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Team Overview Located in a remote mountain town called Viremont, Switzerland on the French-Italian border, the Viremont Volt are a team that have been notorious for failure over the fourteen years of its existence. It is the youngest European team in the TCHL and it has always been shrouded in scandal. It never really launched because almost all of the players they picked up to begin with went crazy in one way or another, all of which was covered up by the team but not completely. No one knows if it was because of the remote, rural scenery, the team's collective failure, or something more nefarious, but they have been in rebuild mode for about nine years, never getting out of this point. The team history involves three first round exits in fourteen years of play, and one second round exit the first year of the team's existence, nothing further. The team colors are periwinkle, silver, white, and charcoal gray. Their primary rival are the Stockholm Halos due to some drama that has ensued throughout the various scandals. Facilities Overview The compound where the facilities exist is well-buried in the landscape of a local mountain, Mont Baroneau. The residential facilities and the training facilities are at a much higher elevation, while the main arena and the staff buildings are located in the small valley town of Viremont. It is roughly a fifty minute walk up the steep mountain roads to get from town to the facilities, although it is not an extremely lengthy distance. Three angular, charcoal gray, chalet-style buildings house the players, each player getting a private suite with floor-to-ceiling windows, minimalist gray and white interiors, biometric locks, and basic amenities. There are shared kitchens on each floor and lounges with strict noise and guest policies, with top floor reflection rooms with views of the town and the mountains below. It's a two minute walk to the nutritional facility, which is open 24/7 and offers individualized meal plans based on goals and devoid of any cultural comfort. It's a three minute walk to the training facility, which has a biomechanical lab, hyperbaric recovery rooms, isolation pods, a high tech gym, a physical therapy wing with a large swimming pool, a psychological performance suite, and the offices for the trainers, psychologists, and other essential team staff. It also has a private ice rink for training for individual goals, while the team meets below in their competition rink, Stormhold Pavilion, for team practice. Town Overview Viremont, known as Verémon, Viremünd, and Veramonte in the respective languages spoken by those surrounding it, is a quiet alpine village, more than an hour's drive to the nearest city in any direction through steep, winding, mountainous terrain. It is a historic village filled with two types of people: the townfolk and the outsiders. The majority of those living in Viremont are farmers, innkeepers, and others profitting off of visiting tourists. They are cold and distant, protective of their sleepy little town and the lore that follows it like a shadow. The other population residing there are individuals with extreme wealth, sent there to conduct research experiments in the laboratories on the outskirts of Viremont. The owner of one of the most famous scientific corporations in Europe is the owner of the Viremont Volt, causing the team to get some backlash from locals. They don't mind the people themselves, more what the team stands for. Some of the attractions in town include an inn attached to a famous local tavern, a historic cathedral, and a historic museum meant to protect the history of the town. There are also a local system of underground caverns and many hiking trails that cross through the area. Plot Plans To be added. Previous / Relevant Plot History To be added. |
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Transcontinental Hockey League (TCHL) Projected Standings Northern Division 1. Øslo Storm (midnight blue, ice gray) 2. St. Petersburg Spectres (crimson, black, gray) 3. Reykjavik Frost (arctic blue, white, black) 4. Helsinki Revenants (frost green, gray, silver) 5. Copenhagen Tide (sea green, white, slate) 6. Murmansk Howlers (ash gray, ice blue, black) 7. Nuuk Borealis (pale cyan, navy, neon green) Eastern Division 1. Warsaw Iron (steel gray, red, white) 2. Riga Strikers (burgundy, silver, black) 3. Kiev Storm (royal blue, gold, white) 4. Minsk Blades (ivory, forest green, bronze) 5. Bucharest Phantoms (black, teal, silver) 6. Sofia Crown (onyx, gold, blood red) 7. Belgrade Tempest (steel blue, crimson, white) Western Division 1. Montreal Dominion (red, black, gray) 2. Toronto Aces (pale blue, yellow, navy) 3. Boston Remenants (black, bronze, blood red) 4. Quebec Valeurs (navy, cream, red) 5. Detroit Forge (orange, steel, black) 6. New York Titanics (gray, indigo, teal) 