Kitchen gooseneck faucet with hand spray

Hi everyone.
To Kill a Predator is a work of fan fiction set in the Nature of Predators universe originally created by SpacePaladin15 whose Patreon you should subscribe to.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Depiction does not equal endorsement.
Hope you enjoy it!
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Memory transcription subject: Jarkim, Unemployed Krakotl
Date [standardized human time]: November 30th, 2136
​
If they were following standard procedure, they’d be storing munitions separate from personnel and weapons. In guild offices there were hermetically sealed rooms for it, ensuring any stray fires would be snuffed out as soon as they devoured all the oxygen.
In a place like this, my bet was one of the sheds or root cellars. I had sent Russo and Mosun to handle the garage and workers’ quarters.
Of course it was possible they hadn’t got enough fuel, ammo, and explosives to prosecute their campaign. Possible, but unlikely. The attack on the shelter hadn’t been the actions of a group running on fumes.
Honestly, if I were in their position I’d hole up here too. A large farm makes sense. They’d have phosphorous, ammonium nitrate, local stores of benzene or fuel oils, ipsom grain to make into powder, even the septic tanks if you’re really desperate… there’s more ways to create fire bombs at your average farm than I can be bothered to count.
I ran the math in my head. I didn’t like the result I got: the Liberators probably had enough fire to turn every human in the district into ash several times over, and they might still have enough left over for everyone who voted for Tarva too.
I approached the first shed with Slavik. It was one of the simple above-ground ones. Unlikely target to bear fruit, in my mind, but it was the closest. “I’ll go in first. You watch out with the rifle.”
They nodded at me, grimly.
The door opened and I rushed into the darkness.
​
“It’ll be the fourth.”
“Why’s that?”
“Four’s a lucky number.”
“No it’s not.”
“Sure it is. If you have to count past it, you have to use a second paw.”
The first shed had been empty but for tools. The second had held spare parts for their generators. The third had led to a root cellar full of sun-dried and salted fruit, and some jars of preserves.
Lucky number four was a steel door surrounded by concrete inset into the ground, and as soon as it was wrenched open the stench of chemicals assaulted me. Even Slavik coughed with distaste, and they didn’t have a nose.
“Well Slavik, turns out you were right.”
“That… does not taste lucky.”
“It doesn’t, does it. Alright, let’s go.”
I moved in. Slavik was right behind me. We headed into the gloom, slowly waiting for our eyes to adjust. Slavik muttered a bit before turning on the light attached to their rifle. They swiveled their entire torso back and forth, eyes focused on the rifle sights.
Industrial tanks of chemicals stood like forlorn monsters in the dark, the threadbare light by the rifle’s muzzle casting ugly and stark shadows.
“Never should’ve come here.”
I froze. The voice was coming from behind me… and to the left.
​
There was a second Venlil, lunging out from behind one of the tanks with a breaching tool held in both paws. He struck Slavik’s gun, and I heard the weapon hit the stone floor somewhere in the dark. With a second swing he caught Slavik across the head, and they went down hard.
I lunged at him, talons grasping for purchase in the short Exterminator-cut fur of the assailant. I got a good digging grip and pulled him back, raking grooves in his shoulders in the process and sending the crowbar clattering into the shadows.
I recognized him as Vilrak, and he screamed with anger and pain and managed to strike me in the eye with his elbow. I reeled back, squawking, when his paw struck me in the stomach. Pain blossomed and spread like fire. His claws were outstretched, and dug in under the feathers and tore skin.
In response I lashed out with a talon, tearing bloody gouges in his snout. Venlil snouts are sturdy and solid bone, and I did little actual damage. It was still enough to send him back with a yelp.
We both caught our breaths, blood dripping from claw and talon alike.
Slavik was on the ground. They weren’t moving.
​
“Vilrak, it’s over… Stand down.”
His voice was filled with loathing. “…Jarkim. So Karta failed to get rid of you, you traitorous piece of-”
I interjected immediately. “What you’re doing here isn’t going to work.”
“Oh, but it is. We’re going to bring Venlil Prime back to sanity, and back into the Federation.”
“There’s no going back. The Interview, the humans, the proof that even the Arxur can be bargained with after they returned their Venlil cattle… The galaxy’s a different place than it was just a cycle ago.”
“So what?”
I plead with him to turn from his path. When he realized and accepted the situation, he’d do the right thing. Just like I had. “We’re going to have to learn to live in the new world. One that doesn’t need us. We believed our job was necessary… We were only acting on… On the information we had, the information we were given. But we were wrong. Listen to me, Vilrak. There’s another path here. We can reform the Exterminators. We can make it into something better, something that serves the community.”
He straightened up and lashed his tail at me, turning and walking away. One eye was locked on me the entire time. “Oh you stupid, sanctimonious fuck. You’re the only one who ever believed any of that predshit.”
I paused. “…What?”
​
He walked slowly. I followed, staying at a careful distance. “Being an Exterminator was the perfect job. We had respect. We had power, Jarkim! You’re the only one who didn’t seem to realize that! Oh, you useless damn joke of a Krakotl… You turned your beak and curled your talons every time you had to pull the trigger, and always made sure the PDs came in without a fight. The rest of us loved it!”
I felt sick. I had never liked Vilrak, but this was… Like Vikar, and Renak, and Luarik, and Karta, and… Not unprecedented. But hearing it put in such stark terms…
“I always hated rolling out with you, because you’re too insufferably straight-laced. The rest of the guys understood the opportunities. But not you, oh no. As soon as you get in the van the fun stops. No taking money to make PD cases go away, no letting off steam with the rods and some drunk, no sharing cuties collared in the back of the van…”
My talons itched to tear out his evil fucking throat. But more than that, I wanted to tear down the entire system I had been complicit in. I had looked the other way, made sure to not ask awkward questions I didn’t want the answers to. And that made me one link in the chain. The facilities, the prosecutors, the assessors, they were all working with the Exterminators. Everyone knew that we were the only way they’d stay safe, the firebreak between the civilians and the predators. So they let us do whatever we wanted.
“Vilrak… It’s not going to stay that way anymore. It can’t. It mustn’t. The winds are changing. If everyone’s as… sick and twisted as you, and the Exterminators can’t be reformed? Then we’ll be abolished instead.”
“That’s right, because the humans are fucking it all up! They did more for Venlilkind in one paw than we Exterminators have done since we joined the Federation, just by sharing food with the greys! And now everyone knows it!”
“Exactly. There’s no going back.”
“Yeah, well. It’s worth a shot.”
When he turned to face me again he was holding a flamethrower, the tank under one arm and the nozzle under the other. In the darkness I only realized he was firing when it spewed incendiary death in a wide arc.
​
I had to gracelessly take flight, leaping back and thrashing with my wings to get behind one of the chemical tanks in time. I ended up smashing into the wall for my trouble, and I felt something in my wing snap.
But seeing the burning trail where I had stood a blink of an eye beforehand, it was still a worthwhile trade-off.
Other than what little light the fires gave off, and the light from the open door, the room was dark. The flashlight on Slavik’s gun had gone out.
I slowly crept around the tank… step by step. Listening for the Venlil’s footsteps, and hearing nothing.
I heard the sound of the tank shifting nearby, and froze in place. I held my breath.
He was speaking from just a couple of wingspans away, in the dark. “You’re not the first predator I’ve had to hunt. And you’re not gonna be the last.”
There was a click as the flamethrower’s ignition line turned on.
A line of fire spewed from the muzzle, sending me scrambling for cover again. I needn’t have bothered, he wasn’t aiming at me.
With the second line of burning fuel gel, he created a ‘V’ shape against the wall. He was simply boxing me in, cutting off my escape. Standard procedure when dealing with poor-visibility terrain.
Now all he had to do was hose the enclosed area, and that would be it.
I felt panic slowly begin to flood my brain, and forced it down. I couldn’t let myself become an animal. He knew how to burn animals.
​
Gotta get out of here, or I’m kindling.
With only one working wing, I was rapidly running out of options. When Vilrak spewed another gout of flame, my options dwindled further. I took flight, my one wing fluttering as I twisted my body in a desperate attempt to get above the flames and the equally dangerous super-heated air right above them. I felt the oppressive heat and could imagine my feathers curl and blacken as I made my desperate lunge over the fire-wall.
My talons scraped the stone loudly upon my rough landing, and I ended up falling prone. I yelled out as I landed on my bad wing again.
Starting to rise slowly, far too slowly, I heard Vilrak whistle out a laugh from nearby. I saw his shadowed form looming out of the dark, lit from the side by the growing flames. The flamethrower’s ignition line clicking on. Faced straight at me.
There was a bright, sudden light. And a scream.
​
Vilrak reeled back. So did I, good wing raised in a meaningless gesture of defense. I couldn’t see anything, blinded by Slavik’s flashlight. I heard a shout. “Jarkim, get down!”
I laid myself prone on the ground without hesitation.
KRAK-Ow
Superheated plasma flew overhead, sizzling the air and filling the enclosed space with the rank stench of ozone.
The shot impacted Vilrak’s fuel tank. The ensuing breach sent burning fuel and bits of hot metal all over the cellar, and threw him back into the wall. With my head down I could do nothing but flinch and hope.
A searing lance of pain impacted my leg, making me squawk out. A glance down showed a piece of jagged metal the size of a wing feather sticking out of my thigh.
Blinking the spots out of my eyes and coughing from the smoke filling the room, I saw Slavik holding the plasma rifle. It was aimed at the prone Exterminator, who was already screaming and crawling. His legs were on fire, and looked shredded from shrapnel. The flames were eagerly eating their way up his short-cut fur, already spreading up over his back and sides. His voice was a high-pitched, babbling shriek.
All that confidence, bravado, and gleeful sadism had vanished the instant it was his turn. And I wasn’t a good enough person to not take some vindictive joy in that.
“Not the flames not the flames please not the flames!! No no no nono please please not the flames!! Help meeeeee!!!”
KRAK-Ow
The second shot took him in the face. I looked away sharply, not interested in seeing the results.
​
“C’mon, you useless lump. Move your ass before it’s cooked.” Slavik grabbed me by my good wing, dragged me out of the burning cellar like a sack of grain, and closed the door behind us.
The fire would eat through all the oxygen long before it burst any of the chemical tanks. Even so, Slavik didn’t stop dragging me until we were a good distance away and we could both collapse in a panting heap on the ground.
Slavik’s head was leaking orange blood into their wool from the hit, and an ugly lump was already forming on their head. They looked at me darkly. “…That was mercy. I’m not going to let myself become the kind of person who’d have let him burn.”
I felt jolts of pain searing through my body each time I coughed. “Khakh, Khahhk… Y-You just saved my life. You don’t have to justify yourself to me.”
They looked down at their weapon in silence for a while, before speaking so quietly that I barely heard it. “You’re not the one I’m trying to convince.”
After a long silence, I tried my arm and grimaced. My leg refused to even bend now that the adrenaline was flushing out, and I didn’t want to take the metal out in case it was sitting in an artery. I didn’t even want to know what my feathers looked like. “…Wing’s busted. L-Leg too. I’m no good like this. Khahhk… I’ll head back, you try to link up with the other team.”
Slavik shouldered the rifle, and lifted me up. “After I get you back to Hanya.”
The trek back was awkward, and slow. I was left to hop and cling to Slavik as they half-dragged me along. I hoped the other team was having more success.
---
Memory transcription subject: Martin Russo, Human Refugee
Date [standardized human time]: November 30th, 2136
​
I raise my hand to Mosun. Three. Two. One.
The door opens. Mosun lunges in low, I sweep in high.
Nothing greets us but silence. We sweep the ground floor of the main house slowly, room by room. I move my aim back and forth like a metronome as I seek targets. My eyes dart around from place to place. Those saccades the Venlil are so afraid of.
The place shows clear signs of being lived in. Very recently. There are still-damp dishes in the kitchen.
The living room is an even bigger tell. On the table there’s a map of the whole district, and another of the town. Addresses are circled in different colors. I might not have recognized the map so quickly, except I’ve also been studying up for my own campaign.
As we search the place it appears that nobody’s home. They seem to have removed all the signs of the original inhabitants. I see pale reverse-shadows on the wall where once hung pictures or pieces of art.
I tap Mosun’s shoulder. He looks at me, and I point up, then down, and give a shrug. Upstairs or basement first?
As Mosun considers the question, we hear a scream. I freeze stock still, and Mosun’s eyes go wide. It’s from upstairs.
​
I brave a soft voice. “…Is that…”
Another scream. A word carries through the drawn out, inelegant blubbering. “Mhh-aaa-aahhhahhhu-hurttii-hi-hiiinnnn!!” My blood feels ice cold, and my stomach drops out.
Jesus Christ it’s my name. She’s screaming my name.
I’m acutely aware my tongue is dry.
Another scream, this time just a shrill sound of pain.
I’m running up the stairs. My grip on the gun is so tight it hurts. For a few seconds my thoughts don’t form words, just the panicked urge to rush to my beloved friend. To help and defend her.
Upstairs there are four rooms. Two on the left, one on the right, and one in the far back. The only one that matters is the one with the noise.
I rush to the door and almost wrench it open right away, but pause.
Stay frosty.
Mosun almost runs into me in his haste to keep up.
I turn and look at him. His furious face mirrors mine. I cringe as another shout comes from the room right beside us.
He nods grimly and grabs the door handle. We both take a couple of deep, steadying breaths.
I raise my hand to Mosun. Three. Two. One.
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I(23f) used to be very close with my family. My siblings have children & I used to be big part of their life. I’m always taking good care of them.On my free time I never do anything for myself. I spend it always with them bc I love them.I always go above and beyond for them. Not to mention I spent lots of money on them. I’m the aunt that never said no to them. My siblings have more money than me, but all my money seems to go to their children. Now this is not my siblings fault it’s just what I choose to do. I love them like my own & I never felt like I was being used by my siblings to be a free babysitter bcus I truly enjoyed it from my heart. I don’t have friends of my own I considered my siblings my friends.
However a year ago I had a terrible injury & couldn’t walk or use my hands for 6+ months. I went from being the girl that helped everyone out to being unable to help myself. I couldn’t walk to the bathroom, kitchen, no where. For the first months of my injury I lost 30 lbs and I was severly skinny. I lost all that weight due to being unable to cook for myself. There were times I needed help even using my spoon (I needed to be fed) no one helped me. There were times I literally cut my hair off because I no longer could take care of my long thick hair. There were times I couldn’t take showers. It was the most depressing time of my life. I went from dealing with my injury to dealing with all kinds of problems due to not taking care of myself not eating properly etc.
Fast forward: after months of suffering and struggling I was able to slowly heal i was very mad at my family when I finally healed. I realized they used to call me every day before my injury, bcus they could use me as a babysitter but during my injury they acted as if I didn’t exist. There were no phone calls, no checking up on me to see if I need anything nothing. I did have high expectations from them bc we were very close family. I was there for them through anything. But I didn’t receive the same love back. The other day, my sister called me to say her kids miss me and to babysit them. I said NO. That’s the first time I’ve ever said no. Why’s she calling me now that I’m recovered, when she didn’t show up for me during the worst times of my life she said it’s bcus I never told them i needed help. Now they knew exactly what I was going through. They knew I couldn’t walk, they knew I couldn’t use my hands. They saw me with their own eyes first day of my injury at the hospital then completely disappeared on me. I feel I am only good enough when I’m helping them but when I’m unable to do anything I’m unwanted. I’m going to be all alone but I decided to cut my siblings off of my life permanently. I will no longer be watching their kids for them. I’ve let them know this and have changed my number they think it’s evil to do to your family.
What do you guys think. AITA?

