19370214 08:58:39
QH-N-5448
Her first priority was to do something about the taste of stale whisky and cigarettes in her mouth, so she opened the mirrored panel above the sink in search of a toothbrush and some toothpaste. The bottom shelf had a safety razor and an actual mug with a brush protruding from within it, as well as the typical headache ailments such as Alka Seltzer, aspirin, and milk of magnesia. A selection of small glass cylinders with golden liquid were at the top, which she assumed to be cologne and made a plan to try to isolate the one he was wearing last night at some point so that she could pour it into the toilet. On a middle shelf was a green flathead toothbrush and a mostly full tube of Pepsodent, and Helen Allegra wasted no time in smearing a line of the white goop onto the brush head and plunging it into her mouth. She scrubbed vigorously against the teeth within each half of her mouth for a full minute at a time, generating enough foam for it to dribble out of her mouth and leak into the sink as she cleansed herself. She forcefully spit the foamy residue from her mouth and then turned the faucet on to pour some water into her hand. The cold water was cupped into her palm, and she took some handfuls into her mouth to rinse it out. Helen smacked her lips after the procedure, felt that she still tasted something lingering in her mouth, and repeated the entire process again. During this second series of teeth brushing, she took the time to look around the room to see what kind of state it was in. The faucet head had some dried white spots on it and a small ring of rust around the base. There were no stray pieces of tissue to be found on the ground. She interpreted the presence of the safety razor within the cabinet as an additional sign that he took some kind of pride in his grooming, as opposed to using an electric razor and being lazy about it, but he didn't have the mindset of someone who uses a straight razor, so he was not quite impeccable in that regard. At this point, she heard sheets being moved on the bed in the room behind her and some footsteps on the ground soon after that - he had woken up. Helen maintained her stance and waited for him to approach from behind. The man slowly walked into the room and came up to reach his arms around her, and pressed his body against hers with a weak hug.
"Mmm, goo'mornin gorgeous."
Helen sighed and bent forward to spit her mouthful of toothpaste before responding. She closed her eyes for a prolonged blink and focused on putting a smile on her face before speaking. The easiest way she knew to make the illusion is to have the smile.
"Good morning to you, honey. Sorry to use your toothbrush, but I just needed to refresh myself. I hope you don't mind. I can buy you a new one later today."
"Oh, um, yeah, I mean, I was lookin to get a new one anyway so don't worry about it. I can take care of it. Honestly I'm a bit surprised to see you using it to begin with." It was only at this point that he realized that she was using his toothbrush, and that Helen turned to face him.
"Well, considering all else that we did last night, it doesn't seem terribly strange to me."
"Ha ha, yeah, that was a real blast, hee hee hee!" His laughter had a higher tone than his voice, and as he said this much and laughed, his lips curled back to form a toothy grin. Helen felt a bit irked by this kind of reaction from him, but quickly pushed it out of her mind, and used this chance to respond in order to push her next goal onto him.
"Yes, that was some fun, wasn't it? I was going to ask you..." Helen paused briefly here, but not for dramatic effect - she forgot the man's name at this precise moment. She blinked and pressed on. "Darling - I'm happy to have met you, and I think we can have that kind of fun again. I told you that I'm in a bit of a tight spot at the moment, so... I know this is very sudden to ask, but I was hoping if I could possibly stay here a few nights?"
His face suddenly froze. Helen turned her head slightly to the side and gave a gentle wink and a smile, while she gently caressed two of her fingers along the side of his face.
"Please? I promise I'll make it worth your while."
"Um, uh, uh, well. Well? Uh, I sorta guess you could, really. Hah, I didn't think that you'd ask that of me. I suppose you could. But, it is rather sudden for you to ask such-"
"Shh." Helen playfully pressed her index finger on his lips. "It's nothing serious. I just need your help for a bit. OK?"
"... OK. Sure."
"Good." Helen leaned her body in to kiss him on the cheek, then walked past him back to the bedroom. He remained standing in the bathroom and stared at her as she dressed.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Saturday, September 28, 2013
19400510 16:23:55
19400510 16:23:55
JJ-S-6404
Quentin Forrester sat with his coworker acquaintance at the table near the bar and half attentively watched as he paged through the newspaper. Today's work load didn't demand him to do as much intensive lifting and brick moving as the busier summer days, but his hands and feet still had a dull sensation of soreness radiating from within. He bowed his head down nearly to the surface of the table so that he could reach down and remove his boots to give them some breathing air, then idly scratched at his legs a few times before sitting upright again. As he reached to remove his cigar from the ashtray, his coworker suddenly slid the newspaper closer to him with a look of excitement on his face. The newspaper was open to full page advertisement for a dancing girl revue, given the vague title of "The Heights". The starlet featured at the center of it was a young blonde girl, with a sultry yet energetic smile, radiant eyes, long flowing locks of hair, and her left leg kicked up high just enough to reveal the supple curves of her expose thigh. The name shown underneath the featured girl was recognized by Quentin as an alias. The stylized artistic rendering of this woman wasn't distorted enough for him to fail to recognize her immediately.
"Get a loada that broad, eh? Eh? I've heard about her before and now it looks like she's starring this one now. Man, what a dame that is, woo." The coworker accented the end of his vocal adoration with a loud sighed gasp of pleasure after taking a swig of the cold draft beer.
"Susan Lesco? Fuck that cunt. Ain't you heard how much of a bitch she is?" Quentin didn't particularly care if his statement was fully steeped in his own personal accounting.
"A bitch? Hm, that's news to me. But eh, who cares about that anyways? She can be a bitch all she wants as long as I get to suck on those fabulous tits all the while."
"Listen." Quentin took a long drag from his cigar and shot a thick billow of smoke through his pursed lips before he snapped the tobacco back into its position on the edge of the tray. "I knew that girl. I used to pal around with her. Her name's not Susan, it's really Helen. And if she's as crazy and bitchy now as she was even back then, there's no question in my mind that she's a gigantic cunt. Wasn't always like that, though. She was a sweet kid at first, when she first shown up. Then some things happened and after a while, she got it in her head that she's too good for me and my friends. Next thing I know she's off doing auditions for any kind of performin gig; dancin, modelling, photography, whatever. Soon as she got her first real gig, she just dashed off without a trace and wouldn't even talk to us no more. We were her only family for a while and now we're like scum to her."
"You know that for sure, though? I mean you tried to talk to her directly?"
"Sure I did, man, sure. Seriously. There was one day, the boys informed me that she was playing in some community production of some showtune performance or something, some local thing. Volunteer. No pay. Community performance and all. Nothing big. The boys bring me a bill from it, and point out a girl's name, and it ain't Helen, she was using the name like uh, Mary or something I think it was. Margret. Something else. They assure me that it's her though. I haven't seen her in a while and wanted to see her again, and see if she was any good. I go to that showtune play and sure enough, there she is on stage after a while, there's Helen up there singing and dancing along with the rest of them. I sat through that whole fucking thing, that was like two and a half hours or something. What a waste of time that was. That shit was so boring after a while. But, I was there and I wanted to say that she did real good and all that. " His coworker now took another swig of beer from his mug and cupped the mug into his hands rather than replacing it to the table surface. "It finally ends, everyone's clapping, all that. I stick around and wander to the back stage to see if I can see her on her own and say hi. I get back there, I walk to the back and weave my way around the other people going around there, and I glance past a few heads and there she is in front of a dressing room or something, standing there talking with some old guy, probably the director or something. They're standing there and the guy's talking and she's all smiles and giggles and nodding and being all cute with the guy. I call out to her - and I guess, this was my big mistake - I call out to her by her real name. 'Helen! That was a great show you did there!' I said. Now, I do this, and she doesn't even look my way. Doesn't turn her head towards me at all. The smile on her face melts away for a moment, just for a moment, and I think her eyes moved over to look at me for a blink, but all the while the guy is still talking and she keeps her attention square on him the whole time. Another second, and she's back being all smiley like before. Then the guy leans over, gives her a hug, she hugs back, the guy sorta lets his hands wander below her waist a bit before letting go, they let go, he walks away, and she turns and goes into that changing room. Boom. Out. Just like that she was out. And I'm standing there like a fucking dope."
"Wow, what a bitch. A sexy bitch, but yeah, that's a bitch there. Woo."
JJ-S-6404
Quentin Forrester sat with his coworker acquaintance at the table near the bar and half attentively watched as he paged through the newspaper. Today's work load didn't demand him to do as much intensive lifting and brick moving as the busier summer days, but his hands and feet still had a dull sensation of soreness radiating from within. He bowed his head down nearly to the surface of the table so that he could reach down and remove his boots to give them some breathing air, then idly scratched at his legs a few times before sitting upright again. As he reached to remove his cigar from the ashtray, his coworker suddenly slid the newspaper closer to him with a look of excitement on his face. The newspaper was open to full page advertisement for a dancing girl revue, given the vague title of "The Heights". The starlet featured at the center of it was a young blonde girl, with a sultry yet energetic smile, radiant eyes, long flowing locks of hair, and her left leg kicked up high just enough to reveal the supple curves of her expose thigh. The name shown underneath the featured girl was recognized by Quentin as an alias. The stylized artistic rendering of this woman wasn't distorted enough for him to fail to recognize her immediately.
"Get a loada that broad, eh? Eh? I've heard about her before and now it looks like she's starring this one now. Man, what a dame that is, woo." The coworker accented the end of his vocal adoration with a loud sighed gasp of pleasure after taking a swig of the cold draft beer.
"Susan Lesco? Fuck that cunt. Ain't you heard how much of a bitch she is?" Quentin didn't particularly care if his statement was fully steeped in his own personal accounting.
"A bitch? Hm, that's news to me. But eh, who cares about that anyways? She can be a bitch all she wants as long as I get to suck on those fabulous tits all the while."
"Listen." Quentin took a long drag from his cigar and shot a thick billow of smoke through his pursed lips before he snapped the tobacco back into its position on the edge of the tray. "I knew that girl. I used to pal around with her. Her name's not Susan, it's really Helen. And if she's as crazy and bitchy now as she was even back then, there's no question in my mind that she's a gigantic cunt. Wasn't always like that, though. She was a sweet kid at first, when she first shown up. Then some things happened and after a while, she got it in her head that she's too good for me and my friends. Next thing I know she's off doing auditions for any kind of performin gig; dancin, modelling, photography, whatever. Soon as she got her first real gig, she just dashed off without a trace and wouldn't even talk to us no more. We were her only family for a while and now we're like scum to her."
"You know that for sure, though? I mean you tried to talk to her directly?"
"Sure I did, man, sure. Seriously. There was one day, the boys informed me that she was playing in some community production of some showtune performance or something, some local thing. Volunteer. No pay. Community performance and all. Nothing big. The boys bring me a bill from it, and point out a girl's name, and it ain't Helen, she was using the name like uh, Mary or something I think it was. Margret. Something else. They assure me that it's her though. I haven't seen her in a while and wanted to see her again, and see if she was any good. I go to that showtune play and sure enough, there she is on stage after a while, there's Helen up there singing and dancing along with the rest of them. I sat through that whole fucking thing, that was like two and a half hours or something. What a waste of time that was. That shit was so boring after a while. But, I was there and I wanted to say that she did real good and all that. " His coworker now took another swig of beer from his mug and cupped the mug into his hands rather than replacing it to the table surface. "It finally ends, everyone's clapping, all that. I stick around and wander to the back stage to see if I can see her on her own and say hi. I get back there, I walk to the back and weave my way around the other people going around there, and I glance past a few heads and there she is in front of a dressing room or something, standing there talking with some old guy, probably the director or something. They're standing there and the guy's talking and she's all smiles and giggles and nodding and being all cute with the guy. I call out to her - and I guess, this was my big mistake - I call out to her by her real name. 'Helen! That was a great show you did there!' I said. Now, I do this, and she doesn't even look my way. Doesn't turn her head towards me at all. The smile on her face melts away for a moment, just for a moment, and I think her eyes moved over to look at me for a blink, but all the while the guy is still talking and she keeps her attention square on him the whole time. Another second, and she's back being all smiley like before. Then the guy leans over, gives her a hug, she hugs back, the guy sorta lets his hands wander below her waist a bit before letting go, they let go, he walks away, and she turns and goes into that changing room. Boom. Out. Just like that she was out. And I'm standing there like a fucking dope."
"Wow, what a bitch. A sexy bitch, but yeah, that's a bitch there. Woo."
Friday, September 27, 2013
19351004 23:07:06
19351004 23:07:06
MT-N-7600 alleyway
"Get a load of this! A girl hanging out with these guys! Hey, girl, are you the group whore for these pricks or what eh? Hah!"
"No! I'm their fri-" Helen Allegra had her response cut off with a gesture of Quentin's hand, as he stood facing forward and held it out to his side. He didn't want her to get into the middle of this situation. The dog walked from behind Helen and stood beside her and glared at the intruders.
"Whatever, it's time for you little boys and girls to fuck off now. This is gonna be our spot now. So move it." The squat loudmouth gave this edict with a thrust of his thumb backwards and a curled lip making a smirk.
"Make us." When Quentin said this, he reached into his pocket, which was the signal for Arnold and Bill to do the same; instantly, the three boys snapped their wrists out to let the blades of the stiletto knives protrude from the handles. The four boys standing in opposition responded by bringing their own knives out to wield; the tallest of the group unsheathed a large Bowie knife from a holster that was supported on his belt and underneath his shirt, the other three had stilettos of their own which were promptly brandished.
Quentin stepped forward and approached the group while his friends flanked behind him at an angle, while the quiet leader of the other boys responded in kind and had his supporters follow closely behind. Helen kept her position firm and watched the two lines converge. Once within a yard of each other, they stared at each other unwaveringly, breathed harder through clenched teeth and flared nostrils, and began to pace side to side in an imagined circle. The silence in the alleyway allowed each sidestep that was dragged through the dirt and loose gravel of the road to echo against the buildings around them. Suddenly, the loudmouth dashed behind the tall leader and ran straight for Helen. The sudden rush caught her by surprise and before she understood that she should have started to run, the boy grabbed her by her hair to arch her head backwards and expose her neck, against which he held the blade and pressed into the flesh enough to make a small incision. Helen felt choked up as the small trickle of blood rolled its way down her neck.
"All you queers drop it now or I kill her! I fuckin kill her right now! Like a fucking pig! I'll do it!"
