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Season 5 “Exotic Pets”
Episode 1 “The Night's Weave”
In any other professional setting, doing what he was currently doing would be considered highly unprofessional. In fact, even in any other precinct what he was doing right now would be very unprofessional. Usually, walking through the front door with your boss clinging to your arm like a swooning teenager would generally be interpreted only one way.
Thankfully, nobody specifically cared about this in this precinct, nor did they come to the obvious conclusion “Thank you, I’ll finish recovering in the break room” she says, with a trembling voice.
“You sure you don’t want me there?” admittedly, playing this role wasn’t really professional either for him but everyone understood the need of it.
“Yes” Keya lets go of Santos’ arm “I’ll just do the thing and drink something cold, then I can start this waking properly” she gently taps her tail on his shoulder “Now go get to work”
He sighs as he walks back to his desk. They had a wonderful two days with nothing happening after the short little session of everything happening, it was unsurprising that she’d start processing things through her nightmares now, leading those being screaming days. “‘least it isn’t the cold bastard yet” he mutters as he sits down.
And so here he planned to spend the rest of his work day getting mighty annoyed at their Regional Firebase. That damned place was in charge of both the fiscal, maitenance and archivistic functions for all the precincts in this area, not only they held the pursestrings of the operation they were also the ones in charge of maintaining equipment, assigning personnel and keeping all the information they needed to work up to date. And they seemed to hate him. Him, specifically, because the problems only started happening when he got here.
Of course he wasn’t just getting annoyed at the Regional for no reason, he was getting annoyed at them for their sheer incompetence, and he hoped it was incompetence, at keeping up data. He’d been hunting down any information about some old unsolved cases, and he’d been getting more luck with random phone calls to other precincts halfway across the planet than an official request to his own Regional.
Sadly, not every plan survives contact with the work day. After some time he feels a presence nearby and turns to look, there is Keya looking mostly like her normal self, except perhaps more tired than normal. She brings her holopad down to put it against his, transferring mission data “Nothing serious, or at least nothing dangerous. But we really should take this call”
He looks down at his device and calls up the mission data he’s just received. Predator sighting near… Orran’s house? Bit too close for comfort, real sightings are usually at the farms, but scarcely any information. Just something small and quadrupedal is the useful information, the rest is just usual ‘predator’ panic speech. “This looks like a ghost call, but sure I’ll go” he stands up and starts heading towards the garage, but stops and turns around “Stay here boss, no need to-”
“Yes there is, don’t worry about me” Keya takes a deep breath “I’m not at full capacity but i’m fine, let’s go” she walks past him.
With a shrug, he follows. As they settle in the car and Keya starts driving, he picks up his holopad to re-read the mission data. Nothing, obviously, has changed but he gives it more attention now. Small quadruped, fast, like a shadow… If there were any other humans here he’d believe it was someone’s pet cat, but without anyone dumb enough to bring an exotic animal to an alien planet in sight that’s unlikely. Sadly, none of the usual trash-diggers quite match either.
But there’s one final detail that’s weird. This… Isn’t the first call. There’s been a lot more calls related to this one, an entire fifty eight different calls all tied to this same incident report. He starts following links to the previous calls and checking them- All of them are the same incident, small quadruped, fast and like a shadow… And they were all marked as minimal priority, and left forgotten and unattended.
With a raised eyebrow he continues to check, seeing the dates of the reports. They were insistent, and have been going on for a while now. They’re not older than his presence here, but aside from them having stopped completely for the previous five days, those calls have been a daily occurrence. And each and every one of them was set to minimum priority by Keya herself, and promptly forgotten. Which indicated there had to be something going on here, because she’d never leave a call forgotten like this, at least not when she woke up screaming.
“Boss-” but before he can say anything, they’ve arrived. A considerably different house than the rest of the residences of the town, Orran had been living here long enough to have completely rebuilt his house in the style of his people, or at least the exterior and a few additions. It was weirdly tall for his size despite being only one floor, the exterior was coated with a material that looked like an earthen-brown daub but the evenness of the striations in the material showed an artistic care in its application beyond the means of manual work. The windows were higher in the walls than in a normal venlil residence and they seemed to have multiple layers, both glass and wood were used in their construction with the final layer being some form of metal.
“Huhn, I wonder if the weather on his homeworld is that wild?” he says, staring at the windows. He’s familiar with that kind of design, it could easily be used to control airflow to various degrees and help regulate temperature. But this entire getup seemed like overkill to him, unless wherever this was used had the breadth of half of Earth’s weather happening in the same area.
“Only about where I lived” Orran’s voice echoes from behind the door, which consists of a mesh door behind a wooden door. The yotul opens them and offers him an ear flick “Nightmare weather that place, used to have a flood gate in the house too. Only good thing the feds to that town was deepening the river to handle the summer floodwaters”
Santos blinks, looks at the agriculturalist, looks back at the car where Keya still is, then back at the yotul “Dang, have I been just staring here for long? I got kind of distracted, haven’t ever actually stopped by to watch your house before”
“Oh, feel free to take it in. Took some effort to get the wattle and daub look just right, not really helping the primitive stereotype much” he says with a joyful wave of his tail “But what can I say, I’m wild nations, feds ain’t the first to call me primitive and i’m still proud of it. Still, to what do I owe the honor?”
He tilts his head to the side slightly, taking in the man’s words for a moment. They made a distressing amount of sense, guess the Yotul would still remember those parts of their own history. But he was here for a job “Yeah, we got a sighting report around here” he picks up his holopad and brings it up “In fact a report in your residence. Do you mind if I look around real quick?”
He notices Orran’s tail stilling “Hrm? I can say I haven’t seen anything, and I live here”
Taking a deep breath Santos stares at the yotul, he knows the flinch isn’t an instinctive reaction “Orran. A few paws ago you didn’t notice the nixa’s claw marks in your kitchen. And this call came in today” then he turns his stare to the side with a sigh “I just want to make sure there’s nothing, alright?”
He can see in his periphery the man going through a wild set of conflicting emotions, only to settle into a defeated expression “Alright… Just, I was uhn… Canning some food. Can you at least spare my dignity somewhat and let me clean up?”
“Sure man, it’s not urgent” he shrugs. As Orran heads back inside he looks back at the car, where Keya is still sitting. Then he looks back at Orran’s door. Something isn’t adding up, and that something is his boss’ behavior.
There is some noise from inside for a while until Orran returns “Alright, got my machinery packed, c’mon in” he mentions before waving him in.
There’s a certain aesthetic clash heading inside, it’s visible that Orran had put in effort into adding in the colors and signs of his people into a venlil residence, but the apparent lack of capacity (or funds) to really change the foundations of it meant a lot of the structure was still that of a normal venlil home.
Still, the walls had been decorated to look like they’re made of wooden planks on the inside with the actual materials only visible near things such as power sockets. The living room itself was decorated in a lightly distressing manner with effectively a circle of couches on slightly raised platforms around a central table, the television has been set up on it with a pivoting base. It looked like someone had repurposed a firepit, or rather the entire setup was designed to evoke the look of a firepit.
There was what looked like, initially, a cloth hanger near the door, but on second look what it really held was a very long string of beads- The way they were strung around it made him imagine Orran wearing those very much like a scarf which also bound around his wrists.
On the wall in the far end was something that looked like a banner, though it was best described as an unframed painting with a tougher canvas. It depicted a distant view of a town in some sandy plateau, the center of the picture was bright and colorful and clearly in the morning but at the sides one could see two long-tailed animals making their way to the center where the town resides, behind them the image was dark and stars could be seen in the sky. The way the nighttime emanated from the creatures it seemed more like they were dragging the curtains of night with their tails. Shaking his head, Santos forces himself to stop ogling Orran’s things and starts looking around.
He wasn’t, sincerely, being serious about this. But not only was this whole song and dance a necessity, but his earlier words WERE true. Just had to check for obvious signs of dangerous things. So a quick cursory glance under the couches, a short moment in the kitchen whose fridge’s scratches still weren’t repaired- Santos stops for a second more staring at the scratch marks on the fridge. He looks at Orran who’s following him, who looks confused. No, this man was not that stupid, he trusted him enough.
Still, that meant he’d have to pay more attention now. Respectfully, without actually touching anything, he continues a visual inspection towards the other side of the house. A short corridor with the doors to the bedroom and bathroom. He passes by the bedroom and stops in front of the closed bathroom door. He sighs and kneels down in front of it.
“What is it?” Orran says behind him
What is it, is that he had heard something “Just… Let me check…” he gently taps the door. And he hears the noise again, light scratching. It stops for a moment, and then he taps the door again, causing them to start for a moment again. He looks back to the frozen yotul, who was apparently actually that stupid “Set ‘em loose if you would?”
Orran doesn’t respond, he just stays there “Look, man. At the very least trust in the fact I’m a human? Not a fan of using my species as a bargaining tool but I think it’s actually relevant here?” Santos stands up again and starts heading to the living room.
He waits patiently for a while, until Orran finally arrives. A small little beast threads through his feet as he walks, not unlike a cat that is doing their best to get kicked, it is indeed a small quadruped with great agility, not only that it has a distinctive striped dark blue coat that is so deep it could be mistaken for black as well as a tail about as long as it’s torso. It’s not a beast Santos recognizes, other than from the painting in the wall, so at least he can’t blame his own kind for this problem. He looks up and sees Orran has another one in his arms, this one looking much more calm and gentle.
Santos rubs his eyes “Really, Orran? You, of all people” he sighs “Come on, not to be racist here but I’d expect a yotul, no, a yotul ecologist to know better.” he waves at the man’s beasts “Did you really bring exotic pets to another planet?! No, not another country, another planet?” he sighs “What even are those?”
“Nightweaver hensa” says a soft voice from behind him, he turns around to see that Keya had finally arrived “An endangered species native to Leirn, called like that after a legend that they were the ones who’d drag the veil of night over the scorching sun” she sounds mostly like herself, but he can feel a flatness creeping up in her delivery.
Santos stares at her for a moment, looks back at Orran with a piercing stare, then slowly lowers his eyes to the hensa he’s carrying “Endangered animals? Are you-” but a light sound draws his attention back to Keya. She simply taps a place in her chest, the motion confuses him for a moment until he looks down at himself. Where she tapped is exactly where the insignia of the exterminator’s guild is in his uniform. He starts exhaling air slowly as he sits down on a couch “Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me.”
He looks at Orran protectively holding his pet, looking terrified. The first time he’s seen the man look afraid. He looks down, and notices one of the two hensa had walked up to him. He notices in his periphery Orran flinches when he offers his hand for the feline-like to sniff “Plausible deniability” he says.
When nobody else says anything, he continues “I thought it was weird she made me get inside on my own before her. I am, of course, human. Some things are expected out of us, I’m sure a big fuss is expected out of me over a pet” when the alien feline seems confident enough, it gives his finger a gentle nip and puts its entire head on his hand “So just in case we don’t have any protocol about how to deal with this situation, she can pretend whatever happens is because of me”
He gently caresses the little beast “I thought it was weird you had personally deprioritized fifty eight calls” the tone is not quite accusatory
“He quite clearly had them under control, there was no need to do anything about it” Keya says as if it was the most normal thing
“Why now?”
Keya gently sways her tail “I got tired of it. After the last few paws I don’t think I have the energy to deal with this anymore” it made sense, he knew she had a limit to her emotional energy.
Orran slowly tilts his head to look at Keya “Wait… You’ve known about them?”
She gives him an affirmative ear flick “I even know they’re Nightweavers. They were already an endangered breed before your first contact, for all I know they’re the last two living Nightweavers”
At that, Santos focuses on the one that Orran is holding… Something about it… It’s a she “A breeding pair” this causes the yotul to snap his focus on him “You brought a breeding pair. It would be bad enough if they were just pets, maybe they’d be neutered and the worst damage they’d do would be for however long those fluffball live, but you’re looking at increasing the population”
He sighs “Orran… You know this will cause a disaster, don’t you? Do I need to tell you about the extinction level events that were every goddamn invasive species on Earth? Do I need to tell you the number of species gone extinct because of our cats?” he takes a deep breath “Actually, no, I don’t think I need to. You don’t actually care, do you?” he continues to gently caress the overly-affectionate little feline that at this point had jumped on his lap and burrowed itself under his shirt “Not only you don’t care… Any collateral you cause is probably just rightful vengeance for you is it?”
“It’s not like that!” the yotul shouts “I… I was breeder back home, okay? I wasn’t a farmer, I was a hensa breeder” he thumps his tail on the ground in anger “You weren’t there… You weren’t there to watch what they did to my… When I had a chance to run away and… And save some of them. I just grabbed who I could and just ran.” he holds the pregnant female a little bit tighter “I wasn’t planning on… Anything. I wasn’t planning, I wasn’t thinking… I… I wound up here, eventually…”
Santos brings down his other hand to scratch the little alien kitten. He takes a moment to just take in the little beast, whatever ecological niche it filled had to be infinitely similar to that of cats to be so similar yet so different. The tail movements were so different, a lot more energetic, a lot more in general, made sense since their owners had tails too, they probably could read each other much better. And it seemed to enjoy getting squished for some reason, he wondered why. He had all of those wonders and thoughts while he tried to not think about what he’d have to do.
Those hensa couldn’t stay here. Maybe, a very wild maybe, if they were neutered they could. But those were pretty much for breeding and of a particularly endangered kind as well, so that was out of the picture. Of course, those two space felines would also need to be cared for, they were an endangered species so that was non-negotiable. The UN had some measures for dealing with terran animals in this planet, from relocation to shelters to even a few approved areas they could live in, but they only dealt in terran animals not leirnian animals.
At this point his thoughts are interrupted by Keya’s voice “I don’t care who, anyone that can help is enough” he looks up at her, she has her holopad firmly clenched in her hands and her right eye focused directly on it.
She’s on a call.
---
And here we have it, we meet the two little disasters-to-be while the precinct chief throws their human into the fire as a possible scapegoat for any possible crazy plan they might have to resort to. And in fact, said crazy plan seems to involve a desperate plea over the phone.
Also, I had a bit of fun trying to thinking what Orran's house might be like, and somewhere along the line I got this weird thought: They're certainly not innocent of or about colonialism, so wouldn't the displaced natives of their own world at least feel a tiny bit of vindication watching their own conquerors get conquered in turn? Doesn't make things better but the irony of it all must be sweet.
Edit: FFS. Reddit, LET ME EDIT TITLES

Think I got it close but looking for feedback on what might be out of order or not needs. I'm about to do a clean wipe before installing so be HARSH😅 I've had some crashing issues in the past with the Courage spell for some reason and use to have an issue with Meeko not going to the shack but that have been fixed.
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Hey there, fellow plant-based food enthusiasts! Today, I've got a story that will make your taste buds tingle and inspire even the laziest among us to whip up some delicious vegan creations. Get ready for a tale of simplicity, mouthwatering flavors, and a couple who discovered the joy of easy vegan recipes. Buckle up, because we're about to embark on a journey with Amy and Mike!
Amy and Mike, a fun-loving couple in their early 30s, had been happily married for three years. They both had full-time jobs and a long list of hobbies, leaving them with little time and energy for elaborate cooking adventures. However, they were determined to lead a vegan lifestyle and craved meals that were both easy to make and satisfyingly tasty. That's when they turned to me, their trusty vegan nutritionist, for some guidance.
During our coaching sessions, we dove deep into the realm of quick and effortless vegan recipes. One recipe that stood out was the lazy vegan stir-fry. With just a handful of fresh vegetables, a simple sauce made from tamari, garlic, and ginger, and some cooked rice or noodles, Amy and Mike found themselves creating a wholesome and flavorful meal in under 15 minutes. They couldn't believe how effortless and delicious it was to incorporate more plant-based options into their busy lives.
