#also mentioning

[jackmkelly]

i actually do really like when ppl act newsies on stage killed cowboy jack bc literally less than 5 minutes into the show he says the kind of horse he wants. cmon. i dont think ur average newsboy can name u different kinds of horses.

[vibinwiththefruits]

me when i find out the unreliable narrator is narrating unreliably:

[raitrolling]

No more worlds like this, no more days like that

[Easy reading version on Toyhou.se]

Katrin woke from her ‘nap’ on the couch, one that she thinks was just meant to be a twenty minute thing that turned into sleeping through the entire day. She never intended to make the couch her typical sleeping location when she had a perfectly fine recuperacoon in her respiteblock, but she always just… Ended up staying here. It was her nightly routine by now; leave her hive for either a night working at Barsho’s boutique or wandering around the city with a vague aim to do some pickpocketing, try to sneak her way into a bar, get caught, then go home to finish off whatever drinks that still happened to be lying around. It was genuinely not a way to live, she knew that very well. But, she just felt… Stuck. Certainly getting through each night fine and meeting the minimum requirements for socialising before people started openly worrying about her, but not making any sort of progress. A monotonous loop of drunkenness and misery.

She wasn’t rostered on to work tonight, and she didn’t feel the motivation to leave the hive. The drive to write had been gone for a long time, the tales of Rirsan Katish had become too unbelievably over-the-top in her desperate attempts for escapism that the life of her self-insert character was no longer appealing. There wasn’t much left for her to do, aside from locate the remote and an unopened alcoholic beverage...

However, as she moved to sit up, Katrin caught a glimpse of something she had forgotten that she still owned: An old keyboard propped up against the wall. 

It was a gift from her kismesis, although Katrin couldn’t recall exactly which 12th Perigees it was. Of course Klavir would buy her something related to his own hobbies, it was his way of sharing a part of himself with his quadrant. Katrin had given him some books she’d stolen in return, her way of telling him to get better hobbies than playing piano and being depressed. He retorted that it was better than her hobby of drinking and being depressed, to which she couldn’t argue with. He was right, as much as she hated to admit it. 

She recalled a conversation she had with her neighbour one night. Soroll had invited her over to listen to the latest song he had been practicing on his drum set - which was a homemade mishmash of discarded rubbish bins and some actual drums he had scavenged from the local garbage dump. It sounded horrible, as expected, but whenever he hit the bass drum and crash cymbal (which accounted for half of the proper equipment he owned), she could recognise the alt-rock song he was trying to play. She had asked him why he likes to play, despite not being able to play properly and gain any sort of recognition or money from it. He shrugged. 

“I dunno. Its jus fun.”

He was probably right about that too. Soroll and Klavir spoke of playing music as just something you do whenever you feel troubled. Klavir was never away from the piano for too long, it was equally his career and his down time, and he’d mentioned the therapeutic undercurrent behind each note and key change. The same could be said about Soroll; Katrin didn’t know much about his “job” in the gang as he didn’t like to talk about it, but late into the night after he’d gotten home from whatever he did, she could sometimes hear him practicing his drumming.

Perhaps there is something about hitting things in a non-destructive way that can be beneficial. It’d be healthier than opening another bottle of cheap wine, and safer than breaking into someone’s hive, at the very least. Katrin lazily rolled off the couch, getting to her feet and then wandering over to the keyboard.

Eichio had gifted her a couple books for learning the keyboard after he noticed it when he came over one time: A few simple sheet music collections for beginners that allows one to play classic tunes with just one octave, and one slightly more advanced one to play some famous pop songs. If she put her mind to it, she could probably play the latter ones with ease. Klavir had given her countless lessons, but over time had given up trying to teach her when she either became too discouraged from not being able to keep up with him, or their lessons would devolve into some sort of black-fuelled flirting session. Needless to say, whenever Katrin attempted to recall the times she did play decently, her mind would wander to the way she would slip under Klavir’s arms while he was performing to sit on his lap in an attempt to distract him from his music, only to get flustered herself when he would grab her wrists and guide her to play for him. He was much too good at turning the tables on her.

… Right, the books. Katrin picked up the keyboard and one of the simple sheet music collections, using the weight of the instrument to push numerous empty cans and clutter off the coffee table for it to rest on top. She never bothered to buy a proper stand for it, nor a chair to sit on. Pulling the couch cushions off onto the floor and stacking them on top of one another will have to suffice. It’s not like there’s any foot pedals to worry about. Without any room under the coffee table for her legs, Katrin opted to kneel on the cushions as she flicks through the pages of the piano book. 