Episode 01: Bigger! Badder! Brutal-er!
The scene faded into a shot of the Earth from space, an astronaut banging on a small communications satellite in the foreground with a wrench. The satellite had the letters 'TDRI' scrawled on the front in black.
"We've been to the movies," the voice of Chris McLean began as the satellite seemed to whir into function, lights on either end of it glowing green. "We've been around the world!" Just as the astronaut gave the camera thumbs-up, the satellite suddenly failed with a jolt of electricity and broke apart, the astronaut palming the visor of their helmet. "And this season," Chris said as the camera rapidly began to zoom in towards northern Canada, "we're going right back where it all began," the camera past through layers of cloud to reach a beautiful morning sky, then panned down to an all-too-familiar island, "at Camp Wawanakwa!"
Chris McLean was already standing just off-center on the dock, right by the 'Wawanakwa' sign – both of which looked like they'd gone through some heavy wear and tear. "I'm Chris Mclean," the host formally introduced himself, "and as you can see, things have changed since we've been away." He walked down the dock to where a male red-shirted intern of southeast Asian descent waited with a coconut drink on a platter; the right side of the camp's sign fell down as he passed by, taking out a small piece of the dock.
"And by changed," the host said with a darkly expectant smile, "I mean gotten really, really, dangerous!" He took the coconut drink from the intern. As soon as he did so a giant pink tentacle rose from the lake with a terrifying roar, and slammed down on the dock – Chris calmly sidestepped it, but the intern and a sizable chunk of the end of the dock were smashed into the water. "Good stuff," the host laughed.
"But the rules of the game remain the same," he told the camera, the scene changing to a panning shot of one of the cabin rooms, a cockroach scurrying over the lens. The room itself looked about the same as it had three seasons ago – decrepit and old-fashioned, but boringly so. "A handful of unsuspecting teens will bunk with complete strangers," Chris explained during the pan, the shot cutting to a stained piece of male underwear nailed to a wooden door that promptly opened to reveal the old outhouse confessional within, "air their dirty laundry in our outhouse confessional, and compete in life-threatening challenges all over the island," the camera cut to a long-distance shot of the thousand-foot-high-cliff, zooming in on the gleamingly jagged rocks in the water below it, "and risk being voted off," Chris continued as the shot cut to the clearing, firepit, oil drum, and eleven stump-seats used for Campfire Ceremonies of the past.
"Last one standing wins," the shot cut from the elimination area to a still image of a wheelbarrow overflowing with money, "one, million, DOLLARS!" A short, grand, and victorious tune blared as the shot zoomed in on the prize money.
"Speaking of our cast," Chris said back on the Dock of Shame as a cool rock theme began to play, "here they are now!"
The shot cut to a small but luxurious red-striped yacht where the twenty-four contestants of the past three seasons could be seen more-or-less enjoying themselves. Brick and Courtney were making out on the starboard side while Ella, Ezekiel, and Sadie danced nearby, Eva looking away from them. On the stern deck, Mike, Owen, and Sky were dancing and Izzy was hanging upside down swinging life rings with Noah watching with disinterest. On a higher sternward balcony, Dawn was meditating, Beth was reading a book, and Cody and Harold played with video game handhelds. Shawn dropped down on the group unexpectedly from even higher up, startling all four. And at the bow, Heather leaned coolly against the port-side railing and smiled at the camera, Topher was looking at his reflection in a mirror, Jo and Lightning arm-wrestled on the railing next to them, Amy and Rodney were dancing to music that Duncan was setting up on his boombox, and Lindsay sat on the very foremost point of the railing posing.
Chris waved at the yacht as it approached...and kept on going, the music scratching to a halt instead of the ship. "NOOOO!" Owen hollered in surprise in anguish as the boat sailed off-screen, and Chris laughed.
"No, not them," he told the camera as it zoomed back in on him. "This season, we've got all new players, fighting for the million!" he announced as the music turned tense and grandiose. "And here they come now, for real!"
The shot cut to another yacht approaching, similar to the last one but with its stripes a pale teal instead of red. Several teens could be standing along the bow, port-side, upper deck, and stern, and the camera cut to those at the head of the ship – Molly and Dave.
"Meet Molly," Chris said, the girl noticing the boy next to her feeling scared.
"What’s the matter? We’re just going to compete where the show started," Molly assured the boy.
"Dave," Chris continued, and the boy blinked.
"Yeah, but I didn't know that the island would consist of toxic waste," Dave told the girl before breaking out the hand sanitizer and rubbing his hands and arms with it, causing the indie girl to raise an eyebrow.
The camera panned to the right to show the next two campers in line – Scott and Trent.
"Scott! And, Trent!" Chris continued.
"Why are you carrying a guitar around?" Scott asked Trent, who was happily tuning up his guitar.
"So I can practice my songs at camp," Trent smiled at the grumpy boy.
"Max!" Chris announced next, the pale boy in question suddenly and without warning popping up between Scott and Trent with enough force to knock the two to the sides with startled cries. From the evil smile he was sporting to the pale skin, everything about him radiated villainy.
"These compestants have no idea what awaits them when we arrive," Max said, speaking darkly as a dark tune played in the background. "For I am the definition of pure evil!" Max degenerated into laughter as the camera panned away from him, showing Leshawna and Sammy, the next contestants.
"Leshawna," Chris introduced the large girl witnessing Max's introduction.
"That boy is not right in the head," Leshawna shook her head with disapproval.
"Sammy," Chris introduced the nervous cheerleader.
"He is a bit free-spirited," Sammy said timidly while holding her left arm.
The camera panned right again to show B. He snapped his fingers for the audience.
"B," Chris finally introduced, "and Scarlett," he added, the camera panning further right to show the girl next to B reading a book.
"You seem confident to be here," Scarlett said dryly without taking her eyes off her book. "Do you know about the substance of toxic waste and radiation?" B nodded in agreement, impressing Scarlett. "That's good to know."
"Katie," Chris continued as the scene cut to a spot further down the yacht, showing the girl holding her tablet.
"Just in," Katie waved pleasantly at the camera. "I'm about to be competing for a million dollars, I-"
As she spoke the camera panned away to Anne Maria spraying her hair.
"Anne Maria," Chris introduced.
"Oh yeah!" Anne Maria looked at the camera. "Three more coats oughta do it."
She was interrupted when Katie walked back into the shot. "Not to be rude," she looked at the camera, "but you panned away before I could finish my introduction."
"Sorry, viral," Anne Maria smirked. "The camera just loves me more."
"Geoff," Chris introduced next as he dashed onto the scene, putting himself next to the two girls.
"Okay, girls," Geoff said in what was a chill tone, "let's not get off on the wrong foot. You'll get more camera time after we're all introduced."
Anne Maria proceeded to spray her hair again, the cloud causing Geoff and Katie to cough profusely.
"Sierra," Chris introduced next, the camera panning up to the girl standing on the upper balcony.
She was hurriedly typing into her phone. "I can't wait to step foot on Camp Wawanakwa and talk about it on my blog!" Sierra said, looking around in amazement until a small flock of pigeons flew past and knocked her over the railing with a scream.
"And DJ," Chris finished as Sierra landed next to the fourteenth and final competitor of the season.
DJ looked down as Sierra landed and gasped. "Oh snap! Let me help you up!" DJ quickly bent down and helped Sierra up. "There you go."
"Yup!" Chris said as the shot cut back to him on the Dock of Shame. "It's our roughest, toughest, most explosive season ever!" He took out a remote control, and pressed the large central button with his thumb.
The yacht that the new contestants were sailing in on suddenly exploded, sending all fourteen of them flying and screaming in every direction.
Chris took a casual sip of his coconut drink, then looked at the camera and raised a finger high. "Right here," he said as a faint version of the series' capstone theme played, "on Total! Drama! Revenge of the Island!" The shot jumped outward as the title was said, showing Wawanakwa island in its entirety with a few plumes of smoke in the distance marking where the yacht had exploded.
xxx
(Fade to Opening Theme)
[The sequence begins much as it did three seasons ago, with an open into letterbox format as the camera focuses on the tops of a few distant pine trees. A rusty stage light rotates up and turns on; then the shot changes to a cobwebby spotlight swinging down and turning on as well; then a small security camera popping out of one of several leaky toxic waste barrels; then another camera bursting out of a tree hollow, held by an octopus tentacle and dislodging a few bones; then a pair of fair-skinned arms clapping a film slate in front of the camera which switches to a shot of the island, briefly showing a giant octopus looking out of the lake to the right, then flying forward down the dock and past the buildings, passing under a totem pole that Chris was sitting on and which was being carried by a trio of male interns of mismatched heights.]
Dear Mom and Dad, I'm doin' fine;
[The camera rapidly flies through the trees as the lyrics begin, quickly reaching the top of the thousand-foot-high cliff.]
You guys are on my mind!
[It looks down at the ring of buoys in the water below and dives, immediately cutting to an underwater view as the bubbles disperse to reveal Sammy gagging with several vicious-looking fish watching her hungrily until a claw-like machine grabbed her and pulled her up to the surface.]
You asked me what I wanted to be,
And now I think the answer is plain to see!
[Up in a canoe, B tinkered with the machine, and looked up as it pulled Sammy out of the water and into the sky.]
I wanna be...famous!
[The scene lingers on Sammy in front of the sun for a moment, then quick-pans left to Katie in the middle of the woods posing as she is filming herself; a falling Sammy abruptly hits her on the back and knocks both to the ground. Katie lifts her head to look at the cheerleader, who just smiles bashfully. Geoff runs past them as the camera pans left to Sierra sitting on a tree branch and texting on her phone. Gophers suddenly pop up from the ground and roar, causing Sierra to flee.]
I wanna live close to the sun!
[At the top of a waterfall, Molly and Trent float downriver in a canoe. Trent was playing a song on his guitar, to which Molly was vibing to until she finally spotted the waterfall. Both screamed as they went over the edge.]
Well pack your bags, 'cause I've already won!
[The camera pans down to DJ, balancing a log on his finger. Though he does not see the canoe falling behind him, he does see Molly and Trent as they fall right on top of him, breaking the log he was holding onto and sending all three into the water.]
Everythin' to prove, nothin' in my way;
[Scott is laughing at the three's misfortune, and a monstrous shark with arms and legs bursts out of the outhouse with a toothy grin, making Scott run away.]
I'll get there one day.
[The camera pans to the Mess Lodge, Chef Hatchet's silhouette visible in the window. Zooming in to the room shows him stirring a pot of some greenish slop with a dark grin, and the shot pans over to show Max cackling wickedly until Chef shoves a spoon full of slop into his mouth.]
'Cause I wanna be...famous!
[Another pan to the left reveals Anne Maria spraying her hair. Once she realized she was being recorded, she glared at the camera and sprayed it with her can. The spray cloud moves the scene out of the lodge and into the beach, where Scarlett is calmly reading her book – until a hawk flew right in just to snag it and flew away, much to Scarlett's unamusement.]
(Na-na nanananaa, nanana-nanaa, na-nananananaa)
[The camera pans away from Scarlett and on to Dave applying hand sanitizer. A furry hand taps him on the shoulder, distracting the germaphobe and allowing the arm to snatch away the sanitizer. Dave realizes what's happened, and rushes angrily at the large hairy ape-man now using the hand sanitizer.]
I wanna be! I wanna be! I wanna be famous! (Na-na nanananaa, nanana-nanaa, na-nananananaa)
[The camera pans down to the end of the dock to show Leshawna, blowing a kiss before taking a few steps back. She busts out a few dance moves of her own.]
I wanna be! I wanna be! I wanna be famous! (Na-na nanananaa, nanana-nanaa, na-nananananaa)
[A sudden splash of water comes down on the sista, interrupting her dancing and causing her to send a frown upward – Chris is hovering above him in a jetpack and helmet, holding an empty bucket. He drops the bucket then flies off, the flames from his jetpack taking over the screen. It becomes night as they peter out, and the camera pans down across the stars and treetops and full moon to Anne Maria and Geoff sitting at a campfire together. As they lean towards each other with expectant smiles they are interrupted and separated by Chef Hatchet, wearing a hazmat suit and holding a glowing green marshmallow between them with a pair of heavy tongs.
The shot zooms out to show the rest of the cast looking shocked, whistling the last few notes of the song – Trent, Leshawna, B, Scott, Dave, and Katie on Anne Maria's side; Max, Sammy, Molly, Scarlett, DJ, and Sierra on Geoff's side; and Chris standing next to Chef on Geoff's side as well. The shot continued to zoom out until a signboard was shown marking the presumed entrance to the fire pit; it read 'TOTAL DRAMA REVENGE OF THE ISLAND' in block letters, the third word being the largest and the last word relegated to a board tacked on at the end.]
XXXXX
"AAAAHHH!" Max screamed, the episode fading in to him landing hard on a rock jutting out of the water. "Why must a villainous mastermind suffer like this?" he groaned, pitifully sliding into the water as Anne Maria swam past in the background.
"Chris is so getting a beatdown for this!" Anne Maria said to herself.
Sammy was shown swimming by clinging to a piece of driftwood, then looking to the side at the sound of someone coming up behind her. "Sorry about this!" Trent shouted as he shot past like a torpedo.
The camera followed Trent as he swam past Molly. "There is a thing called open space!" Molly said before continuing her swim.
The shot cut back to Max, now flailing his arms as he struggled not to drown. "Spaz," Scott said as he swam past him.
Max finally sank below the water, but fortunately Scarlett quickly swam over and dived down.
"I pity you, and I also don't want you dead," Scarlett informed as she surfaced, pulling a coughing Max back up with her.
"Get me to land now!" Max demanded.
The camera cut to Geoff. He reached another rock jutting out of the water and pulled himself up onto it. "Okay. How am I gonna get myself to shore?" The party guy then saw a long piece of wood shaped like a surfboard and grabbed it. "I think I know what to do!"
Positioning himself on the rock while laying belly first on the wood, Geoff boosted himself off the rock and rocketed through the water, even managing to get up and maintain himself.
The shot cut to Scarlett helping Max swim to shore, only for a surfing Geoff to unknowingly splash water onto the both of them, causing them to fall under the water.
Leshawna sputtered as she sank and struggled to stay afloat. "I don't think I can stay up for much longer!"
"I'm on it!" DJ and Katie said, appearing out of nowhere and swimming to the girl.
"Oops. You can go first. Sorry if I interrupted," Katie apologized.
"No no. You can go instead. I think it was the other way around," DJ offered.
"Well, I mean, if you insist," Katie chuckled until the hand of Leshawna held onto Katie's head for support, dragging her down.
DJ panicked. "Hang on! I'm coming!" He dived down and got both Leshawna and Katie, the former spitting out water.
"If we weren't in water right now, I'd be tweeting about you saving me," Katie commented.
Confessional: DJ
"So this is my first confessional," DJ opened while looking around the outhouse confessional. "I've watched the first season, and this is where the contestants come in to talk about their feelings or strategy or whatnot."
"We're all newcomers here, so if I see anyone struggling, I'll be there to help them out," he continued with a smile before frowning. "Right after I get used to this island first."
Confessional: Katie
"Hello," Katie said in the next confessional to her tablet. "This is the first time I am in the Total Drama confessional. It's a little disgusting, but that's for another time!" She continued with her perky smile and put her tablet away. "I came onto this show in order to promote my vlogging expertise and gain more followers. I'm a bit of an advice guru, so don't be surprised if I have a solution for some sticky situations." She laughed blissfully. "That was so alliterative!"
Confessionals End
The footage resumed with a rather wet Trent on shore. He looked around, then cheered in victory. "Yes! I'm first!" he cheered. "And my guitar is in one piece-"
His face dropped as he looked to his left, and the camera panned to show Sierra fixing her wet hair.
"How did you get here before us?" Trent asked.
"I practiced swimming back home in case we have a beach episode," Sierra explained happily.
Dave was the next to come to shore, crawling out of the water. "I'm here!" he panted before falling on his face.
Confessional: Dave
Dave squirted hand sanitizer on his hands, and set his pocket-sized bottle aside on the seat, beginning to rub his hands together to spread the cleaning product. "How did I not read my contract fully? I never would've signed up if I had known how unclean the environment was gonna be."
Confessional Ends
B and Max were the next to make it to dry land, the quiet genius dragging the super villain up the beach on his head with the super villain coughing out water.
Confessional: Max
"I do not like yachts, so it was very enjoyable to have it be destroyed," Max grinned. "I just wish it was me who blew the yacht up instead of being on the receiving end like those other fools," he complained briefly.
"I guarantee you, everybody will be frightened by my abnormally large brain and my super advanced hearing. No one has ever, ever been able to sneak up on me!" he declared confidently just as an orange butterfly flew over him. It landed on his head...and with a sickening bone-crunch, Max started to tilt over. "Begone, brutal butterfly!" he cried in pain, falling over onto the seat under the butterfly's weight.
Confessional Ends
The footage cut back to the beach, showing Trent, Sierra, Dave, B, and Max loitering around a large rock further up the beach and revealing that Scott, Scarlett, Anne Maria, Sammy, Molly, Leshawna, Katie, and DJ had all made it to shore as well.
"This is preposterous!" Max ranted, pouring water out of his shoe. "I am not to be treated with disrespect! Chris will rue the day he met Max Mayhem!"
Molly was sitting next to Max and listening without a care. "Is your last name actually Mayhem? If it's not, I'd respect you for creating your own nickname."
Max was about to answer, but a wave and a dramatic riff signaled that another person had washed up.
It was Geoff, who coughed out a small fish.
Confessional: Geoff
"I wiped out for a while," Geoff confessed. "I’m more into parties and having a good time. As long as I get along with everyone and not be harsh, I can last up to the tenth or eleventh episode."
Confessional Ends
"I can't believe we were blown up before we even got on the island," Sammy said, Katie sitting near her. "I've been watching Total Drama for a while, and I can't even tell what's going to happen next," she looked at the girl.
"It's not your fault. None of us can look into the future," Katie told her before looking at her tablet. "Katchy Katie here, and so far, the island is looking pretty bland," she told her viewers.
"Katchy Katie?" Sammy wondered. "What's that about?"
"That's just my vlog name," Katie explained. "I usually record what's going on in my life so I can tell my viewers what to do and not what to do."
"Could you send me a link to your vlog?" Sammy asked the influencer. "It sounds interesting."
Katie gave a slip of paper with her name on it to Sammy. "Here you go. It's best to always keep track of what you see and know on paper so you won't forget in the future."
"Attention, fresh meat!" Chris announced, the shot cutting to a pair of loudspeakers on a tree nearby, then panning down and right to show that all fourteen campers were now waiting around on the rocky beach. "See that trail leading into the forest?" the host continued, the camera following the contestants' gazes right as they looked at where the beach, trees, and rocks met. "Race to the end of the trail," Chris commanded, "and do not disturb the wildlife! That would be bad."
"Does he seriously think that will frighten us?" Scarlett blew him off.
"The tiniest sound can set them off," Chris continued. "Liiike...THIS!" He blew an airhorn over the intercom, forcing all fourteen campers to cover their ears.
The camera panned over to the distant treetops on the left, the airhorn fading in to a loud, terrifying roar that startled a flock of birds to flight. The music became tense as one tree was knocked over, then another closer to the beach. Finally, the cast screamed and fled into the woods.
\
A clock wipe transitioned the footage ahead to an adorable little purplish bird singing on a branch...until a frog-like tongue snapped out of a hollow behind it and dragged the bird into darkness.
The camera panned down to a finish line, just as Geoff and DJ ran past it with the brickhouse in the lead. "Alright! First place!" DJ turned to the party guy. "Don't worry. Second's not that bad."
"I know," Geoff smiled. "I don't get why people are worked up over it though."
It was then that Chris rode up on a red ATV, his usual smile on his face. "Party Time, two steps left. You're on Team A," he directed, Geoff nodding happily and walking a few steps back towards the finish line. "Big Friendly Giant? Move right. You're on Team B," he told DJ, directing him to the right; he complied just as Scott crossed the finish line, skidding to a stop next to Geoff.
"Pit Sniffer," the host told him, "you're on Team A." Molly slid in next. "Free Spirit, Team B," Chris told her.
"Alright then," Molly said with a smile and ran off to the right. B stopped running and came to a halt.
"Silent Treatment, Team A," Chris told him, causing him to give his signature greeting to Geoff and Scott before Trent arrived. "Guitar Hero, Team B," Chris told him.
"Okay!" Trent went to his designated team.
Sammy and Katie arrived next, the nervous cheerleader bending over to catch her breath and the influencer clutching her chest. "Sour Sport. Team A. Perky Influencer. Team B," Chris said.
"I'm not that bad," Sammy mumbled while Katie ran to her team.
"Blogspot, Team A," Chris continued over a shot of Sierra running and stopping at her team. Dave arrived next. "Germ Avoider, Team B."
The camera zoomed out a little ways from Team A just as Leshawna ran up, panting and out of breath.
"Loud and Proud, Team A," Chris said. "Tan in a Can, Team B," Chris continued as Anne Maria arrived, walking rather than running.
"I'm… so… tired!" Max moaned while dragging himself through the floor.
"Maniacal Max, Team A," Chris directed. As Max joined his teammates they all looked back towards the finish line, with Scarlett simply walking to the finish.
"Aaand Quiet Genius, Team B," Chris finished with a smile.
"What was that thing in the forest?" Sierra said, trudging past her teammates.
"I'm pretty sure that cry does not sound like any normal animal," Trent added.
"Relax, it'll all make sense eventually," Chris explained, his impish smile quickly degenerating into long, evil laughter that caused the two teams to stare at him and look at each other in awkward, nervous confusion.
Chris finally stopped laughing, and wiped a tear from his eye. "Now, this season of Total Drama will be a little bit different," he explained. "For example, in every episode, someone will be eliminated."
The campers gasped, and an ominous chant played in the background. "It's never been that hard before," Sammy remarked in shock.
"I know," Chris told her with a smug grin, "I'm good. But since you're all first-timers, I'm gonna cut you a break and hide this bad boy somewhere in the campgrounds." He held up what appeared to be a small wooden carving of his head, and the shot cut in for a close-up. "A genu-ine McLean Brand Chris Head! Your free ticket back into the game!" The small carving was shown against a radiant white and blue background, an angelic chorus playing as images of Chef Hatchet dressed in a lavender leotard and tutu, angel wings, and a halo flew into the corners of the screen while holding harps and singing.
"Even if your teammates vote you off," he added as B and Geoff were shown staring with wide eyes. "Whoever finds it," Chris continued over a shot of DJ, Dave, Scarlett, and Molly also watching with wide eyes, "will become the most powerful player in Total Drama history!" Both Sierra and Max were shown smiling in awe.
The angelic chorus ended as Chris brought the statue in for a closer look. "Is the cleft on my chin really that big?" he asked in concern.
"Yep, and it looks like a butt," Scott answered, earning an annoyed glare from the host.
"Moving on," Chris said forcefully, "time for the team names!"
"I hope the names won't be stupid!" Molly immediately said. "I don't want to be defined by a name like the Silly Bunnies?"
"You got that right Molly," Chris told her, "The names have been chosen by moi. Team A, you shall henceforth be known as, the Toxic Rats!" A short but energetic riff played as the screen switched to a green, red, and yellow starburst-patterned background, a green logo spinning up to the front. It bore the image of a six-limbed rat standing up on its hindlegs and bearing its teeth menacingly.
The Toxic Rats stared blankly for a moment before Max laughed and said "How evil!"
"And Team B," Chris continued, turning his head to the other six, "you are hereby dubbed, the Mutant Maggots!" A different energetic theme played as a teal, yellow, and orange sunburst-patterned background took over the screen, and a red logo spun up to the front. This one depicted the head of a three-eyed maggot, its mouth frozen in a gaping hiss.
The Mutant Maggots stared blankly for a second as well. "What's with all the chemical waste references?" Dave asked.
The perspective switched to a group shot as another loud roar shook the area. "It's the monster!" Anne Maria shouted in terror, making the others look around in shock.
The shot cut to some distant trees, a flock of birds flying away as one fell, then the camera panned to the right as another closer tree fell. Dave, DJ, and Katie gasped in fear, the brickhouse quickly grabbing the influencer's arm for comfort, and the camera zoomed in on a bush in front of the last fallen tree.
A small hairless squirrel with big yellow eyes jumped out and looked around.
"So we panicked over a small squirrel?" Scarlett said in disbelief.
"Aww, it's kinda cute!" DJ gushed...until it blinked sideways, and he cringed audibly.
"What happened to it?" Katie asked from off-screen as the squirrel happily blinked and looked around some more.
"While we were gone," Chris explained, "I rented the island out to a nice family-oriented biohazardous waste disposal company." As he spoke, the camera cut to a pile of oil barrels stashed in and around a tree. All of the barrels had a hazard sign on them, and most were leaking some sort of foul bubbling green liquid. "Sweet people," the host remarked.
"But," he added as the focus cut back to him on his ATV, "the waste is having a teensy bit of an impact on the flora and fauna." The hairless squirrel was shown again, blinking as a monarch butterfly flew close to it. It snapped out its tongue like a frog, and swallowed the butterfly up.
"This may be odd, but that squirrel is cool!" Geoff said with a grin as Max and Sammy gave him odd looks.
"You know," Leshawna said, cautiously approaching it with a smile on her face, "it looks weird but I'm sure it's perfectly harmless! Am I right?" She reached out to pet it, and it roared the same deep and terrifying roar that had scared them all earlier, then shot lightning from its eyes at the ground Leshawna was standing on. Leshawna screamed and ran away, and the squirrel blew her a raspberry before hopping back into the bush.
Chris was laughing hysterically as the shot cut to Leshawna jumping into the arms of a surprised Geoff in fear. The camera cut back to Chris as he stopped laughing, then in an elated and dramatic tone said "Most. Danger. Ev-er~!" as an equally sharp and dramatic tune played.
Confessional: Leshawna
"That guy is some kind of crazy," Leshawna confessed to the outhouse camera in outrage. "Adding toxic waste to the island? That's gotta be a criminal offense if it endangers us."
Confessional Ends
"Now," Chris said with a wide smile as the scene cut back to him once again, "before we start our very first challenge of the season, let's give out some rewards. DJ," he turned to the left, "because you made it up here before anyone else, your team gets a trampoline!" A grand tune played as the shot cut to a close-up of the trampoline, and moments later Chef Hatchet bounced down upon it. "And the Rats, get a hacksaw," Chris added, the shot cutting upwards to show his glowering assistant holding the tool in question.
Chef suddenly lost his balance and fell with a crash; Max laughed and had the hacksaw thrown at his head for it; and Scarlett silently laughed too, and in turn got crushed by the trampoline that was thrown at her, making her groan in pain.
"What do these items have to do with this bomb?" Chris asked, holding up a square of plastic explosives with a wireless timed detonator attached to it.
"Uhh, he's not gonna blow us up again, is he?" Trent nervously asked an equally nervous Scarlett.
"Who knows," Chris said with a sly smile, leaning in between the two with the bomb. "Find out when we come back!"
(Fade to Commercial)

This post is the last post in a series looking at the massive amount of 'rhyming' recursivity I believe exists between (a) the homecoming of Petyr Baelish to the Fingers and (b) the homecoming of Theon Greyjoy to Pyke.
While this series/post can be read simply as a study 'for its own sake' of the curious recursion between these storylines, it is my belief that the 'rhyming' explored here between the stories of Petyr and Theon may exist (at least in part) to foreshadow that, like Theon, Petyr Littlefinger, is (among other things) a scion of ironborn kings, because Petyr is Hoare-ish: I.e. because Petyr's blood is (in some part) the blood of the ironborn kings of House Hoare of Orkmont and, later, Harrenhal.
This post is also post 25 of 25 in my broader series on the topic of a Hoare-ish Littlefinger, which is indexed [HERE].
Even if I'm wrong about Littlefinger's lineage, the 'rhyming' recursivity between the homecomings of Theon and Petyr detailed in this series remains, and certainly merits attention.
NOTE: In what follows, all uncited quotes are from ASOS Sansa VI, which describes Petyr's homecoming to his "Drearfort" tower of the 'Smallest Finger', or ACOK Theon I, which describes Theon's homecoming to "drear" Pyke.
As in past posts, I sometimes use "→" as shorthand for "'prefigures' and/or 'informs' and/or 'is reworked by' and/or 'finds a recursive rhyme in'.
As in: ACOK Theon I → ASOS Sansa VI.
This post picks up straight-away from where Part 9 left off. You can read Part 9 [HERE].
If you want to begin at the beginning, Part 1 is [HERE].

Aeron & Oswell

After Theon's homecoming chapter opens with Theon thinking "There was no safe anchorage at Pyke", which is copied nearly verbatim during Petyr's homecoming with Sansa, we see Theon anticipating his first glimpse of Pyke castle, and read this sentence:

Theon drew the hood of his cloak up against the spray, and looked for home.

That line proves to be a key part of a pun-tastic 'rhyme' between (a) Theon coming ashore from the Myraham and meeting Aeron and (b) Sansa coming ashore from the Merling King with the aid of Oswell.
I'll explain.
Note first that Oswell, who is…

…tall and gangling, with long white hair and a great hooked nose, with eyes shaded by a cowl [like a monk's cowl!]… (ACOK Theon V)

—clearly 'rhymes' with Aeron, an ascetic priest (see Oswell's monk-ish cowl) who is…

Tall and thin, with… a beak of a nose… [and] ropes of dried seaweed were braided through his waist-long black hair and untrimmed beard.

They're set up as yin and yang: Tall and similarly built with notable noses and long hair… but one has "long white hair", the other "long black hair", and Aeron has an "untrimmed beard" while Oswell is clean-shaven.
Aeron's beard is not simply a beard, though, but a beard with seaweed in it, which 'rhymes' with Oswell being not simply clean-shaven, but clean-shaven in a sea-faring way, as his "windburnt face"—

She studied the old man's lined windburnt face, hook nose, white hair, and huge knuckly hands. (ASOS Sansa VI)

—prefigures the "wind-chafed skin" of Aeron's niece Asha, which is tagged as typical of the sea-faring ironborn—

Ironborn, he knew at a glance; lean and long-legged, with… wind-chafed skin, strong sure hands….

—as are her notably "strong sure hands", which similarly 'rhyme' with Oswell's notably "huge knuckly hands".
SIDEBAR: As for Aeron's robes here being "green and grey" ("and blue"), this underlines that Petyr's oft-mentioned "grey-green" eyes are like the sea, which (as I've mentioned in previous posts) suggests per Archmaester Haereg's maxim—

"You may dress an ironman in silks and velvets, teach him to read and write and give him books, instruct him in chivalry and courtesy and the mysteries of the Faith… but when you look into his eyes, the sea will still be there, cold and grey and cruel." (TWOIAF)

—that Littlefinger is, at least in part, an ironman.
END SIDEBAR
The first thing we're told about Aeron after Theon realizes who he is is that "he washed up safe on shore"—

A memory prodded at Theon. In one of his rare curt letters, Lord Balon had written of his youngest brother going down in a storm, and turning holy when he washed up safe on shore. "Uncle Aeron?" he said doubtfully.

—which prefigures Oswell splashing his way ashore at the Smallest Finger:

Oswell and Lothor splashed their way ashore, as did Littlefinger himself.

(If Oswell is Aeron-ish, surely Petyr making like Oswell and splashing about in the surf here could foreshadow that he is Hoare-ish. And perhaps some kind of religious figure as well.)

Drawn Up Hoods

With that Oswell/Aeron 'rhyme' in mind, consider again that, as Theon approaches castle Pyke on the Myraham…

Theon drew the hood of his cloak up against the spray, and looked for home.

Sound familiar? That's because it's reworked when Sansa is rowed ashore by the "gangling", Aeron-esque Oswell:

Lothor and old Oswell rowed them ashore. Sansa huddled in the bow under her cloak with the hood drawn up against the wind….

When Sansa gets to shore, "two old men" help to make sure she doesn't get even a little bit wet—

The two old men waded out up to their thighs to lift Sansa from the boat so she would not get her skirts wet.

—which was, of course, exactly the thing Theon was trying to avoid back in ACOK when he "drew the hood of his cloak up against the spray", as Sansa drew hers "up against the wind" when Oswell rowed her in.

Gangplank → Gangling.

GRRM is just warming up. When Theon reaches Lordsport and disembarks from the Myraham, he, too, avoids getting wet. At least initially. Where Sansa uses "gangling" Oswell to come ashore, Theon uses… a "gangplank":

Without waiting for a reply [from Myraham's captain], he strode down the gangplank. "Innkeeper," he barked. "I require a horse".

Kneeling Servants

The innkeeper never gets Theon his horse, of course (of course), because Aeron shows up. And what does gangling white-haired Oswell's black-haired physical mirror Aeron do? He makes Theon get wet after all.

"Kneel."
The ground was all stones[!] and mud. "Uncle, I—"
"Kneel. Or are you too proud now, a lordling of the green lands come among us?"
Theon knelt. He had a purpose here, and might need Aeron's help to achieve it. A crown was worth a little mud and horseshit on his breeches, he supposed.
"Bow your head." Lifting the skin, his uncle pulled the cork and directed a thin stream of seawater down upon Theon's head. It drenched his hair and ran over his forehead into his eyes. Sheets washed down his cheeks, and a finger crept under his cloak and doublet and down his back, a cold rivulet along his spine. The salt made his eyes burn, until it was all he could do not to cry out. He could taste the ocean on his lips. "Let Theon your servant be born again from the sea, as you were," Aeron Greyjoy intoned. "Bless him with salt, bless him with stone, bless him with steel."

Note that Theon kneeling on "stones and mud… and horseshit" before a priest with "seaweed" in his beard is reworked even as Oswell rows Sansa ashore and she huddles in her cloak like Theon, when the Baelish household kneels on rocks covered by nasty seaweed and Sansa dodges sheepshit:

Lothor and old Oswell rowed them ashore. Sansa huddled in the bow under her cloak with the hood drawn up against the wind, wondering what awaited her. Servants emerged from the tower to meet them…. When they recognized Lord Petyr they knelt on the rocks.
[Petyr] led them up the strand over rocks slick with rotting seaweed. … Sansa had to step carefully; there were pellets [i.e. sheepshit] everywhere.

Blessings

Meanwhile, Aeron giving Theon his holy "bless[ing]" is reworked just before Sansa is rowed ashore, when Petyr asks for Sansa's "blessing" after he tells her they're not going to Winterfell and that he's going to wed Lysa:

"So silent, my lady?" said Petyr. "I was certain you would wish to give me your blessing. …"
"I . . . I pray you will have long years together, and many children, and be very happy in one another.

Sansa's reluctant acquiescence — both to giving the blessing and to going ashore and going along with Petyr's plan, which she had not anticipated — echoes Theon's reluctant acquiescence to both Aeron's blessing and Balon's plan of invasion, which he hadn't anticipated.
I suspect Littefinger was fed the line, "So silent, my lady?" before asking for Sansa's blessing as a nod to several pertinent silences in ACOK Theon I. First, the "sullen silence" of the Myraham's captain when he reluctantly acquiesces to Theon taking his would-be salt wife daughter below deck to get a blowjob; second, the "gloom of silence" between Theon and Aeron as they make the final approach to Pyke, post-blessing; and finally, Theon marking the absence of Euron's 'lady', Silence, as he sails into Lordsport:

Theon searched for his uncle Euron's Silence.

Truly, all things come round again.

Getting Wet & Staying Dry 1

But what about Aeron getting Theon pointedly wet? Aeron not only making Theon kneel but getting him wet and then riding with him to Pyke, is reworked (and reversed) not just by Oswell and Lothor rowing Sansa ashore — note the "rode" → "rowed" wordplay:

They [Aeron and Theon] rode in a gloom of silence.
Lothor and old Oswell rowed them ashore.