Immediately in response, the dog started to growl loudly and snap its fangs at the loudmouth boy. The hair stood up at the back of his neck as he hunched down on his forepaws and pinned his tail to the ground.
"Aw, fuck off, you mutt!" The loudmouth pulled the blade away to swing it towards the dog to scare it away, and the tip of it scraped under the dog's chin. The dog immediately felt the cut and retaliated. It lunged forward to pounce upon the loudmouth and wrapped it's mouth around the boy's neck as they fell to the ground. The boy kicked the dog off of him, but didn't try to stand up or scurry away. He waited. The dog recovered from the kick and lunged forward again to jump on top of the boy, and before he landed the boy held the knife up to the dog's chest and pierced the blade through the dog's body up to the hilt. The dog's cry of pain echoed sharply through the alleyway and into the night air. Now, the loudmouth boy pushed the dog off of the blade and rose to his knees to kneel over the dog, and proceeded to slice the dog's neck from the top to its bottom. The boy took a deep breath as he rose to his feet with his eyes joining the rest of the group watching over the dog as it lie twitching in the expanding pool of blood on the roadway.
Helen, for that instant moment, stood completely motionless. She stood without a processed thought, without a breath going into or out of her lungs, without her eyelids closing shut to blink. She continued to watch the dog lie dying and felt her body run cold. She did not scream. She did not whimper. She did not cry. She felt her body lean forward without the balance of weight on her feet, and she twitched as her body convulsed from the lack of involuntary breathing. A small breath came out of her mouth.
Then, her lips peeled back from her teeth.
Helen remained silent and kept her eyes on the dog as she stepped to her side, and reached over to the hand in which Arnold held his blade. Before he noticed that she had moved beside him and was reaching for the blade, it was out of his fingers and within her grasp. The loudmouth boy had only enough time to look up as he saw Helen's hand thrust down towards his body. The point of the blade found its way over the collar bone and dug into his neck. The boy screamed out and reflexively contracted his body inward, but Helen now knelt her body on top of his to keep the blade held in its target. The other two assailants remained motionless while the tall leader started to move towards Helen with his knife ready, but before he was close enough to attack, Helen screamed out with all of the force that her lungs could produce, yet did so with her eyes still fully open. The whites of her eyes contrasted brilliantly against the darkness as her face and screaming mouth took on the form of a banshee. The taller boy stopped in his tracks, and the two friends were transfixed and startled enough to let their blades loosely fall from their fingers and drop to the alley ground.
"Out!" The single word that she yelled caused her friends to focus their gaze towards the three standing boys and watch for their response. The taller boy felt an instinct to try to recover his friend and curled his knife back into the sheath before he walked forward again. Helen ripped the knife out of the boy's body, bringing a trail of unseen blood splattering from the wound to the tip of her blade, and shot her body straight up to stand up against him. Her mouth quivered as she held the knife directly forward in front of her and the boy's blood dripped from the weapon onto her hand.
"Out!"
The tall boy took the instruction to heart this time and quickly turned around to run away. Once she understood that he was gone, Helen slowly turned her head back to the boy on the ground, whose own body was now twitching involuntarily as the blood poured forth from his neck and formed a pool around him. Helen did not want to watch this boy die slowly. She blinked once, snorted one breath through her nose, and thrust her body over the boy to kneel upon him. She rocked her knees upon him to get him to lie upon his back, then she took the blade into both of her hands and plunged it straight into his chest. The boy's groan of pain was barely audible. She pulled the blade out and repeated the attack to stab him again. And again. And again.
Bill ducked away backwards and began to vomit as Quentin and Arnold stood motionless to watch Helen stand up and face them. Her clothes were soaked with blood and her face and body trembled. She flicked the knife away from her hand to toss it to the side. Bill finally recovered to stand with his friends to stare at her, and didn't know what else to immediately do. Nobody did for a moment. Finally, Helen blinked several times while she looked down her body to see it painted red, and looked over to the ground at her side to see the lifeless dog and boy lie in the alleyway. She darted her eyes around the area and coarsely swallowed a few times before she was able to speak.
"We need to throw him out."
"Th. Throw him out? But where? Here? I don't wanna handle no stiff." Quentin said this with strong trepidation, as he was still in shock.
"No. I meant the dog. He can get eaten by the rats for all I fucking care." Helen looked over the garbage cans that were lined against the buildings and soon pointed at one near by. "One of you hold that open. I'll do it."
"Throw out the dog? You, you want to just throw him out? Wouldn't you want to uh, like, bury-"
"Bury? Arnold! We don't fucking have two shovels and two hours to dig a fucking grave! Now one of you go hold that god damned can open for me! Now!"
Quentin walked backwards three paces before turning around and walking over to the wall of the building and waited by the garbage can.
Helen looked down at the dog and paused for a brief moment. The feeling of emptiness came over her again, but she managed to suppress it from overcoming her body. She closed her eyes and struggled with the weight of the still warm dog corpse for a moment before she managed to drape it over her arms. Quentin held the lid open as she laboriously walked over to the can, then gingerly lay the dog inside of it. All four remained silent and motionless again, but Helen quickly spoke to break the void.
"We can't return here. Meet in the MW alley in a week. We gotta split up now." Helen gave these orders with a dryness that would come with speaking a passage from a school textbook. She walked away without looking back to see if any of them had moved.
MT-N-7600 alleyway
"Get a load of this! A girl hanging out with these guys! Hey, girl, are you the group whore for these pricks or what eh? Hah!"
"No! I'm their fri-" Helen Allegra had her response cut off with a gesture of Quentin's hand, as he stood facing forward and held it out to his side. He didn't want her to get into the middle of this situation. The dog walked from behind Helen and stood beside her and glared at the intruders.
"Whatever, it's time for you little boys and girls to fuck off now. This is gonna be our spot now. So move it." The squat loudmouth gave this edict with a thrust of his thumb backwards and a curled lip making a smirk.
"Make us." When Quentin said this, he reached into his pocket, which was the signal for Arnold and Bill to do the same; instantly, the three boys snapped their wrists out to let the blades of the stiletto knives protrude from the handles. The four boys standing in opposition responded by bringing their own knives out to wield; the tallest of the group unsheathed a large Bowie knife from a holster that was supported on his belt and underneath his shirt, the other three had stilettos of their own which were promptly brandished.
Quentin stepped forward and approached the group while his friends flanked behind him at an angle, while the quiet leader of the other boys responded in kind and had his supporters follow closely behind. Helen kept her position firm and watched the two lines converge. Once within a yard of each other, they stared at each other unwaveringly, breathed harder through clenched teeth and flared nostrils, and began to pace side to side in an imagined circle. The silence in the alleyway allowed each sidestep that was dragged through the dirt and loose gravel of the road to echo against the buildings around them. Suddenly, the loudmouth dashed behind the tall leader and ran straight for Helen. The sudden rush caught her by surprise and before she understood that she should have started to run, the boy grabbed her by her hair to arch her head backwards and expose her neck, against which he held the blade and pressed into the flesh enough to make a small incision. Helen felt choked up as the small trickle of blood rolled its way down her neck.
"All you queers drop it now or I kill her! I fuckin kill her right now! Like a fucking pig! I'll do it!"
Immediately in response, the dog started to growl loudly and snap its fangs at the loudmouth boy. The hair stood up at the back of his neck as he hunched down on his forepaws and pinned his tail to the ground.
"Aw, fuck off, you mutt!" The loudmouth pulled the blade away to swing it towards the dog to scare it away, and the tip of it scraped under the dog's chin. The dog immediately felt the cut and retaliated. It lunged forward to pounce upon the loudmouth and wrapped it's mouth around the boy's neck as they fell to the ground. The boy kicked the dog off of him, but didn't try to stand up or scurry away. He waited. The dog recovered from the kick and lunged forward again to jump on top of the boy, and before he landed the boy held the knife up to the dog's chest and pierced the blade through the dog's body up to the hilt. The dog's cry of pain echoed sharply through the alleyway and into the night air. Now, the loudmouth boy pushed the dog off of the blade and rose to his knees to kneel over the dog, and proceeded to slice the dog's neck from the top to its bottom. The boy took a deep breath as he rose to his feet with his eyes joining the rest of the group watching over the dog as it lie twitching in the expanding pool of blood on the roadway.
Helen, for that instant moment, stood completely motionless. She stood without a processed thought, without a breath going into or out of her lungs, without her eyelids closing shut to blink. She continued to watch the dog lie dying and felt her body run cold. She did not scream. She did not whimper. She did not cry. She felt her body lean forward without the balance of weight on her feet, and she twitched as her body convulsed from the lack of involuntary breathing. A small breath came out of her mouth.
Then, her lips peeled back from her teeth.
Helen remained silent and kept her eyes on the dog as she stepped to her side, and reached over to the hand in which Arnold held his blade. Before he noticed that she had moved beside him and was reaching for the blade, it was out of his fingers and within her grasp. The loudmouth boy had only enough time to look up as he saw Helen's hand thrust down towards his body. The point of the blade found its way over the collar bone and dug into his neck. The boy screamed out and reflexively contracted his body inward, but Helen now knelt her body on top of his to keep the blade held in its target. The other two assailants remained motionless while the tall leader started to move towards Helen with his knife ready, but before he was close enough to attack, Helen screamed out with all of the force that her lungs could produce, yet did so with her eyes still fully open. The whites of her eyes contrasted brilliantly against the darkness as her face and screaming mouth took on the form of a banshee. The taller boy stopped in his tracks, and the two friends were transfixed and startled enough to let their blades loosely fall from their fingers and drop to the alley ground.
"Out!" The single word that she yelled caused her friends to focus their gaze towards the three standing boys and watch for their response. The taller boy felt an instinct to try to recover his friend and curled his knife back into the sheath before he walked forward again. Helen ripped the knife out of the boy's body, bringing a trail of unseen blood splattering from the wound to the tip of her blade, and shot her body straight up to stand up against him. Her mouth quivered as she held the knife directly forward in front of her and the boy's blood dripped from the weapon onto her hand.
"Out!"
The tall boy took the instruction to heart this time and quickly turned around to run away. Once she understood that he was gone, Helen slowly turned her head back to the boy on the ground, whose own body was now twitching involuntarily as the blood poured forth from his neck and formed a pool around him. Helen did not want to watch this boy die slowly. She blinked once, snorted one breath through her nose, and thrust her body over the boy to kneel upon him. She rocked her knees upon him to get him to lie upon his back, then she took the blade into both of her hands and plunged it straight into his chest. The boy's groan of pain was barely audible. She pulled the blade out and repeated the attack to stab him again. And again. And again.
Bill ducked away backwards and began to vomit as Quentin and Arnold stood motionless to watch Helen stand up and face them. Her clothes were soaked with blood and her face and body trembled. She flicked the knife away from her hand to toss it to the side. Bill finally recovered to stand with his friends to stare at her, and didn't know what else to immediately do. Nobody did for a moment. Finally, Helen blinked several times while she looked down her body to see it painted red, and looked over to the ground at her side to see the lifeless dog and boy lie in the alleyway. She darted her eyes around the area and coarsely swallowed a few times before she was able to speak.
"We need to throw him out."
"Th. Throw him out? But where? Here? I don't wanna handle no stiff." Quentin said this with strong trepidation, as he was still in shock.
"No. I meant the dog. He can get eaten by the rats for all I fucking care." Helen looked over the garbage cans that were lined against the buildings and soon pointed at one near by. "One of you hold that open. I'll do it."
"Throw out the dog? You, you want to just throw him out? Wouldn't you want to uh, like, bury-"
"Bury? Arnold! We don't fucking have two shovels and two hours to dig a fucking grave! Now one of you go hold that god damned can open for me! Now!"
Quentin walked backwards three paces before turning around and walking over to the wall of the building and waited by the garbage can.
Helen looked down at the dog and paused for a brief moment. The feeling of emptiness came over her again, but she managed to suppress it from overcoming her body. She closed her eyes and struggled with the weight of the still warm dog corpse for a moment before she managed to drape it over her arms. Quentin held the lid open as she laboriously walked over to the can, then gingerly lay the dog inside of it. All four remained silent and motionless again, but Helen quickly spoke to break the void.
"We can't return here. Meet in the MW alley in a week. We gotta split up now." Helen gave these orders with a dryness that would come with speaking a passage from a school textbook. She walked away without looking back to see if any of them had moved.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
18480917 15:31:36
18480917 15:31:36
Despite the strength of the sunlight upon his back, Jesse felt refreshingly cool within the confines of the cafeteria as the early autumn breeze rushed through the windows. The winds carried the odor of the freshly cut fish everywhere in the kitchen, and that odor came from the growing pile of filets which Jesse was forming. His routine was refined to a rhythmic precision as he systematically separated the edible fish from the bones; one pinched chop down to remove the head at the neck, another pinch down to remove the tail, one middle slice from the wider portion of the body at left to the right to slice it in half. The bucket at his feet collected the scraps, and afterwards, his left hand pulled the two filets to the pile at his left while his right hand, with the knife still being held in it, reached for the next fish out of the basket. He nodded to himself while humming random notes to himself in the process of the preparation. His actions all quickly came to a stop as he stood up at attention when Daron struck at the pair of doors to the kitchen and stormed into the room.
"Jesse! The hell the matter with you?" His name hissed out through his teeth and his tone was hushed, yet stern.
"What's this about?"
"Don't give me that shit, you know exactly what I'm talkin about!"
"If that's the case, you better say it." Jesse kept a cool composure in his delayed response, but he did internally start to feel a bit nervous and threatened. He wasn't used to seeing Daron act this way, at least towards him.
"Oh fine, fine! The Runners! Why you put your name in for that? You? You! Why you! That's not the kind of thing you were meant to do!" Daron's words were still in a raspy whisper, despite standing directly in front of Jesse.
"Now listen, just bec-"
"No! No I won't listen, no! This isn't right for you, Jesse, this isn't-"
"Daron, let me speak."
"No!"
"Daron!" Jesse pounded the handle of the knife on the table top when he said this, causing some of the filets in the pile to slide from the top to the side.
Silence hung in the air with the smell of the fish.
"Daron. Listen. We - and I mean both you and I specifically, as well as this town - we have endured too much in trying to find someone to take that role. We have been burned again and again in putting our trust in people to perform that task within the letter of the law, and it hasn't happened. I am someone who you can trust. I am someone who can command and have the respect of other people. I will not flinch away from performing the job's ultimate tasks, as I have seen and done so much already. As you have done already. As you have done for your own life and for my life. I believe I can do this. I think you know that I can do it too."