7. Halifax Rooks (slate gray, sky blue, rust) Atlantic Division 1. Buenos Aires Corsairs (cobalt, crimson, cream) 2. Santiago Blades (gold, black, white) 3. Montevideo Serpents (olive, gold, black) 4. Bogota Talons (ruby, gunmetal, white) 5. Caribbean Levithians (aqua, white, canary yellow) 6. Paramaribo Thorns (jade, blood orange, white) 7. Lima Krakens (deep purple, mint green, black) Central Division 1. Zurich Saints (white, deep red, bronze) 2. Stockholm Halos (white, bright orange, pale yellow) 3. Geneva Owls (lilac, black, platinum) 4. Munich Reign (red, black, bronze) 5. Prague Menace (indigo, white, yellow) 6. Vienna Oracles (pale violet, silver, navy) 7. Verimont Volt (periwinkle, silver, charcoal gray) Outlier Division 1. Perth Whiptails (sand, steel blue, black) 2. Tokyo Ghosts (white, hot pink, electric blue) 3. Portland Predators (dark green, dark brown, sage green) 4. Auckland Gales (navy, pale gray, teal) 5. Cape Town Mirage (gold, indigo, teal) 6. Dubai Sandwraiths (tan, black, crimson) 7. New Mexico Nocturnes (black, orange, red) Preseason Power Rankings: tba Team Schedule / Plot Plans TBA - Elliot abduction Team Roster #11/RW Nicola Santori, 37, Bolzano, ITA (A) #13/RW Reese Halston-Vale, 18, Oakville, ON, CAN #17/C Elliot Hawthorne, 20, Stockholm, SWE #18/G Emil Tomaselli, 22, Ticino, CHE #25/C Stefan Grüber, 36, Innsbruck, AUT #27/C Matias Vauhkonen, 36, Kuorpio, FIN (C) #28/RD Augustine Weber, 34, Zürich, CHE #30/LD Johan Ekström, 29, Umeå, SWE (A) #35/G Ignacio Ferrera, 38, Punto del Este, URY #37/LD Tomáš Sedlák, 37, Brno, CZE #38/LW Olivier Montagne, 35, Grenoble, FRA #39/RD Cormac O'Driscoll, 33, Galway, IRL #40/LD Leandro Falco, 36, Naples, ITA #44/C Erik Varga, 35, Košice, SVK #51/LW Théo Lemoine, 34, Reims, FRA #55/RW Jonah Brückner, 36, Bremen, DEU #56/RW Brody Shearwater, 34, Thunder Bay, ON, CAN #61/RW Ilkka Nieminen, 36, Espoo, FIN #63/RW Luka Demalović, 33, Split, HRV #64/G Artyom Solovyov, 23, Yaroslavl, RUS #65/RD Pascal Vinet, 35, Dijon, FRA #68/LD Andrei Petrov, 35, Murmansk, RUS #70/LW Malcolm Tierney, 37, Glasglow, GB-SCT #75/LW Jasper Rook, 30, Anchorage, AK, USA (A) #96/LW René Fuchs, 35, Zug, CHE (A) Team Lineup 75 - 27 - 11 96 - 17 - 63 38 - 44 - 13 51 - 36 - 61 56, 70 / 30 - 39 68 - 28 40 - 65 55, 37 / 35 64 18 |
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Reese Halston-Vale | RW 13 | M: Charlotte, Elliot He hadn’t even known Charlotte was getting married. He found out through a family friend turned opponent at center ice. He was sure Elliot was probably concerned about why he spent the rest of the game fanning on one-timers and rendered unable to say the things he was thinking. He took the next flight out to New Jersey that night, not to ask for an invitation but to… well, he wasn’t really sure why. He spent the next eleven hours trying to make sense of his own actions, but none came. By the time he arrived on the porch of Charlotte’s tiny agrarian cottage, he should have been prepared to make amends. To say all of the things he hadn’t said to her growing up. To try to establish a relationship again that they both needed and wanted but that Reese couldn’t find the words to ask for. Instead, he said all of the things he didn’t mean, and none of the ones he did. He assumed a position of indifference, of neutrality, of every wall he always put up that couldn’t be taken down. Maybe he wasn’t capable of change. Charlotte should have slammed the door in his face. He got an invitation to the wedding anyway. He said he wouldn’t go. He wound up there anyway. The ceremony was small. Remarkably small, even by Reese’s standards. He thought of weddings as large and grandiose displays of fictitious feelings. Love wasn’t real. It wasn’t something meant for someone like him, anyway. If anyone deserved it, it was Charlotte. And, if he’d ever witnessed it, it was that day. They chose to get married at some sort of ecological sanctuary Reese hadn’t quite grasped the concept of, though he’d heard in passing from a few of the other attendees that Charlotte’s work had brought her to connection with this place. Apparently, she was doing something with the environmental sciences, or environmental engineering, or something like that. It only dampened Reese’s mood more to know that he had become so far out of touch with his sister that he didn’t even know her job. It wasn’t like he hadn’t wanted to be at her graduation. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice. He was too young to make decisions for himself or to bypass the influence of his parents. Still, he had every choice in the world. If he were a stronger man, he would’ve defied them and showed up for her. Someone should have. Instead, it’d taken him until this long, and he was too late. Nothing in the world shows you how alone you are like a wedding. Reese would have been lying if he said he didn’t usually drink, but he’d been cutting back in accordance with the diet plan, enough that his extensive consumption felt like a relapse. He kept going until the warm lighting of the outdoor reception seemed fuzzy, and the redundant small talk of the ceremony faded into a haze of phrases he couldn’t string together. Even in that state, he knew it wasn’t a good idea to text anyone. He knew their devices were being monitored back at Viremont, and he knew it was a matter of time until someone came looking for him to drag him back to hell. He was disciplined until he wasn’t. All it took was a bruise. Nothing life-threatening, nothing that was even inconveniencing, just a simple drunken mishap between some unfamiliar partygoers. It barely even hurt. But it was enough to send Reese down a long, misguided rabbit hole of loneliness, want, and utter devastation. It really could have been anyone that had been the object of these feelings. In that moment, Reese would’ve leaned into any feeling of softness, of tenderness, of warmth that was given to him. He had only been shown love as an iron fist and an objective neutrality. Parenting was a career, and family was a means of getting a political edge. Reese used to think that the only people the Halston-Vale children were capable of loving were each other, but looking at Charlotte in that moment, all happy and whimsical and something out of a fairytale, Reese realized that if he looked into a crowd of people capable of loving him, an empty space would be staring back at him. He could stare that truth directly in the eye, but what he couldn’t seem to manage was Elliot. If Elliot were here, his bruise would be gone. He would feel out of place, here with a teammate–maybe a professional acquaintance, maybe someone who never complained about reaping the benefits of Reese’s stress cooking, maybe someone who wouldn’t have spared a second glance at Reese if it weren’t for all of the things he could do and be, inside of his family legacy and outside of his true self. It would be uncomfortable. He would have to attend to the needs of a second person and not simply vanish out of thin air when the moment felt right. He would have to stand by the same person all night, not simply lost in his own thoughts and musings. Yet, all of those horrible things were also things Reese found himself doing anyway, day in and day out, with his teammate by his side. And while they felt horrible, they didn’t feel outright nauseating and impossible to keep up like they did in Reese’s thoughts. He didn’t let that mean anything, because everything was pointless to Reese, and nothing had the potential for hope. Reese couldn’t be saved. The following morning, Reese woke up on a cold hardwood floor in a dimly-lit room. It wasn’t like the movies, he hadn’t found a body to keep him warm in his loneliness and distract him from the pain of what he felt inside. That would’ve been too easy. Instead, he was on the floor of the house he’d reserved for the night, in the dark, with a piercing migraine and an ache in his chest that felt something like remorse. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to be anywhere. Everything and everyone around him caused him pain, mainly because he was the source of all of his own misery. In a fog that resembled something of his own past, he could vaguely recall how he’d ended up here. Charlotte said that he should swing by their home the next morning before he left, that they should talk things out. He said he was leaving that night. He was lying. She called his bluff, saying if he really couldn’t stay an extra day that they could talk things out after the party was over. Reese felt uncomfortable with the fact that she was being so sacrificial, and the idea that his presence at the wedding was ruining what could’ve been a happy moment. He couldn’t see that it would’ve been miserable if he was absent, too. He didn’t remember what happened next. He remembered how he felt, overwhelmed by self-pity and self-hatred and all of the feelings that he could only inflict on himself. He remembered leaving, promising Charlotte a conversation that they both knew would never come. What he didn’t remember was taking out his phone to text three words to Elliot that he wished he could’ve had back. Slowly feeling around the darkness to find the source of the device that was vibrating the floor, Reese noticed that what had woken him up was the notification from the airline sending him a reminder for his flight. Below that was a notification for two messages: Elliot: Did you send this to the wrong person? Elliot: I always miss you The second text had an ominous heart at the end, staring back at him to his unimaginable horror. Internally, the only dialogue was the word no being repeated over and over again. There was a strange feeling in his chest, a jittery warmth he felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable with. He couldn’t shake it, no matter how much he tried. He was too much of a nihilist to call it butterflies. He didn’t reply to it, couldn’t. But his only thoughts and his only anxieties from New Jersey to Switzerland involved himself, the Swede, the words exchanged between them, and what fell beneath. … It would’ve been easy to take Elliot’s out. He could’ve said the text was meant for someone else, which would’ve implied there were people in Reese’s life for him to miss. But Reese had chosen a very inconvenient time to start being honest and continue to defy vulnerability at all costs. He avoided his teammate like the plague, not that he thought he could keep it up forever, but he could sure as hell try. And, well, it was easy enough to avoid Elliot when Reese had ended up in a dark cell in a discreet location not unlike a blacksite, having unimaginable horrors done to him in the name of some motive he couldn’t quite identify. He’d stopped counting the days after eighty, which felt like quite some time ago. No one was coming for him, no one cared. He wasn’t surprised. Yet, his physical condition was getting worse and worse, and the exact teammate he had been trying to avoid turned into the one he needed. When his body wouldn’t heal itself without the touch of another, even the shallowest cuts turned into slow bleedouts, and less-than-ideal conditions turned deadly over the span of months. While they hadn’t specifically done anything to end his life, it wouldn’t be long now. |
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William Elliot Hawthorne | C 17 | M : Reese, Charlotte, Websy The dark surrounded him, the silence, it was deafening. The bed felt so familiar and yet he hadn't laid in this bed for quite some time. His eyes laid open, staring up at the ceiling, watching the fan as it lazily circled above. He could feel pressure building on his eyes from the start of a headache. Why was he awake at this hour? He couldn't be sure. He rolled over onto his side. The clock on his bedside table read 2:14. He groaned and ran both hands over his face before using his palms to put pressure on both of his eyes. He felt so tired and yet, he couldn't sleep. He'd never had problems sleeping through the night, except for in the recent weeks that they'd been back at Viremont. It made Elliot want to smash his head into a brick wall. He sat up, it wasn't like he had any blankets to remove considering that they already laid on a heap on the floor. His legs swung over the bed as he blindly reached around for the lamp that he knew was right there. The light chased the dark away as Elliot made himself a cup of tea. He had deep, dark bags under his eyes, and at times it felt like a lot of effort to even speak. When that happened he found his speech slurred, or his reactions sluggish. That's how he was feeling as he stood by the window staring out into the mountains, his finger tracing the rim of the cup. “Hmm.” He said without realizing as he zoned out. He closed his eyes as he stood there, swaying like a sunflower in a field. He knew what changed. Reese had left in the middle of the night. Elliot hadn't heard from him that he was leaving. He sat down for breakfast, buzzing with excitement to see the Canadian, a small smile, and a look of hope at everyone who came through the door. Yet he never came. Elliot walked out without touching his food, head down, feeling as if something were wrong. He'd flagged down Websy, “Is Reese alright?” He asked, panic striking him, flipping through three languages for those three words. His coach stared at him confused. “What is wrong, Hawthorne?” Elliot took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. “Where is Reese?” He asked in English. His coach shrugged, “I dunno.” It was like lightning hit Elliot's face from the way it warped with worry. “You are a good kid.” The man said as he patted Elliot's shoulder before walking off. A few days later he was changing in the locker room after a particularly difficult one on one training with Websy. Tears streaked his cheeks, sweat dripped off the red hair falling into the floor as he leaned his weight on his knees as stared at the floor. He wanted to go back to the days before this was a job, before he got paid. He tried to stop the tears he felt coming. He wanted this, and the whole reason he'd stayed was due to the fact that ten year old Elliot would be jealous of his day to day life, but especially the games. He knew that his daily life was someone else's dream, so he wasn't going to throw it away just because he was tired. He'd wished on all of the shooting stars for this, but now he felt beaten down, and useless and exhausted. His phone buzzed on the bench next to him. He picked it up, staring at those words. Those damned words. “I miss you.” There was a period at the end. He sniffled and smirked as he read those