#1 being Okay. 2 being Good. and 3 being Excellent. according to what my professor explained.

[orcelito]

Also I got my essay exam back today. Full points!!! Which was a surprise bc my 4th essay was definitely lower quality than the other three (bc I rushed it), but still good enough to get full points!!!!

Makes me wonder what that other one I spied being a 1 was like 🤔🤔🤔 bro was NOT good at writing I guess.

[chibimyumi]

I hope you don't mind me asking, but in the last post you mentioned that Yana used to write inconsistently in the past, do you have any examples? I always thought she's very consistent lol (well except the okama thing with Grelle but that was a good change/rectifying a mistake)

【Referred post】

Dear Anon,

No, I do not mind (*´ω｀*)ノ

Indeed, Yana has written quite some inconsistencies. I am fairly sure I did not manage to notice all of them (for better or for worse), but I shall highlight a few I find noteworthy.

So please find a list here ranked from least to most unforgivable in my opinion.

Number 6

Obviously this is a case of Yana having decided against one of her earliest dubious decisions, but the technological chronology in ‘Kuroshitsuji’ is bonkers.

In the earliest chapters we see very advanced technology, from wireless telephones to a f*cking Funtom DS. The Funtom DS is a commodity produced by O!Ciel’s own company, and as we have seen in some later chapters, he is used to supervising the product quality himself. As such we can safely assume that he is aware of such technologically advanced items.

Regardless, in the Emerald Witch arc we see this same Funtom CEO shocked upon seeing a war tank.

As discussed in this post in more detail, it is simply Yana’s decision to be more historically accurate, and ever since getting an English history advisor on her team, ‘Kuroshitsuji’s period accuracy has increased immensely. Therefore I find this inconsistency simply funny, and is in no way a blemish to the series in my opinion.

Number 5

Unlike the inconsistency in period accuracy, number 5 is one I do consider a blemish.

The patheticness of O!Ciel’s physical powers is notorious. During the Circus arc when he was auditioning for example, we see how the knife he threw wouldn’t even have neared the plank were it not for Sebas’ help. In the Boarding School arc too, the boy is very aware of his lack in physical prowess, and goes through the trouble of doing complex calculations to beat their opponents at cricket.

… in the very same arc however, we see this same little noodlearm throw the lantern over a tall fence, therewith successfully smashing in a glass window from dozens of metres away.

It likewise makes no sense that the little flame did not go out during its flight, and that O!Ciel didn’t consider that despite his superb understanding of physics…

This ⇊ is what should have happened, and would frankly have been better.

╭( ÒДÓ)و 　　ミ🏮🕯️                    🏘️

(;; ・_・)つ     ⌒ ⌒ ⌒ 🏮💨…      🏘️

The entire scene where O!Ciel causes a fire to force all the Violet dorm students out was an insult. The fire should never have spread that fast to begin with, but okay, let us stretch our suspense of disbelief, and accept that the fire just happened to have hit a chain of combustibles and explosives. But why bother getting everyone out in the first place?

Like Sebas said, he can sense the souls from that range. This is CLEARLY not played as one of the instances where Sebas is messing with his master by keeping information from him.

Number 4

O!Ciel is not just smart, but also tactical. Admittedly he was quite a bit of a starfish up and until the Jack the Ripper arc, but Sebas certainly taught a lesson, albeit in the hard way (extensively discussed in this post).

Afterwards, O!Ciel always made sure to actively involve himself in all types of investigations, but he would never unnecessarily expose himself to danger, or waste time for that matter. He would usually send Sebastian to do some pre-investigations first, and use that information to plan his strategies further.

In the Emerald Witch arc however, O!Ciel tagged along to investigate the cursed forest. The boy did not believe in the werewolf’s curse, that is something I can accept. But he did also know for a fact that all humans who entered the forest either died, or came out barely alive. Regardless, he still entered the forest without any precaution, and guess what, it turned out badly!

Writer’s convenience much?　

Anyway, anything in life is an experience, and after exposure to mustard gas, O!Ciel sure is a more seasoned Watch Dog now ( ^_ - )-☆

Number 3

Sebastian’s demon powers are superb, but also most definitely the least consistent in Yana’s writing. The demon powers are usually an extension to Sebas’ character, but more often than not does Yana use them for sheer convenience.

In the Campania arc it had been established that the bodies of Bizarre Dolls are weaker than a living human’s. This makes absolute sense as the corpse will decompose, breaking the proteins that keep us strong (I think it’s called proteolysis? I’ll stop talking before I betray further just how much I suck at biology.)

In the Boarding School arc however, Sebastian dashes forward to meet Professor Agares in head-on wrestle combat, and we see his hands shaking, struggling to keep the zombie in place. How? This same demon who can effortlessly punch holes in stone floors and through walls?

The same strength inconsistency happens in the earliest chapters too, where Sebastian struggles very hard to withstand Grell’s attacks. The Death Scythe is of course a terrifying weapon, but without the brute force pressing the chainsaw down, it is hardly a threat.

‘Brute force’ I say… but according to Yana’s Q&A in the ‘Character Guide Book’, a reaper’s physical strength is not much greater than a human’s. And yet Sebas is clearly struggling judging by how his eyes even glowed up.

I am going to assume that Yana scratched that initial setting for reapers as it was literally more than a decade ago, which is why ‘Noodlebastian Part 2′ doesn’t get its own category. If Yana did NOT scratch it however, what good are Sebas’ arms then?

Perhaps this was Yana’s sixth sense telling her that in future her Sebas will be played by Prince Noodlearms. ( ´艸｀)

Number 2

Similar to number 3, Yana made good use of Sebastian’s superiour senses, and established that he can smell whether something is a Bizarre Doll or not. Maggie’s body was quite far removed from him, and yet he said the stench is enough to make his nose twitch.

Excellent!

But then in the Boarding School arc, despite having spent quite a lot of time with Professor Agares, he only started to suspect something was up after he made physical contact with him.

Yes, perhaps Undertaker found a way to preserve Professor Agares’ body better than Maggie’s, but then surely Sebas would still be able to smell that the man does not sweat anymore. Is it perhaps that Sebas could only tell after touching Agares’ hand that is presumably softer than a living human’s hand?

Well… as demonstrated during their clash explained for ‘number 3′, apparently it’s fine? Which is it, YANA!?

Number 1

So far we have seen inconsistencies in O!Ciel’s behaviour and intellect, as well as Sebas’ demon powers being switched on or off for the sake of plot convenience (or dramatic effect).

The most unforgivable inconsistency in my opinion however, is Sebastian’s attitude in the Blue Sect arc when his master passed out at the hands of the enemy.

Sure, he was occupied by a cat, and we know he goes bonkers for them. But despite Sebastian’s craziness, we also know he still always prioritises his contract. He did notice in time that something was up with his master, and he did seem to worry for a split second. But then he basically went ‘meh’, even though he really should have gone to check what was up.

It was not until much later that he suddenly noticed the blood on O!Ciel’s body, acting like his entire contract was on the line. He apologised profoundly for his neglect, finally giving the correct amount of f*cks as is in character for him. But really though, Sebas would really never have waved off his master fainting in enemy territory in the first place if you ask me.

This is the reason why I placed this one in first place, because this is the only inconsistency that not only defies the law of the universe, but also almost threatens Sebastian’s very contract.

Mehbastian, you won the golden trophy🏆, congratulations!

[pinkchaosart]

In response to Mr. Prager

If you haven’t seen it, this is the video that this essay is in response to

So, obviously I disagree with this video. Let’s go through it: welcome to my ted talk.

1. Universities - First of all, let’s get this out of the way: just because one professor has an opinion about his school becoming a “laughing stock,” doesn’t mean that all education is going down the tubes. In reality, more people of colour and women are being educated than ever before. Kids are graduating high school more than ever, and education is more accessible than ever, at least according to the National Centre for Education Statistics. I don’t know if Mr. Prager has ever been to a modern, public university, but the only people that shut down vs debate are people who are not open to new ideas, who feel overwhelmed and persecuted because their opinion isn’t the only one in the school. Also, Christopher Columbus (pictured in the video as a pillar of education) was a genocidal lunatic. He murdered the Tainos people, didn’t discover America, and didn’t prove the earth was round. Go read about that.

2. The Arts - “The primary purpose of art was to elevate people.” I don’t know if there is a single time in human history when this stands true. This is a topic I’ve personally studied and so I’m going to tell you that, for most of human history, the primary purpose of art was for the rich to show off their money. Portraits were paid for by wealthy people to immortalize themselves. Selfie culture who? I also want to point out that, in the animation in the video, an example of “classic art” given is a painting by Monet, a modern artist who’s work was seen as shocking at the time due to it’s non-photorealism. The only reason we see it as beautiful now is because of time and the art prestige classifying it as such. I would also like to point out that the urinal in the next bit of the video was actually “made” around the same point in time. By no means is it something anyone would consider a current piece of art. I would also like to point out that Mr. Prager is being a hypocrite here, employing the imagery of “urine and feces” for shock value, the very thing he had just criticized. Pablo Picasso said, “What do you think an artist is? ...he is a political being, constantly aware of the heart breaking, passionate, or delightful things that happen in the world, shaping himself completely in their image. Painting is not done to decorate apartments. It is an instrument of war.” Art isn’t for beauty, it’s all politics, war, sex and money.

3. Literature - “The English department of the university of Pennsylvania replaced the portrait of the greatest English writer who ever lived, William Shakespeare, with a picture of a black lesbian poet.” Yes they did, and that poet’s name is Audre Lorde. First, William Shakespeare’s work is not prestigious. His work was not considered refined when it was produced. It’s full of lewd and ridiculous jokes. “Much ado about nothing” roughly translates to “everyone wants the pussy”. “Nothing” was slang back then for vagina. But let’s go back to Lorde. Mr. Prager said that they replaced Shakespeare with her because they value diversity over excellence. What he’s implying is that Lorde is not worth revering, despite being a very important writer of her time, five thousand times more serious than Shakespeare ever was, and her writings are much deeper than Prager gives her credit for. In fact, he gave her no credit, didn’t even say her name.

4. Late-night television - “In America, late-night shows were completely apolitical” This is completely wrong. Late night TV started in the 1940-50’s, and often they were based on politically charged comedy, just like they are now.

5. Religion - “In many churches and synagogues, one is more likely to hear the clergy talk about political issues than about any other subject, including the Bible.” First of all, I would like to point out that political issues were what Jesus mostly talked about. “Love your neighbour” was a direct comment at the racism Jews experienced and held towards others. “Turn the other cheek” was about how to make your aggressor look like a total jerk. What is the point of church if not to give people usable tools in our modern world? That’s what Jesus did. I would also like to point out that, again, this is Prager’s opinion, and it’s clear what kind of content he thinks should be taught.

6. Freedom of Speech: “Yet the whole point of free speech is that it allows people to express any political or social position, including what any one of us considers hate speech.” Except that it doesn’t. Freedom of speech is described: “everyone shall have the right to hold opinions without interference” by the International Human Rights Law, but it also states that the rights carry “special duties and responsibilities” and are “therefore ....subject to certain restrictions ... for respect of the rights or reputation of others ....or the protection of national security of public order or of public health or morals.” Freedom of speech is not absolute, and common boundaries are hate speech, food labeling, pornography, obscenity, slander, copyrights, etc. I would also like to point out that him arguing to be allowed to use hateful words is pointing out the obvious: that he hates us, ie: people that he describes in or agrees with this video.

7. Race - “America has become the least racist multiracial society in world history” ding dong, this is so unbelievably wrong. Let’s talk about “systemic racism” for a minute. This isn’t some “angry diatribe,” but a legitimate and historically accurate concern. It is a form of racism expressed in the practice of social and political institutions, reflected in disparities regarding wealth, income, criminal justice, employment, housing, health care, political power, and education, among others. It is a reality that millions of North Americans (yes, Canada’s not clean on this issue) experience daily. For example, Caucasian people and black people consume the same amount of pot on a national scale. Black people are way more likely to be arrested and receive convictions for it. In America, once you receive a criminal conviction, you are no longer able to vote. So even though equal amounts of white and black people use marijuana, black people are arrested and convicted (and therefore cannot vote) because of a system designed to take away their voice. Let’s also touch on the “red lining” from a half-century ago which allowed banks to not lend money to people of colour which created ghettos, which is now home to an overwhelmingly poor and coloured population. That’s systemic oppression and it has been going on for decades. Mr. Prager is the epitome of White Privilege. I’m as white as he is and even I can see that this man hasn’t had to question his good fortune a day in his life and instead chooses to blame others for not “working hard enough” even though they’ve worked harder than he ever has.

8. The Boy Scouts - “They’re not even the Boy Scouts anymore, they’re just the Scouts. The left forced them to admit girls” - So? “The Boy Scouts have helped shape tens of millions of boys into independent and strong good men.” Okay, so wouldn’t you want your girls to grow up strong and independent? How is adding MORE PARTICIPANTS destroying the Scouts exactly?

9. Male-Female - “In New York City, parents do not have to select male or female on a newborn’s birth certificate.” Again, so what? How is that going to affect anyone other than that family. Also, designations of gender at birth on a certificate aren’t set in stone, they can be changed later. It’s not a big deal. Allowing a child to grow up unrestricted in gender norms, won’t create confused people. Letting your boys play with dolls isn’t going to make them want to be a girl, and letting your daughter roll around in the dirt won’t make her a lesbian. Mass confusion doesn’t just happen because of an “x” on a birth certificate.

“America is only bad compared to Utopia.” No, America is bad in comparison to most other first-world countries. The only thing that America excels in is making war. It spends billions of dollars occupying other countries while its people can’t afford health care, food, education, and other basic human rights.

What i find really interesting about this video is that it is completely his opinion. There’s no facts or sources given, he’s chosen his quotes very carefully (even taken them out of context), and I have to conclude that a video like this is only meant to drive the “us vs them” mentality. At it’s best this philosophy is unhealthy, at it’s worst it can kill millions of people and has started countless wars. Mr. Prager isn’t well-educated on most of what he’s talked about. He has an undergraduate in Middle Eastern Studies. Everything else he’s studied appears to be related to orthodox religions. He hasn’t done his research, got some of the most basic ideas completely wrong, and nobody should be listening to a word he has to say on any of the topics he’s talked about in this video.

As someone who used to go to a radical church and was part of the “us vs them” mentality for a number of years, I know that my words aren’t going to change many people’s minds. But what I will say is that we have more in common than we have differences. He said he wants us to debate, so here’s a rebuttal. You can have your opinion but only if you can defend it (not using religious texts). Videos like this are just dividing our culture even more than it already is. My uncle referred to “leftists” as vultures. How awful is that? To dehumanize people so extremely is a great first step to calling for their destruction.

Just ask your German Jewish friends, Mr. Prager.