She settles on one short song: My Favourite Things. The sheet music only covers two pages and three verses of the song, and the keys don’t go beyond the centre of the keyboard. The book is propped up on the music stand attached to the keyboard. Katrin rests her hands on the keys, right thumb on middle C as she remembers Klavir teaching her, and plays.

E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E

Rain - drops on | rose - es and | whis - kers on | kit - tens

E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E

Bright cop - per | ket - tles and | warm woo - len | mit - tens

E - B - A | E - F - D | D - A - G | C

Brown pa - per | pack - a - ges | tied up with | strings

B - C - D | E - F - G | A - B - A | D#

These are a | few of my | fav - our - ite | things

She plays slow the first time, trying to get a feel for the keys again. There’s no metronome to keep time, but she’s heard the original song enough for her to recall how it should sound. This melody is simple, there’s only one sharp for her to keep track of and only one note is played at a time. There’s a small sense of accomplishment when she completes the first verse without any mistakes, such a thing doesn’t happen often to her. If she hadn’t sat through those lessons with Klavir and was trying solely on her own, she probably would have given up immediately when things didn’t go perfectly. But she at least knows something, and not some fantastic idea straight from her imagination that she could immediately discover that she’s a prodigy who will make millions performing for others. She should probably give her kismesis credit, if it wasn’t for him she wouldn’t be here right now. She begins the second verse.

E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E

Cream co - loured | pon - ies and | crisp ap - ple | stru - dels

E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E

Door - bells and | sleigh - bells and | schitz - el with | noo - dles

E - B - A | E - F - D | D - A - G | C

Wild geese that | fly with the | moon on their | wings

B - C - D | E - F - G | A - B - A | D#

These are a | few of my | fav - our - ite | things

The pace picks up, and rather than singing the lyrics listed in the book, Katrin finds it easier to repeat the name of the note as she plays it. Nothing any of her friends could teach her - Soroll and Eichio don’t know how to read sheet music, and Klavir is such a natural he struggled to dumb anything down to her level. It was her own way of playing, and a way that felt right to her. 

E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E

Girls in white | dress - es with | sat - in white | sa - shes

E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E

Snow - flakes that | stay on my | nose and eye - | las - shes

E - B - A | E - F - D | D - A - G | C

Sil - ver white | win - ters that | melt in - to | spring

B - C - D | E - F - G | A - B - A | D#

These are a | few of my | fav - our - ite | things

If the book of sheet music continued to the next verse, Katrin would have kept playing. It felt good to play, to make the instrument make sounds that were pleasing to the ear, even if they were much simpler to the music other people would make. It even felt a little fun, for reasons she nor her neighbour could elaborate when she first posed that question to him all that time ago. She thinks she understands it now, and plays the song over from the beginning. Her pace continues to quicken, until finally reaching the tempo of which the song is meant to be played. When she vocalises the notes, it stops being a mnemonic tool and turns into an accompanying harmony. E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E. E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E. E - B - A | E - F - D | D - A - G | C. B - C - D | E - F - G | A - B - A | D. 

Again and again she plays, until if anyone could hear the song from outside of her hive they would undoubtedly be sick of it. She could flip the page and try a different song, but something about this one just feels right. There’s a calming rhythm to the repetition of the notes, and a sense of progress as she scales the keys in the final line of each verse. Progression. Another thing that doesn’t happen often to her, but here it feels doable. Maybe tomorrow she’ll try another song in the book, and maybe she’ll keep going until she feels ready to try the more difficult piano book later on. For now, she’s content - perhaps another emotion that feels foreign to her - to play whatever she feels like because to feel something at all is an improvement to her current lifestyle. And unlike everything else, she has no reason to play, there’s no monetary gain from playing alone in her lounge room, no reason to impress anyone, no skills that can be carried on into any career or useful activity. It’s just fun.

[naomisveil-blog]

You know what? I’m not even surprised that Endless Summer will only have 3 books. They did the same with The Crown and The Flame, which according to me was the best story released by Choices (even before ES, which is a close second). I just find it really sad because - I don’t know about you but - I’m playing this game to live ADVENTURES through the MC’s eyes; to ride DRAGONS, conquer KINGDOMS, TIME TRAVEL and fight EVIL SPIRITS, not to be a plain copy of the goody two shoes I am irl, and having to feel bad for fictional friends just because their parents almost divorced or because they can’t even sort out on their own how to break up with their boyfriend. Besides why continue books which once were really good but aren’t anymore with meaningless drama and redeption arcs for the worst caracters, when you can continue amazing stories that have so much potential to be exploited on a long term basis, and that actually make you feel something? I just don’t understand.

