamson not available, Ehren Kruger was tasked in writing. Shortly before production began on the film, the Columbine High School massacre took place, and many parties began looking for reasoning behind the shooters' actions and there came an increased scrutiny on the role of the media in society, including video games and film, and the influence it could have on an audience. With production of Scream 3 not yet underway, there were considerations about whether the film should be made at that time, aware of the potential for negative attention but the studio decided to press forward, albeit with changes. The Weinsteins demanded to scale back on the gore and emphasize its satiric humor, as well as moving the setting to Hollywood. At one point in the production, the studio went as far as demanding that the film feature no blood or on-screen violence at all, a drastic departure for the series, but Craven directly intervened. One of the aspects changed was that the killer would be revealed to be Stu Macher, having survived the original film. The Weinsteins changed it after Columbine, as they didn't want to associate violence and murder with a high school setting. The film opened with $34.7 million, a franchise record and the biggest February debut ever. But it had weak legs, although it still made a very profitable $161.8 million worldwide. While the previous films were well-received, this film received negative reviews, who lambasted the film for becoming the very own thing it satirizes.
Cursed (2005)"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."His 17th film. It stars Christina Ricci, Joshua Jackson, Jesse Eisenberg, Judy Greer, Scott Baio, Milo Ventimiglia, Shannon Elizabeth and Mýa, and follows two orphaned siblings attacked by a werewolf loose in Los Angeles. Kevin Williamson started working on a script that followed the exploits of a New York City serial killer who discovers that his lethal tendencies are due to his lycanthrope nature. When one of his projects was scrapped, Craven decided to direct, teaming them up again for another Scream reunion. But it wasn't planned like that. Craven was making a film, Pulse, when Bob Weinstein abruptly pulled the movie from the schedule ten days before shooting and cut through all the slow lanes, wanting Craven to get to Cursed as soon as possible. Craven was reportedly not pleased so Weinstein doubled his pay in order for him to direct the film. The director deemed the script too tonally similar to his film Vampire in Brooklyn, but felt pressured by the studio, leading him to ultimately sign on. The film started filming in January 2003, hoping to get the film released in August. In June, they only had six days left for filming. Suddenly, Dimension Films decided to put the movie on hold because top executives at the company weren't happy with the film's ending or how the special effects were progressing, specifically the look of the film's lead lupine. Rick Baker was preparing the final transformation effects when production stopped and asked Weinstein to let his team finish the work in order for it to be ready for the reshoot, but he refused. Patrick Lussier was brought in for massive rewrites, and the film didn't return to production until November. Baker was fired, and the prosthetic make-up was replaced with CGI. Skeet Ulrich filmed his scene as one of the leads, but chose to drop out following the reshoots as he disliked the new direction. It was also heavily edited to get the R rating down to PG-13. The budget was originally $35 million, yet some reports suggest it ballooned all the way to $100 million, making it one of the most expensive horror films ever. With that budget, it was clear it was not going to be a box office success. It flopped with just $29 million worldwide, and was panned by critics. Craven himself dislikes the final product, and a director's cut was never an option because his original ending was never filmed.
Red Eye (2005)"Fear takes flight."His 18th film. It stars Rachel McAdams, Cillian Murphy, and Brian Cox. The story follows a hotel manager ensnared in an assassination plot by a terrorist while aboard a red-eye flight to Miami. The film received Craven's best reviews in years, and was a box office success, earning almost $100 million. While he is fine with people loving it, Cillian Murphy is not really fond of the film, "I love Rachel McAdams and we had fun making it but I don’t think it's a good movie. It’s a good B movie."
My Soul to Take (2010)"Only one has the power to save their souls."His 19th film. It stars Max Thieriot, Denzel Whitaker, Raul Esparza, and Shareeka Epps. It follows Adam "Bug" Hellerman, who is one of seven teenagers chosen to die following the anniversary of a serial killer's death. This was Craven's first film in almost two decades where he would be directing, producing and writing. But that didn't pan out to a success: it was a critical and commercial dud.
Scream 4 (2011)"New decade. New rules."His 20th and final film. The fourth installment in the Scream franchise, it stars David Arquette, Neve Campbell, Courteney Cox, Emma Roberts, Hayden Panettiere, Anthony Anderson, Alison Brie, Adam Brody, Rory Culkin, Marielle Jaffe, Erik Knudsen, Mary McDonnell, Marley Shelton, Nico Tortorella, and Roger L. Jackson. The film takes place on the fifteenth anniversary of the original Woodsboro murders from Scream and involves Sidney Prescott returning to the town after ten years, where Ghostface once again begins killing students from Woodsboro High. In 2010, Williamson and Craven confirmed their plans for a new film. Craven said that endless sequels, the modern spew of remakes, film studios, and directors are the butts of parodies in the film. The main characters have to figure out where the horror genre is in current days to figure out the modern events happening to and around them. This was the first film in the franchise to use CGI, with the knife's blade added in post-production. Even though the franchise was profitable, it seemed like its glory days were long behind it by the time it hit theaters. The film disappointed in its opening weekend with just $18 million, and closed with a weak $97 million worlwide, far less than the previous films. It also received mixed reviews, particularly for its writing and new characters. It was the last film directed by Craven before his death in 2015.
MOVIES (FROM HIGHEST GROSSING TO LEAST GROSSING)
The VerdictQuite inconsistent, but a very iconic figure in the horror genre. You know you made it big when your creations include Elm Street and Scream. Craven often struggled with difficult productions (you can blame the Weinsteins for that), but he still managed to make competent and scary films, even if some are better than others. Some even see critical re-appraisal as time passes; even Scream 3 and Scream 4 have their fans. We don't know what he would've done with the franchise after the fourth film, but he made it clear he was exhausted by having to film without finished scripts. Rest in Peace to a horror legend.Hope you liked this edition. You can find this and more in the wiki for this section. The next director will be Clint Eastwood. I think I'll have to make two posts, given that he directed 42 films. I asked you to choose who else should be in the run and the comment with the most upvotes would be chosen. Well, we'll later talk about... Ang Lee. A legendary Asian director. This is the schedule for the following four:
And that theme is: controversial directors. I'm talking directors who have attained a polarizing response to their films (like Zack Snyder), or the directors themselves are also controversial figures in real life (like Oliver Stone). Basically, a director that has as many fans as haters. |
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2024.05.11 06:26 skyeky_ [M4A] Cruel Prince Takes You Prisoner Doesn't it hurt...? [Enemies to Lovers] [Evil Prince] [PT2]
This is part two, also ok to monetize!
Gonna change up the dialogue a bit so it'll look like this!
[Actions and sound affects will be like this, basically all direction!] Character: This will remain the same for dialogue
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[Faint sounds of soldiers bustling about outside of a tent]
Prince: Hey there songbird, rise and shine. I said get up! [Prince kicks the prisoner] There, good morning. It's awfully rude to keep your captor waiting, you know. We have a long road ahead of us, and we're losing daylight with every second you waste coughing on the ground like that. Oh gross, you better not be about to puke. Get up, we're going outside!
[Chains rattle and unlock, Prince takes Prisoner out of the tent]
Prince: [Softly] Yikes... didn't think I kicked you that hard... Ahem. Are you uh... done there then? You're not sitting in the carriage with me if you're nauseous, it's simply not happening. Alright, good. Then get moving.
[Footsteps, wood creaking to step up into the carriage, and carriage door opening, horse noise?]
Prince: [Speaking to other soldiers] Pack up the spare tent before we ride out, I don't want any trace of us left behind here. We're too easy to track in such a large group as it is...
[Carriage door shuts]
Prince: Now then, where were we? Oh, I suppose you'll want to eat something. Here, bread and cheese.
Listener: ....
Prince: Well excuse me greedy, one would think you'd be grateful getting this much. Quit complaining, I already told you that won't go over well for you. Eat. And be quiet, I don't want to be distracted.
[Prince takes out a book, paper flips as he begins reading and marching sounds can be heard from outside the carriage]
Listener: ....
Prince: What-? I'm reading what the hell does it look like I'm doing?
Listener: ....
Prince: What I'm reading is none of your concern, and- what happened to 'don't distract me'? Shut up.
[Pause for several seconds]
Listener: ....
Prince: Do you have a death wish? Ugh, fine, if you really must know, it's about war strategy. Why are you surprised? No one has a perfect battle plan before they set foot on the field. Things always change, it's unpredictable. So, I like to keep my mind sharp. The more I look at these formations, the pinscher attacks, the lay of the lands around here, the more likely I am to be able to come up with an emergency strategy if we should find ourselves in trouble.
Listener: ....
Prince: Yes well, I've been doing this for... a very long time. I've been leading a battalion since I was sixteen, studying to do so long before that. I'm entirely qualified and capable, thank you very much.
Listener: ....
Prince: The why of it all is a rather long and complicated story, and frankly, it's none of your concern, Silverspoon. But the short version is my father only trusts the people he knows he can control to fill out his top spots. As his only son, I have a considerable amount of responsibility, that includes a leading position in the army. The troops feel better taking orders from their prince, a strong sense of loyalty builds when your ruler fights among you. Well, that and the grotesque punishments for deserters, that certainly helps to deter mutiny.
Listener: ....
Prince: How do we handle deserters? How do you think? If they're caught in the capital, they're strung up somewhere near the castle and executed, if I catch them, I slice their heads off and call it a day. Nice and simple. Are you done with your barrage of useless questions? I'd certainly like to get back to my reading.
Listener: ....
Prince: Medicine? What me-... were you eavesdropping on me? [Getting angry] Mind your own damn business! [Prince gets up, grabs prisoner by the jaw, so maybe audio gets closer?] Start acting like a spy, and I'll start treating you like one. [Prince sits back down] Tsk. [Pages flip] Sit there quietly, or you'll make me angry again.
[Audio fades out, scene change! Rain sounds from inside the carriage, marching outside, sword on whetstone sound]
Prince: [Sigh] This rain has really been slowing us down the last couple of days... hey, Silverspoon, do me a favor, yeah? Take this paper and quill and write a letter for me. I'll tell you what to write, but I'm, obviously a bit busy. I doubt you can sharpen a sword, but I'm sure you can write.
Listener: ....
Prince: Good. Alright, write down what I say starting now. [Pen scribbling throughout] Troops delayed through poor weather. Supplies will be short with the extra time it will take to reach our destination. Prepare to house and feed soldiers, make preparations swiftly, we'll arrive two days after you receive this letter. Comply with this royal order, or be labelled a traitor to your country.
Listener: ....
Prince: A threat? Well, yes, I guess it's a threat.
Listener: ....
Prince: Because people simply comply better when you hold their lives over their heads on a string. It's just tactical efficiency. What do I care if I scare them? That's kind of the po- [The carriage shakes a little from going over a bump, the sword and whetstone fall to the ground]
Prince: Shit, where did that go...?
Listener: ....
Prince: What? [Irritated] Oh- I suppose I am bleeding. I guess that's what I get for trying to catch a falling sword.
Listener: ....
Prince: No, it doesn't hurt, I'm fine. Don't think fawning over me with your pitiful feigned concern will earn you anything towards your freedom. I've hardly sunk so low to need your care. I'll just stitch it up, it's not a big deal.
Listener: ....
Prince: Yes I know it looks deep. I told you, it doesn't hurt. Hand me my bag, it has a small suturing kit. I'm admittedly quite prone to little accidents like this. It's handy to have around.
[Listener passes him the bag]
Prince: Hm... well I guess this does pose a problem. I'm left handed, unfortunately. Can you sew?
Listener: ....
Prince: Good. Make yourself useful then and stitch up my hand. It doesn't have to be pretty, and don't concern yourself with the pain. You could stab me with that needle a hundred times, it wouldn't bother me.
Listener: ....
Prince: In simple terms, I have an exceptionally high pain tolerance. Gets me into trouble now and then. Less talking, just sew.
[Pause]
Prince: I guess that's good enough. Maybe you're not entirely useless after all. Just almost entirely. Anyway, are you done with that letter? Give it here, I need to seal it before I give it to a messenger.
Listener: ....
Prince: Of course I can seal it on my own! I cut my hand, it didn't fall off! Don't treat me like a wounded animal, if I were you I'd only be concerning myself with my own wellbeing in a situation like this. Don't forget, I'm your captor.
Listener: ....
Prince: Oh like hell! I haven't 'been nicer', taunting you just got boring. If you start to let your guard down around me, I will take advantage of it without hesitation. Especially since you seem uniquely talented at pissing me off. There, the letter is sealed. I told you I could do it on my own.
[Prince on the carriage window, window opens and the rain gets louder]
Prince: Pass this along to the messenger, tell him to ride on ahead on his own to the next village.
[Window closes, rain gets quieter again]
Prince: There, that's taken care of now. If I'm feeling kind later, maybe I'll even let you sleep in a bed for a night when we get there. I can see on your face just how well sitting on the rock hard ground has been treating you for sleep. Not that any of that is really my problem.
Listener: ....
Prince: My sleeping arrangements are actually quite comfortable thank you. The perks of being the army commander. Why are you talking so much, anyway? Are you bored?
Listener: ....
Prince: A game? Fine, I doubt it'll hurt anything. What kind of game?
Listener: ....