"You might be right, yes. You might be. But. You basically like my son, like my only son. I'd just hate to see you get hurt doin that, after all we've been through."
"Right, and I just as much would hate to let you down, just like I hate seeing you be hurt by what those other men have done to you, by breaking your trust and faith that you had in them. I thought about it, and I thought about how angry it makes me feel now, and how useless I used to feel sometimes before, and I want to have an answer to that. I want to try to change that."
Despite the strength of the sunlight upon his back, Jesse felt refreshingly cool within the confines of the cafeteria as the early autumn breeze rushed through the windows. The winds carried the odor of the freshly cut fish everywhere in the kitchen, and that odor came from the growing pile of filets which Jesse was forming. His routine was refined to a rhythmic precision as he systematically separated the edible fish from the bones; one pinched chop down to remove the head at the neck, another pinch down to remove the tail, one middle slice from the wider portion of the body at left to the right to slice it in half. The bucket at his feet collected the scraps, and afterwards, his left hand pulled the two filets to the pile at his left while his right hand, with the knife still being held in it, reached for the next fish out of the basket. He nodded to himself while humming random notes to himself in the process of the preparation. His actions all quickly came to a stop as he stood up at attention when Daron struck at the pair of doors to the kitchen and stormed into the room.
"Jesse! The hell the matter with you?" His name hissed out through his teeth and his tone was hushed, yet stern.
"What's this about?"
"Don't give me that shit, you know exactly what I'm talkin about!"
"If that's the case, you better say it." Jesse kept a cool composure in his delayed response, but he did internally start to feel a bit nervous and threatened. He wasn't used to seeing Daron act this way, at least towards him.
"Oh fine, fine! The Runners! Why you put your name in for that? You? You! Why you! That's not the kind of thing you were meant to do!" Daron's words were still in a raspy whisper, despite standing directly in front of Jesse.
"Now listen, just bec-"
"No! No I won't listen, no! This isn't right for you, Jesse, this isn't-"
"Daron, let me speak."
"No!"
"Daron!" Jesse pounded the handle of the knife on the table top when he said this, causing some of the filets in the pile to slide from the top to the side.
Silence hung in the air with the smell of the fish.
"Daron. Listen. We - and I mean both you and I specifically, as well as this town - we have endured too much in trying to find someone to take that role. We have been burned again and again in putting our trust in people to perform that task within the letter of the law, and it hasn't happened. I am someone who you can trust. I am someone who can command and have the respect of other people. I will not flinch away from performing the job's ultimate tasks, as I have seen and done so much already. As you have done already. As you have done for your own life and for my life. I believe I can do this. I think you know that I can do it too."
"You might be right, yes. You might be. But. You basically like my son, like my only son. I'd just hate to see you get hurt doin that, after all we've been through."
"Right, and I just as much would hate to let you down, just like I hate seeing you be hurt by what those other men have done to you, by breaking your trust and faith that you had in them. I thought about it, and I thought about how angry it makes me feel now, and how useless I used to feel sometimes before, and I want to have an answer to that. I want to try to change that."
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
19030504 11:32:32
19030504 11:32:32
MF-S-2400
Mr. Jack Riley gently snapped the long wooden ruler against the surface of the chalkboard so that he connect the dots plotted to the equation y = 2x + 3, which was to be drawn above the line he had just drawn for y = 2x. He kept the lines that he drew constrained with an invisible square boundary that formed around the segment of axes which he had drawn for this part of the lecture. Before he could step away from the finished line to speak about it, the students in the room were already distracted enough to not pay attention, because a pair of bees had entered the room though one of the windows and were proving to be an increasing annoyance. Mr. Riley was ready to admonish the class at large when he turned around to see nobody paying attention, but soon figured out the problem. He took up a roll of papers from his desk, stood out in front of it in a pensive stance, joined the students in studying their erratic and rapid flight as they made laps around the room. He gripped the papers with more force just as he was about to strike, and he eventually committed to making a swing at one of the bees, but it was a total miss. By now, Grace had become disgusted with the interruption and took it upon herself to get this situation resolved.
"Mr. Riley, may I please use that wooden ruler you just had against the blackboard?"
"The ruler? You sure? I don't think you'll have the right tool there to take out these bees with it."
Grace walked up to the desk and extended her hand out to receive the ruler without speaking a word. She kept her eyes upon Mr. Riley throughout her approach.
"Fine, here, take it, just don't break anything with it." Mr. Riley remained standing in front of the desk as he said this while passing the ruler to her.
"Thank you, Sir." Before receiving the sword, she had been paying mind to the bees flight patterns which were probing to be consistent. The bees were essentially flying clockwise around the entirety of the room; with knowing this, Grace took her position to the corner of the student desk row and instinctively stood at the ready as if she were holding a fencing sword. She kneaded the ruler while holding it in her hand, then she exhaled a breath as she assumed a spread legged stance which is suited for the sport. After watching one bee make a complete clockwise lap in the room, she held the ruler upright and focused on making the kill and hoping that the strike would connect on the first try. The opportunity to do that soon came.
The bee came into her peripheral sight on her left side. She stood at an angle away from the students who in their desks immediately before her. Within a few moments, the bee was drawing near to her and ready to make its next turn. At this moment, Grace took her training to heart and focused on making the attack while tuning out surrounding distractions. The bee was turning the corner. She breathed sharply and felt her body pulsate with anticipation. The bee was now right in front of her attack range. Grace made no hesitation to make the strike and did so with precision; her weight was, at first, leaned on her back, and she used that leverage to lunge forward as her hand snapped tightly around the ruler, which she then used to make a forward thrust kind of attack which turned into her swatting the ruler against the side of the bee before it got away. It immediately fell to the ground with a barely audible tap of the bee corpse bouncing off of the ground. She didn't have time to admire her handiwork quite yet. The bee traveled right past her the first time she would have been able to see it was coming around. This bee soon followed the track direction of the first bee, and came within Grace's attack space. Her attack was conducted the same way and had similar results; her good weapon control and swift blade handling resulted in two sequentially rapid strikes.
Grace didn't give the two bees a time to recover; when they were both down on the ground after the strike, she lifted her shoe over each and ground the bee into the floor by stepping on the insects. With the threat eliminated, one of the boys gave out a single word cheer and began to clap, but quickly stopped doing that when nobody else joined in. The rest of the class, including Mr. Riley, stared at Grace as she waked over to the teacher's desk, placed the ruler on its surface, and walked back to her desk; nobody expected her to make those kind of precise attacks using a simple teacher's ruler, and even fewer people would have predicted that she would have been able to kill both bees in such quick time. Mr. Riley was especially confused as to how Grace made her attacks in the style of a fencer, yet such an event was something that the school did not instruct. He wondered how was she getting that kind of training.
MF-S-2400
Mr. Jack Riley gently snapped the long wooden ruler against the surface of the chalkboard so that he connect the dots plotted to the equation y = 2x + 3, which was to be drawn above the line he had just drawn for y = 2x. He kept the lines that he drew constrained with an invisible square boundary that formed around the segment of axes which he had drawn for this part of the lecture. Before he could step away from the finished line to speak about it, the students in the room were already distracted enough to not pay attention, because a pair of bees had entered the room though one of the windows and were proving to be an increasing annoyance. Mr. Riley was ready to admonish the class at large when he turned around to see nobody paying attention, but soon figured out the problem. He took up a roll of papers from his desk, stood out in front of it in a pensive stance, joined the students in studying their erratic and rapid flight as they made laps around the room. He gripped the papers with more force just as he was about to strike, and he eventually committed to making a swing at one of the bees, but it was a total miss. By now, Grace had become disgusted with the interruption and took it upon herself to get this situation resolved.
"Mr. Riley, may I please use that wooden ruler you just had against the blackboard?"
"The ruler? You sure? I don't think you'll have the right tool there to take out these bees with it."
Grace walked up to the desk and extended her hand out to receive the ruler without speaking a word. She kept her eyes upon Mr. Riley throughout her approach.
"Fine, here, take it, just don't break anything with it." Mr. Riley remained standing in front of the desk as he said this while passing the ruler to her.
"Thank you, Sir." Before receiving the sword, she had been paying mind to the bees flight patterns which were probing to be consistent. The bees were essentially flying clockwise around the entirety of the room; with knowing this, Grace took her position to the corner of the student desk row and instinctively stood at the ready as if she were holding a fencing sword. She kneaded the ruler while holding it in her hand, then she exhaled a breath as she assumed a spread legged stance which is suited for the sport. After watching one bee make a complete clockwise lap in the room, she held the ruler upright and focused on making the kill and hoping that the strike would connect on the first try. The opportunity to do that soon came.
The bee came into her peripheral sight on her left side. She stood at an angle away from the students who in their desks immediately before her. Within a few moments, the bee was drawing near to her and ready to make its next turn. At this moment, Grace took her training to heart and focused on making the attack while tuning out surrounding distractions. The bee was turning the corner. She breathed sharply and felt her body pulsate with anticipation. The bee was now right in front of her attack range. Grace made no hesitation to make the strike and did so with precision; her weight was, at first, leaned on her back, and she used that leverage to lunge forward as her hand snapped tightly around the ruler, which she then used to make a forward thrust kind of attack which turned into her swatting the ruler against the side of the bee before it got away. It immediately fell to the ground with a barely audible tap of the bee corpse bouncing off of the ground. She didn't have time to admire her handiwork quite yet. The bee traveled right past her the first time she would have been able to see it was coming around. This bee soon followed the track direction of the first bee, and came within Grace's attack space. Her attack was conducted the same way and had similar results; her good weapon control and swift blade handling resulted in two sequentially rapid strikes.
Grace didn't give the two bees a time to recover; when they were both down on the ground after the strike, she lifted her shoe over each and ground the bee into the floor by stepping on the insects. With the threat eliminated, one of the boys gave out a single word cheer and began to clap, but quickly stopped doing that when nobody else joined in. The rest of the class, including Mr. Riley, stared at Grace as she waked over to the teacher's desk, placed the ruler on its surface, and walked back to her desk; nobody expected her to make those kind of precise attacks using a simple teacher's ruler, and even fewer people would have predicted that she would have been able to kill both bees in such quick time. Mr. Riley was especially confused as to how Grace made her attacks in the style of a fencer, yet such an event was something that the school did not instruct. He wondered how was she getting that kind of training.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
19030303 21:08:06
19030303 21:08:06
LA-N-0800
"What's the matter with you? What's gotten up your ass today?"
"Oh, it's about Grace, actually." Carbondale leaned his head backwards with the mug tipped directly over his head so that he could get the last drop to fall into his mouth. He released a dramatic sigh of satisfied air after consuming the spirits. "I found out today that she's been lying to me, been lying to me for months. Months! Everything's all changed for her now after Racine. She may get herself lost and away sooner than I had ever dreamed."
"You gotta realize, man, that's a teenage thing. That's not because of something you did specifically to her. That's all teenagers. That's what they do. Try not to let it hurt so much. What'd she even lie about?" Venedy said this with first hand knowledge of his own daughter pilfering quantities of alcohol and cigarettes from their house on the weekends.
"But see, that's the thing, this is kind of an affront to me, to our family. Because what she was coverin up was going to see a fencing trainer so that she could learn how to use a sword. That's honestly insulting to me, and to our family. When's she ever gonna have a chance to use a sword if she needed to use one? If she's in a place where she would justify it, I doubt she'd have the will to honestly injure a man with the weapon. The girl gets affected when she so much as happens to see my wife preparing a chicken or turkey for dinner. And now she thinks she'll ever use a sword against another man! No, see, the only reason she's doing this is to show to me that she thinks that I can't protect her. That I failed her. That's what's ultimately behind it, if she were to ever speak the truth about it."
"I suppose so. What do you intend to do then, bar her from continuing her lessons? Or some kind of punish-"
"No, no, I won't do that so much because even I know that fencing lessons aren't a bad thing to have by themself. That's not the problem so much, as useless as I think it'd be for her. The problem is she hid it from me, and I think my suspicion as to why she hid it is correct. That's the problem. No, all I intend to do is confront her about it, and let her know that I'm aware. But what I'll make clear is that if she thinks that I am incapable of supporting and protecting her, then she can get the fuck out of my house and fend for herself."
LA-N-0800
"What's the matter with you? What's gotten up your ass today?"
"Oh, it's about Grace, actually." Carbondale leaned his head backwards with the mug tipped directly over his head so that he could get the last drop to fall into his mouth. He released a dramatic sigh of satisfied air after consuming the spirits. "I found out today that she's been lying to me, been lying to me for months. Months! Everything's all changed for her now after Racine. She may get herself lost and away sooner than I had ever dreamed."
"You gotta realize, man, that's a teenage thing. That's not because of something you did specifically to her. That's all teenagers. That's what they do. Try not to let it hurt so much. What'd she even lie about?" Venedy said this with first hand knowledge of his own daughter pilfering quantities of alcohol and cigarettes from their house on the weekends.
"But see, that's the thing, this is kind of an affront to me, to our family. Because what she was coverin up was going to see a fencing trainer so that she could learn how to use a sword. That's honestly insulting to me, and to our family. When's she ever gonna have a chance to use a sword if she needed to use one? If she's in a place where she would justify it, I doubt she'd have the will to honestly injure a man with the weapon. The girl gets affected when she so much as happens to see my wife preparing a chicken or turkey for dinner. And now she thinks she'll ever use a sword against another man! No, see, the only reason she's doing this is to show to me that she thinks that I can't protect her. That I failed her. That's what's ultimately behind it, if she were to ever speak the truth about it."
"I suppose so. What do you intend to do then, bar her from continuing her lessons? Or some kind of punish-"
"No, no, I won't do that so much because even I know that fencing lessons aren't a bad thing to have by themself. That's not the problem so much, as useless as I think it'd be for her. The problem is she hid it from me, and I think my suspicion as to why she hid it is correct. That's the problem. No, all I intend to do is confront her about it, and let her know that I'm aware. But what I'll make clear is that if she thinks that I am incapable of supporting and protecting her, then she can get the fuck out of my house and fend for herself."
