#( i picture vis saying this about her country knowing how bad is it but its HER HOMELAND )

[livingecho-arch]

❝ harsh & sweet & bitter to leave it all ⸻ i'll bless my homeland till I die . ❞

[stragglewort]

Tales of Waterdeep: The Chained Madness - Heteroclite, Heterodox, Hklinein

Picture by ArtBreeder - “Heteroclite’s Eye” - https://www.artbreeder.com/i?k=850faba632d420dd93c621b4783a

TW: Near death, non-sexual (but non-consensual) touching, fear, memory loss, quite a lot of hands 

        There’s a tiefling in Waterdeep - Illistar Motts, a charming weaver with a slow, country-drawl. You can never find him in one place, always bouncing around the city selling his tapestries, fabrics, and dyes wherever he’s allowed to park his wagon for the night. But Illistar, though he’s never been seen with a partner, doesn’t travel alone. Not anymore, at least. No, he has a friend that he met some time ago, in some place deep in the ground - though this being acts much less like a friend, and much more like a... patron.

        Labyrinthine. Of course they’d gotten lost, the warning was written in the name itself. Illistar didn’t even know why they’d – no – why he’d come in the first place. His original intentions had long left his memory.  

        “It’s gotten us trapped.” Uday coughed, her words barely whispering above the air as Illistar pulled her closer, shushing her. There was a bolt lodged in her chest, something old and wild that must’ve been sitting in those trapped walls for a millennium, carving a wound that spilled the life out of her in a steady trickle. He had one in his back, and another that’d gotten stuck into his side, and he was pretty sure one had almost gotten him dead in the skull – but none of those were quite as bad as the woman’s pierced lung.

        “Don’t worry yourself now, I – I’ll find us a way out of here.” He looked around as he said this, though he didn’t trust that he was telling her the truth. The room was tepid, old, and untouched – if the circumstances had been better, the two would’ve been excited to find it.

        They’d come in with an expedition party. Just some mercenaries and a mapmaker setting out to turn old stone hallways into paper and ink. But at some point, they’d all gotten split up. Markus, Aaylon, and Willowberry went one direction while he and Uday got pushed down a pit, trapped behind bars, and in their (attempted) escape, flung into some maze of mold and musk. Trapped in this labyrinth at the center of the world that seemed to be built with the sole purpose of making lost or killing anything with the misfortune to exist anywhere around it.

          It was doing a great job. 

        Even with his eyes, magical in nature, attuned to see in pitch black as if it were the middle of the day – he was practically blind. That was new, and it scared him. He’d never been in actual darkness. Something about the horns on his head and hooves where feet should’ve been implied an infernal heritage that was supposed to thrive in places like this. But he sat there, losing his breath while sitting still, propped up in a corner with his ever-optimistic friend draped over his legs. She held on like she didn’t even realize she was dying. Suppose one could say he was doing the same thing.

        Where had they even come from? Of all places they could’ve gotten stuck, it had to be a maze. The one place where short term memory – his worst attribute – was key. It was only after what felt like ages of dragging themselves through trapped, winding corridors that stretched for some unspecified eternity that they’d finally ended up collapsing in the corner. He looked to one side, the other, looked up, down, behind him, and found it was all as empty as it was silent.

        The quiet was going to drive him insane – topically so.

        His mind vied for the smallest sound. It took the distant scrape of mechanical traps, the dripping of underground water, and made it a whisper, a voice, a hope. They needed that hope, and between the blood loss and the head trauma couldn’t piece together how to find it.

        It was suffocating; the hands of silent darkness wrapped around his neck and practically choked him –

        “Please –“ He meant to yell but was stuck instead with hoarse whispers that scathed off the walls. There was no way he’d manage to make himself any louder, and there was no asking Uday for help. She was barely hanging on as it was.

        �� But the tricky thing is that sometimes when you call out to nothing, it might decide to answer back.

          He leaned against the stone and almost felt a sob rise in this throat, a last cry of exhausted effort, before out of the corner of his eye he saw… pink.

        Thinner than blood but thicker than water, this light seemed to trickle out of the pores of the stone chiseling. It was faint, barely noticeable, but odd enough that he couldn’t take his eyes off it as it filled the crevices like watercolor. He lifted a tremoring hand to the wall and touched the illuminated carvings. He jolted, though, when the pink filtered off onto the pads of his fingers in a thin, nothing film. It was like he’d been stained with light itself, a dully mellow purple glowing faintly over his grey skin. In the odd glow that swirled like water and oil with the blood on his hands, he could finally see the wall and its odd stone-carved decoration. It didn’t have any rhyme or reason – just lines and patterns woven into each other like a river turned bright. “…Obaya, are you seeing –?” He shook her, but she didn’t respond. She was breathing, but every gasp was shallow, thin, and whispering as if she could barely lift her chest enough to take them. He wasn’t running too hot himself, but feeling her get heavier by the second. Every second. It rekindled those fluttering sparks of panic he thought he was too tired to feel. She was a good friend, a great woman, let alone a fantastic cleric when she’s not the one needing healed. He had to get them out of there or they’d both die. “Alright then... if you’re showing me a way out, I’m counting on you – yeah?” He asked no one in particular, calling out with no intention of staying hidden.

        The glow on the wall, the swirling pinks and purples, only seemed to flow faster out in some odd direction.

        Even if he thought following the strange, nearly hallucinatory light was a poor idea, it beat having none at all. Not to mention he would be lying if he said he wasn’t desperate. As far as knew, that light might’ve been a literal godsend; Uday was a cleric, maybe her god was taking pity on them. Who was he to deny a blessing?

        He struggled onto his hooves for a moment, staggering against the wall only to get more of that pink, glowing light dappled on his skin. Once he was balanced, he hoisted Obaya over his shoulders, pain striking through his side with the new weight. But he threw the feeling to the wayside – gritting his teeth, biting his tongue, and stifling his aching joints to the back of his mind. If he could walk, he could carry; at least until reality caught up to him. As he struggled down the corridor the lights guided him, seeping through the wall in patterns that he knew couldn’t have been carved into stone. It led them in whatever direction it felt they needed to go, while darkening the way back. Following this magic, whoever it belonged to, would be a commitment. There was no chance he would manage to retrace his steps, even if he thought it would do any good. As the maze got tighter, the walls narrowing around them, something like dread boiled in the pit of his stomach. It was heavy, in contrast to the fluttering lightness that grew in his mind. He’d been frightened before, been terrified and nervous, and he had assumed he was just feeling it all again. But that, whatever was churning in the pit of his soul was nothing like the fear he’d felt at any other point in his life. It wasn’t even fear as he could place it. He was afraid of what could happen to him and his friend, but was uncontrollably confused otherwise. Completely muddled by the world they’d fallen into. It was just stone and magic, like every other dungeon or ruin this side of existence, but something about it was changing and he could feel it in the air. Like fingers dancing lightly across his skin. What he was feeling as the light led them further into the dark was unavoidable but agile, heavy and baffling.

        “Where are we going?” He called out, hoarsely. As the light dragged them slowly but surely through the labyrinth, he could feel himself starting to drop. No amount of magically projected determination can fight with a failing heart and what had to be poisoned arrows. Did you want people to come in or stay out? He thought, wondering what the use of a guide was in a maze littered with traps. Coincidentally, they hadn’t stumbled over a single one since they started following it. Maybe it really was his friend’s god; in that case, he made a note to speak with her temple if they made it out in any semblance of alive.

        The sound of his hooves cracking against the cold stone became muddy as his hearing started to fade. For a moment he could’ve convinced himself that the light was, in fact, not a helpful guide through some underground death trap. But that it was something of a hallucination created by a poisoned, dying mind. That certainly would’ve been the thought if not for the cold of the next room, something finally different from the winding endlessness of the maze, that rushed over him in a wave. The passages had been so narrow, the void openness of the chamber felt infinite in comparison. Though squinting, the farthest wall could be seen from a distance in the dim, pinkish hue that enveloped the room with no clear source. He raised his eyes to the new ceiling and saw… nothing. So much nothing that he didn’t realize he’d tripped over a shallow threshold until his chin hit the stone with hollow thud, Uday tumbling from his grasp into the dark.

        It took a second of rattled incoherence before he could speak again – “Obaya? Are you alright –?” He called out, not expecting a response but hopeful for a miracle.

        “You’re not supposed to be here. I thought those mages made it very clear I was never supposed to be found.” A soft, quiet voice called out in response. It echoed off the dim walls in such a way that it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. He was almost relieved, but realized all too quickly that it sounded nothing like the deeply kind voice of his friend. It was masculine; breathy and light but with this drone of tiredness that carried over the darkness. “This is no fun place to die.”

        “…I – pardon me?” He called out to the stranger as he struggled to lift himself from the cold stone. One hand pushing and the other feeling around for any sign of Uday.

        “I’m certain there’s better graves on this plane to lay yourselves into.” The voice cracked into a low, muttering chuckle. “Come to me, will you? I want to know whose corpse I’ll be smelling for the next… oh, eleven years. Twelve if it doesn’t get too damp.” With that, those pinkish watercolor lights filtered into the room from every direction. They snaked through the faint cracks in the stone, filling them like a dam-broken into a drought-ridden river. With his hands planted shakily on the ground he could feel the light properly; it was freezing. The tendrils of color wound to the center in pulsating, pastel waves. The figure was illuminated with every strike of pink and white. It was humanoid but radiated this inhuman presence that stifled the room in a light, panicky fog. It sat slumped over its legs with long, spindly arms pulled behind it. Its face stayed turned to the ground as it spoke; long, unkempt strands of hair running in tangles over its bare shoulders and down its back. In the slim cascades of tinted light – purples, blues, and pinks now washing over the walls – it was impossible to tell the color of any one thing on its body. As Illistar peered through the light, trying to determine if the figure in front of him was real or some poisoned hallucination, he realized it was more than some kneeling man with an odd choice of seating – it was bound to the center of the room. Its form propped up, just a few inches, from the floor on a sharply carved pedestal that raised it into a series of chains. They were dull and old, black at the farthest points on the walls but turning white the closer to figure they got – as if absorbing every magical ray of color it created. The links of metal shot in every direction off the kneeling form. From the traps around its wrist, the collar around its neck, to the largest clamped firmly around its waist – linked with dozens of short chains that drove it further in the ground – it sat there in a mess of tightly bound cable and rope. A prisoner in technicolor water.

        “Wha – who are you?” Illistar pulled himself forward by the long of his arm, dragging himself in slow, aimless drawls.

        “That’s a loaded question, friend.” The voice was harsher now. Though he knew who was speaking, its source was still impossible to place. The bound figure’s very presence was maddening, heart-breaking, but like any good tragedy impossible to pull away from. “I am quite a lot of things.” With that it raised his face. Illistar winced as their eyes met. Between long, tangled strands of pale pink hair sat a glare of bright, glowing gold. Full, oddly dark lips – like that of a corpse – were churned into a tired grin.

        “I’m dying; you’re not real.” The poor man gasped, trying to make sense of the simple impossibility of what he was staring at.

        “I should be flattered. I’m told you people only see true beauty at the brink of death.” That soft laugh rang off the walls again. It was soft but booming – all-encompassing. As Illistar tried to watch its mouth he couldn’t tell if it was the thing itself, the warbling light, or his own fading vision that staggered the words away from the movement of its lips. But the words seemed to reach him three beats after the stranger appeared of have said them. “Don’t worry. I’m not real, but I’m exceptionally good at pretending to be.” A pause, doubled. “Come closer.”

        “Where are we?” He cringed as he, near-involuntarily, dragged himself more to the middle of the room. Where that film of pink, dappled light stained his skin he could almost feel the pads of fingertips tugging at him, pulling him forward in an incoherent urge. He followed the pull of those scattered lights mixed with the draw of the stranger’s golden stare and tired, broken smile. “Wh – what are you?”

        “We’re in a prison, here in the core of your material plane.” It said coolly. “And I am its prisoner.”

        Illistar was asking questions but only half paying attention to the answers. In all honestly, he was barely convinced any of it was real. “Obaya? Where are you?” He called out, but the noise of his words got stifled in his throat – as if the air itself pushed the question back into his lungs.

        “Don’t worry about her – she’s… dying.” It hummed, thoughtfully. The colored light in the room got brighter, and in the distance he could just barely see the shadowed outline of his friend laying in a stained bundle of cloth. Her form overtaken by the technicolor lights. Its head lulled before falling back into a hanging slump. “But aren’t you all?”

        “What about you?” He coughed.

        “No… not me.” It answered, softly. “That’s no pleasure of mine. You need to be real to die.”

        Illistar was then about an arm’s reach from the pedestal the thing was chained to. Being so close he could feel this aura of excitement radiate off its wry figure – but his vision was fading quickly, and his strength with it.

        “But you’re not looking too well, friend.” It cooed, the rattling of its chains echoing off the stone. It sounded like it was trying to move, but to where and for what reason, Illistar wasn’t in the state to place.

        “How do we…” The sentence trailed off in a breathless murmur, hollow and weak as he tried to work his tongue around the syllables. “Tell us how to get out of here.”

        The stranger sounded surprised. “I assumed you’d already decided – death’s an easy out.”

        “I’m not letting us… we’re not going to die. Tell me how to get out of here.” He pushed himself up to the pedestal, his hooves clacking against the stone in his struggle. His desperation seeped through the question – who else would ask a prisoner for their escape plan? His teeth began to chatter as his whole body started in a coldless tremble. He reached up to the lip of the pedestal and the figure – in a slurry of heavy metallic clacking – tried to move towards him but was held firmly in place by its bindings. He looked up into its eyes, their faces now inches from each other, and he suddenly felt as if he were falling into them while standing still. If the thing staring back at him were some abstract figment of reality, it couldn’t have been from his own. Its glare was otherworldly – bright yellow with flecks of gold in what might’ve been an iris. It was impossible in that moment to blink, let alone pull his face away from the figure’s gaze. It might’ve been chained to the pedestal, but he was trapped to it. So entirely enraptured by the stare he didn’t even notice the snakes of watercolor light that pulled from the ground, climbing up his legs.  

        “You really are dying.” The thing started with a short gasp that led into an even breathier chuckle.

        “What are you?” There was this moment where Illistar had a sudden urge move the hair out of its face to get a better look, but something about touching the figure felt wrong. Not revolting, but like it shouldn’t be possible – like trying to spin water into yarn.

        It tilted its head and Illistar couldn’t help but mimic. “How do I put this into your words?” It seemed to think for a moment, mulling over itself. “…I am the color of air, the wetness of a candle-flame. I hum to the tune of silence and touch the feeling of sound – I am a Heteroclite.”

        Illistar couldn’t help but feel a pang of frustration through his charmed, enraptured fog. Even confused, he understood how little time he had to think over riddles. “A what?”

        “A heteroclite – Heterodox – Hklinein to some in the north, Het'kelel to the south, a burden to those particularly good at making traps. Above all names, though, I am the promise that will save both your lives.” The chains around the figure rattled again as it shifted in place, tugging at its bindings.

        That caught his attention. “You’re lying.”

        “Why would I bother?” It hummed, its head lulling. “As we are now, you two will end up rotting on these chamber floors whether I’m telling the truth or not. And I’m the one who’s stuck with the maggots. Have some consideration for my time, you don’t have much of it.” It held out its words in a long, frustrated drawl. “There so much in this world to look at; imagine being stuck in the bottom of it!” Its voice boomed from every direction, filling Illistar’s ears with ringing laughter that echoed off the color of the walls.

        “…What are you getting at, then?” He said, though it didn’t feel like his mouth was moving. He tried to turn his gaze to the room, to Obaya, but he realized that although the feeling of movement hit him – the action never came.

        “I can blink between everywhere and nowhere at once – but I cannot do so here. I have a home but it’s so boring, I would almost prefer to spend my time stuck at the bottom of the material plane than float in that void of infinite nothing.” It sighed, wistfully. “In short – because you don’t have enough time for the long – I want the one thing I am forbidden to have.”

        Illistar stumbled a bit, his elbow giving out under trembling weight. But something kept him upright, leaned against the thing’s pedestal. His breathing was suddenly very shallow, more than it had been before. He was dying, and it was rotting him from the inside.

        Did you know rot doesn’t feel like much of anything?

        “Take me with you.” Its voice was suddenly very quick – he almost didn’t catch it. Behind the words was a harsh metallic ratting that seemed to shake the world. He couldn’t tell, then, if it was the whole ruin that shattered under his stumbling hooves or just their center-corner of it. “My hands have eyes in all parts of this realm but how can I see everything if I’m only carried by some few? I am the whisper of madness, the breath of the clouds, and I’ve been locked – blinded – for far too long.”

        “I don’t – I don’t understand –“ He had to move both his hands up to the stone to stay balanced – fingers grasping at random. Except as he pushed to stay awake he realized those weren’t his fingers, it wasn’t his grip that kept him floating on the stone.

        “You don’t have to –“ It laugh was hopefully desperate. “Come closer. I can get you out of here – you just need to take me with you.”

        “There’s no such thing…” He wasn’t sure exactly what he was trying to protest. No such thing of what? A free out – salvation at the cost of nothing? He was desperate, but his wasn’t the only life trapped in that prison. Present company not included. “What are you – gods – I’m just a weaver. I can’t…” He shook his head, trying to sort through the oddly incomprehensible words. He’d spoken Common his whole life, but it then felt like he had just started learning it. “I don’t have nothing for the likes of you.”

        “You have legs and eyes.” Its own eyes seemed to look over Illistar like he was some cut of meat, a plated dish to be judged. “…And no sane being can get this this far with bolts lodged in its flesh like pin-needles, those mage’s poisons churning through their veins. Your cleric is of a sound mind, that’s why she’s dead. Friend, you have plenty for me.” He almost heard the sound of cracking as it wretched itself forward, bringing its face so close their noses could almost touch. He couldn’t tell, though, if it was the cracking of stone or bone. “I may be bound, but my hands weave through this land in a way that is impossible to bury – no matter how much stone, magic, or healing one might put me under. Even if you could leave this place without me, I’d already be within you – we might as well make it co-habitable.”  

        It was strange. As Illistar stared, trapped in its glowing eyes – looking over the thing’s ruddy face and calmly broken expression that contrasted its frantic words, he wasn’t scared. Everything from the darkening room to the fact that he was sure he wasn’t breathing anymore told him he should feel otherwise. Instead, as he brought his conscious eyes back to focus on the Heteroclite’s – he almost felt… warmth. It was pink. Maybe he was right – true beauty is only at the brink of death, because he had never seen anything so welcoming in his life. A way out – strange and chaotic – impossible to speak to – but kind. There wasn’t malice in the creature’s, the entity’s voice, just hope. Desperation and a want that he understood. What kind of hell was it being chained to the bottom of the world? What was this sudden feeling of finding exactly what he was looking for in a place he didn’t even know existed?

        “And what about… Obaya? What are gonna’ do to her if you’re leaving with – ”

        “Your friend? I’m madness, but I’m not evil –“ It started, as if explaining simple addition. “You’ll both survive, but she has no part in this. At the moment, she’s sane and dead. I can’t do anything with lifeless hands.”

        Illistar wanted to be shocked, but was about to follow in the sentiment.

        “Take me into your world, and I will give you the fragments of mine.” It hushed at the end, pursing its lips together for a moment. “I don’t even want your soul – just your legs to walk through, your eyes to see through, your tongue to taste, and your hands to feel. A piece of your mind, really. You won’t even realize I’m there.”

        He waited just enough to recognize it had finished with idle words. It was his turn, his answer. “Alright –“ He coughed, his mouth suddenly dry and eyes fluttering under a new, heavy tiredness. Even if he believed this chained stranger was lying, what was the harm in grasping at heterodoxic straws? “Just help us.”

        “This will be lots of fun.” The voice was scattered – as if he were hearing every letter individually, but still piecing it into a scrambled sentence that organized itself as it reached the left side of his brain. The man couldn’t tell if he fell forwards into the stranger, or backwards onto the stone. All he felt where the pads of fingertips – dozens, hundreds – that wrapped impossibly around him. Coming from the ground or the ceiling, he couldn’t tell. He opened his eyes, and then opened them again – and once more – before he could finally see. Where that film of light had dappled his skin, he could only see hands. Disembodied and clinging, each one colored in an impossible shades of… pink. Dead at the fingertips but grasping until he was drowning in them. It was at last moment before palms, less than one but more than two, covered his eyes that he could finally turn his face only to see that bundle of stained fabric – the slump of flesh that was his friend – engulfed by the same colorful flood.

        They were both pulled into the floor.      

          ###

          “Ellie? Ellie, you’re alive?” A familiar voice shook him from a deep, unnatural sleep. “Come on, Ellie – wake up.”

        “…Obaya?” He felt the word tumble listlessly from his lips. His fingers grasped at the ground and under them he could feel something cold, wet, and a little sharp. It took a moment before he realized he was pulling at grass and dirt. His eyes shot open only to meet the battered, but living, face of his friend. “You – you’re alright?”

        “Wouldn’t you be the one to know?” She laughed, breathlessly – putting a hand over her chest where there had been a bolt lodged what felt like moments before. “How did you get us out of there? What happened?”

        “I don’t –“ He stopped for a moment. He had an answer, at least some kind of answer, but he couldn’t tell if what had happened was real or some delusional dream. He looked up to the sky for a moment – it was morning. The sun barely peeked through the clouds and a cold mist drifted over his vision. “…Are the other’s okay?”

        “They seem to be, but they haven’t woken up yet.” She looked out to the flat of grass around them, over it there were the unconscious bodies of his party. Mercenaries and a mapmaker scattered like their paper and ink on the ground.  “…The entrance caved in.”

        “What –?” He tried to sit up but winced, a sudden raging headache protesting the movement. He, much slower that time, turned his head to where he remembered the entrance of the cave being. She wasn’t lying – the mouth of the dungeon had turned into a mound. Dirt and stone dotted with bright flowers seemed to be the only evidence left of the labyrinth below.

        “By Waukeen’s mercy, I can only hope they’ll wake up soon. How did you manage this?”