three words again. His shoulders relaxed, and he let the tension out of his body. “I miss you too.” He whispered into the empty room. He closed his eyes, suddenly hit by how lonely he truly was. He was surrounded by people he liked, but nonetheless he was so fucking lonely. No one knew him like Reese. His life felt empty with the man gone. He picked up his phone, biting his lower lip, chuckling to himself as he typed up his response. “Did you send this to the right person?” He teased. He sent it. A minute or two later he wrote another response. “I always miss you Curly.” Hmm. Curly. That wasn't right. He deleted Curly and replaced it with a heart. He sent it. Truth hid behind a joke, hopefully it looked like a joke anyways because he did always miss Reese's presence. His phone screen went black and the room was suddenly heavy. The rest of the day he kept checking his phone for a response and every time he grew more and more disappointed. He sat up in bed, waiting for a response, watching planes fly by cloaked in the night sky and yet nothing ever came through. Should he have sent that? Anxiety began to eat at him. Fuck, he should have sent something different. He put his head in his hands. He was so fucking stupid. He should have said something else, he had overstepped a boundary. What an idiot. He began to chew on his cheek as he stared out the window, tears falling down from his eyes. Elliot had caught a whiff of Reese's ever so familiar cologne one morning. He'd perked up, staring around, looking for the Canadian, his heart hammering in his chest. But every time he tried to approach Reese, the man suddenly became busy. The Swede would watch him go, a confused look on his face, hurt showing clearly in his eyes. “But, Curly, I miss you.” He whispered, watching Reese's form retreat. “What did I do wrong?” He asked himself. After that, Elliot didn't go out of his way to see Reese. He found himself avoiding him, terrified that Reese was mad at him. At times Elliot would come aware of his surroundings on the ice to find himself idling. Simple tasks seemed difficult. Right as a plane passed the window Elliot came to, suddenly bold. He was going to talk to Reese. He was going to do it. He glanced at the key on his counter. It was a spare he'd stolen from Reese. He picked it up as he set his cup down. He was going to do it. He stood outside of Reese's door, hesitantly. What if he didn't want to see him? So many what if's flashed through his mind, but he unlocked the door anyways. The room was empty, and a mess. The door clicked behind Elliot as he stared around. This wasn't Reese's doing. He was too neat to have done this. His heart rate spiked as he stumbled back towards the door, feeling unnerved and like his back was exposed. He frantically called an elevator. It couldn't come soon enough. He felt sick as he sprinted across the campus, his breathing heavy as he began banging on Websy's door. When the tired man opened the door Elliot bursted him. “He's gone! He's gone!” Websy looked confused. “Who?” “Reese! He's missing!” Elliot yelled, panicked. Suddenly his knees gave out and he woke up on the floor to Websy booting him. “Get up you idiot.” Elliot then spent the next three hours talking to the police, who claimed that they couldn't do anything because he hadn't been missing for 72 hours. When Elliot called 72 hours later with no signs of him they disregarded him. “But I'm telling you sir, he's in trouble.” “How do you know?” “Because it's a gut feeling.” Four months later it seemed like the world was progressing without him. Elliot was numb. He'd been playing well, but at what cost? He was housed alone, Websy apparently felt bad enough to not replace Reese. When he got back to Viremont from his travels he got a strange text. “Meet me here. 13:00. Don't be late.” Elliot perked up. Was it Reese? It wasn't Reese, much to his disappointment, but instead his sister Charlotte, who he'd met briefly at the gala. “I had hoped that you'd heard from him.” She said, distressed as Elliot sat across from her, feeling exhausted. “I don't know.” Elliot said, defeated. “He sent me a strange text, so I teased him a bit and-” His voice broke as the last four months of holding it together snapped. Tears flowed down his face. “I'm sorry.” He said, but the tears weren't stopping. “I-I believe I made him mad, and I'm afraid this is my fault.” Charlotte gave him a look of pity. “I think this is something different.” So the two began looking. Elliot started with Lars' office. He found nothing to note, except for passwords and usernames. Fine. He could use those, and he did. Elliot weaseled his way into Lars database, was it illegal for him to be going through cases like this? Absolutely, but he was desperate. As he went through offices he paused, these coordinates, he'd seen them on a calendar in Lars’ office on the same week that Reese had