Monday, September 23, 2013
18360308 06:17:55
18360308 06:17:55
The wagon slowed to a gentle stop within a dozen feet in front of the cabin. Daron kept his stance rigid and fists clenched as he stood at the window and watched the approach. He was expecting them to return, but the approach of carriages still caused him to jolt awake from sleep. He finally relaxed, though only slightly, as he came to recognize the men at the seat. Richard, the taller one, immediately came down from the cab and went to remove the horse from the wagon. The other man came - Daron struggled to remember his name at the moment, for some reason it had escaped his mind upon seeing him - down to the ground in a more deliberate fashion and started to approach the cabin. Daron exited from the cabin to meet up with him in front of it.
"Good to see ya Daron! I'm glad to report a complete success! Wait till you see all that we got, we could basically open a store with all of it here, ha ha. Ain't that right Richard?"
"Mhm, there sure is a lot we got here. A lot."
"I can see that, yes." Daron said this while peering over the shorter man's shoulders, curious to see what bounty was awaiting them all. While doing this he absent mindedly extended his hand out to the man and allowed it to be shaken. Richard had liberated the horse from its harness and began to escort it to the barn.
"So let's say we get some of the goods out. C'mon and look!" He turned around and swiftly opened the carriage door, and had to move backwards at a similar speed as some bags of seed spilled out from the opening and fell to the dirt road. "Heh, see that? We packed that so tightly we could barely keep the door closed."
"Um, may I see inside for a moment?"
"Oh sure sure, Daron, go on ahead. Yes yes!"
He stood upon the folding step and leaned his body inwards while balancing his hands on the side of the doorway. The carriage was indeed thoroughly filled with all manner of goods, such as shovels, axes, rakes, hoes, hand drills, post diggers, seed bags, bolts of cloth, and much more beyond those things. It respect of the variety of goods inside, it was as if someone had gone to the store and simply asked to receive one of everything that they had.
"And you got all of this for thirty dollars?"
"Oh, oh, yes that's the best part Daron, that's the best part! We bought in such bulk that we received a major discount! Here, here's the remainder of the allowance, here you go." The man thrust his right hand into the coat pocket and procured four five dollar bills, and summarily reached for Daron's hand so that he could position it ready to receive the money he was handing over. Once the paper was in his palm, Trent (he finally recalled the name by now, after bouncing the words Thomas, Terrence, and Trevor around in ihs head) curled thie opened fingers over the money and then tapped his palm twice against the fist which held the money. His face beamed with happiness over the transaction.
"You did not get all of this for ten dollars. Did you steal this?" Daron slowly let his hands drop to rest at the sides of his body as his gaze grew dark and pointed at Trent.
"Daron, I just said, we got a discount for it, and I-"
Daron implanted his hand around Trent's neck and used the strength in his hand and forearm to suddenly thrust him into the side of the carriage. A few items fell as the carriage shook as a result of the strike.
"I repeat. Did you steal this?"
"... we did it the right way. There was no runnin, there was nobody who seen us. We did it cleanly."
Daron's entire body shook as he felt his rage course through his blood.
"What did I tell you, you damned dumb idiot! There were two reasons to do this. I told you. Two reasons - one, to get supplies we need, and more importantly, two, to get business contacts established. Not only did you fail that part, but it's likely you can't return to that city at all now. Not for a few years at least. If they ever figure it out, that might get them to send another god damned mob over here so that they can burn me down again. Again! God damn it!" He breathed through his nostrils with enough force to make the folds on his shirt billow from the air flow above it. "Now what the hell do I do when we need to do another supply run? Now what?"
"Listen, Mister Daron, it was the perfect chance, you should have seen it. I mean we-"
"I don't want to hear about it. Now or ever. Ever. Excuse me for ten minutes while I fantasize about murdering you."
Trent stood still and watched Daron walk around the log cabin and lost sight of him as he marched away into the farming field.
The wagon slowed to a gentle stop within a dozen feet in front of the cabin. Daron kept his stance rigid and fists clenched as he stood at the window and watched the approach. He was expecting them to return, but the approach of carriages still caused him to jolt awake from sleep. He finally relaxed, though only slightly, as he came to recognize the men at the seat. Richard, the taller one, immediately came down from the cab and went to remove the horse from the wagon. The other man came - Daron struggled to remember his name at the moment, for some reason it had escaped his mind upon seeing him - down to the ground in a more deliberate fashion and started to approach the cabin. Daron exited from the cabin to meet up with him in front of it.
"Good to see ya Daron! I'm glad to report a complete success! Wait till you see all that we got, we could basically open a store with all of it here, ha ha. Ain't that right Richard?"
"Mhm, there sure is a lot we got here. A lot."
"I can see that, yes." Daron said this while peering over the shorter man's shoulders, curious to see what bounty was awaiting them all. While doing this he absent mindedly extended his hand out to the man and allowed it to be shaken. Richard had liberated the horse from its harness and began to escort it to the barn.
"So let's say we get some of the goods out. C'mon and look!" He turned around and swiftly opened the carriage door, and had to move backwards at a similar speed as some bags of seed spilled out from the opening and fell to the dirt road. "Heh, see that? We packed that so tightly we could barely keep the door closed."
"Um, may I see inside for a moment?"
"Oh sure sure, Daron, go on ahead. Yes yes!"
He stood upon the folding step and leaned his body inwards while balancing his hands on the side of the doorway. The carriage was indeed thoroughly filled with all manner of goods, such as shovels, axes, rakes, hoes, hand drills, post diggers, seed bags, bolts of cloth, and much more beyond those things. It respect of the variety of goods inside, it was as if someone had gone to the store and simply asked to receive one of everything that they had.
"And you got all of this for thirty dollars?"
"Oh, oh, yes that's the best part Daron, that's the best part! We bought in such bulk that we received a major discount! Here, here's the remainder of the allowance, here you go." The man thrust his right hand into the coat pocket and procured four five dollar bills, and summarily reached for Daron's hand so that he could position it ready to receive the money he was handing over. Once the paper was in his palm, Trent (he finally recalled the name by now, after bouncing the words Thomas, Terrence, and Trevor around in ihs head) curled thie opened fingers over the money and then tapped his palm twice against the fist which held the money. His face beamed with happiness over the transaction.
"You did not get all of this for ten dollars. Did you steal this?" Daron slowly let his hands drop to rest at the sides of his body as his gaze grew dark and pointed at Trent.
"Daron, I just said, we got a discount for it, and I-"
Daron implanted his hand around Trent's neck and used the strength in his hand and forearm to suddenly thrust him into the side of the carriage. A few items fell as the carriage shook as a result of the strike.
"I repeat. Did you steal this?"
"... we did it the right way. There was no runnin, there was nobody who seen us. We did it cleanly."
Daron's entire body shook as he felt his rage course through his blood.
"What did I tell you, you damned dumb idiot! There were two reasons to do this. I told you. Two reasons - one, to get supplies we need, and more importantly, two, to get business contacts established. Not only did you fail that part, but it's likely you can't return to that city at all now. Not for a few years at least. If they ever figure it out, that might get them to send another god damned mob over here so that they can burn me down again. Again! God damn it!" He breathed through his nostrils with enough force to make the folds on his shirt billow from the air flow above it. "Now what the hell do I do when we need to do another supply run? Now what?"
"Listen, Mister Daron, it was the perfect chance, you should have seen it. I mean we-"
"I don't want to hear about it. Now or ever. Ever. Excuse me for ten minutes while I fantasize about murdering you."
Trent stood still and watched Daron walk around the log cabin and lost sight of him as he marched away into the farming field.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
19021206 15:09:11
19021206 15:09:11
PA-S-5661
Joshua Lenier nodded his head towards his hands as he turned the key in the door lock. He pinched two fingers around the base of the key and snapped his wrist to flip the key around in his hand before he returned it to his coat pocket. It was only when he turned around and was about to descend the concrete stairs leading to the sidewalk that he saw her staring at him. He heard no approaching foosteps as he was outside, so he has no idea how long she had stood there, and this uncertainty made him nervous.
"Hello. You're Mr. Lenier?" She remained attentively standing in place as she called out to him. Her gloved hands were folded into her waist and held their position.
"Why yes, I am Joshua Lenier." He took the initiative of closing the gap between them and quickly walked down the stairs to stand next to her. "Are you seeking to speak with me? Miss, uh -"
"Grace. Yes, there is. I want to become a student of your fencing classes. I'd like to set an arrangement for the period and for payment. I understand that you are about to retire for the day, but would you care to temporarily step inside so that we can make an agreement?"
"Um." Joshua needed a moment's pause to ensure that he understood the request correctly. Meeting in this manner was strange enough, but this was not the kind of question he would have expected. "I don't think that will be quite necessary, truthfully, as I fear that my facility cannot, uh, it can't... accommodate a w-, a person such as yourself."
"I anticipated that kind of initial response, so that is why I sought to speak with you directly. I wanted to determine if there is a time where I could be under your guidance in isolation. I assume the issue is primarly that of mixed gender in your class, correct?"
"The issue is that as much as my lack of performing the training with any female, so I fear that my ability in teaching you might be reduced, or at least inferior to someone who is better suited to be your mentor."
"Very well. Could I at least persuade you to attempt the training session for one week, and make a more binding decision later?"
"I uh. Well, I suppose that doing that much would be possible, yes, but perhaps instead could you call upon me later to see if I could find an instructor who is better suited for your training?"
"Mr. Lenier, I appreciate your generous offer, but I must say that I can do that kind of research independently. Doing so has led me to you. I want to begin training as soon as possible, so please forgive me making such a strong demand, but I wish to know immediately if you are willing to conduct the one week trial. If you are not, I will depart and seek someone else on my own." Grace kept her gaze fixed directly upon Joshua's face. Her facial expression and composure remained unmoved.
"Very well." Many seconds passed in silence before he finally acquiesced. "Please return here one week from now, at 3:30 PM. Please bring your own suit, as I have no way to obtain a proper one for you."
"Thank you." Grace slowly bowed forward and returned upright in a quicker motion, then turned to walk away.
Joshua was surprised to see her enter the carriage which had been sitting idly in the road behind her. He never considered the possibility that she was the passenger who had arrived there with it.
PA-S-5661
Joshua Lenier nodded his head towards his hands as he turned the key in the door lock. He pinched two fingers around the base of the key and snapped his wrist to flip the key around in his hand before he returned it to his coat pocket. It was only when he turned around and was about to descend the concrete stairs leading to the sidewalk that he saw her staring at him. He heard no approaching foosteps as he was outside, so he has no idea how long she had stood there, and this uncertainty made him nervous.
"Hello. You're Mr. Lenier?" She remained attentively standing in place as she called out to him. Her gloved hands were folded into her waist and held their position.
"Why yes, I am Joshua Lenier." He took the initiative of closing the gap between them and quickly walked down the stairs to stand next to her. "Are you seeking to speak with me? Miss, uh -"
"Grace. Yes, there is. I want to become a student of your fencing classes. I'd like to set an arrangement for the period and for payment. I understand that you are about to retire for the day, but would you care to temporarily step inside so that we can make an agreement?"
"Um." Joshua needed a moment's pause to ensure that he understood the request correctly. Meeting in this manner was strange enough, but this was not the kind of question he would have expected. "I don't think that will be quite necessary, truthfully, as I fear that my facility cannot, uh, it can't... accommodate a w-, a person such as yourself."
"I anticipated that kind of initial response, so that is why I sought to speak with you directly. I wanted to determine if there is a time where I could be under your guidance in isolation. I assume the issue is primarly that of mixed gender in your class, correct?"
"The issue is that as much as my lack of performing the training with any female, so I fear that my ability in teaching you might be reduced, or at least inferior to someone who is better suited to be your mentor."
"Very well. Could I at least persuade you to attempt the training session for one week, and make a more binding decision later?"
"I uh. Well, I suppose that doing that much would be possible, yes, but perhaps instead could you call upon me later to see if I could find an instructor who is better suited for your training?"
"Mr. Lenier, I appreciate your generous offer, but I must say that I can do that kind of research independently. Doing so has led me to you. I want to begin training as soon as possible, so please forgive me making such a strong demand, but I wish to know immediately if you are willing to conduct the one week trial. If you are not, I will depart and seek someone else on my own." Grace kept her gaze fixed directly upon Joshua's face. Her facial expression and composure remained unmoved.
"Very well." Many seconds passed in silence before he finally acquiesced. "Please return here one week from now, at 3:30 PM. Please bring your own suit, as I have no way to obtain a proper one for you."
"Thank you." Grace slowly bowed forward and returned upright in a quicker motion, then turned to walk away.
Joshua was surprised to see her enter the carriage which had been sitting idly in the road behind her. He never considered the possibility that she was the passenger who had arrived there with it.
Friday, September 20, 2013
18430417 16:22:32
18430417 16:22:32
The remainder of food scrap left on Daron's plate was cold by the time Bernard Leeland had taken the last bite of his steak into his mouth. While he ground the meat in his mouth in the same consistently languid rhythm, Daron became increasingly uncomfortable in his surrounding and had to focus to not let his face reveal as much. He studied the gold trim at the corners of the high walls and the goil plated frames around the massive scenic oil paintings inside them. He looked down to see the unused place setting to his right and marveled at the meticulously placed five forks and four spoons; in doing so, he thought back to when he was in the log cabin and didn't possess more than five forks in total. The sound of Bernard's cutlery being gently placed on the china plate gave a faint echo in the large dining hall. The jarring echo compelled Daron to look up and gaze into the various cuts of crystal in the chandelier above the center of the table.
"Would you care for a cigar?"
His sudden question fed into Daron's nerves and caused him to face Bernard with a reflexive twist of the torso.
"Oh uh, yes, a cigar? I appreciate the offer and I would like one if you don't mind."
"It's in this box here, please help yourself." Bernard lifted the metallic handle upon the lid gently from the wooden box and removed a brown cigar from inside, and turned to look at him while holding the lid in the air. Daron quickly reached in and procured his own. The cigars were pre cut and felt damp enough to the touch that they seemed to leave a trace of tobbaco residue in the fingertips. Daron noticed the tray of matches at the side of the cigar box, but waited for Bernard to get one first. Daron though the cigar tasted more mild than what he had usually smoked.
"Daron, I pray that I'm not going to be too direct in saying this, but I think there's no other way to make the proposition. The reason that I called you to dine with me tonight is to discuss the future of the mayoral position in your town."
"You're looking to become mayor?"