[college-student-in-her-twenties]

My Main Takeaways from Attending a College-Level Writing Class as an Adult

Not everyone followed the classic graduate high school, pick a career when you are 18, go to college for four years, graduate, and get a job sort of path. Whether life got in the way, or you simply did not feel like college was for you – I want you to know that it is okay. Life is full of unconventional surprises, nothing goes according to plan, and sometimes you got to pave your own path.

With this in mind, and being in my twenties, I never pictured myself going to college. I love my job reached a point where I consider myself successful. I did not need an ounce of secondary education to get to where I am right now. But then there was a pandemic, and the world was upside down, and I started working from home. I had so much free time, and I realized I could attend college via Zoom. While I find online meetings absolutely dreadful, I thought to myself; I can get this “thing” over with. By “thing,” I am referring to getting a degree.

Fast forward, I applied to Florida International University, I got accepted, I was asked to pick out a major at age 23, I said business (I regret this, I am switching to something less math-centric), and there I was attending my first class. People usually say they feel a knot inside their throat when they are nervous. Well, I felt like I had 27 knots inside mine. While I only knew my classmates through an online realm, I was terrified. I have never been more afraid of 18-year-olds in my life. There was a voice inside my head shouting, “what if they realize I am older?”. They did realize I am older, not because of my looks, but because kids these days look up their classmates on Instagram and send them DM’s. Weird if you ask me, but hey, there were like one or two slightly older people like me in each class, and I felt a bit better about myself. As a slightly older generation, we have to get adjusted to change. Things are not the way we remember them; nobody takes notes in their notebooks anymore. Everyone brings their computer to class and uses an iPad with a journal app to take notes.

While there is so much you can learn online, college makes you step out of your comfort zone. Nothing like a good ole writing class to make you sit down and think about every single choice you have made in your entire life. While in the outside world, we all have access to Amazon books, Khan Academy, and sketchy PDF versions of texts, let’s be honest, none of us are reading them. Instead, my Writing & Rhetoric forcefully exposed me to so many narratives with points of view different from mine. The writing prompts of the class made me sit down and psychoanalyze the way I expressed myself. How my definition of language is rooted in my family’s culture and the places I lived in. As the kids these days say, I was “SHOOK.” While I do not think a person needs college to be successful in their professional life, college incites thinking. You have so many spaces dedicated to discussions and you get to receive feedback from professors who are the brightest people in their fields. As cliché as it sounds, you are forced to step out of your comfort zone.

Going back to why I personally decided to enroll, I required a serious change of pace. I needed to be exposed to other things; I was having a mini Eat, Pray, Love moment, okay? I was already doing all the eating by ordering all the Uber Eats all the time. It was time for that Pray moment; since I am not religious, the closest thing to a sermon that I will watch are TedTalks and god, did I have to watch those while in class. I had to listen to people that I would not typically want to listen to; I browse the internet all day, every day, and would not click on those talks if they popped up on my Youtube. Good thing I had a professor who made me listen to them. I learned so much. Did you know about the Sudani genocide? I did not.

Every assignment taught me something. Watching the Sudan Genocide TED Talk opened my eyes to so much. Not just the gory details of a mass tragedy, but the author explained how powerful sharing her trauma was to her. I thought she was inspiring, and then again, this is an example of a story I would have overlooked if I had not chosen to take this writing class. Now, for the sake of conciseness, I will list my main takeaways from the course. I want everyone reading this blog to also benefit from being exposed to different points of view and appreciate how they can make you a better writer.

Let’s get started.

Tip #1: Never stop writing. There is no such thing as a final draft, and there is something you can always work on or improve about your writing.

Most people do not think of themselves as “writers,” but anyone who can put words together and grab pen and paper are technically writers. What I learned throughout this class is that writing involves practice and dedication. While not everyone has hours and hours to devote to their writing, you can always make sure you at least re-read what you wrote down. Whether it is a text, a Tweet, or a cover letter, make sure to re-read. Even the most seasoned writers make minor spelling and grammar mistakes. Perhaps a sentence you wrote down made more sense in your head than it did on paper; fix it. You will improve your writing by a lot if you stop for a second and re-read.

As writer Richard Marius explains in his essay Writing Drafts, “Some writers cut up their first drafts with a pair of scissors. They toss some paragraphs into the trash; others they paste up with rubber cement in the order that seems most logical and coherent.” The writing process is different for all of us, but it will always involve some sort of re-writing. Adding, removing, or cutting up paragraphs and sentences. Finding new and improved words and expressions to give a better meaning to our thoughts. Writing is a messy yet beautiful process that I had forgotten about and that you probably have too. My advice to you, is to figure out a way to practice your writing. Whether it is starting a blog like this one, writing a letter to a friend, or finding a random essay prompt and writing an essay for yourself. The more you practice, the better you will get.

Tip #2: Embrace your identity. Everyone has a unique origin that makes them who they are. Whether it is your nationality, race, the languages you speak, where you grew up, or who you are surrounded by –make that a part of your writing—no more hiding your true colors.

Before this class, I rarely ever made a point to communicate my background through my writing. Every time I had something to write, I was as neutral as possible, which made my writing lack personality. Times have changed drastically in the last few years, and writing has become the ultimate way of self-expression. Do not be afraid to include cultural elements in your narratives, whether it is a word in your native language with no translation to English or expressions that are particular to your culture. Celebrate your heritage through your writing, and do not shy away from embracing who you indeed are. While I know you will not be writing a full-blown narrative about how your parents are immigrants, I recommend you put this tip into practice in your daily life. Perhaps include details about yourself on your next Instagram caption or Facebook status update. LinkedIn could be the perfect place to reflect about your heritage and the relationship it has with your profession. Your writing shall be a reflection of your true self.

Tip #3: Always keep your intended audience in mind. Make sure your writing suits the audience you are writing it for. Fix your tone, syntax, and structure to cater to the right audience and suit your genre.

This is such an essential tip! For example, when I am writing for my blog, I can say whatever I want and anything I feel. I can incorporate jokes and pop culture references. I can be as sarcastic as I want and as unapologetic as I feel on that given day. The same goes for my social media accounts and private conversations with friends. When writing a formal document, or cover letter that a potential employer would read, I would use a far more serious tone. I would shy away from jokes and opt for formal words. I would ensure my writing is sophisticated and concise. My goal would be to sound eloquent and respectful because I keep my intended audience, the potential employer, in mind.

Tip #4: Do not be afraid to get real. Feel free to write candidly about anything you want, whether it is a personal story or an issue you feel strongly about. Effective writing can help you tell your stories and effectively share your thoughts.

I struggle with this one a bit. While I can be personable and talkative, I am private about most things in life. Going back to the TED Talk about the Sudani woman, Emi Mahmoud, she convinced her audience and gave life to her poetry by opening up. If we did not know about her trauma, her words would not be as impactful. If you watch the conference, you will learn about the warplanes she could hear every morning while eating breakfast and how her hometown became a war zone. That is so impactful and heart-wrenching. Think of writing as a cathartic experience, it will allow you to release whatever experience is causing you trauma and allow you to connect your audience better. Writing about your experiences and who you are, makes you seem more human, which essential to communicate to an audience.

I genuinely hope you read through these tips and at least apply one of them to your writing. Before enrolling in college, I thought I was an excellent writer, and while I am probably not bad, I lacked depth. I did not sit down and think of the purpose of my writing and who I wanted to reach. I seldom opened up and did not let my writing embody who I am. Beyond the four tips stated above, my most important takeaway from this class is to be a fearless person and allow that to translate into my writing.

This philosophy can be applied to anything in life. For instance, if you want to go to college, do it. If you do not want to pick out your life at age 18, that is okay too. If you are 40, have kids, a job, a dog, and a mortgage, but feel like there are things you want to learn inside a classroom that Youtube cannot teach you, go to college! You mind your life, your choice. It is time for people to feel empowered to whatever they want at their own pace.

[jimins-crooked-tooth]

Apartment 504 — Chapter 2

Summary:

Mark eyed the glass in Jackson’s hand and hesitated.  He didn’t know this man. The only time he’d ever talked to him was once when Jackson was intoxicated past the point of coherence, and once after both had returned home at the same time. This man was so loud, so sporadic, so unpredictable, and so unlike anyone Mark would ever want to be around.

But still, after a timid look into Jackson’s hopeful brown eyes, Mark met Jackson’s glass midway, the clink of glass and a shared smile between the two kicking off the start of the night.

More Chapters

[Chapter 1]  [Chapter 2]  [Chapter 3]  [Chapter 4]

Also read on Archive Of Our Own:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11292225/chapters/25263081

hello! so, i actually changed the name of this story to Apartment 504 because Room 504 reminded me too much of a hotel room so sorry for any confusion! pls don’t beat me up i’m a pacifist and will definitely not win ok ok enjoy 

“Mark, get the fuck up.  It’s past noon.” Mark grunted tiredly, pulling the comforter over his head and curling his knees up to his chest.  He felt a dip form on his bed as Jinyoung sat down, tugging gently at Mark’s blanket in an attempt to pry it off.  “You said we would go shopping today. I need to get some books and a couple other things before the school year starts.  You too.” Mark grunted again, but narrowly complied, running a hand through his hair and stretching out his sore limbs.

“Give me twenty minutes,” he grumbled, and proceed to kick Jinyoung off his bed (literally). Jinyoung scowled and rubbed at his side (the site of impact) but ultimately left Mark to his own devices to get ready for the day.

Mark’s morning routine was a little thrown off due to the setup of the new apartment—he had to remember where he placed everything from the day before when he was unpacking his boxes.  He walked out of his bedroom, blue toothbrush wedged between his pink lips as his eyes skimmed over the nearly empty pantry for something to eat on their way out. His shoulders slumped when he found nothing convenient and he huffed through his nose, turning to walk back into his bedroom.  He stopped when he heard a soft knock at the front door.  Mark turned to face Jinyoung who was sitting on the sofa in front of the television, reading a book he’d bought only a couple days ago. Jinyoung shrugged, his expression saying, Don’t ask me, I’m not expecting anyone.  Mark gestured to the door and then to his shirtless body, his eyes saying, I can’t get it right now. You get it. Jinyoung settled back into the couch with his book, blatantly ignoring Mark’s pleas to open the door so he wouldn’t have to.

Mark groaned in annoyance as he hurried to the sink to spit out his toothpaste before opening the door.  He wasn’t sure who or what he was expecting, considering neither him nor his roommate were expecting any visitors, but what he definitely wasn’t expecting was to see no one at all.  He glimpsed down either side of the hallway and still saw no one.  As he was about to close the door, he noticed something at his feet. A six pack of beer sat alone in front of the doorway, a small letter taped to the top of one of the bottles.  Mark knelt down to eye the package, picking up the piece of paper in the process and proceeding to open it.

 Mark,

I wanted to apologize for last night. I’m not sure what all I said or did, but hopefully it wasn’t as bad as I’m imagining it to be. Accept this gift as a token of my appreciation for your help and also as an apology.

Your neighbor,

Jackson x

 Mark blinked a couple times, rereading the letter in his hand at least twice before glancing first at the beer and then to his neighbors’ closed door.  He considered knocking on their door and explaining to Jackson that it really was no problem and that this really was not necessary, but then Mark remembered that he hated confrontation, so he opted for a quick shrug, grabbing the bottles, and shutting the door with his foot.

“Who was it?” Jinyoung asked curiously, eyeing the six-pack of alcohol in Mark’s hand.

“One of the neighbors,” Mark replied, opening the fridge, and squeezing the case on the top shelf. “I guess he felt bad about last night, so he left some beer at our door.”

Jinyoung sat up on the couch, putting his book face down on the table.  “Oh yeah. What was that all about?  One second you were getting ready for bed and the next you were sitting next to some stranger puking his guts out in our bathroom.”

Mark sighed and rubbed his temples.  “He knocked on our door last night, thinking it was his, and when I told him it wasn’t, he went off to look for his own, and then he puked in the hallway outside, and basically he was just a downright mess and would probably have wound up hurt or dead if I didn’t help him.”

“Wow, Mark. Look at you being an outstanding citizen,” Jinyoung teased.

Mark rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he mumbled and headed back to his room before Jinyoung could say any more.

…

“We need food,” Mark announced, adjusting the bags in his right hand, so he could scroll through his phone with the other.  “I made a list in the car of what all we need.”

“Okay, we can stop by the store on our way home,” Jinyoung promised, turning to Mark.  “Did you eat anything yet today?” Mark shook his head and read the time at the top of his phone screen before sliding the phone back into his pocket. 3:24. Jinyoung paused mid-step, catching Mark’s arm with his free hand and spinning him so the two were face to face. “Mark! What the hell? It’s late afternoon and you haven’t eaten anything?” Mark raised his hands defensively, eyes wide. Jinyoung sighed, letting go of his arm and taking a step forward.  “Come on, let’s get something to eat,” he replied gruffly, his motherly nature kicking in at his friend’s confession.

Mark’s limbs still ached from moving such heavy boxes and furniture the day before, but walking around and shopping with Jinyoung helped distract him from the soreness while also preventing his extremities from becoming too stiff.

He and Jinyoung had spent the day picking up textbooks and excess school supplies for their classes that started in under a month.  They knew if they didn’t buy what they needed now stores would run out of supplies by time they looked for it then. Luckily, each boy had managed to find most of the things they had gone out for, each doting their fair share of bags on their arms as they walked around the outdoor shopping plaza. The pair approached a Smoothie King that had just opened a couple weeks ago and Mark stopped.

“I’m actually not too hungry right now. I was earlier, but the feeling has passed. Why don’t we just grab smoothies for a snack instead?  I can eat when we get home from the grocery store.” Jinyoung hesitated initially, his eyes meeting Mark’s, but Mark assured him that he was fine, and that he would eat when they got home, and that Jinyoung didn’t have to worry about him because he was taking good care of himself now, and also, Jinyoungie, you looooove smoothies, I know you do.  I’ll even treat you.

And so, with a long sigh and a dismissive wave of his hand, Jinyoung nodded. “Fine,” he breathed, and Mark smiled, tugging on Jinyoung’s arm and pulling the two of them into the smoothie chain.  The line was long and Mark feared that Jinyoung would be bothered by the long wait, but he actually didn’t seem to mind. The two roommates chatted in line about their upcoming schoolyear—their classes, professors, which buildings their classes would be in, etcetera. Jinyoung eagerly told Mark about all of the books he and his classmates would be reading this year, according to the class syllabi online.

Jinyoung was a literature major who was also minoring in creative writing.  Although Jinyoung exceled in both areas, Mark had never been much of a recreational reader or writer, and therefore posed a little judgmental towards his roommate and his chosen major.

Mark was a philosophy major, minoring in psychology.  Both subjects suited him well.  All his life, Mark had been a thinker, an absorber of the world around him. He frequently asked himself questions about life, nature, and the world’s existence. It was never guaranteed that he would ever find answers to his questions, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try his damn hardest.