— and not just by Sansa being carried ashore and kept pointedly dry by two old men who were, seconds earlier, kneeling reverently on the seashore, but also by Aeron-ish Oswell helping Sansa "up" onto The Merling King from his rowboat while assuring her he won't let her fall into the sea, which he makes sure she doesn't:

The rower shipped the oars and helped Sansa to her feet. "Up now. Go on, girl, I got you." Sansa thanked him for his kindness, but received no answer but a grunt. It was much easier going up the rope ladder than it had been coming down the cliff. The oarsman Oswell followed close behind her… (ASOS Sansa V)

So: Where Oswell-ish Aeron forces Theon to kneel and then wets him down with seawater, ceremonially "drowning" him after he comes down the "gangplank", the "gangling" Aeron-ish Oswell helps Sansa "to her feet" and then "up" while promising not to let her fall in the sea, where she could drown.

Getting Wet & Staying Dry 2

Aeron forcing Theon to kneel and getting him wet before he "rode" with him to Pyke is also reworked/reversed inside Petyr's tower, when Sansa's 'other' rower Lothor protects Sansa from Marillion's rape attempt— from being (like Theon) forced to get "wet", so to speak:

"My blood is stirred. And yours, I know … there's no wench half so lusty as one bastard born. Are you wet for me?"
"I'm a maiden," she protested.
"Truly? Oh, Alayne, Alayne, my fair maid, give me the gift of your innocence.

The wetness motif is played up again:

"He put a hand on her breast, and squeezed. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes. You wouldn't want them ripped, I know. Come, sweet lady, heed your heart—"

He wants to "get [her] out of [her] wet clothes" so he can get her "wet", so to speak. But where Aeron forced Theon to "kneel" and get wet in language that suddenly reads as quite rapey and spine-chilling—

Sheets washed down his cheeks [which cheeks?], and a finger[!] crept under his cloak and doublet and down his back, a cold rivulet along his spine."

—before he "rode" with him to castle Pyke, Lothor Brune, who "rowed" Sansa ashore, keeps her safe and 'dry':

Sansa heard the soft sound of steel on leather. "Singer," a rough voice said, "best go, if you want to sing again." The light was dim, but she saw a faint glimmer of a blade.
The singer saw it too. "Find your own wench—" The knife flashed, and he cried out. "You cut me!"
"I'll do worse, if you don't go."
And quick as that, Marillion was gone. The other remained, looming over Sansa in the darkness. "Lord Petyr said watch out for you." It was Lothor Brune's voice, she realized.

Dagmer Cleftjaw → Lothor Brune

And what do you know? Oswell's rowing partner Lothor Brune is also prefigured by Theon's homecoming. Not by Aeron, but by Dagmer Cleftjaw, who Theon thinks of as he approaches Lordsport on the Myraham. In fact, there's a huge 'rhyme' between (a) Dagmer Cleftjaw and his "gut-churning scar", on the one hand, and (b) the beginning of ASOS Sansa VI, which describes Lothor Brune and Sansa's upset stomach (i.e. her churning guts) and seemingly permanently scarred psyche, on the other. I'll try to lay out now.
Consider first that as Theon approaches Lordsport on the Myraham, he goes below deck, where he thinks about Dagmer Cleftjaw (along with the sour-like-Aeron Sylas Sourmouth, who was discussed in Part 8):

As the Myraham made her way landward, Theon paced the deck restlessly, scanning the shore. He had not thought to find Lord Balon himself at quayside, but surely his father would have sent someone to meet him. Sylas Sourmouth the steward, Lord Botley, perhaps even Dagmer Cleftjaw. It would be good to look on Dagmer's hideous old face again.

We meet Dagmer in ACOK Theon III,

He smiled himself to show how it was done. It made for a hideous sight. Under a snowy white mane of hair, Dagmer Cleftjaw had the most gut-churning scar Theon had ever seen, the legacy of the longaxe that had near killed him as a boy. The blow had splintered his jaw, shattered his front teeth, and left him four lips where other men had but two. A shaggy beard covered his cheeks and neck, but the hair would not grow over the scar, so a shiny seam of puckered, twisted flesh divided his face like a crevasse through a snowfield "We could hear them singing," the old warrior said. "It was a good song, and they sang it bravely."
…Dagmer grinned more often and more broadly than Lord Balon ever had.
Ugly as it was, that smile brought back a hundred memories. Theon had seen it often as a boy, when he'd jumped a horse over a mossy wall, or flung an axe and split a target square. [More fond memories of Dagmer.]

We later learn that Dagmer is "fearsome" and a "fierce fighter" as well, despite being marked as aged by his "white mane of hair". (ADWD The King's Prize)
Dagmer's ship is named Foamdrinker, a double-entendre about ale-drinking, as he likes drinking, as well as reaving songs — especially the one a singer wrote about him:

He knew that would give Dagmer pause. A singer had made a song about the axe that cracked his jaw in half, and the old man loved to hear it. Whenever he was in his cups he would call for a reaving song, something loud and stormy that told of dead heroes and deeds of wild valor. (ACOK Theon III)

Balon puts Dagmer in Theon's reaving detachment. Theon foolishly resents this, not accepting that he is inexperienced and needs and could benefit enormously from a seasoned number two with whom he has a good relationship:

"You are to harry the Stony Shore, raiding the fishing villages and sinking any ships you chance to meet. … Aeron will accompany you, and Dagmer Cleftjaw."
…Theon felt as if he'd been slapped. He was being sent to do reaver's work, burning fishermen out of their hovels and raping their ugly daughters, and yet it seemed Lord Balon did not trust him sufficiently to do even that much. Bad enough to have to suffer the Damphair's scowls and chidings. With Dagmer Cleftjaw along as well, his command would be purely nominal. (ACOK Theon II)

Balon gives Theon Dagmer to help him, but Theon can only see it as an affront, so he tries to sideline him:

Dagmer Cleftjaw stood by the high carved prow of his longship, Foamdrinker. Theon had assigned him the task of guarding the ships; otherwise men would have called it Dagmer's victory, not his. A more prickly man might have taken that for a slight, but the Cleftjaw had only laughed. (ACOK Theon III)

That Splintery Ladder Again & Lothor's Hand Up

Now, remembering that we're introduced to Dagmer Cleftjaw while Theon is still aship en route to Pyke, consider again the first paragraph of Sansa VI, plus a bit more (which of course takes place while Petyr and Sansa are still aship en route to Petyr's Drearfort):

The ladder to the forecastle was steep and splintery, so Sansa accepted a hand up from Lothor Brune. Ser Lothor, she had to remind herself; the man had been knighted for his valor in the Battle of the Blackwater. Though no proper knight would wear those patched brown breeches and scuffed boots, nor that cracked and water-stained leather jerkin. A square-faced stocky man with a squashed nose and a mat of nappy grey hair, Brune spoke seldom. He is stronger than he looks, though. She could tell by the ease with which he lifted her, as if she weighed nothing at all. …
She had seldom ventured out on deck herself. Her little cabin was dank and cold, but Sansa had been sick for most of the voyage . . . sick with terror, sick with fever, or seasick . . . she could keep nothing down, and even sleep came hard. Whenever she closed her eyes she saw Joffrey… dying….
…Even this close to shore, the rolling of the ship made her tummy queasy.…
[Petyr] put a sympathetic arm about her shoulders. "Are you quite well? You look so pale."
"It's only my tummy. The seasickness."

We're subsequently reminded of Brune's "squashed nose" and "mat of nappy grey hair", and told of his "square jaw" and more:

With his squashed nose, square jaw, and nap of woolly grey hair, Brune could not be called comely, but he was not ugly either. … Sober, he was a quiet man, but a strong one. (AFFC Alayne II)

Recall too that Brune saves Sansa from Marillion, who tries to use her as Theon used the captain's daughter.
Having surveyed the field of (word)play, we can now see the 'rhyming':

• Where Theon goes below deck as he approaches Lordsport and thinks about Dagmer, whose jaw is (verbatim) "splintered", Sansa, with Brune's help, climbs up to the deck using a (verbatim) "splintered" ladder as she approaches the Drearfort.
  
• Where Theon spurns the 'hand up' Dagmer and his splintered jaw could have given him, "Sansa accept[s] a hand up from Lothor Brune" and climbs the "splintered" ladder.
  
• Where Theon think of the Cleftjaw, who has a "gut-churning scar", Sansa thinks about her literally churning guts — her upset "tummy".
  
• Where Theon thinks that Cleftjaw's "gut-churning scar" resulted from his being "near[ly] killed as a boy", Sansa's churning guts are related to the evident psychic scar she's suffered, which causes her to see a boy killed over and over again.
  
• Dagmer's "shattered" teeth and "splintered" jaw (and Dagmar being sent to "Torrhen's Square") → Brune's "squashed nose" and "square jaw"
  
• Where Dagmer is ironborn, and had his jaw "cracked… in half", Brune wears a "cracked and water-stained [as if from the sea]" jerkin.
  
• Dagmer's "snowy mane of white hair" → Brune's "mat of nappy grey hair"/"nap of woolly grey hair"
  
• Despite their 'old hair', Dagmer is "fierce" and "fearsome", Brune "strong".
  
• Where Dagmer's smile is "ugly" but nonetheless fills Theon with warm memories (defying its appearance), Brune, who "could not be called comely, but… was not ugly either", is "stronger than he looks".
  
• Where Dagmer "covered his cheeks and neck" with a beard but can't grow a 'proper' one due to his scar, which appears as a "seam", Brune doesn't look like a "proper knight" in his "patched… breeches" and "scuffed boots". (Note the sewing language — "seam" → "patched" — and the lexical similarity: "cheeks" → "breeches".)
  
• Both men seem to have a penchant for drink (per the implications of Sansa commenting on Brune's nature "when sober") and a foregrounded relationship with singers. (Where Dagmer loves singers and songs, Brune is in conflict with Marillion — although the deeds of "Lothor Apple-Eater" are likely sung of, like Dagmer's exploits.)
  

Thus just as the Aeron of Theon's homcoming 'rhymes' with the Oswell of Petyr's homecoming, so is Theon's Dagmer Cleftjaw reworked in the person of Petyr's Lothor Brune.
And thus everything about Petyr's homecoming continues to remind us of Theon's homecoming, which makes sense… if Petyr is likewise a scion of ironborn royalty (e.g. if he's Hoare-ish).

The End, and The Distinct Possibility That The Rhyme Between Petyr's and Theon's Homecomings Isn't (Just) About Petyr Being Hoare-ish, After All

That's it. That's all I got regarding the recursively 'rhyming' homecomings of Theon and Petyr. For me, the insane scope and depth of the 'rhyming' between Petyr's homecoming and the homcoming of a scion of ironborn kings is entirely consistent with my broader hypothesis: that the blood of ironborn kings likewise flows in the veins of Petyr Littlefinger — namely "the black blood" of House Hoare of Orkmont.
And yet . . .
It remains that notwithstanding that my Hoare-ish Littlefinger posts connected virtually everything we're told about House Hoare and its various historical kings with things we're told about Petyr Baelish, this (sub)series has detailed recursion not between Petyr and the Hoares, but between Petyr and Theon Greyjoy, who is like the Hoares in that his blood is that of ironborn kings, but who is, nonetheless, a Greyjoy.
It also remains that Theon is the grandson of Quellon Greyjoy, and that [as I show here] — or just scroll down, I'll reproduce that post in the comments — Quellon Greyjoy as described in both TWOIAF and in ASOIAF is nothing if not incredibly Hoare-esque, and not just because his policies and biography in TWOIAF 'rhyme' with the policies and biographies of various Hoare kings, but because ASOIAF proper subtly suggests he was something of a 'whore' in that AFFC makes it abundantly clear that Quellon was a prolific sperm cannon by repeating over and over that he sired nine sons we know of (on three different wives).
Recall that we saw in [Part 2 of the original 'Littlefinger is Hoare-ish' series] that Petyr is in certain striking respects similar to Balon, to Euron, to Aeron, to Asha, and even to Victarion.
This all gives rise to the question: Does all the 'rhyming' between the homecomings of Theon Greyjoy and Petyr Baelish as detailed in this series 'merely' (further) hint that Petyr is (literally) Hoare-ish, and hence that he is like Theon in that he, too, is the scion of ironborn kings?
Or do all the Petyr-Greyjoy connections, coupled with Quellon's foregrounded fecundity and the presence of a barely concealed metaphor for an ocean-based sperm (whale) cannon on Petyr's estate (alongside a reminder of invaders from the sea)—

There was one place where the tide came jetting up out of a blowhole to shoot thirty feet into the air, and another where someone had chiseled the seven-pointed star of the new gods upon a boulder. Petyr said that marked one of the places the Andals had landed, when they came across the sea to wrest the Vale from the First Men.

—hint that at some point during his travels, Quellon Greyjoy bedded Petyr's mother Alayne (or perhaps Petyr's father's mother), cuckolding her husband and impregnating her with Petyr (or Lord Baelish)?
Note that Quellon was a direct, analogous contemporary to Petyr's 'father': Both are said to have fought for the Targaryens in the War of the Ninepenny Kings.

The Mockingbird & The Cuckolding Cowbird

Here we must consider that Petyr's sigil is the mockingbird, and that certain species of mockingbirds (see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Long-tailed_mockingbird and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chilean_mockingbird and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White-banded_mockingbird and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northern_mockingbird and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chalk-browed_mockingbird) are well-known as hosts for the [brood parasitism] of certain [cowbirds]. That is, it is well-known that mockingbirds frequently care for the eggs of cowbirds and feed the hatched chicks of cowbirds as if they were their own offspring.
In short, mockingbirds accept being cuckolded.
Recall here that the men of Pyke greeted Theon with "bovine [as in cow, as in the cowbirds that cuckold mockingbirds] eyes", and that the o.g. brood parasites are cuckoo birds, from whence we derive our term "cuckolding".
Recall, too, that the Greyjoy banner over Pyke weirdly takes on the appearance of a bird during Theon's homecoming, which I've just spent 10 posts comparing to Petyr's homecoming:

Above the Sea Tower snapped his father's banner. The Myraham was too far off for Theon to see more than the cloth itself, but he knew the device it bore: the golden kraken of House Greyjoy, arms writhing and reaching against a black field. The banner streamed from an iron mast, shivering and twisting as the wind gusted, like a bird struggling to take flight.

Thus the possibility that Petyr's nominal "father" Lord Baelish (or Petyr's nominal paternal "grandfather") was cuckolded by Quellon Greyjoy, the Hoare-esque sperm cannon from the land of cowbird-evoking "bovine eyes", whose sigil is likened to a bird, is right there in his mockingbird sigil.
Indeed, I very much wonder whether we're not told all about the super-pollinator Garth Greenhand in part as a 'rhyming' hint that Quellon Greyjoy was a super-pollinator who spread his "seed" amongst the ladies of what the ironborn call the "green lands".

The Mocking Bird Went Cuckoo

The notion that Petyr's mockingbird sigil may nod to Petyr's supposed father (or supposed paternal grandfather) getting cuckolded by Quellon Greyjoy reminds me of a song brought to my attention by MaxPayload: The Mocking Bird Went Cuckoo was recorded in the 1930s by at least two acts, including the British movie star [Gracie Fields] — the highest paid film actress in the world c. 1937 — and an act called "The Two Gilberts".
[HERE] is a link to the Fields version.
To say the lyrics of the song remind me of Littlefinger's story is if anything an understatement, beginning with the opening image of "a lovesick youth and maiden":

A lovesick youth and maiden (down on the farm)
With hearts so heavy laden (down on the farm)
They held each other's hands and looked into each other's eye
And started to tell each other lies

To say the least, Littlefinger is closely identified with being a lovesick youth and with lying (including about his sexploits with the sisters Tully). And notably, he and Sansa practically begin their relationship by agreeing to lie about her being his daughter. (Sansa's heart is notably 'heavy laden' when this happens upon arrival at Littlefinger's tower — and sheep farm.)
Regarding the "down on the farm" setting, ASOIAF makes regular reference to the bountiful crops and rich farmlands of the Tullys' Riverlands, and we see the courtyards of Riverrun "teem[ing] with… cows, sheep, and chickens" in ACOK Catelyn V.
The song continues with a first kiss "by the cowshed door" (recalling that we're told that Petyr's estate has "a sheepfold"):

He kissed her by the cowshed door
She said "I've not been kissed before"
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw

Petyr was, of course, Lysa's first kiss, and probably Catelyn's as well, as well as Lysa's first fuck (regarding which, rest assured that the song gets deep into sexual double-entendre soon enough):

[O]ver there, beneath that bower, she and Lysa had played at kissing with Petyr.
She had not thought of that in years. How young they all had been—she no older than Sansa, Lysa younger than Arya, and Petyr younger still, yet eager. The girls had traded him between them, serious and giggling by turns. It came back to her so vividly she could almost feel his sweaty fingers on her shoulders and taste the mint on his breath. There was always mint growing in the godswood, and Petyr had liked to chew it. He had been such a bold little boy, always in trouble. "He tried to put his tongue in my mouth," Catelyn had confessed to her sister afterward, when they were alone. "He did with me too," Lysa had whispered, shy and breathless. "I liked it." (AGOT Catelyn XI)
"Petyr's breath is always fresh … he was the first man I ever kissed, you know." -Lysa (ASOS Sansa VI)

Next we see the maiden tease the eager "lovesick youth", as Cat ostensibly teased Petyr:

He said "My love I'll swear to you"
She said "I'll smack you if you do"
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw
Nellie Bly, Nellie Bly, said "Oh how you tease me"
"I'm so shy, I'm so shy, when you start to squeeze me"
He said "Come tell me pretty miss"
"Where did you learn to squeeze and kiss"
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw

I'd heard the name "Nellie Bly" before in the version of Frankie & Johnny recorded by the legendary father of country music, [Jimmie Rodgers], so hearing it again made me look it up. It turns out the name in both songs was borrowed from [a world-famous American journalist]. (Recall that GRRM went to school for journalism.)
The real Nellie Bly first became famous for writing an expose of conditions in a lunatic asylum for women in New York City. Her fame redoubled after she traveled around the world in 1889. She went on to write pulp serial novels and — notably, given Petyr's apparent designs on Sansa — to wed a much older millionaire man named . . . (wait for it) . . . "Seaman".
(Obviously "Seaman" resonates with the idea that Petyr is ironborn, with the sea in his eyes, and with the sperm-whale like "blowhole" on Petyr's lands, which recalls Theon's foregrounded semen from ACOK Theon I. It likewise suggests a reading of the song per which an older "Seaman" is seducing the "Nellie Bly". Could this presage Quellon seducing original Alayne, who I happen to believe has very intrepid genes herself?)
Anyway, back in the song, things take a "dark" turn:

She said "I love the twilight," down on the farm
Said he, "The dark is my light," down on the farm

My original Hoare-ish Littlefinger series highlighted various ways in which Petyr Baelish is Satan/Lucifedemon-coded, so the lovesick boy saying "The dark is my light" absolutely leaps out to me.
Especially because the couplet it's part of smells like it may well have informed a certain infamous exchange:

"Are you the Sword of the Morning now?"
"No. Men call me Darkstar, and I am of the night." (AFFC The Queenmaker)

Consider that the Sword of the Morning wields dawn, which colloquially coincides with (the maiden's preferred) morning "twilight", while we are clearly supposed to suspect that "Darkstar" (who is "of the night" a la the lovesick boy) — who is for some reason "the most dangerous man in Dorne" and who apparently resembles a "Dragonlord" — was sired by Aerys during his 270 visit to Dorne, with Aerys cuckolding, presumably, a man of House Dayne. (AFFC The Princess in the Tower; The Queenmaker) Note the double-entendre of laying pipe here — life-giving, fertilizing pipe, no less:

In 270 AC, during a visit to Sunspear, he told the Princess of Dorne that he would "make the Dornish deserts bloom" by digging a great underground canal beneath the mountains to bring water down from the rainwood. (TWOIAF)

There's a clear symmetry between the notion that Aeyrs cuckolded a Dayne to produce Darkstar and the idea that the noted Aerys-supporter and loyalist Quellon Greyjoy cuckolded a war hero small lord on the Fingers to produce Littlefinger. Doubly so if Littlefinger's mother was (as I have speculated elsewhere) the daughter of Duncan "the Small" Targaryen, Prince of Dragonflies.
If that couplet (in a song that otherwise smells Littlefingerian) reminds us of Darkstar, isn't it curious that the basic structure of Darkstar's implied origin (in the cuckolding of a small lord by a far greater lord) may (also/instead?) apply to Littlefinger's origin?
Back to The Mocking Bird Went Cuckoo. The next line reads like a reference to Lysa's opinion of Petyr:

Said she "You seem to big and brave and mighty strong to me."

Compare with Lysa's very personal opinion of Petyr:

"He may not look as tall or strong as some, but he is worth more than all of them." (ASOS Sansa VI)

The song's next line is wild given Petyr and Lysa's history with moon tea (a tea brewed with certain plants not used in ordinary tea) and especially my conviction that [Petyr dosed Sansa with moon tea] during their voyage on the Merling King so as to make sure she was not pregnant with Tyrion's child:

Said he "Yes, I had onions for my tea."

(By the way, onions in ASOIAF are of course all about Davos. And who do I think Davos is? A possible Hoare-son or Quellon-son, and the Sailor's Wife's sailor, i.e. a sailor who sired a child and abandoned the mother, as, perhaps, Quellon sired Petyr on original-Alayne before leaving her to raise him on the Smallest Finger. Surely coincidence . . . unless this strange, weird old song has been informing George's Song since the mid-1990s.)
The lyrics continue with more Catelyn-esque teasing:

He said "I love you, yes I do"
She said to him "Oh yeah, says you?"
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw
He said "You're sweet beyond belief!"
Said she "You said it! OK, chief!"
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw

The lovesick boy is then encouraged to "walk 'round the houses"—

Nellie Bly, Nellie Bly, said "Walk 'round the houses"

—which 'just so happens' to recall rather closely Petyr and Sansa's sight-seeing tour of his lands, when "Petyr walked with her around his holdings", which include not just houses, but a symbolic sperm cannon and a reminder that foreigners sometimes land on these shores:

When the rains let up, Petyr walked with her around his holdings, which took less than half a day. He owned a lot of rocks, just as he had said. There was one place where the tide came jetting up out of a blowhole to shoot thirty feet into the air, and another where someone had chiseled the seven-pointed star of the new gods upon a boulder. Petyr said that marked one of the places the Andals had landed, when they came across the sea to wrest the Vale from the First Men.
Farther inland a dozen families lived in huts of piled stone beside a peat bog.

The song then references farm work and (via double-entendre) sex:

"Just while I, just while I go and milk the cowses"

Milk cows are, of course, linked to wet nursing and babies. And remember: It's cowbirds who make like cuckoos and cuckold mockingbirds.
The double-entendre gradually becomes obvious:

As they sat 'neath the stars above
She says to him "Oh, what is love?
And the mockingbird went hee-haw and the donkey went cuckoo [note the reversal!]
Well she sat there and milked the cow [lol]
"I'll do my bit" said he, "and how!" [lmao]
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw
He found an old three-legged stool
And sat right down to milk the bull [come on!]
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw

A milked bull? Quellon's son Victarion is linkened to a bull. Was Victarion's sire "milked" of his "seed" by Alayne Baelish? Did Quellon not only marry a woman of House Stonetree, but bone a woman wed to a man whose sigil was a "stone head"?
Regarding that "three-legged stool", recall that the dragon must have three heads, that a cuckolder turns a partnership into a three-legged affair, so to speak, and that a man with a large penis (see: "Littlefinger"?) is sometimes said to have [a third leg].
From there the song grows only more suspicious as potential inspiration, as it makes explicit reference to concealed paternity, and implicitly to an improper sexual relationship involving a "father" (which see Littlefinger and "Alayne"):

Nellie Bly, Nellie Bly went all in a lather
Began to cry, shouting "Why, that's the cow's father!"
He turned white and looked surprised
Then to the bull apologized
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw

The closing line about apologizing to the bull resonates with Petyr's dealings with Hoster, and perhaps with cuckoldry as well, as a trespass against patriarchal rights of possession over a woman.
The foregoing represents the seemingly better known Gracie Fields version. [The Two Gilberts version] is mostly the same, save for a few passages in the middle.
Sidebar: Regarding "The Two Gilberts", there 'just so happens' to be exactly two Gilberts in the ASOIAF canon.
One of ASOIAF's two Gilberts 'just so happens' to be one of the legendary scions of legendary sperm cannon and possibly Quellon Greyjoy analogue Garth Greenhand, Gilbert of the Vines, who 'just so happens' to be responsible for all that good Arbor wine Petyr loves so.
The other Gilbert is Gilbert Farring, who Stannis tells us "holds Storm's End for me". (ASOS Davos IV) Repeating that: ASOIAF'S second Gilbert "holds" something that belongs to Stannis in lieu of Stannis holding it himself. Almost like he's cuckolding him.
There are two other Farrings (like Gilbert) in the canon. One is Godry, "the Giantslayer", which sounds like something one might nickname a guy who cuckolded a guy with the Titan of Braavos on his shield. The other is Annara Farring. She was Lord Frey's seventh wife, and guess what she 'just so happens' to be known for? If you said "cuckolding her lordly husband", congratulations. And guess how we're told that? Via, of all things under the sun, a milk cow analogy:

[Black Walder had] had Edwyn's wife too, that was common knowledge, Fair Walda had been known to slip into his bed from time to time, and some even said he'd known the seventh Lady Frey [Annara Farring] a deal better than he should have. Small wonder he refused to marry. Why buy a cow when there were udders all around begging to be milked? (ASOS Epilogue)

(It was at this point that I went from "Maybe George has heard this song" to "George is 100% familiar with this song.")
End Sidebar
Right after the line about the onion tea, The Two Gilberts version sees the lovesick boy promise riches and wealth, recalling Petyr's lifelong interest in making money:

He said "I'll buy you furs and gems"
"And all the pretty thees[?] and thems[?]"
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw

CONTINUED & CONCLUDED IN OLDEST REPLY, BELOW or HERE

This post is the last post in a series looking at the massive amount of 'rhyming' recursivity I believe exists between (a) the homecoming of Petyr Baelish to the Fingers and (b) the homecoming of Theon Greyjoy to Pyke.
While this series/post can be read simply as a study 'for its own sake' of the curious recursion between these storylines, it is my belief that the 'rhyming' explored here between the stories of Petyr and Theon may exist (at least in part) to foreshadow that, like Theon, Petyr Littlefinger, is (among other things) a scion of ironborn kings, because Petyr is Hoare-ish: I.e. because Petyr's blood is (in some part) the blood of the ironborn kings of House Hoare of Orkmont and, later, Harrenhal.
This post is also post 25 of 25 in my broader series on the topic of a Hoare-ish Littlefinger, which is indexed [HERE].
Even if I'm wrong about Littlefinger's lineage, the 'rhyming' recursivity between the homecomings of Theon and Petyr detailed in this series remains, and certainly merits attention.
NOTE: In what follows, all uncited quotes are from ASOS Sansa VI, which describes Petyr's homecoming to his "Drearfort" tower of the 'Smallest Finger', or ACOK Theon I, which describes Theon's homecoming to "drear" Pyke.
As in past posts, I sometimes use "→" as shorthand for "'prefigures' and/or 'informs' and/or 'is reworked by' and/or 'finds a recursive rhyme in'.
As in: ACOK Theon I → ASOS Sansa VI.
This post picks up straight-away from where Part 9 left off. You can read Part 9 [HERE].
If you want to begin at the beginning, Part 1 is [HERE].

