#Albert Hull

[postingcards]

white star line's albertic, formerly nordd. lloyd's münchen art card by walter thomas, ca. 1928 @postcardtimemachine

[ltwilliammowett]

The Burghley Nef, salt cellar, Paris, 1527-1528

This nautilus shell is a 'nef,' a boat-shaped container displayed at a banquet that would typically hold spices or salt. The most famous nef today is the Burghley Nef, made in Paris in 1527, with the nautilus shell becoming the hull of the ship to hold salt.

Lavishly adorned with a deck and sails made of gold, the opalescent nautilus shell balances atop a mermaid-shaped base. Called the Burghley Nef because it was found at Burghley House in England, it is now part of the Victoria & Albert Museum collection.

[deepfivetraveller]

The textile syndicate

This story is a request and it won't feel as inclusive, since readers nationality is Indian. With that said, if you still want read this have fun :D

You instruct your servants the moment you get out of the carriage. “Alright everyone, unload everything.” They instantly take out all the wooden boxes, many of them adorned with intricate designs. You take one look at the garments inside  and give them a nod of approval.

‘Why did these Britishers hire me of all people? Surely they could find someone better’ You ponder.

But there is no time to waste. The grand Moriarty manor stands right in front of you. As you take a deep breath in, you put your right foot forward, officially entering the manor

“Moneypenny, do you want any style in particular?” Albert chimes. “Thank you for your concern, but I don’t know a thing about sarees.” With that, she crushes his chance for a conversation. To further show her discontent she puts a biscuit in her mouth, an indication she doesn’t want to talk further.

“Ah.” He grows silent. Albert doesn’t blame her for this behaviour. A mission to India takes at least two months of transport time. Obviously no person wishes to be trapped in a wooden hulled ship for that long. He quickly turns to William. “Brother, why did you call her out of all the saree producers?”

“Uhh…” William puts down his teacup. “No particular reason.” Albert’s eyebrows cross at his response.

“And you expect me to believe that lie? Please dear brother.” It was quite a peculiar situation, seeing the earl pout.

“There’s nothing to it really. Saree is an Indian garment, She’s Indian. Plus, she is the daughter of a well educated businessman.” He grabs a mini sandwich from the tiered cake stand

His reason was technically true. William put a lot of effort in finding you. After all, you’re a part of their mission. Y/n L/n hailed from a town called Kanchipuram, the Silk City of India. She had also spend 5 years of her teenage life in Dhaka, India, which is known for creating a very important fabric, Important because it plays a part in their mission.

“She’s here” Louis pops out of the doorframe of the tea room. “Great! Let's get to it.” With Albert’s command, the other two rise up.

Talking to your clients didn’t seem quite hard but what throws you off is the blonde man with the scar staring at you constantly. Although he has been helping your servants with the boxes, anytime this happens you start to talk with the other blonde haired red eyed man in the room.

“If it’s alright, may I ask why you want to purchase a saree in the first place? England's weather is not suitable for this in the first place.” A question lingers.

“My assistant is going to Calcutta on my behalf for a business trip. She would be attending a party behesting myself, so we thought it would be a nice idea to buy one.” Albert straightens up.

“Hmm…In that case I don’t think you should buy any of these sarees.”

This sentence rattles Moneypenny. “Why not?” She retorts a bit aggressively. ‘So all that browsing was for nothing?’ She thought. “You would be visiting a North-Indian household. My sarees are made in a south Indian style.”

That’s a good excuse. Truth to be told, you don’t want to sell your sarees to them. The Indians and nobles with no ties to the government have been your primary clients for…that fabric. Exposure of your work to high standing Britishers might scare your actual customers away.

“But Ms.L/n, you do have North-Indian styles in your inventory.” William speaks up. “Uhm I don’t.” You’re confused.

“Yes you do.”

“But I don’t???”

“Then what about the Dhakha Muslin?”

Oh no.

“The illegal fabric?” Moneypenny jumps from her seat.

Dhaka Muslin, an Indian made fabric banned by Britishers. Throughout history many famous figurines such as Marie Antoinette, Joséphine Bonaparte and even Jane Austen have worn and loved this Muslin. After colonisation, Dhaka Muslin became popular among female nobles, as it was a status symbol. However they didn’t know how to layer it properly. Dhaka Muslin is a transparent fabric, so thin some say it’s woven out of air. Without proper layering and pleating, wearing it can make you look naked. Thus, it was banned by Britishers. Weavers were forced to make garments out of cheaper fabric to get food on their table and cheap fabrics of England replaced this one quickly. All methods of reviving this fabric were almost gone until your father invested in the business. Even after being banned, the demand for the fabric still exists.

“This should get interesting.” Albert perks up.

“Excuse me Mr Moriarty but these are nothing but faulty accusations—” “Then what about this?” William shows you a piece of paper. A paper containing all the transactions with you and your previous clients. Worst of all, it’s written in your handwriting and has your signature.

Anger and fear blossoms upon your face.You knew it was a bad idea to be related to them. You knew Albert had ties with the military and yet you willingly signed up to this.

“Don’t worry Ms.Y/n, I don’t plan on showing this to the police.” Albert chums up.

What?

“Well that is if you comply.” William smiles and takes out a checkbook and a pen. “Dhaka Muslin is a highly sought after fabric in the black market.” He turns to his brother. “Did you know brother, it takes almost 16 steps to create it.” William continues writing. “That’s quite high.”

“Which is precisely why it’s hard to make. Even the cotton for it can only be grown on a specific land.” He looks at you.

“Overflood the market.” He swiftly tears off the check and hands it to you. “What are you planning?” You glare. “That is our business, you are in no place to ask for that. Should we want to reveal it, you’d know then.” Albert gets up from his seat and towers you. “We give you five months time to prepare and sell. If anything money related troubles you, call us.”

“Uh Lord Albert what about my saree?” Moneypenny looks up at the brothers as if nothing happened. “Just wear a gown. The party is hosted by an Englishman anyway” With that they leave the room, leaving you alone with the lady. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t even know they were planning something.” She gets going too.

“I should have expected this.” You drop the files on the table, creating a loud bang. Three months have passed by but you still don’t know why they’re doing this. The only reason you’re able to stand them is because of the pay. They’ve even overpaid you in some cases. But maybe, that should have been your second warning, another reminder to escape England. Today, Lord Albert Moriarty directly came to where the fabrics arrived and informed you the operation has to be done within a few weeks. You argued, bitterly, even shouting a few curse words in your mother tongue but his decision was final.

It’s odd timing that at the very same moment hundreds of buyers emerged for the muslin. From old-money manors to local tailors, everyone wants this fabric now. Police investigations have increased, leaving buyers at risk, but they still order.

“So much paperwork…” You mumble. This isn’t the time to complain. You grab a pen and start filling out the papers. Half an hour goes by and you can already feel the dark circles coming in. 

“A break would help you, you know?” Your head turns in a flash and your eyes lock in contact with the blonde man.

“L-Lord William! S-Sorry for the mess, please, do sit.” Your hands grab onto all the paper on the table and quickly arrange them. “Please, Liam is just fine.” William moves, standing opposite to you.

He had visited you a multitude of times in your office. Once when you expressed your displeasure to plain English tea, he brought some chinese tea cakes to try out. Ehne you both tried it the concentration of the brew from said tea leaves of cake was so strong, both of you spat it out. Ever since then, the two of you have become very attached to each other.

He stared at you for a few seconds. “Your hair.” He briskly pressed his fingers on top of your head, smoothening the abrasive hair. You quickly use both your palms to flatten it out. “Pardon me.”

“No, pardon me. That was very rude.” He looks to the ground and quickly pulls out a box. “For you.” he shys away.

Inside it was a luminous golden ring. “A Vanki ring.” You immediately pick it up. A Vanki ring is a ‘V’ shaped ring usually worn by daughters of high priests or kings. “A retired Colonel named Moran told me Indian women commonly wear gold jewelry so…there it is.” His mouth turns into a straight line. You figured gift giving was William’s way of showing love but this was beyond what you expected. Vanki rings are not commonly known jewelry and finding a goldsmith in Britain to craft one is even harder….

He actually looks kinda cute.

“I know my brother's demands seem unfair, but time is really not on our side. And I know, you’re still quite clueless on why this is happening to you.” Your eyes still linger on the red gemstones. “We don’t mean anything bad, w-well the true reason is—” William goes silent.

“Why are you wearing it there?” He almost pales from shock. “Wear the ring where?” “on your ring finger!” He panics. “Vanki rings are usually worn on the ring finger. Plus, why did you Englishmen name it the ring finger if its purpose wasn’t for holding a ring?”

“That—UGH!” He covers his face with his palm, trying to hide his blush. “In England we wear a ring on that finger to signify…”William’s voice trails off.

“To signify what?”

“NOTHING. Good day.” With that , he slams the door to your office and leaves.

“My little brother did what?” Albert chuckles. “Yes! And he didn’t even give me a proper reason. what does wearing a ring on the ring finger mean anyway?”

“Nothing of importance.” Albert smiles calmly. “Please forgive William, he doesn’t mean bad.”

It’s the day before you sell all your fabrics to the people. Only one more day before you cut ties with these gentlemen. Albert had invited you to discuss plans but it suddenly turned to him drinking wine. “Why not try some?” He shows you a bottle. “It’s vintage.”

“Oh no no.” You apologise. “I don’t drink.”

“Scared of some dried grape juice?”

“Well alcohol addiction does run in my family so yes.” You lean back. “I don’t think I can convince you any further.” He puts down the bottle. “Are you sure? About the alcohol addiction.”

“Oh yes very much. My father had it. It’s the main reason why I’m in England.” This peaks his curiosity.Albert waits for you to give him an answer.

“My father was a great man.” you slid back further. “He loved my mother, he loved me…He always made sure to put us first before anything.” Your eyes lingered on the wine glass. “When my relatives pestered on marrying me early, he was the one who stood up against them and gave me an education. Father taught me all there is to his business. No one could argue that he wasn’t a good businessman but…” Your voice lowered.