        “Obaya?” He shook his head and lifted a hand so she could help him back to his hooves – something she quickly did. “Let’s get everyone awake, and then we’ll talk about whatever happened in there, alright?”

        “…Sure.” She looked to him, worried. He was never the kind to keep his mouth shut. The obvious concern scrawled over her face. Between the worry, though, she seemed distracted. “Ellie, I do not mean to pry. But were your horns not yellow?”

        “What do you mean?” He looked at her, confused, a little nervous that she might’ve hit her head amongst the other, more obvious injuries. “Course they are –“

        “They’re pink, now.”

        He froze, then raised a hand to the top of his head. But a different hand, it seemed, beat him to it. 

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: As a staunch royalist I would be interested to hear your views about Prince Harry and Meghan Markle deciding to quit the British royal family. Did they do the right thing or are they just being selfish and ‘woke’? Does this ‘Megxit’ the British royal family is in crisis and its future looks bleak by this act of betrayal to the Queen?

Short answer:

I have been avoiding answering this question precisely because I became tired of hearing about it around the family dinner table or with friends when I visited England recently or now with French friends here in Paris who can’t fathom what is going on. But too many have asked about this in my blog inbox.

I don’t mean to sound so dismissive but to me it’s just a passing storm in a tea cup rather than some cataclysmic crisis of the British monarchy. Everyone should stop take a deep breath.

After the joint press statement by Prince Harry and the Duchess of Sussex statement came out on 8 January 2020 it set in motion the usual hilarious pastiche of Cold War Kremlinology by the British press.  So at any one time you had sensationalist and sanctimonious headlines such as the fury of the palace press knew no bounds. How dare they? The Queen humiliated. The palace insulted. And so on and so on.

Every newspaper editor knows there is a yawning gulf between the “public interest” and what interests the public. By any standards, Harry and Meghan have become huge celebrities. They were idolised, their charities blessed, their presence craved. Unfortunately such is human nature, the public invest something of themselves in their heroes. They see in their idols a reflection of their own fantasies and delights, hopes and fears. When they witness celebrities traumatised it can be unsettling, as the death of Princess Diana vividly showed. People cried in the street.

As Harry knew from his mother’s tragic experience, all this is par for the royal course. The British newspapers - or rather those peddling in royal tittle tattle such as the Sun, Mirror, and the Daily Mail - have a habit of erecting pedestals one minute and then the next minute they enjoy destroying the icon in the name of the public interest. Andrew’s former wife, Sarah Ferguson, was appallingly treated. So at times were Princess Anne, and Prince Edward’s wife, Sophie. Press attention should be water off the royal duck’s back. Prince Philip’s advice was reportedly: “Don’t read the bloody papers.”

While Harry was brought up surrounded by the furies of the celebrity media, Meghan’s career was the opposite. In her profession as a known actor (albeit a middling TV actor at that), image is an artifice, daily crafted and laundered by publicists.

This does not work with British royalty, which comes with its own carefully minted image attached. Its rituals are those of mind-numbing deference. It has no accountability. The only mirror it has is the press. The tabloids are the price that must be paid for adulation. They honour no discretion and have no sense of fairness. The press is a memento mori, whispering into the victor’s ear that he – or she – is only mortal. And gosh do they take that role on with sanctimonious glee. 

To be daily compared to the Duchess of Cambridge, from an utterly different social background, must have been intolerable for Meghan: the dress comparisons, the stuffiness of the court, its hyper-caution and obsession with precedence and procedure, added to the impossibility of contact with ordinary people. As a self-made millionaire already perhaps she wanted to be more than a mere civil servant in a tiara. Perhaps it proved too much but who really knows? But then I don’t know what else she expected when she decided to marry into the British royal family.

Similarly one can only speculate how much it was really Prince Harry who wanted to drop out riding on the royal carousel as he has been since birth. Regardless of who he married perhaps this was always the plan. His loathing of the British press and paparazzi is well known - he still blames them for his mother’s tragic death in Paris. It’s well known the paparazzi have tried to catch him out in manufactured scandals as he grew up. He has refreshingly come clean and has talked about how he still goes to therapy over his mother’s death. It’s no wonder he would ever subject a future wife and especially a child to the level of press intrusion that he had endured.

Prince Harry is nobody’s fool. I won’t say a bad word about him because - unlike previous and present royals with the exception of his grandfather, Prince Philip, who did active naval service during the Second World War and his uncle Prince Andrew, who as a naval officer flew Sea King helicopters during the Falklands War - he didn’t play the ceremonial toy soldier. After Eton he worked his arse off to get through Sandhurst and got commissioned with the Blues and Royals regiment. Upon the outbreak of war in Iraq, he was alleged to have said around 2006, “There's no way I'm going to put myself through Sandhurst and then sit on my arse back home while my boys are out fighting for their country.”

As it was the military chiefs got cold feet and pulled him out. But he did see active service with the British forces in Afghanistan with two tours. By all accounts he acquitted himself very well as a Forward Air Controller in Helmand Province and later as a co-pilot and gunner on Apache helicopters. He was widely respected and accepted by rank and file because he was down to earth and never asked for special treatment.  He wasn’t a typical ‘Rupert’ - a squaddie’s nickname given to British army officers who typically came from privileged aristocratic backgrounds but were also ‘nice but dim witted’.

Overall I sympathise that the Sussexes’ predicament was clearly desperate, and it is perhaps to their credit that they have brought it to a head early and not let it drag on. I feel they are sincere in their reasons to ’step back’ from the royal family and frenzied media circus around it. The fact they want to pay their own way and pay back any outstanding sums back to the royal household is perhaps a sign of that sincerity.

Instead some sections of the British press rolled out the tired old trope of the parallels between the Duke of Sussex and his great-great uncle, the Duke of Windsor, are overwhelming. Once again, a dashing, sporting, ex-military prince leaves royal life for the love of an American divorcée. This is exactly the opposite of what Edward and Mrs Wallace Simpson did when they bit the hand that fed them. They took money to support their lavish lifestyle in exile from the Queen and all the while took every opportunity to snark the fledgling young Queen from their own alternative royal court in Paris. Harry no doubt loves his grandmother and his family and would try not sully the Windsor name.

Where I would be critical a little is in their handling of it which appears naive at best and inept at worst. I suspect - since verified - that having a transatlantic split of publicists, and in addition didn’t understand the full import of how this would play out, would inevitably drop the ball. But I would extend a finger of blame to the palace courtiers who were involved in their own games of intrigue with a whispering campaign to selected journalists of the press. Indeed multiple newspapers, including the Daily Telegraph in the UK, reported that the queen was “disappointed” with the surprise announcement, and had asked the Sussexes to hold off on issuing a public statement. When The gossip mongering Sun newspaper published a front-page story that the couple was contemplating a move to Canada, the Sussexes pushed the button on their statement.

I do think the Sussexes  and their advisors were fooling themselves into thinking that they could have their cake and eat it - in other words keep the royal titles but cut back on the public and ceremonial duties. The blunt truth is if you want to stay on the books, you do so by the leave of the firm and its boss i.e. The Queen. The contract is for life. If not, you resign. There is no half in and half out. This seems to have been the gist of the family only summit at Sandringham in January 2020, with media attention worthy of the Treaty of Versailles.

I am frankly surprised how worked up people are about this. Cut out the white noise and the picture is more prosaic.

The first point is that when all is said and done, none of this drama really matters. Politically, constitutionally, it is an irrelevance. Harry, at number six, is not seriously in line to the throne. The British monarchy has long shown itself immune to crisis; indeed I wonder sometimes if it welcomes crises as implying continued importance. The divorce and death of Princess Diana were awfully tragic, as was the very public shaming of Prince Andrew and his questionable friendship with billionaire paedophile Jeffrey Epstein. But how Harry leads his life is between himself, his wife and his father, Prince Charles. That is the point of heredity. It is immune to character, as it is to merit.

The second point is we should remember that other European royal families, of the same constitutional status as Britain, have been down sizing for many years now. These royal families balanced privacy and discretion whilst holding down ordinary professions. The King of the Netherlands, Willem-Alexander, is still an airline pilot. He occasionally flies KLM jets, safe in the knowledge that few people recognise him. In 2001 Prince Haakon, heir to the Norwegian throne, married a single mother with a drug-fuelled past. Despite some controversy, he survived incognito. 

The King of Sweden, Carl XVI Gustaf, has reigned for 46 inconspicuous years as a nine-to-five job, his family merged into the Swedish bourgeoisie. The Crown Princess, Victoria, works intermittently for the UN. The King of Spain, Felipe VI, may have taken after his philandering father, Juan Carlos, but he became king without fuss on his father’s retirement in 2014. None of these “houses” has an extended state-subsidised royal family. None has grown unstable as a result.

There is no doubt that the exploitation of the British royal family celebrity by palace courtiers as PR handlers has worked. The royal family recognises that truth for itself when HRH King George VI famously quipped, “We are not a family, we are a firm”. The Queen is regularly cited as central to “UK plc” and to tourism. The British people remain overwhelmingly in favour of retaining monarchy as the focus of their patriotism, even during the wobble over Diana’s death. Republicanism is dead. The last ostentatious republican, the Fife MP Willie Hamilton, left parliament in 1987. If Scotland ever went independent it would almost certainly retain the Queen as head of state.

As for how royalty behaves, a constitutional monarchy should be beyond all controversy. As the great political and constitutional commentator (and founder of the Economist magazine) Walter Bagehot put it, “the monarch should be a dignified rather than efficient element of the constitution”. In other words, the monarchy as personified in its reigning king or queen can represent the whole nation in an emotionally satisfying way - everything else is but pure embellishment.

The Queen must be a glorious anthropomorphism of the nation as a whole. If she has opinions, she keeps them to herself - much to her credit. The contrast is clear with countries where state headship is combined with an elected executive presidency. The state risks being tainted by partisanship: witness the embarrassment many Americans feel at having their national loyalty identified with any president based on divided partisan feelings e.g. from FDR to Obama and Nixon to Trump.

A rare occasion when the monarch might overstep the mark was conjectured by Mike Bartlett in his ingenious play, King Charles III, in 2014. It was based on the present Prince of Wales as king, refusing formally to sign a bill censoring the press (good on him). In the resulting crisis, William and Kate engineer Charles’s abdication, while the tearaway Harry takes up with a republican girlfriend. It was not wholly implausible. When Belgium faced a similar crisis over King Baudouin’s refusal to sign an abortion bill in 1990, he was allowed to abdicate for a day.

How the monarchy conducts itself is not wholly irrelevant. It is part of the collective context in which the nation’s politics are enacted. It represents tradition and upholds precedent. It sets boundaries and dictates a courtesy in the conduct of public affairs - however often that courtesy is infringed. What outsiders forget (especially our American friends) is that the British political system is gloriously resilient, as the past three years of Brexit hell have shown. It can tolerate the odd eccentricity, such as the blatant purchase of parliamentary seats in the House of Lords. But the question is how far such eccentricity can extend. 

The present heir to the throne, Prince Charles, is deft at stepping mildly out of line. His views on architecture, health and the environment are not overtly partisan. But it does not matter as he is no more “powerful” than a newspaper or television commentator. His influence is that of celebrity. I would rather have the heir to throne engage intelligently in public debate than arrogantly indulge in the sordid sexual antics of his younger brother, Andrew.

For all his perceived faults, Prince Charles knows his limits. To expect such controlled nuances in the constitutional mystique of royalty to apply to an ever larger family has always been an accident waiting to happen. More prescient is the fact that the current system will impose the same disciplines and direct the same public exposure on an ever widening array of royal offspring as the years go by. I feel genuine sympathy for the royal children. Most British minors have their faces blanked out on camera, but not royal ones. They are sentenced to be recognised for life.

As a nation then we are extremely fortunate that Prince Harry is no more militant than in defence of the planet, wild animals and injured military veterans - all worthy causes if we are honest to admit it. Full disclosure: as an ex-veteran, I do give charitable donations to Invictus Games Foundation, the multi-sports event put on for wounded, injured or sick armed services personnel and their associated veterans. Prince Harry was instrumental in founding the Invictus Games in 2014 on his own initiative so that we never forget the courage and sacrifice of our military veterans.

What is already clear is that the Sussexes intend forthwith to redraw the lines of engagement with the press. They are opting out of the Royal Rota, the arrangement whereby, for decades, the royals have given access to a pool reporter from the national papers; instead, they will invite coverage from personally selected media outlets and will use their own social-media accounts, especially Instagram, to communicate directly with the public. Having railed against the media’s commodification of his wife, Prince Harry now seems prepared to take its commodification into his own hands: it was reported in January 2020 that he and the Duchess have lately submitted a trademark application for hundreds of items, from clothing to printed items, that may be issued with the couple’s personal brand, Sussex Royal.

This step is unfortunate and unedifying. To my mind, Sussex is a title, not a brand name. It is no more Harry and Meghan’s to exploit than Buckingham Palace is the Queen’s to sell off. Even if they distance themselves from the monarchy by being financially independent (as well as disowning their titles) by pursuing other commercial opportunities it only takes one scandal - e.g. a goods with their brand made from sweat shop labour or some other unforeseen PR disaster - to reflect badly on the Queen and the British monarchy solely because of Harry’s proximity to the throne. Harry may not be a Prince but he is a Windsor.

We are back to Bagehot again. For it was he who argued that the constitution was divided into two branches. The monarchy represents the “dignified” branch. Its job is to symbolise the state through pomp and ceremony. The government -Parliament, the cabinet and the civil service - represents the “efficient” branch. Its job is to run the country by passing laws and providing public services. The dignified branch governs through poetry, and the efficient branch through prose. The monarchy certainly doesn’t govern through commercial exploitation of its brand as an end in itself.

Today, the dignified branch is trying to adapt to an age of populism and until recently it’s been doing a much better job than the efficient branch. But the monarchy must never lower itself to the lowest common denominator to satisfy the base instincts of populism. As Bagehot aptly said, “An element of exaggeration clings to the popular judgment: great vices are made greater, great virtues greater also; interesting incidents are made more interesting, softer legends more soft.”

A family spat of no public importance is obsessing the nation and the world. Everyone should sit down and have a nice relaxing cup of tea.

[ljones41]

"STAR WARS: EPISODE IX - THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" (2019) Review

"STAR WARS: EPISODE IX - THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" (2019) Review Despite its success at the box office, the second film in the Disney STAR WARS Sequel Trilogy, "STAR WARS: EPISODE VIII - THE LAST JEDI", proved to be something of a publicity disaster. Many film critics loved it. An even greater number of moviegoers disliked it. Many have attributed this schism within the STAR WARS fandom as a contributing factor to the box office failure of "SOLO: A STAR WARS STORY". To regain the universal love of the fandom, Disney Studios and Kathleen Kennedy of Lucasfilm brought back J.J. Abrams, who had directed "STAR WARS: EPISODE VII - THE FORCE AWAKENS", to handled the trilogy's third entry, "STAR WARS: EPISODE IX - THE RISE OF SKYWALKER".

Disney Studios and Lucasfilm heralded "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" as not only the end of the franchise's Sequel Trilogy, but also the end of the Skywalker family saga, which began under George Lucas. The 2019 movie began a year after "THE LAST JEDI". The Resistance under Leia Organa has been hiding from the ever growing threat of the First Order, which has been ruled by her son, Kylo Ren aka Ben Solo. Leia has also been training Force acolyte Rey, while orchestrating the Resistance's attempts to rebuild the organization and form contacts with other worlds and factions throughout the Galaxy. However, the film's opening crawl reveals that Emperor Sheev Palpatine is still alive, despite being tossed down the second Death Star's reactor shaft by Anakin Skywalker aka Darth Vader, while being electrocuted in "STAR WARS: EPISODE VI - RETURN OF THE JEDI". Palpatine vows revenge against the Galaxy for its rejection of him and his power. Leia charges Poe Dameron, Finn and Rey to search for Palpatine and destroy him. Kylo Ren also seeks Palpatine with the intent to kill the latter and maintain his own supremacy of the First Order. Kylo Ren eventually manages to find Palpatine on the remote planet of Exegol. He learns that his former master, Snoke, had merely been a puppet of Palpatine. And the former Emperor wants him to find Rey and kill her in order to remove any possible threat to the resurgence of the Sith Order. When I learned that J.J. Abrams would return to the "STAR WARS" franchise to conclude the Sequel Trilogy, my reactions were mixed. On one hand, I disliked his handling of "THE FORCE AWAKENS". On the other hand, I completely loathed what Rian Johnson had done with "THE LAST JEDI". And when Abrams had promised to do right by the Finn character, which had been so badly mishandled by Johnson . . . well, some part of me did not know whether to welcome Abrams' return or be leery of it. There were aspects of "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" that I liked. I was impressed by Dan Mindel's cinematography for the movie, especially in scenes that featured the planet of Pasaana. I thought Mindel did an excellent job of utilizing the country of Jordan for those scenes, as shown below:

I was also impressed how Mindel shot the visual effects for the last duel between Rey and Kylo Ren among the second Death Star ruins on the Endor moon. Some of the film's action sequences struck me as pretty memorable, thanks to Abrams' direction, Mindel's cinematography and stunt coordinator Eunice Huthart. I am referring to those scenes that feature the heroes' occasional encounters with the First Order on Psaana and aboard the First Order star ship. I was also relieved to see the trilogy's three protagonists - Rey, Finn and Poe Dameron - and Chewbacca spend a great deal of the movie together. The four characters managed to create a pretty solid dynamic, thanks to the performances of Daisy Ridley, John Boyega, Oscar Isaac and Joonas Suotamo and it is a shame that audiences never got a chance to experience this dynamic in the trilogy's other two films. There was an aspect of the film's narrative that delivered a great deal of satisfaction to me. It is a small matter, but involved Rey's Jedi training. I am very relieved that Abrams finally allowed Rey to receive substantial training from a mentor, who happened to be Leia. A year had passed between "THE LAST JEDI" and "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER". Rey's first scene established that Leia had been training her during that year. The movie also established in a flashback that Leia had received her training from her brother Luke Skywalker. Why did I find this satisfying? Most of Luke's own Jedi training had also occurred during the period of a year - between the events of "STAR WARS: EPISODE V - THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK" and "RETURN OF THE JEDI". And during this period, he had received his training from . . . you know, I have no idea on how Luke managed to complete his training. Even after so many years. To this day, it is a mystery. And this is why I am grateful that Abrams and co-writer Chris Terrio had made it clear that Leia had continued Rey's training between "THE LAST JEDI" and "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER". The performances featured in the movie struck me as pretty solid, especially from the leads - Ridley, Boyega, Isaac and Adam Driver. The movie also featured solid, yet brief performances from returning cast members such as Kelly Marie Tran, Domhnall Gleeson, Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, Billie Lourd, Lupita Nyong'o, and the late Carrie Fisher. Dominic Monaghan, Naomie Ackie, Keri Russell and Richard E. Grant all made nice additions to the trilogy. It was great to see Billy Dee Williams reprise his role as Lando Calrissian. He was one of the bright spots of this film. Hell, it was even nice to see Denis Lawson as Wedge Antilles again, despite his brief appearance. But if I must be honest, I was not particularly blown away by any of them - including the usually outstanding Boyega. Actually, I take that back. There was one cast member who provided a moment of superb acting. I refer to Joonas Suotamo, who did an excellent job in conveying a true moment of grief and despair for Chewbacca's character in the film's second half. But I do have a complaint about one particular performance. And it came, from all people, Ian McDiarmid who portrayed the surprisingly alive Emperor Palpatine. How can I put this? This Palpatine seemed like a ghost of his former self. No. Wait. That was phrased wrong. What I meant to say is that McDiarmid's portrayal of Palpatine in this film seemed like an exaggeration in compare to his performances in the Original and Prequel Trilogy films. Exaggerated . . . ham-fisted. I found McDiarmid's scenes so wince-inducing that I could barely watch them. However, aware of McDiarmid's true skills as an actor, I finally realized that his bad performance may have been a result of J.J. Abrams' direction. The latter's failure as a director in Palpatine's scenes and failure to visualize the character as a subtle and manipulative villain really impeded McDiarmid's performance. Unfortunately, McDiarmid's performance was not my only problem with "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER". I had a host of others. Many film critics have bashed J.J. Abrams for trying to reject what Rian Johnson had set up in "THE LAST JEDI". I find this criticism ironic, considering that Johnson had rejected a great deal of what Abrams had set up in "THE FORCE AWAKENS". Not that it really matters to me. I disliked "THE FORCE AWAKENS". I disliked "THE LAST JEDI". And if I must be brutally honest, I disliked "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER". Like the other two films, I thought the 2019 movie was pretty bad. My first problem with "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" was its main narrative. Basically, the entire story revolved around the heroes and the First Order's search for the now alive Palpatine. The film's opening crawl pretty much announced to movie audiences that Palpatine was alive without bothering presenting this revelation as a surprise. It is simply the old case of "tell and not show" that has hampered a great number of fictional works throughout time. I believe this narrative device especially does not suit a plot for a motion picture or a television series, because it comes off as a cheat. It is lazy writing. Worse, most of the main characters spend a great deal of the movie searching for Palpatine. And when they finally discover him, no one bothered to ask how he had escaped death after being allegedly killed by Anakin Skywalker aka Darth Vader in "RETURN OF THE JEDI". How did Palpatine survive being tossed to his death, while being electrocuted by Force lightning? Well, STAR WARS fans finally learned the truth in the film's novelization written by Rae Carson. The only major character who immediately managed to find Palpatine was Kylo Ren, who used a Sith wayfinder . . . or compass. Meanwhile, Rey, Finn, Poe and Chewbacca had to resort to following clues to lead to first a Sith dagger, and later, a Sith wayfinder - traveling from one planet to another at a dizzying speed. This whole search for a wayfinder and Palpatine struck me as unnecessarily rushed. I do not think it is a good thing when a person complains about the fast pacing of a movie with a 142 minutes running time. For me, this exposed the hollow nature of the movie's narrative. As I had earlier stated, the majority of the film's narrative is centered around the protagonists' determination to find Palpatine. A part of me wonders how did the Resistance and the First Order had planned to kill him, once he was discovered. And yes, the First Order's leader, Kylo Ren, also wanted Palpatine's dead. But how did any of them plan to kill him? The movie never conveyed any of the other characters' plans. Worse, this search for Palpatine had transformed the movie into some space opera version of both the INDIANA JONES and NATIONAL TREASURE movie franchises. Was that why Abrams had decided to expose Palpatine's return or resurrection in the film's opening crawl? So he could have his major characters embark on this "Indiana Jones" style hunt for Palpatine from the get go? Or relive the whole "map to Luke Skywalker" search from "THE FORCE AWAKENS" that proved to be so irrelevant? Well guess what? The "Search for Palpatine" proved to be equally irrelevant. Watching Rey, Finn, Poe and Chewbacca hunt down artifacts that would lead them to Palpatine was one of the more ridiculous aspects of this film. I felt as if I had watched a hybrid STAR WARS/INDIANA JONES/NATIONAL TREASURE movie. It was fucking exhausting. Returning to Palpatine, I was unpleasantly shocked to learn that during the thirty years he was missing, he had created a new fleet of Star Destroyers, each ship equipped with a planet-killing laser. Thirty years. Is that how long it took Palpatine (or his clone) to create a fleet of planet killing Star Destroyers? Is that why he had taken so long construct these ships? If one Star Destroyer can destroy a planet, why did he bother to wait so long to use any of them to re-take the Galaxy? Three decades? I wish I could say more, but I do not see the point. Is a Star Destroyer strong enough to be used as a "base" for a laser powerful enough to destroy a planet?