Prince: A game of questions sounds dangerously close to a bonding activity. If you're trying to get in my head, that won't work. You wouldn't be the first to try it. Fine, we'll play your game, but I'm going first. What was with the cheese roll obsession back at that banquet dinner? You... practically ate all of them. Frankly it was horrific.
Listener: ....
Prince: That... might just be the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Whatever, any answer is better than no answer. Your turn then.
Listener: ....
Prince: [Exasperated sigh] I should have known this was a damn ploy to learn my secrets. The cut doesn't hurt because I can't feel it. Well- I can feel my hand of course, obviously, but I can't feel the pain. I never could. Interestingly enough, the palace doctors thought I was faking it as a child. I scraped my knee one day, I have no idea how it happened, but my retainer at the time brought me to see them. Apparently it was a bad scrape, and the doctor didn't believe I felt no pain, so he had me close my eyes, and tell me where his hand was touching. He was trying to catch me in the theoretical lie, he pushed his hand right into the cut. I didn't flinch, and I guess it made him angry for some reason. So he took a candle and burned my leg. I opened my eyes to look at him, but I never flinched. He freaked out, called me a monster and ran. I guess I was probably giving him a death glare, so maybe I looked like one. But honestly, what a moronic thing to do. I was maybe four or so, what would I have had to gain from deception like that? I don't know exactly what caused me to be this way, but I've never experienced pain. It's some sort of physical condition, there are a few other caveats, but I've told you more than enough for one question. Apparently people like me don't live very long, because we don't realize when we're hurt. But, fuck that, I'm not dying until I'm good and ready. Now it's my turn again... hm...
Listener: ....
Prince: [Scoffs] Please, don't give me that look of pity. It's laughable you think that little story is worth a look like that. No one is treated fairly in this country, it's what we're known for. Four years old, or forty. I resent your concern, stuff it back in whatever fucked up compartment of your brain it came from, Silverspoon. Now, have you ever-
[Prince freezes as the ground rumbles, a screeching of some kind of giant monster can be heard moderately close]
Prince: What... the hell... was that...?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Part three is due uhhhh... soon!
submitted by skyeky_ to ASMRScriptHaven [link] [comments]
Gonna change up the dialogue a bit so it'll look like this!
[Actions and sound affects will be like this, basically all direction!] Character: This will remain the same for dialogue
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[Faint sounds of soldiers bustling about outside of a tent]
Prince: Hey there songbird, rise and shine. I said get up! [Prince kicks the prisoner] There, good morning. It's awfully rude to keep your captor waiting, you know. We have a long road ahead of us, and we're losing daylight with every second you waste coughing on the ground like that. Oh gross, you better not be about to puke. Get up, we're going outside!
[Chains rattle and unlock, Prince takes Prisoner out of the tent]
Prince: [Softly] Yikes... didn't think I kicked you that hard... Ahem. Are you uh... done there then? You're not sitting in the carriage with me if you're nauseous, it's simply not happening. Alright, good. Then get moving.
[Footsteps, wood creaking to step up into the carriage, and carriage door opening, horse noise?]
Prince: [Speaking to other soldiers] Pack up the spare tent before we ride out, I don't want any trace of us left behind here. We're too easy to track in such a large group as it is...
[Carriage door shuts]
Prince: Now then, where were we? Oh, I suppose you'll want to eat something. Here, bread and cheese.
Listener: ....
Prince: Well excuse me greedy, one would think you'd be grateful getting this much. Quit complaining, I already told you that won't go over well for you. Eat. And be quiet, I don't want to be distracted.
[Prince takes out a book, paper flips as he begins reading and marching sounds can be heard from outside the carriage]
Listener: ....
Prince: What-? I'm reading what the hell does it look like I'm doing?
Listener: ....
Prince: What I'm reading is none of your concern, and- what happened to 'don't distract me'? Shut up.
[Pause for several seconds]
Listener: ....
Prince: Do you have a death wish? Ugh, fine, if you really must know, it's about war strategy. Why are you surprised? No one has a perfect battle plan before they set foot on the field. Things always change, it's unpredictable. So, I like to keep my mind sharp. The more I look at these formations, the pinscher attacks, the lay of the lands around here, the more likely I am to be able to come up with an emergency strategy if we should find ourselves in trouble.
Listener: ....
Prince: Yes well, I've been doing this for... a very long time. I've been leading a battalion since I was sixteen, studying to do so long before that. I'm entirely qualified and capable, thank you very much.
Listener: ....
Prince: The why of it all is a rather long and complicated story, and frankly, it's none of your concern, Silverspoon. But the short version is my father only trusts the people he knows he can control to fill out his top spots. As his only son, I have a considerable amount of responsibility, that includes a leading position in the army. The troops feel better taking orders from their prince, a strong sense of loyalty builds when your ruler fights among you. Well, that and the grotesque punishments for deserters, that certainly helps to deter mutiny.
Listener: ....
Prince: How do we handle deserters? How do you think? If they're caught in the capital, they're strung up somewhere near the castle and executed, if I catch them, I slice their heads off and call it a day. Nice and simple. Are you done with your barrage of useless questions? I'd certainly like to get back to my reading.
Listener: ....
Prince: Medicine? What me-... were you eavesdropping on me? [Getting angry] Mind your own damn business! [Prince gets up, grabs prisoner by the jaw, so maybe audio gets closer?] Start acting like a spy, and I'll start treating you like one. [Prince sits back down] Tsk. [Pages flip] Sit there quietly, or you'll make me angry again.
[Audio fades out, scene change! Rain sounds from inside the carriage, marching outside, sword on whetstone sound]
Prince: [Sigh] This rain has really been slowing us down the last couple of days... hey, Silverspoon, do me a favor, yeah? Take this paper and quill and write a letter for me. I'll tell you what to write, but I'm, obviously a bit busy. I doubt you can sharpen a sword, but I'm sure you can write.
Listener: ....
Prince: Good. Alright, write down what I say starting now. [Pen scribbling throughout] Troops delayed through poor weather. Supplies will be short with the extra time it will take to reach our destination. Prepare to house and feed soldiers, make preparations swiftly, we'll arrive two days after you receive this letter. Comply with this royal order, or be labelled a traitor to your country.
Listener: ....
Prince: A threat? Well, yes, I guess it's a threat.
Listener: ....
Prince: Because people simply comply better when you hold their lives over their heads on a string. It's just tactical efficiency. What do I care if I scare them? That's kind of the po- [The carriage shakes a little from going over a bump, the sword and whetstone fall to the ground]
Prince: Shit, where did that go...?
Listener: ....
Prince: What? [Irritated] Oh- I suppose I am bleeding. I guess that's what I get for trying to catch a falling sword.
Listener: ....
Prince: No, it doesn't hurt, I'm fine. Don't think fawning over me with your pitiful feigned concern will earn you anything towards your freedom. I've hardly sunk so low to need your care. I'll just stitch it up, it's not a big deal.
Listener: ....
Prince: Yes I know it looks deep. I told you, it doesn't hurt. Hand me my bag, it has a small suturing kit. I'm admittedly quite prone to little accidents like this. It's handy to have around.
[Listener passes him the bag]
Prince: Hm... well I guess this does pose a problem. I'm left handed, unfortunately. Can you sew?
Listener: ....
Prince: Good. Make yourself useful then and stitch up my hand. It doesn't have to be pretty, and don't concern yourself with the pain. You could stab me with that needle a hundred times, it wouldn't bother me.
Listener: ....
Prince: In simple terms, I have an exceptionally high pain tolerance. Gets me into trouble now and then. Less talking, just sew.
[Pause]
Prince: I guess that's good enough. Maybe you're not entirely useless after all. Just almost entirely. Anyway, are you done with that letter? Give it here, I need to seal it before I give it to a messenger.
Listener: ....
Prince: Of course I can seal it on my own! I cut my hand, it didn't fall off! Don't treat me like a wounded animal, if I were you I'd only be concerning myself with my own wellbeing in a situation like this. Don't forget, I'm your captor.
Listener: ....
Prince: Oh like hell! I haven't 'been nicer', taunting you just got boring. If you start to let your guard down around me, I will take advantage of it without hesitation. Especially since you seem uniquely talented at pissing me off. There, the letter is sealed. I told you I could do it on my own.
[Prince on the carriage window, window opens and the rain gets louder]
Prince: Pass this along to the messenger, tell him to ride on ahead on his own to the next village.
[Window closes, rain gets quieter again]
Prince: There, that's taken care of now. If I'm feeling kind later, maybe I'll even let you sleep in a bed for a night when we get there. I can see on your face just how well sitting on the rock hard ground has been treating you for sleep. Not that any of that is really my problem.
Listener: ....
Prince: My sleeping arrangements are actually quite comfortable thank you. The perks of being the army commander. Why are you talking so much, anyway? Are you bored?
Listener: ....
Prince: A game? Fine, I doubt it'll hurt anything. What kind of game?
Listener: ....
Prince: A game of questions sounds dangerously close to a bonding activity. If you're trying to get in my head, that won't work. You wouldn't be the first to try it. Fine, we'll play your game, but I'm going first. What was with the cheese roll obsession back at that banquet dinner? You... practically ate all of them. Frankly it was horrific.
Listener: ....
Prince: That... might just be the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Whatever, any answer is better than no answer. Your turn then.
Listener: ....
Prince: [Exasperated sigh] I should have known this was a damn ploy to learn my secrets. The cut doesn't hurt because I can't feel it. Well- I can feel my hand of course, obviously, but I can't feel the pain. I never could. Interestingly enough, the palace doctors thought I was faking it as a child. I scraped my knee one day, I have no idea how it happened, but my retainer at the time brought me to see them. Apparently it was a bad scrape, and the doctor didn't believe I felt no pain, so he had me close my eyes, and tell me where his hand was touching. He was trying to catch me in the theoretical lie, he pushed his hand right into the cut. I didn't flinch, and I guess it made him angry for some reason. So he took a candle and burned my leg. I opened my eyes to look at him, but I never flinched. He freaked out, called me a monster and ran. I guess I was probably giving him a death glare, so maybe I looked like one. But honestly, what a moronic thing to do. I was maybe four or so, what would I have had to gain from deception like that? I don't know exactly what caused me to be this way, but I've never experienced pain. It's some sort of physical condition, there are a few other caveats, but I've told you more than enough for one question. Apparently people like me don't live very long, because we don't realize when we're hurt. But, fuck that, I'm not dying until I'm good and ready. Now it's my turn again... hm...
Listener: ....
Prince: [Scoffs] Please, don't give me that look of pity. It's laughable you think that little story is worth a look like that. No one is treated fairly in this country, it's what we're known for. Four years old, or forty. I resent your concern, stuff it back in whatever fucked up compartment of your brain it came from, Silverspoon. Now, have you ever-
[Prince freezes as the ground rumbles, a screeching of some kind of giant monster can be heard moderately close]
Prince: What... the hell... was that...?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Part three is due uhhhh... soon!
2024.05.11 04:48 Codename-SiGiL Mobile Task Force Epsilon Bravo VII - The Omniversal Concordat 5-4-23
PROLOGUE - PART I
Sergei: Phone rings - Takes a bite of his club sandwich and checks the screen, and rolls his eyes.
Andrei: Looks at him with a grin "It's her isn't it?"
Sergei: Finishes chewing and takes a sip of Mountain Dew, then answering the call "I thought you were in Boston today.
Natalia: "What, to get a Samuel Adams and a fucking potato? Get real! This is serious. I'm on a layover in Baltimore until 2, and then it's over to JFK. Did you get those pics I sent you, baby?"
Sergei: Furrows his brows to Andrei who saw the pics
Andrei: Smiles
Sergei: "Yeah, I got them alright. And I've got to say, that was fucking nice. How much were those? That shit was fucking golden!"
Natalia: "Well, you know, baby. It doesn't come cheap but Haji was able to pull some strings with Customs and talked to his uncle at the consulate. One thing led to another, and he got your dad exactly what he wanted for Christmas. Even got you and Dre an extra box for the party.
Sergei: Grinning now "It was fucking perfect. You're a doll for that one, sweetie. Dre loves them to, Right Dre?"
Andrei: "They're God damned tits compared to that cheap Honduran crap." Lighting a Cuban cigar with a wooden match
Natalia: "Well, enjoy. Look, I've got to get moving. I gotta pick up something to eat before I catch my next flight."
Ralphie: Walks into the kitchen with his Xbox headset on "Fuck you! Yeah? So's your mom! What? I'm straighter than the pole your mom dances on, you fairy!"
Sergei: "Damn it, Ralphie! Manners." Whispers "Your stepmom is on the phone."
Ralphie: "Shit." Yells "Hi, Nat!"
Natalia: On speakerphone "Hiiiii Ralphie! Did you get the thing I sent you?"
Ralphie: "Yes, Nat. It's fucking rad!"
Sergei: "Ralphie! Language!"
Andrei: Takes a puff and chuckles "He's going to be a rockstar in no time. That's an original Fender Stratocaster!"