"No, though I could see why you would think so with me having said that first. No, Daron, what I have in mind is that you inaugurate an election for the position of mayor. By giving that to the people, it would make your town seem more democratically open, and doing so would be a good way to encourage more people and businesses to migrate here. I think this town is large enough to justify it, and after seven years of you being the de facto mayor of the town, I think it might be time for you to earn that title honestly or graciously step aside to whoever does so."
"I can see the reasoning behind that, yes. But I do not envy a future of politicking in my own city just for the sake of being its elected mayor."
"I don't think you would have to do much of that at all. The citizens who live here now already know you for your qualities of leadership and your manner of public presentation. They will not be looking for you to make grand orations like that of Edward Everett. Were I you, I would simply stand on my record of accomplishments regarding the founding of the city and what kind of commerce and population it has already fostered."
tbc
18430522
Bernard Leeland had the entire saloon table covered in newspaper, and continued to switch the one in his hand for another lying in front of him, hurriedly scanning the columns and advertisements. He had no need to read the celebratory paragraphs about mankind's victory over the fallacious prediction of its cessation. The reports of trade prices from the various cities went in and out of his mind with nothing to be considered remarkable.
revise: save for later
The remainder of food scrap left on Daron's plate was cold by the time Bernard Leeland had taken the last bite of his steak into his mouth. While he ground the meat in his mouth in the same consistently languid rhythm, Daron became increasingly uncomfortable in his surrounding and had to focus to not let his face reveal as much. He studied the gold trim at the corners of the high walls and the goil plated frames around the massive scenic oil paintings inside them. He looked down to see the unused place setting to his right and marveled at the meticulously placed five forks and four spoons; in doing so, he thought back to when he was in the log cabin and didn't possess more than five forks in total. The sound of Bernard's cutlery being gently placed on the china plate gave a faint echo in the large dining hall. The jarring echo compelled Daron to look up and gaze into the various cuts of crystal in the chandelier above the center of the table.
"Would you care for a cigar?"
His sudden question fed into Daron's nerves and caused him to face Bernard with a reflexive twist of the torso.
"Oh uh, yes, a cigar? I appreciate the offer and I would like one if you don't mind."
"It's in this box here, please help yourself." Bernard lifted the metallic handle upon the lid gently from the wooden box and removed a brown cigar from inside, and turned to look at him while holding the lid in the air. Daron quickly reached in and procured his own. The cigars were pre cut and felt damp enough to the touch that they seemed to leave a trace of tobbaco residue in the fingertips. Daron noticed the tray of matches at the side of the cigar box, but waited for Bernard to get one first. Daron though the cigar tasted more mild than what he had usually smoked.
"Daron, I pray that I'm not going to be too direct in saying this, but I think there's no other way to make the proposition. The reason that I called you to dine with me tonight is to discuss the future of the mayoral position in your town."
"You're looking to become mayor?"
"No, though I could see why you would think so with me having said that first. No, Daron, what I have in mind is that you inaugurate an election for the position of mayor. By giving that to the people, it would make your town seem more democratically open, and doing so would be a good way to encourage more people and businesses to migrate here. I think this town is large enough to justify it, and after seven years of you being the de facto mayor of the town, I think it might be time for you to earn that title honestly or graciously step aside to whoever does so."
"I can see the reasoning behind that, yes. But I do not envy a future of politicking in my own city just for the sake of being its elected mayor."
"I don't think you would have to do much of that at all. The citizens who live here now already know you for your qualities of leadership and your manner of public presentation. They will not be looking for you to make grand orations like that of Edward Everett. Were I you, I would simply stand on my record of accomplishments regarding the founding of the city and what kind of commerce and population it has already fostered."
tbc
18430522
Bernard Leeland had the entire saloon table covered in newspaper, and continued to switch the one in his hand for another lying in front of him, hurriedly scanning the columns and advertisements. He had no need to read the celebratory paragraphs about mankind's victory over the fallacious prediction of its cessation. The reports of trade prices from the various cities went in and out of his mind with nothing to be considered remarkable.
revise: save for later
Thursday, September 19, 2013
18581207 06:57:46
18581207 06:57:46
NH-N-2830
Cook heard her footsteps draw closer as he stood over the stove and tended to the eggs and coffee, but he decided to not approach her and greet her as normal now. Instead, he held his position and waited for her to enter the room. His intent was to remain silent and still, but the act of wearing the suit still caused him to be sensitive to itches as his body told him were required. It was with his hand underneath his crotch and wiggling upwards to scratch at the skin between his thighs that Gloria walked into the kitchen. Her eyes were still heavy with the feeling of slumber, and her deliberate gait towards the dining table came to an abrupt end as she looked him over.
"So this is it? You wasn't lyin how it looks bad, mhm."
"Don't I know it. Forget how I look, something in this fabric makes my skin crawl too. I keep wanting to scratch all over my body. This is torture."
"I can see that babe. So why you wearin in now anyway? You gotta change out of it before you go - at least, I would think you would."
"Oh, I will, yeah I will. No, see, I guess we were all acting childish on the floor there when we first came out in these things, I mean I guess that's how our faces looked. Like a child who doesn't want to pose for a painting because of the clothes he's wearing." After saying this, Cook held the frying pan over a plate to let the eggs collect on the dish, then poured some of the coffee from the pot into a mug. He quickly brought both over to her and placed it in front of her on the table by standing behind and wrapping his arms around.
"So what?" Gloria asked this with a visible sneer after gingerly sipping at the edge of the coffee cup. Cook returned to the stove and cracked a pair of eggs into the frying pan before promptly stirring them while they cooked.
"Well one of the things he said is that maybe we should try wearing these suits outside of the lesson time, so that we got used to wearing them around and felt more comfortable in them. Makes sense to me, so I thought I'd try it once at least."
"Huh, the way you talked of him last night I'm surprised that you are."
"Hah yeah, well." Cook took his own breakfast over to the table and sat across from Gloria before continuing. "He may be strange, even for a Frenchman, but I'll be damned if I ain't seen anyone be quicker in making a sword move where he wants it to go. Seriously, a whole hour and none of us could touch him once."
"Mhm." She wouldn't have said more than this in response even if her mouth wasn't full of eggs at the moment. He took the chance to scoop a mouthful of his own eggs from the plate, and then abruptly dropped the fork in order ot twist his body to the side so that he could try to reach his fingertips to his back and scratch at the suit more.
"Argh, curse this thing!"
"They couldn't have made it in black even? It's gotta be white? Didn't he know where he was comin and who he was trainin? I mean-" By this point, Gloria couldn't restrain herself anymore and started to laugh increasingly louder. "I mean, you look like a damn fool in that suit!"
"I know, I know." He nodded with a smile and knew that she wasn't intending to be insulting, but he still felt slightly resentful for her laughter at him. "At least I won't be out on the street in this get up."
NH-N-2830
Cook heard her footsteps draw closer as he stood over the stove and tended to the eggs and coffee, but he decided to not approach her and greet her as normal now. Instead, he held his position and waited for her to enter the room. His intent was to remain silent and still, but the act of wearing the suit still caused him to be sensitive to itches as his body told him were required. It was with his hand underneath his crotch and wiggling upwards to scratch at the skin between his thighs that Gloria walked into the kitchen. Her eyes were still heavy with the feeling of slumber, and her deliberate gait towards the dining table came to an abrupt end as she looked him over.
"So this is it? You wasn't lyin how it looks bad, mhm."
"Don't I know it. Forget how I look, something in this fabric makes my skin crawl too. I keep wanting to scratch all over my body. This is torture."
"I can see that babe. So why you wearin in now anyway? You gotta change out of it before you go - at least, I would think you would."
"Oh, I will, yeah I will. No, see, I guess we were all acting childish on the floor there when we first came out in these things, I mean I guess that's how our faces looked. Like a child who doesn't want to pose for a painting because of the clothes he's wearing." After saying this, Cook held the frying pan over a plate to let the eggs collect on the dish, then poured some of the coffee from the pot into a mug. He quickly brought both over to her and placed it in front of her on the table by standing behind and wrapping his arms around.
"So what?" Gloria asked this with a visible sneer after gingerly sipping at the edge of the coffee cup. Cook returned to the stove and cracked a pair of eggs into the frying pan before promptly stirring them while they cooked.
"Well one of the things he said is that maybe we should try wearing these suits outside of the lesson time, so that we got used to wearing them around and felt more comfortable in them. Makes sense to me, so I thought I'd try it once at least."
"Huh, the way you talked of him last night I'm surprised that you are."
"Hah yeah, well." Cook took his own breakfast over to the table and sat across from Gloria before continuing. "He may be strange, even for a Frenchman, but I'll be damned if I ain't seen anyone be quicker in making a sword move where he wants it to go. Seriously, a whole hour and none of us could touch him once."
"Mhm." She wouldn't have said more than this in response even if her mouth wasn't full of eggs at the moment. He took the chance to scoop a mouthful of his own eggs from the plate, and then abruptly dropped the fork in order ot twist his body to the side so that he could try to reach his fingertips to his back and scratch at the suit more.
"Argh, curse this thing!"
"They couldn't have made it in black even? It's gotta be white? Didn't he know where he was comin and who he was trainin? I mean-" By this point, Gloria couldn't restrain herself anymore and started to laugh increasingly louder. "I mean, you look like a damn fool in that suit!"
"I know, I know." He nodded with a smile and knew that she wasn't intending to be insulting, but he still felt slightly resentful for her laughter at him. "At least I won't be out on the street in this get up."
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
18581206 09:06:51 continued
18581206 09:06:51
MW-S-2400
"Very well, then." The dismissive tone in Charles's voice was accentuated by the heavy lidded stoic expression on his face. "Let me see yours, then. Go on."
Tazewell poitned the sword straight out from his waist and immediately reached his arms up to swing in the same way, and his attack looked nearly identical to that of Cook's.
"As expected. And yours, please." Charles didn't ask for Tazewell to make a second attack and quickly looked over to Massac. He expected to not need to see much more.
Massac's attack, though, was not a replication of the prior two swings; he raised the sword up to the same initial position, but quickly swung down directly from that central point. Charles nodded gently as he observed his wrists twist more with the thrust and saw the sweep of the blade carry further around after it reached the lowest point when it was closest to the ground.
"Do that again."
Massac couldn't help but to smile as he went through his attack motion again.
"Good, good." Charles stepped away and idly stepped a few paces in front of the three men as his mind raced over how much work was potentially ahead of him. In respect of physical size, they were indeed all definitely larger, and this would ultimately prove to be a liability for which he could only account for rather than train to correct. He saw them as all having a collective lack of sophistication, both from how they approached their attacks as well as how they were showing themselves to be uncomfortable in the fencing uniforms. Charles understood that these men weren't being trained for the purposes of participating in duels with other fencers, and the finer points of decorum would be lost on them if not impossible to instill. "So, it appears to me that in respect of your form, we will be starting from scratch. It also appears that your weapons are not entirely too heavy, as I didn't see any of you physically strain yourself to maximum capacity when you made your attacks. However, fencing is best suited for the lightest possible swords which you can wield. I want each of you to hold my épeé for a moment in your free hand as you hold your swords, and compare the weight. I hope you will instantly perceive a difference."
Cook held Charles's sword first and gently waved his wrists to move weapons freely in the air, and the épeé did seem to have half of the weight of his own sword. He nodded with a stiff bottom lip before passing the weapon off to his left so that the other two could feel it in their hands.
"Also, I want to draw attention to what Arthur did with his attack. You two put all of your energy into your arms as you made your swing, as if you were wielding an axe to fell a tree or split a rail." Charles extended his middle and ring finger to simultaneously point at Cook and Tazewell as he said this, though they were still comparing the weapon weights to focus on being indicated. "And I suppose that is to be expected for someone who simply picks a blade up and is asked to swing it without knowing what better to do. But there is far more to using your weapon than how much force you can dedicate to your arms. Arthur used his wrists to compel the sword and thus was able to conduct the motion with more speed and fluidity. With that said, your swiftness is still fully inadequate. I'll demonstrate. Arthur, please return my weapon to me."
Charles walked five paces away from the men after receiving his sword, then turned to right so that he faced the wall and could only see them in his periphery. He held his weapon in his left hand and kept it firmly erect and ready at his side.
"Arthur, I want you to attack me directly. Step forward and strike as you did before, and pause momentarily before doing so, so that you may surprise my reflexes. Do not hold back. I will defend myself."
"Full force? All right." Massac didn't think to argue or ask for clarification, as Charles was clearly serious in the request. He stepped forward to get in range, and set his initial position. The room was quiet enough to hear carriages pass by some street blocks away, as none were visible through the windows.
Massac cleared his mind and took two sharp breaths before he snapped his wrist firmly to thrust forward at Charles, who did not emit any kind of reflexive motion as the tip of the blade came near his body. His face remained staring directly at the wall, and neither Cook or Tazewell detected his eyes even as much as moving towards Massac as he lunged forward. Suddenly, as quickly as Cook blinked, Charles whisked his blade up to cause it to strike upwards towards Massac's sword, which forced the blade to move away from his body. As the blade slid past the épeé, Charles curled his hand gingerly to force the tip of it to point inwards towards the middle of Massac's body and was soon less than a handspan away from his throat.
MW-S-2400
"Very well, then." The dismissive tone in Charles's voice was accentuated by the heavy lidded stoic expression on his face. "Let me see yours, then. Go on."
Tazewell poitned the sword straight out from his waist and immediately reached his arms up to swing in the same way, and his attack looked nearly identical to that of Cook's.
"As expected. And yours, please." Charles didn't ask for Tazewell to make a second attack and quickly looked over to Massac. He expected to not need to see much more.
Massac's attack, though, was not a replication of the prior two swings; he raised the sword up to the same initial position, but quickly swung down directly from that central point. Charles nodded gently as he observed his wrists twist more with the thrust and saw the sweep of the blade carry further around after it reached the lowest point when it was closest to the ground.
"Do that again."
Massac couldn't help but to smile as he went through his attack motion again.
"Good, good." Charles stepped away and idly stepped a few paces in front of the three men as his mind raced over how much work was potentially ahead of him. In respect of physical size, they were indeed all definitely larger, and this would ultimately prove to be a liability for which he could only account for rather than train to correct. He saw them as all having a collective lack of sophistication, both from how they approached their attacks as well as how they were showing themselves to be uncomfortable in the fencing uniforms. Charles understood that these men weren't being trained for the purposes of participating in duels with other fencers, and the finer points of decorum would be lost on them if not impossible to instill. "So, it appears to me that in respect of your form, we will be starting from scratch. It also appears that your weapons are not entirely too heavy, as I didn't see any of you physically strain yourself to maximum capacity when you made your attacks. However, fencing is best suited for the lightest possible swords which you can wield. I want each of you to hold my épeé for a moment in your free hand as you hold your swords, and compare the weight. I hope you will instantly perceive a difference."