[nichtschaden]

Old scars and fresh wounds

Another sleepless night, like the rest. Though, even half-numb with exhaustion, the Medic could sense he was being watched. What he didn’t expect was a familiar voice speaking his mother tongue. 

      “We should talk.” 

Fritz’s jaw set, pale blue eyes turned murderously cold as he realized who it was that stood behind him.

      “Unless you are currently dying, I suggest you leave.”

      “So you would care if I died?”

      “I’m just doing my job.” 

      “You aren’t even on duty tonight.”

      “Is there a point to this conversation!?”

The Medic’s fist had slammed down on the first emphasis, pale face turning to meet the other’s gaze for the first time. The Sniper looked older, almost. Her own face lined beyond its years. That same brown hair she cared nothing for, tied back except for the shorter strands that fell on either side of hazel eyes. Same burn creeping around either side of her neck, despite the high collar. 

      “It’s been a year, Fritz. We need to talk.”

      “There’s nothing to talk about, Dani.” 

The Sniper opened her mouth to reply when Al suddenly burst into the Medbay, barking happily and all but throwing himself against Bernadette, much to her delight and his dismay. 

      “I missed you, too, look how big you are! Keeping our surly friend safe-”

      “You are not my friend.”

Dani huffed, turning an annoyed glance back at the Medic.

      “We’re having a moment, do you mind?” 

      “I do, actually.” 

Another sigh, and she ran her hand through the German Shepherd’s hair once more before straightening.

     “You’re angry. I understand.”

      “DO YOU?” 

Fritz was only more incensed by the fact she didn’t seem bothered in the slightest as he drew to his full height and towered over her. Not much frightened this woman, he knew. But for once, he wished he could. Even for a moment.

She only regarded him calmly. If not sadly.

      “I do. Tell me, Fritz, do you remember Mannworks?”

The Medic’s brow drew in confusion, faltering a bit.

      “Who could forget, it was hell.”

      “How long were you there?”

      “Four months.”

      “I was there for two years.” 

Pale blue irises widened, taking in her hardened, yet patient expression.

      “How did you manage?”

      “I didn’t. And not because we spent every minute of every day vastly outnumbered. Not because I had to watch JR, the last fucking friend I had, board a train and never be seen again. I couldn’t manage, because it. Never. Changed.” 

The Medic was silent a moment, watching the storm clouds roll behind her eyes.

      “My father trained me, from first moment I remember, how to fight. How to deceive. How to blend in, how to survive no matter what materials you have to work with. You knew I had a ledger before I joined the war. You knew the kind of contracts I took, the people I killed. Imagine those skills, and that knowledge, stagnating in a trench war against enemies that couldn’t give half a damn what you’re capable of. You remember it, the endless wave of metal and screeching. You gun one down, ten more take its place without question. Four months, and you shudder. That was my own personal hell, for two fucking years. So, you better believe, when I was offered a job that would get me out of there, I fucking took it.”

Fritz’s face hardened once more, twisting into an angry, bitter mask.

      “You took a job in the same office that crippled me. That sent a man, disguised as a man I trusted, to carve out my respawn chip. All because you didn’t have the sense to run from that base and never look back.”

      “I took a job in the Administrator’s office because staying there would have driven me mad, and running away was a bridge I would never unburn. There were still people here I cared about. And, believe it or not, you were one of them.”

      “Oh don’t you fucking pretend you did this for me-”

      “I didn’t do this for you, if you could take your own misery out of the equation for five god damn minutes. I did it for a lot of people. If I had run, I wouldn’t have been able to keep an eye on the people I cared about. In her office, I could keep what happened to you from happening to others. What if the Administrator had decided Gun and Emmerich had something to hide? What if she thought Jasha should be punished for caring about people on the BLU team? What if she decided that Scout, Geoff, deserved far worse than internment at Coldfront? Hell, what if she had decided the Haswells were a problem, and she really only needed one? Who do you think helped put out some of those fires?”

The Medic’s hands rose to his face, heels digging into his eyes and teeth bared in frustration.