Next up on our culinary adventure was the lazy chickpea salad. This protein-packed delight required minimal chopping and mixing. Amy and Mike discovered that by combining canned chickpeas with diced veggies like cucumber, tomatoes, and bell peppers, and tossing them in a zesty lemon-tahini dressing, they had a refreshing and satisfying meal ready in no time. It became their go-to option for quick lunches or lazy weeknight dinners.
As our sessions progressed, we explored the world of sheet pan meals. Amy and Mike fell in love with the simplicity of throwing all their ingredients onto a single pan, popping it in the oven, and letting the magic happen. From roasted vegetables with a drizzle of balsamic glaze to crispy tofu with a hint of spice, they discovered that sheet pan cooking not only saved them time but also made cleanup a breeze.
TL;DR: Amy and Mike, a busy couple, wanted easy and delicious vegan recipes. With my guidance, they discovered the joy of lazy stir-fries, simple chickpea salads, and sheet pan meals. These recipes allowed them to enjoy satisfying and flavorful plant-based meals without spending hours in the kitchen. Looking for easy vegan recipes? Check out my related YouTube video for "EASY VEGAN RECIPES FOR LAZY PEOPLE" at Vegan on a Budget. Lazy cooking never tasted so good!
Link to YouTube video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dp6cPa6NvgI

I've shared fiction here before and it didn't go altogether too poorly, so I'm going to press my luck and do it again. This was written about a year ago, and I'm tired of trying to peddle it to lit magazines. Might as well share it here, know that it met a few eyeballs, and have done with it.
It's relevant to the sub insofar as it's about urban alienation and the working conditions at a small business run by IN THIS HOUSE WE BELIEVE people. (I tried to pitch it as a story of the great resignation with a momentary flicker of cosmic horror.) It's based on a similar job I took on after getting laid off during the lockdown, and the circumstances of the main character's breakup are faintly similar to one I went through several years back (her job sucked the life out of her).
Without further ado:
* * *
It was getting close to midnight, and the temperature outside was still above 80 degrees. We’d locked up the shop at 10:15 and walked over to Twenty, the dive bar on Poplar Street, where a single wall-mounted air conditioner and four wobbly ceiling fans weren’t putting up much resistance against the July heat baking the place from the outside and the dense mass of bodies giving it a stifling fever from within.
Just now I came close to saying it was a Wednesday night, because that was usually when the cyclists descended upon Avenue Brew, the gritty-but-bougie craft beer and sandwich shop I was working at back then. Every Wednesday between March and November, about fifteen to twenty-five Gen Xers dressed in skintight polyester, all packages and camel toes and fanny packs, locked up their thousand-dollar bikes on the sidewalk and lined up for IPAs and paninis. They reliably arrived around 8:00, an hour before we closed, making it impossible to get started on the closing checklist and leave on time at 10:00. The worst of them were demanding and rude, and even the best got raucous and stubborn after a couple drinks. There were nights when bringing in the sidewalk tables couldn’t be done without arguing with them. Most were sub-par tippers, to boot.
After Wednesday came and went that week without so much as a single 40-something in Ray Bans and padded shorts stopping in to double-fist two cans of Jai Alai, we dared to hope the cyclists had chosen another spot to be their finish line from there on out. But no—they’d only postponed their weekly ride, and swarmed us on Friday night instead.
I was the last person to find out; I was clocked in as purchaser that evening. The position was something like a promotion I'd received a year earlier: for twenty hours a week, I got to retreat from the public and sit in the back room with the store laptop, reviewing sales and inventory, answering emails from brewery reps, and ordering beer, beverages, and assorted paper goods. When I put in hours as purchaser, my wage went up from $11 to $15 an hour, but I was removed from the tip pool. On most days, tips amounted to an extra two or three dollars an hour, so I usually came out ahead.
This was back in 2021. I don't know what Avenue Brew pays these days.
Anyway, at about 8:15, I stepped out to say goodbye to everyone and found the shop in chaos. Friday nights were generally pretty active, the cyclists' arrival had turned the place into a mob scene. The line extended to the front door. The phone was ringing. The Grubhub tablet dinged like an alarm clock without a snooze button. Danny was on the sandwich line and on the verge of losing his temper. Oliver was working up a sweat running food, bussing tables, and replenishing ingredients from the walk-in. The unflappable Marina was on register, and even she seemed like she was about to snap at somebody.
What else could I do? I stayed until closing to answer the phone, process Grubhub orders, hop on and off the second register, and help Danny with sandwich prep. After the tills were counted out, I stayed another hour to take care of the dishes, since nobody had a chance to do a first load. Oliver was grateful, even though he grumbled about having to make some calls and rearrange Sunday's schedule so I could come in a couple hours late. Irene and Jeremy, Avenue Brew's owners, would kick his ass if he let me go into overtime.
Danny suggested that we deserved a few drinks ourselves after managing to get through the shift without killing anyone. Not even Marina could find a reason to disagree with him.
The neighborhood had undergone enough gentrification to support an upscale brunch spot, an ice cream parlor, a gourmet burger restaurant, a coffee and bahn mi shop, and Avenue Brew (to name a few examples), but not yet quite enough that the people who staffed them couldn’t afford to live within a ten-minute walk from the main avenue where all these hep eateries stood between 24-hour corner stores with slot machines in back, late-night Chinese and Mexico-Italian takeout joints with bulletproof glass at the counters, and long-shuttered delis and shoe stores. Twenty on Poplar was the watering hole set aside for people like us. It was dim, a bit dilapidated, and inexpensive, and usually avoided by denizens of the condos popping up on the vacant lots and replacing clusters of abandoned row houses.
When we arrived, Kyle waved us over. He didn’t work at Avenue Brew anymore, but still kept up with a few of us. He was at Twenty at least four nights out of the week.
So there we all were. I sat with a brooding stranger freestyling to himself in a low mumble on the stool to my left and Oliver on my right, who tapped at his phone and nursed a bottle of Twisted Tea. To Oliver’s right sat Marina, staring at nothing in particular and trying to ignore Danny, who stood behind her, closer than she would have liked, listening to Kyle explain the crucial differences between the Invincible comic book and the Invincible web series.
I recall being startled back to something like wakefulness when it seemed to me that the ceiling had sprouted a new fan. I blinked my eyes, and it wasn’t there anymore. It reminded me of an incident from when I was still living with my folks in South Jersey and still had a car, and was driving home from a friend’s house party up in Bergen County. It was 6:30 AM, I hadn’t slept all night, and needed to get home so I could get at least little shuteye before heading to Whole Foods for my 11:00 AM shift. I imagined I passed beneath the shadows of overpasses I knew weren’t there, and realized I was dreaming at the wheel.
I was pretty thoroughly zombified at that point. Heather and I had broken up for good the night before, and I hadn't gotten even a minute of sleep. Calling out at Avenue Brew was tough. Unless you found someone willing to cover your shift on like six hours' notice, you were liable to get a writeup, a demotion, or your hours cut if you couldn't produce a doctor's note. So I loaded up on caffeine pills and Five-Hour Energy bottles at the corner store, and powered through as best I could.
I finished the last thimbleful of Blue Moon in my glass. Oliver wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with a napkin and covered his mouth to stifle a laugh at the KiwiFarms thread he was scrolling through. Pool balls clacked; somebody swore and somebody laughed. The TouchTunes box was playing Bob Dylan’s “Rain Day Woman #12 & 35,” and enough bleary 40-something men around the bar were bobbing their heads and mouthing the words to make it impossible to determine which one of them paid two bucks to hear it. A guy by the cigarette machine who looked like a caricature of Art Carney in flannel and an old Pixies T-shirt was accosting a woman who must have been a toddler when he hit drinking age, and she momentarily made eye contact with me as she scanned the area for a way out. Danny was shouting over the bartender’s head, carrying on a conversation with the Hot Guy from Pizza Stan’s, who was sitting on the horseshoe’s opposite arm.
I never got his name, but when Oliver first referred to him as the Hot Guy from Pizza Stan’s, I knew exactly who he meant. Philly scene kid par excellence. Mid-20s, washed-out black denim, dyed black hair, thick bangs, and dark, gentle eyes. He was only truly alluring when he was on the job, because he seldom smiled then—and when he smiled, he broke the spell by exposing his teeth, stained a gnarly shade of mahogany from too much smoking and not enough brushing.
“How’s Best? Marcus still a joker?” Danny asked him.
“Yeah, you know Marcus. You know how he is.”
So the Hot Guy had been working at Best Burger (directly across the street from Avenue Brew) ever since Pizza Stan’s owners mismanaged the place unto insolvency. (Afterwards it was renovated and reopened as a vegan bakery—which incidentally closed down about a month ago.) Danny used to work at Best Burger, but that ended after he got into a shouting match with the owner. I happened to overhear it while I was dragging in the tables and collecting the chairs from the sidewalk the night it happened. It wasn’t any of my business, and I tried not to pay attention, but they were really tearing into each other. A month later, Oliver welcomed Danny aboard at Avenue Brew. I hadn’t known he’d been interviewed, and by then it was too late to mention the incident. But I’d have been a hypocrite to call it a red flag after the way I resigned from my position as Café Chakra's assistant manager two years earlier—not that we need to go dredging that up right now. Let's say there was some bad blood and leave it at that.
Anyway, I was thinking about giving in and buying a pack of cigarettes from the machine—and then remembered that Twenty didn’t have a cigarette machine. I looked again. The Art Carney-lookalike was still there, fingering his phone with a frown, but the girl was gone—and so was the cigarette machine.
I had only a moment to puzzle over this before Danny clapped me on the shoulder and thrust a shot glass in front of me.
“Starfish!” he said. (Danny called me Starfish. Everybody else called me Pat.) “You look like you need some juice.”
He distributed shots to everyone else. Marina declined hers, but changed her mind when Kyle offered to take it instead.
She and Kyle had stopped sleeping together after Kyle left Avenue Brew to work at the Victory taproom on the Parkway, but Marina was still concerned about his bad habits, which Danny delighted in encouraging.
We all leaned in to clink our glasses. Before I could find an appropriate moment to ask Marina if I could bum a cigarette, she got up to visit the bathroom. Danny took her seat and bowed his head for a conspiratorial word with Kyle.
I watched from the corner of my eye and tried to listen in. Like Marina, I was a little worried about Kyle. He got hired at Avenue Brew around the same time I did, just before the pandemic temporarily turned us into a takeout joint. He was a senior at Drexel then, an English major, and sometimes talked about wanting to either find work in publishing or carve out a career as a freelance writer after graduating. But first he intended to spend a year getting some life in before submitting himself to the forever grind.
He read a lot of Charles Bukowski and Hunter Thompson. He relished the gritty and sordid, and had already been good at sniffing it out around the neighborhood and in West Philly before Danny introduced him to cocaine, casinos, strip clubs, and a rogue’s gallery of shady but fascinating people. (None were really Danny’s friends; just fellow passengers who intersected with the part of his life where he sometimes went to Parx, sometimes came out ahead, sometimes spent his winnings on coke, and sometimes did bumps at titty bars.) Kyle recounted these adventures with a boyish enthusiasm for the naked reality of sleaze, like a middle schooler telling his locker room buddies about catching his older brother in flagrante and seeing so-and-so body parts doing such-and-such things.
Marina hated it. She never said as much to me, but she was afraid that the template Kyle set for his life during his “year off” was in danger of becoming locked in. The anniversary of his graduation had already passed, and now here he was trying to convince Danny to contribute a couple hundred dollars toward a sheet of acid his guy had for sale. He wasn't doing much writing lately.
I was the oldest employee at Avenue Brew (as I write this I’m 37, but fortunately I don’t look it), and when Kyle still worked with us I felt like it was my prerogative to give him some advice. The longer he waited to make inroads, I once told him, the more likely he’d be seen as damaged goods by the publishing world. He needed to jam his foot in the door while he was still young.
I could tell the conversation bored him, and didn’t bring up the subject again.
The bartender took my glass and curtly asked if I’d like another drink.
“No thanks, not yet,” I answered.
She slid me my bill.
I missed the old bartender, the one she’d replaced. I forget her name, but she was ingenuous and energetic and sweet. Pretty much everyone had some sort of crush on her. Sometimes she came into Avenue Brew for lunch, and tipped us as well as we tipped her. Maybe three months before that night—Danny witnessed it—she suddenly started crying and rushed out the door. Everyone at the bar mutely looked to each other for an explanation. (Fortunately for Twenty, the kitchen manager hadn’t left yet, and picked up the rest of her shift.)
She never came back. None of us had seen her since. But drafts still had to be poured and bottlecaps pulled off, and now here was another white woman in her mid-twenties wearing a black tank top, a pushup bra, and a scrunchie, same as before. Twenty’s regulars grew accustomed to not expecting to see the person she’d replaced, and life went on.
“How’re you doing?” I asked Oliver, just to say something to somebody, and to keep my thoughts from wandering back to Heather.
“Just kind of existing right now,” he answered. His phone lay face-up on the counter. He was swiping through Instagram, and I recognized the avatar of the user whose album he hate-browsed.
“And how’s Austin been?” I asked.
“Oh, you know. Not even three weeks after getting over the jetlag from his trip back from the Cascades, he’s off touring Ireland.” He shook his head. “Living his best life.”
He’d hired Austin on a part-time basis in September. We needed a new associate when Emma was promoted to replace a supervisor who'd quit without even giving his two weeks. There was a whole thing. I'm having a hard time recalling the guy's name, but I liked him well enough. He was a good worker and he seemed like a bright kid, but he was—well, he was young. Naïve. One day he found Jeremy sitting in the back room with his laptop, and took advantage of the open-door policy to ask why the store manager and supervisors didn’t get health benefits or paid time off. Jeremy told him it "was being worked on," and that he couldn’t discuss it any further at that time. I understand the kid got argumentative, though I never knew precisely what was said.
Irene started visiting the shop a lot more often after that, almost always arriving when the kid was working. No matter what he was doing, she’d find a reason to intervene, to micromanage and harangue him, and effectively make his job impossible. A coincidence, surely.
It’s something I still think about. By any metric, Jeremy and Irene have done very well for themselves. They’re both a little over 40 years old. I remember hearing they met at law school. In addition to Avenue Brew, they own a bistro in Francisville and an ice cream parlor in Point Breeze. They have a house on the Blue Line, send their son to a Montessori school, and pull up to their businesses in a white Volkswagen ID.4. But whenever the subject of benefits, wages, or even free shift meals came up, they pled poverty. It simply couldn’t be done. But they liked to remind us about all they did to make Avenue Brew a fun place to work, like let the staff pick the music and allow Oliver and me to conduct a beer tasting once a day. They stuck Black Lives Matter, Believe Women, and Progress flag decals on the front door and windows, and I remember Irene wearing a Black Trans Lives Matter shirt once or twice when covering a supervisor's shift. None of the college students or recent graduates who composed most of Avenue Brew's staff could say the bosses weren't on the right team. And yet...
I'm sorry—I was talking about Austin. He was maybe 30 and already had another job, a “real” job, some sort of remote gig lucrative enough for him to make rent on a studio in the picturesque Episcopal church down the street that had been converted into upscale apartments some years back. Austin wasn’t looking for extra cash. He wanted to socialize. To have something to do and people to talk to in the outside world. He wanted to make friends, and all of us could appreciate that—but it’s hard to be fond of a coworker who irredeemably sucks at his job. Austin never acted with any urgency, was inattentive to detail, and even after repeated interventions from Oliver and the supervisors, he continued to perform basic tasks in bafflingly inefficient ways. Having Austin on your shift meant carrying his slack, and everyone was fed up after a few months. Oliver sat him down, told him he was on thin ice, and gave him a list of the areas in which he needed to improve if he didn’t want to be let go.