Cook held Charles's sword first and gently waved his wrists to move weapons freely in the air, and the épeé did seem to have half of the weight of his own sword. He nodded with a stiff bottom lip before passing the weapon off to his left so that the other two could feel it in their hands.
"Also, I want to draw attention to what Arthur did with his attack. You two put all of your energy into your arms as you made your swing, as if you were wielding an axe to fell a tree or split a rail." Charles extended his middle and ring finger to simultaneously point at Cook and Tazewell as he said this, though they were still comparing the weapon weights to focus on being indicated. "And I suppose that is to be expected for someone who simply picks a blade up and is asked to swing it without knowing what better to do. But there is far more to using your weapon than how much force you can dedicate to your arms. Arthur used his wrists to compel the sword and thus was able to conduct the motion with more speed and fluidity. With that said, your swiftness is still fully inadequate. I'll demonstrate. Arthur, please return my weapon to me."
Charles walked five paces away from the men after receiving his sword, then turned to right so that he faced the wall and could only see them in his periphery. He held his weapon in his left hand and kept it firmly erect and ready at his side.
"Arthur, I want you to attack me directly. Step forward and strike as you did before, and pause momentarily before doing so, so that you may surprise my reflexes. Do not hold back. I will defend myself."
"Full force? All right." Massac didn't think to argue or ask for clarification, as Charles was clearly serious in the request. He stepped forward to get in range, and set his initial position. The room was quiet enough to hear carriages pass by some street blocks away, as none were visible through the windows.
Massac cleared his mind and took two sharp breaths before he snapped his wrist firmly to thrust forward at Charles, who did not emit any kind of reflexive motion as the tip of the blade came near his body. His face remained staring directly at the wall, and neither Cook or Tazewell detected his eyes even as much as moving towards Massac as he lunged forward. Suddenly, as quickly as Cook blinked, Charles whisked his blade up to cause it to strike upwards towards Massac's sword, which forced the blade to move away from his body. As the blade slid past the épeé, Charles curled his hand gingerly to force the tip of it to point inwards towards the middle of Massac's body and was soon less than a handspan away from his throat.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
18581206 09:06:51
18581206 09:06:51
MW-S-2400
Charles Angelo sat in an ornate wooden chair opposite of the door from where the three men adorned in the white fencing practice uniforms emerged. Cook came out first with his head lowered to an extent that his chin made contact with his chest. Tazewell followed, and glared from one side of the room to the other as if he was expecting to be seen, or at least fearful of that prospect. Massac came out last and lazily yawned while scratching the outer side of his thigh, then crossed his arms as he took his position to stand to the left of the other two men.
"Very well." He said no more than this before he stood up from the chair and walked across the floor to inspect the men more closely. Their faces did little to hide their current discomfort. From one man to the next, Charles was able to see small issues to address and touch up. Despite trying to mentally prepare himself for the sight of it, his head was filled with equal parts amusement and disappointment as he saw these black men in white suits which were hastily thrown on and did not suit their physique or appearances.
"He's treating this like a fashion show now, heh." Massac's interjection did help aleviate some of the silent tension in the room and brought Charles to focus.
"Yes, and you must forgive me for having the instinct of presentation in mind. I'm aware that the full supplication and adherence to the French style of fencing is not the intent here. With that, gentlemen, if you can draw your swords, I would appreciate it, as it would inform me of what tools we shall be working with."
Without hesitation, the three men each placed their hand over the metal chains wrapped around their waists and compelled the links to swiftly liquefy and reform into their swords. Charles has not seen the weapon transition before and reflexively flinched backwards as this occurred, though he was not near their physical path.
"My heavens, that is certainly, uh, that is. That is just amazing. I was told about it before and not that I doubted it, but it's something awful to see in person. So um, Jesse, is it? Are you able to hand me your sword then? Is it true that you cannot?"
"Yes, that's right. The sword only keeps its shape when its in my hand. You can feel it revert to the link chain if you were to hold it. Care to see?"
"Oh, no, thank you but that won't be necessary. I will need to find a way to see how much weigh these swords have though, and with what agility these can be used. Could you at least show me a few simple attacks that you would do now? The quickest, most direct strikes you would do. Fencing demands precision and dexterity."
Cook took a step forward as the other two stepped away from him, and prepared to swing by holding the holding the sword upward and at an angle, nearly resting the back of the blade upon his shoulder. He audibly took a breath, focused, then snapped the blade down with all the force he could muster in his arms and wrists. The tip of the blade came down to nearly touch the ground at the end of the swing.
"Again." Charles made this request after a few seconds of silence.
Charles studied Cook's wrists as he made the second swing, and saw that they had barely moved in the motion; it seemed that Cook was using all of his force in his arms. It was apparent that he had a lot of instruction ahead of him.
MW-S-2400
Charles Angelo sat in an ornate wooden chair opposite of the door from where the three men adorned in the white fencing practice uniforms emerged. Cook came out first with his head lowered to an extent that his chin made contact with his chest. Tazewell followed, and glared from one side of the room to the other as if he was expecting to be seen, or at least fearful of that prospect. Massac came out last and lazily yawned while scratching the outer side of his thigh, then crossed his arms as he took his position to stand to the left of the other two men.
"Very well." He said no more than this before he stood up from the chair and walked across the floor to inspect the men more closely. Their faces did little to hide their current discomfort. From one man to the next, Charles was able to see small issues to address and touch up. Despite trying to mentally prepare himself for the sight of it, his head was filled with equal parts amusement and disappointment as he saw these black men in white suits which were hastily thrown on and did not suit their physique or appearances.
"He's treating this like a fashion show now, heh." Massac's interjection did help aleviate some of the silent tension in the room and brought Charles to focus.
"Yes, and you must forgive me for having the instinct of presentation in mind. I'm aware that the full supplication and adherence to the French style of fencing is not the intent here. With that, gentlemen, if you can draw your swords, I would appreciate it, as it would inform me of what tools we shall be working with."
Without hesitation, the three men each placed their hand over the metal chains wrapped around their waists and compelled the links to swiftly liquefy and reform into their swords. Charles has not seen the weapon transition before and reflexively flinched backwards as this occurred, though he was not near their physical path.
"My heavens, that is certainly, uh, that is. That is just amazing. I was told about it before and not that I doubted it, but it's something awful to see in person. So um, Jesse, is it? Are you able to hand me your sword then? Is it true that you cannot?"
"Yes, that's right. The sword only keeps its shape when its in my hand. You can feel it revert to the link chain if you were to hold it. Care to see?"
"Oh, no, thank you but that won't be necessary. I will need to find a way to see how much weigh these swords have though, and with what agility these can be used. Could you at least show me a few simple attacks that you would do now? The quickest, most direct strikes you would do. Fencing demands precision and dexterity."
Cook took a step forward as the other two stepped away from him, and prepared to swing by holding the holding the sword upward and at an angle, nearly resting the back of the blade upon his shoulder. He audibly took a breath, focused, then snapped the blade down with all the force he could muster in his arms and wrists. The tip of the blade came down to nearly touch the ground at the end of the swing.
"Again." Charles made this request after a few seconds of silence.
Charles studied Cook's wrists as he made the second swing, and saw that they had barely moved in the motion; it seemed that Cook was using all of his force in his arms. It was apparent that he had a lot of instruction ahead of him.
Monday, September 16, 2013
18581022 11:36:19
18581022 11:36:19
HD-S-1180
"So have you made any plans for the founding anniversary yet?"
"This year? Nah. Well, nothing like last year at least. Last year was twenty. Twenty one's just one more. If anything I'll just be up at a few churches or something and maybe the hall to say a few words, I mean it's been a pretty good year overall so it wouldn't hurt to do it." After saying this, Daron's mind raced back to the farm. A generation ago was a blink. A generation ago, he would have been standing in the ocean where he now sat in his house.
"Fair enough. All these years and you still haven't quite acquired the taste for pageantry.' Frederic said this with a smiles as he came to realize that there were few if any residents yet in the town who would have had a flair for it.
"Oh, Freddy, one thing I wanted to make sure to discuss with you right away - it's about swords. Some folks I know are probably going to start using them pretty regularly. Are there any kind of books that you can think of about sword fighting? Like, real books, not stories."
"Daron, you amuse me. You realize that you're asking a French man if he knows anything about swordsmanship, do you not?"
"Yes, I do." Daron's response was flat and blunt and preceded a sigh. The words of condescension usually came several minutes into the conversation with Frederic, not immediately on the outset. He braced for the lecture. "Why does that mat-"
"Fencing is a deeply rooted sport within our culture, and has been for centuries. I do have to agree that the chivalry and sportsmanship behind fencing perfectly supplants our nature. There is an expansive amount of French literature on the subject, and I believe many books are supplied with illustrations which would facilitate the process of learning without the need for translation. In fact, in speaking of it now, I'm aware of a man who is a fine fencing instructor and hails from a storied lineage in respect of the art. His family and I lived in the same town years ago. Perhaps I can extend an offer to have him come here to instruct your pupils in the future. Hm. Would you be able to facilitate his living necessities for the duration as well as supply quarters for his living and training? It would be good to make the offer enticing."
"Uh yeah. That should be easy to do. How soon? Within a month?"
"Yes, at least. I'll be sending this home and demand a reply, and I would anticipate at least one more exchange before any kind of arrangement is settled. Come, let's go to your desk so that I may start writing this immediately."
The two men left from the front hosting room and proceeded to sit at the writing desk in a small room at the back of the house. Daron scratched a match to light a small candle at the top of the desk and set it alight to illuminate the area below. Frederic took up the feathered quill and spent fifteen minutes to carefully write the following:
Monsieur Charles Heathcote Angelo -
I entreat this letter to you as a fellow brother of our countrymen and as a former neighbor to you. Perhaps you may recall my parents as acquaintances. An opportunity has arisen from where I currently reside where there is a need to have a fencing instructor physically present, and I could not think of a person better suited to the task than yourself. This city is situated on the North American coast, but is independent of the surrounding country's domain. It is a newly developing city which has just recently added several square miles of open land which has yet to be tamed with structures of any kind. This means that it would be possible for you to freely state your demands for living and training quarters and have them fulfilled. The men you would be training, though not quite as lithe and diminutive in physical quality as persons like ourselves, would none the less be fully unadulterated to the sport of fencing and would be free to succumb to your direction. If it may aid to persuade and appeal to you, I can assure you that your status as fellow Frenchman in this city would be well respected and honored. Please do not hesitate to respond with any inquiry which you may immediately have in mind. I can assure you that these men are in need of rigorous training and I would like to see it happen by the time the frost departs for the year.
Your obedient servant,
Frederic Allange.
(note; 7 Charles Heathcote ANGELO b. 27.10.1834 d. 22.7.1918)
HD-S-1180
"So have you made any plans for the founding anniversary yet?"
"This year? Nah. Well, nothing like last year at least. Last year was twenty. Twenty one's just one more. If anything I'll just be up at a few churches or something and maybe the hall to say a few words, I mean it's been a pretty good year overall so it wouldn't hurt to do it." After saying this, Daron's mind raced back to the farm. A generation ago was a blink. A generation ago, he would have been standing in the ocean where he now sat in his house.
"Fair enough. All these years and you still haven't quite acquired the taste for pageantry.' Frederic said this with a smiles as he came to realize that there were few if any residents yet in the town who would have had a flair for it.
"Oh, Freddy, one thing I wanted to make sure to discuss with you right away - it's about swords. Some folks I know are probably going to start using them pretty regularly. Are there any kind of books that you can think of about sword fighting? Like, real books, not stories."
"Daron, you amuse me. You realize that you're asking a French man if he knows anything about swordsmanship, do you not?"
"Yes, I do." Daron's response was flat and blunt and preceded a sigh. The words of condescension usually came several minutes into the conversation with Frederic, not immediately on the outset. He braced for the lecture. "Why does that mat-"
"Fencing is a deeply rooted sport within our culture, and has been for centuries. I do have to agree that the chivalry and sportsmanship behind fencing perfectly supplants our nature. There is an expansive amount of French literature on the subject, and I believe many books are supplied with illustrations which would facilitate the process of learning without the need for translation. In fact, in speaking of it now, I'm aware of a man who is a fine fencing instructor and hails from a storied lineage in respect of the art. His family and I lived in the same town years ago. Perhaps I can extend an offer to have him come here to instruct your pupils in the future. Hm. Would you be able to facilitate his living necessities for the duration as well as supply quarters for his living and training? It would be good to make the offer enticing."
"Uh yeah. That should be easy to do. How soon? Within a month?"
"Yes, at least. I'll be sending this home and demand a reply, and I would anticipate at least one more exchange before any kind of arrangement is settled. Come, let's go to your desk so that I may start writing this immediately."
The two men left from the front hosting room and proceeded to sit at the writing desk in a small room at the back of the house. Daron scratched a match to light a small candle at the top of the desk and set it alight to illuminate the area below. Frederic took up the feathered quill and spent fifteen minutes to carefully write the following:
Monsieur Charles Heathcote Angelo -
I entreat this letter to you as a fellow brother of our countrymen and as a former neighbor to you. Perhaps you may recall my parents as acquaintances. An opportunity has arisen from where I currently reside where there is a need to have a fencing instructor physically present, and I could not think of a person better suited to the task than yourself. This city is situated on the North American coast, but is independent of the surrounding country's domain. It is a newly developing city which has just recently added several square miles of open land which has yet to be tamed with structures of any kind. This means that it would be possible for you to freely state your demands for living and training quarters and have them fulfilled. The men you would be training, though not quite as lithe and diminutive in physical quality as persons like ourselves, would none the less be fully unadulterated to the sport of fencing and would be free to succumb to your direction. If it may aid to persuade and appeal to you, I can assure you that your status as fellow Frenchman in this city would be well respected and honored. Please do not hesitate to respond with any inquiry which you may immediately have in mind. I can assure you that these men are in need of rigorous training and I would like to see it happen by the time the frost departs for the year.
Your obedient servant,
Frederic Allange.