“But what?” Albert took a sip. “But he was casteist. You see, I come from a line of priests. In India, people would call me a ‘brahmin’. In my country, being a brahmin has a higher status than that of a king. He did believe our family were somewhat spiritually higher but he never discriminated against anyone until he took alcohol. I don’t know what exactly happened to his mind.”

“He mistreated our servants and the weavers working for us, calling them ‘untouchables’, giving customers different rates according to their birth and whatnot.” You sighed. “Even my mother had enough of him. Fights occurred a lot in the family ever since then.” Your voice hitched at the end.

“Then my mother left. She couldn’t handle him anymore.” You blinked rapidly to avoid tears. Albert noticed this and was ready to change the topic but you continued. “I wanted to leave him. But I didn’t have anything for myself. No money, no name. I was this close to giving up.” You gulped your saliva.

“Then I remembered I was one of the few people in my family who knew how to read and write English. I was also responsible for writing up contracts and had spare copies of everything. I even had the records of the illegal transactions. Being such a large amount, I took the files directly to the British officials in Dhaka. My father was arrested and the officers were very pleased with my confession. They decided to pardon me even though I was involved in the business. The officers gave me a heap of cash and told me to start a life anew. But, I just couldn’t leave the weavers. They were completely dependent on my father, that’s why they tolerated him in the first place. So I took the risk, hired them under me, set up a new area for business and came to England in the name of ‘expanding my business’. ” You close your eyes and lay back your head after the confession. No wonder why you were frightened to the core when William showed your records. You thought Karma caught up and was about to do the same thing you did to your dad. 

“I’m sorry for being emotional.” All you could do was stare down in shame.You told everything to a man you truly don’t know. You didn’t want to know what he was thinking of you at the moment. You were so caught up in ranting, you weren’t even sure you narrated the events correctly.

“No I’m sorry for making you talk about this…” SIlence suffocated the room. 

“You and I…Are not so different.” He smiles. “My father was a little like yours.” “Really?” “Yes. But minus the ‘great’ part and the ‘loving my mother’. Everything else is just the same.”

“Oh.” A small sound just left your lips. “I too did something drastic in order to get away from him.” You finally turn up your head to see him, and was greeted by something shocking. His eyes were red. So were his under eyes. He cried.

“Do you regret it?” You asked hesitantly. “Not much. But I wish he were a better man. It wouldn’t have come down to that if he had respected my wishes.”

Tranquility filled the room again. Abruptly Albert got up. “How about we go horse riding? That should ease both our minds.” 

“In the middle of the night?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Why not? Unconventional times always lead to great discoveries.” He grinned. 

“Come on then.” He holds out his hand for you to grab.

The stable was devoid of any person, field with nothing but hay and horses. “Why don’t we ride this one?” He points the black horse.

“Oh it’s alright I know how to ride horses, no need to go on the same one.” You look around. “I’ll ride the brown one.” You point at it.

“...Very well then.” Albert was disappointed. He takes out both of the horses. 

The blades of grass shimmer dimly at the moonlight. The wind blows cold, causing goosebumps around your arms even with a coat. Albert assists you in climbing your horse and climbs his with ease.

“I’m guessing your father used to take you on rides?” You nod to his question.

Both of you do a swift flick on the reins and the horses are out running. The seemingly cold wind feels warm to Albert after he hears your giggles.

As you further go down the field, the horse starts to go faster. Unbeknownst to you, the horse wasn’t properly trained. At one point you pull on its rein to stop it, but the untrained animal runs faster instead. It starts to jump, trying to push you off its back. Albert wasted no time to rush to your aid. “Y/n!!”

You try with all your might to stay on it, but finally it pushes you off, leaving you tumbling to the ground.

“Y/n!” He screams at the top of his lungs. At a panic, he tries to get off the horse while its moving, stumbling while running towards you. “Oh my goodness, are you alright?” You blink rapidly, seeing two versions of Albert.

“Can you hear me? Oh dear lord.” He quickly removes one of his gloves. “Forgive me for touching you without gloves but we must put your health above your reputation.” Albert uses his two fingers to check your pulse on your throat.

“You don’t seem injured in any manner but…Let’s get you a doctor.” Within a split second he lifts you up with ease, carrying you back to the manor.

“Is your ankle fine?” William passes you a slice of cake. You softly touch over the bandages of your leg. “It’s better than before.” You smile.

The mission was completed successfully. Apparently the reason why they needed to overflow the market was because a nobleman used slaves to enlargen his fabric empire. Your marketing had given them enough time to corner him to ‘settle the dispute’. You did want to ask why they did this but seeing the fact that they had money and power to take down such an elite man, you don’t think its best to ask. Infact, you feel queasy interacting with them now.

“Ms. Y/n.” Albert calls you. “You seem to be very passionate about reviving the fabric of your nation. Why don’t we continue this deal further? Let’s talk about this at dinner… just the two of us.” He tries to avoid eye contact.

You’re still oblivious to his advances. “Oh no thank you, I—”

“NO!” William shouts with unyielding determination. This situation was very unpleasant and unprecedented. Never did William guess that his own brother would be in love with his love. 

He has to do something now.

“Brother this is not possible…” He replies sternly. After regaining his composite he continues. “...Because I’ve already invested in her ‘business’.” 

“Oh and tell me, by what means did you ‘invest?”  His usually monotone voice takes a mocking turn.

William almost wants to laugh at his brother's behaviour. He had never seen him being so childish. “By using this” He gently picks up your hand and shows him the ring.

“I’ve heard Indian women wear gold as an investment.” He continues. “And I say, this is quite a steep investment.” He looks at his brother slyly.

“A ring on the finger means nothing if the other doesn’t understand its true meaning. ” He spat. “Besides, if you’re really ‘married’ to her, have you initiated anything???? Me and Y/n have already went horse riding…as spouses do.” He smirked.

Marriage??? They were trying to court you?

“Y/n.” Both of them call you at the same time.

Whom do you choose? 

#William#

#Albert#

#???????#

#?!?!?!!?!?#

[thedisabilitybookarchive]

Update: December 2024

Added:

"Oligoarthritis" category and tag

"Unspecified Depressive Disorder" category and tag

"Panic Attacks" category and tag

"Panic Disorder" category and tag

"Unidentified Panic Disorder" category and tag

"Double Amputee" category and tag

"Leg Brace User" category

"Vascular Conditions" category and tag

"Thoracic Outlet Syndrome" category and tag

"Allergies" category and tag

"Ovarian Cancer" category and tag

"Ataxia" category and tag

"Pernicious Anemia" category and tag

"Ostomy" category and tag

"Unidentified Seizure Disorder" category and tag

"Trauma" category and tag

"Osteogenesis Imperfecta" category and tag

"WLW" category and tag

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"Clean Romance" tag

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"Clean Romance" to "Themes & Tropes" page

"Brothers Best Friend" to "Themes & Tropes" page

"Only One Bed" to "Themes & Tropes" page

"M/F/M" to "Themes & Tropes" page

"Christmas" to "Themes & Tropes" page

"Dinosaurs" to "Themes & Tropes" page

"Roller Derby" to "Themes & Tropes" page

"Robin Gow" to "Disabled Authors" page

"Mattie Bukowski" to "Disabled Authors" page

"Johanna Hedva" to "Disabled Authors" page

"Lizzie Huxley-Jones" to "Disabled Authors" page

"Natalie Lloyd" to "Disabled Authors" page

"1930s" to "Settings" page

"The Virgin Islands" to "Settings" page

Entries:

'The Undaunted'- Hart, Alan L.

'The Year My Life Went Down the Toilet"- Arlow, Jake Maia

'The Christmasaurus'- Fletcher, Tom. Devries, Shane

'A Not-So Holiday Paradise'- Mitchell, Gracie Ruth

'Make You Mine This Christmas'- Huxley-Jones, Lizzie

'7 Days for Fae'- Eisen, Lior

'Bruised'- Boteju, Tanya

'Dear Mothman'- Gow, Robin

'Hummingbird'- Lloyd, Natalie

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[eretzyisrael]

Moroccan Jews recall the Egoz disaster

At this time of year Moroccan Jews recall the disaster of the Egoz, in which 44 passengers hoping to reach Israel  drowned off the coast of Morocco.  Raquel Levy-Toledano wrote up their story for l’Arche ‘s special issue on Morocco in November 2023.

Monument to the Egoz disaster in Ashdod, Israel

The collective memory of the Moroccan Jewish will forever be marked by the wreck of the Pisces, renamed the Egoz, which occurred on Wednesday 11 January 1961.

The Pisces was an old star of the British army, converted into a smuggling boat. On board, ten families of Moroccan Jews going  to the Promised Land with a Mossad envoy. They mostly perished during the shipwreck: the families Edery (Nissim, Mordekhay, Rosa, Annette, Marcelle, Shaba, Haim, Albert), Azoulay (Hnina, Gisele, Shalom, Pierre, Meyer, Rachel), Elmaleh (Isaac Alya, Albert, Simon, Messoda, Suzanne), Benarroch (Raphael, Tamar, Jacques, Denise, Jacqueline, Gabriel), Dadoun (David, Judah, Danielle, Jacky), Benlolo (David, Marie, Yochoua, Alice, Rachel), Mom (Henry, Gisele, Haim, Florence, Rebecca), Elkouby (David), Gozlan (Freha) and Librati (Esther).

Jacques and Denise Benarroch had married the day before. David Dadoun had been arrested and turned back at Casablanca airport with a fake passport. With his two children, he was excited  to join his wife and two other boys already in Israel. Henry Mamane, a Casablanca bartender, his 80-year-old mother Hannah Azoulay, and his children were looking forward to being reunited with two of his daughters. The first had left on January 2. The list of victims also included Haim Sarfati, a 28-year-old Israeli born in Fez, sent by the Mossad as a radio operator, on a last mission before returning to marry in Israel.  Francisco Pérez Roldán (Paco) was the Spanish machinist.