gone missing. He was quick to put them into a map. It was marked in the middle of the ocean off of the coast of Japan. How strange. He called Charlotte from the airport and filled her in. She met him in Japan and together the two managed to make their way towards these coordinates. The sea air slapped Elliot in the face as they sped towards the empty sea. He wanted nothing more than to wake up next to Reese's side, to follow him around the city as they fed the pigeons. He knew that Reese couldn't live normally, after all, Elliot was Reese's life support. His heart felt heavy as they approached what appeared to be an abandoned warship. Reese was dead, he knew it. “Stay here.” someone instructed him as men flooded the deck. Elliot shook his head as he turned towards Charlotte, “They aren't going to find him.” She looked at him with the same questioning look that Reese wore so well. “Because I know they won't.” He responded, rolling up his sleeves as he dove into the icy water. He came up for air, sputtering. He did ice plunges, this was nothing. “Are you mad?” Charlotte yelled. “Oh my god, someone stop him!” She yelled as Elliot dove back under the rough waves. His eyes stung as he swam towards the ship. Something caught his eye. One of the windows had a small crack in it, and a red star on the glass. He counted fourteen windows, making this one the fifteenth. He was running out of air, and he desperately fought the water to get to the surface. He gasped for air as he went for the ladder. With shivering arms he hauled himself up to the deck. “What are you doing here?” Someone hissed in his ear as they grabbed his arm. “You shouldn't be here sir.” “Follow me.” Elliot said, with a confidence he didn't feel. “You could risk your life.” Elliot nodded, “That's how it should be.” He said, picking up a jog towards the stairs. “I don't have much time!” The rest of the time was a blur that he couldn't remember. What he did remember was the way that the door creaked, and how his legs shook underneath him. The way that his heart pounded in his chest, the fear that almost seemingly paralyzed him, but he pushed through it. He wasn't positive that Reese was even here, but he needed to find him. He wasn't going to go back to Switzerland empty handed. When the room was empty his heart sank and his knees felt weak as he stumbled into the room, tears running down his face as his knees hit the ground. His hands were balled as he sat back on his heels. He had been so hopeful and yet that hope was snatched away in an instant. He closed his eyes, “I can't leave without you Reese.” He whispered, listening to the drip of water coming through the window. He felt blind, what was he missing? A small noise that could have been passed as a mouse caught his attention. His head snapped towards it, suddenly alert. He slowly got up and walked towards the wall. His hand ran down the molding wall paper. Was that a door hinge he felt? “There is nothing here, sir.” A man said behind him in broken English. Elliot chuckled as he shook his head. He could feel the heat of Reese's back against his as they laid at night, the photos of Reese saved in his phone, his laugh that filled the room. A sudden burst of anger rushed through his body, why did he have to relive those memories of Reese? Why couldn't he simply have amnesia, his life would be so much easier if he could just forget about the stupid little things. With that sudden burst of anger he shoved his hands into the wall, expecting his wrists to break, except the wall gave in and he tumbled into the dark. Confused, hearing a yell of concern from behind him Elliot stood up. Where was he? A faint whimper in the dark made his heart flutter. He knew that sound. He'd heard it in the hospital when his hand was clasped with Reese's as he slowly died. As his eyes adjusted he could see a person. At first it spiked fear, was this a stranger? The person weakly lifted their head. It was hard to see, but Elliot knew who it was. He rushed forward, hands extended as he bent down to the man's height. He cupped Reese's face in his hands, “Oh you idiot.” Elliot cried, “Please be alright.” It was scary how cold the man felt to the touch. “C'mon Curly.” He said, pulling Reese's head to his chest, his hands intertwined with his matted hair. Elliot's tears dropped down on Reese's hair as he openly sobbed. “I thought you hated me.” He said softly. “You are such an ass.” Elliot muttered as he closed his eyes tightly, his arms firmly wrapped around Reese. He wasn't about to let go. Elliot couldn't remember what happened after that. He had a dream of being dragged off Reese by the collar of his blue dress shirt, he'd fought and screamed for them to not take Reese away, but no one had listened, at least he thought it was a dream. |
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Summer Month: 1 
Night 
Earthquake Moon: 