A part of Mark also loved the human brain; he enjoyed learning about its many different functions, how things worked inside the head, how those things made people act in different ways, and why those people did certain things. Mark just liked… understanding things. He liked finding answers to questions.

Mark snapped out of the trance he didn’t realize he was in when the cashier called out, “Next!” Jinyoung stepped aside and gestured for Mark to go first. Mark scooted forward, placing his fingertips on the ceramic countertop as he looked up momentarily to meet the eyes of the man behind the counter—brown eyes… dark brown eyes… familiar dark brown eyes. Mark swallowed hard as he took in the sight of the man before him—blonde hair, rosy lips, absolutely breathtaking brown eyes; it was Jackson.

“What can I get for you?” he asked, eyes wide in attention.

Oh god. It’s him. This is so awkward. Does he recognize me from last night? If he recognizes me, why isn’t he saying anything? Mark’s thoughts ran circles around his head and he felt his throat dry as he stood there, eyes trained on the blonde’s face. Jinyoung kicked the back of his thigh, startling him, and Mark’s head swiveled, eyes narrowing at his friend.

“You’re the one who wanted smoothies, so order,” Jinyoung nudged.

Mark turned back around, hand on the back of his neck out of nervousness, and avoiding Jackson’s gaze by looking at the menu on the wall behind him. Mark cleared his throat. “Okay, um… c-could I get a… medium pineapple surf?”

Jackson nodded and plugged his order into the computer, eyes falling to Jinyoung next. Jinyoung recited his order, and then the two moved off to the side to wait for their smoothies to be made.

“Are you okay?” Jinyoung asked quietly, leaning into Mark’s side. “You looked nervous up there.”

“That’s Jackson,” Mark said, eyes unmoving from the blonde man in the process of making their smoothies.  He looked different in this setting compared to last night’s.  His hair and clothes were more put together now as opposed to his drunk, disheveled appearance at the apartment.  Despite his drunken state the previous night, Jackson looked surprisingly well rested today, like his hangover was either non-existent or he was damn good at hiding it.

Jinyoung’s eyes narrowed. “Who the hell is Jackson?”

“Jackson, our neighbor,” Mark explained.  He watched as Jackson mixed one of their smoothies in the blender, his high-pitched laugh resonating around the room as he and a coworker joked around.  “He was the one who came to our apartment drunk last night.”

Jinyoung nodded in understanding. “Wow. I didn’t recognize him, not without his face shoved in a toilet,” he mused and Mark rolled his eyes. “But what’s wrong with seeing him here? It doesn’t look like he even remembers you.”

Mark’s gaze remained trained on Jackson, his strong hands topping off the two cups with lids. His mind drifted back to the brief conversation between the two of them last night.

“You’re cute,” Jackson said.

“Oh, um, what?”

“I said I think you’re cute.” Jackson repeated.

“One pineapple surf and one angel food cake,” Jackson called out, holding a smoothie in each hand. Mark reluctantly stepped up to the register, eyes cast down as he handed over his card, Jackson quickly swiping it through the computer and handing it back to him with a soft smile.

“Have a great day,” he said, and Mark nodded.  He spun around on his heels and grabbed his roommate by the arm, pulling the two of them out the double doors.  Jinyoung scowled and sent Mark dirty looks, but didn’t press the issue as they walked back to their car.

In case Mark hadn’t said it enough already, he really hated confrontation.

…

Jackson turned off his car and pulled the keys out of the ignition, grabbing his jacket and Smoothie King hat before hopping out of his car.  His eyes drooped in exhaustion and he stretched his stiff muscles from a long day of work. In retrospect, he wished he hadn’t drank so much the night before (not just because he stumbled up to his new neighbors’ apartment in a drunken haze, but also because his hangover was a right bitch today).  The welcome home party that his friends threw for him was a total rager—loud music, lots of people, and tons of alcohol. Usually, Jackson knew his limit, knew when enough was enough, and when too much was too much, but after having not seen his friends and roommates for practically the whole summer, he really just wanted to have fun, even if that meant getting completely fucked up.

He woke up this morning to a pillow being tossed at his face.

“Get up,” Jaebum ordered.  “You have work in two hours. Go clean yourself up.” Jackson grudgingly threw his arm over his face, squinting one eye to look at his roommate who was sitting grouchily on the table beside his bed.

“If I have to work in two hours…” Jackson paused, coughing to clear the scratchiness out of his throat.  He blinked a few times, feeling the pressure of what would soon be an intense headache forming in his temples, and started again.  “If I have to work in two hours, why are you waking me up now?” he asked.

“Because you need time to clean yourself up before going in. You smell like you bathed in alcohol last night.” Jackson chuckled under his breath and Jaebum shoved his shoulder. “It’s not funny, you were an absolute royal pain in the ass last night. Do you even remember what happened?”

Jackson hummed sleepily and grinned.  “I remember having a hell of a good time.”

Jaebum scoffed and stood up to walk towards the bedroom door. “Yeah, you did.  But you also stumbled up to the new neighbors’ apartment and passed out drunk on their bathroom floor.”

Jackson sat up to look at Jaebum, but immediately regretted his decision when he felt all the blood in his body rush to his head.  He leaned back slightly and massaged his forehead to relieve the building pressure.  “Wait. Back up.  What?”

Jaebum sighed and inhaled a deep breath before starting. “You passed out in our neighbors’ apartment when you were trying to come home after the party last night.  One of them took care of you until I got there to pick you up. You owe him… big time.”

Jackson rubbed his eyes and fell back into his pillows. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he said. “Seriously.  I didn’t know it was that bad.  Thank you for coming to get me.”

“I should have left you there,” Jaebum grumbled and opened the door to leave.

“Aw, Jaebummie, you don’t mean that,” Jackson smiled, sending his friend his most irresistible puppy dog face.  “You still love me, right?”

“Whatever,” Jaebum muttered and exited the room, closing the door behind him.  Jackson was just beginning to get up when Jaebum entered the room again.  “By the way, his name is Mark,” he added.

“What?” Jackson replied.

“The guy who helped you last night. His name is Mark.”

Jackson yawned as he locked his car, waiting for the beep to sound before making his way inside the apartment building. He entered the lobby and headed in the direction of the elevators.  As he rounded the corner, he noticed one of the elevator doors closing.

“Hey, hold that please!” he shouted, sprinting towards the door.  An arm protruded from inside the elevator to prevent the door from closing and Jackson slipped inside as it slid open again. He took a moment to catch his breath as the doors began closing again. “Thank you,” he said, reaching over to press the button for the fifth floor, but realizing it was already lit up.

He turned and smiled to the person on his right and tilted his head when he recognized the face. “Hey! I’ve seen you. You came into Smoothie King today. Pineapple surf, yeah?” The brunette avoided eye contact, and he wondered if maybe he was wrong and he wasn’t the person he had seen today.

“Uh, yeah. That was me,” he said, a forced smile making its way onto his lips as he adjusted the Shake Shack carryout bag in his hands.

“Cool!” Jackson said in an attempt to break the ice.  “What apartment do you live in?  It looks like we both live on the same floor.”

But before he could answer, the elevator dinged and came to a stop. Both men looked up to the screen above the double doors that currently displayed the number five. Jackson stepped out of the elevator behind the man and the two turned left down the long hallway. He felt a bit like a stalker as he followed the man down the hallway to get to their respective apartments. Jackson watched as the man stopped at the door next to his own.

“Oh, you’re one of the new neighbors!” Jackson smiled, leaning his shoulder into the apartment door. The man fiddled with his keys and nodded his head. “What’s your name?” he continued in the hopes that he could start getting to know his new neighbor.  “I’m Jackson.  I live here with my two roommates.”

“I know,” the man said quietly, nervously scratching the back of his neck and turning to face Jackson. “We had a brief encounter last night.  I’m Mark.”

Oh?

Oh.

Jackson gulped. How had he forgotten about that already? I mean sure, it was late at night and he felt like he had been awake for a solid 72 hours straight, but still.

Jackson’s eyes fell to the floor. “Yeah, um, about that…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mark assured him.  “It’s not a big deal.  You just looked like you could use some help last night so…”

“Did you get my peace offering today?” Jackson inquired. Mark nodded and a twinge of relief washed over him.  “I still feel horrible about it all.  My roommate filled me in on everything this morning.  Is there anything else I can do to make it up to you?” Mark shook his head and Jackson fought off a smile.  “You don’t talk much do you?”

Mark blushed and lightly shrugged his shoulders.  “No, not really. I’m not much of a people-person,” he said and switched his weight from one foot to the other, a nervous tick, Jackson thought.

“Hm, well maybe things will change with me as your neighbor,” Jackson beamed and Mark chuckled a bit under his breath.

“Maybe,” he replied and reached for his door.

“Wait.” Jackson extended a hand in Mark’s direction to stop him.  “Did I do anything last night?” Mark squinted his eyes in confusion and Jackson searched for more words. “Like, did I say anything to you or do anything to you last that made you, I don’t know, like, uncomfortable?  You seem… uncomfortable around me.”

“Um, no, not that I can remember,” he said, his teeth pulling lightly at his lip.

“Something tells me you’re lying,” Jackson pushed.  His eyes widened as a thought came to mind.  “I didn’t kiss your or anything, did I?”

“No!” Mark assured him waving his hands in front of him for emphasis.  “No, definitely not.  You just… never mind.”

“No, tell me!” Jackson pleaded, his stomach turning at the thought of him doing/saying something unforgivable to someone he had never met.  “What did I do?  Whatever it is, I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“I-it’s nothing bad,” Mark said, cheeks flushing a light pink.  “You just… you told me I was cute,” he said quickly. “It’s all I think about when I see you now, that’s all.” Jackson closed his eyes and breathed sigh of relief. This…this he could work with.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson said, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lip.  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But if it means anything, I know I meant it, even in my drunken state.”  Jackson thought it impossible for Mark’s face to grow any redder, so he decided to cut things short for the sake of his dignity.  “Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Mark.  I hope to see you around.” He offered a gentle smile to his new neighbor and swiftly entered his apartment, thinking to himself, how did I get this lucky to have such an adorable next-door neighbor?

i’m actually the biggest fucking dweeb in the history of ever so please don’t be afraid to follow me or message me or ask me things. i love meeting and getting to know new people! comment your thoughts and i’ll blow u a kiss <3

[justanothercinemaniac]

Epic Movie (Re)Watch #191 - 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea (1954)

Spoilers Below

Have I seen it before: Yes

Did I like it then: I think so.

Do I remember it: More or less.

Did I see it in theaters: No.

Format: DVD

1) According to IMDb:

Richard Fleischer was surprised at being considered for the director's chair for this film, as he was the son of Disney's biggest competitor, Max Fleischer. He approached Walt Disney to inquire if Disney knew who he was. Disney told him that he was well aware of who he was and hired him because he thought he was the best man for the job. Richard Fleischer also asked his father if he minded having his son working for his rival but Max Fleischer made no objection and even asked Richard to tell Disney that he thought he had made an excellent choice for his director!

Just some fun trivia to start with.

2) This film’s brief opening explosion does quite well to establish the danger of the seas and some of the film’s stakes.

3) Kirk Douglas as Ned Land.

Douglas plays land as a traditional roguish action hero in the best sense. He has this wonderful sense of humor and charm, playing a character who could’ve easily been a hated jackass as someone you like/root for. He’s lovably devious and just fun.

4) I know this movie is from 1954, but quite calling anything that you consider the east, “the orient!”

5) Paul Lukas as Professor Aronnax.

Lukas plays Aronnax as a remarkably patient and considerate character. You invest in him easily because he’s reasonable, curious, soft spoken, and just genuinely kind. The performance is what makes the character here and it’s great.

6) The film really takes advantage of its oceanic setting with brief moments of spectacle, featuring grand shots of dolphins and whales in real life. Although unfortunately this can come at the expense of pacing.

7) “A Whale of a Tale”

While this song serves mainly as an extended distraction from the plot & an opportunity to let Kirk Douglas sing a song, it’s just incredibly fun too. It’s a classic of the Disney canon, appearing on Classic Disney: Vol. 1 (albeit with a different third verse), and even getting a reference in Finding Nemo. All in all, it’s just a standout moment of the film.

8) There’s a nice sense of tension in the skirmish between the ship and the “monster” before Ned, Aronnax, and Conseil (Aronnax’s assistant) fall into the water.

9) So, because it’s 2017 and I’m a sucker for gay ships, I head canon that Conseil is in love or has feeling for Aronnax. He jumps into the water without a second thought when the professor falls in and the entire time on the Nautilus he is very adamant about not leaving without the professor. It’s most likely intended as loyalty from an assistant to his professor, but my way is more fun.

10) The Nautilus.

(This is just concept art but it’s the best visual representation I could find.)

The wonder which the film gives the steam punk submarine upon simply realizing what it is helps make the vessel seem miraculous even in a world where submarines exist. The further exploration of the Nautilus helps establish a sense of place and geography to the vessel, while the visual design is also wildly imaginative/spectacular. This is all incredible important as the Nautilus is as important a character to the story as Nemo or Ned, in some ways more so. So the fact the film puts os much stock into the Nautilus just shows the filmmakers understand it.

11) James Mason as Captain Nemo.

Unfortunately Mason’s casting as the iconic character is part of a long line of Hollywood white washing, since in the source material Captain Nemo is the son of an Indian Raja. This effects some of how Nemo’s backstory comes across (who held him in slavery? Why? I don’t really get that part of the movie, just that he lost his family because of it), but Mason is very strong in the part. He breathes incredible complexity, intelligence, interest and power into the captain of the Nautilus. Which is important as Nemo is one of the most complicated and complex antiheroes every to appear in fiction. Within a few moments Mason is sable to establish that Nemo has these complexities, that there’s so much to him we don’t see, with just his performance.

Nemo is filled with contradictions. He makes a point about how he is not civilized but gives Ned a hard time for not using a fork. He criticizes Ned for going after treasure when Nemo has a whole closet full of it. And while he uses his pain to justify the murder of countless sailors to stop war from spreading, are they not as innocent as his family? I thought they didn’t know what they were carrying, but are instead the same people who we see getting whipped like Nemo once was a slave.

But more than anything else Mason is able to show us a lot of Nemo when he’s not speaking a word. We see his intense pain at times when playing the pipe organ and we understand just how deeply he loves the seas. How it calms him, how it is his paradise. While the whitewashing of the character is more than unfortunate, Mason still does a strong job in the part.

12) Nemo’s pipe organ can actually seen by the general public and not in a museum. It currently resides in Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion ride and has done so since 1969.

13) The hunting expedition sequence is another showcase of how the film will often place wonder over pacing. The scene is incredible, with visually compelling elements and unique action. The finding of the sunken treasure is especially nice, as is the ensuing shark attack. But it’s just so freaking slow.

