A random character discussion I though of. Might use it to help make Dov’s character a little more interesting, humble, and give a peculiar example of Dov helping a friend over preserving his ego.
A typical lunch conversation at Karen's villa
Hannah: What’s the most embarrassing thing you did for a friend?
Dov: Pardon?
Hannah: I’m IDF Military Intelligence. Nothing will surprise me.
Dov: Between my first and second tours, retraining at the barracks, I worked part-time as a dancer at a gay and lesbian club, so my friend could get a bar discount.
Hannah: I’m pleasantly corrected.
Krista: Got any spare posters, framed or laminated?
Dov: …
Krista: What? It would help Freyja’s anatomy study.
Hannah (suppressing her smile): Must have been a good friend.
Dov: Yeah. He was.
In the flashback chapter of Project Succession, Oristina (Aeris’s late mother) is a foul-mouthed headache-inducing teenage princess who HATE how her mother is treated and hates how Alcoy (Aeris’s father and her future husband) is going to be her bodyguard.
She hates the Kriegman Clan who share her sentiments on hating the Thornwood Dynasty.
I feel like this is going to be an interesting chapter. Still not done yet.
The repaired map lay before them, its tattered edges and hastily stitched seams a testament to the destruction, yet also a testament to Isaac’s quiet determination. It was far from perfect, but it was whole. Like his own fractured spirit, it had been mended, however imperfectly.
Hidayat stared at it, a lump forming in his throat. Tears welled in his eyes, a torrent threatening to burst forth. Yet, these were not the bitter tears of self-pity or despair that had marked his existence for so long. These were tears born of a strange, unfamiliar emotion—a flicker of gratitude struggling to ignite within the bleak landscape of his heart.
He choked back a sob, ashamed and confused by this unexpected vulnerability. But Isaac seemed to understand, his eyes meeting Hidayat’s with compassion, not judgement.
“It’s not about fixing everything,” Isaac said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “We can’t change the past. But sometimes…” he trailed off, gesturing towards the map, “…sometimes, just knowing someone cares enough to try, that can make the burden a little lighter.”
Meanwhile Mari's straight up not having a good time
The cold reality settled over Marinov. With a tremor in his fingers, he returned the vial to the box, unable to stomach the consequences of doing otherwise. He could picture the smug expression on Yocha’s face as he inevitably returned to her, begging for another dose that would keep him alive in this twisted version of reality.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips, tinged with a desperation born of this chilling realisation. Was this all he had to show for his existence? A life hidden in shadows, tethered to vials and a power he despised yet craved, all while perpetuating a system he abhorred?
He wanted to scream, to shatter the vials against the wall and watch as the precious liquid soaked into the cracked concrete. A primal urge to rebel surged within him, a desperate need to break free from this insidious cycle, this twisted mockery of life. Yet, as his fingers tightened around the vial, a chilling clarity descended upon him. The rebellion would be futile. Without these supplies, he wouldn’t just die, he would descend into an agonising void, his body revolting against the stolen reality he’d built. The very essence of his being would unravel, leaving a husk devoid of meaning.
A sickening sense of defeat washed over him. Was this what he had become? A pathetic creature, dependent on the whims of a god-like entity for mere survival? His past defiance seemed almost laughable, a naive illusion shattered by the harsh reality of his circumstances.
Well, no one’s really having a good time rn, admittedly. Are they ever having a good time? Nah, not really.
“I…” His voice emerged as a hoarse rasp. Marinov closed his eyes for a moment, the vial in his pocket burning against his skin. He was drowning in a sea of his own making. When he opened them again, a sliver of defiance cut through his fear. “I treat the wounded. I do not do speculation.”
Marinov’s heart hammered in his chest as he spoke the words, feeling the weight of his own evasion bearing down on him like a leaden cloak. The room was hushed, tension thick in the air as all eyes remained fixed upon him, unwavering in their scrutiny. Yocha’s gaze bore into him, sharp and calculating, her lips curling into a sly smile that sent a shiver down his spine. The vials, the carefully maintained supply—he was reminded then.