Aeron & Oswell

After Theon's homecoming chapter opens with Theon thinking "There was no safe anchorage at Pyke", which is copied nearly verbatim during Petyr's homecoming with Sansa, we see Theon anticipating his first glimpse of Pyke castle, and read this sentence:

Theon drew the hood of his cloak up against the spray, and looked for home.

That line proves to be a key part of a pun-tastic 'rhyme' between (a) Theon coming ashore from the Myraham and meeting Aeron and (b) Sansa coming ashore from the Merling King with the aid of Oswell.
I'll explain.
Note first that Oswell, who is…

…tall and gangling, with long white hair and a great hooked nose, with eyes shaded by a cowl [like a monk's cowl!]… (ACOK Theon V)

—clearly 'rhymes' with Aeron, an ascetic priest (see Oswell's monk-ish cowl) who is…

Tall and thin, with… a beak of a nose… [and] ropes of dried seaweed were braided through his waist-long black hair and untrimmed beard.

They're set up as yin and yang: Tall and similarly built with notable noses and long hair… but one has "long white hair", the other "long black hair", and Aeron has an "untrimmed beard" while Oswell is clean-shaven.
Aeron's beard is not simply a beard, though, but a beard with seaweed in it, which 'rhymes' with Oswell being not simply clean-shaven, but clean-shaven in a sea-faring way, as his "windburnt face"—

She studied the old man's lined windburnt face, hook nose, white hair, and huge knuckly hands. (ASOS Sansa VI)

—prefigures the "wind-chafed skin" of Aeron's niece Asha, which is tagged as typical of the sea-faring ironborn—

Ironborn, he knew at a glance; lean and long-legged, with… wind-chafed skin, strong sure hands….

—as are her notably "strong sure hands", which similarly 'rhyme' with Oswell's notably "huge knuckly hands".
SIDEBAR: As for Aeron's robes here being "green and grey" ("and blue"), this underlines that Petyr's oft-mentioned "grey-green" eyes are like the sea, which (as I've mentioned in previous posts) suggests per Archmaester Haereg's maxim—

"You may dress an ironman in silks and velvets, teach him to read and write and give him books, instruct him in chivalry and courtesy and the mysteries of the Faith… but when you look into his eyes, the sea will still be there, cold and grey and cruel." (TWOIAF)

—that Littlefinger is, at least in part, an ironman.
END SIDEBAR
The first thing we're told about Aeron after Theon realizes who he is is that "he washed up safe on shore"—

A memory prodded at Theon. In one of his rare curt letters, Lord Balon had written of his youngest brother going down in a storm, and turning holy when he washed up safe on shore. "Uncle Aeron?" he said doubtfully.

—which prefigures Oswell splashing his way ashore at the Smallest Finger:

Oswell and Lothor splashed their way ashore, as did Littlefinger himself.

(If Oswell is Aeron-ish, surely Petyr making like Oswell and splashing about in the surf here could foreshadow that he is Hoare-ish. And perhaps some kind of religious figure as well.)

Drawn Up Hoods

With that Oswell/Aeron 'rhyme' in mind, consider again that, as Theon approaches castle Pyke on the Myraham…

Theon drew the hood of his cloak up against the spray, and looked for home.

Sound familiar? That's because it's reworked when Sansa is rowed ashore by the "gangling", Aeron-esque Oswell:

Lothor and old Oswell rowed them ashore. Sansa huddled in the bow under her cloak with the hood drawn up against the wind….

When Sansa gets to shore, "two old men" help to make sure she doesn't get even a little bit wet—

The two old men waded out up to their thighs to lift Sansa from the boat so she would not get her skirts wet.

—which was, of course, exactly the thing Theon was trying to avoid back in ACOK when he "drew the hood of his cloak up against the spray", as Sansa drew hers "up against the wind" when Oswell rowed her in.

Gangplank → Gangling.

GRRM is just warming up. When Theon reaches Lordsport and disembarks from the Myraham, he, too, avoids getting wet. At least initially. Where Sansa uses "gangling" Oswell to come ashore, Theon uses… a "gangplank":

Without waiting for a reply [from Myraham's captain], he strode down the gangplank. "Innkeeper," he barked. "I require a horse".

Kneeling Servants

The innkeeper never gets Theon his horse, of course (of course), because Aeron shows up. And what does gangling white-haired Oswell's black-haired physical mirror Aeron do? He makes Theon get wet after all.

"Kneel."
The ground was all stones[!] and mud. "Uncle, I—"
"Kneel. Or are you too proud now, a lordling of the green lands come among us?"
Theon knelt. He had a purpose here, and might need Aeron's help to achieve it. A crown was worth a little mud and horseshit on his breeches, he supposed.
"Bow your head." Lifting the skin, his uncle pulled the cork and directed a thin stream of seawater down upon Theon's head. It drenched his hair and ran over his forehead into his eyes. Sheets washed down his cheeks, and a finger crept under his cloak and doublet and down his back, a cold rivulet along his spine. The salt made his eyes burn, until it was all he could do not to cry out. He could taste the ocean on his lips. "Let Theon your servant be born again from the sea, as you were," Aeron Greyjoy intoned. "Bless him with salt, bless him with stone, bless him with steel."

Note that Theon kneeling on "stones and mud… and horseshit" before a priest with "seaweed" in his beard is reworked even as Oswell rows Sansa ashore and she huddles in her cloak like Theon, when the Baelish household kneels on rocks covered by nasty seaweed and Sansa dodges sheepshit:

Lothor and old Oswell rowed them ashore. Sansa huddled in the bow under her cloak with the hood drawn up against the wind, wondering what awaited her. Servants emerged from the tower to meet them…. When they recognized Lord Petyr they knelt on the rocks.
[Petyr] led them up the strand over rocks slick with rotting seaweed. … Sansa had to step carefully; there were pellets [i.e. sheepshit] everywhere.

Blessings

Meanwhile, Aeron giving Theon his holy "bless[ing]" is reworked just before Sansa is rowed ashore, when Petyr asks for Sansa's "blessing" after he tells her they're not going to Winterfell and that he's going to wed Lysa:

"So silent, my lady?" said Petyr. "I was certain you would wish to give me your blessing. …"
"I . . . I pray you will have long years together, and many children, and be very happy in one another.

Sansa's reluctant acquiescence — both to giving the blessing and to going ashore and going along with Petyr's plan, which she had not anticipated — echoes Theon's reluctant acquiescence to both Aeron's blessing and Balon's plan of invasion, which he hadn't anticipated.
I suspect Littefinger was fed the line, "So silent, my lady?" before asking for Sansa's blessing as a nod to several pertinent silences in ACOK Theon I. First, the "sullen silence" of the Myraham's captain when he reluctantly acquiesces to Theon taking his would-be salt wife daughter below deck to get a blowjob; second, the "gloom of silence" between Theon and Aeron as they make the final approach to Pyke, post-blessing; and finally, Theon marking the absence of Euron's 'lady', Silence, as he sails into Lordsport:

Theon searched for his uncle Euron's Silence.

Truly, all things come round again.

Getting Wet & Staying Dry 1

But what about Aeron getting Theon pointedly wet? Aeron not only making Theon kneel but getting him wet and then riding with him to Pyke, is reworked (and reversed) not just by Oswell and Lothor rowing Sansa ashore — note the "rode" → "rowed" wordplay:

They [Aeron and Theon] rode in a gloom of silence.
Lothor and old Oswell rowed them ashore.

— and not just by Sansa being carried ashore and kept pointedly dry by two old men who were, seconds earlier, kneeling reverently on the seashore, but also by Aeron-ish Oswell helping Sansa "up" onto The Merling King from his rowboat while assuring her he won't let her fall into the sea, which he makes sure she doesn't:

The rower shipped the oars and helped Sansa to her feet. "Up now. Go on, girl, I got you." Sansa thanked him for his kindness, but received no answer but a grunt. It was much easier going up the rope ladder than it had been coming down the cliff. The oarsman Oswell followed close behind her… (ASOS Sansa V)

So: Where Oswell-ish Aeron forces Theon to kneel and then wets him down with seawater, ceremonially "drowning" him after he comes down the "gangplank", the "gangling" Aeron-ish Oswell helps Sansa "to her feet" and then "up" while promising not to let her fall in the sea, where she could drown.

Getting Wet & Staying Dry 2

Aeron forcing Theon to kneel and getting him wet before he "rode" with him to Pyke is also reworked/reversed inside Petyr's tower, when Sansa's 'other' rower Lothor protects Sansa from Marillion's rape attempt— from being (like Theon) forced to get "wet", so to speak:

"My blood is stirred. And yours, I know … there's no wench half so lusty as one bastard born. Are you wet for me?"
"I'm a maiden," she protested.
"Truly? Oh, Alayne, Alayne, my fair maid, give me the gift of your innocence.

The wetness motif is played up again:

"He put a hand on her breast, and squeezed. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes. You wouldn't want them ripped, I know. Come, sweet lady, heed your heart—"

He wants to "get [her] out of [her] wet clothes" so he can get her "wet", so to speak. But where Aeron forced Theon to "kneel" and get wet in language that suddenly reads as quite rapey and spine-chilling—

Sheets washed down his cheeks [which cheeks?], and a finger[!] crept under his cloak and doublet and down his back, a cold rivulet along his spine."

—before he "rode" with him to castle Pyke, Lothor Brune, who "rowed" Sansa ashore, keeps her safe and 'dry':

Sansa heard the soft sound of steel on leather. "Singer," a rough voice said, "best go, if you want to sing again." The light was dim, but she saw a faint glimmer of a blade.
The singer saw it too. "Find your own wench—" The knife flashed, and he cried out. "You cut me!"
"I'll do worse, if you don't go."
And quick as that, Marillion was gone. The other remained, looming over Sansa in the darkness. "Lord Petyr said watch out for you." It was Lothor Brune's voice, she realized.

Dagmer Cleftjaw → Lothor Brune

And what do you know? Oswell's rowing partner Lothor Brune is also prefigured by Theon's homecoming. Not by Aeron, but by Dagmer Cleftjaw, who Theon thinks of as he approaches Lordsport on the Myraham. In fact, there's a huge 'rhyme' between (a) Dagmer Cleftjaw and his "gut-churning scar", on the one hand, and (b) the beginning of ASOS Sansa VI, which describes Lothor Brune and Sansa's upset stomach (i.e. her churning guts) and seemingly permanently scarred psyche, on the other. I'll try to lay out now.
Consider first that as Theon approaches Lordsport on the Myraham, he goes below deck, where he thinks about Dagmer Cleftjaw (along with the sour-like-Aeron Sylas Sourmouth, who was discussed in Part 8):

As the Myraham made her way landward, Theon paced the deck restlessly, scanning the shore. He had not thought to find Lord Balon himself at quayside, but surely his father would have sent someone to meet him. Sylas Sourmouth the steward, Lord Botley, perhaps even Dagmer Cleftjaw. It would be good to look on Dagmer's hideous old face again.

We meet Dagmer in ACOK Theon III,

He smiled himself to show how it was done. It made for a hideous sight. Under a snowy white mane of hair, Dagmer Cleftjaw had the most gut-churning scar Theon had ever seen, the legacy of the longaxe that had near killed him as a boy. The blow had splintered his jaw, shattered his front teeth, and left him four lips where other men had but two. A shaggy beard covered his cheeks and neck, but the hair would not grow over the scar, so a shiny seam of puckered, twisted flesh divided his face like a crevasse through a snowfield "We could hear them singing," the old warrior said. "It was a good song, and they sang it bravely."
…Dagmer grinned more often and more broadly than Lord Balon ever had.
Ugly as it was, that smile brought back a hundred memories. Theon had seen it often as a boy, when he'd jumped a horse over a mossy wall, or flung an axe and split a target square. [More fond memories of Dagmer.]

We later learn that Dagmer is "fearsome" and a "fierce fighter" as well, despite being marked as aged by his "white mane of hair". (ADWD The King's Prize)
Dagmer's ship is named Foamdrinker, a double-entendre about ale-drinking, as he likes drinking, as well as reaving songs — especially the one a singer wrote about him:

He knew that would give Dagmer pause. A singer had made a song about the axe that cracked his jaw in half, and the old man loved to hear it. Whenever he was in his cups he would call for a reaving song, something loud and stormy that told of dead heroes and deeds of wild valor. (ACOK Theon III)

Balon puts Dagmer in Theon's reaving detachment. Theon foolishly resents this, not accepting that he is inexperienced and needs and could benefit enormously from a seasoned number two with whom he has a good relationship:

"You are to harry the Stony Shore, raiding the fishing villages and sinking any ships you chance to meet. … Aeron will accompany you, and Dagmer Cleftjaw."
…Theon felt as if he'd been slapped. He was being sent to do reaver's work, burning fishermen out of their hovels and raping their ugly daughters, and yet it seemed Lord Balon did not trust him sufficiently to do even that much. Bad enough to have to suffer the Damphair's scowls and chidings. With Dagmer Cleftjaw along as well, his command would be purely nominal. (ACOK Theon II)

Balon gives Theon Dagmer to help him, but Theon can only see it as an affront, so he tries to sideline him:

Dagmer Cleftjaw stood by the high carved prow of his longship, Foamdrinker. Theon had assigned him the task of guarding the ships; otherwise men would have called it Dagmer's victory, not his. A more prickly man might have taken that for a slight, but the Cleftjaw had only laughed. (ACOK Theon III)

That Splintery Ladder Again & Lothor's Hand Up

Now, remembering that we're introduced to Dagmer Cleftjaw while Theon is still aship en route to Pyke, consider again the first paragraph of Sansa VI, plus a bit more (which of course takes place while Petyr and Sansa are still aship en route to Petyr's Drearfort):

The ladder to the forecastle was steep and splintery, so Sansa accepted a hand up from Lothor Brune. Ser Lothor, she had to remind herself; the man had been knighted for his valor in the Battle of the Blackwater. Though no proper knight would wear those patched brown breeches and scuffed boots, nor that cracked and water-stained leather jerkin. A square-faced stocky man with a squashed nose and a mat of nappy grey hair, Brune spoke seldom. He is stronger than he looks, though. She could tell by the ease with which he lifted her, as if she weighed nothing at all. …
She had seldom ventured out on deck herself. Her little cabin was dank and cold, but Sansa had been sick for most of the voyage . . . sick with terror, sick with fever, or seasick . . . she could keep nothing down, and even sleep came hard. Whenever she closed her eyes she saw Joffrey… dying….
…Even this close to shore, the rolling of the ship made her tummy queasy.…
[Petyr] put a sympathetic arm about her shoulders. "Are you quite well? You look so pale."
"It's only my tummy. The seasickness."

We're subsequently reminded of Brune's "squashed nose" and "mat of nappy grey hair", and told of his "square jaw" and more:

With his squashed nose, square jaw, and nap of woolly grey hair, Brune could not be called comely, but he was not ugly either. … Sober, he was a quiet man, but a strong one. (AFFC Alayne II)

Recall too that Brune saves Sansa from Marillion, who tries to use her as Theon used the captain's daughter.
Having surveyed the field of (word)play, we can now see the 'rhyming':

• Where Theon goes below deck as he approaches Lordsport and thinks about Dagmer, whose jaw is (verbatim) "splintered", Sansa, with Brune's help, climbs up to the deck using a (verbatim) "splintered" ladder as she approaches the Drearfort.
  
• Where Theon spurns the 'hand up' Dagmer and his splintered jaw could have given him, "Sansa accept[s] a hand up from Lothor Brune" and climbs the "splintered" ladder.
  
• Where Theon think of the Cleftjaw, who has a "gut-churning scar", Sansa thinks about her literally churning guts — her upset "tummy".
  
• Where Theon thinks that Cleftjaw's "gut-churning scar" resulted from his being "near[ly] killed as a boy", Sansa's churning guts are related to the evident psychic scar she's suffered, which causes her to see a boy killed over and over again.
  
• Dagmer's "shattered" teeth and "splintered" jaw (and Dagmar being sent to "Torrhen's Square") → Brune's "squashed nose" and "square jaw"
  
• Where Dagmer is ironborn, and had his jaw "cracked… in half", Brune wears a "cracked and water-stained [as if from the sea]" jerkin.
  
• Dagmer's "snowy mane of white hair" → Brune's "mat of nappy grey hair"/"nap of woolly grey hair"
  
• Despite their 'old hair', Dagmer is "fierce" and "fearsome", Brune "strong".
  
• Where Dagmer's smile is "ugly" but nonetheless fills Theon with warm memories (defying its appearance), Brune, who "could not be called comely, but… was not ugly either", is "stronger than he looks".
  
• Where Dagmer "covered his cheeks and neck" with a beard but can't grow a 'proper' one due to his scar, which appears as a "seam", Brune doesn't look like a "proper knight" in his "patched… breeches" and "scuffed boots". (Note the sewing language — "seam" → "patched" — and the lexical similarity: "cheeks" → "breeches".)
  
• Both men seem to have a penchant for drink (per the implications of Sansa commenting on Brune's nature "when sober") and a foregrounded relationship with singers. (Where Dagmer loves singers and songs, Brune is in conflict with Marillion — although the deeds of "Lothor Apple-Eater" are likely sung of, like Dagmer's exploits.)
  

Thus just as the Aeron of Theon's homcoming 'rhymes' with the Oswell of Petyr's homecoming, so is Theon's Dagmer Cleftjaw reworked in the person of Petyr's Lothor Brune.
And thus everything about Petyr's homecoming continues to remind us of Theon's homecoming, which makes sense… if Petyr is likewise a scion of ironborn royalty (e.g. if he's Hoare-ish).

The End, and The Distinct Possibility That The Rhyme Between Petyr's and Theon's Homecomings Isn't (Just) About Petyr Being Hoare-ish, After All

That's it. That's all I got regarding the recursively 'rhyming' homecomings of Theon and Petyr. For me, the insane scope and depth of the 'rhyming' between Petyr's homecoming and the homcoming of a scion of ironborn kings is entirely consistent with my broader hypothesis: that the blood of ironborn kings likewise flows in the veins of Petyr Littlefinger — namely "the black blood" of House Hoare of Orkmont.
And yet . . .
It remains that notwithstanding that my Hoare-ish Littlefinger posts connected virtually everything we're told about House Hoare and its various historical kings with things we're told about Petyr Baelish, this (sub)series has detailed recursion not between Petyr and the Hoares, but between Petyr and Theon Greyjoy, who is like the Hoares in that his blood is that of ironborn kings, but who is, nonetheless, a Greyjoy.
It also remains that Theon is the grandson of Quellon Greyjoy, and that [as I show here] — or just scroll down, I'll reproduce that post in the comments — Quellon Greyjoy as described in both TWOIAF and in ASOIAF is nothing if not incredibly Hoare-esque, and not just because his policies and biography in TWOIAF 'rhyme' with the policies and biographies of various Hoare kings, but because ASOIAF proper subtly suggests he was something of a 'whore' in that AFFC makes it abundantly clear that Quellon was a prolific sperm cannon by repeating over and over that he sired nine sons we know of (on three different wives).
Recall, too, that we saw in [Part 2 of the original 'Littlefinger is Hoare-ish' series] that Petyr is in certain striking respects similar to Balon, to Euron, to Aeron, to Asha, and even to Victarion.
This all gives rise to the question: Does all the 'rhyming' between the homecomings of Theon Greyjoy and Petyr Baelish as detailed in this series 'merely' (further) hint that Petyr is (literally) Hoare-ish, and hence that he is like Theon in that he, too, is the scion of ironborn kings?
Or do all the Petyr-Greyjoy connections, coupled with Quellon's foregrounded fecundity and the presence of a barely concealed metaphor for an ocean-based sperm (whale) cannon on Petyr's estate (alongside a reminder of invaders from the sea)—

There was one place where the tide came jetting up out of a blowhole to shoot thirty feet into the air, and another where someone had chiseled the seven-pointed star of the new gods upon a boulder. Petyr said that marked one of the places the Andals had landed, when they came across the sea to wrest the Vale from the First Men.

—hint that at some point during his travels, Quellon Greyjoy bedded Petyr's mother Alayne (or perhaps Petyr's father's mother), cuckolding her husband and impregnating her with Petyr (or Lord Baelish)?
Note that Quellon was a direct, analogous contemporary to Petyr's 'father': Both are said to have fought for the Targaryens in the War of the Ninepenny Kings.

The Mockingbird & The Cuckolding Cowbird

Here we must consider that Petyr's sigil is the mockingbird, and that certain species of mockingbirds (see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Long-tailed_mockingbird and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chilean_mockingbird and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White-banded_mockingbird and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northern_mockingbird and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chalk-browed_mockingbird) are well-known as hosts for the [brood parasitism] of certain [cowbirds]. That is, it is well-known that mockingbirds frequently care for the eggs of cowbirds and feed the hatched chicks of cowbirds as if they were their own offspring.
In short, mockingbirds accept being cuckolded.
Recall here that the men of Pyke greeted Theon with "bovine [as in cow, as in the cowbirds that cuckold mockingbirds] eyes", and that the o.g. brood parasites are cuckoo birds, from whence we derive our term "cuckolding".
Recall, too, that the Greyjoy banner over Pyke weirdly takes on the appearance of a bird during Theon's homecoming, which I've just spent 10 posts comparing to Petyr's homecoming:

Above the Sea Tower snapped his father's banner. The Myraham was too far off for Theon to see more than the cloth itself, but he knew the device it bore: the golden kraken of House Greyjoy, arms writhing and reaching against a black field. The banner streamed from an iron mast, shivering and twisting as the wind gusted, like a bird struggling to take flight.

Thus the possibility that Petyr's nominal "father" Lord Baelish (or Petyr's nominal paternal "grandfather") was cuckolded by Quellon Greyjoy, the Hoare-esque sperm cannon from the land of cowbird-evoking "bovine eyes", whose sigil is likened to a bird, is right there in his mockingbird sigil.
Indeed, I very much wonder whether we're not told all about the super-pollinator Garth Greenhand in part as a 'rhyming' hint that Quellon Greyjoy was a super-pollinator who spread his "seed" amongst the ladies of what the ironborn call the "green lands".