Sergei: "Yeah, my Jimi Hendrix over here…." Picks up a magazine and fans the smoke away as he walks into the living room for a more private conversation and tosses the January copy of Fortune 500 onto the couch "Natalia, look. I know we haven't got a chance to see each other, but I miss you, so God-Damned-Much…" slides open the patio door and steps out onto the balcony "It got me to thinking, you know. It's been what two weeks since we," Pauses and smiles, beaming "went to that crab restaurant and you were wearing that dress, and we went back to your place and-"
Natalia: "Yes, Serj, I remember…" She said with a giggle "and that cute waitress with the rack was hitting on you in front of me the whole time. She's lucky she was so hot, or I wouldn't have tipped her so well…"
Sergei: "Well, you know. If you were that into her we could have had her over to your place too, for a little minage et toi"
Natalia: "Slow your roll there, cowboy! I don't like pussy that much. Speaking of which, that bitch Shiniqua at the office did her nails again."
Sergei: *Frowns* "Doesn't she spend like $300 on her God damned nails every fucking week?"
Natalia: "Well she can afford it." Sighs "Bitch is fine as fuck and she knows it too. That's why she's so stuck up."
Sergei: "Doesn't she have that hot sister, what's her name?"
Natalia: "Oh! Right. The one you fucked before we got together. How in the Hell do you not remember her name?"
Sergei: "Oh, come on Nat, it was just a one night stand, and I was drunk, and she was persuasive…"
Natalia: "Serj, and hoe with titties is persuasive enough to get you in the God damned sack. Seriously, stop thinking with your fucking dick for once."
Sergei: "Look, I'm sorry babe. It's about business. Her uncle works the State Department, right?"
Natalia: sighs annoyed "Yeah, he's like a secretary or liason to the adjuctant or something like that. Why?"
Sergei: "I need you to see if her sister, what's her name with the nails?"
Natalia: "Shiniqua…"
Sergei: "See if Shiniqua can get me the goods on his boss. I hear the guy is really connected with mineral extraction firms, and I need to find out about that oil rig off of the coast of Juneau, Alaska."
Natalia: "Seriously, what the Hell is so important about some nosebleed rig off the coast of Juneau for crying out loud?" Loudspeaker blares in the distance "Look honey, I've got to catch my next flight. Can we do this later?"
Sergei: "Okay, but the next trime you speak to her, I need you to ask her if she can schedule a meet and greet with her uncle at the next banquet at the yacht club. I'll buy him and his wife a damned table. Seriously, though. We need to get him on board before the Governor's ball."
Natalia: "OKay, okay. I'll do it. You'll be lucky if that stuck up assed hoe goes for it though. She'll want something in return, and it'll be about more than just her expensive ass nails."
Sergei: "Okay, whatever she needs, we'll pull the strings to get it done. I love you babe. Have fun in New York…"
Natalia: "Yeah. And don't go getting shithoused at the bar with Andrei and end up plowing some floozie while I'm gone either. I'll cut your fuckin' balls off, you know…"
Sergei: Sighs while pinching his nose "I know. Love you."
Natalia: "Love you too sweetie. I'll call you when I get to my hotel room."
Sergei: "Okay baby. I can't wait for you to come home next week…"
Natalia: "More like your dong can't wait for this ass next week!"
Sergei: Laughs
Natalia: "Yeah. That's what I thought. Byeeeee!" Hangs up
Sergei: Leans against the railing on the balcony and takes a deep breath of the cold and crisp night air, before heading back in.
Andrei: "Good talk?" Putting out the cigar by cutting the end off with a cigar cutter and putting the cherry into an ashtray
Sergei: "She said she'll talk to her coworker about getting Brett to sit down for a meet and greet."
Andrei: "It's important, Sergei. His boss works for the Foundation. You won't find a record of his involvement anywhere in State Department files."
Sergei: "Seriously?"
Andrei: Chuckles "They don't friggin exist! Remember?"
Sergei: "Right…"
Andrei: "If we can get a sit down with him, he can get us connected to what's under Juneau. Once we've got access to that, we can step up the next phase of our operations."
Sergei: "And What the Hell is so important about fucking Juneau of all places anyways? I thought it was just a stupid oil rig."
Andrei: "That's not all it is Sergei… It's what's under the sea floor. The "Thingy" they uncovered when they were drilling."
Sergei: knits his brow "What in the Hell is the "Thingy"?"
Andrei: Tucks the stogie into a glass cigar case "That depends." whispers "Do you believe in aliens?"
Sergei: "I think you've had too much to drink, Uncle."
Andrei: "I kid you not."
Sergei: "Get out of here. No way!"
Andrei: "It's just rumor for now, but if it's a match for what the Old Gaurd found in Enurmino back in '25…"
Sergei: "You mean…"
Andrei: "Da."
Sergei: "So the legends are true then?"
Andrei: "No fucking joke."
Sergei: "Like," looks around then lowers his voice to a whisper "like Lizard people?"
Andrei: Looking around, puts his finger to his lips and nods
Sergei: mouths the words "Holy shit!"
Andrei: "Yeah that's what I'm saying. God Damned dinosaurs! Very rare. One of a kind."
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Chapter I - Todd is a brave man... Baltimore, Maryland - February, 2nd 2008
Lance Corporal Todd and Professor Chaos milled about in front of the kielbasa stand munching down some dogs with kraut, and washing it back with lemonade.
LCpl Todd: "Maaaan. A Milkor only holds 6 grenades at a time, that's like over 300+ cultists armed with HK MP5s, M4s, AK-47s, .50 Cal damn nests in the lobby, and fucking Scar heavys for the buildings security forces, not counting RPG-7s with thermobaric to take out vehicles and personnel and shit, and God damned stingers on the rooftops to take out fucking choppers in my immediate fucking AO. How in the fuck am I supposed cum dumpster that many shitheads by myself when the shit goes down? This isn't even a standard M32A1 for fucks sake! What South African shithole did they get this piece of junk from? Literally, Bill's Discount Firearms Emporium? Do I clusterfuck their shit into a quadruple cross and let them know they're ripping each other off now? Could cause a Mexican standoff and resultant shootout. That would be convenient, or do they fuck and fill my holes with bukkake and sacrifice me first? This is fucking clown shoes man. Fucking clown shoes... Fucking cults, man."
That plaza was relatively clear of cult operative activity which was focused on the front lobby of the building across the street and a block away.
Lieutentant Dan "Gator" watched the cams feed from the van.
Lt. Gator: "Look shitbreath, you gotta keep your balls on the prize. The SCIP is the prize. Nuts to butt and keep that fucker in front of you and use him like a God damned meat shield. If he gets popped we're fucked, so don't let that shit happen or Skippy Peanut Butter Company hits us with a O5 containment clusterfuck of crunchy dildos, and the last thing we need is Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto's cyborg service from fucking Styx singing "Come Sail Away" and Shanghai our asses on the Highway to the the God Damned Danger Zone. You know what they do to cornholes there for the fuckups? "
LCpl Todd, muttering under his breath, swiveled back toward the dogs cart, as a suspicious group of college aged/military aged males strolled by, being very chalant and looking around. Professor Chaos took point and fiddle fucked his blackberry absentmindedly while looking out of his perhipherals.
Lt. Gator: "Are you listening Top Gun? Fucking Use peanut boy Downtown Charlie Brown as a God damned salami sandwich and keep those fucking cookie monsters the fuck away from the Winnebago. Also, do NOT let anything happen to him and keep him in proximity. Got it? Also, where the fuck is Gunny? He should've been back with the Dominos to throw pepperoni at this motherfucker 5 minutes ago..."
LCpl Todd: "Just gotta ask, Maverick...err. Gator. Why in the living fuck do we keep using Sesame Street lingo?"
Lt. Gator: "Because the sick motherfuckers plow kids and post it to the deep web on a God damned website called motherfucking Sesame Street. Weren't you at the brief?"
LCpl Todd: "I Was, but I had to take a shit for like 5 minutes, so I guess I missed that part..."
Lt. Gator: "God damn it, Lance. Eat some motherfucking peanut butter crackers from the vending machine next time. It'll make you fucking constipated so you don't have to blow ass during God damned brief."
Gunny Wilson: "Boy, the fuck is wrong with yo' ass? Keep that Cookie Monster Lord summoning muthafucka the fuck away from my camper! The last thing I need is for Charlie Brown's cock holster to barf up a God damned queef spell with some Wizard shit on it during my mothafucking engagement, and end up pissing off Skippy and Jif management enough to pop us with God damned orbital bombardment. Ask that piece of cultist pedophile bait if this is where he saw himself being at the age of twenty six."
Professor Chaos: "Just another day, living the fucking dream, Sir. Seriously though, This is fucked up."
Gunny Wilson: "I swear, if Otis Spunkmeyer goes kamikaze with the Sesame Street Brigade, the God Damned Cookie Monster and Oscar the Grouch murder hobo legion lurking in the shadows of every storefront will start to go apeshit-. Mothafucka, are you listening, Gator? Tell Terminal Lance to get his ass in gear and keep those motherfuckers away from my ride! Put salami sandwich at the front on his exfil and this shit better go fucking swimmingly. If that motherfucker cum guzzles some motherfucking lead monster sperm on my watch, Corpsman will not be able to patch his bitch ass up in time, and it will be Hell on Earth when the shit stain bukkake brigade gets their way. Here's your motherfucking pizza, you fairy asswipe. Don't touch my Dr. Pepper..." He said taking a fat slice and gobbling down most of it in one breath.
Corpsman Bill: "Damn, Gunny. That was sexy! Here's your fucking bones for the pie, that's two Dubs and some coins, aaaand what in the flying fuck is Yui Hirasawa doing crossing my God Damned Street again? That's the third time in the past twenty minutes. Seriously, what the fuck is that shit? That better be a motherfucking Gibson Les Paul Sunburst in that God Damned Guitar case on her back and not a fucking cache of P-90s. Scoping that fucking loli, and she's got Azunyan-Chan with the God damned violin case, wait, correction, that's a fucking cello case, and they're lugging that shit to what I can only assume isn't Mugi's grandma's house. Looks like they've been pulling music and concert cases out of that minivan in front of the plaza, and parked it directly across the street from Shitbag Central. "
Corpsman Bill: "I swear to fucking Jesus, if Mugi shows up next with a motherfucking canvas wrapped tube slung over her shoulder, I'm going to assume it's a stinger launcher and not a fucking digeridoo. They didn't use a digeridoo in motherfucking Fua Fua Time, and if that's not a trio on their way to motherfucking Juliaird, and they're going all renegade Natalie Portman in Leon the Professional, I'm going to have a bad fucking time."
*Pulls the Multispec scope up to 10x*
"Checking that shit out, and it looks like Hokago Tea Time over there is up to no good. What the fuck Gator? Look at the backscatter X-ray on this shit. They're kitted out and ready to do the fucking dirty. What lolicon motherfucker called Pizza Hut to hire the three 20-30 somethings for a Lolita hit squad on our dry run?! This is bullshit. Are those bitches Triple Canopy or what? Hoes better not be motherfucking Speznas either. What in the fuck, Mugi's mean muggin the Bago. She's looking right at me. Did we get made? God Damn it. Who the fuck are they? Are they Langley?
*'Mugi' discretely flips him off where only he can see it*
Corpsman Bill: "Motherfucker... That fucking does it!"
Gunny Wilson: "Oh yeah. They're here to party, Bill."
_.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-.
Chapter II - Light Music Club Isn't fucking Around Baltimore, Maryland - February, 2nd 2008
After flipping off Corpsman Bill, Eight flung her hair back, she ties it in a ponytail, and turns to walk back across the street.
Number 8: "Can you hear me fuck boy? That's cute with the K-on bit, you fucking lolicon scumbag motherfucker. Yo Six, you hear this fuckwad?"
Number 6: "Yep, dumb motherfucker forgot about the CrossCom uplink with Cent. You're on a hot mic with local AO dickbreath, the rest of your team is solid."
Corpsman Bill: "Awe fuck me running", Bill muttered.
Number 8: "You ready to do this shit, or are you just going to be oogling us through your pervert scope with your dick in your hand, cough, Fag."
Lt. Gator: "Now, now, ladies. Please contain your orgasms and homicidal ideations. We're all on the same team here."
Number 6: "Eat a dick, Lieutenant"
Number 5: "Six, knock it off. Let's play nice with fuckboy brigade and get this fucking show on the road. Culty asswipes are crawling all over the fucking place here. Read?"
Number 6: "Copy that, 5."
Number 5: "Good. And for the record, Corpsman, your knowledge of K-On is fucking uncanny. Do you wear school girl dresses in your mom's basement?"
Corpsman Bill: "God damn it, I don't have to take this shit…."
Number 5: "Whatever weeb. Anyways, here's a SITREP. Something pissed off that cult leader dickhead Otis Spunkmeyer aka Russel, and all of those Oscar the Grouch motherfuckers are looking out for someone big to show up. Looks like they're expecting VIPs. You know what that means?"
Lt. Gator: "What's that, Five?"
Number 5: "It means, Lieutenant, that the fucking cookie monster fuckwad brigade is going to be distracted for the next 13 minutes, and those child sacrificing cultist dickbreaths will be looking to brown nose to make that fucker Russel happy. Seven, you see anything pretty from your nest?"
Number 7/Overwatch: "Negative, Five. Looks like the Sesame Street convention is waiting around with their dicks in their hands for the moment."
Number 5: "Copy that. Look, Gator. You see that corner office on the 17th floor? That's where shit weasel extraordinaire is supposed to have the meet with whoever is showing up. We can't get a good read on audio because the motherfucker has white noise on the windows. Some culty garbage metal band we never fucking heard of. Laser mics aren't going to do shit for now. We need to find a way to get ears inside that room, and three quote unquote 'high school girls' aren't about to get fucking railed by fucking nasty walking into that fucking heathen's nest. Got any bright ideas?"