To divert the suspicions of  any possible inspectors, the group  had pretended they were going on a pilgrimage to Ouezzane, to the grave of Amram Ben Diwan and attending a wedding in the Al Hoceima region. The journey had been exhausting since they left Casablanca. At  Al Hoceima the group was boarded into tugs  by armed  and hooded men and led to the main ship.  Despite the favorable weather forecast, the sea was rough and the ship pitched and rolled violently. Only ten miles (16 km) from the Moroccan coast and after sailing for  thirty minutes,  the hull split and the boat sank within minutes. Three crew members embarked on the only  lifeboat, leaving the passengers to their sad fate. Only the machinist Paco Perez refused to abandon the passengers, mostly women and children.

On 11 January 1961, 42 passengers perished, despite the rescue efforts of  Spanish and Moroccan trawlers, a Coast Guard, a Rapid Star and a British aircraft and two French Navy escorts. Twenty-three corpses were found floating on the surface with life belts. The wreckage of the boat and the bodies of the other passengers, including 16 children, were never found.

This tragic event raised a global tide of emotion.  A  leaflet and poster campaign in Morocco and Israel, deploring the disaster, provoked the anger of the Moroccan authorities. Negotiations followed between the future King Hassan II and a committee of prominent Jews consisting of Doctor Léon Benzaquen, former minister and personal friend of Mohamed V, David Amar, president of the Jewish Community of Morocco and the Chief Rabbi Shalom Messas who wanted areligious burial for the victims. The Prince conceded to the burial of the 23 bodies in a remote corner of the Al Hoceima cemetery. The ceremony was discreet and relatives absent. After years of negotiations, King Hassan II authorized the repatriation of the remains of the  shipwrecked victims. They  received  a national funeral at Mount Herzl in Jerusalem on 14 December 1992.

In the early 60’s the tragedy opened the gates to massive legal emigration  of Jews from Morocco to Israel.

In the early 60’s the tragedy opened the gates to massive legal emigration  of Jews from Morocco to Israel.

More about the Egoz

[broadcastarchive-umd]

#VoxPop The long-running radio interview program Vox Pop frequently highlighted new technology for military or civilian applications.

During the March 13, 1944 broadcast highlighting the war work of the Electric Boat Company,  host Parks Johnson introduced the T-45 lip microphone, which had been developed by the Electro-Voice Manufacturing Company of South Bend, Indiana. Invented by F. Cheney Beekley, Albert Kahn, and Louis Burroughs, the microphone, nicknamed the “Schickelgruber”, was used by the United States Army Signal Corps for better communication in tanks and other noisy battlefield conditions. The microphone was so successful on D-Day and other battles that Electro-Voice received the Army-Navy “E” award in July 1944.

Here, Parks Johnson, Warren Hull, and engineer Robert Thompson are shown making noise to demonstrate the effectiveness of the T-45 lip microphone.  

Source: Parks Johnson collection on Vox Pop

[misforgotten2]

E. Mayne Hull was married to Van Vogt.

A book you very likely don’t have on your shelf #498

Cover by Albert Nuetzell -- 1965

[dailyunsolvedmysteries-movedd]

Philadelphia Experiment, UFOS?

According to legend, on Oct. 28, 1943, the USS Eldridge, a Cannon-class destroyer escort, was conducting top-secret experiments designed to win command of the oceans against the Axis powers. The rumor was that the government was creating technology that would render naval ships invisible to enemy radar, and there in the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard, it was time to test it out.

Witnesses claim an eerie green-blue glow surrounded the hull of the ship as her generators spun up and then, suddenly, the Eldridge disappeared. The ship was then seen in Norfolk Naval Shipyard in Virginia before disappearing again and reappearing back in Philadelphia.

The legend states that classified military documents reported that the Eldridge crew were affected by the events in disturbing ways. Some went insane. Others developed mysterious illness. But others still were said to have been fused together with the ship; still alive, but with limbs sealed to the metal.

Carl M. Allen, who went by the pseudonym, Carlos Miguel Allende. In 1956, Allende sent a series of letters to Morris K. Jessup, author of the book, “The Case for the UFO,” in which he argued that unidentified flying objects merit further study.

Jessup apparently included text about unified field theory because this is what Allende latched onto for his correspondences. In the 1950s, unified field theory, which has never been proven, attempted to merge Albert Einstein's general theory of relativity with electromagnetism. In fact, Allende claimed to have been taught by Einstein himself and could prove the unified field theory based on events he witnessed on Oct. 28, 1943.

Allende claimed that he saw the Eldridge disappear from the Philadelphia Naval Yard, and he further insisted that the United States military had conducted what he called the Philadelphia Experiment — and was trying to cover it up.

Jessup was then contacted by the Navy's Office of Naval Research, which had received a package containing Jessup's book with annotations claiming that extra-terrestrial technology allowed the U.S. government to make breakthroughs in unified field theory.

This is one of the weirdest details. The annotations were designed to look like they were written by three different authors -- one maybe extra-terrestrial? According to Vallee's article for the Journal of Scientific Exploration, Jessup became obsessed with Allende's revelations, and the disturbed researcher took his own life in 1959. 

[focsle]

So, 19th century whaling stuff huh? (purely on recommendation from a reblog from ltwilliammowett) Got any recommendations for visual references about the different kinds of whaling ship at the time? Looking for stuff that could of existed around the 1870s towards the 1890s

I’ll unpaywall a longish essay I wrote about a year ago on patreon about the general design of whaleships, that includes images as well as ship register lists that describe them. It’s written from the angle of design decisions I made for a graphic novel, but reading beyond the artmaking conversation I share information about how whalers tended to be shaped and the identifying features they carried.

For additional visual references I’d check out the photo collections of the New Bedford Whaling Museum and the Charles W. Morgan at Mystic Seaport. The photos from the NBWM are early 20th century, but the ships within them are older. Mid 19th century vessels were used well into the late part of the century and into the early 1900s with very little change, though by that point the industry was fully on its way out the door. The sketches in whaling logbooks or on scrimshaw are also a good way to get a sailor’s interpretation of the vessels. Whaleships and Whaling by Albert Cook Church and Sperm Whaling from New Bedford by Elton W Hall (that is a collection of Clifford Ashley’s photographs from his time on the whaler Sunbeam) are good visual books too. ANYWAY, onto the Essay under the readmore, if you’re so inclined.

Melville described Captain Ahab's ship the Pequod as having an “old-fashioned claw-footed look about her." It's a description I always hold in my mind whenever I draw a whaler. Melville, of course, added more whimsy to his iconic vessel, ‘a cannibal of a craft, tricking herself forth in the chased bones of her enemies’. With sperm whale teeth in the place of belaying pins, blocks made of sea-ivory instead of wood, and a whale’s jawbone in place of a tiller. While whalebone blocks and belaying pins were absolutely made on occasion, whaleships in general were not so unique from one another.

In looking at the long list of Ship Registers out of New Bedford, 1796-1850, it seems that if you saw one whaleship you more or less saw ‘em all.

Photo of the bark Sunbeam hove to at sea, 1904, Clifford Ashley. Via New Bedford Whaling Museum.

Typically 19th century whaleships were three-masted ships or barks, and many ships were eventually re-rigged as barks in the latter half of the century as it required a smaller crew to handle. Whalers tended to be squat and broad, built for stability rather than speed. They were going to be at sea for years, with big cavernous holds for hundreds upon hundreds of barrels of oil, as well as equipment and provisions set to last many months without resupply. Thus, sturdiness was the primary focus in their design.

A cross section of the bark Alice Knowles from G.B. Goode's The Fisheries and Fishery Industry of the United States. Look at all that needed storage space!

With square sterns and a typical ratio of 1:4 for beam to length (as opposed to sleek merchant ships that often were more of a 1:6), describing them as a ‘tub’,--as many whalers grudgingly did when speaking of their floating home--is rather fitting (though perhaps a bit uncharitable). On average, whaleships were 100-115 ft in length, 25-30ft wide, with a tonnage ranging from 180-400.

They were built with few frills. Rarely did they have galleries or figureheads, instead having a simple billet-head or doing without the flourish entirely. My biggest indulgence was giving the Valor a bit more of an elegant prow, which I might regret a little bit since now I have to draw it all the time.

Billet-head vs figurehead...

A distinct lack of fanciness!

I wanted to draw a lady tho. The one of……three women in GTW. Does she count?

Sometimes whalers were painted with false gun ports along their hull, a traditional holdover from when they had to worry more often about wartime enemies in the late 18th century. The hope was that the paint job in combination with her chunky appearance would lead to her being mistaken for a small warship at a distance and thus spared harassment. Even when no longer really necessary, the design often made its appearance.

Drawing in the logbook of Captain James Coffin of his ship Washington, 1841.

I quite liked the look of the psuedo gun ports, and decided to give the Valor the same as an embellishment for some extra contrast.

The most identifying feature of a whaler was the tryworks—a large brick oven with heavy iron pots located aft of the foremast and in front of the main hatch. They were built with a pen that would be filled with sea water that flowed freely beneath a checker-board laid brick base to keep the extreme heat from setting fire to the ship. The tryworks would have to be rebuilt for each voyage, so there was sometimes a rather joyous moment at the end of a long trip when the crew would tear the structure apart and toss it in the sea.

Along the port side, three whaleboats would be slung on the davits. Fore, aft, and amidships. A fourth whaleboat would be located on the starboard quarter.

Screenshot of my desktop background that's some deck plans of a whaleship cos I got sick of digging for the reference every time I had to spatially orient myself when drawing a panel!

Deckhouses were built aft to house the galley and storage lockers, and there was also a ‘hurricane house’ built over the helm to protect whoever was steering during foul weather. Spare whaleboats, as well as harpoons, spades, lances, and other whaling gear would be stored on top of this cover or on hanging shelves beneath it.

A view of whalers and the afthouse, on the bark Greyhound. Via NBWM.

The final identifying feature of a whaleship was a pair of cross trees, a platform with hoops at the top of the mast where men would be stationed to look out for whales.

The ship that I’ve referenced the most in my design of the Valor is, of course, the Charles W. Morgan because she can still be visited! The last surviving wooden whaleship, she had a long life of 37 voyages (and a couple movie roles in her sunset years) spanning from 1841-1921 (and one more voyage in 2014! Heartbreak of heartbreaks that I was not on it!). She’s  now a crown jewel at the Mystic Seaport Museum. I was honored to meet her.