I have also noticed that the lightsaber duels featured in "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" . . . well, they were bad. Quite a travesty, if I must be honest. I have never been that impressed by the lightsaber duels in the Sequel Trilogy, but even I must admit that Kylo Ren's duels with both Finn and Rey in "THE FORCE AWAKENS" were somewhat better than the Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Vader duel in "STAR WARS: EPISODE IV - A NEW HOPE". But after the 2015 movie . . . dear God. Rey and Kylo Ren's fight against Snoke's guards in "THE LAST JEDI" struck me as something of a joke. But Rey and Kylo Ren's duels in "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" were simply abysmal. Dan Mindel's cinematography and the movie's visual effects team could do nothing to hide the laughable nature of the duels. Both Daisy Ridley and Adam Driver seemed to spend a great deal of their time slashing at each with no semblance of swordsmanship whatsoever. Where is Nick Gillard when you need him?

Not surprisingly, "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" revealed a number of Force abilities that appeared for the first (or second time) in the STAR WARS franchise. The Force bond between Rey and Kylo Ren, which was created by Snoke in the previous film; allowed the First Order leader to snatch a necklace from the Resistance fighter's neck in a violent manner - despite the fact that the pair was thousands of miles from each other. And in another scene, while Rey faced Palpatine and Kylo Ren faced the Knights of the Ren, she was able to hand over a lightsaber to him - despite being miles apart. How did they do this? I have not the foggiest idea. I do not even understand how Abrams and Terrio managed to create this ability in the first place. And frankly, I find it rather stupid and implausible. Force healing. For the first time in the history of the franchise, a Force user has the ability to heal. How did this come about? I have not the foggiest idea. If this had been the case during the events of the Prequel Trilogy, chances are Anakin Skywalker would have never become a Sith Lord. The Force healing ability made its debut in the Disney Plus series, "THE MANDALORIAN" . . . I think. However, Kylo Ren had the ability to use Force healing. So did Rey. I do not know who taught them or how . . . fuck it! I will just treat this as another plot device that came out of Lucasfilm's ass. "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" also revealed that the "resurrected" Palpatine had the ability to transfer one person's essence into the body of another. How? More contrived writing.

Speaking of contrivance, there is the matter of one Leia Organa. Although a part of me still believes Lucasfilm should have killed off Leia Organa in "THE LAST JEDI", in the wake of Carrie Fisher's death a year before the film's release; I must admit that Abrams did an admirable job in utilizing old footage of the actress from "THE FORCE AWAKENS", digital special effects and Billie Lourd as a body double for some of Leia's scenes. But I hated the way Leia was finally killed off. It was similar to Luke's ludicrous death in "THE LAST JEDI". I HATE how Disney Studios and Lucasfilm portray the Force as some kind of energy that can kill an individual if it was used too long or too hard. As if the Force user was some kind of goddamn battery. I really hate that. And this is why I dislike Leia's death just as much as I disliked Luke's. In fact, this movie seemed to be filled with contrived writing. As for the Rebel Alli . . . I mean the Resistance, I noticed that their numbers had grown since the end of "THE LAST JEDI". Had Leia managed to recruit new members for the Resistance's cause during the year between the two films? If so, "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" did not hint one way or the other. I mean there were barely enough Resistance members to crowd the Millennium Falcon in the last film's finale. And the narrative for "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" seemed to hint that aside from Maz Kanata, hardly anyone new had bothered to join the Resistance during that year between the two films. So . . . if this is true, why did the number of Resistance members seemed to have tripled during that year between the two movies? Among the new members is one Beaumont Kin, portrayed by "LOST" alumni Dominic Monaghan. Speaking of characters - the arcs for the major characters have proven to be as disastrous as those featured in "THE FORCE AWAKENS" and especially "THE LAST JEDI". I was surprised to see Maz Kanata as a member of the Resistance. Her recruitment into the organization was never seen on screen. Even worse, the former smuggler and tavern owner was basically reduced to a background character with one or two lines. Actress Lupita Nyong'o's time was certainly wasted for this film. Although I thought Rose Tico was a promising character, I never liked how Rian Johnson had used her as a very unnecessary mentor for Finn in "THE LAST JEDI". However, my hopes that J.J. Abrams would do her character justice in "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" proved to be fruitless. In this film, Rose had been reduced from supporting character to minor character, who spent most of her appearances interacting with Monaghan's Beaumont Kin in three or four scenes. What a damn waste! Speaking of waste . . . poor Domhnall Gleeson. His character, General Armitage Hux, was another character whose presence was wasted in "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER". Audiences learned in the film's second half that he had become a mole for the Resistance, supplying the group information on the First Order's movements. The problem with this scenario is that film had Hux explained that he was simply betraying his leader, Kylo Ren. But his reason for this betrayal was never fully explained, let alone developed. Harrison Ford returned in a brief cameo appearance as the ghost of Han Solo. Wait a minute. Let me re-phrase that. Ford returned as a figment of Kylo Ren's imagination . . . as Han Solo. How was his performance? Unmemorable. "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" also featured a good number of new characters. Probably too many. I have already mentioned Resistance fighter Beaumont Kim. Abrams and co-writer Chris Terrio also introduced Jannah, a former stormtrooper who had deserted from the First Order like Finn. When she was introduced, I had assumed that Finn's background would finally be explored. Never happened. Worse, Abrams only allowed Jannah - a new character - to speculate on her background in one line spoken to Lando Calrissian. And nothing else. Next, there was Zorri Bliss, a smuggler and former paramour of Poe Dameron's, who provided the Resistance with information on how to interpret the Sith dagger in their possession. Aside from this task, Bliss managed to miraculously survive the destruction of Kijimi, her homeworld to participate in the final battle against Palpatine and the First Order. Through her, audiences learned that Poe was a former spice smuggler . . . a drug smuggler. More on this, later. And finally, we have Allegiant General Enric Pryde, who came out of no where to become Kylo Ren's top commander. It occurred to me that Pryde turned out to be the Sequel Trilogy's General Grievous. I love the Prequel Trilogy, but I never liked Grievous. He should have been introduced a lot earlier than the Prequel Trilogy's last film. And Enric Pryde should have been introduced earlier than "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER". It would have made his brief conflict with Hux a lot more believable. I read somewhere that the character of Kylo Ren aka Ben Solo is the most popular in the Sequel Trilogy. I am a firm admirer of actor Adam Driver and I thought he gave a solid performance as Kylo Ren. But . . . the character has never been a favorite of mine. I could complain that Kylo Ren is bad written, but I can honestly say the same about the other major (and minor) characters. Yet for some reason, Lucasfilm, a good number of the STAR WARS and media seemed to think the stars shined on Kylo Ren's ass. I hate it when the glorification of a story or character is unearned and then shoved down the throats of the public. In "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER", Kylo Ren's character arc proved to be just as rushed and full of writing contrivances as his relationship arc in "THE LAST JEDI". Honestly. Unlike Anakin Skywalker in the Original Trilogy, Kylo Ren's redemption was never properly set up in "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER". It merely sprung up in the film's last third act so that Abrams (the unoriginal storyteller that he is) could allow him to mimic his grandfather's arc. Looking back on Kylo Ren's character, he should have continued his arc from the end of "THE LAST JEDI" - as the main villain. Instead, Abrams and Lucasfilm brought back Palpatine so they could have Kylo Ren repeat Anakin's arc and avoid dying as the film's Big Bad. This decision only brought about bad writing. And then we have Poe Dameron. In some ways, Poe proved to be the worst written character in this trilogy. It almost seemed as if Lucasfilm, Abrams and Rian Johnson did not know what to do with him. His death was initially set up in "THE FORCE AWAKENS" and he spent most of that film off-screen, only to make a miraculous re-appearance near the end, with no real explanation how he had survived the crash on Jakku. In "THE LAST JEDI", Johnson had transformed Poe into some hot-headed Latino stereotype, who questioned the decisions of the Resistance's two female leaders - Leia and Admiral Holdo. And "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" made another revision to Poe's character. The movie revealed that Poe had a past romance with the smuggler Zorri Bliss and was a spice runner (drug smuggler). How quaint. Abrams and Terrio took the only leading character in the Sequel Trilogy portrayed by a Latino actor and transformed him into a drug lord. Where the two writers watching "NARCO" or old reruns of "MIAMI VICE" when they made this decision to Poe's character? God only knows. I do know that in my eyes, this was another mark of racism on Lucasfilm's belt. Speaking of racism . . . what on earth happened to Finn? Following Rian Johnson's shoddy treatment of his character in "THE LAST JEDI", J.J. Abrams had assured the franchise's fans that he would do justice to Finn. And he failed. Spectacularly. Did Finn even have a character arc in "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER"? The former stormtrooper spent most of the film either participating in the search for Palpatine, while keeping one eye on the constantly distracted Rey, like some lovesick puppy. He seemed to lack his own story in this film. "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" could have provided the perfect opportunity for Lucasfilm to further explore his background as a former stormtrooper. With the creation of Jannah, I thought it would finally happen. Instead, the movie focused more on Jannah's questions about her origins. And Lucasfilm and Abrams wasted the chance to even consider at subplot regarding Finn and the First Order's stormtroopers. Boyega also spent most of the film hinting that he had something important to tell Rey. Many believe he was trying to confess that he loved her. That is because the movie DID NOT allow him to finally make his confession. Even worse, audiences learned that he wanted to confess his suspicions that he might be Force sensitive. And Lucasfilm confirmed this. Why on earth could they NOT confirm Finn's Force sensitivity on film? Why? What was the point in keeping this a secret until AFTER the film's release? I also noticed one other disturbing aspect about Finn . . . or John Boyega. I just discovered that John Boyega had been demoted by Disney Studios and Lucasfilm from leading actor to supporting actor. Only this had happened a lot sooner that I thought. In the studio's Academy Awards campaign for "THE FORCE AWAKENS", it pushed Boyega for a Best Actor nomination. But in both "THE LAST JEDI" and "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER", the studio pushed him for a Best Supporting Actor nomination. Yet, for all three movies, Lucasfilm and Disney also pushed a white actor for Best Actor. They pushed Harrison Ford (along with Boyega) "THE FORCE AWAKENS". They pushed Mark Hamill for Best Actor in "THE LAST JEDI". Yet, both Ford and Hamill were clearly part of the supporting cast. And they pushed Adam Driver for Best Actor for "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER". Hmmmm . . . Driver went from supporting actor to lead actor, while Boyega was demoted from lead actor to supporting actor. A few more notches in Lucasfilm/Disney's racist belt. God, I am sick to my stomach. And poor John Boyega. He was poorly misused by Lucasfilm, Disney Studios, Rian Johnson and J.J. Abrams. As for Rey . . . I am completely over her as a character. Although I found her Mary Sue qualities annoying, I found her arc in "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" a complete mess. The only good that came from her arc was the fact that Leia had trained her in the ways of the Force for a year. Otherwise, I had to grit my teeth and watch her behave in this chaotic manner throughout the entire film. Every time she and her friends were in the middle of some situation, she would get distracted by Kylo Ren's presence and break away. Why? So she could kill him . . . I guess. Apparently, killing Kylo Ren was more important to her than completing a mission for the Resistance. Why? I have no idea. The movie's narrative never explained this behavior of hers. And it gets worse. Rey eventually learns that she is Palpatine's granddaughter. Granddaughter. Palpatine managed to knock up some woman years ago and conceive a son after he had become Emperor. That son conceived Rey with her mother before dying. Palpatine, who had been alive all of these years, never bothered to get his hands on Rey . . . until this movie. Why? I have no idea. During Rey and Kylo Ren's final duel, she managed to shove her lightsaber blade into his gut. And then she used the Force to heal him. Why? Perhaps she felt guilty for nearly killing him. Who knows? Later, she is killed by Palpatine (who could not make up his mind on whether he wanted her alive or dead) before Kylo Ren Force healed her. And then she planted a big wet kiss on his pucker. Lucasfilm and Disney claimed that the kiss was an act of gratitude on her part. I did not realize that gratitude could be so sexual. Nevertheless, Lucasfilm and Disney ensured that the only leading male that Rey would exchange bodily fluids with was one who shared her white skin. Despite the fact that this . . . man had more or less abused her - mentally and physically - since "THE FORCE AWAKENS". There was no real development that led to this sexual kiss of gratitude. But I guess Disney and Lucasfilm were determined that Rey would not exchange a kiss with the two non-white men. Another notch on Lucasfilm/Disney's racist belt. Oh . . . and by the way, the film or Lucasfilm had established that Rey and Kylo Ren were part of some Force dyad. What is a Force dyad? Two Force-sensitive people who had created a Force bond, making them one in the Force. And this happened because Rey and Kylo Ren were grandchildren of Sith Lords. I have never heard of anything so ludicrous in my life, especially since it was established in "THE LAST JEDI" that Snoke - a creation of Palpatine, by the way - had created their mental bond. How he did that I have no idea. You know what? I could go on and on about "STAR WARS: EPISODE IX - THE RISE OF SKYWALKER". But I now realize it would take a goddamn essay to explain why I dislike this movie so much. I should have realized that J.J. Abrams' promises that he would fix the problems of "STAR WARS: EPISODE VIII - THE LAST JEDI" was worth shit in the wind. He, Chris Terrio, Disney Studios and Lucasfilm only made the Sequel Trilogy worse . . . as if that was possible. Not only was "THE RISE OF SKYWALKER" a waste of my time, so was the entire Sequel Trilogy. And it wasted the acting skills of its talented cast led by Daisy Ridley, John Boyega, Oscar Isaac and Adam Driver for so many years. 

[craostulpa]

Day 2317: Adventure!

So, I have to admit that I might have lied to you. Well, I definitely lied to you. And I can’t really give the story I’m about to tell justice without revealing it, so here we are. I actually have another tulpa called Fen, she’s very very shy (because apparently that’s a checkbox that every system has to fill), and because of this she didn’t really want me to talk about her on the blog so I’m going to skip over her as much as possible when I can. But in this one instance, I need to talk about her.

Fen is a selkie, which if you’re not aware is a type of creature from Scottish mythology that is a seal in the water but transforms into a human on land and carries their seal coats around. There’s more to those actual myths that I don’t particularly want to get into because there are definitely some dark themes there, but that’s the gist.

So, Fen obviously loves the ocean. And over the past 4 days, we have gone on a road trip with a friend around the northern coasts of Scotland, the North Coast 500 to be exact, so you can see where this links. There’s lots of ocean and plenty of pretty lochs along the way, and the north coast is also where the legends of selkies seem to originate.

We started off from Inverness at 11am and immediately realised how many other tourists were coming along with us, despite our decision to do the 500 backwards in a hope to not get stuck in a convoy along the way. This was probably a stupid idea since it meant that we’d be going head-on with Germans and Italians in massive RV’s on single-track roads, as we’d find out on the second day. On the first night, we camped on the banks of Loch Brora, a little ways off the main 500 route, and managed to set up just in the treeline with a beautiful view of the loch. Of course, camping in the highlands near water is a bad idea because midges exist, but overall it wasn’t so bad. First night in a new tent wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be, to be honest, although it did rain rather heavily which woke us up.

The second day was full of activity. We drove up to Wick, where Axelia and Faith decided that we needed an extra blanket in the tent, and so we bought a very very fluffy blanket from a B&M store. The next stop was Tesco to grab some snacks and hopefully a camping grill that worked properly (they didn’t sell any, and Argos was out of stock).

After the brief shopping trip, we headed up to John O’Groats to do the traditional tourist thing of taking a picture of the signpost at the most northerly point in mainland Britain. There was also a gift shop here, which sold all sorts of touristy crap about Scotland (which I don’t really need since I actually live here so I honestly just wanted to leave), and also some plushies. There was a plush seal, and Fen immediately latched onto it, so I had little choice. The label was a little faded but read £13.50 which wasn’t a bad price for touristy stuff, so I took it to the counter. The lady asked for £16.50 and, despite my irritation at being done out of £3, I paid without a fuss because I really couldn’t be bothered arguing. It was only when taking the label off in my tent that night that I realised the label had faded so much that it had originally read £18.50 and I had actually done her out of £2. Score.

After staring across the sea to Orkney for a little while and being battered by the wind, the only way to head was west, towards Thurso and very little civilisation. When we arrived at Thurso we realised how wrong we were to call it “civilisation”, since it was the size of a small town and most of the shops had closed down. We just passed through without stopping. What followed was fields and more fields, most of which were in the rain while we were stuck behind a Dutch couple who were doing 60 through 40 zones and 40 through 60 zones. There was a fair amount of road rage. Eventually, though, the skies cleared and we found ourselves on the first real single-track road of the 500, battling oncoming RV’s and tractors. The views were beautiful, and to post all of the pictures that I took would be far too much, but at one point we entered out onto an entirely flat moorland with nothing in any direction aside from some mountains looming out of a distant rainstorm. Shortly after the flats turned back into winding mountain tracks and, as the sun dipped and we fought our way past 3 large farm vehicles (including a combine harvester, despite the fact that there was nowhere suitable for growing crops within a 50 mile radius, more like 100 if you take the windy roads into account), we came across our next campsite just before Durness. The site was filled with tourists, mostly Italian, but there was a Polish family and we had been stuck behind an Estonian RV for the past 10 miles who had also stopped. But despite the activity, it offered one of the best nights of sleep of our trip. The patch of ground was situated directly underneath the Golden Eagle zipline, which is apparently rather famous to tourists in the area. Having done very little research before embarking on our journey, this was news to us, but waking up in the morning to people screaming as they flew overhead was certainly an experience. But the most important part of the campsite to us was the fact that it had easy beach access and looked out over the north sea.

Naturally, I had a wander along the beach as Fen enjoyed herself in the waves, and after a little while, as the sun set, I collapsed onto a sand dune and watched it go down.

Unfortunately, I was eaten alive by a cloud of midges shortly afterwards and retreated back to our campsite, but it was nice while it lasted. The next order of business was not a pleasant one, it had been roughly 100 miles of driving since there had been a public toilet and my stomach was making complaints. I waited until dark and squatted down behind a stone wall despite the threat of ticks. This proved to be a horrible decision. The next morning, we woke and I picked off around 7 ticks from my legs. To cut a long story short so that I don’t have to keep coming back to it, the following night there were 5 more, and when I got back home last night there were at least 10 others I found. Moral of the story is: Don’t ignore the threat of ticks and find a decent place to poop. We packed up our stuff and were gone by 11am, the sun shining beautifully. There isn’t a whole lot to say about the day aside from that it was a day of worrying single-track roads, 25% gradients, and beautiful landscapes. The few villages that we passed through were barely more than a handful of houses and a general store, although just down the road from the campsite was a wonderful little public toilet. Typical. Towards the evening the sunshine turned to beating rain as we passed Ullapool, and we desperately looked for another place to set up camp. The spot we found was at the bottom of a glen, under some pine trees, sandwiched between a river and the road. We set up camp and after a quick meal of undercooked burgers and pot noodles, we went to bed. The night was by far the worst I have had in years, the rain wouldn’t stop beating against the tent and, being at the bottom of a glen, the wind sounded like a jet engine through the trees, and our little tent was shaking violently. Luckily, I had a seal plush to cuddle and soak up heat, and a fluffy blanket beneath my sleeping bag, so at least I wasn’t freezing cold. At one point I heard a scream and, scrambling out of my tent to investigate, I found my friend also scrambling out of his tent wielding a knife as a bat had become pinned to the side of his tent by the excessively strong winds. We pulled it off and let it get on its way. The weather didn’t let up in the morning, and we were packed up and in the car within 5 minutes. In our desperation to get back on the road again, our friend managed to back into a tree and dent his bumper, but we ignored it and carried on.

The plan for the day was to leave the 500 and gun it across to the Isle of Skye and visit the famous fairy pools, an old grudge from the last road trip to the western isles where we never made it, and then return home. A few miles drive away from where we had been camping, just before Torridon, there was a small village that I forget the name of that we stopped to grab breakfast in. It was a line of houses on the edge of a loch, and it was gorgeous. It was also at this point in the trip, as I paid for my sandwich in the village store, that I had to wonder why every young lady we came across in the middle of nowhere was very very pretty. What do the westerners know that we don’t?

The following drive was filled with chatter about what car we would need for the next road trip, and other things to prepare for the future. As we passed onto Skye, I found out that my phone also has a nice robot lady to give me directions when needed, and we proceeded to the fairy pools after a small detour to a very overpriced gift shop. We arrived at the pools at just gone 1pm and were not prepared for how busy they were. There were tourists everywhere, and after a reminder earlier on Skye about how dangerous the roads could be (two cars were on their rooves down a small drop and in a forest on the side of the road) we were very nervous. Despite this, we arrived in one piece and were directed to a parking spot by a very nice man in a high-vis jacket, something that we didn’t expect in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Faith then got very overexcited with pictures.