Lt. Gator: "Can you have someone from cent do a brush pass with a listening device?"
Number 5: "Got motherfuckers from cookie monster brigade already looking out for that shit. We had an informant within their perimeter security already, but he got popped in the fucking tart two hours ago. Apparently he wasn't properly indoctrinated in Serpent protocol, and got interrogated by a proselytizer. That's when he slipped up. Now that fucker Russel is keeping an eye out for interlopers and apostates. This shit is going to get a lot more difficult to get someone on the inside."
Lt. Gator: "Please tell me you've got a solution, Five…"
Number 6: "We could cause a power surge and overload that floors breakers, and kill the noise, but that would just piss that fucker off and they would hold the meet in a different room. We need that fucking window so we can pop a visual from the spider drones we have set up on the surrounding buildings."
Gunny Wilson: "What I wouldn't do for some noise cancel right now."
Number 7/Overwatch: "Yeah, no shit. We didn't deploy until about 45 minutes ago and we're late to the punch bowl. We've got 12 mins until mystery VIPs drop by, so we've got to get this shit figured out fast."
Lt. Gator: "Copy that five, we'll work on a solution, give us a minute"
LCpl Todd: "How about we send Charlie Brown aka Professor Chaos in there, Gator?"
Lt. Gator: "Negative, Lance. If those fuckers ID him it's fucking curtains. Gunny, got any bright ideas?"
Gunny Wilson: "Wait for the VIPs to show and tag one of their entourage with a listening device from across the street."
Number 5: "Can you pull that off, Gunny?"
Gunny Wilson: "No can do, Five. Will have to get danger close, and those Oscars and Cookie monsters will be swarming the VIPs on the lookout the minute they roll up."
LCpl Todd: "Well, why not tag one of the VIPs with a sticky? Overwatch, you got darts or what?"
Number 7/Overwatch: "If I don't get him on something thick, he'll feel it tag him as soon as it hits him. If they become wise, this shit cavity becomes a hornet's nest."
Lt. Gator: "What do you think, Five?"
Number 5: "It's the best option I've heard so far, so fuck it. Yeah."
Lt. Gator: "Okay, so tag one of the VIPs the minute they step out of the motorcade. If we're lucky, the greaseball fuckwad is wearing a fur coat."
Number 7/Overwatch: "Copy that. And speaking of greaseballs, there they come now. ETA 25 seconds. Looks like they're hauling ass."
Number 5: "Yeah, guessing Otis Spunkmeyer's got these motherfuckers on a tight schedule. Time it right, we only got one shot at this..."
Number 7/Overwatch: "Yeah, on it. Looks like it's the towncar... Ready for joy"
*The three vehicle motorcade pulled to a stop in front of the steps to dirtbag haven. Four armed guards hopped out of the lead and rear vehicle each, and the driver hopped out of the VIP middle vehicle and opened the door.*
Number 7/Overwatch: "Aaaaand holy motherfucking shit. Look who the fuck is popping out..."
Lt. Gator: "Oh fuck. That's Senator Calvin McCoulough. Standby..."
Gunny Wilson: "He's the Executive Director of the Weyland-Yutani fuckwad brigade, right?"
Number 7/Overwatch: "Take the fucking shot or not?"
Number 5: "Fuck that. Tag his ass!"
*There was a muffled click as the dart tagged the senator on his shoulder pad, just as his driver closed his passenger side door behind him. The dart was no bigger than a tailor's pin*
Number 7/Overwatch: "Bug's on his jacket"
Lt. Gator: "Audio confirmed. Let's see what this fucker does..."
*The senator's cell phone trilled and he pulled it out of his pocket. He stared at the screen momentarily and answered*
Senator McCoulough: "Yeah? No. Not a good time Brett, I'm about to be in a meeting with someone very important. Yes. I know, they usually do. Yeah, I know. I'll have to call you back. Yeah. Bye." He then hung up the phone and slid it back into his pocket.
Number 5: "Overwatch, you get audio too?"
Number 7/Overwatch: "Confirmed, Five. Looks like dickbreath was talking to 'Brett' so and so. We'll have Cent dig in and find out who the fuck that is..."
Gunny Wilson: "And there they go."
*Four of the armed guards followed Senator McCoulough from behind, while four led the way.*
Number 6: "You know who his goons might be working for, Lieutenant?"
Lt. Gator: "They don't look like secret service or PMC, let alone your typical Guidos. Look what they're wearing. Those are wool overcoats and tweed jackets. You see that fuckwad in the front, doesn't he look familiar?"
Number 5: "I saw that same motherfucker inside of Royal's Bank in the executive lounge... What the fuck is going on?"
Command: "Five Actual. This is command."
Number 5: "Go ahead command."
Command: "Stand down."
Number 5: "What the fuck do you mean, stand down?"
Command: "Do it. That's a fucking order."
*Five mouthed the words "Fuck" without uttering a sound*
Gunny Wilson: "What the fuck, command?"
Command: "That's above your fucking paygrade, Gunnery Sergeant. Scrub the God damned OP. NOW!"
Gunny Wilson: "What the-"
*Gator held his hand up to Gunny and they exchanged glances*
Command: "What the fuck is the hold up. Scrub the fucking mission and abort, or I'll put all of your asses in Leavenworth."
Lt. Gator: "Copy that, command. Standing down. You all heard him. Party's over."
Gator and gunny exchanged glances, and Lance stared at 5. The fire in her eyes could melt steel. The audio recording was still live from Senator McCoulough's bug as they made their way to the elevators. Shortly after the doors closed, the signal cut off. Using hand signals, 5 threw up two fingers to 7 in her nest. 7 Nodded. Gator and Gunny saw this on cams and said nothing. When the elevator doors to the 17th floor opens, the audio signal from the bug cut back on...
Command: "I don't think I've made myself abundantly clear. Abort the fucking mission. Lieutenant. 5. That means kill the coms too."
Everyone shook their heads and muttered strings of epithets. Lance yanked out his ear bud and 5 crossed her arms, looking across the street at 6. 6 threw her hands up. Gator then threw his headset on the counter in the van. "FUCK!". 7 Spit out the Grizzly wintergreen tucked in her lip, and muttered, "Shit on a fucking biscuit..."
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submitted by Codename-SiGiL to u/Codename-SiGiL [link] [comments]
Sergei: Phone rings - Takes a bite of his club sandwich and checks the screen, and rolls his eyes.
Andrei: Looks at him with a grin "It's her isn't it?"
Sergei: Finishes chewing and takes a sip of Mountain Dew, then answering the call "I thought you were in Boston today.
Natalia: "What, to get a Samuel Adams and a fucking potato? Get real! This is serious. I'm on a layover in Baltimore until 2, and then it's over to JFK. Did you get those pics I sent you, baby?"
Sergei: Furrows his brows to Andrei who saw the pics
Andrei: Smiles
Sergei: "Yeah, I got them alright. And I've got to say, that was fucking nice. How much were those? That shit was fucking golden!"
Natalia: "Well, you know, baby. It doesn't come cheap but Haji was able to pull some strings with Customs and talked to his uncle at the consulate. One thing led to another, and he got your dad exactly what he wanted for Christmas. Even got you and Dre an extra box for the party.
Sergei: Grinning now "It was fucking perfect. You're a doll for that one, sweetie. Dre loves them to, Right Dre?"
Andrei: "They're God damned tits compared to that cheap Honduran crap." Lighting a Cuban cigar with a wooden match
Natalia: "Well, enjoy. Look, I've got to get moving. I gotta pick up something to eat before I catch my next flight."
Ralphie: Walks into the kitchen with his Xbox headset on "Fuck you! Yeah? So's your mom! What? I'm straighter than the pole your mom dances on, you fairy!"
Sergei: "Damn it, Ralphie! Manners." Whispers "Your stepmom is on the phone."
Ralphie: "Shit." Yells "Hi, Nat!"
Natalia: On speakerphone "Hiiiii Ralphie! Did you get the thing I sent you?"
Ralphie: "Yes, Nat. It's fucking rad!"
Sergei: "Ralphie! Language!"
Andrei: Takes a puff and chuckles "He's going to be a rockstar in no time. That's an original Fender Stratocaster!"
Sergei: "Yeah, my Jimi Hendrix over here…." Picks up a magazine and fans the smoke away as he walks into the living room for a more private conversation and tosses the January copy of Fortune 500 onto the couch "Natalia, look. I know we haven't got a chance to see each other, but I miss you, so God-Damned-Much…" slides open the patio door and steps out onto the balcony "It got me to thinking, you know. It's been what two weeks since we," Pauses and smiles, beaming "went to that crab restaurant and you were wearing that dress, and we went back to your place and-"
Natalia: "Yes, Serj, I remember…" She said with a giggle "and that cute waitress with the rack was hitting on you in front of me the whole time. She's lucky she was so hot, or I wouldn't have tipped her so well…"
Sergei: "Well, you know. If you were that into her we could have had her over to your place too, for a little minage et toi"
Natalia: "Slow your roll there, cowboy! I don't like pussy that much. Speaking of which, that bitch Shiniqua at the office did her nails again."
Sergei: *Frowns* "Doesn't she spend like $300 on her God damned nails every fucking week?"
Natalia: "Well she can afford it." Sighs "Bitch is fine as fuck and she knows it too. That's why she's so stuck up."
Sergei: "Doesn't she have that hot sister, what's her name?"
Natalia: "Oh! Right. The one you fucked before we got together. How in the Hell do you not remember her name?"
Sergei: "Oh, come on Nat, it was just a one night stand, and I was drunk, and she was persuasive…"
Natalia: "Serj, and hoe with titties is persuasive enough to get you in the God damned sack. Seriously, stop thinking with your fucking dick for once."
Sergei: "Look, I'm sorry babe. It's about business. Her uncle works the State Department, right?"
Natalia: sighs annoyed "Yeah, he's like a secretary or liason to the adjuctant or something like that. Why?"
Sergei: "I need you to see if her sister, what's her name with the nails?"
Natalia: "Shiniqua…"
Sergei: "See if Shiniqua can get me the goods on his boss. I hear the guy is really connected with mineral extraction firms, and I need to find out about that oil rig off of the coast of Juneau, Alaska."
Natalia: "Seriously, what the Hell is so important about some nosebleed rig off the coast of Juneau for crying out loud?" Loudspeaker blares in the distance "Look honey, I've got to catch my next flight. Can we do this later?"
Sergei: "Okay, but the next trime you speak to her, I need you to ask her if she can schedule a meet and greet with her uncle at the next banquet at the yacht club. I'll buy him and his wife a damned table. Seriously, though. We need to get him on board before the Governor's ball."
Natalia: "OKay, okay. I'll do it. You'll be lucky if that stuck up assed hoe goes for it though. She'll want something in return, and it'll be about more than just her expensive ass nails."
Sergei: "Okay, whatever she needs, we'll pull the strings to get it done. I love you babe. Have fun in New York…"
Natalia: "Yeah. And don't go getting shithoused at the bar with Andrei and end up plowing some floozie while I'm gone either. I'll cut your fuckin' balls off, you know…"
Sergei: Sighs while pinching his nose "I know. Love you."
Natalia: "Love you too sweetie. I'll call you when I get to my hotel room."
Sergei: "Okay baby. I can't wait for you to come home next week…"
Natalia: "More like your dong can't wait for this ass next week!"
Sergei: Laughs
Natalia: "Yeah. That's what I thought. Byeeeee!" Hangs up
Sergei: Leans against the railing on the balcony and takes a deep breath of the cold and crisp night air, before heading back in.
Andrei: "Good talk?" Putting out the cigar by cutting the end off with a cigar cutter and putting the cherry into an ashtray
Sergei: "She said she'll talk to her coworker about getting Brett to sit down for a meet and greet."
Andrei: "It's important, Sergei. His boss works for the Foundation. You won't find a record of his involvement anywhere in State Department files."
Sergei: "Seriously?"
Andrei: Chuckles "They don't friggin exist! Remember?"
Sergei: "Right…"
Andrei: "If we can get a sit down with him, he can get us connected to what's under Juneau. Once we've got access to that, we can step up the next phase of our operations."
Sergei: "And What the Hell is so important about fucking Juneau of all places anyways? I thought it was just a stupid oil rig."
Andrei: "That's not all it is Sergei… It's what's under the sea floor. The "Thingy" they uncovered when they were drilling."
Sergei: knits his brow "What in the Hell is the "Thingy"?"
Andrei: Tucks the stogie into a glass cigar case "That depends." whispers "Do you believe in aliens?"
Sergei: "I think you've had too much to drink, Uncle."
Andrei: "I kid you not."
Sergei: "Get out of here. No way!"
Andrei: "It's just rumor for now, but if it's a match for what the Old Gaurd found in Enurmino back in '25…"
Sergei: "You mean…"
Andrei: "Da."
Sergei: "So the legends are true then?"
Andrei: "No fucking joke."
Sergei: "Like," looks around then lowers his voice to a whisper "like Lizard people?"
Andrei: Looking around, puts his finger to his lips and nods
Sergei: mouths the words "Holy shit!"