She had some lovely authenticating details that I was happy to put into my own worldbuilding, such as a reference to this gimballed bed. It was designed to always stay level even as the ship rolled, installed by one of the Morgan’s captains to try mitigating his wife's seasickness.

Another favorite detail of mine was how natural daylight was drawn into the cabins and forecastle via deck prisms. Set with their bases flush with the deck above, glass deck prisms were designed to bring light down below.

I remember being surprised at how effective they were. In the photo below, the yellow light is artificial, but the blue light is coming solely from the deck prism. This was on a dark rainy day.

As such, I really enjoy always thinking about how these prisms are lighting the areas below on the Valor.

During my visit I remember thinking that this old surviving whaleship looked quite comfortable and cozy.

Look at that.

Such homey little flourishes.

Look at how cute.

I’d live here.

That is, until I thought about the reality of this work and world. The fo'c'sle helped bring that reality forward. There wasn't anyone else on the ship and it was a cold spring day, but upon stepping into the space I could feel the humidity that had gathered there.

I could imagine the noise of it, the smell of it, the heaviness of the air that came with 20 men sharing such a space, eating and smoking in it, crushing cockroaches in it, dumping their wet gear in it, vomiting in it, keeping a communal urine barrel in it, reeking of blood and oil and smoke and ash as everything mouldered in the damp for for three to four years. The dimensions of the fo'c'sle was enough to set my imagination a’going. It was a perfect reference, and for the comic it just needed to be populated.

For the sake of having somewhat readable panels, my boys are lucky to have been given a much more spacious residence. But still, I try to build out the claustrophobia of the space. And this is just the first night. As time goes on, I’m looking forward to besmirching this place.

Superimposing the reality of a whaler was also necessary in drawing the decks (and will become even more so when I get to the whaling scenes). Now, as a museum, the ship is pristine...

But I must always remember the description given by a 19th century whaler grumbling that while cutting in a whale, ‘everything is beshit’. Documentary footage as well as photographs, coupled with the words from dead men's journals and one’s own imagination of the hellishness of the work is how I begin to paint the decks of this whaler, especially during the work of cutting in.

(warning for sensitive images below of a lot of blubber)

Photos by William H Tripp, 1925. Via NBWM

Photo by Albert Cook Church. NBWM.

This 1904 image, as described by its photographer Clifford Ashley, 'Rectangular blocks of blubber (lippers) are used to scrape up bits of blubber and slush from the deck so nothing is wasted'. Via NBWM.

But the place that made me feel the closest sense of reality on the Morgan was the blubber room. The deck prisms didn’t reach here, and in some places the beams were so low I had to duck my head.

This was where large 15ft sheets of blubber would be dumped below via the hatch, for men to hack them up into smaller 6ft ‘horse pieces’ and then pitch them back up on deck to be further minced. I couldn’t help but think of the movement of the ship in the dark, of the slabs of blubber filling the space, slick with oil. I thought of how much oil would be tracked across the deck and how slippery it’d be, and how a man would have to keep his head cocked to one side for hours to work in there. I thought of how he would get to the fo'c'sle through the blubber room and how the work would be tracked all over the ship and find its way into every bunk. How it would be absolutely inescapable. I thought about the hot sick closeness of having no air down there, the heat from the tryworks radiating mercilessly from above, a crick in your neck, your double-edged boarding knife handle too slick.

Being there and overlaying that work within it was one of the closest times I felt to time travel. And as I try to make the Valor feel alive, to feel real, I always try to capture what I felt here in every panel, and push each one just a little more to get as close as I can to that place.

[vintagelasvegas]

Flamingo Hotel, 1946-

Construction of the Flamingo, 1946, facing west from behind the hotel. Highway 91 (the Strip) runs horizontally across the photo. Unknown photographer.

‘44: Margaret M. Folsom buys the property from Charles Squires in Nov. (RJ 11/18/44) and begins building Rancho Aloha auto court motel.

‘45: W. R. Wilkerson writes down payment check for purchase of the property in Mar. Folsom opens Rancho Aloha in Apr. (RJ 4/27/45). Sale of the property to Wilkerson is recorded in Jun. (RJ 6/9/45); Rancho Aloha closed. Construction begins for Hotel Wilkerson in Dec. (RJ 12/18/45, 1/21/46, 2/5/46). Note: Several buildings of Folsom's motel, on the far south of the property, remained on site until the 70s.

Early Flamingo

‘46: Wilkerson sells shares to new group represented by Benjamin Siegel in Mar. The name “Flamingo” is chosen some time in ‘46 during Siegel’s involvement. Siegel takes over the project, opening the casino 12/26/46 while the hotel is still under construction. Architects George Vernon Russell hired by Wilkerson, Richard Stadelman hired by Siegel.

‘47: Casino closes 2/4/47 while the hotel is being completed. Full reopening on 3/1/47. Second sign (altered version of original sign) in place during reopening. Siegel killed 6/20/47. Greenbaum, Rosenberg, Sedway take over management of the resort.

‘49: Gruen attraction board; 60-room addition in three V-shaped wings on the east property opened in May; wedding chapel addition, designed and built by Miller, Haynes and Smith (Henderson) in Jul. (RJ 4/21/49, 6/5/49, 7/1/49)

‘51: 3-floor, 100-wing addition, designed by Paul R. Williams Associates, opened in Aug. on the north side of the resort. Flamingo now totals 300 rooms, largest in Las Vegas. (RJ 12/22/50, 8/20/51)

‘53: Casino remodel and “Champagne Tower” addition, completed in Oct.; wedding chapel removed.

‘54: Sale by Greenbaum group to Albert Parvin & partners, including E. Levinson, J. Gaughan, C. Sims, M. Shapiro, S. Diamond, S. Ziegman, T. Hull; Parvin as president of the Flamingo. (Nevada State Journal, 11/3/54; RJ, 12/19/54)

‘58: 2-floor, 92 room addition, designed by Honnold-Rex and William Stephenson (Los Angeles), built by Edward Gray Corp (Chicago) on the east property, opens in Aug. The T-shape wing replaces the center bldg of the ’49 expansion. (RJ 8/31/58)

‘59: Second T-shape wing replaces the north bldg of the ‘49 expansion. Date unknown, circa ‘59-60.

‘60: Sale by Parvin to M. Landburgh, S. Cohen, and Lifter of Miami. A decade later, Lansburgh and Cohen were convicted on charges related to skimming est. $10M Flamingo casino proceeds. Meyer Lansky, whose finder's fee was paid during the skimming, also charged but not convicted. (New York Times, 2/4/73 p15; Miami News, 2/10/77 p77)

‘61: Convention Hall addition opens in Apr. with “Champagne bubble block” facade on the southwest property. 4-floor south wing addition opened in Oct. (RJ 10/10/62 p27) replacing part of the original south wing and some of the Rancho Aloha buildings.

‘63: South east wing addition, modeled after the ‘61 south wing, replaces the last building of the ‘49 expansion. (RJ 10/10/62 p27) 

‘67: Aug., Flamingo sold to Kirk Kerkorian; end of Flamingo's "mob" era.

‘68: Casino remodel. Champagne tower, attraction board, and bubble breeze blocks removed; replaced with “plume” neon sign designed by Bill Clarke, Ad Art; 2-floor lounge designed by Martin Stern Jr.

Hilton era, and beyond

‘71: Flamingo sold to Hilton Corp.

‘77: Bull-nose porte-cochère neon sign by Heath & Co, completed in Jun. Tower 1 addition.

‘80: Tower 2 addition (expansion of tower 1).

‘82: Tower 3 addition (southeast side of property along Flamingo Rd). Parking garage addition, north side of the resort. Redevelopment of the courtyard & pool.

‘86: Tower 4 addition (extension of  tower 3).

‘88: ‘68 pylon removed, replaced by a new casino. Construction of north garage begins in Sep.

‘89: Sep. 15, Opening of O'Shea's Casino, operated by the Flamingo. O'Shea's came about, “when company executives were looking to build a new entrance for the Flamingo. The land was being used as a parking lot for tour buses and Hilton officials were shocked to realize they owned it.” (RJ 9/11/88) O'Shea's was demolished in 2012 and later reopened within The Quad.

‘89: Extension of the north casino.

‘90: Tower 5 addition (north).

‘93: Last of the original structure, Oregon Suite and Garden Rooms, demolished in Dec. (RJ 12/15/93).

‘94: Tower 6 (north) and Hilton Grand Vacations Club addition (RJ 2/6/93, 10/27/94).

‘98: Hilton’s gaming business including Flamingo spun off into Park Place Entertainment. Hilton name removed from Flamingo in 2000. Park Place renamed Caesars Entertainment in 2003.

Other sources include: W.R. Wilkerson III. “The Man who Invented Las Vegas” (2000) and “Hollywood Godfather: The Life and Crimes of Billy Wilkerson” (2018); L. Gragg. “Benjamin Bugsy Siegel: The Gangster, the Flamingo, andthe Making of Modern Las Vegas” (2015); M. Shnayerson. “Bugsy Siegel: The Dark Side of the American Dream” (2021).

Updated 1/6/2025.

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

ttwt episode 15

“Last time, on Total Takes, World Tour: our remaining competitors had a sweet Swedish time in lovely Scandinavia! Hearts were broken, spirits were crushed, and shrines dedicated to tumultuous relationships were built! Team Friendship got a little ahead of themselves, heh- and Team Mojo swept in to steal first class. Luckily, this was a non-elimination round, meaning that every loser got to stay. Who will be immortalized in plywood today? And who will finally take the drop of shame? Find out now, on Total Takes: World Tour!”

The entirety of economy class feels as if it’s stuck in a time loop. 

Max sulks. Kelly shifts uncomfortably and stares out the window. Phillip hums and sharpens a rock into a spearhead. Julia glares. Courtney sighs. And Mal is nowhere to be found. 

Complete stillness, as if everyone had transformed into a painting. For hours, nothing changes. 

In the early hours of the morning, the distant sound of door creaking accentuates the sighs and groans of the hull. Mal walks in, yawning, her soft footsteps are the loudest noise anyone’s heard in hours. 