The Mocking Bird Went Cuckoo

The notion that Petyr's mockingbird sigil may nod to Petyr's supposed father (or supposed paternal grandfather) getting cuckolded by Quellon Greyjoy reminds me of a song brought to my attention by MaxPayload: The Mocking Bird Went Cuckoo was recorded in the 1930s by at least two acts, including the British movie star [Gracie Fields] — the highest paid film actress in the world c. 1937 — and an act called "The Two Gilberts".
To say the lyrics of the song remind me of Littlefinger's story is if anything an understatement, beginning with the opening image of "a lovesick youth and maiden":

A lovesick youth and maiden (down on the farm)
With hearts so heavy laden (down on the farm)
They held each other's hands and looked into each other's eye
And started to tell each other lies

To say the least, Littlefinger is closely identified with being a lovesick youth and with lying (including about his sexploits with the sisters Tully). And notably, he and Sansa practically begin their relationship by agreeing to lie about her being his daughter. (Sansa's heart is notably 'heavy laden' when this happens upon arrival at Littlefinger's tower — and sheep farm.)
Regarding the "down on the farm" setting, ASOIAF makes regular reference to the bountiful crops and rich farmlands of the Tullys' Riverlands, and we see the courtyards of Riverrun "teem[ing] with… cows, sheep, and chickens" in ACOK Catelyn V.
The song continues with a first kiss "by the cowshed door" (recalling that we're told that Petyr's estate has "a sheepfold"):

He kissed her by the cowshed door
She said "I've not been kissed before"
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw

Petyr was, of course, Lysa's first kiss, and probably Catelyn's as well, as well as Lysa's first fuck (regarding which, rest assured that the song gets deep into sexual double-entendre soon enough):

[O]ver there, beneath that bower, she and Lysa had played at kissing with Petyr.
She had not thought of that in years. How young they all had been—she no older than Sansa, Lysa younger than Arya, and Petyr younger still, yet eager. The girls had traded him between them, serious and giggling by turns. It came back to her so vividly she could almost feel his sweaty fingers on her shoulders and taste the mint on his breath. There was always mint growing in the godswood, and Petyr had liked to chew it. He had been such a bold little boy, always in trouble. "He tried to put his tongue in my mouth," Catelyn had confessed to her sister afterward, when they were alone. "He did with me too," Lysa had whispered, shy and breathless. "I liked it." (AGOT Catelyn XI)
"Petyr's breath is always fresh … he was the first man I ever kissed, you know." -Lysa (ASOS Sansa VI)

Next we see the maiden tease the eager "lovesick youth", as Cat ostensibly teased Petyr:

He said "My love I'll swear to you"
She said "I'll smack you if you do"
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw
Nellie Bly, Nellie Bly, said "Oh how you tease me"
"I'm so shy, I'm so shy, when you start to squeeze me"
He said "Come tell me pretty miss"
"Where did you learn to squeeze and kiss"
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw

I'd heard the name "Nellie Bly" before in the version of Frankie & Johnny recorded by the legendary father of country music, [Jimmie Rodgers], so hearing it again made me look it up. It turns out the name in both songs was borrowed from [a world-famous American journalist]. (Recall that GRRM went to school for journalism.)
The real Nellie Bly first became famous for writing an expose of conditions in a lunatic asylum for women in New York City. Her fame redoubled after she traveled around the world in 1889. She went on to write pulp serial novels and — notably, given Petyr's apparent designs on Sansa — to wed a much older millionaire man named . . . (wait for it) . . . "Seaman".
(Obviously "Seaman" resonates with the idea that Petyr is ironborn, with the sea in his eyes, and with the sperm-whale like "blowhole" on Petyr's lands, which recalls Theon's foregrounded semen from ACOK Theon I. It likewise suggests a reading of the song per which an older "Seaman" is seducing the "Nellie Bly". Could this presage Quellon seducing original-Alayne, who I happen to believe has very intrepid genes herself?)
Anyway, back in the song, things take a "dark" turn:

She said "I love the twilight," down on the farm
Said he, "The dark is my light," down on the farm

My original Hoare-ish Littlefinger series highlighted various ways in which Petyr Baelish is Satan/Lucifedemon-coded, so the lovesick boy saying "The dark is my light" absolutely leaps out to me.
Especially because the couplet it's part of smells like it may well have informed a certain infamous exchange:

"Are you the Sword of the Morning now?"
"No. Men call me Darkstar, and I am of the night." (AFFC The Queenmaker)

Consider that the Sword of the Morning wields dawn, which colloquially coincides with (the maiden's preferred) morning "twilight", while we are clearly supposed to suspect that "Darkstar" (who is "of the night" a la the lovesick boy) — who is for some reason "the most dangerous man in Dorne" and who apparently resembles a "Dragonlord" — was sired by Aerys during his 270 visit to Dorne, with Aerys cuckolding, presumably, a man of House Dayne. (AFFC The Princess in the Tower; The Queenmaker) Note the double-entendre of laying pipe here — life-giving, fertilizing pipe, no less:

In 270 AC, during a visit to Sunspear, he told the Princess of Dorne that he would "make the Dornish deserts bloom" by digging a great underground canal beneath the mountains to bring water down from the rainwood. (TWOIAF)

There's a clear symmetry between the notion that Aeyrs cuckolded a Dayne to produce Darkstar and the idea that the noted Aerys-supporter and loyalist Quellon Greyjoy cuckolded a war hero small lord on the Fingers to produce Littlefinger. Doubly so if Littlefinger's mother was (as I have speculated elsewhere) the daughter of Duncan "the Small" Targaryen, Prince of Dragonflies.
If that couplet (in a song that otherwise smells Littlefingerian) reminds us of Darkstar, isn't it curious that the basic structure of Darkstar's implied origin (in the cuckolding of a small lord by a far greater lord) may (also/instead?) apply to Littlefinger's origin?
Back to The Mocking Bird Went Cuckoo. The next line reads like a reference to Lysa's opinion of Petyr:

Said she "You seem to big and brave and mighty strong to me."

Compare with Lysa's very personal opinion of Petyr:

"He may not look as tall or strong as some, but he is worth more than all of them." (ASOS Sansa VI)

The song's next line is wild given Petyr and Lysa's history with moon tea (a tea brewed with certain plants not used in ordinary tea) and especially my conviction that [Petyr dosed Sansa with moon tea] during their voyage on the Merling King so as to make sure she was not pregnant with Tyrion's child:

Said he "Yes, I had onions for my tea."

(By the way, onions in ASOIAF are of course all about Davos. And who do I think Davos is? A possible Hoare-son or Quellon-son, and the Sailor's Wife's sailor, i.e. a sailor who sired a child and abandoned the mother, as, perhaps, Quellon sired Petyr on Alayne before leaving her to raise him on the Smallest Finger. Surely coincidence . . . unless this strange, weird old song has been informing George's Song since the mid-1990s.)
The lyrics continue with more Catelyn-esque teasing:

He said "I love you, yes I do"
She said to him "Oh yeah, says you?"
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw
He said "You're sweet beyond belief!"
Said she "You said it! OK, chief!"
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw

The lovesick boy is then encouraged to "walk 'round the houses"—

Nellie Bly, Nellie Bly, said "Walk 'round the houses"

—which 'just so happens' to recall rather closely Petyr and Sansa's sight-seeing tour of his lands, when "Petyr walked with her around his holdings", which include not just houses, but a symbolic sperm cannon and a reminder that foreigners sometimes land on these shores:

When the rains let up, Petyr walked with her around his holdings, which took less than half a day. He owned a lot of rocks, just as he had said. There was one place where the tide came jetting up out of a blowhole to shoot thirty feet into the air, and another where someone had chiseled the seven-pointed star of the new gods upon a boulder. Petyr said that marked one of the places the Andals had landed, when they came across the sea to wrest the Vale from the First Men.
Farther inland a dozen families lived in huts of piled stone beside a peat bog.

The song then references farm work and (via double-entendre) sex:

"Just while I, just while I go and milk the cowses"

Milk cows are, of course, linked to wet nursing and babies. And remember: It's cowbirds who make like cuckoos and cuckold mockingbirds.
The double-entendre gradually becomes obvious:

As they sat 'neath the stars above
She says to him "Oh, what is love?
And the mockingbird went hee-haw and the donkey went cuckoo [note the reversal!]
Well she sat there and milked the cow [lol]
"I'll do my bit" said he, "and how!" [lmao]
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw
He found an old three-legged stool
And sat right down to milk the bull [come on!]
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw

A milked bull? Quellon's son Victarion is linkened to a bull. Was Victarion's sire "milked" of his "seed" by Alayne Baelish? Did Quellon not only marry a woman of House Stonetree, but bone a woman wed to a man whose sigil was a "stone head"?
Regarding that "three-legged stool", recall that the dragon must have three heads, that a cuckolder turns a partnership into a three-legged affair, so to speak, and that a man with a large penis (see: "Littlefinger"?) is sometimes said to have [a third leg].
From there the song grows only more suspicious as potential inspiration, as it makes explicit reference to concealed paternity, and implicitly to an improper sexual relationship involving a "father" (which see Littlefinger and "Alayne"):

Nellie Bly, Nellie Bly went all in a lather
Began to cry, shouting "Why, that's the cow's father!"
He turned white and looked surprised
Then to the bull apologized
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw

The closing line about apologizing to the bull resonates with Petyr's dealings with Hoster, and perhaps with cuckoldry as well, as a trespass against patriarchal rights of possession over a woman.
The foregoing represents the seemingly better known Gracie Fields version. The Two Gilberts version is mostly the same, save for a few passages in the middle.
Sidebar: Regarding "The Two Gilberts", there 'just so happens' to be exactly two Gilberts in the ASOIAF canon.
One of ASOIAF's two Gilberts 'just so happens' to be one of the legendary scions of legendary sperm cannon and possibly Quellon Greyjoy analogue Garth Greenhand, Gilbert of the Vines, who 'just so happens' to be responsible for all that good Arbor wine Petyr loves so.
The other Gilbert is Gilbert Farring, who Stannis tells us "holds Storm's End for me". (ASOS Davos IV) Repeating that: ASOIAF'S second Gilbert "holds" something that belongs to Stannis in lieu of Stannis holding it himself. Almost like he's cuckolding him.
There are two other Farrings (like Gilbert) in the canon. One is Godry, "the Giantslayer", which sounds like something one might nickname a guy who cuckolded a guy with the Titan of Braavos on his shield. The other is Annara Farring. She was Lord Frey's seventh wife, and guess what she 'just so happens' to be known for? If you said "cuckolding her lordly husband", congratulations. And guess how we're told that? Via, of all things under the sun, a milk cow analogy:

[Black Walder had] had Edwyn's wife too, that was common knowledge, Fair Walda had been known to slip into his bed from time to time, and some even said he'd known the seventh Lady Frey [Annara Farring] a deal better than he should have. Small wonder he refused to marry. Why buy a cow when there were udders all around begging to be milked? (ASOS Epilogue)

(It was at this point that I went from "Maybe George has heard this song" to "George is 100% familiar with this song.")
End Sidebar
Right after the line about the onion tea, The Two Gilberts version sees the lovesick boy promise riches and wealth, recalling Petyr's lifelong interest in making money:

He said "I'll buy you furs and gems"
"And all the pretty thees[?] and thems[?]"
And the mockingbird went cuckoo and the donkey went hee-haw

CONTINUED & CONCLUDED IN OLDEST REPLY, BELOW or HERE

You're absolutely right! Becoming a baker can indeed be an adaptable career path with various possibilities.
you must try this baking recipe, which calls for only 15 minutes of oven time and promises a rich, smooth filling to complement a flaky crust. Good baking classes will teach you the perfect process to make this cake.The qualifications and requirements for a baking job can vary depending on the specific position and the establishment where you're applying. Generally, a combination of formal education and hands-on experience is valuable for developing the necessary skills in the baking industry.
Here are some key points to consider regarding qualifications and experience in the baking industry:

1. Formal Education: While not always mandatory, formal education in baking and pastry arts can be beneficial. Culinary schools, community colleges, and vocational schools offer programs that provide a solid foundation in baking techniques, ingredient knowledge, food safety, and culinary theory.
2. Apprenticeships and Internships: Gaining practical experience through apprenticeships or internships is highly valuable. Working under experienced bakers allows you to learn on the job, understand the dynamics of a professional kitchen, and develop essential skills specific to the baking industry.
3. Certifications: Although not always required, certifications can enhance your credibility and demonstrate your expertise. For example, the American Culinary Federation (ACF) offers certifications like Certified Baker (CB) and Certified Pastry Culinarian (CPC), which validate your knowledge and skills.
4. Culinary Competitions: Participating in culinary competitions, particularly those focused on baking, can showcase your talent and creativity. These competitions provide opportunities to network, gain recognition, and refine your skills.
5. Specialization: Baking encompasses a wide range of products, from bread and pastries to cakes and confections. Consider specializing in a specific area based on your interests and aptitude. This can help you become an expert in your chosen niche and open up unique career opportunities.

Furthermore, traditional baking and confectionery skills, techniques, and processes are taught with an emphasis on their importance in the classrooms of government-certified baking courses in Mumbai

Hi all.
Big fan of board and card games here. I loved playing SNAP for a good while on mobile too, but I am taking a break as it was sucking too much of my time and attention. In any case, I discovered a game by Arcane Wonders called Air Land & Sea, which is a game SNAP took a lot of inspiration from. There is a free print and play available on PrintAndPlayParadise, so I thought I would do a low effort retheme of the game by pasting on it the SNAP artwork. What more? There was a promo single card expansion for the game called Ultimatum which mimicks the snap mechanic, so I added that into the files too.
This ends up being a Marvel SNAP physical card game in 3 pages printed on both sides. Naturally the gameplay is not identical so do read the rules carefully, but is a very solid 2 player pocket game. Check it out:
https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/15IR7qLiKR8GMx4Ddb2fJjxl9mmAnqfJE?usp=sharing
F.A.Q. Q: Why didn't you use X character for Y card? A: I tried to match abilities where possible, otherwise I went for popular Starter and Pool 1 cards. I could have gone for matching characters to locations better, but I thought matching abilities where possible is what is going to be more recognizable to SNAP players. Stitching this together was very easy with inkscape, the pnp files and google image search, so feel free to collage your own version with your favorite variants.
Q: Helicarrier is not a location in SNAP. Also you took Hell's Kitchen artwork for New York. A: I know. I made do with what I had. I also tried to have locations that somewhat matched the pool of characters I ended up with. For example, I didn't have any inhumans, so I wouldn't put Attilan. As mentioned previously, feel free to make your own, it's very easy.
Q: Why is the Yankees logo used for New York? A: I needed a logo for New York and that's what came up in google search. I didn't have a better suggestion so I ran with it. :P
Q: What should I use for cubes? A: The Pandemic board game has really cool little blue cubes that would be perfect for this. If you don't already own it, buy the Hotzone version: it's a smaller shorter better game and it's dirt cheap. Also a great gateway game in and of itself. Otherwise, use whatever token you have at hands, like smarties or something.

Tl;dr The church is being lead by men who have been taught to do things one way, not to question those above them, and fed through a system which places ability and talent aside in lieu of natures indiscriminate removal of people from the living world.
https://www.thechurchnews.com/leaders/2023/6/1/23736858/elder-holland-essay-on-first-presidency-90th-birthday-henry-b-eyring
First, I think we should certainly listen to those who have age and experience and grow from their insights. However, age is not a pass all certification to be qualified to lead, or the ability to offer valuable input on everything from the naming of individual wards, to large international marketing campaigns. I think there are several instances where extreme age might be a hindrance.
Holland is quoted as saying in the article,

In spite of their age, the breathtaking activity and dazzling impact this First Presidency is having on the Church is already the stuff from which legends are made.

The impacts are listed in this article, also included in Hollands essay; examples of some of those impacts... updated temple ceremonies, in home curriculum, the restructuring of the youth program, etc... the list contains 99 announcements and changes made during Nelson's time, all attributed to him, most being minor administrative changes likely enacted long before Nelson inherited the mantle of prophet, seer, and revelator.
While I'll admit that these things have had an impact, I'll emphatically disagree on the hyperbole placed behind those impacts as being "the stuff from which legends are made", unless we are to include some infamous results to be legendary.
I believe Nelsons age and experience are actually causing damage to the church, especially since President Nelson is allowed to operate in a vacuum free from critical review and feedback. From my perspective as someone who has spent 20 years in marketing (my own age being made somewhat clear), many things the church says and how they are done are similar to an era represented by a father sitting in his armchair reading a newspaper after a long day at the office, the mother making dinner in the kitchen, and the two children quietly doing what well behaved children do in the corner being seen, but not heard... a time in which President Nelson lived and thrived.
The insistence of 90+ year old church leaders being put on a world wide stage to tell youth how to date, marry, and raise a family is falling short on many fronts. If the youth are the future of the church, they are being lost to messages more relevant and applicable to their lives which seem to be coming from outside of the church's tight grip of doctrinal and social expectations.
I think there is something to be said to listening to our elders and learning from their experiences, but just as important, and maybe more important in light of today's fast paced world, handing the reigns over to individuals who are trained, experienced, and have an understanding of today's technology, messaging platforms and attitudes of the youth of the world is imperative for healthy church growth.
Elder Holland finished with this thought,

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, in matters of the spirit and in those considerations that take us into the patterns of the past, we see that God has deliberately developed a hierarchy — a system of seniority, if you will — that allows for a call to come to a man at a relatively young age. However, that man will be a great deal older by the time he has moved through the apostolic chairs that eventually makes him the senior apostle.
My senior brethren have often said that many of the lessons they have learned in their ministries could not have come except as a function of their time in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, watching, listening and learning in their junior years.

The church is being lead by men who have been taught to do things one way, not to question those above them, and fed through a system which places ability and talent aside in lieu of natures indiscriminate removal of people from the living world.
What are Nelson's qualifications to being in charge of a $250 billion dollar corporation? He lived longer than anyone else at the top. Who will inherit the leadership of the church after he dies? The next person who didn't die, and so on and so on. The church's leadership is essentially an inherited monarchy lacking representation.

Listen here you mouthbreathing, iPad-greasing little shits. I know you’re exhausted from struggling with fractions and your book report on The Rainbow Fish this year, but now that you aren’t being stimulated by Mrs. Schwin and her Hydrocodone 7 hours a day anymore, please use what little room you have left in that pink puddle between your ears to absorb this one last piece of information before it collapses under its own weight for the summer:
Stop shooting Horrorborous’s body. Shoot his bomb instead.
We’re in Profreshional now. You have no excuse to not look at the HP bar and notice the pathetically small damage that inking or egging its body does. And yet somehow, I see all of you spraying up your ink in the air the entire round as if it would suddenly do something. Let me break it down for you; it won’t. You aren’t gonna hit a secret weak spot that no one else found before, and you aren’t going to hit a random crit or something. Those do not exist here.
I am not willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Because Horrorborous shares the EXACT SAME MECHANIC as Steelheads. Anyone short of a lobotomized dementia patient high on all the drugs known and unknown to mankind should be able to connect the dots between “This guy with a bomb you’re supposed to splat before it goes off” and “This guy with a bomb you’re supposed to splat before it goes off, but bigger!” You probably have even seen a Steelhead within the last 5.5 minutes so you it’s definitely fresh in your underdeveloped mind!
Regardless of that connection, it’s still so painfully obvious that I’m pretty sure you could show your grandparents who haven’t gamed since Pong and they could figure out what you’re supposed to do! What more could Nintendo possibly have done to hold your animal cracker dusted hands and make it more clear to you? Add a big arrow? Have the Squid Sisters pop in for a quirky explanation?
I wish this game mode had voice chat, which is probably older than you, so I could unleash the unholy rage of a thousand suns I feel whenever I see you pathetically flail your ink and eggs at his body like a flashbanged infant!
Santa isn’t real, you malformed lump of cells.
Shoot. Horrorborous’s. Bomb.

Listen here you mouthbreathing, iPad-greasing little shits. I know you’re exhausted from struggling with fractions and your book report on The Rainbow Fish this year, but now that you aren’t being stimulated by Mrs. Schwin and her Hydrocodone 7 hours a day anymore, please use what little room you have left in that pink puddle between your ears to absorb this one last piece of information before it collapses under its own weight for the summer:
Stop shooting Horrorborous’s body. Shoot his bomb instead.
We’re in Profreshional now. You have no excuse to not look at the HP bar and notice the pathetically small damage that inking or egging its body does. And yet somehow, I see all of you spraying up your ink in the air the entire round as if it would suddenly do something. Let me break it down for you; it won’t. You aren’t gonna hit a secret weak spot that no one else found before, and you aren’t going to hit a random crit or something. Those do not exist here.
I am not willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Because Horrorborous shares the EXACT SAME MECHANIC as Steelheads. Anyone short of a lobotomized dementia patient high on all the drugs known and unknown to mankind should be able to connect the dots between “This guy with a bomb you’re supposed to splat before it goes off” and “This guy with a bomb you’re supposed to splat before it goes off, but bigger!” You probably have even seen a Steelhead within the last 5.5 minutes so you it’s definitely fresh in your underdeveloped mind!
Regardless of that connection, it’s still so painfully obvious that I’m pretty sure you could show your grandparents who haven’t gamed since Pong and they could figure out what you’re supposed to do! What more could Nintendo possibly have done to hold your animal cracker dusted hands and make it more clear to you? Add a big arrow? Have the Squid Sisters pop in for a quirky explanation?
I wish this game mode had voice chat, which is probably older than you, so I could unleash the unholy rage of a thousand suns I feel whenever I see you pathetically flail your ink and eggs at his body like a flashbanged infant!
Santa isn’t real, you malformed lump of cells.
Shoot. Horrorborous’s. Bomb.

I’m helping with a deep clean for a family member. It got bad several years back, so she has weekly help, monthly help, and a yearly extreme clean with me. I’ve been carefully searching for signs of other critters like roaches, mice, spiders, silverfish, (y’all know what I’m looking for) & there have been plenty in the past. The pest that’s been worst, is the kitchen/pantry moth.
I discovered these in 2021 & they returned for 2022. They are back this year and I have done the following-each year…and now—AGAIN. Please help me with what I’m missing.
All food-even jars, cans-ALL of it-was thrown out. Sealed containers were brought in for everything. There has also been a program of minimal purchases, in/out, etc All soft supplies like plastic bags, trash bags, sponges, scrubbers, paper towels, and napkins were given to a pet shelter with explanations & knowing they store & use in outside areas. All these are now kept in the garage which shows no signs (yet). Every dish, every pot, pan, glass, utensil, & gadget was thoroughly cleaned. If it was movable, it was scrubbed & sanitized. All kitchen linen including napkins, placemats, towels, washcloths, aprons, potholders-all washed & sanitized. The trash cans and dust pans were cleaned & sanitized. All sponges & brushes, broom & mop heads (we kept the hardware which was cleaned & sanitized), were discarded. We bought new cheapos for the cleaning, then threw them out & got new for the use to the next year’s deep clean. Walls (paint-no wallpaper) were wiped down. No artwork or curtains to worry about. All appliances small and large cleaned: For large appliances, we pulled them out, got them top to bottom, the cracks & crevices, the seals; vacuumed inside and out (have y’all ever seen what comes out when you vacuum the INSIDE of the big appliances?). We tipped them & did the bottom & feet. We cleaned the dishwasher, washer & dryer, trash compactor. Everything possible! We also had the pest control guy inspect & treat them as much as possible. For small appliances, we vacuumed them as much as possible, cleaned top to bottom-even the electrical cord-inside & out. We cleaned the vacuum cleaner-got new filters, and detached & cleaned the hose, attachments, dust container, brush, rollers/feet. We even got the kitchen clock and radio. Cabinets & drawers were cleaned & sanitized. Every shelf (both sides) and back wall and even the tops inside (think up under the sink); outsides were cleaned top to toe kick. We had the cabinets treated by exterminator while empty.
Of course, we did this cleaning multiple times in some cases: eg-clean the dishwasher then do the contaminated dishes then clean dishwasher again. (Actually, we hand washed most everything because she has fine china & such that’s not dishwasher safe —but you get the idea of the lengths to which we went to get these critters out. )
Monthly pest control is done with moth trap/indicators, AND there’s a yearly duct cleaning, too. I placed lavender and cedar sachets in/on each cabinet cupboard & shelf. Mothballs aren’t an option for the homeowner. (Yes, I get the irony of the exterminator being okay, but everyone has their thing.) This gives you the idea of the type of cleaning that is done yearly to the rest of the house, too. Weekly cleaning and monthly cleaning chores keep it manageable.
I’ve been trying to check throughout the year and apparently didn’t catch them. Again! This year’s super scrub turned them up in two different areas of the kitchen. It’s the THIRD time we’ve done all this. I’m pulling my hair out and dying from pesticides. Help!