When Austin gave Oliver the indignant “I don’t need this job” speech, it was different from those times Danny or I told a boss to go to hell and walked out. Austin truly didn’t need it. He basically said the job was beneath him, and so was Oliver.
It got deep under Oliver’s skin. He did need the job and had to take it seriously, even when it meant being the dipshit manager chewing out a man four or five years his senior. He earned $18 an hour (plus tips when he wasn’t doing admin work), had debts to pay off, and couldn't expect to get any help from his family.
The important thing, though, the part I distinctly remember, was that Oliver was looking at a video of a wading bird Austin had recorded. An egret, maybe. White feathers, long black legs, pointy black beak. Austin must have been standing on a ledge above a creek, because he had an overhead view of the bird as it stood in the water, slowly and deliberately stretching and retracting its neck, eyeing the wriggling little shadows below. As far as the fish could know, they were swimming around a pair of reeds growing out of the silt. The predator from which they extended was of a world beyond their understanding and out of their reach.
The video ended. Oliver moved on to the next item: a photograph of the bird from the same perspective, with a fish clamped in its beak. Water droplets flung from the victim's thrashing tail caught the sunlight. And I remember now, I clearly remember, the shapes of like twelve other fish stupidly milling about the bird's feet, unperturbed and unpanicked.
Danny peered at Oliver’s phone and observed a resemblance between the bird—its shape and bearing, and the composition of the photograph—and a POV porn video shot from behind and above, and he told us so. Elaborately. He made squawking noises.
“And mom says I’m a degenerate,” Oliver sighed. “Can you practice your interspecies pickup artist shit somewhere else?” Oliver flicked his wrist, shooing Danny off, and held his phone in front of his face to signal that he was done talking.
Danny sagged a little on his stool and turned away. I sometimes felt bad for him. For all his faults, he had the heart of a puppy dog. He really did think of us as his tribe. There was nobody else who’d only ever answer “yes” when you asked him to pick up a shift, and he did it completely out of loyalty.
He was turning 29 in a week. I wondered how many people would actually turn out to celebrate with him at the Black Taxi. Kyle probably would—but even he regarded Danny more as a source of vulgar entertainment than a friend.
Then it happened again. When I turned to speak to Oliver, there’d been a pair of pool cues leaning side-by-side against the wall a few stools down. Now they were gone.
This time it might have been my imagination. Somebody passing by could have casually snatched them up and kept walking.
But a moment later I seemed to notice a second TouchTunes box protruding from the wall directly behind me. I let it be.
Marina returned from the bathroom. Danny rose and offered her back her seat with an exaggerated bow. Before she got settled, I asked if she’d like to step outside with me. She withdrew her pack of Marlboro Menthols from her canvas bag, which she left sitting on the stool to deter Danny from sitting back down.
Marina never minded letting me bum cigarettes from time to time. I couldn’t buy them for myself anymore; it’s a habit I could never keep under control, and was only getting more expensive. Like everything else in the world. About once a month I reimbursed her by buying her a pack.
The air out on the sidewalk was as hot as the air inside Twenty, but easier to breathe. After lighting up, Marina leaned against the bricks and sighed.
“I wish Oliver would fire Danny already and get it over with.”
I nodded. Marina rarely talked about anything but work.
“He sneaks drinks and doesn't think anyone notices he's buzzed,” she went on. “He steals so much shit and isn’t even a little subtle about it. He’s going to get Oliver in trouble. And he’s a creep.”
“Yeah,” I said. These were her usual complaints about Danny, and they were all true. “At least he’s better than Austin.”
“That’s a low bar.”
Three dirt bikes and an ATV roared down the lonely street, charging through stop sign after stop sign, putting our talk on hold.
“Remind me. You’ve got one semester left, right?” I asked after the noise ebbed.
“Yep.”
Marina was a marketing major at Temple. She’d had an internship during the spring semester, and her boss told her to give her a call the very minute she graduated. Her parents in central Pennsylvania couldn’t pay her rent or tuition for her, so she was a full-time student and a full-time employee at Avenue Brew. Her emotional spectrum ranged from "tired" to "over it." She’d been waiting tables and working at coffee shops since she was seventeen, had no intention of continuing for even a day longer than she had to, and feared the escape hatch would slam shut if she dallied too long after prying it open.
She’d considered majoring in English, like Kyle. She went for marketing instead. I couldn’t blame her.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You’ve been kind of off all day.”
“I’m terrible.”
“Why?”
I gave dodgy answers, but she asked precisely the right follow-up questions to get me going about what happened with Heather the night before.
It was the new job. Before the pandemic, Heather worked as a server at a Center City bar and grill. (That's where I met her; we were coworkers for about a year, and then I left to work Café Chakra because it was quieter and closer to where I lived.) When the place closed its doors and laid everyone off during the lockdown, she got a stopgap job at the Acme on Passyunk, and hated it. Then in March, she found a bar-and-lounge gig in a ritzy hotel on Broad Street. Very corporate. Excellent pay, great benefits. Definitely a step up. But her new employers made Irene and Jeremy look like Bob and Linda Belcher by comparison. It was the kind of place where someone had recently gotten herself fired for leaving work to rush to the hospital after getting the news that her grandmother was about to be taken off life support, and not finding someone to come in and cover the last two hours of her shift.
Heather seldom worked fewer than fifty-five hours a week, and her schedule was even more erratic than mine. At least once a week she left the hotel at 1:00 or 2:00 AM and returned at 9:00 the next morning. Neither of us could remember the last time she’d had two consecutive days off, and it had been over a month since one of mine overlapped with one of hers. She’d spent it drinking alone at home. All she wanted was some privacy.
I’d biked to South Philly to meet her when she got home at 1:30. The argument that killed our relationship for good began around 2:30, when I complained that we never had sex anymore. Heather accused me of only caring about that, when she was so exhausted and stressed that her hair was falling out in the shower. Quit the job? She couldn’t quit. The money was too good. She had student loans, medical bills, and credit card debt, and for the first time in her life she could imagine paying it all off before hitting menopause.
So, yeah, I was cranky about our sex life being dead in the water. Say whatever you like. But at that point, what were we to each other? We did nothing together anymore but complain about work before one or both of us fell asleep. That isn’t a relationship.
She said my hair always smelled like sandwiches, even after bathing, and she was done pretending it didn’t turn her off. I told her she was one to talk—she always reeked of liquor. As things escalated, we stopped caring if her roommates heard us. “You want to be a father?” she shouted around 4:00 AM. “Making what you make? That poor fucking kid.”
We fought until sunrise, and I left her apartment with the understanding that I wouldn’t be coming back, wouldn’t be calling her ever again. I biked home and sat on the steps facing the cement panel that was my house’s backyard. After my phone died and I couldn’t anaesthetize myself with dumb YouTube videos or make myself feel crazy staring at the download button for the Tinder app, I watched the sparrows hopping on and off the utility lines for a while.
At 11:40 I went inside. One of my roommates was already in the shower, so the best I could do was put on a clean Avenue Brew T-shirt before walking to the shop and clocking in at noon to help deal with the lunch rush.
“That’s a lot,” Marina finally said. “Sorry.”
I don’t know what I was expecting her to say. She was sixteen years my junior, after all, and just a coworker. She didn’t need to hear any of this, and I definitely didn't need to be telling her. But who else was there to tell?
She’d already finished her cigarette. I still had a few puffs left. She went inside.
I decided to call it a night.
The second TouchTunes box was gone—naturally. Danny had taken my stool, and regarded my approach with a puckish you snooze you lose grin. I wasn’t going to say anything. I’d just pay my bill, give everyone a nod goodnight, and walk the five blocks back home.
And then Danny disappeared.
One second, he was there. The next—gone.
Danny didn’t just instantaneously vanish. Even when something happens in the blink of an eye, you can still put together something of a sequence. I saw him—I seemed to see him—falling into himself, collapsing to a point, and then to nothing.
You know how sometimes a sound is altogether inaudible unless you’re looking at the source—like when you don’t realize somebody’s whispering at you, and can then hear and understand them after they get your attention? I think that was the case here. I wouldn't have known to listen if I hadn't seen it happen. What I heard lingered for two, maybe three seconds, and wasn't any louder than a fly buzzing inside a lampshade. A tiny and impossibly distant scream, pitchshifted like a receding ambulance siren into a basso drone...
I don’t know. I don’t know for sure. I’m certain I remember a flash of red, and I have the idea of Danny’s trunk expanding, opening up as it imploded. A crimson flower, flecked white, with spooling pink stalks—and Danny’s wide-eyed face above it, drawn twisting and shrinking into its petals.
For an instant, Twenty’s interior shimmered. Not shimmered, exactly—glitched would be a better word. If you’re old enough to remember the fragmented graphics that sometimes flashed onscreen when you turned on the Nintendo without blowing on the cartridge, you’ll have an idea of what I mean. It happened much too fast, and there was too much of it to absorb. The one clear impression I could parse was the mirage of a cash register flickering upside-down above the pool table.
Not a cash register. The shape was familiar, but the texture was wrong. I think it was ribbed, sort of like a maggot. I think it glistened. Like—camo doesn’t work anymore when the wearer stops crouching behind a bush and breaks into a run. Do you get what I’m saying?
Nobody else seemed to notice. The pool balls clacked. A New Order track was playing on the TouchTunes box. A nearby argument about about Nick Sirianni continued unabated.
Finally, there was a downward rush of air—and this at least elicited a reaction from the bartender, who slapped my bill to keep it from sailing off the counter.
“Danny,” I said.
“Danny?” Kyle asked me quietly. His face had gone pale.
“Danny?” Oliver repeated in a faraway voice.
After a pause, Kyle blinked a few times. “You heard from him?”
“God forbid,” said Marina. “When he quit I was like, great, I can keep working here after all.”
“Oh, come on—”
“Kyle. Did I ever show you those texts he sent me once at three in the morning?” The color had returned to Oliver’s face.
“No, what did he say?”
Oliver tapped at his phone and turned the screen toward Kyle.
“Oh. Oh, jeez.”
“Right? Like—if you want to ask me something, ask me. You know? Don’t be weirdly accusatory about it…”
I pulled a wad of fives and ones from my pocket, threw it all onto the counter, and beelined for the exit without consideration for the people I squeezed through and shoved past on the way.
I heard Marina saying “let him go.”
I went a second consecutive night without sleep. Fortunately I wasn’t scheduled to come in the next day.
The schedule. It’s funny. Oliver was generally great at his job, and even when he wasn’t, I cut him a lot of slack because I knew Irene and Jeremy never gave him a moment’s peace. But I could never forgive him those times he waited until the weekend to make up and distribute the schedule. This was one of those weeks he didn’t get around to it until Saturday afternoon. When I found it in my inbox, Danny’s name wasn’t anywhere on it.
As far as I know, nobody who hadn’t been at Twenty that night asked what happened to him. We were a bit overstaffed as it was, and everyone probably assumed Danny was slated for the chopping block. The part-timers were, for the most part, happy to get a few additional hours.
Oliver abruptly quit around Labor Day after a final acrimonious clash with the owners. I never found out the details, and I never saw him again. Jeremy and Irene took turns minding the store while a replacement manager was sought. None of the supervisors would be pressured into taking the job; they knew from Oliver what they could expect.
About three weeks after Oliver left, I came in for my purchasing shift and found Jeremy waiting for me in the back room. I knew it was serious when he didn’t greet me with the awkward fist-bump he ordinarily required of his male employees.
“You’ve seen the numbers,” he said. Business for the summer had fallen short of expectations, it was true, and he and Irene had decided to rein in payroll expenses. My purchaser position was being eliminated. Its responsibilities would be redistributed among the supervisors and the new manager, when one was found. In the meantime, I'd be going back to the regular $11 an hour (plus tips of course) associate position full-time.
Jeremy assured me I'd be first in the running for supervisor the next time there was an opening.
I told him it was fine, I was done, and if he’d expected the courtesy of two weeks’ notice, he shouldn’t have blindsided me like that.
“Well, that’s your choice,” he answered, trying not to look pleased. His payroll problem was solving itself.
I racked up credit card debt for a few months. Applied for entry-level museum jobs that might appreciate my art history degree. Aimed for some purchasing and administrative assistant gigs, and just for the hell of it, turned in a resume for a facilitator position at an after-school art program. Got a few interviews. All of them eventually told me they’d decided to go in a different direction. I finally got hired to bartend at Hops from Underground, a microbrewery on Fairmount.
I’m still there. The money’s okay, but it fluctuates. Hours are reasonable. I’m on their high-deductible health plan. There’s a coworker I’ve been dating. Sort of dating. You know how it goes. In this line of work you get so used to people coming and going that you learn not to get too attached. I walk past Avenue Brew a few times a week, but stopped peering in through the window when I didn't recognize the people behind the counter anymore.

Sorry for the delay. Time’s become one of the many things in my life that I can no longer keep a firm handle on.
It’s been what? Maybe a fortnight since that first Sauna Club.
A week after that was the whirlwind of events that changed my life beyond recognition.
The day that Andy went missing & the night in which I came so close…so damn close to saving Jen’s life.
All I wanted to do was lose a bit of weight…and now I have. I’ve nearly shed everything in my life that was weighing me down.
After today you won’t be hearing from me again.
I’m truly sorry.
The morning after Jen died I woke up in a state of shock. Standing up I had to peel myself from the bedsheets. My back was a mess of burst blisters and pustulated skin. The rest of my body was pink all over except my feet. They were black…The soles looked like dried lava, charred to a crisp but with dark red veins cutting through. And for how hideously burned I looked I was freezing. My teeth wouldn’t stop chattering.
“Look at you” I’d wheezed at my reflection. Even my voice was wrecked. That world had stolen everything from me. But it didn’t matter. I’d get it back.
I called my wife and told her that I’d just tested positive for Covid.
“You sound terrible Mike” She’d said with a sigh, but she didn’t really care.
“I feel terrible. Maybe you should stay away a few days until I’m in the clear?”
“You sure?” feigning sympathy…her trademark.
“Yeah…I’ll be fine. Call you when I’m on the mend.” I hung up then. The first time in my life I’d ever cut her off. I didn’t really care what she had to say any more. My heart beat for someone else now. Only Lydia and I understood the truth of this world, and that strange world beyond. I’d made her a promise. I was going to finish my sauna and together we’d go back.
I spent the rest of that day googling, watching youtube videos and chatting with strangers on reddit about how to put the finishing touches to my sauna.
The next day I left my house for the hardware store.
I hadn’t realised how much people would stare…gasp even when they saw the ruins of my skin. At least I was finally losing weight though. Nothing fit any more. The steam in that world was washing me away. I didn’t care. Soon I’d have Lydia by my side and then what would anyone else’s judgement matter.
Finishing the sauna took the best part of a week. I’ve never been a practical guy. In that week I heard more from Lydia than my wife. She checked in daily to see how I was getting on and when we’d be ready to return to that world of fire and fate.
I insulated the small wooden shed as best I could so that it would contain the heat and smoke, built a small fire bin to contain the coals, bought a bucket for the water, 2 small benches and a sand timer for the wall. I roughly laydown paving and put in a grate for drainage.
It wasn’t much to look at, but it would do the job. For days I soaked the wood until the whole thing was saturated enough not to go up in flames with us inside the moment I sparked the coals.
And then last night I text Lydia to say we were good to go.
An hour or so later she arrived. For a moment she stood on the doorstep staring at me and I had no idea what she was thinking. It wasn’t the same face of shock and disgust that everyone else gave me now but…something else…Something that makes more sense now.
She was changed too.
She had been so bloodied the last time we left the Sauna. Bleeding from a hundred scratches all over. She had healed but the scars were everywhere. She was no longer the perfect blond gym girl I’d met two weeks ago…she was better…she was mine.
I knew that it was cheating the first time I laid eyes on her, the first time she’d touched my leg. What difference would it make if we fucked in my marital bed? So we did.