Andrei: "Yeah that's what I'm saying. God Damned dinosaurs! Very rare. One of a kind."
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Chapter I - Todd is a brave man... Baltimore, Maryland - February, 2nd 2008
Lance Corporal Todd and Professor Chaos milled about in front of the kielbasa stand munching down some dogs with kraut, and washing it back with lemonade.
LCpl Todd: "Maaaan. A Milkor only holds 6 grenades at a time, that's like over 300+ cultists armed with HK MP5s, M4s, AK-47s, .50 Cal damn nests in the lobby, and fucking Scar heavys for the buildings security forces, not counting RPG-7s with thermobaric to take out vehicles and personnel and shit, and God damned stingers on the rooftops to take out fucking choppers in my immediate fucking AO. How in the fuck am I supposed cum dumpster that many shitheads by myself when the shit goes down? This isn't even a standard M32A1 for fucks sake! What South African shithole did they get this piece of junk from? Literally, Bill's Discount Firearms Emporium? Do I clusterfuck their shit into a quadruple cross and let them know they're ripping each other off now? Could cause a Mexican standoff and resultant shootout. That would be convenient, or do they fuck and fill my holes with bukkake and sacrifice me first? This is fucking clown shoes man. Fucking clown shoes... Fucking cults, man."
That plaza was relatively clear of cult operative activity which was focused on the front lobby of the building across the street and a block away.
Lieutentant Dan "Gator" watched the cams feed from the van.
Lt. Gator: "Look shitbreath, you gotta keep your balls on the prize. The SCIP is the prize. Nuts to butt and keep that fucker in front of you and use him like a God damned meat shield. If he gets popped we're fucked, so don't let that shit happen or Skippy Peanut Butter Company hits us with a O5 containment clusterfuck of crunchy dildos, and the last thing we need is Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto's cyborg service from fucking Styx singing "Come Sail Away" and Shanghai our asses on the Highway to the the God Damned Danger Zone. You know what they do to cornholes there for the fuckups? "
LCpl Todd, muttering under his breath, swiveled back toward the dogs cart, as a suspicious group of college aged/military aged males strolled by, being very chalant and looking around. Professor Chaos took point and fiddle fucked his blackberry absentmindedly while looking out of his perhipherals.
Lt. Gator: "Are you listening Top Gun? Fucking Use peanut boy Downtown Charlie Brown as a God damned salami sandwich and keep those fucking cookie monsters the fuck away from the Winnebago. Also, do NOT let anything happen to him and keep him in proximity. Got it? Also, where the fuck is Gunny? He should've been back with the Dominos to throw pepperoni at this motherfucker 5 minutes ago..."
LCpl Todd: "Just gotta ask, Maverick...err. Gator. Why in the living fuck do we keep using Sesame Street lingo?"
Lt. Gator: "Because the sick motherfuckers plow kids and post it to the deep web on a God damned website called motherfucking Sesame Street. Weren't you at the brief?"
LCpl Todd: "I Was, but I had to take a shit for like 5 minutes, so I guess I missed that part..."
Lt. Gator: "God damn it, Lance. Eat some motherfucking peanut butter crackers from the vending machine next time. It'll make you fucking constipated so you don't have to blow ass during God damned brief."
Gunny Wilson: "Boy, the fuck is wrong with yo' ass? Keep that Cookie Monster Lord summoning muthafucka the fuck away from my camper! The last thing I need is for Charlie Brown's cock holster to barf up a God damned queef spell with some Wizard shit on it during my mothafucking engagement, and end up pissing off Skippy and Jif management enough to pop us with God damned orbital bombardment. Ask that piece of cultist pedophile bait if this is where he saw himself being at the age of twenty six."
Professor Chaos: "Just another day, living the fucking dream, Sir. Seriously though, This is fucked up."
Gunny Wilson: "I swear, if Otis Spunkmeyer goes kamikaze with the Sesame Street Brigade, the God Damned Cookie Monster and Oscar the Grouch murder hobo legion lurking in the shadows of every storefront will start to go apeshit-. Mothafucka, are you listening, Gator? Tell Terminal Lance to get his ass in gear and keep those motherfuckers away from my ride! Put salami sandwich at the front on his exfil and this shit better go fucking swimmingly. If that motherfucker cum guzzles some motherfucking lead monster sperm on my watch, Corpsman will not be able to patch his bitch ass up in time, and it will be Hell on Earth when the shit stain bukkake brigade gets their way. Here's your motherfucking pizza, you fairy asswipe. Don't touch my Dr. Pepper..." He said taking a fat slice and gobbling down most of it in one breath.
Corpsman Bill: "Damn, Gunny. That was sexy! Here's your fucking bones for the pie, that's two Dubs and some coins, aaaand what in the flying fuck is Yui Hirasawa doing crossing my God Damned Street again? That's the third time in the past twenty minutes. Seriously, what the fuck is that shit? That better be a motherfucking Gibson Les Paul Sunburst in that God Damned Guitar case on her back and not a fucking cache of P-90s. Scoping that fucking loli, and she's got Azunyan-Chan with the God damned violin case, wait, correction, that's a fucking cello case, and they're lugging that shit to what I can only assume isn't Mugi's grandma's house. Looks like they've been pulling music and concert cases out of that minivan in front of the plaza, and parked it directly across the street from Shitbag Central. "
Corpsman Bill: "I swear to fucking Jesus, if Mugi shows up next with a motherfucking canvas wrapped tube slung over her shoulder, I'm going to assume it's a stinger launcher and not a fucking digeridoo. They didn't use a digeridoo in motherfucking Fua Fua Time, and if that's not a trio on their way to motherfucking Juliaird, and they're going all renegade Natalie Portman in Leon the Professional, I'm going to have a bad fucking time."
*Pulls the Multispec scope up to 10x*
"Checking that shit out, and it looks like Hokago Tea Time over there is up to no good. What the fuck Gator? Look at the backscatter X-ray on this shit. They're kitted out and ready to do the fucking dirty. What lolicon motherfucker called Pizza Hut to hire the three 20-30 somethings for a Lolita hit squad on our dry run?! This is bullshit. Are those bitches Triple Canopy or what? Hoes better not be motherfucking Speznas either. What in the fuck, Mugi's mean muggin the Bago. She's looking right at me. Did we get made? God Damn it. Who the fuck are they? Are they Langley?
*'Mugi' discretely flips him off where only he can see it*
Corpsman Bill: "Motherfucker... That fucking does it!"
Gunny Wilson: "Oh yeah. They're here to party, Bill."
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Chapter II - Light Music Club Isn't fucking Around Baltimore, Maryland - February, 2nd 2008
After flipping off Corpsman Bill, Eight flung her hair back, she ties it in a ponytail, and turns to walk back across the street.
Number 8: "Can you hear me fuck boy? That's cute with the K-on bit, you fucking lolicon scumbag motherfucker. Yo Six, you hear this fuckwad?"
Number 6: "Yep, dumb motherfucker forgot about the CrossCom uplink with Cent. You're on a hot mic with local AO dickbreath, the rest of your team is solid."
Corpsman Bill: "Awe fuck me running", Bill muttered.
Number 8: "You ready to do this shit, or are you just going to be oogling us through your pervert scope with your dick in your hand, cough, Fag."
Lt. Gator: "Now, now, ladies. Please contain your orgasms and homicidal ideations. We're all on the same team here."
Number 6: "Eat a dick, Lieutenant"
Number 5: "Six, knock it off. Let's play nice with fuckboy brigade and get this fucking show on the road. Culty asswipes are crawling all over the fucking place here. Read?"
Number 6: "Copy that, 5."
Number 5: "Good. And for the record, Corpsman, your knowledge of K-On is fucking uncanny. Do you wear school girl dresses in your mom's basement?"
Corpsman Bill: "God damn it, I don't have to take this shit…."
Number 5: "Whatever weeb. Anyways, here's a SITREP. Something pissed off that cult leader dickhead Otis Spunkmeyer aka Russel, and all of those Oscar the Grouch motherfuckers are looking out for someone big to show up. Looks like they're expecting VIPs. You know what that means?"
Lt. Gator: "What's that, Five?"
Number 5: "It means, Lieutenant, that the fucking cookie monster fuckwad brigade is going to be distracted for the next 13 minutes, and those child sacrificing cultist dickbreaths will be looking to brown nose to make that fucker Russel happy. Seven, you see anything pretty from your nest?"
Number 7/Overwatch: "Negative, Five. Looks like the Sesame Street convention is waiting around with their dicks in their hands for the moment."
Number 5: "Copy that. Look, Gator. You see that corner office on the 17th floor? That's where shit weasel extraordinaire is supposed to have the meet with whoever is showing up. We can't get a good read on audio because the motherfucker has white noise on the windows. Some culty garbage metal band we never fucking heard of. Laser mics aren't going to do shit for now. We need to find a way to get ears inside that room, and three quote unquote 'high school girls' aren't about to get fucking railed by fucking nasty walking into that fucking heathen's nest. Got any bright ideas?"
Lt. Gator: "Can you have someone from cent do a brush pass with a listening device?"
Number 5: "Got motherfuckers from cookie monster brigade already looking out for that shit. We had an informant within their perimeter security already, but he got popped in the fucking tart two hours ago. Apparently he wasn't properly indoctrinated in Serpent protocol, and got interrogated by a proselytizer. That's when he slipped up. Now that fucker Russel is keeping an eye out for interlopers and apostates. This shit is going to get a lot more difficult to get someone on the inside."
Lt. Gator: "Please tell me you've got a solution, Five…"
Number 6: "We could cause a power surge and overload that floors breakers, and kill the noise, but that would just piss that fucker off and they would hold the meet in a different room. We need that fucking window so we can pop a visual from the spider drones we have set up on the surrounding buildings."
Gunny Wilson: "What I wouldn't do for some noise cancel right now."
Number 7/Overwatch: "Yeah, no shit. We didn't deploy until about 45 minutes ago and we're late to the punch bowl. We've got 12 mins until mystery VIPs drop by, so we've got to get this shit figured out fast."
Lt. Gator: "Copy that five, we'll work on a solution, give us a minute"
LCpl Todd: "How about we send Charlie Brown aka Professor Chaos in there, Gator?"
Lt. Gator: "Negative, Lance. If those fuckers ID him it's fucking curtains. Gunny, got any bright ideas?"
Gunny Wilson: "Wait for the VIPs to show and tag one of their entourage with a listening device from across the street."
Number 5: "Can you pull that off, Gunny?"
Gunny Wilson: "No can do, Five. Will have to get danger close, and those Oscars and Cookie monsters will be swarming the VIPs on the lookout the minute they roll up."
LCpl Todd: "Well, why not tag one of the VIPs with a sticky? Overwatch, you got darts or what?"
Number 7/Overwatch: "If I don't get him on something thick, he'll feel it tag him as soon as it hits him. If they become wise, this shit cavity becomes a hornet's nest."
Lt. Gator: "What do you think, Five?"
Number 5: "It's the best option I've heard so far, so fuck it. Yeah."
Lt. Gator: "Okay, so tag one of the VIPs the minute they step out of the motorcade. If we're lucky, the greaseball fuckwad is wearing a fur coat."
Number 7/Overwatch: "Copy that. And speaking of greaseballs, there they come now. ETA 25 seconds. Looks like they're hauling ass."
Number 5: "Yeah, guessing Otis Spunkmeyer's got these motherfuckers on a tight schedule. Time it right, we only got one shot at this..."
Number 7/Overwatch: "Yeah, on it. Looks like it's the towncar... Ready for joy"
*The three vehicle motorcade pulled to a stop in front of the steps to dirtbag haven. Four armed guards hopped out of the lead and rear vehicle each, and the driver hopped out of the VIP middle vehicle and opened the door.*
Number 7/Overwatch: "Aaaaand holy motherfucking shit. Look who the fuck is popping out..."
Lt. Gator: "Oh fuck. That's Senator Calvin McCoulough. Standby..."
Gunny Wilson: "He's the Executive Director of the Weyland-Yutani fuckwad brigade, right?"
Number 7/Overwatch: "Take the fucking shot or not?"
Number 5: "Fuck that. Tag his ass!"
*There was a muffled click as the dart tagged the senator on his shoulder pad, just as his driver closed his passenger side door behind him. The dart was no bigger than a tailor's pin*
Number 7/Overwatch: "Bug's on his jacket"
Lt. Gator: "Audio confirmed. Let's see what this fucker does..."
*The senator's cell phone trilled and he pulled it out of his pocket. He stared at the screen momentarily and answered*
Senator McCoulough: "Yeah? No. Not a good time Brett, I'm about to be in a meeting with someone very important. Yes. I know, they usually do. Yeah, I know. I'll have to call you back. Yeah. Bye." He then hung up the phone and slid it back into his pocket.
Number 5: "Overwatch, you get audio too?"
Number 7/Overwatch: "Confirmed, Five. Looks like dickbreath was talking to 'Brett' so and so. We'll have Cent dig in and find out who the fuck that is..."
Gunny Wilson: "And there they go."
*Four of the armed guards followed Senator McCoulough from behind, while four led the way.*
Number 6: "You know who his goons might be working for, Lieutenant?"
Lt. Gator: "They don't look like secret service or PMC, let alone your typical Guidos. Look what they're wearing. Those are wool overcoats and tweed jackets. You see that fuckwad in the front, doesn't he look familiar?"