Hi, as someone coming from a vastly different housing market from USA I do have a question about the practicality of open concept. I enjoy home improvement shows, HGTV is on the favorites list of TV channels and I am amazed at some of the solutions and design ideas. But, open concept, kitchen+dining+living room is almost always the main request people have.
What I always wondered was, does ones kitchen need to be perfectly clean and neat every day for it to still be both practical and eye pleasing? I somehow imagine it does not allow any wiggle room in terms of "I'll put away dishes in the dishwasher later, or I'll wipe the countertop tomorrow".
What are some first hand experience with this and can you share a photo of your open space kitchen now, without any beautification (keep the privacy in mind, please, if you are willing to share). Cheers all

This was just copy/pasted from google docs so apologies in advance for any formatting issues.
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19°28’N 37°14’E
Near Port Sudan, Sudan, Africa.
Another helicopter thundered past in the distance, following the line of the oil pipeline back towards the port facilities.
"That's three in the past hour," Cody observed. "Still think nothing's going on?" "I think if you want to bother Adams again it's gonna be your ass." Keith replied.
"Come on, don't be like that." Cody said.
"Nope."
"Come on, don't be a bitch."
"Nope."
"Bitch says what."
"Nope."
"Got fifty bucks says you won't do it."
"Nope."
"Will both of you shut the fuck up," Eduardo groaned from the back seat of the vehicle. "We're almost done here and you can go harass Adams in person when we get back to base."
"Yeah but I'm curious now." Cody said.
"Well, tell Miles to turn this vic around and we can go."
"What do you say, Miles? You know Adams doesn't check the log timestamps too closely."
"The final marker is literally thirty meters away," Miles said patiently. "I will turn the vic around there and we will drive back to base and you can badger Adams into a stroke on your own time. Until then, watch your sector."
"Uh well, my sector's full of sand, can I have a different one?"
"There's some rocks in mine."
"Like the face of the fucking moon out here, man." Cody moaned.
"Maybe you shouldn't have signed up for a job in the fucking Sudan, genius." Eduardo said.
"Man, I'm just here for the money." Cody replied.
"Well, I'm not here for the weather." Martin said, cranking the wheel around in a practiced motion. The battered white SUV slewed around, wheels spraying dust and pebbles. Cody keyed the radio on his vest. "Base, this is Cody checking in. We're at the outer marker for the southern patrol path, heading back, over."
There was the faint buzz of static.
"Copy that, Cody. Any contacts?"
"No contacts, base. All quiet here. Out."
Martin patted Cody on the shoulder. "Proud of you, buddy. That took real strength."
Cody flipped him off.
The radio crackled again. "Cody, this is base, where did you say you were?"
"Base, this is Cody, we are at the outer marker for our patrol route, heading back your way, over."
"Uh, copy Cody, hang on one second."
“Cody, this is Adams,” a new voice said over the radio. “I need your team to swing west and investigate unauthorized activity near the pipeline in, uh grid square A54-41."
"The fuck this is Cody's team." Keith muttered from the back.
"Copy that, Adams, we'll move to investigate immediately," Cody said crisply. "Any intel on the intruders?"
The radio crackled again. "The uh, number of intruders is unknown at this time."
Miles keyed his own radio. "Adams, who called this report in?"
"The report was forwarded to us by local security forces."
A chorus of groans rose from the interior of the SUV.
"Fuckin' locals." Eduardo said.
"And why isn't local security handling this?"
"Miles, I don't need to remind you that Vericom has been contracted to guard the terminal facilities and pipeline-"
"Yeah yeah, spare me the geopolitics, Adams, I'm just a dumb trigger puller, remember? I'm not asking you why I'm here, I'm asking why the very much armed local security isn't apprehending the trespassers."
"The local security called it in," Adams replied in a tight, angry voice. "And under the terms of our contract we are responsible for apprehending any trespassers in our zone. Is that satisfactory, Mr. Martin?"
"Copy, moving to apprehend. Out."
"Fuckin' locals." Eduardo muttered again as the SUV turned towards the new destination.
"Coming up on the location now." Cody was tapping at the topographical map displayed on his ruggedized tablet.
"Copy that," Miles said absently, maneuvering the SUV around a scattering of larger boulders. Behind him Keith rolled down his window and propped the muzzle of his M4 carbine on the opening.
"Relax," Eduardo said. "Just some lost people."
"Maybe." Keith said, squinting out over the dusty, rolling terrain.
The SUV bounced over the crest of another low ridge, the long dust plume trailing behind it in the harsh midday sun. Miles slowed to a stop. In the far distance there was a glint of light off a moving vehicle traversing the coastal highway. There was no other sign of life in sight.
"Yeah, there's nothing out here." Cody said after a few moments.
Keith had extracted a pair of binoculars from his chest rig and was scanning the surroundings.
"Nothing on this side, boss." Eduardo said.
"Keith?" Miles said.
"Nothing moving but heat haze."
"Cody, call in negative contact. Let's head back to base." Miles said as the SUV rolled forward.
"Copy copy." Cody keyed his radio. "Base, this is Cody, we're at grid A54-41, negative on contact with intruders, over."
"Copy that Cody, we haven't gotten any other reports in your zone, go ahead and head in."
"Thanks very much, base, will do. Cody out."
The SUV bumped and bounced its way back onto the “paved” road. While the main coastal highway was in decent shape, the smaller roads were mostly potholes and washouts held together by cracked concrete and gravel. Although flatter than the surrounding landscape, it was a bold or desperate driver that would risk driving on it at normal highway speeds. This fact most likely saved four lives as Miles had plenty of time to spot the dusty tan plate lying in the road as the vehicle slowly bounced towards it.
“Guys, is that a land mine I’m seeing in the road ahead?” Miles said, pointing. “Directly ahead, maybe twenty yards, just past the two bushes.”
Cody sat up, peering through the dusty windshield. “Slow up, slow up. Shit, I think you’re right.”
“Call it in,” Miles said. “We use this road all the time, what was the last team through here?"
"Dallas' team had outer perimeter patrol this morning." Keith volunteered.
"Base, this is Cody, we've got what looks like a landmine on Route 33, maybe two or three klicks from the coastal highway, please advise, over."
There was a brief hiss of static. No reply.
"Base, do you read, over?"
Static.
“Base, this is a fucking great time for a coffee break!”
No answer.
“Guys, I think this is a no shit situation,” Miles said, putting the SUV in reverse. “Let’s get off the X and back to base.”
Cody slid his AR up into the ready position. Keith and Eduardo already had their rifles out and ready.
Miles executed a hasty three point turn and gunned the SUV back the way they had come.
“How concerned should we be right now?” Keith shouted over the engine noise. “Not the
first time we’ve lost comms with base out here.”
“Could be nothing,” Miles shouted back. “But out here it could be a strike on the port or oil terminal. Not that hard to jam comms and drop a few mines on the roads.”
“Hell, I’m here for it.” Keith shouted.
“I’ll keep trying to raise base or one of the other teams.” Cody shouted.
The SUV bounced and lurched its way back over the route it had taken and finally reached the coastal highway where Miles jammed the pedal down. Cody still couldn’t make contact with base but was able to reach another patrolling team who confirmed that base was incommunicado. As they roared up the coastal highway Cody pointed towards a rising plume of dense black smoke ahead of them. “Looks like shit’s gone down, boys.”
“Fuck,” Keith swore, peering around Cody’ headrest to look ahead. “So much for site security.”
“Guys, we’ve got a roadblock ahead.” Cody said, pointing. A dilapidated cargo truck had stopped and was attempting to turn around. A pair of pickup trucks were just visible beyond it, blocking off the road in a shallow V. Men in mismatched fatigues and headscarves stood atop them holding rifles.
“Are those our guys?” Miles asked, slowing the SUV.
“Fuck if I can tell from here.” Cody said.
“Well I’m not fucking moving up.” Miles said.
“Go around,” Eduardo said, peering out his window. “No ditch here.”
“Go now while the truck is between us and them.” Keith added.
“Hang on.” Miles gunned the SUV down the shallow embankment parallel to the roadblock.
Keith twisted around in his seat. “They’re tracking us”.
Miles glanced in the rearview mirror. The guards were pointing and waving their arms at the SUV. One of them with a pistol in one hand and a radio in the other seemed to be giving orders
“Are we still under the ROE?” Cody asked. “I’d really like to shoot back if they try to kill us.”
“I’m not dying over fucked comms and a misunderstanding.” Keith said.
The checkpoint guards were scrambling into their trucks. One of them ripped off a burst that went wide.
“Fuck it, that’s good enough for me,” Miles said, slamming on the brakes. “Dismount and engage hostiles.”
The men threw themselves out of the vehicle. Eduardo and Cody went prone in the dirt and began firing. On the other side Keith propped his rifle on the vehicle’s bumper and squeezed off several careful shots.
The checkpoint guards had been caught by surprise by the sudden attack. One of the trucks had just roared into motion when the bullets began punching through the windshield. The other was still parked, its crew climbing into the cab when the shooting started. Multiple rounds smashed the windshield into a starred, opaque mess. The driver leaped from the seat and ran for cover behind the truck wheels. Miles shot him in the back and he dropped.
The other truck rolled forward down the shallow incline with a dead driver at the wheel. The guards in the back continued firing over the roof. The back window of the SUV shattered and bullets banged off the steel frame, showering Keith and Eduardo with shards of safety glass. Miles fired at a guard crouched in the truck bed and the man disappeared, then popped back up again when Miles shifted targets. Miles shifted back and fired again, his gun clicking empty on the third shot. He dropped the empty magazine and yanked a new one from his vest. The new mag clicked into place and Miles resumed shooting. A corner of his mind was pleasantly surprised at how easily it was done under fire.
One of the guards on the far truck bailed off the back and fled across the road, disappearing into the ditch on the far side. Suddenly no one was firing back at them.
Miles cautiously rose to his feet. With Keith and Cody covering him, he and Eduardo circled wide around the checkpoint, scanning for any sign of life. Nothing moved but wisps of steam from under the hood of one of the trucks. He waved the others in. They swept the checkpoint carefully. There were six dead guards and a blood trail leading out into the brush.
“Fuck.” Keith said emphatically.
“Fuck me,” Cody said, slotting in a fresh mag. “You guys good?
“I’m good.” Keith said.
“Good here.” Eduardo said, patting himself down.
“I’m ok.” Martin said.
“Fuck,” Keith said again. “Fuckers just opened up on us. These weren’t local security, right?”
“Check the bodies for intel,” Miles said, already rifling through the pockets of one of the shooters. “I don’t know who the fuck these guys were but we’re gonna get grilled about this.”
The three of them methodically searched the bodies while Eduardo held overwatch. None of the bodies had any documents on them. The weapons were gathered and stacked in the back of one of the trucks while the bodies were laid out next to it. Martin retrieved their SUV which proved to have suffered no worse damage than shot out windows and the four of them piled in.
Cody finally got a response on the radio as they neared the base. A rattled Adams responded to their calls by ordering them in to assist with base security. “Radio shack got hit and we’ve been dealing with jamming. We still have two patrols out in the field who haven’t reported in, we need you to assist in maintaining a defensive perimeter.”
“Copy that, boss. Tell base we’re coming in so don’t fucking shoot at us. Already dealt with that once today.”
They dismounted in the central courtyard. The comms building had taken a direct hit from an RPG and was still smoking. Two sheet covered bodies lay beside it. Several of the other buildings had bullet holes and other signs of battle damage.
As directed, the team took up defensive positions on the roof of one of the perimeter buildings. Dallas’ team was on a nearby building overlooking the main entrance. Miles got on the radio and contacted them.
“Glad to see y’all made it,” Dallas said by way of greeting. “Been a real shitshow here.” He pointed towards the billowing black smoke belching out of the wreckage of the oil pipeline terminal. “Probably not getting our contract renewed for this site.”
“So what the fuck happened?” Miles asked.
“Don’t know. We were in the bunkhouse when we heard the radio shack get hit. Whoever it was lit the place up and then peeled out. We had barely gotten outside when the oil terminal went up. Someone said they saw Sea Ports Corporation logos on the trucks but I don’t know if that’s true. All I saw was dust.”
“Shit, you think that’s true? Locals were behind this?”
“Someone with more brains than your average fanatic is. They knew exactly what to hit and exactly how to jam our comms.”
“They mined the roads along our patrol routes too, so either they’ve been watching us or they paid off someone on the inside.”
“Smart.” Dallas said.
“I saw the two bodies by the radio shack. Any of your team get hit?”
“Negative. They were in and out. I think someone in the admin building caught a stray round but that was all.”
“I know Shedge was on shift in comms,” Miles said. “Who was the other?”
“Morris.” Dallas said.
They fell silent for a while.
The two missing patrol teams drove in thirty minutes later in a single shot up SUV. They had come under long range fire from hidden enemies and had evaded out into the desert. One of the vehicles had been disabled, but the team managed to dismount and take cover while the other vehicle moved to pick them up. One team member had been grazed on the leg and another had taken a hit to the chest plate. The uninjured team members joined them on the perimeter defense. No attack materialized.
A convoy of Sudanese military vehicles rolled in late that evening to take charge of the terminal. The PMC personnel were ordered to collect their personal items and evacuate the site. The Sudanese wanted them out, so while the company lawyers argued with the Sudanese administration, all personnel on the ground were transported out to Port Sudan International Airport for flights back to the United States.
Miles, Keith, Cody, and Eduardo caught up with each other outside the terminal. Keith was chatting with two of the airport ground crew in passable Arabic as the others walked up.
“Hey, you guys aren’t going to believe this but apparently there’s been a bunch of foreign fighter types coming through here in the past several weeks.” Keith said by way of greeting.
“Go fucking figure.” Miles said.
“I don’t even give a shit,” Cody said, unwrapping a pack of cigarettes. “In a couple of hours I’ll be on my way back home with a fat early contract termination check in my pocket.”
Eduardo nodded. “We all survived, importantly.”
“Amen to that.” Cody said.
The ground crew members bid Keith farewell and sauntered off towards the terminal.
There was silence for a minute while Cody methodically extracted and lit up a cigarette.
“That was pretty fucking badass though,” Miles said. “Shot our way out of an ambush and drove home.”
“Pretty wild.” Keith agreed.
“Never saw the people I killed before,” Eduardo said. “Returning fire yes, but not securing the bodies. Always gone afterwards.”
“I definitely had that out-of-body feeling you get sometimes under fire,” Cody said. “Like you’re just watching your own body go through the motions while you sit and watch.”
“I never got that,” Miles said. “I was inside my own head but I always knew somehow what to do next. Like even when we swept the roadblock I knew exactly where to turn and where the bodies were going to be. It sounds crazy but I wasn’t really scared of getting shot, I was scared of moving wrong or stepping in the wrong place and I’d break the focus and suddenly I’d have to think through every motion again.”
Eduardo nodded. “I know how that feels.”
Another silence. Cody took a deep drag on the cigarette.
“You don’t think we’ll get fired over this, do you?” Keith asked. “Because I still have bills to pay back home and I don’t need this on my record.”
“I doubt it,” Cody said. “I mean, its completely out of our hands so who the fuck knows really. But its not something you get fired over. You see how fast they’re pulling us out of here, like no operation debrief or anything? Company’s got bigger problems to worry about right now.”
“Like the oil pipeline that got blown up, not about a possible bad shoot in the desert.” Keith said.
“Oil terminal.” Miles corrected quietly.
“You watch,” Cody continued. “In about three days some Vericom executive is going to strap on his golden parachute and take a dive off the top floor because the company stock dipped by sixty cents. Then we’ll all get an email with a big fat non-disclosure agreement attached showing up in our inboxes.”
“You would work for them again?” Eduardo sounded surprised.
“Fuck it, why not?” Cody said. “The pay’s good, and what are the odds that a fuck up like this happens to me twice?”
“Seems like higher odds than before.” Miles said.
“Everybody’s running a little hot these days,” Keith said. “You’ve got the Syrian and Yemen civil wars, the military coup in Turkey, the bombings in Europe, the riots in India, the drug wars in Mexico and southeast Asia, plus that bombing at the Olympics.”
“I still think that one was a false flag.” Cody said.
“Bullshit, that was the work of ISIS scum.” Eduardo replied angrily.
“He’s got a point, Cody,” Miles said. “They grabbed one of the bombers before he could clack off his vest after all.”
“Maybe,” Cody said. “Now the shooting at the Clinton rally, that was a false flag, no question. The FBI practically admitted it. They’re terrified she’ll lose and they need a few martyrs.”
“Don’t know why you pay so much attention to that,” Miles said. “Not like the other guy is any better. Just a pair of narcissistic old fucks getting their rocks off on the American people’s dime.”
“I like to know which side is going to be screaming about a rigged election for the next four years while their savings and civil liberties go up in smoke.” Cody lit another cigarette from the butt of the first.
“You know I hate it when you chain smoke and turn into Alex Jones.” Miles said.
“Brother, you should see me on meth.” Cody grinned.
“I didn’t know you smoked at all.” Eduardo said.
“Only on the way home,” Cody said. “Otherwise I don’t.”
The four of them stood around on the airport tarmac until the encroaching evening chill drove them inside with the rest of the Vericom personnel. Miles’ last glimpse of Sudan was the stark black outline of the western hills as the sun sank behind them. Then night fell and the only light was the harsh white arc lights of the airport illuminating the red and white airliner being fueled to carry them home.
$$$$
News Headlines of the day:
FBI: Philadelphia shooter had ‘strong ties’ to right wing ultranationalist groups.
US economy signals uncertainty as Far East trade war heats up.
British lawmaker shot dead, EU referendum campaigns suspended
Prominent Mexican politician, family among the dead following Sinaloa cartel gun battle.
‘Terrorism is not welcome here’: Sudanese President issues warning following oil pipeline bombing.

The sanctimonious bs on this sub surrounding turf recently is beyond belief. As someone who was born and raised in Dublin but have been living rural for a few years, I think ye all need to check yourselves.
Vast majority of turf/peat that used to be cut and burned in Ireland was brought to the cities etc for heat, in later years it was used to generate electricity. This a vastly different from what's going on these days. Most bord na mona large scale bogs have shut down and the lands allocated for rewetting. This caused massive unemployment in the areas over the years and you can still the effects on rural Ireland today.
Many of us who use turf as our primary heat source don't really have any other option. My home built in 60's, uses a solid fuel stove and back boiler to heat my rads. I get about €400 worth of turf, legally through traditional means and that does me for the winter. Even to get the equivalent in well seasoned, ''eco friendly'', timber would cost a lot more.
My current other options are to get an oil burner, that means I'm using imported oil, that costs about €800 a tank that MIGHT last me half a winter. Or I could retro fit my house, with solar and air to water heat, however I don't have €20,000 laying around and no grants don't come close to covering that cost.
The smaller private bogs have banks which are scraped out and layed on the ground. They are then usually hand stacked to dry and then drawn to local homes for storage for winter. For most of the year the environment on these private bogs is undisturbed. Most of the bog owners close to me have stopped spraying the ground with weedkiller before laying the rows out. Many who have stopped cutting have let their plots go wild to encourage wildlife in the area.
To see people on here and other places getting up their own holes telling others off about burning turf is annoying as fuck. Same cunts probably heating their homes off Russian gas, driving an electric car that some poor kid died extracting the cobalt for the battery and taking 2 or 3 foreign holidays a year because their lives are so miserable. Such ''eco friendly'' people wouldn't know biodiversity if it bit them on the arse
So yeah let him without sin cast the first stone and try to see things for others perspective.
Cheers

TLDR: Selling my first 'dream home' and returning to renting feels like such a step backwards. I know it's the right choice for me mentally to move to an area that's better for me, but personal development wise I feel like I kinda failed. This was supposed to be my forever home. This was a new construction home. No one else lived here, this was all mine and I had the freedom to do as I pleased. Now I'm going back to being at the mercy of someone who can remove me from 'my home' whenever they want. There's always going to be that sense of "this is home, but not really MY home." For those of you who went from home ownership back to renting, did you experience this?
Below is a bit of a rant and all the things I went through. A bit of a wake up call about homeownership:
​
2 years ago I went through the building process with one of the big corporations that does home builds, and it was a NIGHTMARE. The construction manager was an alcoholic and eventually go arrested when many of us in the neighborhood kept reporting him to the police for driving drunk like a madman through the neighborhood. I lucked out and got a 4% interest rate...BUT, it would have been 2.9% but the office lady "forgot to submit my work order" for MONTHS so my property sat with no activity while others who went under contract months after me were already living in their homes when mine was still grass.
While all the outstanding issues in my home are cosmetic, it took years off my life having to come here every weekend to see what the construction crew was messing up this time or what trouble they were getting into. Things like drinking parties, yes, legit all of them blasting music pounding down beers in my unfinished kitchen with the manager, having their kids draw pictures in the concrete with rocks that took me forever to sand away, doing everything wrong and constantly having to remind the manager, it left such a bitter taste in my mouth. I reported it to the director of construction for that company in my region. He even came down, apologized and then ghosted me. No one was ever fired or anything.
When I finally closed on the house and moved in I was so bitter towards the house, which sucked cause before even moving here I would visit this neighborhood and just be like "one day! One day I'll own a house in a neighborhood like this!" and even though it was stressful visiting most weekends to find bad things going on, there was still some hope and excitement that "that's my house! No one lived in it ever, it's mine and I can do whatever I want whenever I want". That sense of freedom.
Eventually I took off my rose tinted glasses and realized the neighborhood wasn't all that. No sidewalks here meant hot blacktop ground, and taking my puppy on walks was going to be difficult and I'd have to get him used to just playing in our yard. I'm like 2 minutes from the beach in a beautiful town, #goals right? but... I'm far, super far from everything. If I were married, retired and settling down this would be a dream come true. Going to the beach every weekend and just living the life. In reality, I'm the youngest dude in my neighborhood by 20-30 years. I'm not a bar kinda guy and pretty introverted, but other than the beach any kind of outdoor activities or even shopping (besides groceries) is a 40+ min drive. It's very lonely and isolating. Not to mention a very very strict HOA that makes me feel limited on what I can do in my back yard. (can't plant a small garden for some fresh herbs to cook with etc).
I found a neighborhood in a town that's perfect for me. Not crazy busy but lots of shops, dog parks, outdoor events like farmers markets, all kinds of vendor events like food truck festivals and things of that nature on the weekends. Plus, only 15 min from the beach still. However, with the current interest rates, there's no way I'd be able to afford buying in that location. The specific neighborhood I fell in love with has all the things I was hoping this one would. A pool, sidewalks, a community of all ages, etc. The rent prices are almost = to the mortgage I'm paying now, and there's always a handful of houses there available for rent.