14) Oh, professor…

Aronnax [about Ned]: “His life means nothing! Nor does mine or yours compared to what’s behind all this.”

I disagree, but whatever. i think I’m meant to.

15) I mentioned this before, but I don’t fully understand Nemo’s backstory. He calls the island prison a, “white man’s grave.” Does that mean this film is trying to tell us non-white people are kidnapping white men and using them as slaves? That’s a fucked up narrative device and makes me wonder (as someone who’s never read the book) how this all fits with Nemo’s original heritage.

16) When Arronax says Nemo is, “not only a murderer but a hypocrite,” that was when I learned what the word hypocrite means.

16.1) I would also like to point out taking life is always much easier than maintaining it. There was probably another solution to Nemo’s problem of war spreading other than killing sailors over and over again, but death is much easier.

17) Ah, the racist and outdated “dangerous natives” trope. Yeah, please let this die soon.

And these cannibals are the only fucking black people in the movie. And they’re all dudes, of course. The only two women in this movie were Ned’s girlfriends from before. This whole part of the movie just makes me sad.

18) The Nautilus sinking is actually an excellent example of stakes in the film. There is an incredible tension and pressure throughout where the slower pacing is actually beneficial.

19) THE GIANT SQUID!!!!

This is the best damn part of the entire film, honestly. The fight with the giant squid has become wildly iconic and brings an incredible sense of fun that is born out of incredible imagination. There is strong action, stakes, and pacing throughout. While the practical effects are crazy strong, especially for the time. 63 years later and you’re not pulled out of the scene. Kirk Douglas even gets a real action hero moment to shine when he kills the beast. All in all, it’s just great.

20)

Nemo [after Ned saves him from the squid]: “Mr Land, you saved my life. Why?”

Ned [after a beat]: “That’s a good question.”

21) Honestly the giant squid works as a better climax for the movie than Nemo blowing up his island based. It is the greatest moment of tension in the film, far more so than what we get on Volcania. HOWEVER, the ending on Volcania is a much more fitting emotional conclusion. This story could only have ended one way and that is with the death of Captain Nemo.

22) Oh thank god, they save the seal! I was worried about that.

23) Okay, so one final thought. Everyone is like, “we have to get off the Nautilus before the explosion of Volcania goes off and kills us all!” But then the island blows up and it’s nowhere near Nautilus.

While an unfortunate example of white washing and problematic handling of non-white characters, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea is still in many ways a classic. It can drag at some points but Mason commands as Nemo, the design and imagination that went into the film is clear, there are a nice amount of fun moments, and then the giant squid is awesome! Especially if you’re a Disney fan, a fan of the book, or a sci-fi fan in general, you should watch this film. If you’re not those things you still might want to give this movie a try. See if you like it.

[hollywoodx4]

Sticking With the Schuylers (40)

(Not only did I stay up way too late for my schedule to write this, but I also woke up earlier this morning to finish it...it wouldn’t go the rest of the day undone. I mean, I’m a teacher and it’s the end of the year, I don’t have anything glaringly important to do....no way....)

If you haven’t given this story a chance...I mean, I’m not saying you’re missing out but it might seem daunting, but don’t we all like a little emotional roller-coaster once in a while?

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   1112   I  13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18C  I  19   20   21   22   23   24   25  26   27  28   29   I  30  31  32 33 34 35  36  37  38  39

Tagging: @linsnavi  

Warnings: This story is pretty heavy on mentions of both physical and emotional abuse.

               “I need to talk to you.”

               Eliza comes home on Wednesday night with an unreadable expression, somewhere between somber and passive. It’s later than usual; the inclusion of therapy has not only imposed on their night, which they’ve wordlessly moved to Tuesdays instead, but it has also taken a chunk of her relaxation away as well. She kicks off her snow-infested boots at the door, peeling off layers with slow and careful movements. He can’t tell if she’s exhausted or tense, mulling over her words. Her keys hit the countertop with a clang and she looks up to meet him.

               He’d risen from his chair in the office immediately upon hearing her voice. It barely even reached the room, where he’d been holed up working on a case study he’d been buried in for days. Her voice falls flat. There is a worry that sinks into his heart, cold and unforgiving, and he hesitates at the door to watch her. She lets her coat hang from her hands for a moment, fabric brushing the floor before it falls completely. The knit pattern on her scarf is traced by tentative fingers that run along its ridges, carving out each space as if the feeling of wool chilled by winter weather is something she needs to memorize in this very moment. It feels like an eternity by the time she has completely shed all of her winter garb, leaving it in neat piles by the door as she finally looks up at him.

This week had been her third session with Lisa. Eliza had warned him-as Lisa had warned her-that things would only get harder before they got better. Then she’d shaken it off, pegged it as a cautionary tale not meant for her. She’d been so sure that she’d be able to make it, to leave therapy in the room and continue on with her life as if it were completely normal. It was a mistake to think so optimistically. The night had been especially tiring; ‘we’ll leave that for the next session’ had finally caught up to her, the pass cards completely used up. There were too many things to talk about in the space of time they had to be lingering on every minute, pleasant detail within her life. She’s acutely aware of the fact that she won’t be able to move on unless she begins to talk about the bad-the unpleasant. Still, wanting and needing had become two very different places in her life, distancing themselves more every second. There’s no room for compromise. Need has to come now before want or wish or hope. This premise aches, and stings. Eliza is exhausted.

               She sinks into the couch expectantly, patting the space next to her as if she’s giving herself a death sentence. Her face has fallen considerably, eyes cast to the floor and fingers fumbling idly in her lap.

               “So I don’t want you to think that any of this is your fault, okay?” Alexander nods, curious. Eliza draws in a breath-a shot of courage, and holds it in place for a moment before speaking. She has the floor. Alexander is attentive and curious and silent, poised no doubt with the perfect turn of phrase on the tip of his tongue. Her stomach turns with nerves that roll in a docile storm, just enough to shake her confidence.

               “Lisa talked to me last week about a decision I had to make and I ignored her, thinking it would just go away. It hasn’t, and she keeps giving me all of these drawn-out reasons why we have to have this talk and at first I didn’t think it was necessary but the more she talks the more she changes my mind…”

               “Okay, it’s alright, we can work this out. I can get another job, we don’t have to have an office. You can even keep student teaching, right?-because nine months give or take would bring us to September, and that might be kind of hard but if we just sit down and talk about it we can figure this out. And then your parents-shit, your parents-they can, uh, we can just sit down with them, and have a rational talk, and you might need to cry if I’m not already crying and if your dad doesn’t murder me, and a baby’s a lot of work but I think we can do it,”

               “-Wait, Alex, slow down!” She’s nearly laughing now, alarm in her eyes and the hint of a smile playing at her lips. She moves her hands from her lap to his shoulders, tracing tracks along them as his heartbeat and his scattered mind settle. “I’m not pregnant.”

               The release of tension in Alexander is visible; his shoulders drop, his hands stop sweating. He nods his head, fervently, letting the words wash over him in excess until they finally click in his mind.

               “Good-okay, not good as in I wouldn’t support you if you were, but good as in we haven’t even had this conversation yet, and this is not the right time to be raising a child, and we have careers and family and,”

               “-It’s okay, Alexander, I understand. I’m not offended. I mean, could you imagine my father if that were the case?” He had. He’d imagined it all, right down to each gruesome detail within the thirty-second span of time he had been stumbling over his words ready to provide for her. Being maimed by Phillip Schuyler after impregnating his daughter three months into their relationship isn’t exactly the kind of rapport he wants to have with the man. He’s fine continuing the simple chats they’ve had thus far, those are enough to carry him into his good graces.

               “I-uh, I did have something important to talk to you about, though.”

               May; the school year has ended, and somehow Eliza has managed to complete every task and assignment on time, and in good reflection in her grades as well. She sits on the porch of her parents’ house with Angelica, looking over her final grades with a sigh of relief. She is genuinely surprised that she passed the year. Academically, Eliza did not find it too difficult. In fact, she excelled far above the others with her knowledge taken from volunteer work and tutoring, bits and pieces of knowledge coming in handy in her development classes. Even in math, which had proven to be her worst subject throughout school, she managed to pull a grade above her expectations.

               The second semester had been trying. Angelica can see it reflected in the dropping marks, the weight of Eliza’s GPA dipping her down to just barely missing the dean’s list, which had been her goal all along. She had tried to explain, for the fifteenth time, that making the list was exceptionally hard-especially at a school like Columbia. Eliza wouldn’t listen. Watching her little sister was like watching herself through a mirror. The high expectations did not come from their parents as much-no, Phillip and Catherine wanted their daughters to succeed by trying their hardest, not by breaking their backs. This is something internalized, built into their mismatched DNA in a harrowing representation of perfectionism that fought with their minds on a daily basis. It isn’t enough that they both are going to Columbia. It isn’t enough that they’ve made high marks their entire year. To Angelica and Eliza, there is always a higher goal to be met in academics. Angelica has achieved it for the third year in a row. Eliza has missed on her very first try.

               Angelica knows the pathway that had taken her younger sister from straight A’s to lower A’s and B’s. This is entirely a fault that cannot be placed on Eliza, who had spent late nights trying to complete school work and come to class late covered in concealer with sorrow-ridden eyes. From the moment she had moved in with James, her grades began to slip. Her assignments grew harder. Her life grew harder. She had held her head up like a warrior through it all, persevered and battled herself to keep her spot at the school she had been dreaming about for years on end. It’s her family’s legacy, to move from Manhattan Prep to Columbia. It’s their dream to keep the dignity and respect alive through the deeply-rooted tradition. And she had almost lost it-according to her own thoughts.

               “You didn’t do badly at all, Eliza. Look-your Health & Nutrition professor left a note that your final project on bringing sustainable choices to school lunches was inspired. Actually, you have a lot of comments on here.”

               “I guess.”

               “Eliza, you got really good grades for your first year at Columbia. And for everything you went through,”

               “-No.” Her voice is hollow, cracked. Eliza grabs the paper transcript from her sister’s hands, burying it in her lap without sparing a second glance. She’d already memorized the marks, anyway. “We’re not using that as an excuse. We broke up in March. There’s no reason I shouldn’t have been able to higher grades than this.”

               As summer slowly crept into view, the thought of final marks never left Eliza’s mind. There were days where she seemed fine; that she was no longer pained by her experiences and could not even remember what she had been so upset about. But most days she found that time hung suspended in front of her, where the beginning prickling heat of summer took over the streets. The world was surrounded in humidity that brought crowds stumbling inside and packing the subways with sweaty bodies pressed tight together. In this chaos Eliza never stopped. She threw herself back into the things she had missed in a manic sort of frenzy that packed her schedule from dawn to dusk. Angelica went from seeing her every time she walked through the door from work to only once in a while, in sparing moments in the holes of her schedule. And when she did see Eliza-when they sat together at brunch, or spent a moment in the kitchen over some tea and cookies-she was just an average human being with an over packed schedule and a sleep pattern to match.

               Angelica knew better-she always knows better.

               There’s one morning that Eliza doesn’t leave the house, at least not at the crack of dawn. Angelica and John have both woken up, and are sitting at the little breakfast nook in the corner of their kitchen. John pours over one half of the newspaper while Angelica takes the other. They sit in a peaceful sort of silence, the sound of birdsong and small sips of hot coffee the only accompaniment. They hear Eliza before they see her. This morning she is a slow, methodical clicking of oxford flats against hardwood. John looks up from his mug to greet her and is met with blinking eyes and a grin painted unsteadily on well-made features.

               “You’re here late.” John speaks up first, eyes lifted just above the crease of the newspaper. She nods. Although the conversation has invited her further into the kitchen she does not move-her legs won’t will it. Instead she hovers in her place, staring at the couple at the table with an inward plea she doesn’t even realize she’s sending. Prod. Her mind whispers the words, begging. Ask me what’s up. Help me.

               “Come sit, Bets.” Angelica pats the space next to her on the bench of the nook and scoots over to accommodate her younger sister, holding out a piece of toast with an inviting grin.

               “So what are you up to today?”

               “I-uh, I'm meeting someone for lunch. Actually, that's kind of why I'm…I wanted to ask…well, I got a call from James this morning.”

               “And you didn't answer it, because you're a smart girl.” Eliza’s face falls, eyes cast to the table. She picks at a piece of slightly burnt toast, no longer hungry anymore. Her stomach churns with the frown of disapproval and immediate flurry this sends both Angelica and Church into.

               “Tell me he's not the friend you're going to lunch with.”

               Another silence. The slow burn of their eyes on her-judging, accumulating facts that aren't quite there yet-that burn singes thin skin, leaving reddened marks in its place. Eliza sits under their watch. This is all she can do, as if they have magnetized her to the breakfast nook and the burnt toast.

               “Elizabeth Schuyler, I know you're smarter than this.”

               “It's not as bad as it sounds; he's getting help. He checked himself into a counseling center for abusive men. He's going to get better. And in order for him to be able to do that, his group leader told him that he has to meet the mistakes of his past. He has to reconcile.”

               “At the cost of all of the progress you’ve made? I don’t think so.”

               Angelica stares down her younger sister, who peers back at her through widened eyes. Eliza pushes strands of hair back into the bobby pins that hold them from her face before her hands drop. She picks at the fairly fresh coat of mint green nail polish, wincing as it begins to chip away. She hates painting her nails-the effort isn’t nearly worth the week they last, if that long. She does, however, love the first day with a new color on. Matching the polish to her clothing, looking down and admiring blues or pinks or nude tones had become one of the simpler pleasures of her life. And each time she began to chip away at it, she’d simply start anew. It’s easy to wipe away one round of polish to make room for the next. She does it without a second thought.

               She wonders, then, if this effort would be worth it. Angelica continues to stare, keeping her rooted to her seat at the table with an iron grip made only with the fire of an older sister’s protection. Her heart is racing, then, running through the options although her mind has already been made up. The implications of her actions are real-she had felt them before, that day in March. There is not a part of her that wants that to happen again. However, there is still a draw. As much as she would never admit it, to her sister or to John or even to herself, hearing James’s voice on the phone had brought her back. There were times, simpler times, where she had been happy with him. In the beginning he’d hold her close to his side. He’d link her arm through his, walk to a bench in the smallest green oasis in the city where they would just sit and talk. In the beginning, James was gentle. He’d speak in kindness, with those hazel-green eyes that pop against chocolate, freckle-dusted skin. The summer introduced him with a sunny disposition and a warmed heart. As the weather approaches that mark again, reminiscing on that same heat has spun Eliza’s head around and back again. Suddenly, November through March are just faded memories that run on a plane of non-existence. Suddenly, there is only summer-the sweet, gentle warmth of James Reynolds before the lack of heat had turned him sour.