“However,” Marinov’s voice rang out clear and steady, surprising even himself with its authority, “I cannot deny what I’ve seen.”
Mari: Lol screw you I’m not helping you implicate Hidayat.
Testing an opening tentatively called: Call America (it’s a phone service for outsourcing being run by monsters).
Opening:
Jim needed a job that put food on the table. Well, he could eat humans, but that didn’t pay the rent, and eating the landlord wouldn’t give him ownership of the land like it did in his youth. He missed his life before kings and countries ruined his dominion over the earth.
Besides, he had a cute neighbor with a brain and while he wanted to eat her toes (not a fetish), she had a gift for insults that entranced him. He suspected that if he did hurt her, she’d be too scared to call him a pervert’s equivalent of a deviled egg anymore.
Jim had tried dozens of deviled egg recipes after that and found himself obsessed. Who knew that a Ghoul would prefer the taste of mayo and mustard over raw and wriggling long pork? He found himself buying eggs in bulk–those big boxes of 15 dozen.
That led to a new fear: being trapped in an elevator with his own ass for company.
But even cheap eggs cost money, so he was hunting the classifieds for something that kept the sweet morsels of humanity from being stuck between his teeth.
Dov attempts to teach an equally naive, curious, and attentive Freyja about how a girl’s body works and develops through puberty, with an almost ecstatic Krista perched beside them, awaiting any chance to add her own commentary to Dov’s lecture. Then a shocked and enthralled Krista asks Dov how he learnt two secrets of the female form, details even the elegantly debauched Israeli blonde didn’t know.
Well, during Dov’s Commando Specialization training, he was once billeted at a standard Army base and put on night patrol for the base interior (with the added difficulty of patrolling while being undetected by the other security). The female soldiers and staff either always forgot or always ignored the small fact that the walls of their communal showers were not sound proof (not to a Scout-Sniper’s hearing). After two weeks of patrolling the base, Dov was quite relieved to receive deployment orders for Afghanistan.
From Project Succession, Oristina is still bitter about Alcoy being her bodyguard. While Alcoy’s mother is a horrible bitch and his father is such a weak ass pushover that it’s the most pathetic thing he has to deal with in his life.
Still toying around with my next chapter. Working on the aftermath of a accident at the villa’s diving pool (20 meters long, 4 lanes across, depth ranges from 3 meters to 8 meters). Krista suffered a bad cramp with both legs curled up, sank near the deep end, Dov did his best impersonation of a MK48 torpedo and plucked the blonde bundle from the shadowy depths. Another two-seconds underwater and Krista would have drowned. One can only resist the urge to breathe in for so long.
Polanski and Krista want to each reward Dov for his bravery and rapid reaction with a gift; some educational and recreational reading, to rekindle Dov’s interest in photography and inspire future photography projects with his companions.
Polanski’s gift is two hardback books (A3 format, gallery-quality paper, stitch binding) from famous photographers, either Rankin, Herb Ritz, James Huston, or Helmut Newton. Krista’s gift will be a single photographic book, similar quality, but from a more risque portrait and figure-study artist reflective of Krista’s nature and overt humor…But I can’t think of a suitable photographer…Also sucks that I can’t cite any publications released after 2015 (my story is set in 2016).
If Book Depository still existed, or if my family’s collections of Black & White magazines weren’t in storage sheds, this conundrum would be a great excuse to browse through relevant photography and photographer publications, and add to my lotto win bookshelf wish list.
Amneris raised an eyebrow at the energy. “Yeah, I don’t know how to break this to you,” she said, “but I don’t breathe . . . And even if I did, I am literally dead right now so that wouldn’t be very effective.” She heard Chrysanta facepalm behind her. “Well, it’s a legit point!”
Oristina (Aeris’s mother) realizes that she is indeed a brat and wants to change while Alcoy (Aeris’s father) is jealous of Oristina because her and her mother have a relationship that he can’t even have his own mother let alone father.