As we lay there afterwards I traced my fingers along the scars on her perfect body and wished that it was her I’d married…her that was pregnant…carrying MY baby.
It was then we heard the car pull up on the driveway. My wife was home.
“I’ll meet you out there” I said calmly. Lydia nodded and left the bedroom making her way towards my sauna. I wanted my wife to catch her in the kitchen…to see her naked body and KNOW that both of us could fuck up this marriage if we wanted to.
But Lydia managed to slip out of the house just as my wife arrived.
“Mike?” she whispered tentatively in the kitchen “Whose car is that?”
“I’ve got a friend round. We’re trying out the sauna.”
“What? You don’t have-” she flicked the kitchen light on and gasped as she caught sight of my face.
“WHAT THE FUCK?” She screamed. The state of my burnt swollen face bringing tears to her eyes, whatever love she still had left for me draining away. That was fine. Whatever love I had for her had died on the backseat of my car.
I looked at her swollen bump and knew we were finished.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. I’m busy now” I said coldly and I could see my words rattled her. She didn’t recognise me any more. I hardly recognised myself.
“What happened?“ she kept repeating and I just shrugged.
“Go to bed.” For the first time in my life she actually listened to me. She slipped away into the dark of our room and closed the bedroom door. Too scared and disgusted to be around me any longer.
I took off my robe and followed Lydia out into the garden. If she was worried about the state of my DIY sauna she didn’t say anything. She didn’t say anything at all. We both knew why we were here and what had to happen next.
Spin the sand timer.
A ladle for each of us.
And then the smoke engulfed us. I was surprised at how well this small hotbox shed was working. In the back of my mind I thought that maybe the magic wouldn’t follow us here. That maybe I’d missed a step or that maybe the whole thing would just go up in flames.
But it worked.
I was alone travelling through that thin film of white heat that separated our world from the sauna place. Perhaps that was the nature of the ritual: That it has worked for so many people throughout the centuries if you have the fire in you and believe.
As I waited for the smoke to clear I tried to hold in my mind why I was coming to this dangerous world once more.
For Lydia – to find out what kept her coming back here again and again and what it was that was tearing apart her body.
For Andy – to find out what had happened to him and why he now seemed to belong to this place.
For myself – To steal something, anything…some divine knowledge from this place as vengeance for Jen. And get away with it.
The smoke cleared and I knew we’d arrived. It was different though, in all the ways I thought it would be. Just like the Sauna in the gym had become a warped reflection of itself, so had my DIY shed. The only difference was the door to the outside world. There was no poolside view, no horrible visions of those watchers and their nets, just the sound of a ruined world rushing by and screams. So many screams. Through them all I could hear the voice of Jen.
‘HELP…PLEASE HELP MIKE. THEY’RE HURTING ME.’ Her old voice cried endlessly. This place had already tricked me once though...so I turned my back to the door.
Lydia was already several steps up and about to leave.
“Lydia wait” I wanted to stop her so we could come up with a plan for how we would manage this visit “I want to help you.”
Lydia gave me a weird smile that I couldn’t read and with a shrug she disappeared into one of the corridors.
“Wait!” I called again and followed her up a few steps not knowing why she would just leave like that…
I could feel again how different this place was. The gym steps had been hot but still had a smooth varnish finish. These steps were rough and splintered. I starred into the corridor and gulped. Remembering what had happened last time I faced this gauntlet alone. There was no sign of Lydia and the corridor was dark but I set off anyway. I’d found Jen, I could find Lydia.
The tunnel twisted and turned, with more tributaries than last time, more maze like. Stairs leading up and down, passages to crawl through or clamber over, tight spaces to squeeze into and long painful drops.
The passage forked and forked and forked and at each junction I had to guess at the right direction but in truth I was lost and all the while the steams grew thicker around me, until it was like I was wading through them.
Then I heard the sound.
A sort of rhythmic creaking and groaning and a woman gasping. I realised that it was coming from the passage parallel to me. Like how Andy had helped me before…
The sound grew louder and then multiplied. Another groan coming from below me…and then another to the right.
I pushed my face the slats and tried to peer through to see the cause of the noise but in my heart I already knew. I knew that groan and that voice…and I’m man enough to know the tell-tale sound of creaky springs and a rickety bedframe.
It was my wife.
And when I peered through the gap I could see myself and her wrapped up in each others arms. Some how on the other side of this wall was my bedroom at university and I was seeing into the past. I was seeing the first time the two of us had sex. It was drunk and fumbling but even then I’d known she was special.
I moved to the other side of the room and through the slats saw a different past. Our honeymoon suit and the sex we’d had there.
I pulled away, confused why the mists were showing me this… things I already knew to be true. Below my feet I could hear more sounds, more groans more pleasure…but less familiar to me. Sounds of enjoyment that I’d never made my wife elicit. I ducked down into the swirling mists that had gathered around my waist and crawled on my belly across the wooden floor. I pressed my eye down to the slat, dangerously close to the splinters and peered until I could see the shapes writhing.
My wife and…
My brother. The two of them pounding away in my bedroom. In my bed.
I wrenched away, unable to watch it, gasping…and as I gasped I felt hot white tendrils of smoke crawl down my throat.
There were so many new sounds to hear…all across the floor before me…more pockets of sound and I couldn’t help myself. I crawled on, listening at each new noise and then seeking out the shape of the next man who would make me a cuckold.
My wife and her boss.
My wife and a man I’d never seen before.
Another stranger
And another.
Each time I gasped…each time sucked in more white heat.
I stood up gasping for air. If these visions were true…how many other men had my wife slept with? I’d known in my heart for a while that the child she was carrying wasn’t mine but…I thought always thought that in this place I might find out who the father was and have satisfaction in that…have revenge with that knowledge but…
Did she even know? In her nights out in the town, night after night she made a joke of me. A joke of our vows.
Did she even care who the father was, so long as it wasn’t me! How little satisfaction did I give her that she would fuck ANYONE.
I wretched and thin coil of steam coiled out of my mouth and into the world.
How long had I been here? Breathing in these mists.
This place was getting inside me.
Clouding my judgement.
This room had broken my heart and given me no satisfaction…Only more doubt, more betrayal, more confusion…more resolve to find Lydia. To save Lydia and start my future anew with her.
I pushed on blindly down tunnel after tunnel, hell bent on finding her before the time ran out.
“MIKE!” Lydia’s voice screaming, loud, hurt and close by.
“Keep calling Lydia…I’m coming. I’ll find you”
She did “Mike, Mike, Mike” as rhythmic as the groans of my cheating wife. Finally I turned a corner and found her.
Lydia lay with her back against the wall of a terracotta chamber. The sight of room not made of wood took me aback.
I ran to her.
Deep gashes covered her body, like something had sliced deep into her arms and legs and across her stomach. I couldn’t bear to look but I knew that the gauges were dangerously deep. Lydia was bleeding more than a human body could take.
“What happened!” My eyes tried to take in the room quickly looking for the source of the danger, seeking out an attacker in the darkness. My brain remembering what Lydia had said the first time we’d come here. “Every maze has its minotaurs.”
“My brother Mike…I came here to get him back.” Lydia spoke slowly, her words slurred and woozy.
“Where is he?” I cradled her, not knowing which gash to try to stem.
“Dead…he died so young…my piece of shit dad…” the thoughts tumbled out of her mouth erratically “But I can get him back…I just need to…feed the flames…”. Lydia raised an arm to point at a large black pit in the middle of the room.
I’d ignored it at first, taking it for just another one of the sauna’s coal pits, but this one seemed different. Set into the stone work of the floor and surrounded by a selection of craftman’s tools: pliers, hammers, blades, tongs, scalpels, ancient looking drills. Rudimental but efficient and delicately laid out on a piece of linen.
This was a Smiths room, and in the centre was the furnace. The coals inside blazed but they weren’t black…they were a crimson red, and they throbbed like organs…and they seemed to be swimming in a small pool of-
I heard a crack and then I felt the pain that belonged to it and collapsed to the floor.
I looked down and saw that my knee was no longer where it should be.
Lydia had a mallet in her hand that I’d some how missed before and with a violent twist she had stroke me across the leg. Now she was trying to push herself to standing above me.
“But I can’t give the fire all the ingredients it needs…not alone…I’ve been feeding it blood…every time…but…I can’t give it my bones…my skin…my eyes…I can’t give it that and still be there to love him…to love him in all the ways that SOME ONE SHOULD HAVE” Lydia screamed and the words echoed down the corridor.
Her body shook with the exertion and every time her muscles clenched a fresh squirt of blood oozed from her wounds. There was a mad glint in her eyes
I understood now.
I understood why someone as beautiful as her had been showing an interest in a fat idiot like me. She’d just been fattening me up for the slaughter.
She didn’t love me. Just like my wife…I was just another useful stooge to her.
For a moment I lay there, waiting for the mallet to come down on my head…I thought about just rolling over and letting the fire pit have me. At least in death I could be useful to someone. At least Lydia would get her brother back…
Then a fury rolled across me, a rage I never knew I had inside. Like all the mists I’d swallowed were bubbling up inside me and I decided then that I didn’t want to die.
Not yet.
“Fuck you.” I grabbed the nearest implement to me and flung it at Lydias head as hard as I could. The pliers caught her in the temple with a hard crack and I watched her teeter backwards towards the furnace. She caught her balance on the very edge and as she wobbled I saw a long dribble of blood cascade from the cuts in her arms and into the fire pit. The cloud of red mist exploded into the room curls of crimson smoke snaked their way upwards like tentacles.
Standing was harder than I’d anticipated with my knee on the wrong side of my leg, but I had no choice. Not if I wanted to live. Leaning hard against the wall I stumbled away as quickly as I could. Back out into the corridors and away through the maze, with no mind on getting back just getting away!
I paused when I reached the first crossroads. Breathing hard and checking behind me to see if Lydia was following but there was no sign of her.
I leaned against a wall trying to catch my breath and wondered if there was a way I could set my knee.
The blade entered my back and I don’t know how deep it travelled before I realised what was happening. I peeled myself off the skewer and turned around. Through the slats in the wall I could make out Lydia on the other side. She had stabbed through the partition with a long ceremonial blade.
“Come back to the room Mike. I can fuck you while you die?”
I blinked in disbelief and pain, trying to work out whether she had already killed me…
“It was going to be Sak…that fucking himbo…but he went and killed himself before I could” Lydia let out a weird little giggle. “So it’ll just have to be you…come on Mike…Look at you…you’ve got plenty of body to spare…do something good for once in your life and die…die so my brother can live.” Lydia plunged the sword again through the slats as hard and fast as she could and the tip buried itself in my gut. Shallow, but enough to hurt.
The sword was long and could reach me through the wall. I had to run.
This time Lydia was following. Alternating between screaming and laughing. Matching me step for step on the other side of the wall. Periodically she would thrust the sword again, opening up a new nick on my body, but her aim was bad. Neither of us could move quickly…both of us were bloodied and hurt as we moved down the corridors.
I thanked the stars for this small wall between us but was already wondering what I’d do if these corridors merged? If I rounded a corner and found myself face to face with the girl I had once loved…who had now become the very minotaur I’d most feared. Could I kill her before she killed me? Did I have that in me…
The corridor forked the other way and my relief was immeasurable. I ran and found Lydia’s voice growing fainter away from me. I ran, ignoring the grating sensation in my leg and the blood pumping out of my back.
I ran until I found myself back in the chamber where this all began. I ran so quickly that I couldn’t stop myself. I stepped out and realised that there was nothing below my foot apart from a cavernous drop down to the stone floor below. A bone breaking drop that would have proved fatal were in not for the arm that grabbed me.
I dangled for a moment…one foot out over the abyss before the person pulled me backwards.
Before I could thank my saviour I heard Lydia’s voice again and my blood froze.
“Please Mike…no one will ever love you like I do…Who else would want to fuck that flabby burnt body of yours…please? Let’s be broken together…” Lydias voice fluttered down from the end of the tunnel and I realised she had caught up with me.
Her body came exploding out of the mists as she charged at me like a bull…the ceremonial blade outstretched and ready to run me through.
I was too tired to save my life any more but again the hand pulled me backwards in the nick of time.
The sword carved through the spot where I had been standing moments before, followed by Lydia…her momentum carrying her over the edge. I could see the shock on her face as she realised there was no more floor and then she fell. Down past the arena like steps on all sides…a drop that there was no surviving. Her head bounced on the penultimate step and her spine curved around until she kicked herself in the face and then the jumbled mess that had once been Lydia crashed to the floor.
The crunch was terrible, even from up here.
I peered out over the ledge at the ruined remains of Lydia’s once perfect body.
“Muh…Mi…ke…mmmm…Miiiii….Mike. Mike…Muh” the sound drifted up…as her mouth moved and the remnant of her brain tried to make a final thought. Her limbs were contorted at impossible angles, bones poking through the skin, a shattered wreck. It seemed cruel that the universe would so thoroughly break something that had once been so beautiful. Lydia was now a twitching blob, just waiting for death to take her.
And it did.
As I watched the door to the sauna opened and in walked one of those cloaked watchers. The sight of them struck a fear in me. I didn’t realise they could come in here…I had thought that this world would keep us safe from them…but it had no interest in me.
The watcher entered, hand in hand with a small boy…a child no older than 5 years old…with the same sandy blonde hair and mousey features as his sister.
The boy looked up at me for a moment and the same look of mad hatred that Lydia had given me crossed his little features. Then his hand made contact with the coal pit and he was gone. Back to the living world. Lydia had got what she’d always wanted…but it had cost her everything.
The watcher scooped up her decimated body, her mouth still uselessly trying to make words, her eyes desperately roaming around the room…still not certain that she was dead.
The watcher took her all the same. Out and away through that exit that didn’t belong to us…out into a sandstorm of red winds beyond…and then the door closed and Lydia was no more.
Andy touched me gently on the arm and with a sad nod began to climb up and away.
I watched him go…I hadn’t seen him properly in a fortnight, but he looked so different.
Older. Less sinewy…and more barrel like. Somehow more…stately. There was no mistaking that it was Andy, but he was no longer the retiree that took care of his body…he had someone how become one of the sad ailing old men who spend their lives basting themselves and cooking in a…
He looked like a roman emperor
“Are you coming?” He said in a voice that had changed as well. The cheeky fun all gone and replaced with a strange solemnity.
“Coming where?”
“Up” Andy smiled.
“What’s up there?” I asked dumbly.
“A group of men…much like me…we sit and chat…and watch the world go by. But we really see it Mike. We see it all…this world, and more…their pasts, presents and futures…we sit at the top of the sauna and we pass our judgements and where we can…we help.” Andy looked at me sadly “we try our best. You’ve lost so much Mike…so much weight…there’s barely anything tethering you down any more…you’ve done well. There’s a seat up there for you. If you want it.”
I stood. Not knowing what to do or say…I tried to picture the summit. The top of this upside down pyramid of steps and the committee of fat old men who sat there.
A group of men who had stepped out of time to stare down into the mists below and see the world go by. A ring of men with wrinkled skin and withered dicks.
Is that what I wanted to become?
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course.” Andy smiled “you know where to find us.” And up he went…away into the darkness.
I went back down, down to the coals even though the timer had long since run out.
I touched the coals and found myself in my home DIY sauna again…the walls and ceiling on fire…Lydias corpse on the floor, burning away gently, and clutched in her hand that long ceremonial blade, beginning to glow red.
I left quickly and closed the door behind me.
Smoke billowed into the night air as my Sauna turned into a bonfire.
And now I’m here. Letting you know how all this ends.
I think I’ve got another few more moments before my little sauna collapses…enough time to spin a timer one last time, pour a ladle on what remains of the coal pit and get back to that other world…
I’ve been on the bottom of life for so long…just another one of you fucking losers and I’ve had enough. I’m going to join the men who sit at the top…those men who sit in judgement on all things…
But before I go back I’m going to pass judgement here. My unfaithful wife is still asleep in the room next door and now… she’ll never wake…her nor the bastard inside her.