               As long as one looks hard enough, there is hope in every moment. Eliza hitches herself to that belief as she finally meets Angelica’s eyes, her own full and round and ready to battle.

               “God, Angelica, I’m not saying I’m going to marry the man tomorrow. I’m saying that this is an important key to his healing. I’m not going to deny him the chance to turn his life around. He’s taken the first steps. I have to do this.”

               “No, you don’t!”

               “Angelica!” She shouts her sister’s name, then, a voice unlike her own rising from the depths of her diaphragm in an uncontrolled and sudden burst of anger. Both Angelica and John sit back in their seats, then, watching as Eliza picks herself up from the table. She paces the room for a while, force-pushing the optimistic thoughts back into her mind. John shuffles the paper. Angelica’s mug clinks against her plate. They’ve reached a stalemate, Eliza unwilling to go without the permission her sister will not give. Each with a different understanding of the situation, this is the first real fight they have gotten themselves into.

               “I could go with you.” John speaks up, then, in his calm and subdued manner. He glances between the sisters, offering a peace-a compromise. His girlfriend’s eyes are lowered, angered and betrayed. She does not interrupt. There is always a judicial sense in whatever John Church has to say. Quiet by nature, his speech is thought out and significant when given.

               “I’ll hang out at a different booth-close by, to be safe. This way, you can still talk.” Angelica has loosened, slightly, but the tension is still visible in her tight shoulders and unmoving limbs. John turns to her, a hand on her hand. “If things start to go badly, I step in. He won’t even know who I am. I’ll wear a hat or a fake beard or something if that makes it any better.”

…

               May 14th is an overcast day. The clouds seem to want nothing more than to spill their contents on the thirsting earth, but they hold off. Instead they close the city in with a shadow that spills over, the day feeling immediately gloomy. Eliza holds her nerves in the lump of her throat as she waits to enter the small café James had chosen for lunch. John had gone in half an hour earlier under the premise of waiting for a date that will never show up, an excuse to keep the center table long enough to be witness to their meeting.

               She stumbles in as soon as the clock on her phone shifts to noon, legs carrying her quicker than she wishes to the table he’d saved. She passes John, bowler hat and all, on the way. He nods. She’s nearly choking on the thrumming of her heartbeat in her chest.

               He’s wearing her favorite of his shirts; a soft blue, collared cotton he dresses underneath a navy cardigan. It turns his eyes brighter, the green of the sea on an overcast day like today. James stands to greet her, holding her hand and nodding and waiting for her to sit across from him before he joins her. She sips the water already at the table and he chats as if they’re back to the beginning. It feels like the beginning. The tapping of Eliza’s heart against her chest slows into a steady hum. She leans back against her chair. She laughs.

               The conversation turns quite slowly to the topic of his counseling; he hadn’t mentioned it yet, and it had felt wonderful to just catch up with him. But glancing up Eliza notices John in a booth near them, watching over a menu. He sits on the edge of his chair. Eliza recoils at the glaring memory that comes flying back then, back to her mission and the reason she nearly hadn’t joined him in the first place.

               “So, this is for…for your therapy?”

               “We’re working on getting back the things we lost-making peace with the past. It’s a…it’s a very intensive program, but I think it’s going well.” A pause, and then, “I miss you, Elizabeth.”

               The sound of her name from his lips, the way he’d crafted it so neatly with perfectionistic diction and a near purring of syllables, stirs something within her. It is not love, not in the way she had felt so long ago although she doubts it will ever go away. Her heart, once thrumming wildly with the potential of possibility and boundless optimism, sinks and settles at the bottom of her stomach as a sea stone set cold with a fear of the rolling tide. Her full name, once beautiful and bright, is beautifully masked venom from a snake’s scheming tongue. Eliza freezes in her seat. Like any of her actions back in the cold of their fall-winter-spring together, it does not go unnoticed.

               “What?” James inches forward in his chair, a hand on the table between them. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

               “Where does your group meet?”

               “Uptown.”

               “How’d you find them?”

               “Online.”

               “Why did you really want me here?” It takes an impulse and a shot of courage to send the words across the table, and once she does Eliza immediately regrets them. James’s lips turn, just a hint of a degree, but enough to hint at the first signs of his anger. She backs further away, feet planted sideways on the floor; a getaway. She’d gotten good at escape plans in the months with-and now without him.

               “Are you even in therapy?”

               He does not want to answer her question; the Cheshire grin he has grown fill between the lines of their conversation sufficiently enough for Eliza to feel a shockwave-sparks that light within her body as warning flares. Her chair scuffs the floor as she propels it out from under her, gathering her bag. His hand is on hers before she can move away.

               “I knew you’d come running the second I called. That’s how it works, isn’t it? Sweet Eliza. Sweet, naive Elizabeth. You need me, you know. Who else is going to keep you safe?”

               His hand is all the way up her arm now, running itself up and down in a trail that leaves icy pin-pricks in its wake. She wants to recoil-she wills her muscles to punch, or tense…anything to fight back. Instead, she stays rooted-frozen. His touch transports her to a time where she could no longer move-to fall-winter-spring, where she’d been motionless under his spell of charm and wit and poise he’d saved only for the public image.

               It feels as though time has suspended itself in mid-air as both of his hands find their way to her hips. In reality, it is only a matter of seconds before John has pulled her away, throwing filthy, daggered curse words his way as he wraps Eliza in his own arms, turning so her body is sheltered from him. He bellows in a voice she’s never heard from his reserved manner, with threats to harm she’d never intended. She’d never wanted any of this to happen. She’d never thought she’d have to be saved.

               Naive; she’d trusted James. Her heart had fluttered at its reintroduction to his eyes. Her heart had been so full of hope, of stories she’d tell Angelica of his progress and his light.

He’d come to hurt her. She’d been naïve.

John does not speak to her on their way back to the apartment. Angelica does not say ‘I told you so.’ Instead, she whispers words of her middle sister’s boundless kindness as they lay nose to nose in bed that night. Eliza pretends to sleep. She is not sure whether reality or her dreams will haunt her more, and she is not willing to gamble. One word whispers her to a lurid, sweat-laden nightmare.

Sweet Eliza; forgiving. Kind. Sweet Elizabeth, always sweet.

…

               “I think we need to live apart for a while.” She holds her breath then, the words tumbling out faster than she’d expected them to. It’s easier to speak to Alexander, simpler; even when she hadn’t wanted to have this conversation at all.

               The air is stagnant and stale and Alex fights to keep his head above it all. Eliza’s suggestion-request, really-burrows deep into his mind. With it come one thousand accusations, thoughts and shouting and terse words all aimed from his mind to his heart. Although he seeks answers and the ability to understand he is suddenly buried under the premise of what she is saying, what the suggestion might mean for them. He hadn’t envisioned a life without her in a long time. The temporary piece of their living situation had gone away long ago-or so he’d thought. It’s only been a little over a month since he’d moved in-what could have gone wrong in such a short amount of time? Is she having second thoughts about him?

               Two long, agonizing minutes and Alex still has not said anything. Eliza watches the physical manifestation of his thought process in his wandering eyes and hand that rubs the back of his neck. He nods, accepting, but his mouth hinges and unhinges in the beginnings of questions that will not form. He’s not sure whether the lump in his throat is from the now arid air or the beginnings of raw emotion that have welled up in his throat. Either way, he rests his hand on her thigh.

               “…okay. Okay. I’m not going to argue with you-this is your apartment, that would be stupid. But can I just…can I ask why?”

               “Because I’ve been going through a lot of memories…this giant, holed-up mess of things I never even knew happened to me. I’ve been so busy with you that I’ve forgotten myself again.” He looks away then, poorly-hidden guilt shrouding his sinking figure and seeping into her skin. “It’s not your fault-god no, it’s really not. It’s just this fun thing I do where I attach myself to people too heavily. Right now, I really can’t afford that.”

               “Are we still together?” His tone of voice lingers somewhere between hopeful and subconsciously chilled. Alex is not angry; he could not find it in his heart to be cold to her about something like this. Disappointment sinks into his joints, his heart. The room changes almost immediately before his eyes, as if her words could erase the painting of domesticity they’d created in just a second. His mug is an intrusion in their pile of dishes, his blanket a left-behind. He pulls it from the back of the couch, cradling it in his hands before moving to their-her-bedroom.

               “Or course we are-Alex, are you angry with me?”

               “I just need a minute!” He pulls his bags from the closet, emptying drawers and cabinets and casting them by the door in a haphazard fashion. She stands in the hallway, watching his flurried actions with tear-blurred vision. The more he packs, the less control she has over herself. Eliza lingers in a limbo between being unable to see or hear anything that’s going on and taking it all in much too fast. There is no in-between. When Alex flies by her again she stops him, a hand on his, breathing his name through quivering lips.

               “I’m not angry, Eliza. I just,” He flings the last bag by the door, holding her shoulders in his hands before wiping the warm, salted tracks of tears from her reddened cheeks. She shakes in his hold, her uncertain frown a permanent fixture. “If we need to live apart, we need to live apart. I’ll call the guys and we’ll figure it out.”

               There is something more that lingers on the edge of his sentence, tucked back away before it spills over the edge. A coating of thickness creeps in and fills the air around them, turning Eliza’s breath heavy and laborious. This is important. This is for you. You’ll be alright.

               As if to pacify the thoughts she does not speak aloud, Alex shifts over to wrap her in his arms. He feels different, radiating love but lingering with a hint of the disappointment she had seen earlier. She does not like it. She can’t blame him.

               There is a bitter taste on his tongue, one he hopes will not translate as he kisses her goodbye later that night. There is no more room for words-he has lost them all in the fight to keep himself sane-to understand her request and accept it as dutifully as he should. When she shuts the door behind him, the slow, hesitant click is one last shock to his heart. Eliza watches out the peephole as he goes, bags slung over his shoulders, with a heavy heart.

               She wants nothing more than to run after him; to invite him back inside their home. She’s already mourning his place in bed beside her, which no doubt has already run cold. The chill in the air comes from a lack of his presence, not the usual air of bitter, unforgiving January. The apartment is empty. Without his furnishings; his little souvenirs on the shelf, opened and pen-marked books on every flat surface….this is not home. But the immediate hole in her heart also speaks in volumes to her mind, which is racing with the implications of what she has just done. She’s hurt him. She’s heartbroken. In that same frame of mind, there is a light. It is small, but she figures it might just be what she needs to get by. Racing to the office, she pulls out an unopened sketch book and a tin of charcoals.

               Next Wednesday, Eliza pulls the book from her bag and opens it, wordless, and watches as Lisa nods at her work. Most of the thick paper is filled with dark blues, accented only with blacks and the occasional mint in a swirling of colors resembling a thick and tumultuous sea. A red line crosses the page from one end to the other, from the darkness to a completely different masterpiece. There, at the top, is the centerpiece of it all. A quarter-sized cocktail of yellows and whites and orange stands out among the dark, coasting above the sea as a beacon. Hope. It’s the first time she’s pulled out her sketchbook since that summer-winter-spring, since it had been filled only with the mimicking of the purples and blues that were a constant ornament to her skin. This feels different, right. And although that wire, that red tether still binds her to Alexander, it is through the light and the hope. He’s connecting her from each opposite end of the art piece. He’s there.

               The apartment is empty without him. There is a lack of light, of warmth and laughter he had once radiated brilliantly. Eliza knows that this is for the best; for healing, for finding the light…for her. Her heart and her mind and her body pull toward him. The apartment is frightening without him. Living alone is a quiet she hadn’t wanted to feel. But her goal remains the same, through Alexander’s crestfallen eyes and her own tearing heart. This isn’t temporary. This isn’t over. This is a step in the right direction.

               And maybe, if she tells herself that enough, that little yellow light will cover her thick paper one day.

[solarmason-blog]

pieces into the puzzle | quinnson

WHO: Mason McCarthy & Quinn Fabray ( @wingedfabray ) WHAT: Mason and Quinn duel, and then Mason ruins a perfectly good evening with Important Updates. WHERE: Undique Stadium. WHEN: Wednesday, January 17th, evening. WARNINGS: Violent imagery.

Quinn felt tired in a way that she couldn't describe, that she didn't really understand herself. A week spent hopping between places, hunched over books, or practicing her casting of certain spells over and again until they felt natural and smooth had taken a toll. She'd almost texted Mason. Almost. But it didn't matter with who or where, Quinn needed to practice before her AMATs. She pushed her way into Undique, eyes immediately finding Mason. It was natural, it felt right. Wednesdays meant Mason, and training that left her pleasantly tired. Her lips quirked up in a smile as she approached, dropping her bag at the side of the arena. "Hey, Duck Boy."

Mason paused his swing to look over at her, grin lighting his face. "Hey Q," Mason said, making a note to come up with an equally ridiculous nickname for her as soon as he could. "What's up with you? Feel like I've barely seen you. I mean, more than I usually barely see you." It was a joke, followed by a light smile as he rested the hilt of his knife against his hip and cocked his head at her. "You sure you want real training this week?"

Quinn nodded, "I've been busy." She reached down to her toes, holding them tight and counting to ten. Stretching helped to ease away some of the stress, as though her body knew that this was her time to settle into something that simply was, where the stress outside was left at the door. "I'm sure." She offered before standing up straight again. "I have the AMATs Friday, and I want to be my absolute best. This is too important. I'll take tomorrow to rest, but tonight..." She looked up to Mason, pursing her lips. "Tonight we need to practice."

Mason smiled to himself and nodded. "I just had my AMATs, actually." He moved to store his knife in his grimoire, followed after a moment of consideration by his shillelagh. "And I need to practice too." He returned to the ring and grinned, low and a little challenging. "But the AMATs are days away and if you spend this fight thinking about that, you're not even gonna give me a challenge." He paused, then added, dropping the teasing tone, "D'you want me to go easier on you? It's practice, after all..."

Quinn grinned as Mason continued, catching the tone in his voice easily. "I hope you did well." She offered. She took her place in the ring, fighting down unnecessary nerves. The challenge in his voice told her everything that she needed to know: they were finally going to duel. Mason was experienced, he knew magic in ways that she'd only dabbled in, only read in books and articles. This was where he would excel, and Quinn's pretty spells might crumble. It would mark the first time she'd really tried to use her magic for something offensive since the field studies she'd been pulled from months ago. It was exciting, and she had full faith in Mason making it something to learn from. "You're the teacher." She quipped lightly, spreading her feet and taking a loose stance. "Teach me something."

Mason shrugged; he wouldn't exactly call his performance at the AMATs 'doing well', but he'd lived, and he'd do better next year. He allowed himself a smile as she returned the volley - he was the teacher. He liked the sound of that. He began slowly walking a circle around the ring; when he spoke, his voice was playfully haughty--an over-exaggerated professor's voice. "Of course, Miss Fabray. The first lesson is, no matter who is teaching you or what the situation is, always be ready to make a smart attack and put your opponent on the defensive. Press any and all advantages you have, even one like a rambling, lecturing professor." Mason grinned wickedly - distraction was one of his favorite tools.