       “SO YOU DECIDED YOU’D DRESS UP LIKE PAULING?! TRAPPING PEOPLE IN THIS GOD-FORSAKEN WAR?! HAVING THEM SIGN THEIR LIVES AWAY WITH THE PROMISE OF AMNESTY AND MONEY?!”

The Sniper was momentarily stunned, mouth dropped in genuine shock, and some twisted form of relief.

      “After all this time, is that what you thought I was doing? Selling the American dream? Flouncing around with her PR panel from hell? Fritz, does that even sound like me?”

The Medic stuttered, trying to get that anger back, but it was weakening under the weight of Dani’s incredulous logic. She ran a hand through her hair and held it there, trying to comprehend how utterly wrong he had been.

      “Then... then what did you do for that witch?”

      “I did what I do best. I killed people.”

      “Innocent people?”

      “No.”

He simply fell silent, coming down from that angered high as he waited for her to explain. Dani finally released her hair and straightened.

      “Believe it or not, contracts do end. And I’m sure it’s shocking to hear not everyone goes home happy, sane, and well-adjusted. Sometimes, we get reports. Missing person. Mutilated remains. It’s my job to investigate why ten people in a six-mile radius around a former RED’s house disappeared, all of whom were last seen wearing blue.”

 Pale irises slid shut.

     “You kill the ones that can’t come back from the war.”

      “I asses the situation. We’ve been wrong before. But, if civilians are dead, it’s my job to handle it before the police get involved. Destroy what files or equipment might tie them to the company. I tip off the police when its done, try to give the families some closure.”

      “Her call, or yours?”

      “Mine. She doesn’t care, as long as the merc’s ties to the company are severed.”

      “Well aren’t you the little humanitarian.”

      “We both kill people for money, let’s not forget.”

Fritz groaned, scrubbing both hands down his face before letting them fall with defeat. 

      “... How is Marcel?”

It was Dani’s turn to sigh, and she leaned back against Abel’s desk as she contemplated the answer.

      “I don’t know. He fades in and out. Like a ghost. Or a memory.”

The Medic frowned, trying to catch her eyes.

      “He’s alive, though?”

      “He is, as far as I know. He went off to see the world, to try and find himself. Every once in a while I get a postcard. A brief phone call. His contract ended, and apart from me, he hasn’t looked back... then again, he never was the best Spy.” 

Fritz couldn’t help but smirk. Marcel had been somewhat inept as a Spy. He could be terrifying when motivated, but otherwise he was the kind of Spy that would announce his cloaked presence by walking into a wall.

      “... I’m sorry I wasn’t there... with what happened to Ritter-”

      “Don’t.”

The Medic’s voice wasn’t angry, but firm.

      “It happened, it’s done. I’ve moved on.”

      “Have you? Another foxy grandpa?”

      “Stop,” Fritz tried to hide his amusement behind a scowl and failed. “I’m not with anyone, I just... moved on.” 

Dani smiled genuinely, though her devious mind was already going to work.

      “There’s plenty of foxy grandpas to go around. Or maybe a different class this time? How about a Sniper, we’re good with our hands, we contort into fucked up places to get the perfect shot, some walk around with inches upon inches of hard, deadly steel-”

The Sniper held up her hands with a laugh as a box of gauze was launched at her face.

      “You can fade back into obscurity any time now.”

      “I think I’ll stay. Someone needs to help keep your grumpy ass in line.”

They fell silent for a moment. The Medic looked conflicted, uncertainty flickering behind pale blue irises. She wasn’t completely forgiven, but... enough. Forgiven enough for now. He held out his arms and she tugged him close, rubbing his back as he buried his face in her shoulder.

      “Fritz, when’s the last time you slept?” His shoulder shifted against her face as he shrugged.

      “I don’t remember.”

      “That’s what I thought. Come on.” 

For once, the Medic didn’t fight. The Sniper tugged him by the arm, leading him out of the Medbay and back to his own room. Within minutes, the Sniper was quietly locking and closing the door, a faint crack of light fading over Fritz’s prone form, sound asleep at last.

[theloliparasprite]

When I come off anon I do seriously mean talk to me whenever, it will never be annoying okay ? -S.S.

Thank you~☆ I’ll try to remember and send that nagging thought away and click the send button!! Lemme hug you~ (>・ω・)>

Ahaha, you and thankwikipedia are making me tear up, being so kind and nice to me even when I’m whining (´; ω ;`)ノ～ ♡