I got a few nervous looks from tourists due to the fact that I was wearing full military gear that I had bought from surplus stores, which was nice because they got out of our way. Especially useful since parts of the path along the pools include crossings over rivers, and many of the tourists were pausing and scared to cross, whereas my friend and I just casually wandered across due to years of having to deal with this country’s shit. Mildly amusing. Once we had taken in the sights for an hour and a half, we piled back in the car and started the 200-mile drive home, which we managed to do in almost one trip. Last night I got home, unpacked my stuff, had a shower, and collapsed on my bed. I love camping and adventure, but nothing beats home. Fen misses the coast, but we have beaches near us too on the Moray Firth, ones with seals that show up more reliably. Still, one day I would love a house on the west coast, and probably a Land Rover Defender to go with it. That way we can get pretty views and visit the beaches all the time, and can drive reliably towards civilisation when needed. Thanks, Guys.

[arlingtonpark]

SNK 114 Review

Zeke Jeager: Origins! Edition

One of the cool things about this series is that Isayama seems to have a passing interest in sociology. He’s written a series that tries to delve into what makes humans tick and how human interactions work.

I’ve been wary of this series and its potential, rightward leaning politics, but the biggest reason to be hopeful has always been that Isayama has clearly exercised due diligence in researching the sociological aspects he’s writing into the story. 

(This sounds hopeful, but what you’re actually reading is the start of a rant about how awful this story is.)

The story has paralleled the Eldians to Jews, and in ways that seem to have gone over people’s heads. Yes, they live in ghettos and wear starred armbands. But it goes much deeper than that.

Racism has its roots in medieval antisemitism. Medieval Christians hated Jews, and do you know why?

Because they thought Jews were children of the devil.

Medieval Europe had a very religious, predominantly Christian, society, and because Jews do not believe in the divinity of Jesus, they were considered suspect. People believed that they were children of the devil. That they did his bidding and were the enemies of God.

And not only that, but a belief took hold in the popular medieval conscious:

That the Jews murdered Jesus Christ of Nazareth.

This charge of deicide was used to justify antisemitic hate; killing Jesus was considered a stain on all Jews for all time. This parallels how Eldians are hated for the past crimes of the Empire.

Isayama has clearly done some homework. He deserves credit for that.

But I fear something sinister may be going on here.

The parallel between Jews and Eldians appears to work, but it actually doesn’t, and that’s because there’s a very important difference.

How much responsibility Jewish authorities have for Jesus’ crucifixion is debated, but in any event, that responsibility would not carry over to future generations. The Catholic Church has explicitly repudiated this notion. (See section 4, para. 6)

Responsibility for the Eldian Empire’s actions, however, as I have repeatedly said before, does in fact carry over. This is not some controversial notion I’m pushing here. It’s political philosophy 101.

The Empire committed its atrocities in the name of the Eldian people. Thus, there is carry over from the imperial era. This doesn’t justify the hate Eldians get, but calling for reparations does not entail hate. Calling for Jews to account for killing Jesus does entail hate because the charge of deicide is a canard; it’s slander.

In any event, the racism Eldians suffer today makes the crimes of the Empire a moot point. But that’s not what the story is saying. The story is saying that the sins of the father should not be visited upon the son. All well and good, but Isayama compares apples to oranges by drawing this Jewish/Eldian parallel.  

Now, let’s add a third component to the mix.

Isayama has also paralleled the Eldians to Japanese people. Paradis is very obviously an analog to Japan. An island nation asserting itself on the world stage, yet dogged by past crimes? That’s Japan, but it’s also Paradis, and the hatred directed against Paradis cannot be viewed as separate from the hatred directed against Eldians in general, because it’s the same.

“You’re ancestors committed heinous atrocities in the past and that is a stain on you!”

“Also you’re satanic!”

My take is that Isayama is making a political statement about Japan and its relation vis a vis East Asia. Any attempt by Japan to play a bigger role on the world stage is decried by countries like China and South Korea. They think Japan’s assertiveness is a slippery slope; they fear any outward movement portends a return to imperialism.

This is like Paradis. They try to engage in diplomatic relations, but are stymied by the Empire’s past actions. It’s even revealed that the world’s nations use hatred of Eldians to promote internal stability, just as China and South Korea do with Japan.

And of course there’s that scene between Kaya and Gabi. Gabi tries to guilt trip Kaya over her ancestor’s actions, just like how Japanese people are sometimes guilt tripped by China and South Korea.

On a descriptive level, this parallel works, the problem is that it’s in service to a bullshit normative claim. The claim is that contemporary Japanese/Eldians should not be held to account for the actions of their ancestors.

What I’ve said about Eldian responsibility is true for the Japanese as well. Their Empire committed its crimes in their name. The burden is carried by the Japanese people.

Again, this does not justify hate, but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about reparations or other forms of atonement. It says a lot about Isayama that he refuses to entertain this notion.

But wait! It gets even worse! Brace yourselves, because I’m about to logic bomb your minds.

Try this classic logical set on for size:

A equals B,

B equals C,

Thus, A equals C.

Now try it again with these stand-ins:

A=Jews.

B=Eldians.

C=Japanese people.

If Eldians are meant to parallel Jews, and Eldians are also meant to parallel Japanese people, then that implies a parallel between Jews and Japanese people!

Go ahead, sit back and try to process the implications of this.

Isayama, whether he intends it or not, draws a parallel between antisemitism and modern anti-japanese sentiment by way of the Eldians. Jews are hated for bullshit crimes past and the story seems to be trying to say that Japanese people are in a similar position.

By using Eldians as a stand in for both Jews and Japanese people, he conflates the two. And that’s awful because they’re not comparable. At all. To even entertain the notion that Jews and Japanese people are in the same boat is insulting!

Just what is Isayama trying to imply here? That the plight of modern Japanese people is comparable to f!@#ing antisemitism?

No! Just NO!!

Jews have had pogroms directed against them for centuries. Nothing comparable to that is happening to Japanese people.

The charge that Jews murdered Jesus was based on a single verse in the Gospel of Matthew, which isn’t corroborated by any of the other three gospels.

The charge that the Japanese Empire committed numerous atrocities in the past is supported by voluminous evidence.

The Rape of Nanjing didn’t happen 1,000 years ago. It didn’t happen 500 years ago. It didn’t even happen 100 years ago. 82 years. That’s how long it’s been.

And it isn’t the case that records are unreliable. It’s not even a case of he said, she said.

The New York Times, Reuters, The Associated Press, The Chicago Daily News, and Paramount Pictures all had reporters on the ground and they saw. the whole. thing. This massacre was reported on contemporaneously.

It happened. It was real. It is not a cudgel wielded by bad people to justify oppression.

It speaks volumes that Isayama is happy to have Eldians embody aspects of both antisemitism and anti-Japanese sentiment.

The more I think about this the more awful it becomes!

According to the framework Isayama has constructed, the canards directed at Jews are equivalent to the allegations of war crimes by the Japanese Empire. Does Isayama even understand what he is saying here?

He’s saying the allegation of Japanese war crimes are equivalent to antisemitic slander! That’s bullshit!

We have the receipts.

Japan committed war crimes.

Thank u, next.

The parallel between Jews and Eldians doesn’t work because there is no carryover in culpability for the former. The parallel between Eldians and Japanese people does work on a descriptive level, but it’s in service of a bullshit normative claim.

And the implied parallel between the Jews and the Japanese is despicable.

…You know, I was prompted to think more deeply about this series and racism by that opening sequence, and things kinda got outta hand…

…so, anyway, chapter 114! Yeah, this is supposed to be a review of that. I forgot.

So this is the chapter we finally get Zeke’s backstory. The curtain has lifted. Let’s see what’s behind it.

Grisha truly is a jackass, isn’t he?

He showed no regard for his son. Putting children through military training is abhorrent by itself, but it was obscene of Grisha to pressure Zeke into it.

He pressured a boy to enlist.

It’s incredible that this sentence doesn’t fully capture the repugnancy of what Grisha did. If his plan succeeds, his son’s life will be drastically shortened. In Grisha’s dumbass mind this is a triumph! A ingenious tactic that will redound throughout time!

In every respect, children are not fully developed. Not mentally, nor physically, nor emotionally. Thus, children are dependent on their parents for protection. What Grisha did was an unspeakable dereliction of his parental duty.

He clearly saw Zeke as a tool. Tools wear down and break, but they can be replaced. That is not a mode of thinking you should apply to a human! Grisha didn’t play with him, display any affection outside of Zeke showing progress in his indoctrination.

I mean, FFS, the tool analogy may actually be too kind. There are gearheads who show more affection to their tools than Grisha did to his boy. (Those people are a different kind of weird, though)

But you know what’s especially awful? It’s Grisha’s sheer egomania.

“I know you can become a warrior. […] You’re our boy.”

“You can do it! You’re our child, after all!!”

*Zeke fails* “Dammit! It’s not supposed to be like this!”

Yes! Zeke, you are the product of my loins! You were born from the marriage of your mother’s flesh with my perfect body! *proceeds to explain human reproduction in exquisite detail* So you see, Zeke, you are a slice taken from the golden pie of the Goddess, Ymir! You cannot lose!

Whenever Grisha praises Zeke, he’s not actually praising Zeke. He’s praising himself. Zeke is going to succeed because he has that Jeager DNA in him. What a hypocrite!

If there’s any justice in this world, this will be written on his tombstone:

He pressured his boy to enlist in the military, pursue a goal that would shorten his life, and told him to do it for his race. Grisha cared about the Eldian people over his own flesh and blood. That is what classic nationalism looks like.

But what’s ironic is that the classic example of nationalism run amok belongs to Zeke and Marley. Children ratting out their parents to the secret police is a classic nationalist trope (Warning: disturbing af content) and what Zeke did to his parents is an example of that. Or at least that’s what the Marleyans think.

In reality Zeke did it for self-preservation. It was cold and loveless, but then again, what goes around comes around. Sorry, Grish, (that’s my nickname for him) but what can I say? Life comes at you fast.

But as terrible as Grish is, I don’t think I agree with Mr. Xaver blaming Grish for putting his family in danger. Blame for that belongs with Marley for having such an unjust punishment for treason.

It’s not just you that’s punished. Your whole immediate family goes with you.

I get the point. Targeting the family is meant to discourage would-be rebels. Isayama is probably referencing North Korea with that.

But Grish being so callous in how he rebels is separate from his choice to rebel at all. His family was placed in danger because Marley doesn’t recognize the basic rights that it should, not because of Grish.

Now it makes sense why Zeke cares so much about Mr. Xaver. His father was cold and callous. Zeke walks home and sees the life he doesn’t have: a fun one. One where he plays with his dad. Then this stranger comes into his life and starts giving Zeke just that: play time. Fun. Affection.

Affection! Mr. Xaver compliments him on his talents. He compliments him as talented in his own right; not as a Jeager, but as Zeke Jeager. Did Grisha ever do that?

I don’t think he ever has. In the entire series.

Xaver was the father Zeke never had. And Zeke was the son Xaver never had. Is it hard to imagine Mr. Xaver looking at that same father and son Zeke saw, and feeling the same way?

Of course not. They completed each other. They may as well have been family.

Actually, no, they were family. Zeke trusted him enough to tell him about his parent’s secret. And Mr. Xaver helped Zeke instead of turning him in. This is what unconditional love looks like.

I love the imagery of Mr. Xaver picking up the baseball and it has the blood of his family on it. It was such a poignant and even brilliant metaphor. Mr. Xaver playing catch with Zeke was not as innocent a game as it seemed. It was (metaphorically) a blood-stained affair.

So now we’re at the big reveal.

Zeke’s plan the whole time: kill everyone.

I don’t like it.

Not only that, but this plan is sooo played out at this point.

The first villains of the series were the titans. Their goal? Kill everyone.

Next it was the titan shifters. Their goal (as far as we knew)? Kill Everyone.

Then it was the First King. His goal? Kill everyone.

Then it was Marley. Their goal? Kill all the Eldians.

And now Zeke? It’s to fucking kill all the Eldians!

Why does every villain just want to kill a lot of people?

This is very bad.

It is a travesty that this series has made Zeke a genocidal lunatic because now the door is wide open for this series to make an endorsement of right-wing nationalism. One of the biggest reasons to be hopeful that wouldn’t happen was that it seemed the right-wing nationalists, led by Zeke, would be the final enemy.

That’s gone now.

Now Eren Jeager, right-wing nationalist asshole supreme, is poised to be cast as the hero.

I’ve said before that Isayama uses Eldians, and especially Paradis, as a stand-in for Japan. Well, if that’s true, then the debate that’s been ongoing on Paradis over the Wall Titans can only be read one way: as an analog to the debate, such that it is, over whether Japan should obtain nuclear weapons.

My read on the Wall Titans is that they are an analog to the atomic bomb. They’re described in-story as being a weapon of mass destruction whose power will never be topped. Just as it is with nuclear weapons, once the Wall Titans are deployed, you cannot stop them.

You can only pray that you live.

Colossal Titans in general are associated images of nuclear explosions and their aftermath. Whenever we see what the aftermath of the Wall Titans coming through looks like, we see a flattened terrain. It is eerily reminiscent of the aftermath of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings.

Japan has been able to build atomic bombs for decades now, but has chosen to forego this. Unsurprisingly, obtaining a weapon whose destructive power is popularly measure in Hiroshimas and Nagasakis is not something the Japanese people are keen on.

The Japanese people overwhelmingly oppose the nuclearization of their country. Supporting this is a fringe position that only right-wing nationalists support.

Which is why I say this:

If the final conflict comes down to Eren vs. Zeke, with Eren wanting to use the Wall Titans to defend the Eldians and Zeke wanting to use the Founding Titan to wipe them all out, and the story endorses the former, then that unambiguously places the series on the fringes of Japanese political opinion.

Hell, it would place the series outside the bounds of reasonable debate. Japan nuclearizing would be disastrously stupid. It would enflame regional tensions and could even lead to a nuclear arms race. It would be a travesty for Isayama to endorse that even by accident.

Just as the right-wing nationalists want Japan to nuclearize so they have a deterrent against enemies, it may be the case that SNK ends with Eren using the Wall Titans as a deterrent against Marley. In doing so, the series will be demonstrating the benefits of having weapons of mass destruction.

Except, ya know, WMDs have no benefits.

It wouldn’t surprise me if using the Wall Titans in this way is Eren’s position. While it is true I’ve been assuming Zeke’s plan is to use the Wall Titans, in hindsight, Zeke never actually indicated that.

But you know who was the first one to propose using the Wall Titans?

Eren.

He did it while explaining what he thought Zeke’s plan was, but I bet money that in that moment he was projecting. He wants to use the Wall Titans and he projected his own preferences onto the tabula rasa that was Zeke’s plan.

So that’s the political implications out of the way, but this is to say nothing of the dearth of creativity this is. The villains have been people who want to kill Eldians. How much more of a twist would it have been if the final villain wanted to kill everyone but the Eldians? That would’ve been different.

Zeke’s plan is pure evil. The lives of Eldians is so awful they’re better off dead? Who the fuck is he to decide that!

He has no right. He’s just like his father. Taking people’s destinies for himself and making decisions for them. He tried to avoid becoming like his father, but now he’s essentially Grisha 2.0. He claims to be doing this out of love, but he doesn’t really love the Eldians. This is not a kindness. This is him demonstrating super-Grish levels of egomania.  

Not only is Zeke worse than Grish, he’s worse then King Fritz! Fritz thought Eldians were better off dead, but at least he didn’t actually try to kill them all. Even though he could have. In a very twisted act of kindness, he even took some to live in relative peace on Paradis.

Zeke isn’t having any of that. He’s not interested in singing kumbaya around a campfire, he wants to skip straight to the killing.

Zeke is just done. Fuck that. Dying would be the easy way out. If living in this world is hell for him, then by God, he should be forced to live as long as possible. I’m sure that’ll be eminently possible once someone actually deals with the issue here.

Speaking of death, I wonder if Levi is dead.

Even if he wasn’t mortally wounded by the explosion, he’s not going to be in good shape.

And look at his trajectory. He’s going to land in the river.

The raging river.

The ice cold, raging river.

With open wounds!

And he’ll be disoriented from the explosion on top of being thrown about by the current and the shock from the cold.

This may be too much for him.

…

COMMENCE PRAYER CIRCLE!

[escapeinpapers]

MAY WRAP-UP

This month, I think I spent way too much time in booktube that my attention for a certain book quickly goes to another one. I’m quite mad at myself because I had not been consistent of my May TBR. Even so, I’m still pretty proud of myself because I’ve read more than what I expected to read. Also, I would say there were books that disappointed me this month but there were some that I quickly rated as 5 stars and made me so emotional.

So here are the books that I’ve read for the month of May.

NEW ADULT/ADULT ROMANCE

To Love Jason Thorn by Ella Maise (2/5)

The story is told by POV’s main characters, Olive and Jason. Olive is an indie author whose book will be adapted into a movie. She then finds out that the actor who will be playing the male protagonist is her brother’s childhood bestfriend/ her childhood crush and first love, Jason.

I honestly love the childhood crush and second chance romance trope on this book but it was getting bad and bad as I continue to read. I even prepared myself to be ready for a major twist or revelation but I was just disappointed. It felt like there was no real and impressive conflict on their relationship. I enjoyed the first few chapters and maybe towards the first half but it just got really crappy. There were cringey love scenes and sometimes the characters were being dumb that it is so frustrating.

(P.s. Every time Jason calls Olive “little one”, I cringe and I remember Thanos from Avengers lol.)

The Guy on the Right by Kate Stewart (3.5/5)

This is a friends to lovers novel. Main characters are Theo and Laney. Theo is quite shy and a reserved person. He lives in a house with Troy, the popular playboy roommate. He calls himself as “the guy on the right” because Troy always takes the spotlight and many girls go after him. He met Laney on a party. She, on the other hand is the quirky, outspoken and hardworking country girl. They became close, started a social media page and they eventually fell in love with each other.

This is my first new adult book ever. I’m usually into young adult and adult books so it was a huge step for me to explore this genre and gladly I enjoyed this book and now I’m more interested to read other new adult books. The storyline was good. I gave it only 3.5 stars because it was just an okay read for me. I love the elements of music and social media. The characters were also charming in their own ways. And you’ll get quotations called Grannism every end of a chapter. Some were really relatable.

Read my full review:

The Naked Truth by Vi Keeland (4/5)

The book is all about a second chance romance. Layla, a lawyer, was asked to do the pitch for a prospect client to their law firm. She didn’t know that the client she’s gonna impress was Gray, her ex who just got out of prison. Gray want Layla back and he wants to clear all the misunderstanding and explain to her why he had to lie to her.

I didn’t expect to love this book. I love the shift of timelines from present to the past. I thought that it will be just full of steamy scenes but the plot was amazing. The twists and turns were impressive. There’s one that really struck me and I literally screamed with that revelation. It was a major drama I didn’t see coming. I think people who love K-Drama (like me) would like this book. I also love how the author portrayed the aspects of family, marriage as well as death. The lawyer-prisoner romance was also interesting. It is my first time reading that kind of trope. My only issue with this book is Layla being sometimes annoying with her petty arguments.

The Unhoneymooners by Christina Lauren (5/5)

Due to food poisoning, Olive’s twin sister and Ethan’s brother can’t make it to their honeymoon in Maui. Thus, Olive and Ethan were asked to take their places. The problem is, Olive and Ethan do not get along very well. They pretty much hate each other’s guts but the two need to work together and act as newly married couple. Only, they didn’t realize that this free vacation is changing their lives.

This was an easy 5 stars for me. I enjoyed this book so much because it was atmospheric. It felt like I was on the beach myself because of how engaging the story was. The enemy to lovers and fake marriage/relationship tropes were done beautifully. I was easily hooked into the story and the twists were just freaking good. Olive and Ethan’s chemistry is so strong. Their banters were very fun. I just love love love this book.

Read my full review:

Ugly Love by Colleen Hoover (5/5)

The story revolves around Tate and Miles. Tate is a nurse who has no time for love and Miles is a pilot who doesn’t want to love again. Their first meeting was not great but their paths always cross because he’s her new neighbor and he’s her brother’s friend and co-pilot. Physical attraction grew between them and they can’t put aside their desires so they had some sort of friends with benefits relationship. But things get really bad because they are slowly breaking their own rules.

This is officially one of my favorite books of all time. Everything in this book is just perfect. I kind of judged this book very wrongly 2 years ago when I first tried to read this because I thought it will be just about sex and at that time my smut level on books was really low. But, I decided to read it again out of a whim at freaking midnight. I looked past through the love scenes (though idk I find it dreamy and romantic now) and focused on the story, and swear, I was blown away. I never thought that I would cry so badly again over a book.

Read my full review:

FANTASY

A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas (2/5)

This is somewhat a Beauty and the Beast retelling. Feyre, a normal mortal girl, killed a Faerie (a magical creature) while she was hunting for food. She was punished to live in a High Fae’s manor to pay for the life she had taken and she ends up falling in love with Tamlin, her captor who can shapeshift and who wears a crappy mask.

I really want to love this book. Some people told me to don’t stop reading because it will get good. But sadly, I just did not like it (Sorry! ). The writing is atmospheric though, I admired it at first. However, as I go on, the description of the settings or for the other things were too much and I think did not necessarily affect the situation at hand. Sometimes, it was just too flowery and over with metaphors. Feyre and Tamlin as characters were not effective, their chemistry is “meh”. There were cringey lines especially on the love scenes. The plot twists were not hard for me to predict. I think this book was not just for me to read. Though, I’ve been told that the sequel is the best among the series so I might give it a shot soon.

The Grisha Trilogy by Leigh Bardugo

Shadow & Bone (3/5)

Siege & Storm (3/5)

Ruin & Rising (2/5)

Alina had discovered her unique powers to summon light when they were assigned to cross the Shadow Fold. It’s a forsaken place of impenetrable darkness with flesh eating monsters. Leaving Mal, her childhood bestfriend and the guy that she also likes, she was sent to the Little Palace to work with the magical elites called Grisha in hopes that she could destroy the fold and unite Ravka. While working to hone her powers, she finds herself developing feelings for The Darkling, the mysterious and attractive as hell leader of Grisha. On her journey to destroy the Shadow Fold, she encountered many challenges, revelations and truth about the people around her.