I’ll have my revenge on her for…and all the women who tried to take from me.
Lydia’s ceremonial sword is still hot on my lap…I’ll wake her just before I do it. I want to see the look in her eyes.
All I wanted to do was lose a bit of weight…and she’s the last thing to go.

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“They kept that all the way under wraps, and I didn’t know until maybe a day or two before the premiere,” he recently said Transformers Rise of the Beasts (2023) FULLMOVIE ONLIN

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At the Beginning
Adventure Arc - Arc 2
Wilderness Arc - Arc 3
Academy Arc - Arc 4
Previously on Leveling up the World…
 
This is somewhat nostalgic, the armadil shield said.
“Walking through copyette ruins?” Dallion’s opinion differed. “Hardly.”
You patched up things with Eury here, I remember.
The comment made Dallion slow his pace. That was indeed true. The first time their relationship had been on the rocks, searching the ruins had helped patch things up. It also helped that the entire city was under threat of destruction.
“There’s nothing to patch up,” he said adamantly.
Right. It’s the world that’s keeping you apart.
Reaching the staircase to the city above, Dallion hastened his pace. Half a dozen cleric guards stood at the higher levels, making sure no one without permission went up or down. Aware of the mage’s authority, they quickly stepped back, letting him pass. Some of them mumbled the obligatory “initiate”—a title Dallion cared little about.
A second half dozen was placed in the arena corridor, just beyond the stairwell. Feeling in a good mood after his magic level up, Dallion was about to let them know that he was done, when he spotted something that made him stop. At the end of the corridor, surrounded by his ever-present fury bodyguards, stood the general.
Damn it! Dallion said to himself. He had hoped that he’d manage to leave the city without having to talk to the snobbish snake. If there was someone he wanted to avoid at all costs, that was it.
“What a pleasant surprise to find you here, Dal,” the general said with his superior smile. Dallion’s rank in society might have increased since the last time the two had spoken, but it didn’t matter. He still had a debt to pay, and if there was one thing the general was good at, it was collecting. “Or should I say mage Dallion?”
“Nice to see you too, General.” Dallion remained calm. “I was considering seeing you,” he lied.
For a moment, he considered whether to blow him off completely. Being a mage, he had the authority to do so. Sadly, in the short turn, that would create more trouble than it was worth.
“Delightful. I’d invite you to my usual room, but it’s being redecorated.” The general tapped his chin with a finger. “I decided to go with something a lot more imperial in mind.”
“I see.”
“On the other hand, the arena field is empty right now. Maybe we could have a brief talk there?”
It was made to look like an amicable invitation, but there wasn’t a person in the corridor who couldn’t tell it was a threat.
The countess was moved out of the city, and yet this squirmy toad remains behind? Dallion grumbled internally. Worse than a cockroach.
Leaving his furies behind, the general went along the halls and corridors to the arena field. Despite it and the stands being meticulously well kept, a sense of emptiness emanated from everywhere. There were times when it was filled with dozens of challengers and enough crowds to fill a medium-sized town. Dallion had seen it from both sides of the fence: he had taken part in the tournament as well as observed it from afar.
“Feels strange, doesn’t it?” The general looked around. “If there was one thing about the countess that everyone will miss, it’s the Nerosal Festival. That was an event to remember. Even the northern provinces were envious, even if they’d never admit it. Tell me, is the Academy still holding its tournament?”
“No.”
“Ah, a shame. I was told that they, too, were rather magnificent. I’ve seen echo recreations, of course, but it could never beat the real thing.”
Dallion remained silent, patiently waiting.
“In a way, you can say that everything started here,” the general continued. “If a member of the imperial family hadn’t died that day, none of the following calamities would have taken place.”
“Doubtful.” Dallion tried his best not to smirk. “Another excuse would have turned up.”
“Oh, that’s definitely true. With the toys Adzorg had been playing, it was inevitable that something would follow. Who knows, if he had been just a bit luckier, the city might have been destroyed well before the Star had the chance to drag it into the wilderness. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”
“What do you want?” Dallion pressed. “I don’t have time for your usual performance.”
“My, my.” The general’s smile widened. “I guess it’s true that magic makes one arrogant. But you’re right. Both of us are busy people, so I’ll get straight to the point.” He paused for a few moments. “I think I can help you.”
Using that line already? Each time the snob had used it, Dallion had ended up worse off.
“Everyone knows you’re hunting Adzorg.”
“Not hunting,” Dallion corrected. “And I expect you to know where he is?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. The man has managed to elude the Academy and the Order’s best. There’s no way I could find him. However, I can help you find the thing he seeks.”
“Sounds too good to be true.”
“Everyone makes mistakes, even former archmages.” The general’s tone shifted. “In this case, the mistake was made years ago. The old man had grown impatient and came to me asking for a specific item. It was believed to be difficult to find and impossible to get. In fact, I was planning to use you to find it for me. It was quite unfortunate that some of my other associates failed to do their part.”
“Let me guess—they ran off with the item in question.”
“Didn’t even find it. Needless to say that our business relations came to an end. Anyway, the important thing is that Adzorg never got the piece.”
“And you know where it is.” Dallion crossed his hands. “What makes you sure that he hasn’t found it by now?”
“Nothing.”
The response made Dallion arch an eyebrow.
“I’ve narrowed down its location, but there’s no guarantee that he hadn’t found it. The reason I’m assuming he hasn’t is because the world is still here.”
“So, you have nothing to offer?”
“You seem to be confused, mage. It’s you who owe me. The debt you have is guaranteed by your Moon vow. I’ve been generous enough leaving you run around, but even my patience has its limit.”
Dallion would hardly call what he’d been doing “running around.” Unfortunately, he was the one with the debt.
Confident he had made his point, the general took out a small scroll from beneath his shirt and handed it to Dallion. Unrolling it revealed the picture of a very peculiar and well-crafted gear wheel. More precisely, it was a stack of gear wheels arranged like a cone.
“The item is said to be the size of a large shield,” the general said. “It’s made of a combination of sea iron, sun gold, and moon platinum. The materials alone will make every hunter want to have it. According to Adzorg, it’s hidden in a large clay or stone statue. Find it first and you’ll find your ex-mage.”
“Thanks,” Dallion grumbled.
“And just to be sure, there are no misunderstandings. I want the item.”
“You’re thinking of taking on the Order? Now I’m impressed.”
“Don’t act stupid, it doesn’t become you. The item is useless on its own. Owning a piece of something that could enslave all humanity, though… Now, that’s priceless. Bring me my prize and your debt is paid.” The man turned around. “What you do with the old man isn’t my business.”
Dallion folded the scroll and added it to the pile of things he was carrying. This was exactly the sort of “help” he had expected. The only positive thing was that he could be fairly sure that Adzorg had at least one piece missing.
“Oh, one last thing,” the general said over his shoulder. “Some of my associates were convinced that the statue is located in the dwarf kingdom of Alor, or at least it had been before the poison plague broke out.”
The kingdom of Alor. From what Dallion could remember, that was a small kingdom relatively close to the empire’s northwest province. The issue was that it was also close to the Azure federation.
“I wish you the best of luck.” The snob waved.
Mentally Dallion clenched his fists. A single spell would be enough to reduce the general to cinders. And yet the Moon vow wouldn’t allow it.
I told you to avoid the arena, the armadil shield said.
“Not now, shield.” Dallion hissed, then cast a flight spell. Even with all the positives he had achieved in the last hour, the conversation with the general left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. How could someone be so arrogant to gamble with the fate of cities? He had practice, that was for certain, constantly relying on someone else taking one for the team and dealing with the consequences of his actions.
The flight to the Gremlin’s Timepiece lasted less than a minute. As he approached, Dallion instantly spotted several air currents coming from the inn. Living under the countess had taught Diroh to be careful. That was good.
No longer bothering to remain incognito, Dallion flew directly to the inn door and stepped inside. He expected a crowd to start forming, but the place was remarkably empty. The only people present were Hannah and Diroh. Even Pan had remained in the kitchen, preferring not to get involved.
“Take everything you want to bring along,” Dallion said unceremoniously. “We’re leaving.”
The fury stood up to protest, when Hannah gave her a sign not to.
“Go, Di,” she said in a calm voice. “Only the things you’ll miss.”
“You’re letting him take me? Why? I thought—”
“Just do it, Di. He might be a jackass, but he’s right—people have already noticed and until we get a strong lord mayor, you’ll be safer with Dal than with someone else.”
A bouquet of emotions emanated from Diroh. There was a lot of disapproval, anger, and rebellion, of course, but also a bit of eagerness and joy as well subtly hidden. Walking deliberately slowly, she made her way to her room. Dallion and Hannah kept looking at each other, not saying a word the entire time the fury was there. Once gone, the innkeeper drew a dagger from beneath the counter and slashed all the air-currents Diroh had “forgotten” behind.
“If something happens to her…” the woman began.
“I won’t be alive to defend myself if it does,” Dallion finished for her. “Besides, she’s learned a trick or two.”
“She only had a year. You had five.”
Had it been five already? Dallion had lost track.
“I’ll make her my apprentice,” he said. “Once she has the title, no one will be able to harm her.”
“Other than all the mages that joined the other sides.” Hannah returned the dagger to its place. “Do you have enough authority? She’s not a full mage.”
“She’s close enough. Besides, I’m owed a few favors. She’ll become my apprentice, and with a bit of help from the Academy, a lot more.”
For several long seconds, Hannah kept on glaring straight into his eyes, then shook her head.
“I never thought you'd turn into this.”
“That’s not true. You knew it from the moment you saw me.” Dallion glanced briefly at the kitchen door. “I bet you knew how all of us would turn out. Is that part of your curse?”
“Heh.” The woman grabbed a bottle from the nearby shelf, then poured herself a glass. “My curse.” She gulped it down in one go. “They say that every awakened who lives in Nerosal but isn’t born there has a curse. Mine was to help people I knew would move on. Eury, Jiroh, you…”
“You still have Pan.”
“Only because his curse is even worse than mine. I didn’t expect you to chase after Captain Adzorg like a pup of the Academy, but I knew you’d hurt me.” She filled her glass once more and drank it. “And still, you’re the safest bet that girl has. Pan doesn’t think so, neither does March, but they don’t know you as well as I do.”
“I bet you say that to every otherworlder.”
“When I look at you, I see a hurricane of change. You’ll hurt a lot, more than you have hurt already. You’ll scar the world itself.”
“In that case, why put Di under my care?” Dallion felt a slight chill at the back of his neck.
“Because as long as she’s with you, she’ll be in the eye of the hurricane.”
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, consider joining my patreon or check out my other stories on redditserials:
The Scuu Paradox (a Space Opera Sci Fi)
The Cassandrian Theory (a Space Opera Sci Fi)
The Impeccable Adventure of the Reluctant Dungeon (Dungeon Core Adventure Comedy)
Uncharted Waters (An Urban Fantasy Detective Noir)

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Hello and welcome to my post I'm thrilled to have this opportunity to introduce myself to you.I'm a well-traveled, kind-hearted, and passionate individual who believes in the power of meaningful connections.
As an avid traveler, I've had the privilege of exploring 47 countries across the globe. From immersing myself in the vibrant cultures of Southeast Asia to marveling at the architectural wonders of Europe, each journey has broadened my horizons and left an indelible mark on my soul. I believe that travel not only enriches our understanding of the world but also enables us to appreciate its diversity and beauty.
I consider myself a true gentleman with old-fashioned values, and treating ladies with respect and chivalry is at the core of who I am. I believe in creating a nurturing and supportive environment for a meaningful and lasting relationship. Opening doors, pulling out chairs, and making sure my partner feels cherished are gestures that come naturally to me.
In addition to my travels and gentlemanly demeanor, I'm passionate about education and continuous learning. I hold PhD degree and I find great joy in expanding my knowledge in various fields. I'm always open to engaging conversations and intellectual debates that challenge my perspectives and help me grow as an individual.
When I'm not exploring new destinations or expanding my horizons, you'll often find me in the kitchen, indulging in my love for cooking. From experimenting with exotic recipes to whipping up comforting classics, the joy of creating delicious meals and sharing them with loved ones brings me immense happiness. I'd be thrilled to prepare a romantic dinner for you, showcasing my culinary skills and making it an unforgettable first date.
Nature holds a special place in my heart, and I find solace in its serene beauty. Whether it's taking leisurely hikes through lush forests, enjoying picnics by tranquil lakes, or simply strolling along sandy beaches, I'm always rejuvenated by the wonders of the natural world. It would be wonderful to have a partner who shares my appreciation for the great outdoors and wants to embark on adventures together.
Maintaining a healthy lifestyle is important to me, so I prioritize fitness and exercise in my daily routine. Whether it's hitting the gym, practicing yoga, or going for invigorating runs, staying active keeps me balanced and energized. I'm always up for trying new activities and exploring different fitness routines. It would be fantastic to find a partner who values their well-being and enjoys staying active too.
In addition to my personal pursuits, I also devote my time to volunteering. Making a positive impact on the lives of others is a fulfilling experience, and it's a part of my life that I hold dear.
Humor is an essential part of who I am, and I firmly believe in finding laughter and joy in everyday situations. I love sharing lighthearted moments and witty banter, as it adds a spark to any relationship. Life is too short to take ourselves too seriously, and I'm always up for a good laugh.
Ultimately, I'm here with the intention of finding a serious and committed relationship. I believe in building a deep connection based on trust, respect, and shared values. If you're someone who appreciates a well-traveled, kind-hearted, and passionate partner, and you're ready to embark on an adventure filled with love, laughter, and personal growth, then I'd be absolutely delighted to hear from you. Let's create our own story together and make beautiful memories along the way.

Hello and welcome to my post I'm thrilled to have this opportunity to introduce myself to you.I'm a well-traveled, kind-hearted, and passionate individual who believes in the power of meaningful connections.
As an avid traveler, I've had the privilege of exploring 47 countries across the globe. From immersing myself in the vibrant cultures of Southeast Asia to marveling at the architectural wonders of Europe, each journey has broadened my horizons and left an indelible mark on my soul. I believe that travel not only enriches our understanding of the world but also enables us to appreciate its diversity and beauty.
I consider myself a true gentleman with old-fashioned values, and treating ladies with respect and chivalry is at the core of who I am. I believe in creating a nurturing and supportive environment for a meaningful and lasting relationship. Opening doors, pulling out chairs, and making sure my partner feels cherished are gestures that come naturally to me.
In addition to my travels and gentlemanly demeanor, I'm passionate about education and continuous learning. I hold PhD degree and I find great joy in expanding my knowledge in various fields. I'm always open to engaging conversations and intellectual debates that challenge my perspectives and help me grow as an individual.
When I'm not exploring new destinations or expanding my horizons, you'll often find me in the kitchen, indulging in my love for cooking. From experimenting with exotic recipes to whipping up comforting classics, the joy of creating delicious meals and sharing them with loved ones brings me immense happiness. I'd be thrilled to prepare a romantic dinner for you, showcasing my culinary skills and making it an unforgettable first date.
Nature holds a special place in my heart, and I find solace in its serene beauty. Whether it's taking leisurely hikes through lush forests, enjoying picnics by tranquil lakes, or simply strolling along sandy beaches, I'm always rejuvenated by the wonders of the natural world. It would be wonderful to have a partner who shares my appreciation for the great outdoors and wants to embark on adventures together.
Maintaining a healthy lifestyle is important to me, so I prioritize fitness and exercise in my daily routine. Whether it's hitting the gym, practicing yoga, or going for invigorating runs, staying active keeps me balanced and energized. I'm always up for trying new activities and exploring different fitness routines. It would be fantastic to find a partner who values their well-being and enjoys staying active too.