Mason rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 4

Mason grinned. "<<Rocks, rise and fly.>​>​" Three large, vaguely square rocks rise, splintering from the ground, and flew toward Quinn.

Quinn rolled a die. The die showed: 5

Quinn was almost distracted. Almost. She followed Mason's movements around the arena carefully, holding back a laugh at the persona he tried to adopt. How was he supposed to distract her while talking about not being distracted? She was half-expecting the attack, when it came, and was quick to shout << Move! >​>​ in Enochian. Fire twirled to life in front of her, spinning in a quick circle that captured the flying rocks and shifted them sideways. They narrowly missed her as she skirted to the right of them. “Who are you, The Boulder?” She quipped before turning to face him again.

Quinn rolled a die. The die showed: 3

Quinn said << heat, seek >​>​ in a quiet voice. Pronunciation was always key, not volume, but she didn't feel particularly confident about her wording. A line of fire etched itself into the ground, shooting to the wall past Mason, bouncing off with a sharp pivot, and racing back towards him.

Mason rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 3

Mason didn't even wrinkle his nose at the jab--nor did he have time to quip back, because there was suddenly fire, and it was heading straight for him. "<<Earth, dispell this flame,>​>​" he commanded, watching the ground ripple and cool and turn to steaming mud before the flame could lick at him. He looked back at Quinn and grinned broadly. This was what a duel was supposed to be. "Well done," Mason hummed, starting to move in a slow circle again. "Show me what else you got, Q."

Quinn rolled a die. The die showed: 2

Mason rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 5

Quinn straightened up, expecting a counterattack over an opportunity to be on the offensive again. Mason was moving in slow circles, and Quinn wondered at just how relaxed he seemed. How many duels had he fought? She’d always had the upper hand in their interactions. It was horribly skewed, how it was always politics, and he was always looking at her. Now she was looking at him, and it felt incredibly disorienting, having the tables turned. This wasn’t just shooting fireballs at rocks. Speaking of, << Ball of flame >​>​ she commanded simply, only wondering at the wording after a small, dancing ball of flame spun to life in front of her, directing itself at Mason.

Mason smiled to himself at her confusion - battles weren't always going to go the way she expected, and she needed to be prepared to, as he'd said, take every opportunity. He set his stance as the flame appeared. "<<Earth, rise as one,>​>​" Mason commanded quickly, watching large hunks of earth fly together, blocking the flame before it reached him. "<<Earth, sharpen, harden, and fly.>​>​" As quickly as the wall had formed it broke apart, shifting into blocky, jagged spikes, that flew straight to Quinn. "<<Mud, hold her.>​>​" Mason added, fixing his gaze on the ground beneath Quinn's feet.

Mason rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 4

Quinn tried to move, she really did. With too little time to cast something adequately defensive against the earth flying towards her, the only option she had was to dive sideways. But she could feel the mud encasing her feet, and her attempt to dive ended in her falling sideways, feet barely pulling from the ground with a sick, wet ​pop​. Mason was quick, casting new spells before she’d registered that he’d even blocked hers. It was impressive. She would be marveling at it, if she wasn’t getting hit with jagged rocks. After the onslaught, she pulled her feet from the mud with considerable effort, breathing heavily when she could finally move freely again.

Quinn rolled a die. The die showed: 4

Mason rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 1

Quinn didn’t hesitate once she was free from the mud, choking back a cough as she said << Fire, encircle >​>​ A thin line of fire traced a circle around Mason, tendrils stretching up towards the ceiling. Her feet finally paused as she said << Close >​>​ , and the circle started to shrink, closing in on Mason. The fire didn’t burn hot, and she watched closely from the outside, ready to stop it, if she needed to.

Mason was torn between feeling proud and feeling ashamed - he really, genuinely, didn't like to hurt people, especially when those people were Quinn Fabray. So his fleeting cockiness was quickly replaced with concern as Quinn fell. "Are you oka--Yikes!" Mason flinched at the fire, automatically pulling back in on himself; all he felt was heat licking at the exposed skin of his arms. "<<I am untouched by flame,>​>​" Mason said, closing his eyes. Beneath his feet, a sigil carved itself, the exact image that he'd held in his mind as he spoke. It glowed brightly and then dimmed and went out entirely - just long enough for him to sidestep neatly away from the flames. His clothes were slightly scorched. "Nice," Mason complimented honestly, a grin lighting his face easily. "You doin' okay over there?" He did not attack, just yet; he was too warm from her fire to be able to focus on the cool earth beneath his feet.

Quinn brushed at her clothes, wincing. There was nothing fun about getting hit with rocks, and she was exhibit A. “I’m fine.” She looked up questioningly. The slight respite was nice, enough time to settle her thoughts, which had started spinning the moment she’d found her feet stuck in mud. She couldn’t quite fight back a smirk as she took in Mason’s scorched clothes. At least she’d done ​something​, even if Mason was far more practiced than she was. “Do you give all of your opponents a break?”

Mason rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 7

Quinn rolled a die. The die showed: 4

Mason grinned, wicked and bright. "Only my favorite ones." And that was that. "<<Crater,>​>​" Mason said simply. A hole about five feet deep appeared beneath Quinn's feet - the earth had sunk itself down in accordance with Mason's command, and Quinn would fall with it. If it were a monster, there would be spikes at the bottom, but she wasn't, and she was his student, his friend, so there was only smooth, flat stone.

Quinn barely had time to process Mason’s words, and certainly didn’t have enough time to think of an appropriate counter-spell. The ground disappeared beneath her feet, and she fell to the bottom with a heavy thud. For a moment she laid motionless at the bottom, before finally pulling in a ragged breath. The ground looked like walls around her, and she was perfectly fine gathering herself at the bottom of the crater for a moment. She was beyond sore and winded, and completely done with the exercise for the day. “Alright, Mase.” She managed, sitting up and pushing back to lean against the edge of the hole. “That-That’s good.”

Mason hesitantly made his way toward his crater, his Quinn. He looked from her to the room - rocks and smoke and mud and the signs of a battle well fought. "<<I banish this mess. Let all be as it was.>​>​" Mason rested a hand on his hip as the mud slithered back into dirt, the rocks joining together again and disappearing entirely; the last thing was the ground on which Quinn stood, which shot back up to main level so quickly that Mason reflexively caught Quinn to keep her from falling over. "You did really well," Mason promised with a sure but sheepish smile - he couldn't tell if she was upset about the loss yet or not. "Definitely not bad for our first go-round." Mason paused - the dark thing that has been lurking in his mind since the previous week, since Monday, since school started, nudged him more insistently. He pushed it away, just a little longer. "Let's sit. How d'you feel?"

Quinn leaned softly against Mason for a moment before nodding, and making her way to the wall. She slid down until her bottom hit the dirt, and she sat with one knee pulled to her chest and the other leg stretched out in front of her. It had been far too long since she’d had an actual duel with someone, and she knew that she would be feeling it for a while. “I feel out of practice.” She offered in a neutral tone, letting out a sigh. She turned to face Mason with a small smile. “You’re really good, Mason.”

Mason ducked his head a little at the compliment, a smile on his face. He was really good - sometimes. Never when it counted, never when it mattered for anything except making his best friend bruised. "Thanks," he said, stretching his leg out too. He felt jittery and calm all at once, like he could feel the earth beneath him but also every particle of dust in the room. He didn't want to ruin it; this rare moment of normality between them, this moment that made him feel like every other moment was worth it somehow - like they could live in this sort of moment forever. It made him ache. But no; he had to push past the jitteriness, he couldn't let himself live in the post-duel haze, couldn't just let things be. He always had to mess things up - it was his lot in life as much as sigils were, as much as The Compound was. "So. About next week's training." Mason began carefully, tugging at one of the many bracelets around his wrist. "You might not be able to make it." He couldn't will himself to meet her eye; his gaze remained staunchly focused away from her.

Quinn leaned closer to Mason, until their shoulders brushed. There was something about him that Quinn couldn’t quite place, a feeling. She waited patiently for him to speak, quietly inspecting the arena. She wasn’t one for many words, but she knew that Mason was. He was quiet, and it was unnerving. When he finally did speak, her brow knitted. “​I​ won’t be able to make it?”

Mason wished that he didn't take such immense reassurance, and immediate foolish light in his chest, from the simple brush of her shoulder against his. Touch was something altogether different with Quinn; it came naturally to Mason - he was a physical being, always had been, and to touch something was to know it. Usually he was catching her, hugging her, holding her hand, but he lived for the moments when the reverse was true. He held onto that moment, and then forced himself to nod. "I sort of...did something stupid. Let Madison do something stupid, and did it right along with her." He let out a deep sigh and looked at the wall opposite them, though he still tugged at his bracelets - specifically the one that Sebastian had the twin to. Probably. He wouldn't know; he hadn't seen Sebastian since The Compound. But that was a confusing, gaping hole for another time, and he looked back at Quinn after a long moment. "I don't want to tell you too much, because I don't want to--to put you in a position where..." Mason trailed off, a frown knitting his brow. In a small voice, he continued. "I'm probably going to be getting a Watch Eye. Madison is getting one on Friday." He couldn't meet her gaze: this was it, this was over, this was The End, Bye Mason, Mason Who Never Met The Kid. This was the end. (On second thought, he really should have started with the other thing first.) "But. Um. I have another thing to. To talk to you about. It's also bad. I'm really sorry. I really am sorry, Quinn. If I'd--I had to--" Mason cut himself off; he pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Wished desperately for her shoulder against his again. "We thought we were helping." It sounded pathetic and he knew it was. Stupid, pathetic, idiotic, and how many times would mistakes about other people cost him Quinn?

Quinn shifted to fully face Mason, bouncing between concerned and amused. She arched one eyebrow, and the more he rambled, the farther it climbed. Her stomach turned uncomfortably, and she half wanted to reach out, stop him from talking or comfort him. He was throwing too much at her, and her head spun. The only thing she could pull out of it was ‘something is wrong,’ and she didn’t like it. Concern won out over judgement, “Hey, slow down.” She chided gently. “The rambling thing is usually endearing, but you’re honestly scaring me a little right now. Why don’t you try starting at the beginning?”

Mason frowned. He never wanted to scare her. When had his life gotten so scary? Quinn was a person he kept secrets with, not kept secrets from. "Okay. I'm slowing down." After a moment of hesitation that did nothing to cure the uneven rhythm his heart was beating against his breastbone, he traced a sigil in the dirt: I am calm. "<<Calm.>​>​" He rested his hand over the shape and leaned back against the wall, willing the sigil's magic to work through him. Focus would also be good, but one thing at a time. One thing at a time. Calm. Breathe. In, out, breathe. Breathe. He kept his eyes on the ceiling and his hand on the sigil, though it had already gone out. "We wanted to find out who attacked Elliott. Find some way to..." Mason shrugged sort of helplessly. "I don't even know if we had a plan. But we...Madison..." This was the hard part. The confessing. But Quinn knew him, already - knew about backrooms and mothers and almost all the things Mason didn't want anybody else to know about. "We took the knife. The knife that...Elliott was....attacked with. He asked Madison to help him." It came out brittle; Mason's fingers dug deeper into the earth. He didn't mind it caking beneath his nails. "So we took the knife. Someone else wanted it. We didn't hand it over, because we're not idiots, because we don't want a knife like that in the hands of--of any random...ugh. So then after our phones get wiped about it, including Tina's, who didn't do anything wrong except do a favor for me which shouldn't have ruined her life but did, because that's what happens to people when--" Mason caught himself. He had not, in fact, slowed down. He swallowed and retraced his sigil. Respoke the word. Let it work through his body again. Stay, stay, stay. Breathe, breathe, in, out, don't scare her, stop panicking, it's fine, it's ​fine​ it had to be fine, he had to be fine, for Madison for Adam for Quinn for Elliott. He had to be fine so he was fine. "So. Madison talked to security. Security talked to her. Whatever. She's getting a Watch Eye. And I probably am too, but...I guess I don't know that for sure. Maybe they just wanted to scare her. They haven't contacted me. Yet." Mason let his head thunk back against the wall, a reassuring thud. He let his eyes fall closed. In a way, it felt good to get it all out there, like it was some foreign thing he'd been holding onto - he felt strangely empty. He couldn't see Quinn's face, which he didn't mind except that he liked looking at her - he didn't want to see the varying shades of his own disgust reflected back to him. "So. You can't be seen with me. You can't be caught on camera with me. So. First and last dueling session, I guess, right?" Mason pulled his legs tighter to him. It was easier with his eyes closed; he could pretend that he wasn't talking to Quinn at all, that it didn't make his heart hurt in an unexpectedly sharp sort of way, that he'd know what to do with himself when he was sad or panicking or happy or any of the other times he found himself reaching for Quinn's steady warmth and reassuring calm. He'd already, apparently, lost his Monday night arrangement, and now he'd lost his Wednesday one as well. There wasn't one single thing about this that didn't ​suck​.

Quinn listened closely, silently. Mason had apparently been busy involving himself in the investigation of Elliott’s attacker, which she had fully expected. She’d even told Adam as much. Mason helped people, that’s what he did. He’d been her support far too many times for her to assume that he would stand idly by. But…they had involved themselves in ways that were far less than discreet. They hadn’t covered their tracks, they hadn’t stuck to the shadows. If Madison had been pulled into NYADA’s security office already, than they were in too deep. She tried to picture Mason with a Watch Eye; Mason, who had done nothing but love and support the people around him, even the ones who didn’t necessarily deserve it. She couldn’t picture it. She couldn’t picture Puck’s hat on his head, or Mason ever needing his actions monitored. And a Watch Eye meant only a few things, and Quinn couldn’t think of a single good reason that Mason or Madison would have one. Her hands clenched at the fabric of her sweats, her jaw clenched and unclenched. “What were you…” She paused on a huff, collecting herself. Mason looked like he was letting her go, and it ​hurt​. Her knee jerk reaction to hurt was, “You stole a weapon from a battery investigation? You…did you even think about what you were doing? What you could have gotten yourself into? Mason, a Watch Eye is ​bad​. And there’s no telling who you riled up other than security. It’s a knife that can hurt a ​Shedim​. Everyone wants that, and you just…” As she spoke, her voice got lower, quieter, barely contained. Because while she knew she wouldn’t just forget and let Mason deal with it all alone, she was quickly realizing that they were closing the door on a large part of their friendship. “You can’t just run into something like this without thinking, it’s idiotic. ​Mason.​” And her voice shook when didn’t want it to, but she clenched her fists against it.