(note; 7 Charles Heathcote ANGELO b. 27.10.1834 d. 22.7.1918)
Sunday, September 15, 2013
19290112 01:43:32
19290112 01:43:32
IP & 16 N
"Just drop me off here, thanks. I can walk from here and be out of your way."
Pulaski caught Rebecca looking over to him in confusion as he turned to face Kedzie in the back seat. A portion of the lower half of his face was illuminated by the glow of a street lamp a few feet away from the front of the car, and his eyes stared back with resolution and without blinking. The store across the street was darkened and had surely long been closed. The sidewalk to the right of the car where Kedzie wanted to exit was devoid of people and sat meagerly in front of the giant fencing which wrapped around the jail.
"Here? Drop you off right here?" After asking this, he turned his head from one side to the other, looking to see if there was an honest reason that he would make the request.
"Yes."
"Are you always this vague?" Pulaski restrained a condescending scoff from coming out of his mouth before asking the question.
"No. You know I'm not, anyway. See you soon, then?" Kedzie reached a hand out to the front of the car and held it in mid air.
"Uh, sure, yeah. Yeah, see you soon kiddo. Enjoy your constitutional I guess." Pulaski took the hand and allowed it to be waved up and down in the air in three sharp motions.
"Good. Have a good night, Miss Rebbeca."
"Um OK, yeah. I'll do that." Rebecca didn't bother turning around to face him as she uttered the half-hearted response.
Kedzie took the bag of leftover food up from the adjacent empty car seat and swiftly guided his body out of the open door, then promptly snapped it shut with enough force to cause the car to gently rock on its wheels. He stood still on the sidewalk, with his body turned to the side of the cold wind gusts which whistled through the empty street, and didn't move until Pulaski started to pull the car away. As he walked back to the apartment, his memory returned to the restaurant owner who had insisted on him taking the food which he now held in the paper bag. The man's words had the tone of desired generosity but he saw a different emotion in his eyes and face - he saw some kind of trouble or fear in the countenance, as if making the gratuity had a dire consequence behind it. He wondered if there was a reason for that. After a few minutes of walking, he was near his apartment and stepped past the alleyway at the side of the building. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of whiteness streak quickly in the opposite direction; he turned to see a small cat conceal himself underneath a garbage dumpster who then turned and stared at Kedzie with eyes glowing under the shadow. Kedzie stood still and pulsed his fingers around the grip of the paper bag.
(revise: hotel / meetup place near I or J block; store at IP1600N)
(revise: encounter with cat nearby)
IP & 16 N
"Just drop me off here, thanks. I can walk from here and be out of your way."
Pulaski caught Rebecca looking over to him in confusion as he turned to face Kedzie in the back seat. A portion of the lower half of his face was illuminated by the glow of a street lamp a few feet away from the front of the car, and his eyes stared back with resolution and without blinking. The store across the street was darkened and had surely long been closed. The sidewalk to the right of the car where Kedzie wanted to exit was devoid of people and sat meagerly in front of the giant fencing which wrapped around the jail.
"Here? Drop you off right here?" After asking this, he turned his head from one side to the other, looking to see if there was an honest reason that he would make the request.
"Yes."
"Are you always this vague?" Pulaski restrained a condescending scoff from coming out of his mouth before asking the question.
"No. You know I'm not, anyway. See you soon, then?" Kedzie reached a hand out to the front of the car and held it in mid air.
"Uh, sure, yeah. Yeah, see you soon kiddo. Enjoy your constitutional I guess." Pulaski took the hand and allowed it to be waved up and down in the air in three sharp motions.
"Good. Have a good night, Miss Rebbeca."
"Um OK, yeah. I'll do that." Rebecca didn't bother turning around to face him as she uttered the half-hearted response.
Kedzie took the bag of leftover food up from the adjacent empty car seat and swiftly guided his body out of the open door, then promptly snapped it shut with enough force to cause the car to gently rock on its wheels. He stood still on the sidewalk, with his body turned to the side of the cold wind gusts which whistled through the empty street, and didn't move until Pulaski started to pull the car away. As he walked back to the apartment, his memory returned to the restaurant owner who had insisted on him taking the food which he now held in the paper bag. The man's words had the tone of desired generosity but he saw a different emotion in his eyes and face - he saw some kind of trouble or fear in the countenance, as if making the gratuity had a dire consequence behind it. He wondered if there was a reason for that. After a few minutes of walking, he was near his apartment and stepped past the alleyway at the side of the building. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of whiteness streak quickly in the opposite direction; he turned to see a small cat conceal himself underneath a garbage dumpster who then turned and stared at Kedzie with eyes glowing under the shadow. Kedzie stood still and pulsed his fingers around the grip of the paper bag.
(revise: hotel / meetup place near I or J block; store at IP1600N)
(revise: encounter with cat nearby)
Saturday, September 14, 2013
18581007 10:00:00
18581007 10:00:00
BA-S-9777
HSF #1.1015
The new furnace has been installed and is confirmed to be operational. A test molding of five gallons AGHG was completed without incident, and the die cast used for this test utilized no more than half of the furnace's maximum holding capacity. The assigned Artisan was introduced to us and attended the furnace initialization, and proceeded to conduct some engraving detailing on some of the molded items after they were cooled. At room temperature, he is able to engrave a line of six inches in length and one half inch in depth within fifteen minutes. The subsequent sharpening test was performed on 24 square inches (two one inch wide segments of one foot each) upon a segment of one half inch thickness, with each side sharpened at a 14 degree angle; the estimated completion time was thirty minutes. With current equipment, the manufacture of one standard military grade sword from AGHG could take at least two days, and the possibility of more ornate features would demand weeks of labor. Clients are advised to keep orders simplified and as basic as possible to ensure maximum expedience in production. On the subject of the Artisan being introduced to the ground, W1 suggests that further personnel additions should only be made with the full unanimous consent of all current residents. The provision of personal information to review beforehand would ensure proper evaluation and facility security. None of the members present stated any objection to this proposal.
HSF #1.1016
Request is here filed to have bladed weapons forged with AGHG material to properly form the handle into the user's hand and allow the rest of the material to form the hilt and blade. Tests will be conducted later today on the hypothesis that a sanguine deposit from the user would need to be applied to the second state of the object, with which the metal will use as an attraction and basis point when changing states. Previous state change tests were made with items that had no specifically set end point, so the necessity to test this hypothesis was not previously present. Observations made in previous tests indicate this hypothesis has potential to be confirmed, but caution will be stressed on the user to keep his hand ready to respond to the state change process in order to reduce the possibility of self injury. Tests will be conducted on the amount of deposit required to have the desired effect, as too little may not give a strong enough attraction basis for AGHG to perfom as desired, and too much of a deposit may delay the state transition process or allow for a greater chance of self injury due to greater surface exposure. Testing will also be done using gloves of various materials to see if direct contact with flesh will be required for desired functionality, though all present are assuming that such contact will prove to be necessary.
HSF #1.1017
Day 248 of long-term observation of AGHG exposure has still yielded no change in amount of material present.
BA-S-9777
HSF #1.1015
The new furnace has been installed and is confirmed to be operational. A test molding of five gallons AGHG was completed without incident, and the die cast used for this test utilized no more than half of the furnace's maximum holding capacity. The assigned Artisan was introduced to us and attended the furnace initialization, and proceeded to conduct some engraving detailing on some of the molded items after they were cooled. At room temperature, he is able to engrave a line of six inches in length and one half inch in depth within fifteen minutes. The subsequent sharpening test was performed on 24 square inches (two one inch wide segments of one foot each) upon a segment of one half inch thickness, with each side sharpened at a 14 degree angle; the estimated completion time was thirty minutes. With current equipment, the manufacture of one standard military grade sword from AGHG could take at least two days, and the possibility of more ornate features would demand weeks of labor. Clients are advised to keep orders simplified and as basic as possible to ensure maximum expedience in production. On the subject of the Artisan being introduced to the ground, W1 suggests that further personnel additions should only be made with the full unanimous consent of all current residents. The provision of personal information to review beforehand would ensure proper evaluation and facility security. None of the members present stated any objection to this proposal.
HSF #1.1016
Request is here filed to have bladed weapons forged with AGHG material to properly form the handle into the user's hand and allow the rest of the material to form the hilt and blade. Tests will be conducted later today on the hypothesis that a sanguine deposit from the user would need to be applied to the second state of the object, with which the metal will use as an attraction and basis point when changing states. Previous state change tests were made with items that had no specifically set end point, so the necessity to test this hypothesis was not previously present. Observations made in previous tests indicate this hypothesis has potential to be confirmed, but caution will be stressed on the user to keep his hand ready to respond to the state change process in order to reduce the possibility of self injury. Tests will be conducted on the amount of deposit required to have the desired effect, as too little may not give a strong enough attraction basis for AGHG to perfom as desired, and too much of a deposit may delay the state transition process or allow for a greater chance of self injury due to greater surface exposure. Testing will also be done using gloves of various materials to see if direct contact with flesh will be required for desired functionality, though all present are assuming that such contact will prove to be necessary.
HSF #1.1017
Day 248 of long-term observation of AGHG exposure has still yielded no change in amount of material present.
Friday, September 13, 2013
18581002 22:00:02
18581002 22:00:02
PL-N-0400
"Jesse! Get your God damned pansy ass out here!"
Cook looked up from the table through the window to see Eugene Dobson standing in the middle of the gravel road. His inebriation was strong enough to make the sway of his body visible from that distance and through the dark of the night. He nodded to Tazewell with a smirk and received a shrug in response. With a sigh, he pushed his feet against the ground to give clearance from the table and arose to leave from the saloon. As he stepped out, he reflexively ran his fingers over the links of the metal chain which was wrapped around his waist. A cursory glance around the area as he stood at the outer door gave him a chance to see that a small ring of spectators had formed in the road around Eugene, one of whom stood nearly a foot taller than the rest without considering the large hat that he wore. This was Eugene's friend, and he stood opposite from him at the edge of the ring.
"There you are! Cmere you snake!" Eugene curled his entire arm towards himself while making the taunt.
Cook casually walked over and kept his stare upon Eugene as the other spectators gradually turned their heads towards his approach. The men gradually parted a path for Cook to walk into as he drew near, and he soon stood still in front of Eugene's friend.
"Awright now, you wanna fight me? You wanna be a big man? Let's fight now, son - but without your toy of yours. Drop that whatever the fuck that was, and stand up to me with your fists like a god damned man!"
"What toy?"
"Oh, now you're afraid eh? Now you deny it? That's it on your waist now, ain't it? You're nothing but a pile of shit unless you fight me without that thing on you. Drop it or be a coward!" After saying this, Eugene looked over to his friend standing behind Cook and waited for the snatch to happen.
"This? This belt? It's no toy. It's a belt. You want it so bad, here." Cook knew to expect his friend to steal it away from him on the ground, so he resolved to drop it directly into his hands instead, and did so with a contrite nod. The friend bobbled the heavy chains in his hands but quickly collected the links into his arms and frantically dug his fingers around the chain and attached bracelet loop in an attempt to get it to activate. He pressed onto indentations and grooves but found nothing which responded to his touch. The metal links remained intact.
Cook turned his back to Eugene and walked backwards to make himself closer as they joined the spectators in watching the man fumble with the chains. Eugene's mouth hung open in astonishment. It was the same chain that he had seen yesterday, there was no mistaking it - it had the same sheen and structure and carried the same resonance as the metal links collided with each other. It was the same chain - but in his hands, it did nothing. Once he stood close enough, Cook balled his left hand into a fist, pivoted upon his back foot, and suddenly swung his entire body around to strike Eugene directly in the mouth. The strike split his lips apart and the sound of the punch and his reactionary muffled yell echoed from the darkened buildings nearby. Cook turned to face Eugene as he fell to one knee and felt the blood run over his hand that he held against his mouth. Cook spread his right leg back slowly and prepared his right fist for the next punch, then asked a question in a single word.
"Surprised?"
PL-N-0400
"Jesse! Get your God damned pansy ass out here!"
Cook looked up from the table through the window to see Eugene Dobson standing in the middle of the gravel road. His inebriation was strong enough to make the sway of his body visible from that distance and through the dark of the night. He nodded to Tazewell with a smirk and received a shrug in response. With a sigh, he pushed his feet against the ground to give clearance from the table and arose to leave from the saloon. As he stepped out, he reflexively ran his fingers over the links of the metal chain which was wrapped around his waist. A cursory glance around the area as he stood at the outer door gave him a chance to see that a small ring of spectators had formed in the road around Eugene, one of whom stood nearly a foot taller than the rest without considering the large hat that he wore. This was Eugene's friend, and he stood opposite from him at the edge of the ring.
"There you are! Cmere you snake!" Eugene curled his entire arm towards himself while making the taunt.
Cook casually walked over and kept his stare upon Eugene as the other spectators gradually turned their heads towards his approach. The men gradually parted a path for Cook to walk into as he drew near, and he soon stood still in front of Eugene's friend.
"Awright now, you wanna fight me? You wanna be a big man? Let's fight now, son - but without your toy of yours. Drop that whatever the fuck that was, and stand up to me with your fists like a god damned man!"
"What toy?"
"Oh, now you're afraid eh? Now you deny it? That's it on your waist now, ain't it? You're nothing but a pile of shit unless you fight me without that thing on you. Drop it or be a coward!" After saying this, Eugene looked over to his friend standing behind Cook and waited for the snatch to happen.
"This? This belt? It's no toy. It's a belt. You want it so bad, here." Cook knew to expect his friend to steal it away from him on the ground, so he resolved to drop it directly into his hands instead, and did so with a contrite nod. The friend bobbled the heavy chains in his hands but quickly collected the links into his arms and frantically dug his fingers around the chain and attached bracelet loop in an attempt to get it to activate. He pressed onto indentations and grooves but found nothing which responded to his touch. The metal links remained intact.
Cook turned his back to Eugene and walked backwards to make himself closer as they joined the spectators in watching the man fumble with the chains. Eugene's mouth hung open in astonishment. It was the same chain that he had seen yesterday, there was no mistaking it - it had the same sheen and structure and carried the same resonance as the metal links collided with each other. It was the same chain - but in his hands, it did nothing. Once he stood close enough, Cook balled his left hand into a fist, pivoted upon his back foot, and suddenly swung his entire body around to strike Eugene directly in the mouth. The strike split his lips apart and the sound of the punch and his reactionary muffled yell echoed from the darkened buildings nearby. Cook turned to face Eugene as he fell to one knee and felt the blood run over his hand that he held against his mouth. Cook spread his right leg back slowly and prepared his right fist for the next punch, then asked a question in a single word.