I really had high expectations for this series because I love the author and her Six of Crows duology. But I was again, disappointed. It’s not that it was that bad, it was not just as great as I expected it to be. I have a love and hate relationship with this series. The first book was good. The build up of the story was beautifully done. I love the magical system and the characters were intriguing, but only at first. I understand why the Darkling is hyped up till now because he is absolutely mysterious and hot (plus Ben Barnes will be playing the role for the Netflix adaptation). Revealing Alina’s power as well as the Darkling’s was very cool. The second book is where the Darkling gets literally dark. Even though this was more tensed because of the twists, I enjoyed and laughed many times than the first book because of Nikolai. He’s not the main character of this series but its funny because I like him the most. Scratch that. I love him. The third book was just so disappointing. I enjoyed the side characters’ romance more and the twists were not that impressive. And the ending? Worst. I think there’s one common denominator of all the things that I didn’t like in this series, and that is Alina being a typical weak female protagonist. She is just annoying sometimes, too dependent of the other characters and does weak and petty arguments.

Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo (5/5)

This is the sequel of the Six of Crows duology. Kaz and his crew did the heist they were asked to do but they had to face their consequences and take down the real enemy. As much as I’m excited to tell you more about the plot, I won’t go any further because I don’t want to spoil anything.

I absolutely love the first book and I was not disappointed with this one. This is my best fantasy reads so far. I fell in love more with Kaz, Inej, Matthias, Niña, Wylan and Jesper. They are just freaking amazing. The character development was done so good. The plot twists are super amazing and I got fooled many times. Also, the ending is so satisfying. I have to admit, I enjoyed this duology more than The Grisha Trilogy.

Read my full review:

YOUNG ADULT CONTEMPORARY

10 Blind Dates by Ashley Elston (4/5)

We follow Sophie’s journey towards healing her broken heart. Her Grandma decided to set up her in blind dates and the guys he’ll be dating are chosen by some of her family members. So, she went onto these days, in hopes to forget her ex-boyfriend. But things get complicated. Her ex wants her back but the feelings she had for an old friend is growing back.

If you’re looking for something that is light, cute and a quick read, this is the book for you. The blind dating thing was just very cute. I never expected to like it, but it was just interesting and each date was fun in their own ways. I also love the essence of family and friendship on this book. As a person who grew up in a family-oriented household, I can relate so much of the main character.

Read my full review:

They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera (5/5)

In this world, there’s this system called Death Cast. They call people to give them an alert that they’re gonna die on that day. No when and how but only the information that on that day that you are called, it’s your time to say goodbye to the world. Mateo had been always paranoid about the time that he will receive the call. So, when Death Cast called him, he had been more paranoid than ever. Then, he met Rufus, who’s also gonna die that day, through The Last Friend app. Despite the two having very different attitude towards accepting their death, they decided to spend their last day together.

This is the kind of book that is very hard to put down. The title itself is already very intriguing. All the time I was reading this, I can’t help but to be anxious because knowing anytime soon, Rufus and Mateo are gonna die. I had a lot of theories on how they would die but it was no where near. The narration is very deceiving which I love. The message of this book is also very touching plus the characters are very relatable and I can’t help to put myself in their shoes. I know it is unpleasant to think about death especially these times but this book just made me realize things about life and it made me reflect and ask myself on how I’ve been living my life so far. I love this book so much that it is one of my best reads for this year and I might make a full review for this one.

So those were all the books that I've read for the month of May. For June, I've been thinking to read genres that I don't usually read such as msytery and thrillers. I hope I would be consistent on my next month's TBR.

Thank you for reading. I hope some of the books caught your interest. Till my next post ❤

[mrsrcbinscn]

BDRPWriMo Task #6 - 10 Short-Short Stories

Task #6: Write ten short-short stories of no more than a paragraph long.

Franny Robinson’s musical influences; ten interview quotes about other musicians and singers that she says inspire her work

i. Jenny Lewis

“I dunno, there’s just-” Robinson paused and with her palms flat up, made claws with her hands as she searched for the words. “-something so honest about Jenny. I had the honor of performing with her once and I was just in awe. I think I have a little bit of a crush on her. I was first introduced to her work in 2001 by a great friend of mine from college, Dani Weiss [currently a member of the American-Canadian newgrass band The Weepy Willows]. We were...going on a little trip -

Q: Acid or shrooms?

“My husband is sitting right there, oh god. Acid. In moderation, I think things like that can be worthwhile experiences. In moderation. We were doing acid in her apartment and listenin’ to music and she [Weiss] put on their album Take Offs and Landings. I was real into it from Go Ahead [the first track]. Which. I always liked chill music when I dropped acid, anything too loud and busy made me anxious. And when the followup, The Execution of All Things came out, it was like - I was like - just like, ‘damn, this woman is amazing.’ Her songwriting ability is just phenomenal and her voice- I feel like I’m sittin’ across from her and she’s tellin’ me stories. There’s- again, the only thing I can think of is this honesty about her.”

ii. Hizuru

“Japan actually has a vibrant history with jazz music, so I’m familiar with a lot of Japanese jazz and have had the honor of working with many talented Japanese jazz musicians. I don’t know very much about Hizuru, actually, other than I love them. I have been experimenting with incorporating traditional Cambodian music with, you know, jazz and other western styles of music. That part of my culture is very important to me, so I want - I want to show the world how beautiful instruments like tro and chapei are. Anyway- I was struggling with a balance of sounds when in 2017 I stumbled upon a Hizuru song called - oh, god, I don’t speak Japanese, so I’ll probably butcher this. The song is called Ushiwakamaru. It is an instrumental piece, as is the entire self-titled album, and the blend of traditional Japanese music and modern jazz on that entire album is perfection. I hope they come out with more soon, I am hungry for more, truly.”

iii. Ella Fitzgerald 

Q: Of the early jazz vocalists, who inspires you the most?

“Oh my god, Ella Fitzgerald. Well - mm, no, absolutely her, no question. I am by no means implying I live up to her standard, in fact I never will, but I have channeled her. Especially in my earlier work when I was a bit more concerned with going what jazz fans want, expect, and love versus taking lessons from those who came before me and building on that with my own ideas, my own voice. If that makes sense? She was classic. It’s Only A Paper Moon was, I think, the first jazz song I heard when I was little. Or, it was the first that really struck me. [laughs] My oldest brother used his birthday money to buy an Ella Fitzgerald album for me on vinyl so I would stop running around the house singing the only lyrics I remembered. I think it was like [singing]- Say, its only a paper moon, sailing over a cardboard sea...and I forgot the rest so I could just repeat cardboard sea like three times.”

iv. Patsy Cline

“I’m from Georgia,” laughs Robinson, running a hand through her hair as she pulls her feet up under her on the chaise lounge in her Swynlake home. “Like, out in the country in Georgia. You couldn’t grow up there in the eighties and not have known who Patsy Cline and Dolly Parton were. Dolly was more, like, relevant and current, but Patsy’s a classic. And as a woman whose natural register is lower myself, I really appreciated being able to sing along decently well without much effort. We don’t - we don’t get to see alto voices in popular music a lot. Pop, even the jazz music that gets a following outside of hardcore jazz fans. Hitting the craziest high notes does seem to be a current trend across the genre spectrum.”

When asked if that was a bad thing, Robinson simply shook her head. “I don’t think it;s positive or negative one way or the other. It’s just an observation.”

v. Ahmad Jamal

“I mean, if you want to talk jazz pianists, you can’t not talk about Ahmad Jamal. On Green Dolphin Street? Autumn Rain? F---, man, leaving him out is criminal. He’s been in the game for five decades, that’s longer than I’ve been alive. I only hope to be on his level. Like, I hear words from his piano. I understand what I’m supposed to be feeling, thinking, or seeing when I listen to his work. And with instrumental music, that’s a challenge. Classical? I struggle to listen to classical music. I think it’s beautiful, and I really respect classical musicians, but unless I’m explicitly aware of what picture this piece is supposed to paint in my head, when I tell a classical expert what a piece makes me feel, they’re usually like ‘ACTUALLY...’

vi. Édith Piaf 

“My father - well, he’s technically my stepfather,” Robinson said, scowling at the word like it was a swear. “But, he adopted me when he married my mother, and my biological father may as well have been a sperm donor. Anyway. My father is from Switzerland, and they have four official languages there. He speaks them all, plus English, plus he learned to speak Khmer when he married my mother. He’s so cool, my dad. He’s from a Francophone-Italophone Swiss family, so I grew up listening to a lot of old French, Italian, and some German music from him. I still don’t speak German and Italian though, [laughs] sorry Dad.”

“We listened to Édith Piaf a lot together. I was very protective of my mother as a child, you know how kids of single moms are? My mom was my superhero and I was used to American men thinking they had a right to touch her because she was just a poor foreign woman who owned a restaurant. So when my future dad started hanging around, I hated him. But he was determined to make me like him so I’d let him marry my mother, and he’d take me for ice cream and play Édith Piaf cassettes in the car. He’d tell me about what the love songs meant, and didn’t tell me about the songs that weren’t, and told me the love songs are how he felt about my mother. He was like, ‘Dara-’ my legal first name is Darareaksmey, it’s Khmer. My parents usually calls me ‘Dara.’ ‘Dara, if you let me, I’ll be good to your mother, and to you.’ I eventually got tired of him begging me to marry my mom so I let him. [laughs]

I asked if she ever regretted giving him her blessing.

“No, never. He’s my dad, and the two boys he brought into the marriage are my older brothers. I’m my Swiss grandparents’ only granddaughter, so they spoiled me even from Switzerland. No, we’re family.”

vii. Dolores O'Riordan

Interview date, 26th of January, 2018

Q: Let’s talk about something I just found out about you from your Twitter feed the other day.

A: Oh, no, should I tell my husband to cover his ears?

Q: No, it’s rated H for Husband. 

A: Excellent.

Q: You’re a huge fan of Dolores O’Riordan. Which, I wouldn’t have guessed. But on the day the tragic news of her passing broke, you Tweeted out a tribute to her including ffive meet and greet pictures of the two of you together- the first, correct me if I’m wrong, is from 1994?

A: Yes, yes I had actually seen then the year prior, when I was thirteen, but ‘94 was the first time I could afford a backstage package with my babysitting money. The other four are from 1999, 2002, 2010, and 2016. I loved The Cranberries, they were the first concert I dragged my husband to when we were dating.

Q: Safe to say you’ve been a hardcore fan for-

A: Two and a half decades, yeah. Yeah, The Cranberries are one of my all time favorites. Dolores O’Riordan’s voice was...everything.

Q: You’re a jazz artist, primarily. What’s consistently drawn you to The Cranberries?

A: [laughs] Other than being a teenager in the 90′s? I mean, her voice. She changed the game for what it meant to be a female vocalist in rock music. And up until my second year at NYU, I wasn’t sure where I was going with music. I loved rock, I loved jazz, I was into R&B, I loved bluegrass. I sang in several bands in high school and college, and The Cranberries were usually on the setlist. Her voice was amazing. I idolized her as a young vocalist, even if I ended up gravitating toward a different genre.

Q: You uploaded a cover of Dreams with Irish alt-rock singer and guitarist Padraig Chen, and Irish indie musician Siobhán Walsh as well. How did that collaboration come about?

A: Padraig’s been a friend of mine for a long time; we met through a mutual friend who is also an Asian-diaspora musician in the UK and Ireland and it was a match made in music heaven. We’ve collaborated a lot. Siobhán is a friend of Pat’s, and we all looked up to Dolores, so we just got together and made our little tribute to her.

viii. Badi Assad

“I was first introduced to bossa nova...probably during my sophomore year of college. Her voice is like butter, but frankly, that’s not the most interesting thing about her. She combines traditional jazz, bossa nova, other Latin music elements, and traditional Middle Eastern sounds. Anything that is a marriage of different tastes and cultures is interesting to me, and when its done as well as she does it? Forget it. She is one of the best jazz and jazz-adjacent guitarists out there today. I really admire her. I hope to perform with her one day, it’s genuinely a dream of mine.”

ix. Ros Serey Sothea

“One of my most unexpected musical influences...well, I don’t - I don’t think she’s so much unexpected, as any of my following outside of my small Cambodian or Khmer-American following won’t have ever heard of. Ros Serey Sothea is one of the most important singer in Khmer popular music history, she’s called the Golden Voice. My mother would sing her songs to me as a child, whichever of them she could remember. Under the Khmer Rogue, which my mother survived, something like 90% of Cambodia’s artists, dancers, musicians, and singers died or were executed. She was one of them. And my mother’s favorite singer. Most of the master recordings from her and other singers like Pen Ran and Sinn Sisamouth were destroyed by the Khmer Rogue, so whatever recordings we do have of Khmer rock and roll from that era are so, so vital to preserve and keep record of. Even though I am a jazz music educator, at my lower level, more generic classes where I have the wiggle room to do so, I talk about Khmer music of the 60s and early 70s for a class because I feel so strongly about the legacy of this music.”

“I went on a tangent,” Robinson said apologetically. “Where was I? Oh, Ros Serey Sothea. Right, so her voice was just-” Robinson put her arms out to her side and swayed to the imaginary music in her head. “-you could just kind groove like this to only her voice, nothing else needed. Her voice danced on top of the backing band. My mother managed to get her hands on some records, her siblings who remained in Cambodia sent some to us and her other siblings who were resettled, in the mid-eighties. So, I was six or seven before I heard my first Khmer song from a record player or a cassette instead of my mother’s voice, even though she’d been singing to me since I was born. These songs are still incredibly important to Cambodians today, and diaspora as well.”

I asked her if that had anything to do with the semi-viral success of her recent  cover of 70′s singer Sieng Vannthy’s ‘Console Me’. 

“Oh, for sure.” Robinson said.  "It’s the first time I professionally recorded a song in Khmer, a lot of people were surprised I spoke the language.”

x. Dolly Parton

“Okay, Dolly probably has less of an influence on my music than my persona, I’ll be honest. But her music means so much to me. At my wedding, during toasts, my mother mortified me by throwin’ in video footage of my first ever live performance from ‘89. Little nine-year-old Franny was on stage in little secondhand cowboy boots, this horribly 80s lookin’ frilly dress, my hair in little twin braids, singin’ and dancin’ to Why’d You Come In Here Lookin’ Like That. To this day, my husband still brings that up.”

Q: How do you mean Dolly Parton influenced your persona?

“Great question. So, our origins are similar. Kind of. She grew up poor one of twelve children, I grew up poor, one of three. My family eventually was lucky enough to make it out of the poverty I was born into but we were still always poor, you know? Like. I remember my mom rationing her food so I could eat enough until that stopped when I was about seven and my mom didn’t have to make a meal for herself last two meals.  And we’re both from the American South.”

“I grew up on Dolly. She’s the queen of our people [laughs] and I’m not even being facetious. We love her. Can’t get enough of her. And I include myself in that; Dolly Parton is an icon. She is unashamed of who she is and where she comes from, which really struck a chord with me. As the American-born daughter of a refugee, I was always caught between two cultures. Am I Cambodian, am I American? Which can I claim? My mother taught to me my Cambodian culture, our Vietnamese friends taught me about Vietnamese culture, but my white father was from Switzerland so I didn’t learn to be American until school. That’s when I started droppin’ my G’s, sayin’ y’all and ain’t, and asking my parents to make grits for breakfast when they’d never eaten them before in their immigrant lives. I wanted so badly to just be seen as American, to be seen as just a girl from Georgia. If it weren’t for my mother refusing to let me speak English to her at home I would have lost my Khmer. She spoke English just fine, but English was for Out There.”

“My mom taught me to be proudly Cambodian, but I’m not just Cambodian, right? I mean, I’m biracial, sure. But more importantly, I’m bi-cultural. I’m not just Cambodian, I’m American - Southern, if we wanna get real specific. Both of my cultures are vibrant, and beautiful, and are equally important to me. My mom taught me not to be ashamed to be the daughter of a refugee - she didn’t get into specifics until I was older, but she was always made it clear she had Been Through Some Shit and could handle anything. Even now, when I go through something difficult I just tell myself, ‘Mom survived genocide, you can do whatever this is.’ I knew how to be proudly Cambodian, I knew how to wear traditional dress to nice events, and wear Khmer wedding clothes for my wedding instead of a white dress. But I didn’t know how to embrace this other part of myself - because wasn’t raised in the default Middle America. Even my American side is a type of odd culture, isn’t it?

Dolly Parton taught me not to be ashamed of the other half of where I came from. She is unapologetic about bein’ who she is. She is proud of where she came from. And I want to be the Dolly Parton of my rural Georgia town. My identities as Cambodian and Georgian are more important to be than my identity as, like, an American person in general. I want people to think, ‘that’s a Georgia woman’ when they think of me, just like you look at Dolly and say ‘that’s a Appalachian girl’ before you just go ‘oh, she’s American.’

[jolienjoyswriting]

Mortem In Contumeliam FFVI, Ch. IV

Chapter 4 of "Mortem In Contumeliam Final Fantasy VI," a Final Fantasy VI fan fiction story.

No fun facts about this chapter, I'm afraid.  "What you see is what you get."  Well… mostly.  I did give some reasoning behind a certain character's actions, in a minor revision~

Word count: 3,360 – Character count: 19,226 Originally written: July 18th, 2019

As they start on an outpost near Doma, the soldiers and officers get settled in.

Final Fantasy VI, Wedge, Biggs, and related characters, scenarios, and properties created by Square Soft, Inc. and © Square Enix Co, Ltd.

[ ← Prev. Chapter | Next Chapter → ]

    “Company, halt!!”

    It had been a long journey from ship’s landing to the natural land bridge but, after half-a-day… they finally arrived.

    “You!  Get that bridge erected and set up a motor pool in the central perimeter!” the commander shouted to a random soldier.  “You!  Set up some tents!  You!  Grab some sandbags and start getting barricades up!  We only have so long to set up, so let’s get this camp ship-shape before General Palazzo arrives!  Move, you slugs!  Move-move-move!!”

    As requested, the first thing anyone did was get a sturdy, temporary bridge set up to cross the stream at the north of the area.  Next, soldiers began placing modular, wooden floors down in strategic locations based on elevated land, erecting tents over that.  A pair of soldiers worked in-tandem to bring the six Magitek Armor units into the center of the area and, not long after, some non-enlisted men brought out some equipment and assembled some power generators.  Some of the other conscripted civilians also set to work on what looked like alien technology – bumpy, disc-shaped objects with mechanical arms and laser arrays – which would serve as eyes-in-the-sky, once powered.  As night fell over the area… the camp had started to take shape.

    “Not too shabby, huh?”

    Wedge grinned to his partner as he made the finishing touches on their tent – one of the ones closest to where they’d started the camp.

    “I have to admit… you seem to know a-thing-or-two about pitching a tent,” Biggs told him as he looked around.     “Was there ever any doubt?” the shorter man beamed.     “This reminds me of our failed mission to Narshe, a while ago…  Remember that blizzard that came out-of-nowhere?”     “I remember ordering that cute witch-girl to clean my boots!” Wedge laughed.     “Yeah…  Effective use of military equipment.”  Biggs rolled his eyes.     “Oh, you’re one to talk, Biggs!  Remember what you made her do?”     The other soldier gave a remorseful sigh…  “I’m starting to remember, yes.”     “Anyway, it was a pretty unique situation.  It’s not every day that we have a loyal li’l ‘soldier’ all our own!”  Wedge grinned as he added, “She really made the time in that tent fly by!”     Biggs hummed… then, he sighed.     “That mission… wasn’t one of our finer moments.”     “Yeah… yeah, I guess not, huh?  Between losing our pants and losing the phantom beast, it was a pretty big wash.  But, hey.”     He smiled at his partner.     “‘least we made it out alive.”     The other soldier smiled in return.  Wedge had a point…

    “Wonder if General Kefka found out where that girl went?”     “Doesn’t matter, at this point,” the taller man told the shorter.  “It’s out of our hands.”     “Yeah, but…”  Wedge rubbed the back of his neck.  “It’d be nice to know that she’s alright.”     “I seem to remember saying something about not getting attached to military property…?”     “Biggs… the more I remember about that mission, the more I recall…”     He sighed.     “What a babe that lady was…!  Man, I can’t believe I ever forgot!  I so in love!”     Biggs narrowed his eyes.  A moment later, he suggested that they turn in for the night.     “Yeah, a’right.”  The other man shrugged.  “G’night, then?”     “Mm.”     With that, Wedge doused the lantern situated on the table in the center, then settled down and tucked himself into his bedroll.  Not long after, he fell asleep.

    “Gooooood morning, Imperiaaal Caaaaamp!!”

    The following morning, both Biggs and Wedge scurried out of their sleeping bags, the duo stumbling outside at the crack of dawn.  Someone – “some loudmouthed idiot,” as Wedge put it – was on the speaker system… which, neither of them even knew the camp had… and, was in the process of making a series of announcements.  Once that was done, they could hear music playing through the system… which, they had to admit, kind of lightened the mood.

    “Standard-issue military rations!  Yum-yum!”     After getting dressed in his gear, Wedge sat outside the tent, situated on the sandbags that surrounded the small rise where he’d set their tent.     “What’d your mom pack for you, Biggs?” he asked as took a pin-key to a tin.     “Standard-issue military rations,” was his friend’s response as he did much the same.     “Mine’s meat-flavored and it comes with some cocoa!” the first man said, his voice light and high as he imitated a child’s.     “Mine is… uh… the same, I think?”     “Wanna trade?”     Biggs gave a blink, then stared at his partner.  He was smiling.  After a long pause…     “Yeah, alright.”     The two exchanged their perfectly-identical meals, then dug in.