Number 5: "I saw that same motherfucker inside of Royal's Bank in the executive lounge... What the fuck is going on?"
Command: "Five Actual. This is command."
Number 5: "Go ahead command."
Command: "Stand down."
Number 5: "What the fuck do you mean, stand down?"
Command: "Do it. That's a fucking order."
*Five mouthed the words "Fuck" without uttering a sound*
Gunny Wilson: "What the fuck, command?"
Command: "That's above your fucking paygrade, Gunnery Sergeant. Scrub the God damned OP. NOW!"
Gunny Wilson: "What the-"
*Gator held his hand up to Gunny and they exchanged glances*
Command: "What the fuck is the hold up. Scrub the fucking mission and abort, or I'll put all of your asses in Leavenworth."
Lt. Gator: "Copy that, command. Standing down. You all heard him. Party's over."
Gator and gunny exchanged glances, and Lance stared at 5. The fire in her eyes could melt steel. The audio recording was still live from Senator McCoulough's bug as they made their way to the elevators. Shortly after the doors closed, the signal cut off. Using hand signals, 5 threw up two fingers to 7 in her nest. 7 Nodded. Gator and Gunny saw this on cams and said nothing. When the elevator doors to the 17th floor opens, the audio signal from the bug cut back on...
Command: "I don't think I've made myself abundantly clear. Abort the fucking mission. Lieutenant. 5. That means kill the coms too."
Everyone shook their heads and muttered strings of epithets. Lance yanked out his ear bud and 5 crossed her arms, looking across the street at 6. 6 threw her hands up. Gator then threw his headset on the counter in the van. "FUCK!". 7 Spit out the Grizzly wintergreen tucked in her lip, and muttered, "Shit on a fucking biscuit..."
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2024.05.11 04:35 OurArchMaester Orys Baratheon Prologue - A Reign Absent Fire.
14AC
Another writ, another paper, another plan, another request, another bill, another demand, another fucking sheep eaten by another fucking dragon. Orys Baratheon, Lord Protector, One of Three, the half-dragon, the wingless, the shadow, the man who never was. In his office, every name that had ever been levied at him was able to burrow into his mind.
He had ruled and kept the kingdom running for eight years now, he had sought to keep this fucking dream alive, because Aegon, poor… poor Aegon wanted it to be so. He wanted seven kingdoms unified, and he got them. He wanted Dorne, but he never reached them. Rhaenys had managed to though, she had brought herself to Dorne and brought friendship back. Soon enough, they would have an eighth kingdom. It was all but assured through the works of too many people in the right places with the right minds.
“Had Aegon conquered a Kingdom of fools, I would rule in ashes,” he sighed, running a firm, trained, yearning hand through his thick mane of dark hair.
He was a warrior, a general, Aegon’s right hand, and here he sat, alone, in an office in the highest point of the Red Keep… his memorial to Aegon, his gift to the memory of the finest man he knew… and the fool who thought a general and warrior should be the one to sit in King’s Landing, that he should be the one to keep the two most volatile people the world had yet seen in check.
Visenya had her love of the mountains, Rhaenys her solitude in Dorne.
What was it that he had?
“Silence,” he said, and his voice echoed softly in the room.
Silence, and solitude. He was the man that would sit at the pinnacle of power, and still he bound himself to an agreement. He ruled, he was named paramount, but a lord protector’s role was the protection of a kingdom to be inherited.
Were he a warmonger, he would have seized the Stepstones, would have fought in Essos for influence, puppets, client realms. But he was not a warmonger, he was Aegon’s right hand, and his role was singular - ensure the kingdom would rule beneath another. And there were two options now. Growing by the day.
Visenya and Rhaenys had a child each. They were fine by all accounts, neither vicious things, nor a cruel despot in the making. He had yet to hear tales of them killing birds for fun, or threatening servants, but that only made the issue prominent in the back of his mind. As his own son was coming of age, as he was to marry a Dayne of Starfall, he was left to ponder.
“Who comes next?”
A softly growing set of footfalls echoed along the hallway beyond his office. The tower of the hand was but one of the annexes of the tower and few had cause to arrive during the day lest they had need of the man who ran a kingdom. Many sought the masters of laws, ships or coin, perhaps even the mistress of whispers. But few sought Orys. The half-brother to a king who rubberstamped the requests of queens? What purpose served he? What reason had he to be dragged from his plans and his ideas?
Through his door entered a man grown withered by time. Abelard Stone, trapped by time, he was hardly a formidable man. His mind was sharp, none could deny. But he was a strange figure to fill a doorway. Alone he was constantly found, and yet there was an air of certainty. Old as he was, he had been by Orys’ side for years now, before Aegon had perished, the man had seen to finances and funds for him when he could not turn to Darklyn.
And he brought a slip of paper.
“The tabled expenses,” the man said, holding up the slip, the paper rustling and waving about in thin fingers.
And like a whisper, his voice lingered in his ear.
Orys rose from his desk, and the two men could not have been more different. Orys towered over the aged bastard, where he was broad and firm, the man was hunched and slim, but even so, in his eyes Orys found a knowing strength.
The Baratheon met him in the centre of the wide chamber, by a table for meetings of the council. The man handed over the slip, and stood patiently, watching and waiting for the Lord Protector to read.
The numbers were as he had expected - a lot. A grand hunt in the Kingswood? There were only expenses to be found in that, but he had the funds to pay it. He had his own wealth to rely on after all, lands untended, left to Wylde, were still valuable. But there was a notable expense on the sheet that he stopped on. He walked back to his desk with the page in hand.
“You sourced this from where?” he asked, not expecting an honest answer. Not that there was a reason to doubt the loyalty of the man, but there was a certain sense of defensiveness one needed in such moments.
With a smile, the man simply folded his hands and spoke.
“The tabulations come from the best hunters of the area, a Gormon Gaunt, sited the locations himself, ensured there was a strong stock of hart last he checked, and sighted no bandits.
“None?” Orys queried.
The man shook his head slowly.
“There was no sign of them. Whatever it was that led men to those woods after the conquest, that time has passed. Those woods are empty of all but opportunists and game.
Orys set the page down. The costs were acceptable, recoverable by all accounts. And for what it would provide him? Who was to say that such costs were too high. The forests needed to trim their fat, reports had come in that they were becoming abundant with hog and hart, and the maesters argued that would lead to issues in the future. So, pragmatist he was, he decided his son would reach majority there. He would become a man with spear in hand.
And the land would heal after the hunt.
“And what of the rest?” Orys added.
Abelard smiled thinly, and so he had his answer.
He waved the old man away, and the Lord Protector returned to his seat, his own throne of tidy wood kept clean and polished and cushioned. It was far more comfortable than a throne like that made of swords. There was also no threat of slicing open his arm on one of the rests or tripping and skewering himself.
And sinking into his seat, he relaxed. It was truly his. If he were to seek a throne, he would never fit it quite like he did this one. Besides, thrones were for kings in his mind. They ill-suited the right hand man. For every throne needed someone else on hand to keep a kingdom running.
He had two of them, but they were too often of a differing mind more than they ever aligned. One to his North, one to his South.
---
16 AC
Another letter to the pile. This time a joint declaration and request from the south. To hunt for the missing bodies of a few lords and ladies in the Kingswood. He’d allow them to do it of course, there was naught to gain by disallowing them from finding the bodies of their lost family.
He tossed the worn parchment across the table, letting it land upon his pile of others, right next to two from the queens. Costs for expansions, for hunts, for hirings, for fortifications. Things he would say yes to, things the treasury could bear for they had the coin to do so. Though in time he would have to begin working at the Iron Bank and the Bank of the Seven.
For even if the crown’s treasury was well-stocked, thanks in no small part to the efforts of Dannis Darklyn, it was capable of handling the running of the realm, not what Rhaenys sought.
A palace on Highwatch? Had it not been strategically useful to build for the queen, so that the throne could protect its newly acquired possessions on the Stepstones, he would have denied it outright, instead the Lord Protector could only shake his head. They would need quite the sum of money to build it, protect it, staff it and more. There was also the matter of housing for the dragons at each location they lived. An item he had received petitions over from smallfolk and lords alike for nearly a decade.
If he were going to seek a loan from the banks, then he might as well find enough for that too.
And as if summoned by a thought, his doorway was darkened by Abelard Stone once more. He was getting quieter and quieter ever since the Kingswood. Not for any sickness or ill-health. He simply had taken on a much less apparent stature. The man was slight, he was old. Precisely the type people paid no heed to. But Orys knew better than to think the man frail or infirm.
To just look behind his stare told him all he needed. That old bastard worked a hundred plots at any one time.
“You called?” The man asked, and Orys snickered.
“No, but it’s not as if that would have stopped you,” he replied while turning from the hearth and motioning to the table in the office.
“Come, sit.”
The man did as asked, taking the furthest table on the end and sitting politely upon it. Even the high-backed chair helped to make him seem smaller.
“Your bill,” he noted, placing another fucking sheet of paper on the table. He flinched reflexively at its presence, but smiled as he sighed, there was no cause to fear paper, not when it was something he wanted. Though something else was coming to mind.
“How has the cleanup fared? Did Bloodwood do his job?” Asked the Lord Protector.
The small man nodded, “aye. You picked one for the ages in him. Though I cannot say you should trust him.”
“No one should trust him. No one should even be alone with their back to him. His innate duplicity would demand he stab it.” Orys chuckled, but he did not think the man that terrible. He was honourable when he needed to be, and even if his motives were suspect in the wake of Aegon’s death, he still helped identify the perpetrators… all of them? Maybe not, but the Tullys were complicit, their men were there, they wielded the knives. They led the attack.
“I shall keep that in mind then, my lord,” Abelard said.
“As for the bill. How much of it can I afford to pay from my own pocket?” Asked Orys.
The man smiled thinly, this one a somewhat abashed look.
“Your coffers are quite resplendent my lord, but what you seek is not something that we might arrange with pretty words and bribes. You shall need a considerable sum.”
Orys blew a breath as he leaned back, things he could do, accounts he could raise. But… what was one more item on the loans he sought.
He nodded.
“So be it. Thank you, my friend.”
The man gave a polite nod, and as silently as he arrived, he left.
“Well…” he said softly, “if this is ruling the ashes…” he looked about the office. It was well-furnished, large, and atop one of the highest towers of the Red Keep. There were much worse places to rule without ruling. So, he nodded and he rose to his feet. He took the bill from the table and filed it into the pocket of his coat.
“For another day,” he mused.
---
23 AC
From the window of his office, he could see most of the city. Looking down upon it, it was both the most majestic and the most bland thing he had ever seen. So much stood beneath him, in the third largest city. It was bustling, it was vibrant, but it was full of crime, full of corruption, all of which blossomed under the split of the realm. He had returned from Essos only a week before, and he could not help but think to himself.
At least it is the same everywhere.
Pentos was the same, Braavos no different. The world turned on coin, and the men within it no less.
Even ageing as he was, Orys had thought that might made it work. Dragons conquered kingdoms, armies held castles, men and women of renown pulled it all together. Now… now the only thing that he considered to be true of that was the last part. For men of renown were all that he had. A drunkard was his master of ships, but that same drunkard had brought him to Essos, introduced him to Archons and princes in the East. Men Orys had some small connection to from before the conquest, but Valarr had no shortage of friends within.
Dannis was retired now aye, but in his stead was a man so adept with coin and logistics, that Orys thought him the smartest man he had ever met. Maelor Targaryen, Steward of Dragonstone. Were things to go right, Orys would name him the fucking prince of it. He had earned as much.
There was the Ironsand too - a conniving woman, without a match in the city… though he heard many tales of songs sung in the West. Perhaps those singers would have given her a run for her money.
Malwyn was there too. He was always there. A looming presence in anything that occurred. Finding him in your doorway was nothing short of a curse at times, but none could doubt the ruthless efficiency of the man. None.
There was stalwart Allaric too. A man of poise, of strength, of Northern grit. If there was anyone in this whole city that Orys thought was able to pull this all together… perhaps he was the one. If not for himself.
But he had no time to contend with them. Not today.
“Your city is… growing,” said the Pentoshi man. His regal beard of black hair matched his painted brows and forced smile. All an act, all a display to present the perfect image to the man he spoke to. Decades ago, he would have laughed at such a man. But now… now he knew better. He wasn’t able to be the right hand man anymore, the one who simply did as he was asked, to tackle whatever problem his king had with gusto and zeal.
No, now there was no one to do what had to be done.
Once he thought that his role was simply to observe and protect.
He thought of the man he was then as a fool now. Aegon’s children could inherit, but what then? The strings would be pulled by whichever mother threw their child on the throne. And what of him? The moment they had their chance, they'd toss him to Storm’s End. There he could be forgotten, there he could be pushed aside and left to waste.
But Orys was not a man to be forgotten.
He shook his head.
“My city grows, but it is not even mine,” he said softly and turned from the window, facing the powdered man with a smile.
And the powdered man smiled back, politely and forced.
“Yet it remains a place of power and import, not one to be trifled with, and the man atop it reflects it. He shows strength, careful expansion, and something more beneath the surface.”
Orys chuckled softly.