Mason wanted to be angry. He wished he had it in him, wished the had the luxury of rage - at her, at the situation. But he didn't. So he just let her tell him what he already knew: 'Watch Eyes are bad'. No freaking way. "I know." Mason sad softly, counting to five before he opened his eyes. He looked how she felt and it twisted his heart. "I'm sorry." Mason hesitated for a moment, then reached over one of Quinn's hands, a hesitant sort of question. "It won't happen again, Q. I'm sorry."

Quinn hesitates for a moment, looking at Mason’s hand. There was a dull ache in her chest, and something told her that it was going to hurt a lot worse in the morning, when they weren’t sitting right next to each other, and their midnight jogs and Wednesday training sessions were a thing of the past. The anger eased away; Mason had done what he had done, and Quinn knew that it had come from a good place. He had wanted to help. She sucked in a breath, blinking, then softly took his hand, weaving her fingers with his. “I won’t be able to make it to next week’s session, then.” She paused, then, “Is there…is there anything that I can do? This situation that you’ve found yourself in, is there anything that I have to offer?”

Mason took her hand, his voice momentarily caught in his throat as he squeezed her hand. "I don't know. Keep me from losing you?" Mason chuckled weakly, wetly. This was a thing she could not do. "I don't know. It might not happen. And Madison's only got hers for three months." He answered truthfully, quietly, still not looking away from their joined hands. Three months sounded like an infinite amount of time, and Mason wanted to stay right there forever. And he wasn't even done with the horrific parts yet. He gripped her hand a little tighter and peeked up at her. "Q...you trust me, right? There's...there's something that you--something else that I think you can..." Mason sighed. "Do you trust me?"

Quinn pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, shifting uncomfortably. She didn’t let go of Mason’s hand, she didn’t want to. If they could just stay in that moment for the rest of the night, everything would be just fine. But Mason kept talking, and Quinn didn’t like where he was going with it. There was already too much, didn’t he know that? She swallowed thickly, finally looking away from their hands to study his face. “I trust you.”

Mason looked at her and nearly didn't go any further. Nearly just said nevermind, forget it, nearly just stayed quiet. But if he was going to get a Watch Eye...he had to. "You know I would never, ever lie to you, right?" Mason took a deep breath and squeezed her hand. "You remember...what you remember about Samhain isn't what actually happened, Quinn." He ran his tongue over his lips and let out a deep breath. "Your memories, and mine, were...erased. Replaced. With that concert that didn't happen. I don't know what ​did​ happen, but I'm going to do everything I can to find out." Mason pressed his lips into a thin line, squeezing her hand gently. "But...I'm going to talk to Marley, and Ryder, and I need you to...to do for him what you did during--when we wanted to kick Coleman's teeth in. If Ryder's angry, which he might be, because it makes sense to be angry about...this." Mason sighed. "I might need you to talk him off the going-to-fight-someone ledge if I can't. Because of the thing." Mason hesitated before he looked back at Quinn. "Um...so...that's...that's that. Please still be my friend."

Quinn felt almost like she was listening to Santana, going on about the Cardines the night after the Samhain celebration. “Mason, have you been talking to Santana?” She started carefully, leaning away. He looked serious. He didn’t look like someone who just wanted to lighten the mood with a joke; a very bad joke. He looked like he believed what he said, and he was legitimately afraid of losing her over it. “I remember the concert. It was amazing. I got…unruly, and somehow lost my hat, but it was just a concert. I don’t know what people have been telling you, but it’s a lie. Trust what you actually remember.”

Mason shook his head. "I haven't spoken to Santana at all about this. Tell me, Quinn - you're backing out of seeing me in the tiny ways we can spend time together because of the chance it'll get filed away in some infobank somewhere. Does it sound like you to get 'rowdy'? In front of ​people​? My familiar--Sabia, she...remembers things. I can't...hold onto it, its like remembering a dream, but...a concert didn't give Madison and Tina orbs of pure Aether energy. Hunter Clarington himself has admitted that Cardines have the power to memory-switch, Quinn." Mason closed his eyes, refocusing. "Okay, no, it's--nevermind. You don't need to believe it, even though I'm not lying to you, because I would never, but...Ryder and Hunter...I don't want them waging war. All I'm asking is that if you can, keep them from doing something stupid. That's all, Q." He met her eyes searchingly. "And you didn't say if you were still my friend or not." He added in a very very quiet voice.

Quinn ’s thoughts tumble over each other. She ​wouldn’t​ get rowdy at a concert, and it had always baffled her that she had. Music was wonderful, but it wasn’t worth risking her reputation as well as her family’s. And orbs of pure Aether energy? She shook her head. If she started doubting her own memories, nothing would be safe. She looked back up at Mason, lips set in a frown. “I’m not going to stop being friends with you because you’re confused, Mason..” She said calmly, looking away. “I don’t know how you think you’re going to convince them in the first place, but…if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll talk to them. In the unlikely event that I need to hold them back.”

Mason let out a sigh, a breath of relief. "Thank you." Mason smiled a little, feeling tired but maybe vaguely hopeful. "Really. Thank you." He rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes again; he stayed there for a moment or two, then gently took his hand back, but only so he could lift his arm for her, offering his side. "I'm really sorry I'm such an idiot, Q."

Quinn sighed deeply, weary. There was too much going on, too many thoughts spinning in her head. Josh had been at the forefront for so long, it was almost disorienting to put herself back at Samhain, before everything had fallen apart. The stress had been building up around her like water. Every time she felt like she could break the surface, another wave came along. She ​did​ trust Mason, and this felt suspiciously like the water was pulling back for another wave. She tucked herself into Mason’s side, letting him be the jetty, just for a moment. They could do that for each other, right? “You are, but I still care about you.”

Mason smiled a little as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her closer. He willed himself to hold onto this, to tattoo this to his brain, for when he couldn't have it. She cared about him. Maybe nothing could change that. "Thank you," Mason repeated, a little softer, his head resting against hers. She was so close - it made the rest of everything on his mind fade to just a dull roar. "You did really well," Mason said again, still quieter, not wanting to disturb the moment further by speaking. If it was to be their last one, he wouldn't be the one to talk and miss it. "And you're going to blow them all away." He hesitated for a moment, then continued, still quiet, "I'm sorry for...for piling on the crud, Q. If you weren't one of my best friends..." Mason half-shrugged. "Tell me it'll all be okay?"

Quinn didn’t answer right away. She didn’t know if it was going to be okay, but she wanted to believe that it would be. Be a jetty. She leaned closer. Mason was warm, and comfortable, and maybe it was okay to believe for just a moment. Quinn wasn’t one for delusions, but sometimes it was okay to believe in the unbelievable. “It’ll all be okay.” She all but whispered.

Mason knew that it might not be. That any one of the five things that were going wrong could keep going wrong until it was the wrongest it could be. But he was an optimist, at the end of the day, and he had Quinn. And his sister, and Adam, and Marley and Ryder...Mason nodded slowly, willing it to be true just by the act of saying it out loud. "It'll all be okay." And he didn't lie to Quinn and she didn't lie to him - so that meant it had to be true. It would all be okay. They could stay there, and stretch one Wednesday out for a lifetime. It would all be okay. If Mason didn't move, maybe nothing had to change. It would all be okay.Quinn had bent heaven and earth just to visit his home less than a month ago. It would all be okay.She was there and so was he; it would all be okay. "It's all gonna be okay." Mason promised, voice steady and sure. It would be because it had to be. He'd make it so, if he had to. It would all be okay.

[sidbridgecomedy]

Getting Heckled

One of the most frustrating aspects of stand-up comedy is the perception among audience members that heckling is welcome or even “improves the show”.

I once invited someone to come see me at the Funny Bone and her response was “I don’t know - I really need to brush up on my heckling before I go to another comedy show.”

Heckling has been depicted as part of stand-up in movies and on TV shows - often times with the heckler being the hero! (Looking at you, Nutty Professor)

As a comic it can be maddening. Nobody is standing over my dentist’s shoulder shouting “You scale like a bitch! And why are you wearing crocs?!” But somehow, without fail, some idiot will show up at a comedy show and try to grab his or her 15 minutes of fame.

This topic has been written on hundreds of times by comics way more successful then me, but I’m still giving you my take because it’s my blog, and maybe I’ll have a thought or two you might find helpful.

So... what does one do?

With hecklers, there isn’t a definite answer. As a comedian, you need to know your own strengths and utilize them to your advantage. If you’re good at thinking on your feet - if you trust your instincts, follow them.

In my opinion, the most important part of managing hecklers is minimizing their theft of your time. You’re the one being paid (hopefully) to make people laugh on that stage and you should protect every second of that time as best you can. If a heckler can’t be straight-up ignored, my goal is to shut them down as quickly and sharply as possible and then immediately drawing the audience’s attention away from them.

Grab the first thought that comes to your brain, fire that thought at the heckler like it’s a crossbow dart, then dive right back into your planned set, shifting yourself to part of the stage where the heckler isn’t facing and engaging the audience on the other side of the room. That’s the best case scenario. 

Of course, we don’t always get the best case. If the heckler keeps going, make a quick plan - you can give them three strikes - that means, do the crossbow dart technique twice, then on the third strike, don’t be afraid to get more explicit. Tell them bluntly to shut up and be prepared to call the staff over to reinforce your threat.

Again, everyone should respond according to his or her own gifts. If you’re naturally awesome at crowd work and you don’t mind diverting from your set to ruin a heckler, then go for it. If you’re a rookie at crowd work, I guarantee engaging the heckler will end in disaster.

Here’s a rundown of other techniques and their pros/cons:

1. Completely ignore the heckler - This can be effective because it denies the heckler the attention he wants, but some of these people are relentless, and your set could suffer if the audience is half paying attention to you and half to the heckler.

2. Insult the living s**t our of the heckler - This can shut the heckler up and get a huge positive response from the audience when you call someone out for being a douche. However, size the heckler up first - I’ve seen comics get assaulted because a heckler couldn’t take an insult. Also be really sure the audience will agree. If the heckler has any angle that may garner sympathy, be careful as the audience may turn on you.

3. Call the bouncer/Tell them to leave - This will likely fix the problem, but it may take a while for staff to negotiate with the person - and the heckler may get a second chance if he promises to stop. If there is no bouncer, you’re going to have to take time away dealing with it - either way, the interruption to your set will be significant.

4. Let them talk - Ok, don’t do this. Sometimes it might seem tempting because the heckler might actually be funny, or you might want to let the heckler prove he’s a huge idiot conclusively to the crowd. Don’t give away your time, no matter how tempting it is.

It’s also important to understand why someone is heckling. I already covered the ethos of the heckler - many people believe that it’s okay to talk back and it’s fun to become part of the show. All we can do is spread the word as best we can to combat this. That means the host - especially at a bar show or an open mic show - should lay the law down with the crowd explicitly before the show starts, and again during the show if the crowd isn’t listening or new people show up.

Sometimes people heckle for other reasons:

1. They don’t want to be there and they just want to chat with their friends while the show is going on.

2. They can’t stop checking their cell phones.

3. They are trying to get a waiter’s attention.

4. They came as a group for a party.

5. They underestimated their alcohol tolerance and can’t control themselves.

6. You said something that really pissed them off.

Most of those things you don’t have control over. Sometimes we do comedy at bars and the patrons weren’t expecting a show. Telling them they can’t talk to their friends and they have to listen to your jokes could actually be ruining their evening, leaving them feeling entitled to ruin yours.

A drunk can’t be reasoned with and can be difficult to control. A party is all about the person whose birthday it is (or whatever) - they want to be the star of their own evening and you should do your best not to take that away from them. The club makes money off of serving food and drinks, so it’s also important to be patient with someone shouting for a waiter.

As far as pissing people off, you do have a responsibility to read the room. If you tell a joke where Democrats are the good guys and the room clams up or boos, don’t tell another joke like that. Unless you’re super advanced and really good at making people laugh at stuff they disagree with (I’ve seen people who can do this and it’s amazing), don’t keep antagonizing the people who are supposed to laugh at your jokes. People get belligerent over things like religion and politics. Be ready to change gears if you don’t want to get yelled at or attacked.

Heckling most frustrates me at my open mic shows. Most headliners and features have experience dealing with it. Open mic comics, on the other hand, often don’t have the benefit of experience and they get very, very little time. Taking away 30 seconds to shut down a heckler could mean the loss of a big portion of their set time to an idiot. If you’re trying to work on material at an open mic, resist the temptation to break from your plan to address the heckler. Hopefully the staff or the host will be there to quietly confront the heckler off stage to try and minimize the impact on your set. If you really, really want to respond, just understand that it’s going to be your whole set. I know when I’m open mic host, it’s rare that I have the extra time to give out an extra minute or two to a comic who surrendered his time to a heckler.

Also, if you brought a big group of friends to see you at an open mic show, take a few minutes to make sure they know that heckling is bad. If they hear it from you in addition to the host, they will be more likely to listen.

If you’re a non-comic and you’re reading this, PLEASE DON’T HECKLE. Please tell your friends not to heckle. And please know that if you heckle, you’re a douche. If you heckle at an open mic show, you’re the worst person in the world and you shouldn’t be allowed to consume live entertainment. 

We’re a long way away from world peace and unity, but if one person pledges never to heckle a comedy show, we’ve taken a big step closer.

As a postscript, here are a few personal heckler stories:

1. My very first guest set at Cozzy’s was on a show with Darryl Rhoades and Dan Whitehurst (to this day, two of my favorite people to work with - Always there with excellent feedback and they bring tons of energy to the stage). A woman got super drunk and her laugh was the most bizarre thing I have ever heard. After I told a joke, I had to wait for her to finish shouting her laugh at the top of her lungs - HYEW HYAW HYEY HYEW - HYEW YOU FUNNY! HYAW HYAW!!! I was still a rookie, so I did the best I could - I picked my pace up, leaving less time between jokes for the laughter, and moved my focus to the side of the room where she wasn’t. The staff quieted this woman numerous times, and Darryl and Dan each dealt with it in their own way. Darryl did call her out on stage and it was pretty hilarious, and when the staff offered to kick her out, he told them to let her stay - gutsy and courteous!

2. This is one I actually use as part of my set - a woman showed up and signed up for open mic night. She was obnoxious. Her set was terrible. And she spent the evening running her mouth and doing lewd things. I finally had to draw the line when she exposed herself in the club and asked the bartender to close her tab. She really did try to confront me - she happened to be of Arab descent and accused me of kicking her out because I was Jewish. My comic friends really did form a human wall (ask Derek Williams. He was part of the wall) while the bartender kicked her out. While she was outside, she exposed herself to the comics again, just the lower part this time. Good times.

3. An extremely drunk redneck showed up at open mic and signed up as “Fisherman.” I think Jounte Ferguson taped his set if you want to watch it. It was an open mic train wreck on a level you only see once every few years. He also heckled constantly, and I went over to him several times to try and shut him up (politely). One of those times, he grabbed my arm and held on for a while to give me an earful about how he’s a fisherman or something. I don’t know. I just wanted to get away. I wasn’t able to get him out of the bar that night, and I actually ended up staying behind a while to make sure he had left before I ventured into the parking lot. 