I sighed. So I'm gonna get reassigned huh? I'm not apart of the c.i.a's gun running, drug peddling, and the guerilla warfare division anymore eh? I guess I'll miss air america flights. I then recalibrated my prosthetic right arm using a Philips head screw driver. Open close. Open, close.
After a couple of seconds my arm was finally done recalibrating. I'm gonna miss my friends. But I'll never miss the humid areas of laos, Vietnam, and some parts of china. The golden triangle is so goddamned hot. Honestly I don't know if it's secretly a promotion or a demotion. Or possibly I'm gonna get fired, and killed.
I'll get my name scraped out of the national files. If I get fired the chances of getting dragged into a blacksite is high, and I'll get tripped by the guys on one of the blacksites.
Oh god. I remember the LSD torture. It's like being awake but not in control. It's like being stuck as a backseat driver as people do unspeakable stuff to me. Oh boy if the public knows about the MK ultra test 2 oh boy. The people are gonna riot. It's already 2040.
The world is on edge, and under foreign influence for over a decade now. From the end of the 20's intergalactic travelers, and companies came, and control most of the world's nations within just a span of two years. They have the guts to exploit our resources, and don't give a damn about what happens to us. They care about profits. Except for the 8 major powers most of the world is under alien control. The only nations that aren't under alien control are russia, china, The U.S.A, great Britain with their manpower advantage given Australia is a British vassal state, France, Canada, Israel, and lastly an unlikely power the African union made out of 7 of the most powerful nations in Africa before the arrival of the outsiders are the only remaining independent countries.
Most of the intelligence agencies are currently working together dealing drugs with the outsiders who visit us, giving weapons to guerilla fighters, and getting weapons from the outside. Ships from an unlikely ally an independent economic alliance of nations named the syndicate allows to us to get some weapons. As long as we sell them drugs, and perishables from earth. It turns out the syndicate likes drugs, coffee, and other stuff native to earth.
Some of our intelligence guys are chatting with the aliens. The guys who are exploiting our resources are called the consortium. They are a consort of companies, and a league that agrees on how to manipulate markets. These guys are basically the more unhinged version of the wall street guys, and a mix of the c.i.a.
I sighed. "This is gonna be a long day ahead of me."
I then smoked a cigar. The cigar calmed my nerves as I inhaled the nicotine. The addictive substance relaxes me. Plus lung cancer isn't a problem anymore considering we now have a solution on how to cure it. The alien companies gave us some of their tech to show their so called sympathy before they flooded economies with consumer goods from their companies, and controlled almost all of earths economies.
"So agent smith. This is your new partner." A c.i.a handler said to me.
I spat out some ash from my mouth, and complained. "The fuck are you giving me a newbie as a partner? And what the hell am I gonna to do to need a new partner. Rodriguez already was fine yet I'm stuck with a newbie?"
The handler laughed. "Oh heavens no. This is an a.i. Codename poppy. She's your new partner in crime. Because we are gonna send you as a diplomatic bodyguard to the syndicate."
"Oh hi! I'm poppy I'm an artificial intelligence created by the c.i.a, m.i.6, the g.r.u, the s.s.m, mossad, and the s.s.a." The human looking robot said.
The voice kinda sounds synthetic, and the tone is too happy. I kinda hate it. I hate that it gives off happy go lucky vibes. I don't mean to be a grouch but the happy go lucky guys always die first. It's kinda ironic in a fucked up way.
So this thing is an a.i kinda like g.w. An a.i made by the c.i.a. G.W have made the internet more tolerable, and friendly due to context. People back then always manipulated facts into their political goals, and ideals. People get the facts misconstrued for political reasons.
G.W was made after a game character that was so prophetic about the world in the future. M.G.S 2: Sons of liberty. It has the same function as g.w from mgs2. It gives facts in a non biased way. In a way where people don't get their feelings hurt when something is given to them in a factual, and non biased ways.
People used to manipulate facts for political correctness. Hiding the fact that they misinterpret the meaning of those words. The internet used to be a toxic, and a fucked up place before g.w. Like Jesus Christ the goddamn internet was filled with incels, and attention seekers using facts and misusing them for internet clout. It was a place where no one is invalidated but nobody was right. G.w put an end to that era. G.w is now living in a secluded server thanking us for it's creation. It was phased out after it asked to be replaced by another one because it was sick, and tired of correcting people that get the facts misconstrued. It got to the point that it begged the c.i.a, and annoyed the c.i.a to the point that it wanted to be put in a secluded server so it could live it's remaining days in relative leisure just because it begged the c.i.a director so many times that he would get spam calls from the a.i using his official phone number even in the middle of the night for three straight years.
Anyways back to discussion.
"So you're one of those advanced a.i's like g.w?" I asked just to be sure I'm not paired with a dumb a.i.
"Yup. I even passed the Turing test in flying colors. I can feel emotions, do something out of spite or anger, and can think for myself." Poppy said with a dog like innocence.
"So what can you do?" I asked.
"Well. I can fly planes, use guns even those that people can't use due to physiological differences, and hack computers without being near the target. I'm basically just an a.i that can be a jack of all traits if given a chance." Poppy said.
"Fine. But you'll do it my way or the high way." I told poppy with a commanding tone.
Poppy laughed. "Okay boomer."
I sighed. This is gonna be a long day. I'm old as shit but not a boomer.
"Woah. You guys are already going along greatly. Great for you." The handler snickered.
He then left, and left me with poppy.
I'm fucked. "So I'm gonna brief you about the world poppy. Through a song."
I then sang bo burnham's how the world works song.
"Hey, kids Today, we're gonna learn about the world The world that's around us is pretty amazing But how does it work? It must be complicated The secret is the world can only work When everything works together"
"A bee drinks from a flower And leaves with its pollen A squirrel in a tree spreads the seeds that have fallen Everything works together"
"The biggest elephant, the littlest fly The gophers underground, the birds in the sky And every single cricket, every fish in the sea"
"Gives what they can and gets what they need That is how the world works That is how the world works"
"From A to Zebra To the worms in the dirt That's how it works Hey everyone"
I then pulled out a sock, and made it into a puppet.
"Look who stopped by to say "hello" It's Socko Hey! Where you been, Socko?"
"I've been where I always am when you're not wearing me on your hand In a frightening, liminal space between states of being Not quite dead, not quite alive It's similar to a constant state of sleep paralysis"
"Socko, we were just talking about the world and how it works!"
"Boy, that sounds complicated! Do you have anything you'd wanna teach us about the world?"
"I wouldn't say anything that you Probably haven't already said yourself"
"I don't know about that, Socko How about you give it a try?"
"All right!"
"The simple narrative taught in every history class Is demonstrably false and pedagogically classist Don't you know the world is built with blood? And genocide and exploitation"
"The global network of capital essentially functions To separate the worker from the means of production And the FBI killed Martin Luther King Private property's inherently theft"
"And neoliberal fascists are destroying the left And every politician, every cop on the street Protects the interests of the pedophilic corporate elite"
"That is how the world works (really?) That is how the world works Genocide the Natives, say you got to it first"
"That's how it works"
"That's pretty intense?"
"No shit Sherlock."
"What can I do to help?"
"Read a book or something, I don't know Just don't burden me with the responsibility of educating you"
*It's incredibly exhausting"
"I'm sorry, Socko I was just trying to become a better person"
"Why do you rich fucking white people Insist on seeing every socio-political conflict Through the myopic lens of your own self-actualization?"
"This isn't about you So either get with it, or get out of the fucking way"
"Watch your mouth, buddy"
"Remember who's on whose hand here"
"But that's what I- Have you not been fucking listening? We are entrenched in a way (all right, all right)"
"Wait, wait, no please! I don't wanna go back, please, ugh, ugh, ugh I can't go, I can't go back Please, please, I'm sorry!"
"Are you gonna behave yourself?"
"Yes"
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir"
"Look at me"
"Yes, sir"
"That's better That is how the world works That is how the world works I hope you learned your lesson"
"I did and it hurt That's how it works"
NOOOOOOO!!!
Drags sock puppet into a pocket like some introvert getting dragged into socializing in bars by extroverts.
"So do you understand know?" I asked poppy.
"That everything is made under the blood of billions, and we shouldn't make their deaths be in vein?" Poppy said.
"Correct. And we shouldn't let outsiders make our choices for us. We should kick them out." I said like some isolationist American during the 1920's.
"Ironic isn't it smith. The c.i.a used to be anti socialist but look how the circumstances turned the American government into. A social democracy/merit based democracy where politicians are based in merit rather than popularity. Politicians are insentivised to change the world than burn it down like some of the old presidents did. Ironic that america became something it hated. A weird mesh of meritocracy, democracy, republican, liberaterian, and market socialist ideals. Some sort ideological mesh made by idealogs"
"And it's working with it's remaining two Allies, and former enemies just to defeat a foreign threat. How poetically ironic isn't it? I mean the CIA used to go schizo mode when they hear communist, and socialist ideals or hearing the word russians, and chinese are plotting something. Now the country it help grew became the very thing it sought to destroy. Morbidly ironic isn't it?" Poppy said with a meloncholic under tone.
"Yeah. Specially the stuff we do now." I said agreeing to the statement.
"But that's how the world works. Everything must change. Either you adapt or die." I said with a meloncholic under tone.
"So do you know where we are going?" I asked poppy.
I then puffed up my cigar. Sweet sweet nicotine.
"Back to america. In the space port in Austin Texas. I'm already done contacting the contact the handler gave to me. E.T.A 7 hours. Now let's go to the laostian military base 7 miles north from here. Our air america flight is waiting for us." Poppy said.
I sighed. "Come ride with me. I have a motorcycle a hundred meters from here."
We walked towards my motorcycle. I then puffed up my cigar smelling the nicotine.
So my life is about to change huh? Eh. I'm just gonna adapt. After all in this world it's either adapt or die.
Click, click, click
Motorcycle engine starts rumbling.
Poppy then held my waist. It's hands are cold as steel. Colder than even corpse. I sighed.
The highway was almost empty. Everyone was working a 10-8 job in one of the corporations that control laos. There was no land vehicles transporting goods because the aliens are using their tech to transport them underground. The road was almost abandoned except for the guys who have motorcycle hobbies. Anyways it doesn't matter. After all there's no traffic anymore.
The fresh breeze calmed my nerves. It made me feel alive. A motorcyclist drive by me and waved hello. I waved back at the motorcyclist. It's good to be on the road.
After a twenty minute drive we arrived at the military base. Another CIA agent greeted us, and escorted us to the flight.
"So you guys are the diplomatic bodyguards?" Asked the agent.
"Yup. That's what my handler told me." Poppy said.
"So your one of the newer a.i models eh. Ok. Just step right in. Plus the flight is rather boring. Just sleep while on flight to save energy." The agent told me.
I sighed. I threw away the cigar, and slept through the flight.
A few hours later...
I woke up arriving at Austin executive airport. Poppy just sat there watching me sleep like some sort of creep. It made me a little bit paranoid at the unflinching eyes that was watching me. But I ignored my instincts, and went outside.
After that I ate something for breakfast. A couple of pancakes, and chicken wings. Poppy looked at me with envy. I sighed.
"Can you eat? Do you need food to survive?" I asked.
"Well.... I need glucose to recharge my batteries. I can also use a charger but it would be suspicious. So the glucose to energy converter was made for special missions so that I wouldn't blow my cover."
Figured. Those guys in the CIA RnD team are making contengencies for every eventual event. I then ordered a plate of syrup covered pancakes.
Poppy looked at me smiling. I sighed.
An hour later...
We arrived at the space port. People walked around buying nicnacs, waiting for their flight, and just waited around for their family members that were coming back.
Another agent came up to me, and gave me two tickets.
"Here's the tickets. Also have this. You'll need it."
The agent then gave me some sort of high tech phone. Then out of knowhere something exploded.
I was knocked unconscious for a couple minutes. When I woke up I was getting dragged by poppy along with the agent that gave me the tickets. She shot back at incoming enemies using alien tech.
"Ugh..." As I said that I began coughing blood. I looked down I was bleeding. My left leg was missing. It was slowly bleeding due to a tourniquet, bandages, and some sealing foam. It was still bleeding but isn't bleeding as badly as to kill me in just a couple seconds.
Gunshots echoed in the space port. Agents shot back at the alien attackers. A fierce firefight began. Bright lights like something akin to RGB lights but in a epileptic way we're seen down the isles as screams of both alien, CIA, fbi, and fully kitted out port guards were slaughtered one by one.
Poppy dragged me, and the other agent to a bathroom. "Sit rep." I asked poppy.
"It seems to be a terrorist attack. I don't know why but they looked like alien mercenaries. The question is that did the consortium hired them to kill our diplomat. Good thing the diplomat hasn't arrived. I checked the agency message boards, and they said that good thing the diplomat was sick after getting food poisoning this morning. They are already talking about it. Some of them are even suggesting that the consortium did this attack." Poppy said.
"So the diplomat got lucky. But why the fuck would they attack our diplomat to the syndicate? I mean it's counter productive. We don't need their goods or services considering the people here would rather choose human companies rather than alien shady companies. I guess they must've know about our deals with them, and decided to start a shadow war. A war in the shadows. The companies of the consortium vs the remaining independent government's. Who ever wins controls all the resources in the world." I told poppy.
She nodded. "Good guess but no one really knows. It's so sudden. We need more info before we act against them."
"I'll patch you up in the meantime. I hurried the medical assistance I gave you a couple minutes ago. I was hurrying because this guy is saying we need to leave after he suffered minor bruises. You blunted most of the damaged for him because you were in front of the explosion. He was saved because you were blocking him from getting hit by shrapnel. I cut you're leg off. Sorry. It can't be saved considering it was barely hanging on the leg. Plus I was running out of time so I had to cut it before you bled out."
I sighed. "Okay. Just get my hk UmP 45 inside my arm. It's in second the compartment a secret compartment. In the upper arm. I have a few mags of it inside the compartment. Here's a screw driver to remove the lid."
I then gave poppy a screw driver hidden in my pants, and saw her unscrew the lid off. A ump 45, and fully loaded 4 mags came out dropping loudly on the floor.
"Now carry me to the danger. I would rather die than suffer for years being reminded of the sad reality that I lost an arm, and a leg every time I wake up." I morbidly joked to poppy.
"Are you sure? You're injured! Are you fucking suicidal?" Poppy, and the agent said.
"Did I stutter?"
The two of them sighed.
Poppy then carried me in her back, and the other agent used poppy as meat shields. The agent held a Barretta 93r. A burst fire weapon.
"Ready?" I said.
"Ugh. You're lucky I accepted your request dumbass."
"Yes."
I was being piggy back carried by poppy while the agent followed us.
"Tango 15 meters to the left." Poppy said.
I then activated burst fire, and shot at the direction given. When I saw an enemy I aimed for the center mass. But I instead hit the thorax killing the alien instantly.
"Kill confirms. Enemy is k.i.a."
"Tango 20 meters ahead."
I then aimed straight forward, and saw a bolt of light strike near me. It was close enough to feel the heat of the round. I shot back, and killed the alien instantly by hitting the alien in the lungs, and heart.
"Enemy is k.i.a"
Then I heard a three round burst coming from a Barretta. I looked back, and saw the agent kill an incoming enemy.
"Thanks. So what's your name?" I asked.
"Oh I haven't properly instroduced myself. My name is agent Carter." The agent/Carter said.
"Thanks Carter. My name is agent smith."
"No problem agent smith. We CIA agents got each other's backs. We must stick together."
"Guys tangos incoming coming from the left. ETA 20 seconds."
We then aimed our Guns, and waited for the enemy to arrive. When they eventually arrived we moved them down with burst fire. After that a couple national guard guys came up to us. They were probably chasing those aliens.
"Thanks." One of the national guards said.
"No problem"
We continued, and after two minutes of walking we walked into a firefight. I smiled.
"You know what to do." I said smiling.
"Third party them?"
"Yup."
I then turned on full auto, and began to spray, and pray.
After a few seconds of pulling the trigger my gun ran out of bullets. Carter also ran out of bullets in his magazine, and reloaded. 3 confirmed kills, and multiple missed or slightly injured.
Oh crap. Then a bolt of light past near me. Enough to the point my right cheek got minor burns.
"Duck!"
I then began to be dragged by poppy into cover. Carter also looked for cover, and dived into the nearest cover. I quickly reloaded the mag, and started shooting at the aliens again. I changed the selector back to burst fire to conserve ammo.
I aimed center mass at the enemies. A loud burst of .45 ACP rounds was heard as an enemy was hit in the thorax.
"Kill confirmed."
I continued, and shot enemies in either the arms, legs, the thorax, or the chest.
After three minutes the firefight ended.
"Other sectors secured. All area's are currently in our control. Over 700 people died, 1720 were injured, and some were missing. Military and government casualties are 124 KIA'd, 24 severely injured, 57 mildly injured, and 38 MIA'd." Poppy said smiling.
Then paramedics rushed into the scene. People were rushed into nearby hospitals while I was dragged by a undercover CIA paramedic to a government safe house along with poppy, and Carter.
A week later…
I was standing in the military cemetery in Arlington national cemetery. Where soldiers who died without any identifications are buried. I saw burials around me. Soldiers who died without any family members, soldiers disowned by family, and other such things. But hey it's just the life of a soldier. That's what I know at least. From ranger grunt to c.i.a grunt. I was disowned by my parents who were conservatives, and highly religious because I was going to sacrifice my place in heaven to save some heathens from the middle east. I never regretted my actions. I saved lives, and ended some. No guts no glory after all.
Some of the people getting buried got medal of honors. Saving comrades in need of dire help in exchange for their lives, soldiers who rescued civilians in exchange for their own lives, and soldiers who honorably fought on to save others even faced with hard decisions.
I saluted the unknown soldiers for their bravery, and honor. In the background poppy, and Carter were talking. But that wasn't important. Bagpipes, trumpets, and drums play as the unknown soldiers get burried with their medals. The grave sentinels saluted while burying the dead. Gunshots in the honor of the dead was heard as the unknown soldiers got buried while being watched by the people who those soldiers saved.
After that I returned to head quarters with a prosthetic leg, and talked to my handler. Poppy, and Carter went back to the safehouse just to talk.
"Oh hi smith." My handler captain david said.
"Hi David."
"Here's another purple heart medal, and a bronze star medal." David then tossed the medals towards me.
"That's your what? 22nd and 23rd medal? Bravo congrats smith."
"I'm gonna ask you sometime David."
"Ask away smith."
"When will i get sent as a diplomatic bodyguard?"
"About three weeks from now. Also agent Carter is gonna be one of your partners for the mission."
I sighed. Figured.
"So who was behind the terror attack David?"
"Honestly. The CIA search the crime scene, and saw that the consortium blatantly did that. The mercenaries worked under one of the companies in the consortium. But for the public it's gonna be announced tonight that a rogue consortium PMC did that so we wouldn't provoke them too much."
"It's gonna be a long day smith."
"Yeah David."
Then David gave me a cigar.
"Wanna smoke?"
I nodded.
To be continued…

I had never fallen in love before; the idea disgusted me. But when I first saw her, I found out that mythical butterflies do, in fact, flutter in one’s belly. I always thought that our society just had an unhealthy relationship with soda pop, but there they were.
She was beautiful! She wasn’t the cookie-cutter beauty that your fashion magazine manufactures; her eyes twinkled naturally like store-bought moissanite. Her bushy, deep dark eyebrows looked like they'd been shampooed with brand-name self-care products. It wasn’t just her pink glazed donut lips or her flowy dark hair that stole my heart; it was her essence. She glowed like those aftermarket LED headlights on my nightly drive back home. And those eyes… those dreamy eyes!
I started cleaning on Friday afternoon as soon as I got home from work. Charlene, my desk mate, had misplaced my favorite pen and became gradually paler as she silently watched me erupt into a volcano without having to pay a subscription fee. It was given to me by my late father, a stickler for rules who failed his “how to show empathy” class up until the very last second of his miserable life. He stared hauntingly into my eyes as he drew his last breath. Her eyes were different; they smiled when she did and rolled when we bantered that one time I cornered her in our local convenience store. She was buying tampons, and I snuck behind and whispered, “bloody murder!” She was startled at first, jumped even, but her face softened as her glassy green eyes laid on me. I felt those damn butterflies again, practicing rain dancing as my heart exploded in my chest. She joked around that she was getting them as earplugs to drown out her noisy neighbor. I told her a shovel would work just as well. It was courting at its finest.
I woke up early on Saturday with the morning light and gingerly started cleaning the kitchen floor. Armed with my favorite dirty cleaning rag, I got down on my knees and found every nook and every cranny. My momma called me on her new iPhone to remind me about my aunt Vicky’s birthday later that day. She was upset that I wasn’t coming. I told her that I had plans with a mortician and whether I should put in a good word for her, but she didn’t find that funny one bit, so she lashed out like I knew she would. Her yell pierced through the phone like a messy SWAT raid, and after that, I heard as much as I cared to listen. She said something about how I always find a way to disappoint her. She reminded me of how that mouth of mine caused me to lose my previous job. Somehow it always comes back to money with her, and it used to make me cry, but this is her insecurity — not mine. Ever since I could remember, she was always keeping face around her more successful older sister who married into wealth. She dragged me to beauty pageants as early as five, and then to modeling castings after that, but I guess I was not good enough to be her golden egg.
The second time I officially met her was in the barely maintained suicidal elevator of our building complex. The maintenance date on the sticker had long expired, and every time those doors closed, it truly was a gamble of whether my laziness was worth the odds of me falling to my death in there. She had forgotten about me and our mesmerizing tampon talk at the nearby store, but I took no time to remind her of our lovely first encounter. “Ah!” she said, like a cliched mad scientist who had just solved aging, pointing an accusatory finger to the heavens. I asked her if she "took care" of her neighbor and extended her a wink. She pouted her juicy lips and started thinking for a bit while I mind surfed down her long, thick dark hair. Then suddenly, I saw excitement and joy building up inside of her and exploding out her bright, hypnotizing eyes. She tried to contain it and with a muffled chuckle, she said, "I won't say a thing, but don't you go looking in the rubbish downstairs!" Somehow, the conversation turned to famous serial killers and crime shows, so I did the thing and asked her to watch some series together sometimes.
The first time we did was last Saturday. I out-thrifted my local thrift stores and was fashionably late. She greeted me in sweatpants that failed to conceal the contour of her hips, and she coughed quite a bit before telling me that I smelled nice. I raided my momma's vanity earlier that day for brand-name perfumes and accessories. She always has the latest stuff. I told myself that I wouldn't overdo it, but I overdid it. She took a good look at me as I was heading out, fixed my hair, and asked, "Who's the lucky man?"
My gorgeous neighbor lived in apartment 31B, the one with the off-red door, and it was disgustingly perfect. I thought that since we lived in the same building complex, her place wouldn't be so different from mine, but it was. I don't think it was even the layout that made it better. It was the furniture arrangement, the attention to detail as if she had her masters in color theory. It was her. She gave me the tour, and I was amazed at how every room looked like someone's pinned Pinterest board. The whole place looked staged for viewing, but the way she flowed through her space made me realize that this was her norm. It was so clean that I started to wonder if she did kill her now eerily quiet neighbor. It wasn't until we sat down on the couch together, and she wrapped us in her silky vanilla blanket, that my anxiety flew away. But those damn butterflies persisted. I sat beside her, far enough to be cold but close enough to fill my fantasies and ask myself what this was. It came as no surprise, then, that we had an awkward goodbye when it was all over, and I stood at her door not knowing what to say or do. She held onto the door and said, "Next Saturday then?"
By the time Saturday evening arrived, it had been hours of me mindlessly cleaning and endlessly rearranging my furnitures around. The same anxiety that I felt at her place came back raging, and no amount of YouTube or Pinterest made me feel any better. But then, there came a knocking at the door. I wasn't expecting her this early, so naturally, I freaked out like a bomb had gone off in my head, and I started running all over the place, getting dressed like a chicken with its head cut off. I smeared perfume all over my body and opened the door with unrepentant puffy messy hair. It was momma. She looked fancy. She was rocking this beautiful light blue cocktail dress with cape sleeves. It screamed, "I overpaid for this dress”, and I wanted to puke—I loved it!' She gave me this 'check me out' look before she pranced in without any invitation. She saw how tired I looked and asked me if I ate anything, but she must have noticed the change in my apartment and didn't bother to let me answer. There was this glimmer in her eyes when she asked, 'Well, well, you smell nice! Who's coming over?'"
I swear I'm better than this, but in that moment of pure exhaustion, I just let my guard down and told her the truth—that I was having a girlfriend over to watch a show. I knew instantly that I'd messed up as soon as the words left my mouth. Her eyes blinked at a thousand miles per hour, like she was looking for the least hurtful way to explode, but there's nothing kind about her outbursts. She yelled, "You're missing out on your aunt's birthday to watch a show with a friend??" I watched her face get redder with anger and felt tears at the ready, edging the corner of my puffy eyes, and I felt the kind of muffled anger that a 30-year-old adult woman would have to explain to her mother what adult choices made her happy, but I couldn't say anything. No matter how angry I was, I couldn't tell her to just let me be. I let out a weak but defiant "Yeah?" And she unleashed on me about just how much she was disappointed in me. She slammed me about how little I cared for my family, so I yelled back at her, saying that I didn't care about a who's who party where we must rent out a fancy dress to be welcomed. "I bought this damn dress!" she yelled in pure anger, oblivious to the point that I was making. I retorted that she was doing a good job hiding the price tag to return it later then, and that's when the palm of her hand found my face. I stumbled onto the ground, and in an attempt to regain balance, I held onto the big standing mirror behind me and dragged it to the floor with me.
I sat on the floor and finally justified crying; a bit of blood painted my right hand. Her left hand covering her mouth, she fumbled a reactionary apology and made her way to the door avoiding the pieces of glass on the floor. She stumbled out in tears just as my green-eyed neighbor was about to knock. She looked back at my fleeing mother in shock and ran to the kitchen to get me a wet paper towel. When she finally joined me on the floor, my face had turned red, but my tears had dried. It was then that I saw this piece of broken mirror shattered perfectly in half, but not separated. You could see the crack going all the way down.
The reflection was of both of us, each of us on different sides of the crack. She was perfect. I would have written a sonnet from the cadence of her hips. I would have written a haiku on her lips, but we were from different worlds, and I was tired of expectations. I was tired of having to validate what my happiness should look like.
So, I reached in.

This is my trip report for the time I took 7 tabs of suspected N-bombs. It was the most bonkers, embarrassing, and dangerous psychedelic experience I have ever had. The only experience I kinda regret. I’ll be changing the names of the folks involved out of respect for their identities.
This all happened around Glasgow in late 2019. I had an unfortunate break up with my long time girlfriend and was itching for an escape from reality that I hoped LSD would provide. I met Marty a few months prior, who has since grown to be my best friend, and he introduced me to a drug dealer, Calum, in the area.
I purchased some ALD-52 from Calum, which Marty & I tested & found safe. With this we had 2 spectacular trips; hiking around the hills of Scotland and providing me with some great memories.
So, when Calum mentioned he could get us LSD I jumped on the opportunity and agreed to meet him under a bridge. Under this bridge a white van pulled up, slid open its door, and Calum instructed me from the passenger seat to get in . I decided to obey the call of adventure, hopped in, and we took off.
Inside the back were two men I hadn’t met, a chemistry set, and a big unconcerned dog (probably their security). The man by the gizmos and vials asked me how much I wanted, and I said ‘’14 tabs’’. He used a dropper to make them on the spot before I paid them and they dropped me off back at the bridge.
I rushed home like Charlie with a golden ticket to meet Marty and show him the goods. We decided to dive into the deep end & each take 7 tabs right away, around 6 pm. The tabs tasted the way the fingers of the guy who made them looked: bitter. We had no idea this was a red flag and our dumbasses were too excited to wait and test the tabs. So began the trip.
Shortly after, Marty suggested we take the train over to his friend Ben’s house, because ‘Ben was a chill’. We headed out and I was already feeling its effects. By the time we reached Ben’s place (Maybe 30 minutes later) I was already having the strongest psychedelic experience I’ve ever had to this day. I knew I was in for a ride.
The walls were grabbing onto my hands, my body was losing its form, and I was mostly non-verbal. Everything I saw was made of fractals, faces, eyeballs, and vortices. Everything I thought of was biblically profound. I felt undying love from the universe and was convinced Marty felt the same.
This is a good time to mention Martie’s odd tolerance to psychedelics. He’s listed this as the only true psychedelic experience he’s ever had, amongst the many he’s attempted. The time when we each took a heroic 6g mushroom trip he hardly felt a thing while I was facing ego death. He was definitely blasted on this trip but fortunately wasn’t delusional the way I was, and kept me a little under control.
I remember snippets of what it was like at Ben’s and the rest has been filled in by Marty. Ben was playing Dead Island and kept using the ziplines and his TV’s max volume to trip me out. The environment around me kept exploding into spiraling multi-colored pixels which revealed an empty white subspace behind it. It was like the universe was unraveling. Everything I looked at would explosively dissolve in this way leading me to believe I was god. I thought fate made us meet Ben that day so he could reveal to us our reality warping powers. I thought I could do anything with practice and decided the first thing I would do was make a cup of tea out of whiskey, multiple tea bags, dish soap, and anything else I got my hands on in Ben’s kitchen... He was a good sport about it.
Marty came to stop me and when he did my delusions deepened. I became convinced we were living infinite reincarnations of every life and that we were the physical manifestation of Yin & Yang. I also wanted to call my mom and tell her what I’d learned but Marty assured me it'd be better to tell her later. We returned to the living room & I whipped my shirt off 'with hilarious vigor', as Marty put it.
I was convinced I knew the meaning to life, the universe, and everything, and that Marty & Ben were on the same wavelength as me. I thought we were sharing the same thoughts and were upon the same path of enlightenment. But, my delight turned to devastation when they told me they weren’t as interconnected with me as I thought, and that I was experiencing delusions. This is when the path of my trip changed.
A sense of foolishness hit me hard, and the direction of my emotions took a sharp turn. I understood I didn’t understand what was happening around me or what was real. I thought Marty & Ben were conspiring against me and working to keep me in the apartment for all eternity. I tried keeping track of time to witness its progression but every time I checked the time nothing changed. I thought I had gone insane and that fate had set me to live in that very moment forever. I was panicking and I needed to rebel against fate, so I ran out of the apartment and collapsed in the stairwell.
My escape from that environment satisfied me and I calmed down. The concrete was cool and I laid splayed outside the door. Marty came to see if I was alright and once he confirmed I hadn’t run away, he went back to trip on the couch. This is when my trip reached its peak.
I have no memory of what happened around me at this point. People could have been stepping on me to leave their apartments and I will never know. Everything became fractals. The fractal pattern kept diversifying and growing until it reached its climax. This following experience blows me away to this day.
For the next eternity all I could see was, what I can best describe as, the most realistic representation of a Penrose diagram possible. I could sense the infinities compressed at its edges and all I could hear was an earth shatteringly loud roar. I kept saying, or screaming, or imagining I was screaming: ‘IT’S SO BIG! OH MY GOD THERE’S SO MUCH! IT’S SO BIG!’. I felt like I was in the presence of the immensity of the universe and it was utterly overwhelming.
My trip likely manifested as a Penrose diagram (or, Penrose-Lovecraftian horror) because I’d been learning about them at the time. It’s interesting that something I learned so recently was so present in my trip
Some time later the trip died enough for me to find my bearings. I was wearing Marty’s shoes and my shirt was back on, so I decided it was time for a walk. When I left the building I was exhausted and it was dark out, but the world was fascinating. I remember stepping out in front of a car and it honking at me. So I took note to beware of traffic.
Life was still fractals and things had tracers but I was enjoying the air. I thought I was past my delusional state, but this is when I saw something I can’t explain. A few blocks ahead I saw a crowd of 7-9 people wearing neon safety vests turn a corner and run opposite to my direction. They were followed by 3 police officers a moment later. I wondered what the hub-bub was but my mind quickly wandered elsewhere when they faded out of site. However, when I reached that same corner, the exact same crowd came around and passed by me. I knew they were the same people and I anticipated the police following a moment later. And they did. Those same police came jogging passed and followed the crowd. They all disappeared into the distance leaving me stunned.
It still bothers me thinking about what parts of that experience were real and what was hallucination. It wasn't like predictable psychedelic hallucinations such as geometry and tracers, but, a real situation with context and uncertainty. Seeing them felt like a dream outside a dream.
After this, I hopped onto the first train going the right direction home, but I was kicked off by a ticket inspector a few stops down. I waited for the following train and happened to meet Marty on it with my stuff, which felt like fate truly had my back.
Though I was still somewhat lost in the sauce, Marty recounted the evening to me, and bought me some chocolate on the way home. We got back and Marty passed out quick, though I couldn’t sleep until late the next morning.
This was the most dangerous, embarrassing, and remarkable psychedelic trip I’ve ever had. I’m very grateful I had Marty looking out for me on this one. Since then I’ve entered fractal land and ego death a few times, but nothing compares to this experience. In a more controlled environment, and with a safer drug, I would do it again.
TL;DR Fake LSD showed me cosmic horror
Edit: grammar