“What? Did I offend?” The man asked and his accent carried a little more in his words. As if to emphasise that he was speaking a language other than his own. Likely to deflect away any blame or any malice that could be detected in his voice. He was a fine actor indeed.
“No, no offence is taken or found. You just remind me of an old friend,” Orys said with a chuckle.
The envoy slowly unwound after that and finally nodded.
“Friends are important,” he added.
Orys gave another nod. They were, and he had scant few that mattered. None that he knew he could turn to and tell of what had to come. If he did, what then? What good did planning do if a queen came with her dragon to ask, to investigate? He knew not. But he did know one thing. If he lacked friends, then it was a simple matter of making more.
“And what of you? Are your friends important?”
The man smiled thinly.
“The Prince’s friends are men anyone should wish to know, and even more, wish to ally.”
Orys nodded. Were Aegon here, he would have said the same thing of his king… but he was not. He might have said the same of the queens, but he wondered how Dorne or the Vale matched against the rest of the world. Powerful people indeed, but how powerful?
He clicked his tongue and he took from his desk a letter.
“Tell me then, do you have friends in Braavos? Myr? Lys? Tyrosh?” He placed the letter on the table before the plate of fruit arrayed for the visitor.
The man held his composure for a moment, barely blinking, lightly breathing, clearly thinking carefully. And with a glance to the door, the Stormcloak took his meaning and stepped out, However beyond the doors, as they closed, he saw the great beast of a man beyond. A hulking figure of pure muscle and power.
Orys was distracted for a moment as he considered who could win a fight? Him in his prime, or that mass of man?
“I have friends across the free cities,” said the envoy, and Orys’ attention returned as the door clicked shut.
“Then explain to them, if you could. That the Stepstones are not the sole property of either the Seven Kingdoms, or the free cities,” he said, pushing the letter across the table as he walked up to the man. On it was a report from his agents in Tyrosh, of a man claiming to want the return of the islands. Orys had thought him a fool a year ago, but that was before he knew the strength of the man’s fleet, of his willingness to amass strength so boldly.
A dragon would burn such a thing… but he did not wish to rely on dragons. Not now at the least.
The envoy glanced down at the letter, gulped and returned a smile to Orys. “Were there any conflicts to arise. I am certain that my friends would be swift in alerting the instigators to the foolishness of such actions. It will be my pleasure to use these friends to bring peace, your lordship.”
“Should there be, then I would hope to hear of this, by letter or messenger,” he said politely.
“Very well,” said the envoy.
“And there is one final matter.” Orys continued, taking from his pocket another slip of paper and placing it before the envoy. “For your eyes alone, and only once you are upon a ship back to Essos.”
The man eyed it suspiciously, and his hand lingered above it, wavering instead of taking it. Hovering in the air, Orys saw it shiver, saw it shake. He watched the man’s resolve battle with his self-preservation and finally he saw one win out. He took the paper and he slid it into his sleeve before folding his arms within them.
“The Prince and his friends will be certain to assess this with all the necessary merits and costs involved.”
Orys nodded.
“And should you doubt this commitment. I leave in your care a gift, from the personal guard of the Prince himself.” The man clapped his hands thrice in quick succession and the doors swung open and through it lumbered the behemoth beyond. Orys had seen the Mountain that was the Royce before, and he was a menace, and a specimen of no small amount of power. But this one, this one was something unique still.
Royce was enormous, but he was also tall.
This man was enormous, but he was as wide as a house. Barrel chested, with arms as thick as Orys’ torso. His head was shaved bald and his eyes had a beady, placid look about them. Orys took a few steps closer to the man and gave a firm nod.
Standing a few feet shy of him now, Orys could only feel the difference between them. The Lord Protector was a strong man, a fierce warrior, dulled by time, yes, but he was a fighter still. But this man made him feel a child. He was far shorter than the Royce, though far shorter meant he was probably six feet and five inches. A tall man under any auspice. But looking at him… Orys could only think… who would win between the two behemoths.
“What do they call you?” Orys asked, and the barrel-chested man gave a great big, toothy smile.
“They call me Vyronno ‘the Blind’ Aneroyor!” cheered the giant.
“The blind?” Orys asked.
“On account of my eyesight… can’t see too well past a few feet.”
“But you can see me well enough?”
The man nodded.
“Then you see well enough.”
---
24 AC
Upon the deck of the ship he watched King’s landing fade away.
No more fucking papers, no more fucking requests, no more gods damned demands for payments or funding or disputes. He was at sea, and that meant he could just sit and plan and prepare. Though… standing there, watching the city, he could not help but feel at a loss.
Abelard would have liked this view.
Fret not old friend, I shall regale you of it soon enough.
Orys Baratheon stepped away from the rear of the ship and descended to the deck below, where Vyronno waited, patiently stood to the side, where his great bulk was not in the way.
There a table was brought together from barrels and planks and the two men played dice.
He had a friend now. He only hoped that he would have more soon.
But…
No. Now was not the time for doubt.
The Kingswood was healing… ten years ago the catastrophe occurred. Now they held a hunt and festivities there, they celebrated eagerly the coming of age of two princes, with no one any closer to sorting who would rule. Though… could he complain? He could have sorted that years ago, he could have pushed one Queen mother one way or the other, but he didn’t.
Some would think him a fool for it.
Some would know why.
None would be ready.
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Another writ, another paper, another plan, another request, another bill, another demand, another fucking sheep eaten by another fucking dragon. Orys Baratheon, Lord Protector, One of Three, the half-dragon, the wingless, the shadow, the man who never was. In his office, every name that had ever been levied at him was able to burrow into his mind.
He had ruled and kept the kingdom running for eight years now, he had sought to keep this fucking dream alive, because Aegon, poor… poor Aegon wanted it to be so. He wanted seven kingdoms unified, and he got them. He wanted Dorne, but he never reached them. Rhaenys had managed to though, she had brought herself to Dorne and brought friendship back. Soon enough, they would have an eighth kingdom. It was all but assured through the works of too many people in the right places with the right minds.
“Had Aegon conquered a Kingdom of fools, I would rule in ashes,” he sighed, running a firm, trained, yearning hand through his thick mane of dark hair.
He was a warrior, a general, Aegon’s right hand, and here he sat, alone, in an office in the highest point of the Red Keep… his memorial to Aegon, his gift to the memory of the finest man he knew… and the fool who thought a general and warrior should be the one to sit in King’s Landing, that he should be the one to keep the two most volatile people the world had yet seen in check.
Visenya had her love of the mountains, Rhaenys her solitude in Dorne.
What was it that he had?
“Silence,” he said, and his voice echoed softly in the room.
Silence, and solitude. He was the man that would sit at the pinnacle of power, and still he bound himself to an agreement. He ruled, he was named paramount, but a lord protector’s role was the protection of a kingdom to be inherited.
Were he a warmonger, he would have seized the Stepstones, would have fought in Essos for influence, puppets, client realms. But he was not a warmonger, he was Aegon’s right hand, and his role was singular - ensure the kingdom would rule beneath another. And there were two options now. Growing by the day.
Visenya and Rhaenys had a child each. They were fine by all accounts, neither vicious things, nor a cruel despot in the making. He had yet to hear tales of them killing birds for fun, or threatening servants, but that only made the issue prominent in the back of his mind. As his own son was coming of age, as he was to marry a Dayne of Starfall, he was left to ponder.
“Who comes next?”
A softly growing set of footfalls echoed along the hallway beyond his office. The tower of the hand was but one of the annexes of the tower and few had cause to arrive during the day lest they had need of the man who ran a kingdom. Many sought the masters of laws, ships or coin, perhaps even the mistress of whispers. But few sought Orys. The half-brother to a king who rubberstamped the requests of queens? What purpose served he? What reason had he to be dragged from his plans and his ideas?
Through his door entered a man grown withered by time. Abelard Stone, trapped by time, he was hardly a formidable man. His mind was sharp, none could deny. But he was a strange figure to fill a doorway. Alone he was constantly found, and yet there was an air of certainty. Old as he was, he had been by Orys’ side for years now, before Aegon had perished, the man had seen to finances and funds for him when he could not turn to Darklyn.
And he brought a slip of paper.
“The tabled expenses,” the man said, holding up the slip, the paper rustling and waving about in thin fingers.
And like a whisper, his voice lingered in his ear.
Orys rose from his desk, and the two men could not have been more different. Orys towered over the aged bastard, where he was broad and firm, the man was hunched and slim, but even so, in his eyes Orys found a knowing strength.
The Baratheon met him in the centre of the wide chamber, by a table for meetings of the council. The man handed over the slip, and stood patiently, watching and waiting for the Lord Protector to read.
The numbers were as he had expected - a lot. A grand hunt in the Kingswood? There were only expenses to be found in that, but he had the funds to pay it. He had his own wealth to rely on after all, lands untended, left to Wylde, were still valuable. But there was a notable expense on the sheet that he stopped on. He walked back to his desk with the page in hand.
“You sourced this from where?” he asked, not expecting an honest answer. Not that there was a reason to doubt the loyalty of the man, but there was a certain sense of defensiveness one needed in such moments.
With a smile, the man simply folded his hands and spoke.
“The tabulations come from the best hunters of the area, a Gormon Gaunt, sited the locations himself, ensured there was a strong stock of hart last he checked, and sighted no bandits.
“None?” Orys queried.
The man shook his head slowly.
“There was no sign of them. Whatever it was that led men to those woods after the conquest, that time has passed. Those woods are empty of all but opportunists and game.
Orys set the page down. The costs were acceptable, recoverable by all accounts. And for what it would provide him? Who was to say that such costs were too high. The forests needed to trim their fat, reports had come in that they were becoming abundant with hog and hart, and the maesters argued that would lead to issues in the future. So, pragmatist he was, he decided his son would reach majority there. He would become a man with spear in hand.
And the land would heal after the hunt.
“And what of the rest?” Orys added.
Abelard smiled thinly, and so he had his answer.
He waved the old man away, and the Lord Protector returned to his seat, his own throne of tidy wood kept clean and polished and cushioned. It was far more comfortable than a throne like that made of swords. There was also no threat of slicing open his arm on one of the rests or tripping and skewering himself.
And sinking into his seat, he relaxed. It was truly his. If he were to seek a throne, he would never fit it quite like he did this one. Besides, thrones were for kings in his mind. They ill-suited the right hand man. For every throne needed someone else on hand to keep a kingdom running.
He had two of them, but they were too often of a differing mind more than they ever aligned. One to his North, one to his South.
---
16 AC
Another letter to the pile. This time a joint declaration and request from the south. To hunt for the missing bodies of a few lords and ladies in the Kingswood. He’d allow them to do it of course, there was naught to gain by disallowing them from finding the bodies of their lost family.
He tossed the worn parchment across the table, letting it land upon his pile of others, right next to two from the queens. Costs for expansions, for hunts, for hirings, for fortifications. Things he would say yes to, things the treasury could bear for they had the coin to do so. Though in time he would have to begin working at the Iron Bank and the Bank of the Seven.
For even if the crown’s treasury was well-stocked, thanks in no small part to the efforts of Dannis Darklyn, it was capable of handling the running of the realm, not what Rhaenys sought.
A palace on Highwatch? Had it not been strategically useful to build for the queen, so that the throne could protect its newly acquired possessions on the Stepstones, he would have denied it outright, instead the Lord Protector could only shake his head. They would need quite the sum of money to build it, protect it, staff it and more. There was also the matter of housing for the dragons at each location they lived. An item he had received petitions over from smallfolk and lords alike for nearly a decade.
If he were going to seek a loan from the banks, then he might as well find enough for that too.
And as if summoned by a thought, his doorway was darkened by Abelard Stone once more. He was getting quieter and quieter ever since the Kingswood. Not for any sickness or ill-health. He simply had taken on a much less apparent stature. The man was slight, he was old. Precisely the type people paid no heed to. But Orys knew better than to think the man frail or infirm.
To just look behind his stare told him all he needed. That old bastard worked a hundred plots at any one time.
“You called?” The man asked, and Orys snickered.
“No, but it’s not as if that would have stopped you,” he replied while turning from the hearth and motioning to the table in the office.
“Come, sit.”
The man did as asked, taking the furthest table on the end and sitting politely upon it. Even the high-backed chair helped to make him seem smaller.
“Your bill,” he noted, placing another fucking sheet of paper on the table. He flinched reflexively at its presence, but smiled as he sighed, there was no cause to fear paper, not when it was something he wanted. Though something else was coming to mind.
“How has the cleanup fared? Did Bloodwood do his job?” Asked the Lord Protector.
The small man nodded, “aye. You picked one for the ages in him. Though I cannot say you should trust him.”
“No one should trust him. No one should even be alone with their back to him. His innate duplicity would demand he stab it.” Orys chuckled, but he did not think the man that terrible. He was honourable when he needed to be, and even if his motives were suspect in the wake of Aegon’s death, he still helped identify the perpetrators… all of them? Maybe not, but the Tullys were complicit, their men were there, they wielded the knives. They led the attack.
“I shall keep that in mind then, my lord,” Abelard said.
“As for the bill. How much of it can I afford to pay from my own pocket?” Asked Orys.
The man smiled thinly, this one a somewhat abashed look.
“Your coffers are quite resplendent my lord, but what you seek is not something that we might arrange with pretty words and bribes. You shall need a considerable sum.”