“Morning!” she says cheerily, breezing past the toxic energy of the room. She takes a curt seat between Julia and Courtney, humming merrily as she taps on her phone. 

Julia’s eyes narrow. “And where have you been?”

“Uh, duh, I told you. My fave VTuber was streaming for their 100k sub special, and I needed to get to the cockpit for a better connection,” she rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t get it.”

The blonde’s tone sharpens and she glares back. “No. I don’t think I do,”

Mal shrugs and pops in her earbuds, humming along to a KPop song merrily and pacing around the room. Julia leans over to Courtney, lowering her voice to a dull hiss. 

“She’s conning us. Somehow, she’s conning us,”

Courtney taps their chin, thinking. “Well… in the second season of Total Drama, DJ was getting secret help from Chef. This could be a similar situation. Maybe she has an alliance with Albert or Michela, and she was talking to either one of them. Or she could be using her phone to hack into the Total Takes mainframe to see what our next challenges are going to be, and have access to all the cameras and footage, so on and so forth,”

Julia snorts. “Please. As if she’s smart enough to pull that off,”

“You’d be surprised. She got into my computer webcam once and livestreamed me sleeping when I told her to stop sending me thirst traps of her favorite anime boy,”

Julia blinks, and then shakes her head. “Okay, whatever. But I highly doubt it anyway. The Total Takes firewall has to be pretty impenetrable, or someone would have tried it before. It’s more likely that she’s meeting with someone behind our backs,”

“Like an alliance?”

“No, like…” Julia sighs. “She’s got someone on the inside. She’s a plant.”

“A plant? Hah. Mal is a lot of things, but her crazy is genuine,” Courtney crosses their arms. “She does all that for free.”

The blonde leans back, gazing out the window. “We’ll see. We’ll see…”

---

JULIA: “Back to my good old scheming self. It feels nice, you know- back in my element! Who cares about being a good leader when I can slink back into the shadows where I work my magic,” her eye twitches. 

---

Michela refuses another smoothie from a well-dressed flight attendant. 

“Again, not hungry. Thanks,”

The attendant walks over to Albert, who accepts the drink. He stirs the straw around it for a few moments before taking a long sip. “Still upset?”

Michela sighs, putting her chin in her palm and slouching forward. “Yeah. But now I feel crappy about ignoring Max, too. I know he feels bad. Maybe I should just-”

She attempts to stand, to which Albert grabs her wrist and pulls her back to her seat. 

“Why should you? He betrayed your trust. You deserve the time to heal, Michela,”

She sighs and resigns to her seat, slouching again. “Yeah. You’re right. I deal with it later,”

“There you go,” Albert smiles contentedly, kicking up his feet as another attendant delivers a plate of breakfast sausages. He skewers one with a fork and takes a bite. 

Michela lowers her eyes at him. 

---

ALBERT: “It’s all going according to plan. I have Michela wrapped around my finger, Team Friendship is falling apart, and Team Yaoi is on the brink. Chaos unfolds so nicely, doesn’t it?”

---

MICHELA: “He was eating meat. He was eating meat,”

---

“Welcome one, welcome all, to fabulous Las Vegas, USA!” Chris’ ever-annoying voice trills over the intercom. “We’ll be landing shortly, so buckle up and enjoy those desert views!”

Kelly turns and leans to stare out the window, eyes widening. “Ooh… pretty!”

“If you like the desolate, barren soul of late-stage capitalism,” Max mutters, head in his hands. 

Phillip pops up to stare out the window with Kelly. “Ooh… desolate!”

The plane begins its descent as Max groans. 

---

PHILLIP: “I can feel my power… increasing… it runs through my veins… with each poem I write, I grow closer to my destiny…”

---

The plane lurches and Phillip goes flying, the pages of his notebook scattering around the cabin. Julia picks one up and raises an eyebrow. 

“Don’t. It’s his original poetry,” Max warns. 

She drops the paper. 

The plane lands amongst one of Las Vegas’ many massive 4-lane roads, coming to a stark stop right in front of the Luxor Pyramid. 

The plane door opens with a hiss and the teens stumble out, falling onto the hot asphalt. Courtney rises first, and then helps Michela to her feet. Julia pops up next. 

“What’s this weird feeling? Like I’m being strangled by the air?” she asks, looking around. 

“That would be the aridity, and the 110 Fahrenheit weather!” Chris says, stepping out in front of the group with a sunhat and a handheld fan. “Welcome to the desert- with a low 10% humidity level in the summer, this is one of the most torturous paradises on earth.”

“110 degrees? 44 celsius? This can’t be humane,” Max says, fanning his face. 

Chris chuckles. “Well, you better get used to it. Don’t worry, though- the casinos are air-conditioned,”

The teens stop their whining to ooh and ah. Mal jumps up, squeaking. “OMG, I am like, SO lucky when it comes to gambling! It only takes four or five microtransactions for me to pull my faves in gacha games!”

Chris rolls his eyes. A large, sleek black limousine pulls up behind them and the doors pop open. The teens eye it nervously. 

“Yeah, we’ll talk about that when we get there. This limo will be driving you right to one of Vegas’ main attractions- the Stratosphere! Your next instructions will be awaiting you there,”

The group mumbles to themselves and file into the limo, squishing between each other awkwardly as it sets off. There are only so many seats, so only about three lucky people- Julia, Albert, and Kelly- manage to secure themselves a spot on the plush bench. Everyone else sits on the floor, feeling every bump in the road. 

Max pulls his knees to his chest and makes momentary eye contact with Michela. She offers a small smile and waves. Albert glares. 

“If anyone would like my seat, I’m more than willing to give it up,” Kelly says. “Or someone could sit on my lap! The more the merrier, after all.”

“You don’t have to do that, Kelly, but that’s really sweet,” Courtney smiles. 

“You really don’t have to,” Albert murmurs. 

The limo speeds up. 

---

“Since the gambling age in the United States prevents minors from being on the casino floor, I welcome you all to the main attraction: the lounge! These 360 windows give you the most beautiful views of the city, and there’s a lovely-”

“Just get on with it!” Julia and Max snap in unison. 

Chris grins. “Fair enough. But before we get to the challenge, we have a special surprise for you all,”

The teens groan in unison. 

Michela sighs. “Let me guess: a bear? Spike traps? Poison darts?”

“All lovely and creative ideas, Michael, but no,” the host beams. “On the last episode of the Aftermath show, your former castmate Caesar held a second-chance challenge. One loser will be rejoining you on your world trek today!”

Everyone gasps- though some are far more delighted than others. Mal squeals “This is gonna do NUMBERS on my blog!” and begins typing away- Julia rolls her eyes, but can’t seem to contain her own excitement as she smiles. 

---

JULIA: “Having Scruffy back would be a huge advantage for me- I mean, for the game. Not like, having a friend around will improve my performance,”

---

“See? Not all of my surprises are bad!” Chris chuckles. “Or are they..? Nonetheless, our winner has asked to perform a little opening musical number for you.”

“I hope it’s Staci! I’ve missed our bestie talks,” Kelly says, clapping their hands together. Albert rolls his eyes. 

---

ALBERT: “Another cruel twist of fate. I should’ve seen this coming,”

---

“He’s a lean, mean drama machine in too many layers, and he’s banned from 16 convention centers across North America: it’ssssss NOCO!”

The teens pause, their excitement falling flat. Julia crosses her arms, another sharp expression on her face. “Who?”

The elevator dings and opens as a jazzy tune starts up. The doors slide apart to reveal a tall boy in too many layers, holding in a microphone. 

“No-no-no-no-Nocorific is my name, dishing dirt is my game, invading your TV with my Nocolicious frame!”

Julia’s jaw drops. 

Mal nods along to the beat, typing excitedly on her phone. “No-Nocorific, S-s-so terrific!”

“I’m a j-j-journalist. Journalist!” Noco goes on, pacing the room. 

Max crosses his arms. “This is so against the rules, does Chris think we’re a bunch of fools?”

“Rules? This ain’t no Sunday School! Mr. Thang up there’s a rating tool!”

“No-Nocorific!”

Julia hisses. “M-M-Make me si-ick!”

“I’m a j-j-journalist. Journalist! Get me a full-blown, proof-read and edited paragraph on why I should care about you! I’m quite specific,” Noco says, crossing his arms. 

Kelly claps and squeals. “He’s Nocorific!”

“I’m a j-j-journalist-”

Michela blinks, leaning over to Albert. “Who’s that guy?”

“Excuse me?” Noco snaps, whirling around. “Who am I? Who am I?! Who are you? I’m the host of the Total Takes Aftermath! My writing was featured in Reality! I stalked your lame fellow actors for Celebrity Manhunt! It’s a fact and scientific, I’m still Nocorific!” 

Albert and Julia snicker. “He’s not a journalist, turns out he’s not a journalist!” 

Noco scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Whatever,” 

Chris surveys the scene with sharp eyes, grinning as the original cast scans him over with some vague sense of unease. 

---

JULIA: “There’s something very… off about him,”

---

ALBERT: “Ah, yes. The little twerp from Celebrity Manhunt. Prattled on about “maxulia” for thirty minutes before I went on air. He was… oddly obsessed with proving himself. Definitely a vulnerable pattern to exploit. But the others don’t need to know that,”

---

“That guy gives me the creeps,” Michela murmurs, watching him walk past the main group and take a seat on one of the plush seats in the room. 

Albert shrugs, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I think your issues with Max might be clouding your vision. He’s just another contestant,”

She sighs, her eyes drifting over to the aforementioned boyfriend as he sulks in the corner. Noco pulls out a phone and begins taking pictures of the scenery. 

He drifts over to Julia, snapping a pic with the flash on. She hisses. “What’s your deal?”

“Collecting evidence,” he finally slips the phone back in his pocket. “So which of these lame teams am I on?”

Chris beams. “As of now? None! Because there are no more teams! Welcome to the merge, dudes!”

“YES!” Courtney, Julia, and Mal chirp in unison. 

Kelly turns to the rest of the now-annulled Team Friendship with a bright- somewhat strained- smile. “Well… I’m proud to have-”

“Outta my way,” Max hisses, shoving past them to sit alone in the corner. 