    “This is the life,” Wedge said after a few bites, “eh, Biggs?”     “What do you mean?” the other man asked.     “Going out on missions… seeing exotic locales… eating exotic food…”     Biggs looked into his tin.  He was pretty sure the ration was well past its prime…     “Life is great!” Wedge finished with a radiant smile.     “Alright, I’ll bite…  Why are you in such a good mood, this morning?”     “Jessie and I had a little date, last night!” he said, surprising his companion.     “Really…” Biggs said in disbelief.  “Here?  During a mission?”     “What can I say?”  The other man grinned.  “I’m a bad influence!  Besides… she helped get my mind off that witchy woman I remembered I loved!  I– aww, dammit.”     The other soldier just rolled his eyes from underneath his helmet.

    “Seriously, though…”  Wedge paused as he looked over to the flowing river.  “This place is pretty peaceful.  There aren’t a huge amount of monsters around, the air is nice, and the water is crystal-clear!  Oh, by the way!  I filled your canteen after I got back, last night.”     Biggs was quick to unscrew his water flask and give it a sniff.  When he didn’t notice any particular aroma, he took a sip.  A second later, he went wide-eyed under his helmet.     “Oh…” he whispered.  “This water is so… pure!  Cold, too!”     “I know, right…?” Wedge laughed.  “I felt kind of bad when Jessie convinced me to go skinny dipping in it.”     His friend briefly considered spitting out his water… but, it didn’t taste like people had been splashing around in it, so he just gave his friend a smirk.

    “So, you and Jessie are back on-track, are you?” he asked.  When Wedge gave a nod, he hummed…  “Ready to give up on that witch-girl?”     “Let’s be honest: it’s an unrealistic goal,” he heard his partner admit.  “Still… who says I’m crushing on Jessie, anyway?”     “You went swimming with her.  Naked,” he added after another sip.     “Okay, okay, I could see how that might paint a certain kind of picture…” Wedge laughed.

    “Really, though… I’m happy to see you in such good spirits.”  Biggs looked over with a smile.  “You’re usually more pessimistic and down on the military or the mission.  Since starting this one?  I’ve barely heard you complain even once.”     “Well, now that you mention it… these rations suck!” he exclaimed with unexpected disdain.  “Why, when I get back to Vector, I’m gonna walk right up to the guy who made these and go… ‘Hey.  Thanks for the nourishing food.  They don’t taste very good, but I know you’re just trying to keep us fed and alert, and I appreciate that.  So, thank you.’”     “That’s… I…”  Biggs blinked… then, he smiled.  “Oddball.”

    Breakfast came to a sudden end as, not long after that exchange, the commander could be heard barking orders over the public address system.  Minutes later, Biggs, Wedge, and the rest of the camp were back onto the grind as the black-armor military man and General Christophe set out on a diplomatic mission to Doma.

    “Boy, some guys get all the easy jobs, huh?”     Wedge grinned as he hammered away at a cross-beam.  He and Biggs had the “prestigious” honor of erecting a guard tower at the western bank of the land bridge.     “I doubt this will be an easy task,” Biggs told him as he steadied the wooden structure.  “I’ve heard that Doma is strongly opposed to the Empire’s goals.  General Christophe has his work cut out for him, today.”     “If anyone can convince an entire nation to change their mind, it’s him!”     “You really think so?” the taller figure asked with genuine curiosity.     “General Leo’s pretty awesome!” was his shorter friend’s response.  “I bet by tomorrow night… we’ll be back on the ship and heading to Vector!”     “That’s… strangely optimistic of you.”  Biggs smiled as he added, “I certainly hope so.”     With that, the two turned there focus to erecting the guard tower. –––––

    “Doma refuses to ally themselves with the Gestahlian Empire… which, unfortunately, means that we must prepare for war.  Gird your loins, steel your resolve, and pray to whatever gods you believe in…  This will not be easy, but remember: you are not alone.  Your families are with you in spirit, your country wholeheartedly believes in you, and the whole of the Gestahlian Empire’s might is behind you, as proud of you are you are to serve us.     “I cannot promise that this will be a bloodless war.  I cannot promise your safety.  But, I can promise that we will do everything in our power to provide you with the greatest technological and tactical advantages possible.  With good fortune and the blessings of those who silently watch over us, we may see this war end before too many casualties are had – on either side.  War is a senseless act, but sometimes… a display of force is all one can do sway a group or nation to the greater good.  Just remember: you are not a disposable commodity.  Every single one of you is a human being… one with hopes, dreams, and aspirations.  Be aware of yourselves and each other, and strongly consider your alternatives before doing anything drastic.  Men?  Do your country proud and serve the Empire with grace and honor.  Thank you.”

    The entire camp burst into uproarious applause as General Christophe walked away from the radio system and headed through the motor pool toward his private tent, his words stirring their hearts and encouraging them to bravery and valor.  That night, every soldier went to bed with his words ringing in their ears and giving them comfort.  Every soldier… except for one.

    “I thought I might find you out here…”     Wedge sat alone, staring up at the stars in the sky from his newly-christened “thinking spot” – the sandbags right outside the tent’s entrance.  When he heard the familiar voice of his partner call, he looked over and offered a smile… but, no words.     “A Gil for your thoughts?” Biggs suggested as he sat next to Wedge.     “Keep your money,” he chuckled.  “My thoughts aren’t worth even that much.”     “I’ll be the judge of that.”     When he heard his friend chuckle, he gave another smile… then, he sighed.

    “Okay, so…” he started, “you know that speech General Leo gave, today?  The one about ‘being brave’ and how our ‘country is proud of us,’ and stuff?”     “Yeah?”     “Well, as inspiring as he was trying to be… his speech, well…”  He gave a slight pause before confessing, “It didn’t do much for me.”     “Are you saying you don’t want to die for your country?”     “Biggs,” he sighed, “you know I’m originally from Kohlingen…”     “That… was supposed to be a joke, partner.”     “Oh.”     The two fell into an awkward silence, then.  At least… for a little while.

    “No,” Wedge eventually told his friend.  “I don’t really want to die for ‘my country.’  I– I mean, yeah, I guess if I were still living in Kohlingen and someone came rolling in, trying to take us over… I would be willing to lay my life down?  But… this thing with Doma?  And, that thing with Narshe?  H-hell, that thing with Narshe wasn’t even supposed to be a combat mission!  Those idiots turned it into one – and, for what?!”     He punched both sides of his sandbag seat and scowled, glaring straight forward.     “We wiped out their militia with our Magitek Armor!  We killed their trained whelk!  And… and, we didn’t even get the damn phantom beast…”     Wedge shook his head… then, he looked at Biggs with a frown.     “What’s it all for, partner?” he asked in a quiet voice.  “What’s it all gonna lead to?  What’s the Emperor gonna do when he has the entire world in his hands?  When will all this fighting just… stop…?”     “I think you answered your last question with the one before it,” Biggs chuckled.

    “Okay, sure.  Fine.  Emperor Gestahl takes over the world and everything is under his control.  So… what if not everyone’s alright with that?  Rebel groups form, then we, the Empire, wipe ‘em right out!  Then, more people rebel and the Empire wipes them out!  Where does it all end, Biggs?  Like… at what point do people just… give up?  Never!” he shouted, preventing his friend from answering.  “It’s an endless cycle of violence… and, we’re just fanning the flames by attacking people we can’t get on our side with words, alone…  It sucks…”     “Er… partner…?”     Biggs blinked… then, he frowned.  Wedge had pulled his helmet off and hidden his face behind his gloved hands.  He’d worked himself into a frenzy and quiet tears seemed to be the only way he could calm back down.

    “Wedge… I… don’t have any easy answers,” his partner told him.  “‘War is hell,’ as someone much more eloquent once said… but, sometimes?  When words utterly fail?  Sometimes, violence is necessary.”     “Oh, get a freaking clue, man!”     Biggs gave another blink.  Wedge had pulled his hands away and was staring right at him.

    “Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one, Biggs?” he said with controlled anger.  “Don’t you get it?  We’re the bad-guys, here!  We’re trying to shove our agenda onto people who want nothing to do with us!  We’re the bullies and Doma… Figaro… everyone is our victim!  We’re just gonna push ‘em all ‘til they either completely submit, or… or… fight back, tooth-and-nail!  A lot’a people are gonna get hurt, man… a lot’a people have already been hurt!  And, it’s just gonna keep gettin’ worse-and-worse…  Why does the Empire even want to control the world…?  That’s a lot’a work for just one nation… just one leader…  I don’t get it…”

    Biggs didn’t know what to say, to that.  He knew Wedge was completely right… but, for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to say so.  Instead, he decided to ask a question…

    “Wedge?” he called, looking at the man who was looking at the moon.  “Why did you join the Imperial Army?”     “What?”  Wedge chuckled, rubbing his eyes and giving an uneasy smile.  “What do you mean?  I joined because my parents kicked me out when I turned 16.”     “So, you joined the Imperial Army because they wanted you to get a job?”     “My dad…”  The man looked down before starting, again.  “My dad served in the army before I did.  When he got old, he retired to Kohlingen with my mom.  His heart belongs to my mom… but, his soul belongs to the Empire…”     “What do you mean, ‘his soul belongs to the Empire?’” Biggs inquired.     “His dad made him enroll when he was 16 – just like my dad made me enroll when I was 16.  Unlike Dad, though… I never really wanted to join the army.”     “So, why did you?”     “Why else?”  He chuckled.  “I wanted to make my old man proud.”     “Do you think he’d be proud of you, right now?”     “I think he’d call me a pansy for crying about doing my job.”     Wedge squirmed, looking away with that same nervous smile.     “But… he’d be proud that I haven’t given up, I guess?”

    “Wedge…  If you weren’t in the army,” Biggs began, deciding to go a different route with his inquiry, “what would you want to do?”     There was a long pause before Wedge finally answered, “I don’t know.”     “Is that why you’ve stuck with the army for this long?”     “Probably…?”  He paused, again.  “Look, man, where are you going with this?”     Biggs gave a blink.  Wedge was half-glaring at him, still with wet eyes.     “I’m just saying… if you’re not happy with serving the military… why not just quit?”     “Because…”  He looked away, again.  “I’ve done this for so long, I… I don’t think I’d know how to do much else.”     “Is that so?”  When Wedge gave another nod, Biggs asked, “You seem pretty handy with a hammer…  And, I’ve seen you repair your body armor pretty easily.”     “So?  Those are just things I’ve picked up since serving.”     “Plus, you seem to have a silver tongue when it comes to merchants…”     “Again, just skills I’ve picked up since serving…  Besides.”  The sad man paused to rub his nose.  “I can’t make a job out of haggling.”     “I wouldn’t be too sure about that…  Regardless, you have plenty of skills that have real-world application.”  Biggs offered a smile as he listed off, “Armor repair, carpentry, negotiation…  I’ve even seen you fix up simple machines, in your spare time!  In fact… if you combine carpentry with your machine skills, you could go into business as a clock-maker, or music-box-maker, or something along those lines!

    “I guess my point is that… you have plenty to offer, Wedge.  And, if you’re truly miserable in this man’s army… if you really don’t believe what we’re doing is ‘right…’ if you want to walk away from all this, then… go ahead.  If you’d like… I’ll even come with you.”     “You’d… come with me?” Wedge asked, sounding as surprised as he looked.  When he saw Biggs give him a nod, he gave a light chuckle… then, he looked away, bringing his hands together and going silent.  It seemed like he had a lot on his mind.  At least… until he spoke.

    “I’m not quitting the army,” he said after a long while.     “You don’t want to quit?” Biggs asked, sounding surprised, himself.     “Honestly…?  It’s not so bad, here.”  Wedge looked up with a smile.  “I mean, they give us room-and-board for free…  They give us a fairly decent stipend for equipment and extras…  Plus, girls seem to like the uniform, for some reason.”     “It’s the lightning bolt on the helmet,” his partner jokingly suggested.     “Sure… we may have to bust some heads and throw our weight around… but, if people were smart, they’d get with the program and join the winning side, already!  Because… clearly… the Gestahlian Empire is gonna win this war and every other one that follows!  Just like always!”     “Do you truly believe that?”     “Partner…”  Wedge grinned at his friend.  “The Empire is too big to fail.”     “The bigger they are…” Biggs started to say…     “Excuse me?  What’s this treasonous talk about?”     “‘T-treason…?’”  He seemed taken aback…     “Are you saying you don’t believe in the Empire?” the other man asked in a playful tone.  “Are you saying that we’re gonna fail?  Are you, in fact, suggesting that we… gasp… lay down and let other nations just walk all over us?”     “N… no, of course not.  I–”     “General Leo!  Commander Garven!  We have a traaaitor in our midst!”     “Sh– sh-shut up, Wedge!”

    Biggs leaned over, putting a hand over his partner’s mouth.  When he felt something touch the palm of his hand, he drew back and looked… then, he gave his friend a curious glance.     “Did you… really just lick my glove?”     Wedge was flicking his tongue and rubbing his mouth on his arm.     “Tastes like leather!” he said with a grin.     “You’re a crazy bastard, Wedge.”     “Yeah, but…”     The soldier nudged himself a little closer.     “I’m yooour crazy bastard, Biggs.”     “Oh… c’mere, you fruitcake.”

    The formerly-sorrowful soldier laughed and brightly smiled as his partner wrapped his arms around him, then returned the favor, half-snuggling into the inviting embrace.  He always liked getting Biggs to hug him – Biggs gave the best hugs!  Not long after, he leaned back.     “Hey, Wedge,” he started.  “All this deep thinking that you’re doing?  What sparked it?”     “Jessie ditched me,” he chuckled.  “Saw her leavin’ the ‘cadets tent.’  D-don’t tell her!”     “I knew it,” the other soldier laughed.  “And, I won’t.”     “Thanks, man.”  Wedge shyly smiled.  “For… everything.”

[theuniversitychallengereview]

UC 48.24 - Warwick vs Bristol

When they’re making the draws for the Group Stages of major football tournaments, they don’t just randomly pull balls out of bowls (let me finish, this isn’t some kind of half-baked conspiracy theory), there are rules to the randomness. You aren’t allowed to have too many clubs from the same country in the same group for instance, so if a Spanish team is drawn out first for one group then they choose the next ball from a new bowl that doesn’t have any more Spanish teams in it (I’m not sure if thats exactly how they do it, but the mechanics will be the same).

I don’t know how they do the draws for the first round of University Challenge, but there always seems to be similar numbers of the three match types - Oxbridge derby, non-Oxbridge and non-Oxbridge-Oxbridge. There’s never been a first round comprising entirely of the first two types (if I was prepared to spend more than ten minutes on Wikipedia I could have got you some gnarly stats and maybe even some charts, but alas). However, the second round draw appears to be based on the order in which the first round matches were played, which meant that this year it saw 3 Oxbridge derbies. The two other Oxbridge sides were bested by Manchester and Durham, meaning that (going into the final second round meeting between Bristol and Warwick) for the first time since 2014 (and this has been an extremely long-winded way of saying so) there would only be three Oxbridge teams in the Quarter-Finals. 

That year Trinity, Cambridge won, so the victor of BristolWarwick would join Edinburgh, Manchester, Durham and Glasgow in trying to wrestle away the stranglehold the big two have held on the trophy since 2013, when Manchester’s own reign of dominance had ended (note that this also coincides with Sir Alex Ferguson’s Manchester United retirement and make of it what you will).

Anyway, let’s not bother with the rules, here’s your first starter for ten (if you read last week’s blog you may have spotted that I used this then too. I’m trying to see if it works as a cheat-segue, so I don’t have to try and seamlessly link the main body with my rambling intros).

The first starter of the night went to Warwick’s substitute Painter, showing no signs of nerves at being thrown into the deep end, although she does look down at her buzzer to make sure she knows where it is as she presses it. They don’t fare too well on the 2017 Man Booker prize nominees, and neither do I. I feel like I should know more about contemporary literature, but there’s just too much of it to keep a handle on. 

Bristol’s Iredale buzzes somewhere in the Loveday Zone on the next starter, but gets it wrong (a distinctly non-Loveday move) and Gower sweeps up for Warwick, who know more about scientific prefixes, taking the hat-trick to move 45 points clear.

The first picture round goes to Bristol, who chance their luck with an opportunistic guess of King George for one of the bonuses. The question had been on cities named after people, which should have obviously ruled out George VI, because all the cities* had been named by the time he acceded to the throne (*probably not all the cities), so they would have got it had they split the other five down the middle (rule one when making guesswork regarding the monarchy) and gone with Farmer George III (but they did not). Paxman cracked out one of his trademark moves - humour by facetiousness - by asking for the forename of the Darwin after whom Darwin, Australia was named.

Warwick captain Beardsley buzzes faster than Clint Eastwood on the Morricone score for The Hateful Eight (I say Eastwood because I wrote this sentence thinking the music was from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, but it wasnt. I could change it to Samuel L Jackson or Kurt Russell to make it more relevant, but they’re less known for playing fast-drawing cowboys, so the reference maybe wouldn’t have made as much sense...), and they show some quizzing nous on the bonuses by just guessing John Williams for anything they don’t know, and then correctly giving John Williams when the time was right as well. 

At this point the match was being tightly contested. Warwick lead 75-70, and it stayed this way, with the lead see-sawing back and forth, until the scores reached 130-120, with the advantage still Warwick’s. At that point a lead weight was added to their side of the see-saw, rendering them sluggish and confused (who had put the lead weight there? They were baffled), and leaving Bristol sitting pretty up high, able to rake in all the points (which in the world of this metaphor are more easily accessible from an elevated position).

Final Score: Warwick 125 - 190 Bristol

Well done to Bristol, who were better when it really mattered, on making it to the quarter-finals for the 4th time in 5 years. Its at that stage that they tend to slip up though, having never made it through to the last 4. The QFs start tonight, with Glasgow taking on Durham in what could be an incredible (if the Glasgow side who beat Emmanuel in a thrilling first round encounter show up) or drab (if its the version of Glasgow who disappeared and were almost knocked out by Goldsmith’s in the second half of their second round match) affair.

[keenperfectiondaze-blog]

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[theoccultarchives]

667: Children of the Beast Issue #1

I love sharing my work whenever and wherever I can. Issue #1 is also FREE on my website, or if you like it and want to support my writing (or read the other issues I have published) you can find them on Amazon.

L. Cipher Laboratories

Undisclosed Address

1985

  “Were there any complications with the fertilization process?” A man in a lab coat leaned over his colleague as he sat at a desk, peering through a microscope.

           “Take a look for yourself, Dr. Feral.”  The colleague leaned back in his seat so the doctor could peer in to the lens. A cell, the blastocyst embryo, hovered in the dish, still too tiny for implantation.

           “Excellent, Samuel. And we have the Inhibitor serum?” Dr. Feral asked, looking to the scientist for an agreeable answer.

           “Yes, sir. It’s been tested, retested, and then tested again. This will delay the inevitable effects that would be apparent within the first five years of life otherwise. Without the serum, their little bodies would try and punch straight through any uterus.” Samuel brought over a syringe and needle from the lab table. A thick red liquid sloshed around inside the syringe as he attached the needle to the end.

             “Are they all going to turn out to be giants or something?” Dr. Feral wondered what those exact effects would be.

           “No, giants were a myth. They could be tall; they could be short, fat, thin, but always healthy. They will never get sick and even if the egg had the predisposition in its DNA to certain types of childhood diseases or genetic disorders—the super sperm would cancel that out. It will vary across the board what they will grow in to, but they will be anything but ordinary.” Samuel assured him as he excused the doctor from his seat in front of the microscope.

           “Fascinating. And what will activation be like? They never briefed me on all of this; I just go where I am told.” Dr. Feral may have had higher clearance than the scientist, but Samuel was the one who was engineering all of this.

           “Intense, painful, explosive. Their true nature will take over with the exemplary abilities that will emerge when the time is just right. These children will be unstoppable.” Samuel smiled as he pressed his eye to the lens and slowly inserted the fine needle in to the membrane surrounding the blastocyst. It twitched as he injected a very small amount of the red liquid in to what would soon be a developing embryo.

           “There. The first one is complete. We will give it an hour for the serum to take effect, check it again, and then it is ready for implantation in to a host.” Samuel was satisfied that it would all work out well this time.

           “How did you choose the mothers? I’d hardly think they were at random.” Dr. Feral was just so curious.

            “You know how the Boss is; she has all these outside sources. The women were chosen by their lineage throughout history. We mapped the DNA of the entire population and used those samples to determine who would be a proper host, and who wasn’t worthy. These women made the cut.” Samuel pointed to the stacks and stacks of files that lined the back table.

           “Good. Implantation starts in three days. We have to have all the embryos primed and ready by tomorrow evening. They have to catch at the same time more or less.” Dr. Feral patted Samuel on the shoulder.

           “I know there is a deadline; the Boss can have a very precise way of doing things for dramatic effect.” Samuel smiled.

           “Good. Give us a call when you are sure that everything is a hundred percent. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dr. Feral nodded and Samuel smiled.

           The serum would work; he was sure of it.

           These children were going to bring about a new era on the Earthly plane and not even God himself could stop them.

  May 14th 2016

 Violet Eve

              “You ok?” Nancy tapped the table in front of me. Apparently she had been chatting away about some guy she had met at the pub, but I hadn’t heard a word of it. I had been staring at the potted fern that dangled from the picture window in the kitchen. The more I studied the small leafy segments of the green shoots that drooped over the planter, the more they looked like tentacles undulating in the waves of the ocean. Nancy’s sudden question had brought me out of the day dream.

           “Yeah—yeah, I’m fine.” I assured her, stuffing my mouth with a spoonful of oat cereal.

           “You sleep badly again?” Nancy pulled a chair from under the table and took a seat.

           “No worse than usual.” I spoke around a mouthful of cereal, not really wanting to have the conversation with her.

           “That bad, Vi? You worried about the move?” Nancy kept poking at me for personal information. It wasn’t like we were besties; merely roommates who were social from time to time. Though she did have to put up with my sleep walking and occasional night terrors.

           “Not really. A bit. I just—I’ve never flown across the ocean before. New country, new people. The only person I know is Missy and she said she’d handle everything. I’m broker than piss and have only a few hundred pounds to my name. I’m fine though.” I spooned the last bit of the oats in to my mouth and dumped my bowl in the sink before slinging my messenger bag across my chest.