In addition to my personal pursuits, I also devote my time to volunteering. Making a positive impact on the lives of others is a fulfilling experience, and it's a part of my life that I hold dear.
Humor is an essential part of who I am, and I firmly believe in finding laughter and joy in everyday situations. I love sharing lighthearted moments and witty banter, as it adds a spark to any relationship. Life is too short to take ourselves too seriously, and I'm always up for a good laugh.
Ultimately, I'm here with the intention of finding a serious and committed relationship. I believe in building a deep connection based on trust, respect, and shared values. If you're someone who appreciates a well-traveled, kind-hearted, and passionate partner, and you're ready to embark on an adventure filled with love, laughter, and personal growth, then I'd be absolutely delighted to hear from you. Let's create our own story together and make beautiful memories along the way.

I'm starting to make healthier choices (starting with exercise) and I'm wanting this to extend to cooking.
Something that has really been motivating me to exercise are fitness video games like Ring Fit Adventure and Let's Get Fit. Both of these will give you rewards and track when you've done a fitness move a certain number of times. I really like reaching these achievements and am trying to think of ways that I can extend this gamification to cooking.
Does anyone have ideas for how to DIY this or know of existing cooking gamification? Like, it would be so cool an app could track the number of days in a row I've cooked, unlocking achievements of using different kitchen appliances or ingredients, and other things that would motivate the internal collector in me. Any thoughts?

Let's explore the world together. Let's cuddle up together on the sofa while it storms and hold each other when we've got no other plans. Just make the most of every moment. Ambition, a thirst for knowledge and adventure, and a little competitiveness will go a long way to help.
I come from a big family of engineers and I'm an artificial intelligence software engineer myself, so I'm more than a little nerdy. Some people find me intimidating but I'm easy to get along with. I make friends fast and I've got a pretty large group that have all been hanging out regularly since college.
Movies are a passion of mine. Good movies, bad movies, all have their place depending on my mood. My favorite movie is the new Dune, with Blade Runner 2049 being a close second. It's safe to say Denis Villeneuve is my favorite director. I like complex, immersive movies that feel like they transport me to a new universe. It would be nice to find someone who feels the same way and wants to share that experience. Let's dissect the brilliant works of art and have fun laughing about movies that are so bad they're good.
I'm also a really good cook but bonus points if you know how to cook too or would like to learn. I'd love to have someone I can cook with. Cooking and good food in general helps me relax after a long day. Food is important in my family, especially seafood. Everywhere we travel we bring back new recipes. I cook from all kinds of different cuisine but in a normal rotation and no particular order, you'll see me making lots of French, Italian, Indian, Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Mexican, and more. Parties are often planned around the food with everyone hanging out in the kitchen while it's made. You'll always eat well with me around.
I have a lot of other hobbies I switch between pretty often. It helps me prevent burn out on any specific thing. I pick up skills very quickly, so that definitely has something to do with having so many. Drawing, painting (digital, oil, and miniatures), DIY projects, TTRPGs, PC gaming, airsoft, wood/metal working, and more. I've even published my own TTRPG and I'm working on two more books for it.
I should probably mention I'm mildly allergic to cats.
If you made it through that wall of text, drop me a line. I love meeting new people and so does my dog.

I've been debating sending this letter to my ex. I don't expect a response and my purpose for writing it was for him to hear about my experience with him. Our breakup was mutual. As much as I didn't want it to happen, I also didn't want to spend my time with someone who always had one foot out the door. How would you feel if you received this from an ex?
My Dear X,
When I met you, I was instantly attracted to your transparency and honesty. Your grasp on life and self-certainty. I liked how opinionated and confident you seemed. I enjoyed our lengthy discussions about everything and anything, sometimes it was about nothing at all. Many times our conversations were deep and painful, yet unraveling and healing. I felt seen and I know you felt that too.
It was a breath of fresh air.
I remember standing in your kitchen, working our asses off to cook something new for each other. The hot grease splattered all over the stove, the smokey living room, and the piles of dishes in the sink. The kisses and hugs we gave each other throughout every cooking ordeal, which fueled us to continue.
Our shared meals became an essential part of my day. We would watch one another taste the food, smiling through every bite and moaning with delight while our hands remained interlocked across the table. Towards the end of our dinner, we would begin anticipating our favorite part of the day when we would slip into bed.
Reuniting with you at the end of the day was absolutely blissful. I indulged in our deep love-making into the late hours of the night. The passion, the intentions behind every move, the stillness of time. Every touch, every kiss, every moment we spent looking into each other's eyes.
Our mornings began when the sunlight slipped between the crevices of your bedroom window. I'd snuggle up into the nape of your neck with my hand right over your chest to feel your heart beating. You'd slip away carefully, although your absence was enough to wake me. Juno's howls and Luna's whimpers announced the departure for our morning walk through the neighborhood. Our arrival was followed by the smell of bacon and coffee. Breakfast and then we were off to work for the day. We had our little routine going the last few weeks we got to spend together. I was starting to get used to it.
I loved it all.
However, our moments together were not always the pretty picture I painted.
As we spent more time getting to know each other, I came to realize that you're not who you portray yourself to be. You're not confident or transparent with your emotions, because you work so hard to hide and control them. I noticed all those times your body tensed up in response to an emotion. I listened to every time you tried to tell yourself what you "should" or "shouldn't" feel. I held you all those nights you cried not knowing why.
My perception of your initial self-certainty and grasp on life dwindled over time, yet my love for you grew. It grew with every moment of despair, every smile paired with sad eyes, every ounce of humanness you finally allowed yourself to feel and to show.
When doubt flooded your mind, I believed in you. When fear held you back, I encouraged you. When pain burdened you, I helped you carry it.
I was there for you through the ups and downs. I accepted all of you, even the parts you can't accept yourself. I saw you for who you really are. Just another soul wandering through this life, seeking purpose, seeking a place to call home. So it only hurt that much more when I saw you trying so hard not to be the beautiful person I saw behind all the walls and the massive trenches you've built to keep everyone out. With every step I took closer to you, you took one back. Our differences were threatening to you, but to me they were a new adventure. An unread chapter of a book I was eagerly waiting to unfold. A ladder to jump over your walls and a bridge to cross your trenches.
Unfortunately, you couldn't see it that way. You continuously amplified my mistakes and diminished the positives, just as you do to yourself. It became too much for me to bare. You have not learned that effort, not perfection, builds a lasting and loving partnership. And I am to accept that one person cannot single-handedly salvage a relationship the other does not value.
With this letter, I bid you farewell and strength to heal from what keeps you from forming loving connections.
Thank you,
X

Greetings! I hope you enjoy this new tale I've spun up! Trying a different POV this time around. Let me know what you think.
Next
Markus gazed once more at the package. It was tubular in shape, about ten inches in length, and rattled slightly when he shook it. There was no return address, and the delivery label was obviously hand-written in a gorgeous calligraphic font. Someone definitely took their time and care in creating this.
However, he didn’t recall ordering anything, nor did he have any friends or family with a looming marriage, so this arrival warranted some concern. It smelled somewhat of a campfire, but was otherwise a normal, nondescript cardboard tube with plastic caps.
As he inhaled the scent surrounding the tube, his mind was cast back to the few camping trips he had taken with his father, and of the many blóts he had performed with his old Kindred before they disbanded. Good memories, all. With a smile on his face, he gently uncapped the tube and emptied the contents out into his heavy palm.
As he had been expecting a letter, he wasn’t disappointed. What was interesting was the fact that said letter was made of honest-to-goodness vellum. A rolled piece of vellum, kept tight by a heavy signet ring.
Markus took the vellum to the kitchen table, and gently slid the ring off of it, laying it down, ignored for now.
Whomever had sent this to him had some serious skills. He was looking at what appeared to be an illuminated invitation. The handwriting was as exquisite as the lettering on the delivery label, and was a veritable joy to read.
Dearest Markus,
I am cordially inviting you to tea.
Please meet me at Kitcho Arashiyama – Kyoto, Japan.
Enclosed, please find your ticket to Japan.
I expect to see you there in three month’s time, at four PM local time on February 14th, 2023.
Yours,
Lucifer
Markus sat the letter down beside the seal, dumbfounded. Lucifer? Either someone was attempting to draw him into another LARP, or they must have sent the message to the wrong guy. Curious, he inspected the ring.
It was a heavy ring, with a curious, angular symbol embossed on it, surrounded by an almost hypnotic pattern of lines. The same symbol was also on either side of the ring. Smirking, he took a snapshot of it with his phone and did an image search.
It was, indeed, the sigil of Lucifer. Someone must have gone to some expense for this. Remembering that the message had said something about a plane ticket, Markus snatched up the tube and shook it some more. Out floated a second item. Picking it up off the floor, Markus saw that it looked curiously like a ticket of some sort. Round-trip from Louisville to Kyoto, open-ended. Nonstop, first class. Holy shit.
In disbelief, Markus checked the ticket online. It was booked through Quantas, and was, indeed, legitimate. Sitting back in the chair, he realized that he would be going to Japan in three months.
Three months was hardly enough time to get his passport in order. Still, if someone spent this much on a flight for him, he owed it to them to do his utmost to be there on time, and at his best.
The next day, he called in to work and went to a post office in Louisville to apply for a passport. Figuring the expense would be worth it, he went ahead and got it expedited. No sense in it arriving the day after his flight. This way, he would have it around the third week of January, leaving him enough time to not panic about having everything ready.
The second most important task done, he went home and perused the web for a nice outfit to wear to his tea meeting with “Lucifer”. A new kilt, belt and boots would do the trick. He would go to a nicer store for a dress shirt once he had the items.
Markus felt invigorated for the first time in several years once he had made the purchases. His life had been fraught with one setback or disaster after another for quite some time. He and his girlfriend of five years had split up last month, both of his grandfathers had passed while they were together, and his mother, the only family he had left, had developed Alzheimer’s and had already forgotten who he was. Markus couldn’t afford to take care of her on his own, and had been forced to place her in a home. A change would be welcome.
So, he started on the hardest and most important task: learning Japanese. He had three months to get fluent enough to get by without being seen as disrespectful. He had been an avid fan of most anime and manga for nearly thirty years, and hopefully watching the subtitled anime would come in handy in this endeavor. Thinking about his upcoming trip, Markus realized he’d need somewhere to stay. He scoured the internet, looking at reviews and ads for various hotels in the area of the restaurant he’d be dining at. After several hours of searching, he selected a place called Rikyuan Kyoto Nishikyogoku. He sent them an email detailing his trip and his needs, and got a reply with the costs. He put it on a credit card, and felt one more piece of the puzzle slip into place.
Markus made the necessary arrangements at work the next day, “planning” on two full weeks of being gone. Thankfully, his company was extremely flexible, and allowed him to take the required days off, no questions asked. When not working, Markus was deep in his Japanese lessons, cross-referencing what he heard in his anime with what he was learning. It took almost the entire three months, but by the end of it, he was watching entire episodes of “One-Punch Man” without subtitles and understanding about eighty percent of it.
Reading the katakana and hiragana, however, was proving to be a little more difficult. He could recognize the symbols for the various shops and restaurants, but was far from reading a newspaper.
On February tenth, he checked that the ticket was still valid, and packed enough for a month away. It was a depressingly small, single bag that he wound up having. Since a kilt was easy to care for, and he would be wearing a second one anyway, all he really had to pack were a few shirts, socks and underwear for the trip alongside his small bag of toiletries.
Once he was fully packed, he went about his life as usual. Work, eat, video games, sleep, and repeat. There was little in the way of friends, and no family left to visit besides his mother, who sadly never recognized him.
The day before his flight left, he decided to visit his mother one last time. He drove himself to the retirement home, and signed himself in to see her. It was a bright, if cold, afternoon.
Knocking on her door, he called out, “Hello? Mom? It’s me, Markus. May I come in?”
“Markus? Markus, Markus…. Now where have I heard that name before? Oh! Yes, please come in!” she replied.
Opening the door, he was surprised to see his mother in a bathrobe with a broad smile and outstretched arms. “My son! I’ve missed you. Your father is at work, but he should be home in an hour or so. I have some tea in the fridge. Would you like some?” she asked, her soft voice as pleasant as it ever was in his childhood. She wrapped him up in a warm, if weak, hug in her fragile arms.
“No thanks, Mom. I’ll get some water, instead. Can I get you a glass, too?” he replied.
“Oh, please. I’d appreciate that. I’ll just have a seat, then,” she said, taking a seat on the small chair at the writing desk.
Markus got two glasses of water from the tap, handed one to his mother and sat in a chair. “Mom? I’ve got something to tell you. Promise you won’t get mad?”
“I promise, son. Now, what is it?”
“I’m going on a trip tomorrow. To Kyoto for a business meeting. I don’t know when I’ll return,” he said softly.
“Oh! My boy is finally getting to travel. Your father will be so proud of you. He should be home soon, you know,” she said, taking a sip of her water.
Markus’ breath hitched at the second mention of his father, who had been dead and gone these past seventeen years. Forcing a smile, he said, “Yeah, Mom. You know how dad is, though. He works so much to make sure we have what we need.”
“He sure does, Markus. I do hope you get to see him before you leave. It’d mean the world to him. So! What’s this business meeting about?” she asked happily.
“Well, I’m not sure, if I’m honest. I just got a letter to meet someone in Kyoto. They included an open-ended plane ticket and everything. I checked everything out, and it’s all legitimate. It’s probably something pretty important. I just wish I knew why they chose a relative nobody like me,” he replied, deep in thought.
“It’s because my son is an amazing person. That’s why. I just know it,” she said, setting down her mostly untouched water on the writing desk. “I’m getting tired, now. Come see me again soon? I miss you so much,” she pleaded.
“Okay, Mom. As soon as I can. Let me help you to bed, okay? I know you’re tired,” Markus said, offering an arm to his mother.
“You’re such a sweet boy. You got that from your father, you know.”
His mother grunted softly as she climbed into bed, pulling the covers over her shoulders.
“I love you, Mom. Get some rest, and I’ll come see you as soon as I can, okay?”
“Okay, sweetheart. He’ll take care of you, you know.”
“Who will, Mom?”
“The man you’re going to meet for tea. He’ll take care of you. I’m sure of it,” she said sleepily.
“...meet for tea? What? I never…”
But Markus’ mother was already fast asleep, snoring softly. Markus looked at his mother in wonder. Shaking his head, he kissed her forehead and walked out of her room, shutting the door as quietly as he could manage.
He walked to the front desk and informed the receptionist that his mother was asleep, and that he would be leaving in the morning for Japan, in case she asked about him.
“Oh, that sounds wonderful, sir! I hope you enjoy your trip. I’ll make sure the aides know that she is asleep. Thank you for visiting her. I know it’s hard, but it does help them. Even when they don’t recognize you, connecting to their past is always helpful. Please be safe,” he said.
“Thank you. I will be. Take care of her, okay?” Markus asked softly, swallowing past the tight lump in his throat.
The receptionist nodded with a smile, and Markus went home, crying silently.
Obscenely early the next morning, Markus tossed his travel bag into his car and drove off to the airport. The drive was thankfully smooth and without any serious traffic. He got a decent spot in the long term parking lot, and went to check in to his flight.
Surprisingly enough, the wait for check-in was short and quick, allowing him to get to his gate with over an hour to spare. With such ample time, Markus got breakfast, and was able to savor the mostly bland fare. The boarding process was quick and efficient, and the other passengers were mostly quiet and tired. This allowed them to be able to leave a full fifteen minutes early, and Markus was soon on his way to Kyoto.
He found himself the only resident of first class, oddly enough. He and the flight attendant spoke cordially a few times, and he busied himself on his phone for most of the trip, napping occasionally for the nearly fourteen hour flight.