Phillip scurries off to hide under one of the couches and Kelly frowns. 

---

KELLY: “You’d think, with all my efforts, that we’d be a little closer by now. But I guess… I just didn’t try hard enough. They were eager to leave, just like everyone else,”

---

The merge hit at a very inconvenient time- that’s what Albert thinks, anyway, and his discontent is written all over his face. He turns to Michela. “So… this is the end,”

She had been staring at Max across the room when he spoke, and hummed a little note of confusion when she looked back. “What? Oh… yes. Well, you’ve been a great teammate,”

“Yes, it’s just…” He sighs. “I’m worried about you, you know? What if Max tries to get you voted off next? His connections outnumber your own.”

Michela raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think he would-”

“You haven’t spoken to him in days, remember? What kind of misery-induced rage is bubbling just beneath the surface?”

As Chris paces the lounge, explaining the rules of the merger to all those inclined, Michela’s eyes drift to stare out of the glass walls and down at the sunset falling over the desert city. It definitely felt isolated. 

“I simply wouldn’t feel right leaving you on your own. You have my vote,” he says, quite proudly, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’m only looking out for you, you know. My ex turned on me out of nowhere, too.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Your…”

“Long story,”

---

ALBERT: “I haven’t had good experiences with relationships, to put it lightly. Turns out that even things you think are set in stone are just as random and chaotic as the rest,”

---

Chef, clothed in a fancy, sparkly show dress, walks out from around the corner pushing a massive slot machine, a male contestant’s face decorating each reel. Chris chuckles. “Just on time. While you dudes can’t really gamble, most of you are above the age of eighteen, which means you can get hitched!”

“This country is so backwards,” Julia snaps, crossing her arms. “What’s with the slot machine?”

“Since we are in fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada- the land of bad decisions and Elvis-officiated eloping, our theme today isn’t about gambling money- it’s about fortune. Each girl or girl-adjacent will try their luck at pulling a husband from the machine. Your chosen beau will be your teammate for the rest of the day,”

Almost everyone snaps what? At once. Chef begins hauling over the male contestants, throwing them into a compartment at the top of the massive machine. Noco scoffs. 

“Hah, very funny. “Luck.” Haha,” 

Chris raises an amused eyebrow. “What? Not a fan of playing Lady Fortune?”

“This is all staged. I know this is rigged so the most popular pairings will be spit out, the truth concealed again. I’ll probably end up with one of these poor single things, like Kelly,”

Kelly sulks. Albert watches from nearby, his usual demeanor of calmness dropping. He looks to Noco. “You really think this is planned? How stupid would- I mean, why?”

Noco crosses his arms with a scoff. “I’m a journalist, remember? I know everything about this show. I’ve read the illegitimate scripts online, I’ve collected testimonies from former interns’ grieving families, I’ve perused the forums- I’m basically a college graduate in all things Chris McLean doesn’t want general audiences to know,”

This seems to only amuse the host, and he grins. Albert’s expression grows more and more sour by the minute. 

---

ALBERT: “If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s people who believe in fate. There’s no way that this show- even if it was scripted- would be 100% acting. There’s some things you… you just can’t fake!”

---

“Well, well. Since you’re such a seeker of the truth, I’m sure you can guess what we’ll be using to even out our currently uneven player-to-player ratio!” Chris chirps, a smug grin on his face. 

Noco rolls his eyes. “Duh. You’re going to have some surprise reveal that Frollo was on the plane all along, and then act like you didn’t know,”

The host stops. Chef raises an eyebrow. Mal shifts uncomfortably, and then chuckles: “But that’s just a guess, right? Heh,”

“Oh, no, I’m serious. He’s probably still waiting in the plane now,”

Chris’ eyebrows knit and he waves away a few interns pushing a caged bear into the lounge. He puts on a chipper smile. “...Of course! I knew that! Chef, could you-”

“On it,” the aforementioned says plainly, collecting a rope and empty sack and walking off. 

“Hah… haha, well, while Chef is collecting our surprise contestant, let’s get this started, shall we?” he says. “Noco, if you would…?”

“Way ahead of you,” the boy sighs, climbing into the slot machine of his own free will. 

The host beams. “Let’s see, let’s see… Courtney! Care to take a gamble?”

Courtney sighs and stands from where they’d been sitting on the grimy lounge carpet. They trudge over to the machine and pull on the lever, igniting a shower of colorful lights and chimes. “This is kind of heteronormative of you, by the way,”

“Hey, if it floats your boat, you can wear the suit,” Chris chuckles. Courtney rolls their eyes. 

The rolls stop on the ever-pouty face of a certain poet, and Phillip comes tumbling out. “YEOWCH!” he hisses, rising to his feet to dust off his pants. 

Courtney sighs a breath of relief. “Phillip. You’re… normal, right?”

“Why? Did someone say something about me? Who was it?”

They shake their head and drag him away. As they do, the elevator dings and the doors part to reveal Chef, walking in with a full bag. He dumps it in the top of the slot machine and backs off, shaking his head and murmuring about rats in the cargo hold. 

“Michela!”

The pink-haired girl approaches the machine cautiously, crossing her fingers. “Please don’t be Max… please don’t be Max…”

Albert whispers a similar prayer from within the machine. 

She pulls the lever and a familiar face comes tumbling out. Albert hisses under his breath and Michela holds hers. Max rises to his feet without her help and the two step back awkwardly, neither uttering a word.

“Julia?” 

“For the record, I think this is really stupid,” she says, approaching the hulking, brightly-colored metal beast. “And I would’ve killed in a gambling challenge. I do numbers in online poker.”

She violently pulls down the lever and all three rolls land on the face of a bear- but, of course, no bear comes. Julia cringes in disgust. “NO! No way, I am not marrying that FREAK! Anyone but him!”

Frollo rolls his eyes. 

“I demand a re-roll! NOW!”

Mal winces and hurries over, helping Frollo off the floor before Julia’s fit can get any worse. “I’ll take him. She won’t stop without a fight,”

Chris shrugs as the two walk off. Julia’s eyes narrow at the two, but she doesn’t utter a word of complaint as she rolls again. This time, a shadow of gloom slides out. 

The host turns to Julia. “Is this one acceptable, your majesty?”

“Whatever,” she sighs, dragging Noco to his feet. He grimaces in turn. 

“This isn’t ideal for me either, you know. I know good and well that you’d rather be with your real lover,”

Julia pauses and turns to him, her gaze turning sharp. “You don’t know anything. Shut your trap,”

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” he chuckles, patting her head. “I would never want to get in the way of your miserable relationship.”

“First of all, we’re not miserable. Second of all, we’re not in a relationship. We’re just… friends,”

Noco shrugs. “Oh, you don’t have to hide around me. I’m sure the producers will cut this out in the final draft, anyway,”

---

JULIA: “Could… Noco really know about Scruffy?”

---

NOCO: “I'm onto you, Maxulia,”

---

Kelly grimaces as they approach the machine. They don't need to pull the lever, after all- there’s only one unclaimed man. 

Still, for formality's sake, they do so anyway. The familiar flashing lights and cheery music play, and Albert comes tumbling out. 

“That settles that. Onto the next part of the challenge!” Chris grins. 

---

“In our sister episode, Niagara Brawls, our leading ladies were led through a blindfolded field of obstacles by their one true loves,” the host pauses to chuckle. “As an audience-favorite challenge, you’ll be recreating that right here, right now!”

The contestants gaze across the floor of the hotel, where an expansive field of obstacles, including, but not limited to tubs of mud, giant cakes, and sand pits. 

“Each lucky groom will be using a megaphone to guide their blindfolded spouses through this tumultuous maze of humiliation!”

Julia grumbles, deeply unhappy as an intern fastens a blindfold around her eyes. Courtney is taking some deep breaths beside her, trying to remember the original layout from their “sister episode”. Mal is humming. Both Michela and Kelly seem tense. 

The men themselves are seated upon five large columns, holding one red megaphone each. None look particularly enthused at all. 

“At the end of the maze, you’ll find a wedding dress- or suit- for your spouses. Any couple without formal attire byt the end of this is out. GO!”

Michela swallows a lump in her throat. “Max, we’re in this together, okay? Just treat me like you would any other player!”

“I was… planning on it,” he raises an eyebrow. “Four short steps- or two long steps- forward!”

Julia listens to their scuffle and sighs, silently waiting for Noco’s command. Nothing follows. The groom himself is sitting on his elevated platform, swinging his legs back and forth while taking notes. 

---

NOCO: “What? As if she’d really get hurt on a staged show,”

---

“Noco! I’m waiting!”

Still, nothing. Julia grumbles and takes a cautious step forward. 

“Kelly, you’re going to want to go about four paces forward, then turn left,” Albert shouts into his megaphone, sounding rather annoyed as he watches Max and Michela. When he looks back, Kelly hasn’t moved. “Kelly?”

Their knees are shaking. “I- I can’t see,”

“Uh, yeah. That’s the point of the challenge,”

“B-but I- I don’t know where I’m going!” they tremble. “I can’t do this on my own!”

“We’re supposed to work as a team,”

“How do I know you won’t leave me?” 

Albert grumbles under his breath. “I could ask the same thing,”

“Six forward, then turn right, then straight again,” Frollo says dully, waving around the megaphone like a toy. “Then you’re going to want to-”

“Don’t worry about it! I got this!” Mal shouts back, grinning wildly. 

She squeals with excitement and bounds through the maze, shoving Julia into a mud pit in the process. The blonde coughs out a mouthful of dirt and growls. “NOCO!”

Noco rolls his eyes. Mal reaches the end of the obstacle course without a scratch, crashing into and toppling over the mannequin with her dress in the process. Her blindfold goes flying off and she claps her hands. 

The other grooms turn to Frollo. He shrugs. “She’s good,”

---

MAL: “Please- I’ve seen the Niagara Brawls episode like, six hundred and forty-four times. I could walk this obstacle course in my sleep,”

---

Julia inches along the course, feeling out for the edges of tubs and sand pits. She loses her footing and stumbles forward, crashing into a large cake. 