           “Well, if you need to talk; I’m here.” Nancy’s bespectacled eyes crinkled slightly as she smiled at me.

           “Thanks, Nan. Don’t wait up, yeah? Late shift tonight; got to save as much as I can before I leave.” I nodded at her.

           “Be safe, Violet! Everything is going to be fine!” She hollered after me as I slipped out the door and down to my last few nights at work. In a few short weeks I was going to move all the way to New Orleans, Louisiana with my childhood best friend. I would be celebrating my 30th birthday in a new country, with no money, and nothing to show for myself.

           I was going to make my last few nights in my home town of Belfast count for something.

 May 19th, 2016

 Adam Baudin

              “You alright, dude? You look a little flushed.” Nate had come to bring me a bottle of water as I played the last of my set for the night. I had become hot, so hot that I thought I was going to pass out. I was beyond thankful that Nate had paid enough attention to my mixing to see me gesturing for a bottle of something to wet my whistle.

           “Yeah. Just really fucking hot. It’s been like this for a few weeks.” I wiped the sweat from my brow, mashed a few buttons on the sound board, and took a huge swig from the icy water bottle.

           “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were going through The Change.” Nate laughed at me. I just narrowed my eyes at him and took another long gulp.

           “It’s probably nothing. Summer is just here early and you know how hot it gets under the lights.” I made up excuse after excuse.

           “And you don’t have air conditioning in that rat hole of an apartment, Adam. Might as well walk around naked.” Nate set down a few more bottles of water in the empty chair next to me while I went back to finishing my set.

           “Take your shirt off; the girls love that.” Nate slapped my clothed shoulder and sauntered back off to the bar.

           Even though I had already downed two bottles of water, I felt like I was going to melt my laptop as I transitioned in to the next track.

           The people in the crowd didn’t seem nearly as sweaty and hot as I was, but I chalked it up to the anxiety I had been waking up with for the past few weeks. Sweltering terror in the middle of the night that would have me sitting straight up in bed, drenched in sweat.

           The apartment I lived in wasn’t exactly in a good area of New Orleans either, but up until this point it was all I could afford. I would be moving before my next birthday, but that day couldn’t come soon enough.

  May 28th, 2016

 Violet Eve

              I had just gotten home from my last shift at the Cock and Crow and was changing in to my pajamas when my laptop started to ring. Missy tended to forget the time difference: it was only eight PM where she was.

           I clicked the green call button on the chat window and Missy’s beaming face popped up on the screen.

           “Viiiiiiii! Darling, you look absolutely dreadful.” She scrunched up her nose when she saw my face.

           “You look well too, Miss.” I shot back, carrying the laptop over to my bed so I could get more comfortable.

           “You still not sleeping good? I told you; get yourself some cough medicine and drink half the bottle. Out like a light.” Missy suggested, snapping her fingers.

           “Thanks, but you’re the last person I want to take medical advice from.” I laughed, settling in to the soft blankets atop my bed. I had the window open and the warm May air wafted through with the scent of freshly baked bread from three flats over.

           “That was an accident. I thought they were aspirin!” Missy defended herself, but I just laughed.

           “All is forgiven. How is New Orleans?” I asked her, slipping a bar of chocolate from my bag on the night stand.

           “You’re going to love it, Violet. It’s so different from the UK. People are different, the culture is different, and the music and food— all of it is so new and exciting. And I can’t wait for you to meet Jeremy.” Missy was still jabbering on, but something across the room had caught my attention. A moth the size of a pence piece fluttered through the window and danced about the light that dangled in the middle of the ceiling. I could still faintly hear Missy detailing her last five dates with Jeremey when the moth fluttered off to the corner of the ceiling and was instantly entangled in a spider web. It struggled, flapping its wings anxiously as it tried to fan itself away from imminent death.

           Then I saw it. A spider, easily three times the size of the poor little moth, came scaling the wall from a crack that had formed at the ceiling.

           “And Vi—Vi…he is so well endowed.” A sentence from Missy pierced my concentration on the insect that was trapped a meter away from me.

           “Yeah? He’s a biggun, eh?” I heard enough of the conversation to respond, but quickly went back to watching the circle of life playing before me. The spider had just gotten to the moth and was beginning to shoot silky threads at the insect; it was going to wrap it up for a mid-morning snack.

           “I can’t wait till you get here! Only one more week and then it’s party time!” Missy’s voice was shrill as she excitedly spoke on the computer screen.

           “I can’t wait either.” I muttered, smiling absentmindedly. I couldn’t let that moth die. I knew that’s just how life was, but that spider hadn’t worked for anything. Sure it had built the web, but have you ever seen how fast they can do that? That moth was just minding its own business and, by chance, had wandered in to my room that just so happened to be inhabited by a giant fucking spider that was going to eat this innocent creature!

           “Stop!” I blurted, throwing my hand out in the direction of the bugs in a one sided battle. Before my eyes, the moth grew to the size of a small crow, burst through the silk that had been partially woven around its body, and snagged the spider in a disturbing role reversal. It made a high pitched screeching sound as it flew out the window, the spider in its fuzzy forelegs.

           “What are you screaming stop about? Is someone there with you?” Missy’s face looked panicked when I turned back to the screen, and I guess the expression on my face was one of horror because she began babbling incoherently about calling the police.

           “I’m fine. I have the tele on across the room and it was a really intense episode of—of Downton Abby and I got a little too wrapped up. I didn’t mean to freak you out.” I hurriedly made an excuse and tried not to think about the carnivorous moth that had just carried a spider of a rather large size out my bedroom window.

           “Don’t scare a girl like that! Well, I have dinner plans and I just realized that it’s super late where you are. Have you finished packing?” Missy asked me. I knew that she was craning her neck to peer at the half stuffed cardboard boxes that were stacked all around me.

           “Bathroom and kitchen tomorrow and then I am mostly done. Going to take the majority of the boxes to the thrift and the rest with me to the US. I’m going to miss it here.” I suddenly felt forlorn about leaving home. I had never been anywhere but here, save for the yearly trip to London that mum used to take us on to see her parents.

           “I know; I miss it too, but it is so amazing here. And for a writer like you, ugh—you will have so much content to work with! But I’m going to let you go. Get some rest, Vi, because I am going to wear you out when you get here.” Missy laughed and I cracked a slight smile.

           “Night, Miss. Be safe. Love you.” I hovered my cursor over the red button to end our conversation.

           “Love you, Vi!” Missy beat me to ending the call.

           One week and I would be in New Orleans. One week and Belfast, Ireland, and the entirety of the UK would be behind me. Writing in a new city, living in a new city—everything was going to change. Maybe the nightmares would stop, maybe my mind would quit wandering off like it had been doing and I could finally get some writing done.

           I could have sworn I saw the moth speed by the window with at least a dozen spiders curled up in its furry legs as I clicked off the light and went to bed.

 May 28th, 2016

 Adam Baudin

              It had been another nightmare full of blazing heat, roaring beasts, and the sound of erupting volcanoes. I hadn’t a clue what any of it meant, but it was so damn hot.

           Everything was hot.

           I was burning up.

           Even in the dark I could see the sweat that had beaded up on my naked torso; I could also smell what seemed to be burning plastic and cotton. There was a scent like there had been a fire, but I couldn’t see anything.

           I yanked the chain above me and the room lit up with a faint glow; that bulb was nearly blown.

           “Jesus Christ.” I cursed, scrambling back in bed. The sheets around me had been scorched, part of the mattress melted in on itself, and the carpet looked like burnt toast. There had definitely been a fire; the fibers from the synthetic carpeting still smoking even after the flames had gone out.

           “This isn’t fucking possible.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed and felt the floor with my big toe to see if it was still hot; thankfully it wasn’t.

           I crossed the one room apartment that I occupied and entered the bathroom, flicking on the light to make sure that there hadn’t been a fire anywhere else. I still hadn’t a clue how that had even happened.

           How had a fire, that I practically slept though, started in my bed without a scratch on me to show for it?

           I take that back. Not a scratch was a huge understatement.

           My hands. How had I not felt them like this?

           I was scorched black from the knuckles down, the meaty flesh of my fingertips exposed. The skin of my hands had cracked from what appeared to be third degree burns, yet I felt nothing.

           “What in the hell is going on?” I hastily turned the cold water on in the sink and doused my hands. They hissed as the water poured over them, just like it would have had I poured it over a hot skillet.

           Soon the bathroom was full of steam and I couldn’t even see myself in the mirror. I turned the faucet off and didn’t bother drying my hands. The water hadn’t done a thing to quench the embers that burned in the grooves of my skin.

           I went straight for my cell phone on the night stand and mashed down the number two button. It rang twice before I got an answer.

           “Adam, it’s after three AM. What can’t wait till morning?” A thick accent emanated through the mouth piece.

           “I have a problem, man. A big one—and you are the only one I can talk to about this.” I breathed in to the receiver. I could feel the plastic of the phone beginning to melt beneath my fingers. I quickly snagged my bed sheet and wadded it up between my hand and the phone.

           “What’s going on, brotha? You sound a bit on edge.” The voice spoke back at me.

           “Henri… I don’t know what’s going on. Something is wrong.” I could smell the sheet searing in my hand.

           “I can be down in da shop in five. Get your pasty ass dressed and meet me down there.” Henri hung up the phone and left me to struggle with getting dressed and not burning my clothes off.

  June 4th, 2016

 Violet Eve

              Nancy had tried her damnedest to take me to the airport, but I wanted a clean break from my old life. I had managed to pack my existence down in to two large suitcases, a carry on, and my lap top bag, and had it all loaded in a cab to take me to the states.

           I had only flown a handful of times so the airport was fairly foreign to me, but a nice old man had helped me figure out what flight I needed to get on, what terminal to go to, and how to check my bags. I felt a bit silly not knowing any of this, but he didn’t seem to mind helping me.

           The terminal was all but vacant; just me and another gentleman who sat by the windows looking out on the tarmac.

           A flight attendant sat at her station, typing away feverishly on an outdated system. Music played softly above me as I rifled through my computer bag for a stick of gum; I remembered that the pressure in flight could be very painful for the ears.

           I wondered how an international flight could be so—empty—but maybe people were just late…

           I was usually late, but not this time.

           I couldn’t afford to miss this flight that Missy, or Jeremy rather, had paid for. It was my one ticket out of all the bad memories that were still fairly fresh. Mum was gone and there was nothing I could do to bring her back. It may have just been an accident, but it was a chance situation that took her away from me forever. When Missy found out she immediately insisted that I come live with her, since I virtually had no one left in Ireland anymore. My grandparents were still alive, but we hadn’t spoken to them in years.

           So I made plans to move to New Orleans.

           I needed a few months to save up some money and moved in with Nancy, whom I had met working at the Cock and Crow. It gave me just enough time to straighten my shit out and get out of the country for broader horizons…hopefully.

           “Last call for the eleven thirty flight from Belfast to New Orleans. Last call for flight BA6671.” The flight attendant’s voice snapped me out my thoughts. There was no one at the gate now and I assumed that everyone had boarded without me.

           I hustled over to the counter and handed the lady my ticket. She checked it in before handing it back, “Have a wonderful flight, miss.”

           I smiled and hurriedly made my way on to the plane; my first flight ever across the pond.

  (*)

              “Welcome, let’s see what seat you are in.” A blond flight attendant took my ticket and checked all the information printed on it. “22C. You have a window seat. Right this way.” She led me down the aisle to the middle of the plane before I realized that, besides the man who had been sitting by the window in the terminal, I was the only other passenger on the plane.

           “Pretty dead flight, yeah?” I made nervous small talk as the flight attendant helped me put my carry on in the overhead compartment.

           “Seems that way. But it is the red eye.” She smiled at me as she shut the door to the compartment.

           “True.” I scooted down to the window seat and sank in as the bonging sign of the seatbelt light burned orange above my head. I buckled myself in and just stared out the window at the outside of the airport.

           This was it; this was me leaving everything behind and reinventing myself in a new city— a new country. I just couldn’t get over that.

           “Excuse me, would you mind if I sit here?” A male voice made me jump. I turned around to see the only other passenger on the flight with me.

           I wanted to tell him no, it wasn’t his seat any way, but there was no one else to protest and the flight was rather long so the company could have been nice.

           “Sure. Long flight; may be nice to have someone to talk to.” I really hoped that I didn’t sound like I was flirting.

           “True. You fly often?” He settled down in the aisle seat; at least he was kind enough to give me a little space.

           “Not really. Pretty much a plane virgin.” I blurted. What a terrible thing to say to a complete stranger. He laughed at me.

           “I fly a lot. For business mostly.” He grinned, laying his briefcase on the tray in front of his seat.

           “Oh, where are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?” His accent was definitely American—Southern; but I wondered if he was a Louisiana native or not.

           “Baton Rouge, born and raised. I work for a big firm though and they send me all over for business.” He popped open his briefcase and pulled out a laptop.

           A voice came over the intercom in the plane and relayed to us inflight and safety instructions as we prepared to take off. I started to get a bit shaky from the anticipation of lift off, but I tried to hide it.

           “Scared?” The man turned to me. He was rather attractive for someone quite a few years older than I was, and had we not been on an inbound flight to the US, I may have hoped that he’d ask me out for drinks. I never make the first move…

           “Not really. A bit.” I laughed nervously and adjusted my seat belt.

           “Don’t be. Planes are safer than cars; trust me. I fly all the time and rarely have an issue.” He patted my hand that lay on the arm rest.

           Safer than cars—I could agree with that. A plane hadn’t killed my mother after all.

           The aircraft began to take off down the runway and I braced myself for its ascent in to the clouds. It was so dark outside that I couldn’t see a thing and maybe that was for the better. I was afraid of heights, or afraid of falling—of crashing.

           I took a deep breath as the plane lifted from the ground and the wheels folded up in to their little compartment under the belly of the aircraft.

           “See, not bad.” The man winked at me as he settled in to work on his laptop. The screen in the back of the seat in front of me flicked on a comic book movie I had seen over a million times and began its opening credits. It was comforting for me, and soon I drifted off in to a dull sleep.

 June 2nd 2016

 Adam Baudin

              “Adam!” Henri’s voice pitched as I burst through the door to his shop. It was late and I had had another nightmare, but this one I swore was real.

           “I need more of that stuff, Henri. This one was—if I was crazy I would think that I was actually there.” I was drenched in sweat, which seemed to be a common occurrence as of late. Henri sat me in front of the Spell Bar and went behind the counter to mix me up a batch of his special sleep aid.

           “Tell me what happened, brotha.” Henri urged me to talk as he began to grind up herbs and powders.

           “Fire is always involved; this time it was a burning plane. It felt like I was actually there.” I rubbed my hand down my dripping face and brushed my hair back away from my eyes.

           “Tell me about it, every detail you can remember. It will help you.” Henri urged, adding a bit of liquor to the mix in his mortar and pestle.

           “It was a decent sized plane, white with blue and red stripes on the tail. I saw the outside because I just flew up to the plane like I was some bird.

           Through one of the windows I could barely make out a man and woman on the far side of the aircraft. They were the only two people in the cabin and they were struggling with one another. He was on top of her and she was screaming; I could hear it all.

           Next thing I know, the plane is engulfed in flames and I watch as it rapidly plummets for earth; the plane breaking at its middle before it even hits the ground.” I was starting to sweat again as I retold the nightmarish dream. I couldn’t make out what either of the parties on the plane looked like, but I couldn’t help but feel devastated over the death of the woman.

           Whatever happened, she didn’t deserve it.

           God only knew what the man had been trying to do to her when the plane went up in flames.

           “Adam, do you believe in prophetic dreams?” Henri asked as he smoothed the mixture in to a paste and began rolling it around in dried fruits and powdered sugar.

           “I believe in a lot of weird things—why not that?” I shrugged, pulling my hair back and securing it with a scorched bandana.

           “Do you think that these dreams of yours are possibly precognitive?” Henri laid a piece of the herbal candy he had just concocted in front of me and I gratefully popped it in to my mouth as he turned to shape more.

           “You think that an actual plane went down that way, or will go down that way, and I somehow witnessed it?” I chewed on the candy, puzzled by his question.

           “It’s a possibility. That’s a pretty specific dream and if Nana taught me anything, it was to trust your gut— and my gut says you are on to something.” Henri handed me another piece of candy and I happily gobbled it down.

           “Christ, Adam! What the fuck happened to your hands?” Henri’s own flew to mine as he laid them out on the counter.

           “They keep getting worse.” I lamented, staring down at my charred appendages. They were now almost entirely black from fingertips to wrist, while veins of what looked like molten lava pulsated through my skin. I tried my hardest not to touch anything for too long and keep my hands to myself.

            I could touch myself with them however, but not anything else. I had to stop doing music, canceled a date because I knew that getting intimate in any way with anyone would be detrimental to their health, and I had to sleep with my hands in metal bowls full of ice cold water so I didn’t set my new bed on fire.

           “This is almost like some type of curse, but like nothing I have ever seen before. Can you touch anything without setting it ablaze?” Henri tried to study my palms without actually making physical contact.

           “Hand me something you aren’t too attached to.” I held out my palm for Henri to pass me something that was disposable to him. He chose a few chunks of Myrrh and dropped them in my open palm. The resin immediately began to sizzle as the musky scent of myrrh wafted through the shop.

           Henri then handed me a blank piece of parchment, the paper bursting into flames as soon as it made contact with my skin.

           “This is bad, Adam. I’m going to try and find you something to wear on your hands so you can at least function.” Henri scratched at the curly hair on his chin.

           “In black, preferably.” I suggested, kicking back in my seat. I was starting to get sleepy and hungry. Henri could have just handed me a raw steak and I would have cooked it with my hands and devoured the thing whole. I was also thirsty as hell; the heat kept me constantly dehydrated.

           “I’ll go get you something to eat; I can hear your gut screaming at us.” Henri dusted his hands off and grabbed his keys from a peg on the wall. He patted my shoulder as he rounded me and exited the shop.

            I’m glad I had Henri; otherwise I would have probably burned my apartment down with myself inside it by now.

 June 4th, 2016

 Violet Eve

              Something brushed my arm and pulled me from my nap. It was still dark outside the plane, but I could tell that we were over the ocean.

           The man that had been in the aisle seat was now right next to me, his face directly in my field of vision when my eyes fluttered open. I jerked back and placed myself in the corner between the seat and the wall of the plane.

           “Sleep well?” He smiled at me, but this time that smile wasn’t as attractive.

           “Sure.” I nodded, feeling a bit uneasy. I looked around for the flight attendant, but I didn’t see her.

           “We’re over the ocean.” He still continued to smile at me and I was starting to become unnerved.

           “I figured that.” I nodded, noticing that the movie I had gone to sleep with was no longer on, but had been replaced by some sort of post-apocalyptic thriller.

           The man was starting to make me very uneasy, so I excused myself to the restroom as more of a ruse to find the only flight attendant on the aircraft.

           She wasn’t in the back of the plane near the restrooms; the cart of drinks still propped up behind the counter there. Where else could she be in such a small plane?

           I decided to go check on the pilot when the man from the aisle seat snatched me by the wrist and pulled me down into his seat instead.

           “Where are you going?” His eyes looked blood shot, like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

           “I was just going to the cock pit to see if I could find the flight attendant; I’m really thirsty.” I swallowed hard as his deep eyes roved my body.

           “He’s preoccupied.” The man smiled at me as a bit of turbulence shook the plane and jostled me closer to him.

           “What?” Another jolt caused me to knock my head against the back of my seat as I felt the plane begin to descend.

           “Preoccupied.” The man hissed again and pointed at the cock pit door as it flung wide open, the plane jerking harshly when it began to pick up speed. I could see that the pilot’s seat was empty and a body was slumped on the floor. Lightning struck the front of the plane and instantly the lights went out.

           “What is going on?” I screamed as lightning struck the plane again and fire erupted on the wing outside of my window.

           “We’re going down with the ship!” The man cackled as he yanked me from my aisle seat and slammed me up against the window. I screamed again as my face was smashed in to the window pane for a perfect view of the flames that licked up the wing to the hull.

           “Watch it burn, little one! Watch it all burn! The holy fire is upon us!” He was now on top of me, pinning me to the seat as the plane nosedived towards the ocean. The fire had spread and was now inside the cockpit, crawling its way in to the cabin as the whistling grew louder.

           “Get off of me!” I growled, pawing at the man’s twisted face. Lightning flashed again and I watched as the skeleton in his body lit up beneath the skin.

           “I have to make sure that you go down with the ship. It is my duty to make sure that you don’t survive.” He put his hand over my mouth and held me fast to my seat. The fire was all around us now, roaring in my ears as I began to lose consciousness. I could hear the steel frame begin to groan as the fire ripped through it and the plane cracked in half.

           The wind roared all around us as the nose of the plane dipped and soared through the clouds. I could feel myself being pulled from my seat as the man was torn away from my person and flung out to sea.

           A silent scream escaped my lips as I closed my eyes and willed myself to a faraway place—a safe place where I wasn’t about to meet my death in a fiery plunge to the icy waters below.

           “Thank you for flying British Airways. We hope that you’ve enjoyed your flight from Belfast to New Orleans, Louisiana. Please enjoy your stay and we hope that you fly with us again.” The flight attendant’s voice roused me and I opened my eyes to see the man in the aisle seat packing up his briefcase.

           “So much for having someone to chat with.” He chuckled, turning to me with a smile.

           “Did I sleep the whole flight?” I rubbed my head; it was groggy from almost a full day’s sleep.

           “Seems that way. Enjoy your time in New Orleans; I’m going to be late for a business meeting.” He grabbed his bag from the other side of the plane and hurried out the door. I got myself up, grabbed my own laptop and carry on, and was out the door of the plane before making my way through the airport to baggage claim.

           I was in my new home, alive and not burnt to ash.

           That dream had quite possibly been one of the worst ones yet and all I wanted to do was shake it from my mind.

           This was a new chapter in my life and I wasn’t about to let it get ruined by some silly nightmare.

           A nightmare that felt so real; I could still taste burning metal on my tongue and feel the static electricity in my hair.

           I had just grabbed my other two bags and was hauling them out to the curb in front of the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport, when my phone rang.