He was gently awoken by his flight attendant. “Markus? We will be landing soon. I need you to sit up and get your seatbelt on, okay?” she said softly.
“Hrmm? Oh. Okay, Sophia. I’m up. Thank you,” he replied with a smile. Sophia nodded and went to buckle herself in as well.
Safely buckled, Markus awaited the plane’s touchdown.
The plane landed, and all passengers disembarked just as orderly and quietly as they boarded. Once his bag had been claimed, Markus left the airport, and took his first breath of the air in Kyoto.
The air was cold, clean and crisp, with a promise of snow in the future. Markus had been busy during his flight, checking on the best ways to get to his destination. He settled on taking a bus, and then a train, as that was an experience he’d never had. Markus oriented himself, finding the correct stop, and sat down on a nearby bench to wait.
His adventure in Japan had just begun.
Next
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Greetings! I hope you enjoy this new tale I've spun up! Trying a different POV this time around. Let me know what you think.
​
Markus gazed once more at the package. It was tubular in shape, about ten inches in length, and rattled slightly when he shook it. There was no return address, and the delivery label was obviously hand-written in a gorgeous calligraphic font. Someone definitely took their time and care in creating this.
However, he didn’t recall ordering anything, nor did he have any friends or family with a looming marriage, so this arrival warranted some concern. It smelled somewhat of a campfire, but was otherwise a normal, nondescript cardboard tube with plastic caps.
As he inhaled the scent surrounding the tube, his mind was cast back to the few camping trips he had taken with his father, and of the many blóts he had performed with his old Kindred before they disbanded. Good memories, all. With a smile on his face, he gently uncapped the tube and emptied the contents out into his heavy palm.
As he had been expecting a letter, he wasn’t disappointed. What was interesting was the fact that said letter was made of honest-to-goodness vellum. A rolled piece of vellum, kept tight by a heavy signet ring.
Markus took the vellum to the kitchen table, and gently slid the ring off of it, laying it down, ignored for now.
Whomever had sent this to him had some serious skills. He was looking at what appeared to be an illuminated invitation. The handwriting was as exquisite as the lettering on the delivery label, and was a veritable joy to read.
Dearest Markus,
I am cordially inviting you to tea.
Please meet me at Kitcho Arashiyama – Kyoto, Japan.
Enclosed, please find your ticket to Japan.
I expect to see you there in three month’s time, at four PM local time on February 14th, 2023.
Yours,
Lucifer
Markus sat the letter down beside the seal, dumbfounded. Lucifer? Either someone was attempting to draw him into another LARP, or they must have sent the message to the wrong guy. Curious, he inspected the ring.
It was a heavy ring, with a curious, angular symbol embossed on it, surrounded by an almost hypnotic pattern of lines. The same symbol was also on either side of the ring. Smirking, he took a snapshot of it with his phone and did an image search.
It was, indeed, the sigil of Lucifer. Someone must have gone to some expense for this. Remembering that the message had said something about a plane ticket, Markus snatched up the tube and shook it some more. Out floated a second item. Picking it up off the floor, Markus saw that it looked curiously like a ticket of some sort. Round-trip from Louisville to Kyoto, open-ended. Nonstop, first class. Holy shit.
In disbelief, Markus checked the ticket online. It was booked through Quantas, and was, indeed, legitimate. Sitting back in the chair, he realized that he would be going to Japan in three months.
Three months was hardly enough time to get his passport in order. Still, if someone spent this much on a flight for him, he owed it to them to do his utmost to be there on time, and at his best.
The next day, he called in to work and went to a post office in Louisville to apply for a passport. Figuring the expense would be worth it, he went ahead and got it expedited. No sense in it arriving the day after his flight. This way, he would have it around the third week of January, leaving him enough time to not panic about having everything ready.
The second most important task done, he went home and perused the web for a nice outfit to wear to his tea meeting with “Lucifer”. A new kilt, belt and boots would do the trick. He would go to a nicer store for a dress shirt once he had the items.
Markus felt invigorated for the first time in several years once he had made the purchases. His life had been fraught with one setback or disaster after another for quite some time. He and his girlfriend of five years had split up last month, both of his grandfathers had passed while they were together, and his mother, the only family he had left, had developed Alzheimer’s and had already forgotten who he was. Markus couldn’t afford to take care of her on his own, and had been forced to place her in a home. A change would be welcome.
So, he started on the hardest and most important task: learning Japanese. He had three months to get fluent enough to get by without being seen as disrespectful. He had been an avid fan of most anime and manga for nearly thirty years, and hopefully watching the subtitled anime would come in handy in this endeavor. Thinking about his upcoming trip, Markus realized he’d need somewhere to stay. He scoured the internet, looking at reviews and ads for various hotels in the area of the restaurant he’d be dining at. After several hours of searching, he selected a place called Rikyuan Kyoto Nishikyogoku. He sent them an email detailing his trip and his needs, and got a reply with the costs. He put it on a credit card, and felt one more piece of the puzzle slip into place.
Markus made the necessary arrangements at work the next day, “planning” on two full weeks of being gone. Thankfully, his company was extremely flexible, and allowed him to take the required days off, no questions asked. When not working, Markus was deep in his Japanese lessons, cross-referencing what he heard in his anime with what he was learning. It took almost the entire three months, but by the end of it, he was watching entire episodes of “One-Punch Man” without subtitles and understanding about eighty percent of it.
Reading the katakana and hiragana, however, was proving to be a little more difficult. He could recognize the symbols for the various shops and restaurants, but was far from reading a newspaper.
On February tenth, he checked that the ticket was still valid, and packed enough for a month away. It was a depressingly small, single bag that he wound up having. Since a kilt was easy to care for, and he would be wearing a second one anyway, all he really had to pack were a few shirts, socks and underwear for the trip alongside his small bag of toiletries.
Once he was fully packed, he went about his life as usual. Work, eat, video games, sleep, and repeat. There was little in the way of friends, and no family left to visit besides his mother, who sadly never recognized him.
The day before his flight left, he decided to visit his mother one last time. He drove himself to the retirement home, and signed himself in to see her. It was a bright, if cold, afternoon.
Knocking on her door, he called out, “Hello? Mom? It’s me, Markus. May I come in?”
“Markus? Markus, Markus…. Now where have I heard that name before? Oh! Yes, please come in!” she replied.
Opening the door, he was pleasantly surprised to see his mother in a bathrobe with a broad smile and outstretched arms. “My son! I’ve missed you. Your father is at work, but he should be home in an hour or so. I have some tea in the fridge. Would you like some?” she asked, her soft voice as pleasant as it ever was in his childhood. She wrapped him up in a warm, if weak, hug in her fragile arms.
“No thanks, Mom. I’ll get some water, instead. Can I get you a glass, too?” he replied.
“Oh, please. I’d appreciate that. I’ll just have a seat, then,” she said, taking a seat on the small chair at the writing desk.
Markus got two glasses of water from the tap, handed one to his mother and sat in a chair. “Mom? I’ve got something to tell you. Promise you won’t get mad?”
“I promise, son. Now, what is it?”
“I’m going on a trip tomorrow. To Kyoto for a business meeting. I don’t know when I’ll return,” he said softly.
“Oh! My boy is finally getting to travel. Your father will be so proud of you. He should be home soon, you know,” she said, taking a sip of her water.
Markus’ breath hitched at the second mention of his father, who had been dead and gone these past seventeen years. Forcing a smile, he said, “Yeah, Mom. You know how dad is, though. He works so much to make sure we have what we need.”
“He sure does, Markus. I do hope you get to see him before you leave. It’d mean the world to him. So! What’s this business meeting about?” she asked happily.
“Well, I’m not sure, if I’m honest. I just got a letter to meet someone in Kyoto. They included an open-ended plane ticket and everything. I checked everything out, and it’s all legitimate. It’s probably something pretty important. I just wish I knew why they chose a relative nobody like me,” he replied, deep in thought.
“It’s because my son is an amazing person. That’s why. I just know it,” she said, setting down her water on the writing desk. “I’m getting tired, now. Come see me again soon? I miss you so much,” she pleaded.
“Okay, Mom. As soon as I can. Let me help you to bed, okay? I know you’re tired,” Markus said, offering an arm to his mother.
“You’re such a sweet boy. You got that from your father, you know.”
His mother grunted softly as she climbed into bed, pulling the covers over her shoulders.
“I love you, Mom. Get some rest, and I’ll come see you as soon as I can, okay?”
“Okay, sweetheart. He’ll take care of you, you know.”
“Who will, Mom?”
“The man you’re going to meet for tea. He’ll take care of you. I’m sure of it,” she said sleepily.
“...meet for tea? What? I never…”
But Markus’ mother was already fast asleep, snoring softly. Markus looked at his mother in wonder. Shaking his head, he kissed her forehead and walked out of her room, shutting the door as quietly as he could manage.
He walked to the front desk and informed the receptionist that his mother was asleep, and that he would be leaving in the morning for Japan, in case she asked about him.
“Oh, that sounds wonderful, sir! I hope you enjoy your trip. I’ll make sure the aides know that she is asleep. Thank you for visiting her. I know it’s hard, but it does help them. Even when they don’t recognize you, connecting to their past is always helpful. Please be safe,” he said.
“Thank you. I will be. Take care of her, okay?” Markus asked softly, swallowing past the tight lump in his throat.
The receptionist nodded with a smile, and Markus went home, crying silently.
************
Obscenely early the next morning, Markus tossed his travel bag into his car and drove off to the airport. The drive was thankfully smooth and without any serious traffic. He got a decent spot in the long term parking lot, and went to check in to his flight.
Surprisingly enough, the wait for check-in was short and quick, allowing him to get to his gate with over an hour to spare. With ample time, Markus got breakfast, and was able to savor the mostly bland fare. The boarding process was quick and efficient, and the other passengers were mostly quiet and tired. This allowed them to be able to leave a full fifteen minutes early, and Markus was soon on his way to Kyoto.
He found himself the only resident of first class, oddly enough. He and the flight attendant spoke cordially a few times, and he busied himself on his phone for most of the trip, napping occasionally for the nearly fourteen hour flight.
He was gently awoken by his flight attendant. “Markus? We will be landing soon. I need you to sit up and get your seatbelt on, okay?” she said softly.
“Hrmm? Oh. Okay, Sophia. I’m up. Thank you,” he replied with a smile. Sophia nodded and went to buckle herself in as well.
Safely buckled, Markus awaited the plane’s touchdown.
The plane landed, and all passengers disembarked just as orderly and quietly as they boarded. Once his bag had been claimed, Markus left the airport, and took his first breath of the air in Kyoto.
The air was cold, clean and crisp, with a promise of snow in the future. Markus had been busy during his flight, checking on the best ways to get to his destination. He settled on taking a bus, and then a train, as that was an experience he’d never had. Markus oriented himself, and found the correct stop, and sat down on a nearby bench to wait.
His adventure in Japan had just begun.

I'm 37, in the NoVA area. 6'0 with brown hair (some gray) blue eyes, a wicked smile for those that earn it and a lover of kink, kindness, and a keenness for adventures.
I've been a Dom for several years now, I was introduced at 19 by my ex at the time, and it wasn't for me then. But over the years it grew to something amazing, I truly can't imagine life or love without this kinky side of myself. Impact, breath, Restraints, orgasm control and denial are just a few of the kinks I love.
I'm a tea drinker by day, and scotch on the rocks at night. I'm a nerd and geek. I work in IT. Enjoying working out, reading, movies, sports, and some traveling. My date ideas tend to be active like bowling, walks in Oldtown Alexandria, or other fun adventures getting to know you. I grew up in NYC, and joined the military out of high school. Spent half of it chasing drug runners in the Caribbean, and the other half behind a desk being an IT. I'm passionate about literacy, and education. My friends mean the world to me, and I'd probably be like Liam Neeson if anyone were to threaten my family or my friends. I'm a huge nerd, and I'm just as comfortable in a board room as I am at a comic convention. I'm affectionate to those that matter in my life, but I'm awkward when it comes to hugs from strangers. I used to love writing stories but the only short stories I've written in the past few years have been erotic tales of my adventures. I've never been married, although I got within 12 hours of it once. I love days in with someone, curled up on the couch watching Netflix, just as much as an evening out to dinner and a fun date. I'm in an LDR (yes we date separately) and I practice kitchen table poly.
I'm seeking a submissive, a partner, and a friend.
What's something you wish more people knew about you?

Thank you very much in advance.
At the crossroads of shattered dreams and whispered promises, Iria, the fabled port city, stood as a testament to the bittersweet allure of freedom. Like the thorny embrace of a briar, its streets intertwined with the hopes and sorrows of generations. It was here, amidst the misty twilight that caressed the cobblestones, that the Briar Thorn Tavern emerged from the depths of history, a sanctuary for weary souls seeking solace from the burdens of existence. Within its timeworn walls, the essence of Iria's foundation permeated the air, as if the tavern itself carried the weight of the city's destiny.
The Briar Thorn was more than a mere tavern—it was a haven, a hearth that welcomed the downtrodden, the restless, and the lost. Its aged beams, polished by countless hands, exuded the warmth of an ancestral embrace. The whispers of ancient tales echoed in every nook and cranny, intertwining with the hushed murmurs of patrons seeking refuge from the tempestuous world outside. Here, adventurers found respite, their journeys converging in a symphony of shared experiences.
Deep beneath the streets of Iria, a labyrinthine network of tunnels and caverns whispered secrets of a forgotten past. Legends spoke of the Nords, who sculpted these subterranean realms with a mystical glow that once illuminated the city above. Whispers carried the stories of Gillikristr, the visionary founder of Iria, whose sacrifice quelled the unearthly power that threatened to consume the city. Within this hidden realm, the House of the Red Grave stood as a poignant reminder of the struggle for emancipation. Weathered gravestones, adorned with intricate carvings, paid homage to the Caledonian and Iournenain slaves who dared to defy their chains.
As the doors of the Briar Thorn swung open, a kaleidoscope of sensations flooded the senses. Thorny roses, reminiscent of the House of the Red Grave, adorned the tavern, their crimson petals an homage to the sacrifices made for freedom. Within, the cavernous chamber unfolded like an amphitheater, its tiers of benches teeming with anticipation. Laughter mingled with the resonant notes of musicians, filling the air with a vibrant symphony of revelry.
In this enchanted realm, patrons embarked on a journey beyond the boundaries of mundane existence. The Briar Thorn embraced them, weaving their stories into the tapestry of Iria's ever-evolving narrative. It was a place where the past danced with the present, where the weight of the world momentarily lifted, and where the echoes of forgotten heroes found solace in the hearts of the living.
Adorned in her finest party attire, Isabel navigated the bustling crowd, fiery curls flowing like molten copper, half pinned up and half dancing freely in the wind. Her lute accompanied her, while she, a half-dwarf, wore a unique half-leather, half-silk bodice dress in eggshell white-yellow, adorned with red trim. A wide belt cinched her waist, with a well-maintained sword hanging at her hip. With ethereal grace, she weaved through the throng until finding solace in a quiet corner of the lively pub, fixated on an intricately engraved ledger.
Dust motes mingled with the blue-white illumination of the lamppost, as the pub owner's middle daughter opened the book and studied its contents. Her green eyes fixated on precise rows of figures. A faint murmur escaped her lips, a silent conversation with the ghosts of numbers.
Her mischievous grin curved upon porcelain features, reflecting the intrigue that stirred within her. With a single finger, she traced a curving figure on her account, a sly grin curling into an incredulous smile. The past month had been exceptional, favored patrons generously bestowing their coins. A mysterious benefactor, surely taking notice.
'Och gods...the ink's bleedin' through,' Isabel thought to herself. The accounts, usually orderly and precise, now seemed to mirror the joyful chaos surrounding her.