Orys blew a breath as he leaned back, things he could do, accounts he could raise. But… what was one more item on the loans he sought.
He nodded.
“So be it. Thank you, my friend.”
The man gave a polite nod, and as silently as he arrived, he left.
“Well…” he said softly, “if this is ruling the ashes…” he looked about the office. It was well-furnished, large, and atop one of the highest towers of the Red Keep. There were much worse places to rule without ruling. So, he nodded and he rose to his feet. He took the bill from the table and filed it into the pocket of his coat.
“For another day,” he mused.
---
23 AC
From the window of his office, he could see most of the city. Looking down upon it, it was both the most majestic and the most bland thing he had ever seen. So much stood beneath him, in the third largest city. It was bustling, it was vibrant, but it was full of crime, full of corruption, all of which blossomed under the split of the realm. He had returned from Essos only a week before, and he could not help but think to himself.
At least it is the same everywhere.
Pentos was the same, Braavos no different. The world turned on coin, and the men within it no less.
Even ageing as he was, Orys had thought that might made it work. Dragons conquered kingdoms, armies held castles, men and women of renown pulled it all together. Now… now the only thing that he considered to be true of that was the last part. For men of renown were all that he had. A drunkard was his master of ships, but that same drunkard had brought him to Essos, introduced him to Archons and princes in the East. Men Orys had some small connection to from before the conquest, but Valarr had no shortage of friends within.
Dannis was retired now aye, but in his stead was a man so adept with coin and logistics, that Orys thought him the smartest man he had ever met. Maelor Targaryen, Steward of Dragonstone. Were things to go right, Orys would name him the fucking prince of it. He had earned as much.
There was the Ironsand too - a conniving woman, without a match in the city… though he heard many tales of songs sung in the West. Perhaps those singers would have given her a run for her money.
Malwyn was there too. He was always there. A looming presence in anything that occurred. Finding him in your doorway was nothing short of a curse at times, but none could doubt the ruthless efficiency of the man. None.
There was stalwart Allaric too. A man of poise, of strength, of Northern grit. If there was anyone in this whole city that Orys thought was able to pull this all together… perhaps he was the one. If not for himself.
But he had no time to contend with them. Not today.
“Your city is… growing,” said the Pentoshi man. His regal beard of black hair matched his painted brows and forced smile. All an act, all a display to present the perfect image to the man he spoke to. Decades ago, he would have laughed at such a man. But now… now he knew better. He wasn’t able to be the right hand man anymore, the one who simply did as he was asked, to tackle whatever problem his king had with gusto and zeal.
No, now there was no one to do what had to be done.
Once he thought that his role was simply to observe and protect.
He thought of the man he was then as a fool now. Aegon’s children could inherit, but what then? The strings would be pulled by whichever mother threw their child on the throne. And what of him? The moment they had their chance, they'd toss him to Storm’s End. There he could be forgotten, there he could be pushed aside and left to waste.
But Orys was not a man to be forgotten.
He shook his head.
“My city grows, but it is not even mine,” he said softly and turned from the window, facing the powdered man with a smile.
And the powdered man smiled back, politely and forced.
“Yet it remains a place of power and import, not one to be trifled with, and the man atop it reflects it. He shows strength, careful expansion, and something more beneath the surface.”
Orys chuckled softly.
“What? Did I offend?” The man asked and his accent carried a little more in his words. As if to emphasise that he was speaking a language other than his own. Likely to deflect away any blame or any malice that could be detected in his voice. He was a fine actor indeed.
“No, no offence is taken or found. You just remind me of an old friend,” Orys said with a chuckle.
The envoy slowly unwound after that and finally nodded.
“Friends are important,” he added.
Orys gave another nod. They were, and he had scant few that mattered. None that he knew he could turn to and tell of what had to come. If he did, what then? What good did planning do if a queen came with her dragon to ask, to investigate? He knew not. But he did know one thing. If he lacked friends, then it was a simple matter of making more.
“And what of you? Are your friends important?”
The man smiled thinly.
“The Prince’s friends are men anyone should wish to know, and even more, wish to ally.”
Orys nodded. Were Aegon here, he would have said the same thing of his king… but he was not. He might have said the same of the queens, but he wondered how Dorne or the Vale matched against the rest of the world. Powerful people indeed, but how powerful?
He clicked his tongue and he took from his desk a letter.
“Tell me then, do you have friends in Braavos? Myr? Lys? Tyrosh?” He placed the letter on the table before the plate of fruit arrayed for the visitor.
The man held his composure for a moment, barely blinking, lightly breathing, clearly thinking carefully. And with a glance to the door, the Stormcloak took his meaning and stepped out, However beyond the doors, as they closed, he saw the great beast of a man beyond. A hulking figure of pure muscle and power.
Orys was distracted for a moment as he considered who could win a fight? Him in his prime, or that mass of man?
“I have friends across the free cities,” said the envoy, and Orys’ attention returned as the door clicked shut.
“Then explain to them, if you could. That the Stepstones are not the sole property of either the Seven Kingdoms, or the free cities,” he said, pushing the letter across the table as he walked up to the man. On it was a report from his agents in Tyrosh, of a man claiming to want the return of the islands. Orys had thought him a fool a year ago, but that was before he knew the strength of the man’s fleet, of his willingness to amass strength so boldly.
A dragon would burn such a thing… but he did not wish to rely on dragons. Not now at the least.
The envoy glanced down at the letter, gulped and returned a smile to Orys. “Were there any conflicts to arise. I am certain that my friends would be swift in alerting the instigators to the foolishness of such actions. It will be my pleasure to use these friends to bring peace, your lordship.”
“Should there be, then I would hope to hear of this, by letter or messenger,” he said politely.
“Very well,” said the envoy.
“And there is one final matter.” Orys continued, taking from his pocket another slip of paper and placing it before the envoy. “For your eyes alone, and only once you are upon a ship back to Essos.”
The man eyed it suspiciously, and his hand lingered above it, wavering instead of taking it. Hovering in the air, Orys saw it shiver, saw it shake. He watched the man’s resolve battle with his self-preservation and finally he saw one win out. He took the paper and he slid it into his sleeve before folding his arms within them.
“The Prince and his friends will be certain to assess this with all the necessary merits and costs involved.”
Orys nodded.
“And should you doubt this commitment. I leave in your care a gift, from the personal guard of the Prince himself.” The man clapped his hands thrice in quick succession and the doors swung open and through it lumbered the behemoth beyond. Orys had seen the Mountain that was the Royce before, and he was a menace, and a specimen of no small amount of power. But this one, this one was something unique still.
Royce was enormous, but he was also tall.
This man was enormous, but he was as wide as a house. Barrel chested, with arms as thick as Orys’ torso. His head was shaved bald and his eyes had a beady, placid look about them. Orys took a few steps closer to the man and gave a firm nod.
Standing a few feet shy of him now, Orys could only feel the difference between them. The Lord Protector was a strong man, a fierce warrior, dulled by time, yes, but he was a fighter still. But this man made him feel a child. He was far shorter than the Royce, though far shorter meant he was probably six feet and five inches. A tall man under any auspice. But looking at him… Orys could only think… who would win between the two behemoths.
“What do they call you?” Orys asked, and the barrel-chested man gave a great big, toothy smile.
“They call me Vyronno ‘the Blind’ Aneroyor!” cheered the giant.
“The blind?” Orys asked.
“On account of my eyesight… can’t see too well past a few feet.”
“But you can see me well enough?”
The man nodded.
“Then you see well enough.”
---
24 AC
Upon the deck of the ship he watched King’s landing fade away.
No more fucking papers, no more fucking requests, no more gods damned demands for payments or funding or disputes. He was at sea, and that meant he could just sit and plan and prepare. Though… standing there, watching the city, he could not help but feel at a loss.
Abelard would have liked this view.
Fret not old friend, I shall regale you of it soon enough.
Orys Baratheon stepped away from the rear of the ship and descended to the deck below, where Vyronno waited, patiently stood to the side, where his great bulk was not in the way.
There a table was brought together from barrels and planks and the two men played dice.
He had a friend now. He only hoped that he would have more soon.
But…
No. Now was not the time for doubt.
The Kingswood was healing… ten years ago the catastrophe occurred. Now they held a hunt and festivities there, they celebrated eagerly the coming of age of two princes, with no one any closer to sorting who would rule. Though… could he complain? He could have sorted that years ago, he could have pushed one Queen mother one way or the other, but he didn’t.
Some would think him a fool for it.
Some would know why.
None would be ready.
2024.05.10 20:39 Cat_Enjoyer1230 Good ol Rhodesian school boys
 | submitted by Cat_Enjoyer1230 to Rhodesia [link] [comments] |
2024.05.10 13:18 FacundoValino Regalo código Fallout 76 (Xbox)
94TV99PXHVCPCFVGX4KX234GZ
les dejo las instrucciones, por las dudas:
-Para Xbox Series y Xbox One:
Presiona el botón Xbox para abrir la guía y luego selecciona “Tienda”.
Presiona el botón Ver para abrir el menú lateral y luego selecciona “Canjear”.
Ingresa el código de 25 caracteres, selecciona “Siguiente” y sigue las indicaciones.
-PC con Windows:
Sigue el siguiente enlace, ingresa el código de 25 caracteres, selecciona “Siguiente” y luego sigue las indicaciones:
https://support.microsoft.com/en-us/account-billing/redeem-a-gift-card-or-code-to-your-microsoft-account-d6b2c675-9e31-f312-7ff4-21834ad22fa8
-Atención: Los usuarios de la consola Xbox deben tener una suscripción a Xbox Live para poder jugar Fallout 76.
submitted by FacundoValino to Argaming [link] [comments]
les dejo las instrucciones, por las dudas:
-Para Xbox Series y Xbox One:
Presiona el botón Xbox para abrir la guía y luego selecciona “Tienda”.
Presiona el botón Ver para abrir el menú lateral y luego selecciona “Canjear”.
Ingresa el código de 25 caracteres, selecciona “Siguiente” y sigue las indicaciones.
-PC con Windows:
Sigue el siguiente enlace, ingresa el código de 25 caracteres, selecciona “Siguiente” y luego sigue las indicaciones:
https://support.microsoft.com/en-us/account-billing/redeem-a-gift-card-or-code-to-your-microsoft-account-d6b2c675-9e31-f312-7ff4-21834ad22fa8
-Atención: Los usuarios de la consola Xbox deben tener una suscripción a Xbox Live para poder jugar Fallout 76.
2024.05.10 12:41 Silentrift24 Having a really bad experience rn with Globe Gfiber prepaid wifi
Over the past few days nag popost ako dito about sa Globe GFiber nila, ngayon lang nag activate yung promo kuno or whatever nila that supposedly gives me 7 days of unli wifi.
The real bad thing is that I can't even use speed test sa sobrang bagal ng wifi. Nung huli kong check kanina its aroun 0.02 MBPS download and like .20 for upload.
The shittier part is that palagi pang may error doon sa Globe One app nila when registering my number! For all the shit I gave Sky Cable for, at least lagi sila may CS rep na available kapag may tanong ka, dito sa Globe walang wala! I tried reaching out thru messenger or sa official twitter nila pero wala din!
It's ridiculous! I'm not living in the boonies para sabihin walang 5G signal dito, but goddamn is this service straight up ASS. I would really advise against getting their Gfiber prepaid thing, para akong nag tapon ng 999 with this unusuable garbage ass speed.
With that being said, sa mga nag recommend dito nung Globe prepaid wifi - it's not usable. At least in my are sa QC, it's very very fuckingn garbage. Malamang mag punta pa ako sa office nila sa may SM North Edsa para i-bring up na naman ito.
Ayun lang, never get Globe, its fucking trash. I'm hoping system error lang to, pero it's not looking great, mabilis pa mobile data.
submitted by Silentrift24 to InternetPH [link] [comments]
The real bad thing is that I can't even use speed test sa sobrang bagal ng wifi. Nung huli kong check kanina its aroun 0.02 MBPS download and like .20 for upload.
The shittier part is that palagi pang may error doon sa Globe One app nila when registering my number! For all the shit I gave Sky Cable for, at least lagi sila may CS rep na available kapag may tanong ka, dito sa Globe walang wala! I tried reaching out thru messenger or sa official twitter nila pero wala din!
It's ridiculous! I'm not living in the boonies para sabihin walang 5G signal dito, but goddamn is this service straight up ASS. I would really advise against getting their Gfiber prepaid thing, para akong nag tapon ng 999 with this unusuable garbage ass speed.
With that being said, sa mga nag recommend dito nung Globe prepaid wifi - it's not usable. At least in my are sa QC, it's very very fuckingn garbage. Malamang mag punta pa ako sa office nila sa may SM North Edsa para i-bring up na naman ito.
Ayun lang, never get Globe, its fucking trash. I'm hoping system error lang to, pero it's not looking great, mabilis pa mobile data.
2024.05.10 12:08 ecSit78 Tell me you're a jungle main without telling me you're a jungle main.
 | submitted by ecSit78 to Jungle_Mains [link] [comments] |
2024.05.10 02:32 Dangerous_North7958 FALLOUT 3 GOTY PA LOS PI
 | Acá les dejo la key es para GOG, no la escribo porque vi en varios post que los bots son más rápidos que yo acabando submitted by Dangerous_North7958 to ArgenGaming [link] [comments] |