This is part of my little series about the adventures of Vr'ocria and Human Aldrick. If you'd like to read previous parts, they're linked below, along with brief summaries of each:
Part One: Alien learns what "sleep" is and how humans prefer to do it in a comfy bed with blankets and pillows. And they find it utterly adorable.
Vr'ocria and Human Aldrick are sent on a survey mission together. Things go south, Aldrick makes sure they're safe, and then Vr'ocria learns what human sleep is and how vulnerable humans are when they sleep. Vr'ocria's people don't sleep, but enter stasis, a form of rest in which they typically stand, and they are still slightly aware of their surroundings. Vr'ocria finds human sleep utterly adorable, and also decides she will protect Aldrick while he sleeps. And she also develops a massive crush on him. (Her scales turning purple is her version of blushing)
Part Two: An alien + human adventure with such shenanigans as poison drinking, befriending dangerous wildlife, and fighting a space pirate. Oh, and they have a huge crush on each other.
Vr'ocria and Human Aldrick end up assigned together for another survey mission. Vr'ocria tries to deny her feelings for Aldrick after a tense conversation with her nestmate about the danger of humans, but when they're ambushed in the night by a pirate and Aldrick takes a blow to save her, becoming injured in the process, she comes to realize just how strongly she feels for him. She kills the pirate, carries Aldrick to safety, and the two share a tender moment.
Part Three: When a cold-blooded alien has to cuddle a warm-blooded human for warmth
Vr'ocria and Human Aldrick are assigned to an ice plant for their next mission. Aldrick chews out Command for assigning Vr'ocria there when they know she's cold-blooded and not built for the cold, and when the power goes out, they cuddle to keep her from freezing. They finally confess their feelings for one another, and Vr'ocria learns what kissing is.
Part Four: A human leaves a hickey on his alien lover. Her nestmate doesn't understand what a hickey is, and thinks the human injured her
Vr'ocria enjoys neck kisses, and asks Aldrick to indulge her. Later, she has a video call with her nestmate Galek. Galek is already wary of humans, and when he sees a bruise on her throat that she didn't notice, he figures out Aldrick is responsible and freaks out, thinking Aldrick intentionally hurt her. Vr'ocria dresses Galek down, explaining that it's not an injury, and also that he needs to get over it and respect her relationship with Aldrick.
Now for the new story!
TW: There will be blood and broken bones.
—
"I have a bad feeling about this."
Vr'ocria turned to Human Aldrick in the pilot seat next to her. He was drumming his fingers on the console, brow furrowed, as he watched the Xenthum solar system approach.
"What do you mean?" She asked.
"I dunno. I just–" he bit the inside of his cheek. "You ever just get an ick feeling about something?"
Vr'ocria frowned. "No. Can you explain it?"
He scratched the back of his neck. "It's hard to explain. Like, there's nothing wrong that I can tell about this mission, but ever since we got within visual range, I've had this gut feeling that we need to turn back."
Vr'ocria wasn't sure she understood, but she didn't like seeing him uncomfortable. "Well, we're here on orders–"
"I know, I know, I don't want to get us in trouble, I'm already on thin ice after yelling at Lieutenant Prax–"
"–but the minute anything starts to go wrong, no matter how small, we can turn around."
He glanced over at her. "Thanks," he said with a grateful smile.
They had entered the Xenthum system now. Its main planet was sparsely populated, used mostly as a trading outpost since it was so close to the Dridian border. The trick was navigating through the minefield of asteroid clusters. Aldrick let Vr'ocria take the lead piloting, since of the two of them, she was more skilled at delicate maneuvers.
They were almost to the planet when an alert pinged. Aldrick sat up to check the sensors.
"There's a ship nearby," he reported. "A big one."
"Where?" Vr'ocria pulled up the sensor on her screen. "I don't see anything. Just asteroids."
"Turn on the warp detector and increase the ion frequency."
Vr'ocria pressed a few controls. "Oh wow, you weren't kidding." She frowned. "It's way too big to be in the middle of an asteroid field. What are they doing?"
"I don't know, but I don't like it." She could feel the tension radiating from him.
"You want to get out of here?" she asked.
He chewed his lip. "Y'know what? Yeah. Let's at least take an alternate root, we can–"
But before he could finish, there was a loud BANG and they were sent flying from their seats as the shuttle rattled.
"What the fuck?" Aldrick yelled as he scrambled to his feet, lunging for the console. "Did we scrape an asteroid?"
Vr'ocria crawled back into her seat as well and banged out a few commands on her screen. Her blood froze.
"No," she said in a low voice. "It was phaser fire."
They'd been so focused on the massive ship that they'd missed the tiny shuttle creeping up from below them.
BANG. The screens flickered and glitched.
Aldrick cursed. "We've lost shields!"
There was another hit, then another, and another. Sparks were flying now, and the sensors were screaming as the shuttle's operating systems started failing.
Vr'ocria was tossed against the wall in one particularly brutal crash, and the last thing she saw was a broken panel flying right towards her face.
—
Everything hurt.
Especially her nose. The tang of blood clung to the back of her throat.
There were muffled voices somewhere nearby, and the sound of metal scraping. When she tried to move, she abruptly registered something cold and hard encircling her wrists.
"She's waking up."
Vr'ocria coughed, blood splattering from her lips. Moaning in pain, she managed to lift her head and crack her eyes open.
The scraping sound was the heels of her boots sliding across metal grate flooring as she was dragged by her wrists. She craned her head back, pain shooting through her neck, and realized that her wrists were clapped in rusty manacles. A massive blue hand fisted the rust red chains that suspended her arms over her head.
"Wha' th'fmm–" she slurred. Her brain felt like sludge.
Suddenly she was yanked even higher into the air, her toes just brushing the floor. A shock of cold assaulted her and she yelped, flinching as water dripped down her face.
"You awake now?"
A man was standing in front of her, tossing aside a now-empty bucket. There were several people, actually. All different species, all looking very pleased, and all wearing distinctive black Norvidian armbands.
Pirates.
A hand cracked across her cheek, sending more blood flying. She bit back a cry as the shockwave laced through her broken nose. "Fuck you," she spat instead.
The man chuckled. He was tall, muscles bulging through his coat, and his skin was blue. He must've been the one dragging her. "Picking up human words, I see."
Vr'ocria's blood turned to ice. "What have you done with him?" She demanded in a low voice.
His grin only widened. His teeth were crooked and rotting. "I'll be asking the questions here."
Her scales burned a bright and hot yellow and snapped as they turned on end. But before she could respond, his hand lashed out and grabbed her throat–not enough to choke her just yet, but enough to make her freeze.
"You're the lizard bitch from Theta-7, yes?" The grin was gone now, replaced by a withering glare.
Understanding dawned on Vr'ocria. Blast. Oh, blast.
He saw the realization in her eyes and slowly released her throat. "You are."
"What's it to you?" She snapped.
He sneered. "You killed one of my men."
"He attacked us first!"
Stars burst behind her eyes as the air was forced from her lungs, and it took her a moment to realize that he had punched her in the gut. All she could do was cough and gasp, trying to regain her bearings through the pain as he turned away from her and towards the others standing around. He raised his arms.
"We are Norvids!" He boomed, and the others whooped in agreement. "We stand together! We protect our own!"
Vr'ocria tuned him out as he kept proselytizing, using the opportunity to look around the room. It was massive and almost all metal with towering walls. Crane chains hung from the ceiling, and crates and barrels of different sizes were scattered about, everything dusty, rusty, and old. A storage room. An old cargo ship? She wondered. That would explain why it was so big.
She ran a quick headcount of everyone she could see. Seventeen.
But where was Aldrick?
Vr'ocria felt sick. You better be okay…you have to…please be okay…
The man–the captain, she guessed–finally turned back to her. He drew a dagger from a sheath strapped to his arm, and her eyes went wide.
"A life for a life," he growled, stalking towards her.
But before he'd made it even two steps, a voice rang out through the cargo bay.
"Don't you fucking touch her."
It was enough to stop the captain in his tracks.
Footsteps sounded from behind her, and Vr'ocria tried in vain to twist her body around.
But she didn't have to. The man approaching from behind came forward and stepped in between her and the captain, and she didn't have to see his face to know who it was.
"Aldrick," she nearly whimpered.
The caption sneered. "Well well, a little escape artist, are we?"
Aldrick was silent.
Deathly so.
Vr'ocria swallowed.
Even the captain, who was twice Aldrick's size, seemed to waver. Vr'ocria wasn't sure she wanted to know what he saw on Aldrick's face.
Finally, Aldrick spoke. "Any of you touch her, and you will die." His voice was so cold it pierced her to the bone. She could see his clenched fists trembling at his sides. He's not even armed!
The captain began to laugh, his voice echoing around the bay. The others laughed with him.
"And who's gonna stop us?" He demanded. "You? Little human, you don't know who you're messing with." He dashed forward, raising the blade, ready to strike.
"Aldrick!" Vr'ocria screamed.
But Aldrick dodged as easily as water flows through a river, ducking under the dagger and going for the captain's legs. He barreled his full weight against his hips, and with a shout, the giant fell, the dagger clattering from his grasp. Quick as a whip, Aldrick snatched it up–and drove it directly into the captain's throat.
Vr'ocria couldn't help but watch in horror as green blood frothed forth, spraying all over Aldrick. The captain's eyes were wide, and he choked and spasmed as his life drained out onto the dirty floor.
By now, the others were surging forward, shouting, screaming, and brandishing their own weapons.
"NO!" Vr'ocria screamed as they converged on him. She kicked and yanked uselessly at her chains, desperate to help, to do anything. The manacles bit painfully into her scales, some of them even popping off onto the floor, leaving beads of blood welling up in their wake. But the manacles did not yield.
When she looked back, she was terrified she'd see Aldrick lying dead on the floor.
But he wasn't.
In fact, there were three pirates–no, make that four now–sprawled lifelessly instead. Aldrick was a whirlwind of limbs and gnashing teeth–he ducked and dodged, spat and kicked, slashing at knees and elbows, slowly incapacitating or discombobulating each one until he was able to sink the dagger into throats, chests, between ribs–bodies were dropping--he was covered in blood now, eyes wild–
"BEHIND YOU!" Vr'ocria screamed.
Aldrick turned just a second too late, and a woman covered in dark fur landed a kick directly to his chest. He hit the floor, the dagger flying from his grasp. The woman pounced, her hands wrapping around his throat. His legs thrashed as he clutched at her hands, and he was just able to roll them over until he was on top. From there, he simply started punching, and punching, blood spraying his face with each hit.
A large man behind him had stumbled back to his feet. He lunged forward and yanked Aldrick into the air by the back of his shirt, throwing him bodily into the air, where he crashed against a metal crate.
He hit the ground and didn't move.
Vr'ocria was screaming. She didn't know if she was saying words anymore, but she was screaming, and blood was streaming down her arms now from how hard she was pulling against the manacles. All she could do was watch as the final three pirates approached her mate where he lay lifeless on the floor.
They stopped before they were in arms length, looking between each other. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but one of them finally edged forward and poked Aldrick's side with her toe.
Vr'ocria wanted to rip their entrails out with her bare hands.
He still didn't move. Seeming satisfied, they moved forward, and one bent to grab him.
All at once, her human surged back to life. The man closest to him hit the ground as Aldrick swung his legs around, sweeping the man's feet out from under him. Once he was down, Aldrick bashed a crane hook–one he must've picked up from the floor–into the man's skull so hard that it caved in with one blow. Still lying on the floor, Aldrick used his vantage point to kick the woman's knee backwards, and she collapsed with an agonized scream. One more strike with the hook, and she was silenced.
That left just one. The final pirate appeared to be reptilian like her, although he had large spines stretching across his head and shoulders. This one didn't try to rush Aldrick. Instead, he kept his distance, watching warily as Aldrick climbed to his feet.
"So it's true," the spined pirate said, "what they say about humans."
Aldrick returned a deadly stare. "And what's that?" His voice almost didn't even sound like his anymore.
"You're monsters. Demons. Scourge of the universe."
Aldrick grinned, but it looked more like a feral animal baring its teeth. "That's me."
The pirate's spines flexed. "You could join us," he said. "Join the Norvids. We'll find another crew, you can be captain."
They were circling now, Aldrick crouched like a predator ready to strike, the pirate shuffling back with his hands held out.
"You could be rich!"
Aldrick picked up a rusty chain from a barrel as he passed by.
"Think of the power you would wield!" The pirate cried desperately.
Aldrick still said nothing. He forced him back, and back, until the pirate realized, too late, that he was cornered between two crates. His back hit the wall and he slid down, cowering, as Aldrick loomed over him.
Vr'ocria could barely hear because of the distance, but the metal room carried Aldrick's low hiss as he bent down to the trembling pirate: "You hurt my mate. Now, you die."
The rusty chain crackled as Aldrick wrapped it around the pirate's neck in one fell swoop. He pulled the loop tight and the pirate clutched at the noose, his eyes and forked tongue bulging out. Then, with one swift and hard yank, an audible splinter-snap filled the room–and the pirate was dead before he hit the floor, his neck bent at an unnatural angle.
Aldrick dropped him in disgust. His back was turned, but Vr'ocria could still see his chest heaving.
He turned and met Vr'ocria's eyes, and the demented expression drained from his face. He stepped towards her, slowly at first, and then broke into a sprint.
It seemed like he wanted to throw his arms around her, but he came to a sudden halt before he could touch her, instead raising his shaking hands to her face. "Vr'ocria, 'ria, my Ria, I'm so sorry–" his voice broke and his eyes welled with tears that quickly spilled over and began running down his face, carving tracks into the grime and blood spatter.
"Aldrick," she whispered, drinking him in. He's alive.
"Hold on, hold on, I'll get you out of these cuffs, fuck–" he turned to the dead captain on the floor and rifled through his pockets until he produced a key.
He returned and had to stand on his tiptoes to reach the manacles, and with a scrape and groan of metal, the manacles cracked loose.
Vr'ocria collapsed onto Aldrick, her legs too weak to hold her up. Her arms fell over his shoulders, and he caught her around the waist. Together they sank to the floor until they were both on their knees, clutching at one another as if they would disappear.
Aldrick buried his face in her neck, shaking with silent sobs. Vr'ocria tangled her hands in his bloody hair, not caring about the mess. Her people couldn't weep like humans did, but she might as well have with the way her chest heaved with stuttering breaths, her scales burning bright red.
Aldrick clutched her tight enough to hurt, but she didn't care. "Ria, my Ria, my love," he gasped like a mantra.
She finally took his face in her hands and pulled him back, forcing him to look at her. "Are you alright?" She implored. "Are you hurt?"
He let out a half-laugh, half-sob. "You're asking me?"
She used her thumbs to wipe away some of the grime on his face. "You took on all of those people by yourself," she croaked. "And the way he threw you–planets, I thought you were dead."
His hands slid up her back to clutch her shoulders. "I'm alright," he assured her. "Bumps and bruises is all. But you–" he looked her up and down, rage rekindling in his eyes. "Son of a bitch, what they did to you–"
She shook her head. "They're dead now," she said firmly. "It's over and done." She leaned forward to squeeze him again, resting her head on his shoulder. "Let's just go home."
"Don't have to tell me twice." Aldrick rose, pulling her up with him. Her legs were still too unsteady to walk, so instead, he slid one hand under her knees and swept her up into his arms. She settled against his chest as he carried her out of the cargo bay.
"Should we be worried about any other crew members?" She asked, casting her eyes around the barren corridor.
Aldrick shook his head as he walked. He seemed to know where he was going. "It was just them."
"How do you know? And what happened to you, by the way?"
His arms tightened around her. "After you got knocked out, they locked a tractor beam onto the shuttle and pulled us inside."
They came to a fork in the corridor, and he turned left. "I thought they were just raiding for scrap metal and Union tech, but when they boarded the shuttle, they went straight for you. I–" his voice cracked. "I tried to protect you, but there were so many of them and I was so caught off guard..."
Vr'ocria stroked the nape of his neck with her thumb. "It's okay, it's not your fault."
Aldrick swallowed before continuing. "They took you away and locked me in an old storage container. Thankfully the hinges were on the inside, so I just popped the pins out once they were gone. I was able to access the ship's computer and scan the whole ship, because the idiots didn't know how to encrypt anything. All brawn and no brains, I guess. That's also how I was able to figure out where they kept their own shuttles, since ours is pretty busted."
"Is that where we're going?"
He nodded. "Anyway, I used the scanner to find your location, and then I just crawled through the air ducts so I could get inside without them knowing." He stopped. "We're here."
They'd arrived at a loading door with a rusty label that read "SHUTTLE BAY."
Twenty minutes later found them back out in open space in the least-old shuttle they could find. The engine puttered every few minutes, but with any luck, they'd reach their ship in an hour or so.
Vr'ocria had regained her bearings, and she was rummaging around the storage box at the back of the cabin. She finally found an old "in case of emergency" kit, but frustratingly, all the first aid supplies had been picked clean. She did, however, find an unopened package of wet wipes.
Vr'ocria took the wipes back to the front of the cabin. Ripping the package open, she knelt by Aldrick where he sat in the pilot seat.
"What're you doing?"
"Hold still," she murmured. She raised a wipe to his face, and began gently cleaning the blood off. His eyes became soft as she tended to him, throwing the dirty wipes aside one by one while she worked her way down his face and neck.
When she was done, he took her hand before she could get up. He reached for the package as well, and began wiping the blood from her arms, taking care around the nasty scrapes that marred her wrists. "We need to get these bandaged up."
"It's okay. They're not bleeding anymore, we have time."
Aldrick placed a hand on her cheek. "I love you so much," he whispered. "And I'm glad you're okay."
Vr'ocria leaned into his hand, closing her eyes. "I love you too."
Turns out it's REALLY hard to write fight scenes lol. I can see it happening in my head, but getting it down on paper is another story. I had fun though! And I hope I did it justice.
Thank you for reading!

It’s the little things of that sort that made life on Earth…life. I swear, if I weren’t keeping my journal of observations, I would completely forget that I was still enrolled in a doctoral program gaining what might potentially be one of the most important degrees in the galaxy.
I’d very much… what the humans say ‘gone native’. Which is the whole point of studying like this, to immerse yourself in a people and learn to appreciate their ways on their terms.
I just never expected when I began that it would be… something more, something so much more, to me or to so many others. But now here I was… and before I go into the days after Michael’s return, I hope you’ll forgive me for a little self indulgence… trust me, it will make the near future far clearer.
By this point, even though I’d only been on Earth for about ten percent of my intended time, by now my degree was going to be a given. I could have returned to University now, with just the work I’d done thus far, presented my findings, and gotten my degree to become ‘Doctor Bailey Walker’ and been done with it… if the rules allowed for that kind of thing.
Because I’d gotten into the various…shenanigans, that I did, because I’d been so heavily involved in so many important events in one way or another from the day of the battle of Waterland Park…as it was so ridiculously and melodramatically called to this day, (much to both my and Fauve’s annoyance), all the way up to the present, I was in a unique position.
I had ties to the highest levels of both governments through two ambassadors, and ties to the leaders of commerce and industry thanks to controlling one of the largest gambling and sporting enterprises on the planet…both of which by dint of my ties to xenomedia expansion in the Barnum Cooperative, meant I was building ties to other planetary governments.
In short… If I didn’t know the right person, I probably lived with one who did. William’s control over my space station project and the display of human engineering was drawing attention from potential allied worlds, while the Methuselah Initiative his wife was a leading researcher for was drawing global attention as the first gentle strides proceeded.
Incidentally… My big sister was on excellent terms with Rebecca Walker and had put her in touch with the D.S.A. the Dlamias Science Academy, where our finest genetic researchers worked… given that Bau was nominally a fugitive, I can only imagine she did this surreptitiously. But once the chain was forged, further cooperation was inevitable.
My people seem to be unable to help ourselves when it comes to humans, if we’re not man’s best friend five years from now, I’ll eat my hat. And if I do not have a hat, first I will buy one, then I will eat it.
All that is to say in long form that, out of all the students on Earth, and out of all the Dlamisa who were now visiting or residing on Earth, out of all the other aliens who were expressing interest in the rising power…I had stumbled my way into being the best known, best positioned, the absolute wealthiest, and the most intimately connected with all the right people.
So… with all that out of the way, let me continue.
Weeks came and weeks went, and I? I enjoyed them. William and Rebecca returned from their work, the Methuselah Initiative continued to progress and the space station continued to expand while the first vessels were built.
Fauve returned from her trip to Japan and we were up late enjoying coffee while the rest of the house slept.
I’d been apart from my human for longer than usual, but we slipped back into our routine without missing a beat.
It was rich, strong stuff that we drank, something she brought with her from her trip. The light was dim and the house was silent save for the little sizzle of coffee dripping down for our inevitable refills. We still had a relatively modest, ‘middle class’ home. Strange for me to say it that way, since I was saying ‘we’. But they were family, now, and it felt right even if legally I owned none of it.
Some have remarked that it was strange that Fauve still hadn’t moved out, when it was not uncommon for humans to leave their homes as they enter adulthood. But the reality is simple, departure is typically undertaken because of stress, a clash between the adult parent and the adult child and the former wanting to continue to rule the latter, while the latter wants to do things their own way.
But that contesting dynamic did not exist between the Walkers. William and Rebecca didn’t press their daughter to let them control anything, they would offer advice, and she did pay a little ‘rent’ to contribute to household expenses. A nominal sum that was more a symbol of independence than anything else. But she otherwise controlled everything about her own life. As they loved and cared for one another and considered their family to be a singular unit, a ‘team’ such as it were, they saw no need to separate themselves.
I like to think she also didn’t want to move since she’d miss me and I was more or less obligated to maintain a single residence for the next fifty years… but that’s just speculation on my part.
Regardless, here she was and so was I, and we could enjoy the comfort of one another’s presence. We simply sipped our first cups, and savored the moment. And for the first half of the cup, we were silent, just enjoying each moment in our amiable existence.
That was our custom, to just enjoy presence for a little while, it was a chance to gather our thoughts and consider what, if anything, there was to say.
Sometimes there wasn’t, we’d just sit in quiet company until our cups were empty, content that nothing need be said and mutual presence was enough.
It’s funny how much humans can say while saying nothing at all. In a very real way, they may be the most competent communicators in the galaxy.
But… tonight would not be a silent night.
When the coffee maker clicked off on the dim light of the kitchen, Fauve chose to speak. “So I got an offer for a diplomatic job.” She said it as if she were mentioning it might rain… this human of mine is the most unflappable person I’ve ever met…I swear.
My tail started to wag and I took a quick sip before saying, “Tell me about it.” She launched into a full story of touring Japan, first, which was to be expected, and I thoroughly enjoyed the recounting before she got to the part I asked about.
“You know how I’ve been handling all these media deals… and… remember how we spent that year on The Red Spark, during the Silent Civil War?” She asked.
I looked down my snout at her. “Tell me that’s rhetorical.”
She cracked a smile, “Well, one of the guys I used to eat lunch with was appointed to the Department of Interplanetary Relations. He was in New Kyoto for a conference on Interplanetary Tech… forget that, it’s boring,” she waved a dismissive hand and went on, “Anyway we were at the same hotel on the day I closed a deal for distributing your league broadcasts…” she paused and tilted her head, “Did you know that the Leonids have a reputation for stubbornness?” She asked.
I nodded. “Worse than ours.” I agreed, and it was no exaggeration. On Dlamias we said that you could convince a mountain to move before you could convince a Leonid to do so.
“They’re not so bad, I just had to keep reframing things until I found what worked, but we got a deal. So I told Marcus about it, and he said he needed someone like me on his team.” She should have smiled, but she didn’t.
“What?” I asked.
“Bailey, listen…”. Fauve’s voice became grave, “Marcus had a few more than he meant to and he let something slip… the Praeda species are a lot more afraid than anyone thinks. If what he told me is true, media relations will be the least of my concerns… a real war is a very clear possibility.”
“Shouldn’t you have led with that?” It was a stupid thing to ask, but still…
She sat up straight, “It wouldn’t be more or less likely, based on where I put it in conversation, and this way you heard good things first. if I waited, you wouldn’t be able to enjoy those properly.”
It was as absurd as it was practical.
“So then the job is…?” I prompted.
“There’s going to be an attempt at diplomacy first. The Rogue World is a long way off, and everybody is going to start gearing up for war, but in that span of time we have a shot at deescalation.” She looked at me for a very long moment.
“I’ll talk to my world’s ambassador. He won’t be happy that word slipped out, even to a reliable resource. Maybe we can create a joint envoy?” It was a tentative thought. More likely it would set the Rapax class species on edge if it looked like we were negotiating a separate peace…
I could see the wheels spinning in her mind when she said… “Maybe suggest we think bigger… anyone left out might feel like a target.”
She wasn’t wrong. “I’ll reach out to him in the morning. In the meantime… one more cup?” I asked.
She handed me hers as I stood, “Yes, please.”