"Surprised?"
Thursday, September 12, 2013
19500310 03:17:28
19500310 03:17:28
XF-S-6616
Only after the two men threw his body stomach first upon the table and kept his arms pinned around the surface did the sack come off of his head. He looked around to see that he was in an unfinished basement of grey concrete and a single bare lightbulb shining somewhere over his head. A man sat in a chair across from him with a scowl on his face and plain carpenter overalls on his body. He was able to look down to see the floor beneath the table was covered in a plastic sheet. He started to struggle against the grip on his arms and tried to move his feet to give more leverage, but he soon felt another pair of hands pin his ankles against the table. He felt his body begin to tremble internally when Chene spoke out to him.
"Normally, this is where I'd say something about you having a choice here. But the truth is you don't. I'll tell Alicia that you wanted her to remarry. Buckle down, boys."
With that command, Chene slowly rose from his chair and stood while holding a drill. The bit at the end of it appeared to be of the kind that is used to bore holes in wood, only this was modified to have several of those bits layered into each other. Chene took a deep breath and steadied his grip on the drill as he pressed the button to spin the bit into action.
When he turned to face and approach the man, Johnathan Parilla felt ready to faint and a warm stream of urine collect in his pants. Before he lost consciousness, Chene thrust the drill bit into his head and let the metal tear away at his face. Johnathan's body convulsed with tremendous force in reaction.
"Sit on the asshole! Pin him the fuck down! Now!" Chene screamed the command while narrowing his eyes and turning his head to the side in instinctive repulsion. Blood from Johnathan's face poured onto the ground and splattered like falling rain upon the plastic. Chene stopped the victim's screaming by suddenly shifting the drill bit into his mouth and letting the metal uproot the teeth inside. A thrust down the throat caused the bit to eventually erode its way through his throat, which caused it to have some resistance when Chene pulled it away. With Johnathan now silenced, he took in a deep breath before letting out a scream as he proceeded to press the bit into each of his eye sockets, then shred away his nose and cheeks. The explosion of blood splattered in all directions and coated Chene's hands enough to make the drill nearly slip out of his fingers. He kept his scream growling out of his mouth with enough volume to echo throughout the basement and carry over the tool as he applied the final touches.
He let the drill fall from his fingers and stood still while heaving breath as it landed in the pool of blood soaked flesh. Chene turned to his side and remained stationary as he heaved breath in and out, in and out, taking the time to collect himself, taking time to let the rush cool down and for his body to stabilize. In and out. After a few minutes, he gave a single word command.
"Up."
With that, one of his men collected the drill as the rest of them proceeded upstairs in order to change clothes and acquire the cleaning supplies, the latter of which was only on hand in the case of errant stains left in their wake. The body would otherwise remain in its state.
The Six of Diamonds was down.
XF-S-6616
Only after the two men threw his body stomach first upon the table and kept his arms pinned around the surface did the sack come off of his head. He looked around to see that he was in an unfinished basement of grey concrete and a single bare lightbulb shining somewhere over his head. A man sat in a chair across from him with a scowl on his face and plain carpenter overalls on his body. He was able to look down to see the floor beneath the table was covered in a plastic sheet. He started to struggle against the grip on his arms and tried to move his feet to give more leverage, but he soon felt another pair of hands pin his ankles against the table. He felt his body begin to tremble internally when Chene spoke out to him.
"Normally, this is where I'd say something about you having a choice here. But the truth is you don't. I'll tell Alicia that you wanted her to remarry. Buckle down, boys."
With that command, Chene slowly rose from his chair and stood while holding a drill. The bit at the end of it appeared to be of the kind that is used to bore holes in wood, only this was modified to have several of those bits layered into each other. Chene took a deep breath and steadied his grip on the drill as he pressed the button to spin the bit into action.
When he turned to face and approach the man, Johnathan Parilla felt ready to faint and a warm stream of urine collect in his pants. Before he lost consciousness, Chene thrust the drill bit into his head and let the metal tear away at his face. Johnathan's body convulsed with tremendous force in reaction.
"Sit on the asshole! Pin him the fuck down! Now!" Chene screamed the command while narrowing his eyes and turning his head to the side in instinctive repulsion. Blood from Johnathan's face poured onto the ground and splattered like falling rain upon the plastic. Chene stopped the victim's screaming by suddenly shifting the drill bit into his mouth and letting the metal uproot the teeth inside. A thrust down the throat caused the bit to eventually erode its way through his throat, which caused it to have some resistance when Chene pulled it away. With Johnathan now silenced, he took in a deep breath before letting out a scream as he proceeded to press the bit into each of his eye sockets, then shred away his nose and cheeks. The explosion of blood splattered in all directions and coated Chene's hands enough to make the drill nearly slip out of his fingers. He kept his scream growling out of his mouth with enough volume to echo throughout the basement and carry over the tool as he applied the final touches.
He let the drill fall from his fingers and stood still while heaving breath as it landed in the pool of blood soaked flesh. Chene turned to his side and remained stationary as he heaved breath in and out, in and out, taking the time to collect himself, taking time to let the rush cool down and for his body to stabilize. In and out. After a few minutes, he gave a single word command.
"Up."
With that, one of his men collected the drill as the rest of them proceeded upstairs in order to change clothes and acquire the cleaning supplies, the latter of which was only on hand in the case of errant stains left in their wake. The body would otherwise remain in its state.
The Six of Diamonds was down.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
18360101 14:35:38
18360101 14:35:38
Jesse quickly walked out from the cabin room and made his way over to the side of the house to find the wooden buckets. He was about to turn the corner of the cabin when he realized that he didn't hear any footsteps behind him. He turned around and saw the children standing still in front of the closed door. They both stared at Jesse with an innocently brazen gaze, which was the extent of protest that they were able to make in consideration of their situation and limited vocabulary. With an impatient huff of a sigh through his nostrils, Jesse walked back and stood before the two younger children.
"OK, so, your name is Saul, right?" He asked this with a hand extended towards Saul as a means of pointing. The question wasn't answered with as much of a physical nod. "Right?" His second attempt in asking came quickly and was more forceful in voice.
"Yes."
"Yes, good, thank you Saul. Good to meet you. And you're Marian, yes?"
She instinctively turned her eyes to the ground and gently swayed her body from side to side.
"Yeah, she is Marian." Saul answered the question on her behalf.
"Nice to meet you, Marian." Jesse reached his hand out to touch her on the shoulder after giving the greeting, and upon the contact, her body snapped into a rigid stillness. She still refused to look up from the ground. With a small grimace, Jesse pulled his hand away.
"So right now, what we're gonna do is go out and find some berries to pick up, all right? So both of you can help me do this. Come with me to the side here and we can get some buckets and go to the bushes."
After saying this, Jesse resumed walking over to the side of the cabin, and Saul followed directly behind. Marian remained standing in place. When the boys reached the buckets, Jesse realized that she hasn't accompanied them, so he picked two buckets up after watching Saul pick up his own, then returned to the front of the house. He gently placed one of the buckets on the spot of the ground upon where it appeared that she continued to stare.
"Go ahead, it's not that heavy. We got to be quick before the sun goes down."
"No." Her voice of refusal was initially louder than Saul's speaking.
"Marian. We gotta do this so that we can eat. Please help us."
"No!" She yelled this loud enough to cause her voice to cast a small temporary echo in the surrounding trees.
Jesse looked over to Saul in irritation and with hope that he would intervene and give persuasion to his sister to help out. Instead, he stared mutely back at him, still unsure of how much to trust Jesse and without a full understanding as to why they were being asked to help him scrounge for berries at this point. He knew that his father was supposed to be waiting for him here, and he wasn't. He didn't understand why. The three stood prone for several seconds before Jesse picked the bucket he had placed on the group up again and held both in his hands.
"All right, fine. At supper tonight, I'm tellin your mama that you didn't help out none, and see what she thinks. Otherwise, the more you stand out here doin nothin, you just gonna get colder and colder. Trust me. C'mon, Saul, let's leave her be." Jesse turned and began to walk over to the bushes, kicking clumps of half melted snow out of his way as he walked. Saul looked over to Jesse walking away, then to his sister, and finally decided to meet up with Jesse and began to walk behind him, taking special care to match his footsteps laid in the snow when possible.
Marian stood silently at the door, and heard as much silence around her as the cold air began to settle more heavily into her body. She continued to wait for her mother to come to the door to call her back inside, and felt her body shiver more frequently as time passed without that intervention. It only took a few more minutes of standing in the cold to convince Marian to run after her brother.
Jesse quickly walked out from the cabin room and made his way over to the side of the house to find the wooden buckets. He was about to turn the corner of the cabin when he realized that he didn't hear any footsteps behind him. He turned around and saw the children standing still in front of the closed door. They both stared at Jesse with an innocently brazen gaze, which was the extent of protest that they were able to make in consideration of their situation and limited vocabulary. With an impatient huff of a sigh through his nostrils, Jesse walked back and stood before the two younger children.
"OK, so, your name is Saul, right?" He asked this with a hand extended towards Saul as a means of pointing. The question wasn't answered with as much of a physical nod. "Right?" His second attempt in asking came quickly and was more forceful in voice.
"Yes."
"Yes, good, thank you Saul. Good to meet you. And you're Marian, yes?"
She instinctively turned her eyes to the ground and gently swayed her body from side to side.
"Yeah, she is Marian." Saul answered the question on her behalf.
"Nice to meet you, Marian." Jesse reached his hand out to touch her on the shoulder after giving the greeting, and upon the contact, her body snapped into a rigid stillness. She still refused to look up from the ground. With a small grimace, Jesse pulled his hand away.
"So right now, what we're gonna do is go out and find some berries to pick up, all right? So both of you can help me do this. Come with me to the side here and we can get some buckets and go to the bushes."
After saying this, Jesse resumed walking over to the side of the cabin, and Saul followed directly behind. Marian remained standing in place. When the boys reached the buckets, Jesse realized that she hasn't accompanied them, so he picked two buckets up after watching Saul pick up his own, then returned to the front of the house. He gently placed one of the buckets on the spot of the ground upon where it appeared that she continued to stare.
"Go ahead, it's not that heavy. We got to be quick before the sun goes down."
"No." Her voice of refusal was initially louder than Saul's speaking.
"Marian. We gotta do this so that we can eat. Please help us."
"No!" She yelled this loud enough to cause her voice to cast a small temporary echo in the surrounding trees.
Jesse looked over to Saul in irritation and with hope that he would intervene and give persuasion to his sister to help out. Instead, he stared mutely back at him, still unsure of how much to trust Jesse and without a full understanding as to why they were being asked to help him scrounge for berries at this point. He knew that his father was supposed to be waiting for him here, and he wasn't. He didn't understand why. The three stood prone for several seconds before Jesse picked the bucket he had placed on the group up again and held both in his hands.
"All right, fine. At supper tonight, I'm tellin your mama that you didn't help out none, and see what she thinks. Otherwise, the more you stand out here doin nothin, you just gonna get colder and colder. Trust me. C'mon, Saul, let's leave her be." Jesse turned and began to walk over to the bushes, kicking clumps of half melted snow out of his way as he walked. Saul looked over to Jesse walking away, then to his sister, and finally decided to meet up with Jesse and began to walk behind him, taking special care to match his footsteps laid in the snow when possible.
Marian stood silently at the door, and heard as much silence around her as the cold air began to settle more heavily into her body. She continued to wait for her mother to come to the door to call her back inside, and felt her body shiver more frequently as time passed without that intervention. It only took a few more minutes of standing in the cold to convince Marian to run after her brother.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
HSF #82.0004
HSF Memorandum #82.0004
F2 reporting on progress made for the AQV Project.
Initial experiments confirm that a metallic compound coating on an organic flesh material will form a seal around an exposed wound if the material coating is subject to an electroplating process. We have amputated the tails and limbs of mice and summarily stop bleeding by coating the exposed injury with a silver alloy compound, then have the wound be fully sealed when the metal was submerged in a saline solution and subject to electric current. This prototype material is hereby titled AQVR1 and is available upon request, though it is advised to not use this material with humans.
Our current desired progress from here is to establish the following:
1) Create a material which is not metallic in base that acts as the binding agent upon the exposed wound.
2) Create a material which causes the electroplating reaction around the binding agent by means of static electricity found in the air and not rely on an introduced current.
3) Enable the materials to have the ability to react when in contact with each other without having the presence of a controlled area (i.e., have the reaction occur without the need to situate the reaction within a closed container).
N5 is in progress of researching Item (1), and has made indication that a solution of hydrogen peroxide would give the necessary property of having a chemical reaction directly to an exposed wound and serve as a point of identification upon which the binding agent would act.
S7 is in progress of researching Item (2), and is looking into how to make a liquid form of a metallic material such as carbon or gold which would allow the least electrical resistance and give the best potential to conduct airborne static electricity.
Concern is also noted of having metallic materials make contact with open wounds and serve as a vector for blood poisoning by having the body absorb the metals directly.
F2 reporting on progress made for the AQV Project.
Initial experiments confirm that a metallic compound coating on an organic flesh material will form a seal around an exposed wound if the material coating is subject to an electroplating process. We have amputated the tails and limbs of mice and summarily stop bleeding by coating the exposed injury with a silver alloy compound, then have the wound be fully sealed when the metal was submerged in a saline solution and subject to electric current. This prototype material is hereby titled AQVR1 and is available upon request, though it is advised to not use this material with humans.
Our current desired progress from here is to establish the following:
1) Create a material which is not metallic in base that acts as the binding agent upon the exposed wound.
2) Create a material which causes the electroplating reaction around the binding agent by means of static electricity found in the air and not rely on an introduced current.
3) Enable the materials to have the ability to react when in contact with each other without having the presence of a controlled area (i.e., have the reaction occur without the need to situate the reaction within a closed container).
N5 is in progress of researching Item (1), and has made indication that a solution of hydrogen peroxide would give the necessary property of having a chemical reaction directly to an exposed wound and serve as a point of identification upon which the binding agent would act.
S7 is in progress of researching Item (2), and is looking into how to make a liquid form of a metallic material such as carbon or gold which would allow the least electrical resistance and give the best potential to conduct airborne static electricity.
Concern is also noted of having metallic materials make contact with open wounds and serve as a vector for blood poisoning by having the body absorb the metals directly.
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