4. I was closing Sunday Funnies at Cozzy’s once, and I brought a group of friends. One of my friends heckled a joke and I went into automatic heckler mode and shut him down just as quickly and decisively as I would have done with a regular audience member. Then it hit me that I had just shut my friend down from on stage, so I added a quick “There goes a friendship” after I did it, which actually lead to a really big laugh and no hard feelings. 

5. I was doing a set at my own open mic, and a couple was sitting at stage left. They had been talking to each other and ignoring the entire show. I decided to see how oblivious they were - I have a joke that picks a couple in the crowd and focuses on them. I picked that couple and did they joke while they were ignoring me *as if they weren’t ignoring me*. The further I went, the louder the laughs got as this poor couple didn’t realize they were being singled out through the entire joke. They later apologized profusely for their behavior and enjoyed the rest of the show.

[justanothercinemaniac]

Epic Movie (Re)Watch #118 - Kingsman: The Secret Service

Spoilers below.

Have I seen it before: Yes

Did I like it then: Yes!

Do I remember it: Yes.

Did I see it in theaters: Yes.

Was it a movie I saw since August 22nd, 2009: Yes. #343.

Format: Blu-ray

1) I love this movie. It’s so much fun, it has a great blend of style and character, and it’s just a treat all around! Honestly it’s probably the best Roger Moore James Bond movie without Roger Moore in it.

2) Hey, it’s Mark Hamill!

3) The bad guys are so polite in this movie.

Thug; “I’m under very strict instructions not to hurt you.”

4) Hey, it’s Jack Davenport!

Too bad he, like Mark Hamill, dies very early on in the movie.

5) The score in this film composed by Henry Jackman and Matthew Margeson is one of the things that infuses this film with the energy it has. It has JUST enough of that classic 007 feel to know that’s what they’re going for, but not too much to distract the audience. The rest is a fun, action packed score which adds an extra dose of adrenaline to the film. I love it!

6) Sofia Boutella as Gazelle!

Boutella’s scar is quickly on the rise, having memorable rules in this, as Jaylah in Star Trek Beyond, and as the titular monster in Universal’s upcoming The Mummy reboot. And this films tells you why. It is a smaller role, especially when compared to Eggsy or the main villain Valentine, but every scene Boutella is in defines the character. She’s fierce but also incredibly loyal to Valentine, but that doesn’t mean she’s not human. You see bits of kindness, curiosity, wonder, and humor. Boutella merges all these qualities wonderfully in the villainous Gazelle and her scenes with Sam Jackson are a delight!

7) Samuel L. Jackson as Richmond Valentine.

Sam Jackson is great in this role. I honestly don’t think I’ve seen the legend give a bad performance. Has he been in bad movies? Sure. But he always commits 100% and gives it his all, and here’s no different.

Valentine is an interesting character in that he’s the best example of a villain believing he’s the good guy. He doesn’t want to kill people, he doesn’t want to hurt people, he wants to save the world, so he’ll get others to kill and hurt people for him. Samuel L. Jackson is a lot of fun in the role, adding a nice lisp which (according to IMDb):

Samuel L. Jackson's character of Richmond Valentine was originally intended not to have a lisp. However, Jackson completed his first take with a lisp. Matthew Vaughn yelled "cut!", and talked to Jackson, who revealed to Vaughn that, prior to having an acting career, he actually had a lisp, which he eventually overcame. It was also jokingly remarked that this lisp is Valentine's reason for being villainous.

It’s a great part of the film.

8) Harry Hart/Gallahad’s need for the Kingsman to progress past snobs already establishes him as an interesting character among the spy organization. It shows he truly understands what it is to be noble. That it’s not about the circumstances of one’s birth but how you treat your fellow man. But more on that later.

9) Taron Egerton as Eggsy.

Although the film was largely marketed on the star power of Firth, Jackson, and even Michael Caine, it is Eggsy who’s the real hero of the film and he is awesome! Eggsy is an intriguing character with a lot of nice layers/surprises which pop up in the film in fun ways. To start we learn that - even as a “punk” - he lives by a strict moral code of not ratting on his friends and taking care of his own, but he’s not below petty pranks of revenge (as in stealing a jackass’ car and then driving it backwards). He can keep a secret and largely fends for himself, only calling upon the favor Harry Hart offered him 17 years later when he REALLY needs it.

Egerton is fantastic in the role! He embraces every layer of Eggsy. The kindness, the loyalty, the rough edges, the temper, the brashness, all the contradictions and surprises, and he blends them together in a believably way. He’s funny, charismatic, and an absolute star on screen.

10) I never understand why Eggsy’s mom decided to marry such a shit after his dad died. Maybe because he can support them? I don’t know, but Eggsy’s stepdad is a prick.

11) I love this

Harry: Your father was a brave man. A good man. And having read your files, I'd think he'd be bitterly disappointed in the choices you've made.

Eggsy: You can't talk to me like that.

Harry: Huge I.Q., great performance in primary school. And it all went tits up. Drugs, petty crime, never had a job.

Eggsy: Do you think there's a lot of jobs going around here, yeah?

Harry: Doesn't explain why you gave up your hobbies. First prize, regional under tens' gymnastics, two years in a row. Your coach had you pegged as Olympic team material.

Eggsy: Yeah, well, when you grow up around someone like my stepdad, you pick up new hobbies pretty quick.

Hart: Now of course. Always someone else's fault. Who's to blame you for quitting the Marines? You were halfway through training, doing brilliantly, but you gave up.

Eggsy: Because my mum went mental, banging on about losing me as well as my dad. Then we wouldn't be cannon fodder for snobs like you, judging people like me from your ivory towers with no thought about why we do what we do. We ain't got much choice, you get me? And if we was born with the same silver spoon up our arses, we'd do just as well as you, if not better.

I think this is great for a few reasons. It tells us a lot about Eggsy (gymnast, marine corp, huge IQ) but it SHOWS us a lot too. It shows up that he respects himself and that he’ll stand by the decisions he’s made in the past. It shows us that Eggsy takes shit from no one, no matter how in the right society may say they are.

12) I love the fight scene in the bar, otherwise known as “Manners Maketh Man”.

It is our first real showcase of the film’s stellar action sequences, which hold up for the rest of our two hour ride. I think the action is most marked by a fun, fast pace, but also incredible fight choreography. It’s an excellent case of action/reaction or action/consequences. Everything leads into everything else and it all flows so beautifully.

13) Remember how I said Eggsy had some nice layers?

Harry [trying to describe training Eggsy to be a spy]: Did you see the film Trading Places?

Eggsy: No.

Harry: How about Nikita? Pretty Woman? Now, my point is that the lack of a silver spoon has set you on a certain path that you needn't stay on. If you're prepared to adapt and learn, you can transform.

Eggsy: Oh, like in My Fair Lady.

Hart: You're full of surprises.

Eggsy is not some moron tough guy who’s masculinity is too fragile to watch and appreciate My Fair Lady. Harry obviously has this image in his mind of what Eggsy is (a guy who likes raunchy comedies and action movies).

14) Is it me or is the idea of a spy organization run totally on its own above any sort of law or government shady as fuck? And they use fear tactics to train their recruits and want them to willingly shoot a poor dog in a cold blood (more on that bullshit later).

15) I love Roxy.

She doesn’t get nearly enough screen time but is given some nice development in the time she does.

Is able to be civil in a competitive field without it getting in the way of her goals.

Has an incredible fear of heights and/or falling, but that doesn’t stop her from doing what needs to be done towards the end of the film (which is a great arc in and of itself).

Is willing what needs to be done to accomplish her goals (like shooting a dog to be in Kingsman).

We see her and Eggsy develop a nice friendship. Not a romance, not a will they won’t they, a mutual respect among peers and also platonic support. If the sequel can improve on the original in one way (and listen carefully Matthew Vaughn) it would be to include more Roxy!

16) Can we be honest? If there was a US president who would participate in the planning of mass genocide from this current decade, it wouldn’t be Obama.

17) The water tank!

Not only an example of the film’s great action, but also imaginative set pieces and classic spy thrills. Also - and I say this as a hetero guy - but Eggsy’s abs have even me going DAMN.

18) Me too Sam Jackson. Me too.

Valentine [after he has to blow up Professor Arnold’s head or risk exposure]: “He made me kill Professor Arnold. I goddamn loved Professor Arnold.”

19) This line really sticks with me.

Valentine [after Gazelle says she reached out to various secret services]: “Beijing. So freaky how there's no recognizable name for the Chinese Secret Service. Now that's what you call a secret, right?”

20) I’m a dog person, okay? I love this.

(GIF source unknown [if this is your GIF please let me know].)

21) Remember how I said that Kingsman is a shady spy organization? Well it should really follow the Captain America rule of ethics and not include any bullies in its services. The only two candidates who aren’t pricks are Eggsy and Roxy!

22) The skydiving scene - akin to the water tank scene - is a great example of the film’s wonderful set pieces and fun writing. It also gives us Roxy’s fear of heights and/or falling and Eggsy supporting his friend (and later fellow teammates) even though if he left her there it would mean he’d advance through the program. It’s so great! Even Merlin (Mark Strong) is getting tense watching!

23) I get hungry for McDonald’s every time I see this film.

24) The scene where Harry visits Valentine at his home for a gala which turns into a dinner date (basically) is a very Bond scene. They each have a sense for who the other is but play nice, act civil, make vague threats. I call it “Into The Lion’s Den.” Very 007.

25) This. Fucking. Quote.

Harry (quoting Ernest Hemingway): “There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.”

I live by this fucking quote.

26) This film has some pretty great humor.

Harry (showing Eggsy how a knife hidden in a boot works): “Now do your very best impersonation of a German aristocrat's formal greeting.”

Harry: “No, Eggsy.”

[Harry clicks his heels and a blade pops out of his right shoe]

27) THIS STUPID BULLSHIT WITH THE DOG!!!!

Arthur [the head of Kingsman, handing Eggsy a gun]: “Shoot the dog.”

So the final test to be a Kingsman agent is to shoot a dog who’ve you spent the last few months training and growing attached to and if you shoot the dog you get in.

(GIF source unknown [if this is your GIF please let me know].)

And later it turns out the gun was only filled with blanks and Harry says Kingsman only condone the taking of a life when it’s necessary.

(GIF originally posted by @karenmpage)

We only condone the taking of a life when it’s considerate and thought out, but we want to make sure all our agents are mindless coldblooded killers who follow orders without questions because that always works so damn well. You know, because we’re the good guys.

(GIF originally posted by @marshmallow-the-vampire-slayer)

 28) The fucking church scene. 

So Harry goes to a hate-group church in America which Valentine has shown an interest in to inspect it, and we hear a little bit of their extremely hateful rhetoric before Harry gets up to leave...

Harry: Would you excuse me?

Female Patron: Where are you going?

Female Patron: Hey! What's your problem?

(GIF source unknown [if this is your GIF please let me know].)

And then Harry gets up to leave and Valentine (who’s in a nearby building) starts a mysterious machine he tests out on the church. What follows is one of the greatest action sequences to grace the screens of cinema:

Content Warning: The below video features hyper-violent, bloody, stylized violence. Watch at your own discretion.

Everything about this scene is perfect. The choice of music feeds directly into the high speed sense of pacing, and the choice to speed up the film just a bit not only supports that same aspect of pacing but also gives the scene the quality of a runaway train. Because that’s what Harry is right now: he’s out of control! He has no ability to make decisions he just lets loose with every hateful whim that pops in his head. But probably the thing that makes this scene work as well as it does is the decision to make it a continuous shot. You cut back to Eggsy, Merlin, and Valentine/Gazelle as they witness this event, but the fight inside of the church itself is a continuous shot (or edited to appear as such). This goes back to my earlier point of how the action of the film plays very much into cause/effect or actions/consequences. You witness every little thing that happens. Harry runs out of bullets? He starts to beat someone with his gun. Someone just tried to stab him? He takes the knife for himself. It is continuous. It flows. And it is just an adrenaline filled scene to watch.

Note: I saw this twice in theaters, the second time with my parents. My mom loves Colin Firth and did not take too kindly to the fact that he murdered a bunch of people. She thought the scene was great, but she didn’t like that they made Colin Firth do that. My mom is very cute sometimes (like when she asked me in Rouge One when Chewbacca was going to show up, knowing full well he didn’t).

29) After the church scene, Valentine shoots Harry point blank in the head and hates how it feels. Gazelle points out that he just killed everyone in that church.

Valentine: “No, no, no, they killed each other.”

That is so fucking important for Valentine’s character. He doesn’t tack responsibility for any of his actions. He doesn’t see himself as the villain. He sees himself as a savior who hasn’t even killed anyone!

30) Note: The scene I’m about to discuss is best experienced without knowing that it’s going to happen. If you want to be surprised by it, skip on to note #31.

So skipping ahead a bit to when Eggsy has infiltrated the enemy base (since all the notes I made during the preceding scenes I’d made already), the way everyone’s head blows up in a scene I call “Pomp & Circumstance” is hysterical.

In contrast to the hyper violent and sometimes too realistic fight in the church, the filmmakers opt to make a more cartoony and artistic violent scene. And if you don’t know it’s coming you laugh so hard when it happens (hence the note above).

31) The song choice of “Give It Up” as Valentine operates his hate machine gives it a similar sense of pacing as “Freebird” did in the church scene. This film really understands that music is it’s friend.

32) This scene seems weirdly empowering towards women.

Swedish Princess (who is captive in Valentine’s base, after Eggsy says he has to save the world before he rescues her): “If you save the world, we can do it in the asshole.”

And in any other movie this would be written off as, “Oh, a guy wrote that line.” But this script was written by a man and a woman, meaning she had to okay it. So...weirdly empowering, right?

I think I should move on.

33) The fight scene between Gazelle and Eggsy may not be the sheer perfection which is the church scene, but it’s a fun watch nonetheless and it uses Gazelle’s blade legs to their advantage.

34) Remember how I said this film’s score incorporates JUST enough 007 in it? Well the little bit of horn we get just before Gazelle dies represents that perfectly. That’s a very James Bond moment.

35)

Valentine [after Eggsy has fatally wounded him]: “Is this the part where you say some really bad pun?”

Eggsy: “It's like you said to Harry: this ain't that kind of movie, bruv.”

It kinda is.

36) And we come full circle.

Kingsman is spectacular. It’s possibly my favorite spy movie of 2015 (which had Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation, Spy, The Man from UNCLE (sorry @theforceisstronginthegirl), Bridge of Spies, and SPECTRE), definitely one of my favorite action movies ever, and hell it’s one of my favorite films of all time. It is just a fun ride with great style, characters, and acting. A true delight through and through. Go watch it now if you can!