“UGH! You know, when you said you’d butt out of my love life, I was still expecting you to HELP!” she shouts at Noco. He does nothing. 

Max squints, trying to plan the path ahead from where he was sitting. “Okay, just- just keep going forward. No- watch out for that bell!”

A loud ringing sounds and he winces. Michela falls flat on her butt, massaging her temples. “I’m- I’m sorry! I’m a little scatterbrained today!”

She groans, and stands uneasily. “Can I trust you or not?” she shouts back to him. 

His heart stops for a moment. “What?”

“Can I trust you or not? Cause if we don’t have any faith in each other, I can just keep going on my own!”

“But- but then you’d be blind!” he shouts. “You’d be blind and alone!”

---

MAX: “I know, logically, that she was only referring to the challenge. But… on a deeper level, maybe her words held some symbolic value for me, too,”

---

“It’s better than being blind and misguided!”

Max takes a deep breath, looking from side to side for a moment before standing. “You can trust me. And I trust you. I won’t let you go on blind. Three steps forward, one to the right!”

Albert watches the display from his own column, grimacing. 

---

ALBERT: “Great. They’re making up. Ew,”

---

“Kelly! Are you still with me?”

The blond forces a grin, giving a shaky thumbs up as their legs tremble. They’re still at the beginning of the course, not having moved an inch. 

Albert takes a deep breath. “I know it’s scary, I know it’s unpredictable- but I’ve got you. I need you to understand- I won’t leave you!”

Kelly wrings their hands for a moment, their smile dropping. But then, they take a deep breath, and move forward slightly. 

“That’s it! Another step forward- one at a time, Kelly!”

They inch their platforms along the course, narrowly avoiding the wooden brims of the sand pits and the plastic tubs of mud. They keep going, one tiny shuffle at a time, one foot in front of the other, until they’ve passed Julia (who’s currently embedded in a thick pool of mud). 

They pass Courtney, who’s still cautiously taking steps out of memory, and Michela, who’s crawling along at Max’s behest. 

“And our second winner- Kelly!” Chris says. Albert breathes a deep sigh of relief as they pull off their blindfold, squealing at the gorgeous sequin-embroidered dress in front of them. 

Michela and Courtney arrive shortly after, wheezing. Finally- eventually- Julia manages to drag her cake, mud, and sand-covered self across the finish line, collapsing into the suit she was given. 

“And that makes five,” the host chuckles. “Onto our final act!”

---

“Welcome one, welcome all, to the edge of the world!”

The sky- now completely darkened- is the only thing surrounding the players as the wind whips around them. They’re at the very top of the building, hundreds of feet in the air. A few shiver as the cold desert air breezes past them. 

“Not only is the Stratosphere known for its casinos and world-class views, it’s also known for its thrill-seeking rides! Where you’re standing is the SkyJump- the highest decelerator, ever! It’s a sharp 253 meter drop to the ground, folks- and you’ll be climbing it!”

“Excuse me? Climbing?” Noco chuckles. “Isn’t this the part where we go back to our trailers and someone does some special effects.”

Chris stares. Noco raises an eyebrow. 

“Stunt doubles?”

Chris stares. A small nervous look begins to creep up Noco's face. 

“Green screen?”

He is promptly ignored. “Grooms will be carrying their spouses over their shoulders as they descend the side of the building on two measly ropes. But don’t worry- Chef installed a net to catch strays,”

The teens peer over the edge of the building to a measly, thin tightrope net at the bottom. They grimace. 

Noco chuckles nervously. “This is- when are we cutting the cameras, guys?”

“I’d suggest you get moving,” Chris says. The cheer in his tone is almost infectious. “First ones to the bottom win immunity.”

The players grumble amongst themselves and start gearing up as Noco looks between them anxiously. “Guys? Guys?”

Phillip puffs out his chest, putting his hands on his hips with some semblance of masculine pride. “Don’t worry, fair lady. I won’t drop you!”

Courtney rolls their eyes and picks him up, slinging him over their shoulder and beginning their descent as he whines and protests. Albert and Kelly follow, and then Frollo and Mal. 

Michela and Max stare between each other. The former speaks first. “Are you sure you-”

“It’s fine,” he responds, holding out his arms. Michela awkwardly piggybacks him and he begins climbing, only shaking a little. 

The silence is heavy. 

A loud gust of wind whistles past them, and Max white-knuckles the ropes. She grimaces. And then she attempts to small-talk. “It’s really windy,”

No response comes out of him for a long time. The wind picks back up and he clutches the ropes again. 

“If we die here,” he finally says. “I want you to know that I really am sorry. I should have trusted you.”

“I should’ve given you better reason to trust me,” she sighs. “This whole thing has been really messing with my head.”

Max shrugs. “This show is evil. But, no, if anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I was just so worried that I ended up sabotaging myself. You didn’t deserve that,”

“I don’t care. Really, I don’t. And I’ve been meaning to talk to you so we could get over this, but…”

“Albert,” he grits his teeth. “Don’t even mention it. I don’t hold anything against you- I thought you were mad at me.”

“I was for like, a second! But I’ve been more lonely than anything lately, and…” Michela pauses, looking off at the sparkling lights of the city. “I love you. I don’t even want to do this stupid show anymore.”

Max’s painfully tight grip on the ropes loosens for a moment, and then he sighs a breath of pure relief. “I don’t either. I love you, too. Let’s get out of here,”

“Yeah, no kidding. 800 feet in the air isn’t an ideal date spot,” She snorts. 

He looks back at her. “I didn’t mean the challenge,”

---

Courtney hisses as Phillip sinks his nails into their shoulder, screaming in pure fear as he scrambles to hold on. “Would you calm down?” they plead for the millionth time. 

“I’m going to die here, and I haven’t even fulfilled my prophecy!”

“Shut up! You’re fine, we’re barely ten feet off the ground,” 

He cowers like a puppy who’s tail had been stepped on. “I just can’t do anything right… I can’t even kill a person… I’m a failure…”

Courtney raises an eyebrow. “What-?”

Phillip suddenly lets go, spreading his arms out wide and falling backwards into the confines of the net. Courtney gasps as he throws himself. 

“Move it or lose it, economy class!” Mal shouts as she and Frollo whiz down the rope, sliding right past Courtney. Their feet touch the soft asphalt first, and Mal gives a little bow. 

“Mal and Frollo have won immunity!” Chris shouts into his megaphone. The other pairs groan. 

At the very top of the building, not even touching the ropes, Noco stares down in fear. Julia whacks him upside the head and he stumbles forward, falling off the side of the building with a long shriek. She grins. 

---

JULIA: “Well, it’s like they say- til death do us part,”

---

Phillip’s eyes widen and he manages to scramble out of the way seconds before Noco falls into the net. Chris beams. 

“Did… did I win?” Noco asks weakly. 

“Not even close,” The host chuckles, unable to keep the sadistic enthusiasm out of his voice. “How’s that staging for ‘ya?”

Julia steps out of the building, brushing off her shirt with a deeply unamused expression. Courtney raises an eyebrow. “Where’d you come from?”

“The elevator,” she rolls her eyes. “Thanks to Captain Conspiracy over here, I didn’t even touch that rope.”

“You’re not missing out on anything,” Kelly mumbles, looking dazed as they hold their head. 

Albert offers a small pat to their shoulder. “You did surprisingly well for someone of your… disposition. Are you alright?”

They wave him off. “I’ll be fine… I just need a little… TLC, that’s all…” and with that, they pass out on the ground. 

Mal and Frollo both grin at the display. Julia narrows her eyes at them. 

Courtney clears their throat. “Hey… where are Max and Michela?” 

That pulls everyone’s attention away from glaring at each other, and they turn from side to side. 

---

“No sign of ‘em,” Chef walks back around the corner with an empty shovel in hand. 

Chris rubs his chin. “So they didn’t go splat… what could’ve…” he sighs. “Fine. Due to… unexpected circumstances, it looks like we won’t be needing an elimination ceremony tonight. Everyone who hasn’t gone missing gets to stay another day.”

The teens cheer. 

---

Julia takes a curt seat in economy class, glaring daggers in Noco’s direction as he tries to cozy up on the bench to no avail. He squirms around for some time before finally sighing, slumping on the wooden surface. 

“Do you people really sleep on these things?”

Phillip stares. “Have you never seen Total Takes?”

“Don’t entertain him. He’s a lunatic,” Julia murmurs. Noco doesn’t respond this time.

Albert has been sulking in the corner of the room for some time, gazing between the floor and the single window in the cabin as if waiting for something. A familiar presence- now holding an ice pack to their forehead- takes a seat next to him. 

Kelly offers him a reassuring smile. “Worried about Michela?”

“Yeah… um, worried,” he mutters. His gaze sharpens and he curses at himself. “It just feels like no matter how I prepare for the unexpected, it always catches me off-guard.”

“Well…” they think aloud. “Maybe that’s because you only expect the worst-case scenario. You don’t see the bright side of things. If I had to guess…”

They pause to stare out the window, their expression shifting to one of both happiness and faint longing. “They probably ran off together, and they’re living their own happily ever after.”

---

A bus stops somewhere in the southwest, amongst a landscape of red and orange, kicking up a cloud of sand as it comes to a screeching halt. The early light of morning has just settled in, the sun rising off in the distance, shrouding everything in a haze of soft golds and periwinkle blues. 

The door hisses open and a crowd of tourists shuffle out, going in all manners of directions. Two figures, holding hands, step out last. 

They stand on the precipice of a cliff, staring over the landscape sprawled out in front of them for miles in every direction. 

“You know… I’ve always thought tourist attractions were overhyped,” Max says. “But this was worth it.”

Michela squeezes his hand as they stare out over the vast, ancient canyon. “It was all worth it,”

[handeaux]

While The Wright Brothers Toiled, Cincinnati’s Flying Machine Fanatics Tanked

Ohio license plates proclaim the Buckeye State as the “Birthplace of Aviation.” Had fate turned out differently, that sobriquet could have applied to Cincinnati. Over the years, several Cincinnati tinkerers tried unsuccessfully to loft a heavier-than-air craft.