           “Missy?” I answered my mobile with my shoulder as I waited by the road. She was supposed to be picking me up, but I didn’t see her sporty little convertible anywhere.

           “Hey, love, we have a tiny problem.” Missy’s voice was crackling on the other end.

           “What problem?” I shouldered my laptop bag for the third time as I struggled to grip the phone.

           “Jeremy had to take my car in to the shop this morning; some arsehole backed in to it with a rubbish truck or something and I can’t drive it. If you hail a cab I can transfer money to your account to pay for it.” Missy’s voice sounded strained through the receiver.

           “Ok; that works.” I sighed.

            Thanks, Missy. Last thing I want to do is hail a cab in a city I have never been to before.

           “I’m not at home, though. Some girlfriends of mine are taking me out for some pre birthday drinks. There’s a baggage delivery service near check-in that can take your big bags to the house and then you can take your pretty little self over to me and we can celebrate your arrival with some tequila shots!” I could practically hear Missy jumping up and down with sheer excitement—over tequila shots.

      “I don’t have the money to do that.” This was not what I had been expecting. None of this was so far.

           “Give them my name and frequent flyer number and they will bill me. I’ll text you that and the address and then drinks on me!” Missy seemed to have it all together.

      “Ok. I can do that.” I nodded, pulling the handles on my bag towards the Speedy Luggage sign in the distance.

           “And sent. Hurry so I can see your face.” I could hear Missy putting on her lipstick.

           “Alright. See you in a bit.” I ended the call and began checking my bags in for delivery.

           I finally hailed a cab and asked him to take me to the Cat’s Meow. I just wanted to leave the past in the past and finally get my life together. If that meant living in a foreign country with an old friend, than I would do it.

           This was only the beginning…

 Purchase Issue #1:

https://www.amazon.com/667-Issue-Children-Beast/dp/1533616981

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

2017 was the year middle-aged women fought back

When 61-year-old former federal government worker Annie Williams retired in 2013, taking on a proto-fascist president wasn't exactly part of her retirement fantasy. Knitting hats was.

"My plan was to take classes at my local community college, learn how to knit and make hats and scarves for my nieces and nephews," Williams says.

Nov. 9, 2016 changed all of that. Williams, who was working as an election judge the night Hillary Clinton lost, was "devastated" by Donald Trump's victory. She remembers meeting a voter who had carried an "I voted" sticker in her wallet from the time she voted for Barack Obama, and the feeling that America was about to make history, again.

Well, history was made — just in an, uh, incredibly bad way. Instead of giving into the chaos, however, Williams decided to "DO SOMETHING" about it (caps lock all hers) by taking over a chapter of grassroots activist group Indivisible. She joined the hundreds of thousands of middle-aged women who helped lead the resistance to Trump in 2017 — making calls, staging protests, and, yes, knitting hats.

SEE ALSO: The 17 weirdest fashion trends of 2017

In less than a year, President Trump has assembled the most male-dominated government in decades, with 80 percent of nominations for top jobs going to men.

On the ground, that ratio is almost perfectly reversed. In newly founded grassroots activist groups like Swing Left and Daily Action, women appear to make up the vast majority of members — and in some places, do a disproportionate share of the work. And while most of the critical attention has been focused on millennials — given both their power and our culture's youth focus — it's middle-aged women who exerted the most symbolic influence and grassroots muscle this year.

Retirement will have to wait.

Middle-aged women aren't afraid to call people on the phone

Organized in response to Trump's election, Daily Action is a service that helps reach out to their representatives as part of targeted campaigns. In March, Daily Action polled 28,320 of its most active users and reported some jaw-dropping demographic data. Eighty-six percent of Daily Action users polled were women, and of those, 50 percent were between 46 and 65 years of age. 

Indivisible Chapter Leader Annie Williams at her first protest in November, 2016

Image: annie williams

This kind of work isn't glamorous. It requires emotional labor, and nobody gives awards for "Best Original Speech Delivered to a Republican Congressional Aide over the Phone." But calling representatives is nonetheless the kind of crummy grunt work necessary for grassroots activism to be successful. An unprecedented number of calls were made to Washington to save the ACA this summer, for example, and senators repeatedly cited their impact. 

And the gender divide isn't specific to Daily Action. Swing Left, which was organized post-Trump to turn battleground districts blue, found a similar pattern when they polled more than 7,000 of their members several months ago. 

The poll, which wasn't able to capture the full range of members, did find that 68 percent of Swing Left participants were women and just 32 percent are men, according to Aaron Huertas, marketing manager for Swing Left. Middle-aged folks made up a slightly smaller share than millennials here, though, with just 32 percent of those surveyed between the ages of of 45 and 65 years old.

Indivisible doesn't currently collect data about the gender composition of its group, but members have anecdotally reported a similar trends. Indivisible leader Karen D'Or of Sonoma County, for example, has noticed a meaningful gender divide and age distribution in her own local group:

"I estimate that the folks attending I-SoCo general meetings, and our meetings with Members of Congress, are 85 percent women who are 50+ years old. The other 15 percent are primarily men (of the same demographic) and a few younger women. At resistance rallies and marches we see a younger and more diverse crowd — which makes sense as those actions occur on weekends," D'or told Mashable.

So too has Indivisible Illinois' Annie Williams:

"This is definitely a woman-led movement," Williams confirmed. "If you look at pictures of our events, it is mostly female. Women are pissed off, and we are showing up and showing out."

Indivisible Chapter Leader Annie Williams helped organize a protest inspired by 'The Handmaids Tale' on behalf of reproductive rights in Illinois.

Image: annie williams

And Indivisible Southern Arizona's Carol Fiore:

"The majority of this is group is women and the demographic I just said [middle-aged]," Fiore said, while noting that five of the group's seven original members were under 35. "Hillary's lost just drove it home for me. We don't have equal rights in this country."

Indivisible Southern Arizona's Carol Fiore

Image: carol fiore

There are multiple explanations for these kind of distributions, some of them cultural, others merely logistical. While women have been largely isolated from elected office, they've been socialized to do the grunt work of organizing. When governments or corporations collapse, it's typically female leaders (think Theresa May and Ellen Pao) who come in to sweep up the pieces, a phenomenon sociologists call "the glass cliff."

It's also possible that middle-aged women, who are further along in their careers than millennials, might just have more free time on their hands than other age groups.

"The reality is that volunteering during the week is not an option for many folks who are struggling to make ends meet, who are raising young kids, or caring for elderly relatives, or who are undocumented," D'or told Mashable. "People like me who are are self-employed, and have supportive spouses (and frankly are in a somewhat privileged phase of life) have more time, more access to information, and are able to adapt to the wild world of resistance activism."

A middle-aged woman may not have won the presidency last year, but middle-aged women are still there, whether to call their dumb senators or map their own private path to power.

They are running for office, and, hey, they're even winning

The United States is 104th in the world when it comes to gender representation in government, a figure that is well known and perpetually embarrassing. 

2017 should still give women and other decent humans some scraps of hope. She Should Run, an organization that helps female candidates from across the political spectrum, saw 15,000 women join their community since Election Day 2016, an increase of approximately 1600 percent. On Nov. 7, 2017, the last day many of us remember as good, women won a record-high number of seats in the Virginia House of Delegates, knocking out eight male Republican incumbents. 

Charlotte, North Carolina voted in its first black female mayor. And 81 percent of Virginia Democratic and 61 percent of New Jersey candidates were women.

65 year old Vi Lyles became Charlotte's first black female mayor on November 9th, 2017.

Image: AP/REX/Shutterstock

The largest surge in political enthusiasm does appear to come from millennials and particularly millennial women, CEO Erin Loos Cutraro of She Should Run told Mashable. That doesn't mean that middle-aged women are being left out of the picture. At higher levels of government, they seem to be packing a more powerful punch.

Emily's List, which supports pro-choice Democratic candidates, found that of the 32 women who won on Nov. 17, 16 of them were middle-aged (between 45 and 65 years old). Of their endorsed candidates on a Congressional level, 14 out of 17 are middle-aged. Ten of the 11 women they've endorsed for senate are middle-aged. Seven out of eight of their gubernatorial candidates also fall in that age range.

There are plenty of structural explanations for this disparity. For one, Congress isn't exactly known for its, cough cough, youth. Positions that require more experience tend to be attractive to people with more experience, who, basically by default, are likely to be middle aged. 

Running for office is sometimes a harder emotional lift for this group, CEO Erin Loos Curtraro from She Should Run, told Mashable. 

"Younger women that we see stepping into our community benefit so much from this conversation about being brave and not being perfect," Cortraro says.

More than millennial women, middle-aged women are pushing against their history and the regressive cultural scripts they've been given.

"The women leaders in our group have stepped up for a variety of reasons: some are just so angry that they are compelled to do something, others are former elected officials who use their savvy to move us forward, others are moms who care so much about their children's future," Karen D'Or of Indivisible Sonoma County explains. "As I identify people with leadership capacity or interest, I have nicely pushed them, or nudged them, or cajoled them into leadership roles. Muscles are being built as we speak!"

Image: artur widak/NurPhoto via Getty Images

Middle-aged women are pushing up — and thankfully, there are a few long-limbed female politicians willing to pull them to the top.

Now SHE's my president. And SHE's my president. And SHE's also my president.

Middle-aged female politicians became borderline celebrities this year, at least in online feminist dork communities. Just think of all the names you probably didn't know before 2017 and don't give you tremendous despair when you think of them.

There's 50-year-old New York Senator Kirsten Gillibrand, who became famous for voting against more of Trump's nominees than any other senator. Elizabeth Warren, age 68, who inspired some of corniest tattoos of the year when she stood up to Mitch McConnell and #NeverthelessShePersisted on Facebook Live. Fifty-three-year-old Kamala Harris, who made Jeff Sessions squirm in his little chair. And of course, 57-year-old acting Attorney General Sally Yates who did this to Ted Cruz on live television:

God, that was great.

Outside of Washington, 54-year-old San Juan Mayor Carmen Yulín Cruz, who is currently being recruited for TIME's Person of the Year, became famous for standing up to Trump and FEMA when she accused the administration of "killing us with inefficiency." 

"I am done being polite. I am done being politically correct. I am mad as hell," Yulín Cruz said at the time. 

Image: joe readle/Getty Images

On the conservative side, there was also a period of time when the #Resistance claimed fellow middle-aged women Lisa Murkowski (60) and Susan Collins (64), but that era quickly passed, leaving a series of embarrassing hot takes in its wake.

It's their outrage, underlined by their politics, that coheres this loud group of leaders and grassroots activists together. The quality that once made middle-aged women "untouchable" is now turning them into stars. #NastyWoman was the hashtag for 2016 as well as 2017. As a (just over) middle-aged woman herself, Hillary Clinton's loss — even to Indivisible leader Carol Fiore, who didn't vote for her in the primaries — cut so deeply and so personally to this group. Like so many women, Clinton lost her job to a man who, as a Vox headline once put it, "has no idea what he's talking about."

The feeling was familiar. 

Fiore knows how to fight. She's a former fighter pilot, or at least she tried to be until the army told her she couldn't because of her gender. She remembers what it was like to feel that loss, see things improve for women, and then feel the world retract so viciously on Election Day 2016. 

"You took somebody like me who was very center and pushed me way far to the left," Fiore says. "I'm not going to tell my grandkids I did nothing while democracy fell apart."

She's loading her fight into the family car and driving it all the way to the next chapter meeting. 

WATCH: This construction unfolds into a home in just hours, and only costs around $33,400

[iwouldnamemypetsafteryou]

Unrequited

A story in two parts I wrote last year. This one’s a love story... of sorts... More horror/Halloween stories coming later! I just finished a new one today that I’m working on editing now. Enjoy!

Part 1

I wrote her a letter one night. It was one of those late evenings when the sky is an inky black and the stars are hidden by clouds. It was, as Winnie-the-Pooh would say, blustery. Wind whipped through the branches of trees that were just beginning to lose their leaves.

I wrote her a letter, telling her. I explained to her everything I’d ever thought, scribbling it down on paper, the black ink leaking onto my aching fingers. My hair, tied up in a long ponytail, somehow found its way over my shoulder and stuck to my mouth. I brushed it away and kept writing.  

I stood and paced across the thin carpet with the stain from my broken glass of grape juice five years before, and over the frayed piece of rug that my vacuum caught and tried to suck up the previous month.

I lit a candle. The smell of vanilla and sugar reminded me of her. I sighed, remembering for a brief moment the way it felt to go to a movie with her and sit in cozy silence, smelling that scent for hours at a time.

I sat down again, the plastic seat on my desk chair sticking to my brightly colored pajama pants as I tried to grasp what I was about to do. I was about to finish the letter. Finally.

Sixteenth’s attempt’s the charm, I thought, preparing myself for the completion of this long-awaited, inevitable reveal. I leaned over my desk and kept writing. My pen scratched satisfyingly against the sheet of notebook paper, willing itself on, my head spinning in fifteen different directions. All I knew was that I was going to send the letter to her. After years of pregnant pauses and tentative silences, I was going to solve all my problems with a few strokes of my pen and a purposeful walk to the mailbox.

I bit my lower lip in concentration, the final lines of text illuminating themselves to me as I wrote them. I looked at the blank space on the bottom of the sheet, wondering what to do with it. Love? Sincerely? Thinking of you? Finally, I swallowed my indecision and simply wrote ‘Yours.’ I signed my name.

I read it once. Once became four times, and four quickly became nine, until I lost track of how many times I scanned it. I felt as though I hadn’t left anything out, and yet the more I was sure of this, the more I wanted to prove it.

I lifted the sheaf of paper and flicked through it. Eight pages. Eight pages of crap, I thought. Still, I was determined to send it to her. I have to do this, I thought. If she marries him, you are never going to forgive yourself.

I took an envelope from the stack in my desk drawer, writing her address on it in neat, slightly tilted writing. I wrote the return address and gently peeled a stamp from the book I had bought at the grocery store earlier for just this occasion. I looked thoughtfully at the photograph of us on the wall as I placed the stamp on the corner of the envelope and tucked the letter carefully inside. Together, we looked so content, like we belonged in that idyllic place and time forever. It gave me confidence. I’m going to do it. I heaved a sigh of relief. She’s finally going to understand how I feel about her. About us. Finally.

I was halfway out the door and on my way to the mailbox when I turned around. I crumpled up the letter and threw it away.

Part 2

I hate weddings. They’re too sappy and romantic, and I hate the idea of too much love. I would hate to get close enough to someone to have to go to their wedding, much less be in their wedding party. And yet, here I am now, sitting in the ballroom of a country club in Maine, watching my best friend Vi take her first dance with the love of her life, wearing an ugly purple bridesmaid’s dress and wishing I was anywhere else.

The newlyweds look so happy. They twirl slowly around the ballroom, Vi’s head resting gently on James’ shoulder, the picture of nuptial bliss. I look around the huge, dimly lit room. There are too many people here. I don’t like it, but I stay out of respect to the couple. I’m curious to see what the expression on Vi’s face is, but now she’s turned away and is whispering something in her husband’s ear. I bite my bottom lip and cast my gaze downward uncomfortably. They sway closer to my table, and I glimpse the sparkling hem of Vi’s gown. When I pick my head up, she is smiling at me, her eyes crinkling and her dimples showing, as they always have when she is truly, genuinely happy. She winks, and then she’s gone again, gazing into James’ eyes like I never existed. Too late, I halfheartedly smile back. I don’t feel very well.

I wish I hadn’t come. I love Vi, but maybe that’s the problem. I certainly should never have expected that she’d love me back at all. I don’t even deserve her friendship anyway. Maybe being friends with her is the luckiest I’ll ever get. I sigh. Several other members of the bridal party, including our old friends from college and Vi’s mother, glance over at me, but soon forget about my noisy interjection. They continue fawning over how precious Vi and James look together. Precious, my ass.

I think back to when we were in college, Vi just a little sophomore and me a super-senior, trying to finish up the fifth year of my degree. She was so naïve back then. Nineteen, she’d just moved to New York from Augusta. She was so privileged and optimistic back then, but she was kind and genuine. She showed up in the apartment we all shared, James and Brendan and I, looking nervous as all hell. So tiny and strong, her broad shoulders set strangely against her thin face and high cheekbones. She looked like a little ninja. A ninja with auburn hair and freckles. I was in the kitchen, making soup from a bouillon cube I’d found in the cupboard. I hadn’t wanted to meet her right away. I didn’t like meeting new people then, and I still don’t.

“Hey, little lady!” Brendan had said loudly, throwing the door wide and laughing too much. He might have been drunk, now that I think about it. I peered around the corner. Vi had gray eyes that shimmered brightly as she confidently walked through the threshold of our little home, but I knew she was afraid because of how she nervously bit the nail on her left ring finger. She scuffed the toe of her black boot on the carpet and looked around the living room, nodding enthusiastically.

“Heya,” James shouted. “James. Nice to meet you!” He stuck out his hand and she shook it, grinning from ear to ear. That was when I first noticed her dimples.

I slowly shifted around the corner, leaning on the kitchen door.

“Viola?” I asked.

“Please, call me Vi. And you’re Andi.” Her gaze fell on a spot behind me, through the open kitchen door. “Oh my god, is that soup? I love soup so much!” Her infectious laugh sounded completely natural, clear and strong.

I was immediately taken aback by how purposeful her handshake felt. It made me uncomfortable, but I didn’t want her to think I was a bad roommate.

“Yes,” I said timidly, retreating back to the stove to stir the pot of warm soup. “You’re just in time.”

“I think I’m gonna like it here,” Vi had said happily. “Can I stir?” She took the spoon from me, smiling broadly.

My attention is drawn back to the festivities when everyone applauds. The dance is over. Faster music starts to play, and the people who are finished eating start to get up and make their way to the floor. I stare down at my plate, my half-eaten chicken breast looking pathetic and sad. I don’t want to get up yet, so I continue to pick at it halfheartedly. My mind finds its way to the first memory of us, of Vi and I, just talking about life. The night we became best friends.

She had plopped down on the couch next to me as I was watching television. I didn’t look at her. I knew that she was studying me carefully, but I pretended that Food Network was more important. It was late October, and we’d only known each other for a month and a half. Her teeth glistened out of the corner of my eye, her smile wide.

“Where are you from, anyway?” She said it with such earnestness, like she really wanted to know.

“Right here. NYC,” I said shortly.

“But like, where are you from? Who are your parents? You’ve never mentioned them.”

“I… I haven’t seen them since I was two, Vi. I’m from foster care. I don’t have a family.”

“But you’re so well-read! So smart, so… so… Fulbright Scholarship-worthy!” She seemed to sense that she’d said the wrong thing.

“Just because I got a Fulbright Scholarship to come here has nothing to do with where I’m from,” I said angrily. I started to get up, but Vi grabbed my arm, her strong grip forcing me roughly back onto the couch.

She points at the long, ragged, scar on my left shoulder. It’s barely visible anymore. She must have good eyes. “What happened?”

I don’t know what came over me then. I’d never told anyone the truth before, but I told her the truth then. “My parents… they weren’t very good. It’s from abuse. That’s why I went to foster care. I never got adopted or anything. Just bounced around a lot. I guess you could say I’m pretty independent.”

Vi nodded sagely. I could tell she understood me.

“Why did you only live with two boys before I came?”

“I don’t know. I never really minded much. It just never seemed like a big deal.” She put her head on my shoulder. We kept watching television, but something had changed. We were close now.

I shake my head back into reality. Almost everyone’s dancing now. Vi catches my eye from the far corner of the room. She crooks her finger and beckons to me, mouthing come here. She looks radiant. Gorgeous. I am reminded of how much I love her. How powerless I felt as I watched her and James fall in love. And how jealous I felt of him.

I had watched as they made googly eyes at each other over my head as we ate dinner. I had watched as they kissed each other during the horror movie we all went to see. I had watched as they disappeared from the living room most nights, Brandon raising his eyebrows at me and tilting his head to the bedroom. I listened to James as he told me every day how perfect she was, that he had the best girlfriend in the world. I listened to him say over and over, “she’s the sweetest girl I’ve ever met.” And through all this, I stayed her friend, my heart breaking a little more with each passing month. I hated loving her. I knew that I would leave in June, and we could be long-distance friends, and I would graduate and it would all be okay. And then I could forget about how I felt about her.

That was six years ago. And now, look at me, my eyes filling up with tears as I cross over to where Vi stands, beaming at me. She throws her arms around me. When she pulls away, she notices the wet spots on my cheeks.

“What’s wrong? Andi?”

“I… I’m so happy for you.”

“Today might be my wedding day, but I’m not gonna let you be sad.” She pulls me across the room, into the hallway, and into the empty, single restroom. She wipes my eyes with her manicured thumb. “You will always be my best friend. I won’t forget you. I promise.” She smiles sweetly, her gray eyes still the same color as they were the first day we met. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t talk about this right now. This day is for you.” I start to walk away, but her hand grips my arm firmly again, just like she did when we became friends. I turn back towards her.

Before I can think, a sudden anger rises up in me and I turn to her, my face growing red with fury. “I’m in love with you, Vi. You don’t get it! I’ve been rejected by people my whole life! I’ve never had a family, never had anything remotely like it, until you came along. And now you’re choosing to have a family with him instead. It’s the worst feeling in the world!” The tears run freely down my face now, streaming over my cheeks.

“Oh, Andi.” She smiles sadly. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know! I did love you back! But you always pulled away from me. You didn’t like being with people. You were so aloof! And now… it’s different. I’m married now.”

She runs her hand over my left shoulder, where my scar is, and along the sleeve of my dress. Her eyes pierce mine. It’s an unsettling feeling, so I close my eyes tightly, willing this moment to be over. For a moment, I feel the heat of her lips on mine. She pulls away and says, “I don’t want to lose you. We’re good now, right?” I don’t move. I squint, sobbing now, not wanting to open my eyes and face the worst.

“I’ll call you when I’m back from the honeymoon, okay? Just go home. Get some sleep.”

Somehow, I doubt she’ll call. I hear the muffled sounds of the music and chatter of the reception. The door squeals on its hinges and Vi’s dress ruffles gently against the doorframe. I hear a click, and the room goes silent.