'Guess I'd best get this in order before folk start gettin' drunk an' cause too much a' ruckus...'
After nearly several minutes of writing she leaned back in her chair, stretched, and yawned hard. Her weary green eyes glanced over the darkening floor of the inn, and she raised a hand to rub at her jaw. She tried her her best to avoid the calls of the raucous crowd in favor of getting the ledgers out of the way.
It was to no avail. The strain of the work clearly taking its toll, she let out a determined sig and closed the ledger, setting it aside with the intention to revisit it.
Isabel's gaze shifted from the ledger book to the adorned walls. Festive decorations filled every corner, transforming the tavern into a celebration itself. The tantalizing aromas from the kitchen hinted at delightful treats prepared with extra care, each dish a tribute to the upcoming revelry. Amidst the lively crowd, vibrant decorations, and alluring scents, Isabel felt a sense of purpose and excitement. It was clear that a grand festival was approaching, and she was determined to create unforgettable memories for the attendees.
With a resigned sigh, Isabel straightened herself, her red stilettos scraping the stone floor as she prepared for her tavern rounds. Her green eyes sparkled with determination as she surveyed The Briar Thorn's lively atmosphere. Adjusting her party outfit, she ensured every detail was perfect. This was her moment to shine, to captivate the hearts of those gathered. Stepping forward as the tavern doors swung open, she embraced the spirited celebration that awaited her and the people of Iria.
"Guid evenin' tae ye all! Ye're lookin' bonnie, ye are. Micht I tempt ye wi' a warmin' ale or a cool stout? Or maybe a cider? We've a special brew fer ye tonight. Our cider's been aged in dragon fire-hardened casks."
In the midst of the vibrant tavern, all eyes converged on the resplendent figure that graced the stage of the Briar Thorn. A flame-haired maiden, adorned with an intricate tapestry of freckles, commanded attention with each movement, a testament to her practiced grace and unyielding confidence. The air crackled with anticipation as the bard's emerald eyes met those of her audience, mischief sparkling within their depths. With a playful wink, she set off a chorus of hearty laughter, an orchestration of mirth resonating through the space.
Among the sea of eager faces, a burly man, boasting a thick black beard and wielding an imposing war hammer, raised a hand, his voice booming above the fray. "I'll take two."
Suppressing a contagious burst of laughter, Isabel delicately clasped a hand over her lips, a radiant smile illuminating her features. "Two ciders, then, comin' up," she responded with a melodious lilt.
Unyielding in their desire for libations, another voice chimed in, belonging to a stern-looking woman whose scowl mirrored the sharpness of the war axe slung across her back. Leaning forward in her chair, she waved her hand, demanding attention. "We'll take two as well."
The large man, undeterred by the rising clamor, added his voice to the mix. "Three, then. And a pitcher of your best stout, if you would be so kind."
Amidst the boisterous revelry, the tavern erupted in a chorus of laughter, cascading like a waterfall of mirth. Isabel, ever the enchantress of the stage, acknowledged the uproar with a graceful bow at the waist, her every movement a testament to her showmanship. "Of course. I'll tend to that in a moment," she assured, a playful wink accentuating her words. "Now, as I was sayin', I'll get yer orders in a minute."
A burly man, his eyes twinkling with mischievous delight, directed his attention toward Isabel, a crooked smile gracing his lips as he ran a hand through his bushy beard. A war hammer nonchalantly slung over his shoulder and a massive war axe tucked in his belt added to his formidable presence. "Hey Izzie, yer gonna be performing tonight? Or do I need tae bless the dancers again?"
In response, Isabel's laughter danced through the air, a joyous melody in harmony with the crackling firelight. "Nah, I'm performin' tonight. Though ye might have tae beat my record," she teased, her voice laced with a playful challenge. A sly wink directed at her brother punctuated her words. "I think I might set a new one."
The burly man's eyes widened, their dark depths shimmering with excitement. "Aye? That's impressive! That's better than our last record. Did ye hear about that?"
Isabel's curiosity piqued, her emerald eyes narrowing as she shielded them from the flickering firelight, sweeping the room in search of answers. "No, I dinnae," she replied, her voice filled with anticipation. "Who was it?"
With a conspiratorial lean forward, the man shared his knowledge in a hushed tone, as if guarding a precious secret. "Our new patron. We're to be blessed by him tonight. We've a few others too, but the lads were talking about him earlier."
A spark of excitement ignited within Isabel, her voice taking on a hushed tone to match the weight of the revelation. "A patron? That's wonderful! Who is he? Does he have a name?"
Isabel's vibrant emerald eyes widened with eager anticipation as the burly man confirmed the identity of the mysterious patron.
A man with hazel eyes, clad in an intricately embroidered jacket and pants of fine silk, strode confidently toward the stage. The crimson-lacquered armor that adorned his form seemed to shimmer in the light, like the ruby at the end of a rosebud. A regal demeanor seemed to permeate every gesture as he surveyed the crowd, his posture betraying the confidence of his stature. With an easy grace, he settled on a chair, his eyes locking with those of Isabel's. A smile played on his lips as he motioned for her to join him, a clear command in his demeanor.
A wide smile stretched across her face, illuminating her freckled visage. "He's a bard like me?" she exclaimed, her voice laced with excitement. "I cannae wait!"
With a quizzical expression, the man raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer to share a whispered revelation. "Not exactly," he revealed, his tone tinged with intrigue. "He's quite different. I don't think you'll see many of his kind at The Briar Thorn, if you know what I mean."
Isabel nodded, her curiosity now piqued, her mind conjuring visions of the enigmatic newcomer. "I do. I've been told they're rare," she confided, a soft giggle escaping her lips. "I wonder what he looks like? I hope he's not one a' them."
In response, the man chuckled, his cheeks flushing as he met her infectious smile. "I doubt it. He should be back in a few. Left his ledger with Gerik."
The mention of the ledger prompted Isabel to stifle another burst of laughter, her hand pressed against her mouth. "Och, that was his? I was in there earlier, and it's a mess," she admitted, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.
The man's face contorted into a perplexed grimace, his confusion evident. "Aye? You looked like it was all in order." He shook his head, puzzled. "Weird. Guess he's just new... though that doesn't explain why he speaks so... peculiarly. Claims he's from Draigfell, yet he talks like he's from a different continent."
Isabel chuckled, her voice laced with amusement. "He's from the north. Maybe he's more... formal? Aye, that sounds like it," she pondered, her eyes distant as she mulled over the possibilities.
The man shrugged, leaning back in his chair, his tone one of indifference. "Aye, that makes sense." He raised his hand and signaled to a busty lass who was weaving through the crowd toward the bar.
Eyes glued to the mysterious patron, intrigued, Isabel leaned forward with her curiosity eager to unveil the mysteries surrounding the enigmatic Micah. "Aye? What does he say?" she inquired, her tone infused with genuine interest.
With a bemused shrug, the man struggled to articulate his observations. "Ah... nothing much. Just strange," he confessed, his voice laced with a mixture of intrigue and perplexity. "Maybe he's just not used to taverns."
The burly man, his eyes glimmering with excitement, clasped Isabel's shoulder and pulled her into a warm embrace. "He's coming back here later tae join us. Maybe ye can find out why this Micah fellow left us so much gold. You'll have tae tell me later."
A smile blossomed across Isabel's features as she leaned forward and hugged her brother tightly. "I will," she promised, her eyes twinkling with joy. "But I cannae tell ye why ye're getting so much coin."
"We'll figure it out, ye'll see. Ye better get ready to perform," he insisted. "An' get that ledger in order."
Isabel nodded and turned toward the kitchen, her steps sure and graceful. "Aye, I will," she assured. "I'll be back with yer drinks soon."
With a parting smile, Isabel gracefully glided toward the kitchen, her freckled face glowing in the flickering light. The tapestry of laughter and merrymaking resonated within her as she emerged, ready to fulfill her promise of delivering three orders. The Briar Thorn Tavern thrived with the boisterous banter of adventurers, their stories and camaraderie filling every nook. Amidst the lively crowd, Isabel weaved her way, greeted by a raising mug and reciprocating with a mischievous wink. Laughter harmonized with the crackling firelight, but her focus remained on the enigmatic patron.
After deftly fulfilling the orders and sating the thirst of eager patrons, Isabel embarked on a purposeful journey toward the table where the enigmatic Micah sat. A flicker of anticipation ignited within her, a fire stoked by the allure of the unknown. Every step she took exuded a captivating showmanship, a ballet of grace and poise. As her emerald eyes met his hazel gaze, a current of intrigue surged through her veins, ensnaring her curiosity in its enigmatic grasp.
Approaching with measured elegance, Isabel bestowed upon him a subtle bow, a testament to her refined demeanor practiced countless times. Her movements, like a finely choreographed dance, exuded an air of cultivated grace. The sweep of her arm and the dip of her head were executed with precise control, each gesture crafted to convey both respect and a hint of playful intrigue. It was a performance perfected through countless repetitions, a display of practiced finesse that now played out before Micah's watchful gaze.
"It's good to see ye're 'ere," said Micah, his tone measured and confident, his Draig accent adding a sing-song lilt to his words. His hazel eyes glimmered with intrigue as he studied her, a curious smile gracing his features. "I see Gerik raised 'is children well. 'ow are ye feelin'?"
Isabel's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized his face, studying him as if she were peering into the depths of his soul. Her demeanor remained composed as she regarded the enigmatic Micah. "I'm fine. We've been talkin' about ye," she admitted as she twirled a lock of hair between her fingers.
Micah nodded, his posture betraying his composure. "I'm sure ye have," he said.
'Ah dinnae know ye," Isabelle asked, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers. "Do ye want me tae get ye somethin' tae eat?"
"I'm fine," Micah said, as he brushed off the concern with a casual flick of his hand, his grin spreading like sunlight on a dew-kissed meadow. The charm in his words danced with the musicality of a whispered melody, ensnaring Isabel's attention further into his web. "I'm Micah, a fa'miliar face 'at 'as graced these walls fer twenty-five years. The bonds o' friendship 'ave woven through the tapestry o' time, connectin' yer family and mine in a shared 'istory."
"So ye're a bard, like me," Isabel exclaimed, her eyes dancing with excitement and anticipation. "I've heard rumors of yer arrival at the tavern. Tell me, what 'appened tae yer band? Where have they gone?"
"I'm the last o' me band," Micah admitted, a tinge of melancholy seeping into his voice as he reminisced about his companions. "They were swept away by a tempest, lost to the unforgiving storm. I miss them dearly. They still visit me in dreams," he confided, a solitary tear glistening in his expressive eye.
Isabel's voice resonated with warmth and empathy as she extended her condolences. "I'm truly sorry tae hear o' yer loss," she offered sincerely. "Ye dinnae speak much 'bout yerself, but I'm eager tae know ye better. How 'bout we share a meal together? We can talk and ye can share yer story."
"That would be delightful," Micah replied, his countenance softening as he bestowed her with a genuine smile. "I would enjoy that greatly."
A genuine smile graced Isabel's freckled visage, brimming with delight. "Wonderful! I'll fetch ye a meal," she promised, her voice tinged with enthusiasm. "What tickles yer fancy?"
"Anything will suffice," Micah responded, his tone imbued with sincere interest. "I have the coin. I'll be waitin' 'ere for ye."
Isabel's smile blossomed as she nodded in agreement, his genuine tone assuring her of his welcome. She directed her attention towards the bustling kitchen, her mind ablaze with thoughts of crafting a delectable menu for her newfound companion. The tantalizing scent of freshly prepared cuisine mingled with the symphony of clinking pots and pans, captivating Isabel's senses.
'I reckon a savory meat pie or a plate of spiced vegetables would be to his likin'. I don't think he's fond of overly spicy fare.'
Isabel's imagination swirled with culinary possibilities as she surveyed the kitchen, her eyes darting between the diligent kitchen staff and the array of tantalizing ingredients. Contemplating her options, hands confidently resting on her hips, she made her way towards the bustling heart of the kitchen, her gaze lingering on the savory treasures at hand.
After careful consideration, Isabel selected the perfect meal that would both cater to Micah's palate and ignite his taste buds with delight. A sly smile played upon her lips as she emerged from the kitchen, carrying a plate brimming with culinary delights. The aroma of the freshly prepared feast permeated the air, adding to the festive ambiance of the tavern.
With a warm smile gracing her features, Isabel approached Micah, the alluring scent of the food enveloping them. "Here ye are!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I've got somethin' special for ye. Ye're bound tae love it."
"I have no doubt," Micah assured her, his curiosity piqued as he returned her smile. "Thank ye kindly."
Placing the plate before him, Isabel gestured towards the enticing dish, her eyes shimmering with excitement. "Go on now! Give it a try!" she encouraged eagerly. "It's one o' the tavern's finest specialties."
As his gaze fixated upon the presented meal, Micah's eyes widened in pleasant surprise. "A fine choice," he acknowledged, curiosity lacing his words. "Though dinnae ye 'ave a performance soon? Shouldn't ye be preparin'?"
"I shall," Isabel urged with a playful glimmer in her eyes. "Just try it."
With a glint of mischief in his eyes, Micah nodded, his fingers gently tracing the contours of the freshly baked crust as he studied the meal before him. "Aye, I will," he assured, his brogue adding a touch of charm. "I'm sure it'll be a feast for the senses."
Isabel's fiery waves of hair, tamed and cascading down her back, framed her face with a wild elegance. She slipped into her performance costume, the fabric embracing her like a second skin, its deep green hue accentuating her curves. The subtle reveal of skin hinted at a hidden sensuality, while the golden cuff, shaped like a wolf's mouth, added an enchanting touch. She could almost feel the spirit of Caledonia whispering through the intricate design, igniting her spirit.
A knock on the dressing room door interrupted her reverie, and the voice of Archie, the stage director, filtered through. "Isabel, are ye ready? The stage awaits."
She turned toward the door, a radiant smile illuminating her face. "Almost there, Archie. Just a few finishing touches."
Stepping out of the dressing room, Isabel found Archiewaiting, his eyes widening with awe at her transformation. His voice softened, filled with admiration. "Isabel, ye look absolutely stunning. The crowd won't ken what hit them."
Isabel's laughter danced through the air, her voice carrying a mixture of excitement and determination. "Thank ye, Archie. But it's not just about the looks. Tonight, I'll weave a tale that'll stir their hearts, ignite their spirits, and leave them yearning for more. Tonight, Caledonia will come alive on this very stage."
Archie, resonating in her words, nodded, his eyes reflecting a profound understanding of her power. "I have nae doubt, Isabel. Ye possess a gift—a voice that carries the stories of our land, the dreams of our people. They'll be captivated, enchanted by yer every note."
Isabel took a final deep breath, feeling the energy of the night pulsating through her veins.
"Together, Archie," Isabel whispered, her voice filled with determination. "Tonight, we'll create magic."
And with that, they stepped into the hallway, the sounds of anticipation and muffled conversation filling the air. The stage awaited, the audience yearned, and Isabel was ready to cast her spell, leaving an indelible mark on the hearts of those who would join her in this symphony of life.
The curtains drew back, revealing the expectant faces of the crowd, their eyes alight with anticipation. Isabel took her place at the center of the stage, her gaze sweeping across the sea of faces, her voice a velvety caress that cut through the silence.
"Listen closely, mah friends," she began, her voice filled with a tantalizing blend of mystery and longing, her Scottish lilt enchanting every syllable. "For tonight, I shall unveil the hidden melodies that reside within the soul of Iria. Tonight, we embark on a journey of love and loss, triumph and despair. Let yer hearts be swept away by the stories that dance upon the threads of our existence."
And so it began. The tavern exploded with applause as Isabel gracefully stepped to the side of the stage, beckoning to her audience as she sang the opening verse of the ballad. All fell silent as the rain battered the cobblestones outside, protecting the warmth of the firelight.