As far back as 1834, a Cincinnati resident named Albert Masson constructed a vehicle he described as an “aerial steam boat.” According to a writer signed only as “J.L.” (possibly John Laughlin, secretary of the Ohio Mechanics Institute), in the Liberty Hall and Cincinnati Gazette newspaper [3 July 1834]:

“The boat is about ten feet long; the ribs being covered in silk, in order to render it very light. – The engine, of two horse power, is placed in the middle, and turns four vertical shafts projecting over the bow and stern, into each of which are fixed 4 spiral silken wings, which are made to revolve with a sufficient velocity to cause the vessel to rise.”

According to “J.L.”, the entire apparatus weighed about 60 pounds and Mr. Masson intended to fly the contraption on July 4 – the very next day. At the time of publication, the aerial steam boat was on display “on Race street, nearly opposite the old Lath Factory, below Third street.”

Mr. Masson did not go airborne on Independence Day and, in August, his flying machine was on earthbound display at the Commercial Exchange. The Daily Cincinnati Republican reported, “There is nothing of the balloon principle connected to the apparatus.” and that it was “a beautiful and ingenious piece of mechanism.”

As beautiful and ingenious as it was, the aerial steam boat appears not to have ever achieved flight and all references to it cease after 1834. Tom D. Crouch, curator of aeronautics at the National Air and Space Museum and a former chief of education for the Ohio Historical Society, has researched Masson’s invention extensively, publishing his findings in the Journal of the American Aviation Historical Society [Spring 1974]. According to Mr. Crouch:

“If we are to believe the articles published in the Cincinnati papers, and there seems no reason to doubt them, then Albert Masson was the first person in history to produce a heavier-than-air craft, powered by a prime mover, that was actually intended to fly.”

Although Mr. Masson vanished into the mists of history, between 1840 and 1902, Cincinnati newspapers printed at least 404 articles with the phrase "flying machine." Some of these reports featured home-grown Cincinnati aeronauts.

Cincinnatians awoke on 27 Oct 1889 to learn that a local man, one Ferdinand W. Randall of Main Street, had built a flying machine. In fact, this inventor had quite a surprise for the scientific community. As related by the Cincinnati Enquirer:

"He not only has a flying machine, but claims to have discovered perpetual motion."

The newspaper goes on to relate that Mr. Randall's inventions have "something lacking." That "something" was, of course, money.

Mr. Randall, approximately 35 years in age at the time, was a photographer. His workshop was on Main Street. His flying machine was described as a "peculiar-looking sail-boat" suspended by a wire from the ceiling. It was basically a boat hull, with a screw propeller and rudder at the rear, four wheels and an "intricate mass of fans and wire cables." Two black wings, wider and longer than the boat, were suspended above. According to the Enquirer,

"The beauty about Mr. Randall's machine is that it can move on land, in the water, or in the air."

Randall told the Enquirer he had read every book available on aeronautics and is "undoubtedly well posted on the subject." Well posted or not, Mr. Randall joined the roster of inventors whose aircraft never left the ground.

Curiously, just 18 months later, the Cincinnati newspapers found yet another potential flying machine. This one was created by a mechanic named John Randall, of 322 Vine Street, who had built a flying machine remarkably similar to the airship unveiled by Ferdinand Randall - a boat 18 feet long with a mass of wires attached.

Similar flying machines and identical names? Not a coincidence. The Randalls were brothers who had operated Randall Brothers Outdoor Photographers for several years. The younger brother struck out on his own and got work as a mechanic and electrician.

Ferdinand apparently gave the flying machine to his brother because the machine described in 1891 is almost identical to the 1889 machine with one exception. John replaced the two black wings atop Ferdinand’s machine with a large canvas balloon. In other words, it was no longer a heavier-than-air machine, but only a mechanically propelled lighter-than-air craft. Not the same thing at all.

Had another local man succeeded, Kennedy Heights or Norwood might be known as the birthplace of manned flight. Alas, Charles M. Mallory did not succeed. In fact, he failed again and again and again. Sometimes spectacularly.

In August 1902, the 40-year-old Mallory, a pattern maker with the Bullock Electric Manufacturing Company, announced that he would launch a new flying machine into the air from a vacant lot in Kennedy Heights. With a large crowd observing, he rolled out a contraption described by the Cincinnati Enquirer:

"It was as if two monster Mexican hats had been inverted and joined together by a framework that had wings on either side. At one end was a rudder."

With a squad of volunteers tugging away, Mallory's monstrosity "scudded along the scaffolding for a few feet and then toppled over on one side."

Mallory tried again in November 1902 at the grounds of the old Norwood Inn. This time, instead of human volunteers, Colonel James E. Fennessy, a local theatrical impresario, volunteered to tow the contraption aloft with his automobile. Col. Fennessy got bored waiting for Mallory to prepare his flying machine and drove home. Fennessy sent a chauffeur out to Norwood with another automobile, but he, too, lost patience.

When Mallory was finally ready, no automobiles could be found, despite messengers and phone calls. While waiting in vain for another runabout, Mallory agreed to pose for photographs in his machine, hoisted to the top of a derrick. The wind caught the contraption and dashed it to the ground from a height of 25 feet. Although Mallory was unhurt, his flying machine was in tatters.

Mallory attempted another flight in August 1903 off Lookout Mountain in Tennessee but, again, the wind dashed his contraction to flinders. Interestingly, Mallory told the Cincinnati Post at that time that he had achieved an 80-foot flight in Norwood, a feat suspiciously unseen by any other witness.

Four months later, the Wright boys grabbed the prize.

[gogmstuff]

Images of 1910 in Fashion -

According to Wikipedia, "Geneviève Lantelme (born Mathilde Hortense Claire Fossey, 20 May 1883 – 24/25 July 1911) was a French stage actress, socialite, fashion icon, and courtesan. Considered by her contemporaries to be one of the most beautiful women of the Belle Epoque..."

1910 (November) Geneviève Lantelme in Paquin dress photo by Auguste Bert Le Théatre no. 286. From Wikimedia; fixed spots w Pshop 2489X3663.

Left 1910 (Juin) Lantelme by Félix. From Wikimedia 1947X2868,

Right 1910 (june) Lantelme in Jeanne Lanvin dress photo by Félix Les Modes. From verbinina.wordpress.com/page/8/; fixed spots w Pshop 1864X2522.

1910 (November) Femina cover Geneviève Lantelme wearing fur. From Wikimedia 1654X2068.

According to Wikipedia, "Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida (Valencian: Joaquim Sorolla i Bastida, 27 February 1863 – 10 August 1923)[a] was a Spanish Valencian painter. Sorolla excelled in the painting of portraits, landscapes and monumental works of social and historical themes. His most typical works are characterized by a dexterous representation of the people and landscape under the bright sunlight of Spain and sunlit water." He painted several portraits of his wife Clotilde and at least one of daughter Elena. He portrayed people on the beach in white or dressed in traditional black.

Left 1910 Clotilde con perro y gato by Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida (Museo Sorolla). From joaquin-sorolla.blogspot.com/2009/06/clotilde-sentada_04.html 1000X1600.

Right 1910 Clotilde con sombrero negro by Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida (Museo Sorolla - Madrid, Spain) photo - Ramón Muñoz. From the photostream of Ramón Muñoz on flickr; fixed spots & wrinkles w Pshop 1122X1732.

Left 1910 Clotilde con traje de noche by Joaquín Soroola y Bastida (Museo Sorolla - Madrid, Spain). From joaquin-sorolla.blogspot.com/2014/10/clotilde-con-traje-de-noche_5.html?m=1 1112X1600.

Right 1910 Clotilde sentada en un sofá by Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida (Museo Sorolla - Madrid, Spain). From Wikimedia; fixed spots w Pshop 1168X1932.

1910 Elena (Sorolla) con sombrero negro by Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida (private collection). From joaquin-sorolla.blogspot.com/2015/08/elena-con-sombrero.html?m=1 1198X1594.

Left 1910 Comtesse de la de la Maitrie in equestrian dress by Charles Albert Walhain (private collection) From liveinternet.ru/journalshowcomments.php?jpostid=319050317&journalid=4507805&go=prev&categ=0 950X1679.

Right 1910 Erzherzogin Maria Therese by H. C. Kosel. From eBay; removed mono-color tint 675X1061.

Left 1910 Lady Elsie Duveen, née Salamon by François Flameng (Ferens Art Gallery - Kingston upon Hull, East Riding of Yorkshire, UK). From artrenewal.org/artists/francois-flameng/158 2016X2610 @144 4.9Mp.

Right 1910 Madame Von Bodenhausen avec son enfant Luli by Theo van Rysselberghe (private collection). From the discontinued Athenaeum Web site 721X889.

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

hms captain??

hms captain indeed!!

i meant for this to be a short post but oops its really long already and im nowhere near finished so if you wanna learn about this terribly designed warship, join me after the cut; if you dont, enjoy this picture of an oddly designed ship.

the hms captain was a british warship. it was built during a time where shipbuilders were phasing sails out for steam engines, and where warships were being much better armoured. for example, the hms captain was steam-powered with two propellers and had wrought iron armour.

wrought iron armour caused a problem for warships. like think of any pirate media youve seen where theyve got wooden ships with these iron cannonballs; the cannonballs very easily breach the wooden ships. they dont really do that with iron armour. instead, they bounced off.

so the british admiralty, media and public were all in want, to some extent, of a ship with better guns that could breach ship armour. enter cowper phipps cole:

a man who looks like a rasputin prototype and seems to have the charisma to back up the comparison.

see coles was very good at public engagement. when he needed to, he could very easily get the media and public on his side, which is a power he leveraged in order to get hms captain approved, commissioned and built.

his design, oddly enough, goes back to a raft from the crimean war.

this is the lady nancy, constructed in 1855 to aid during the siege of taganrog. it was for shore bombardment which you can see in this illustration of it. while cameras were a thing back then (i think daguerreotypes existed during this time), i dont believe we have any photos of the lady nancy.

coles was a captain in the navy in 1855, and him and a group of sailors constructed it. according to those there, the guns on the raft were protected by some kind of dome structure or a "cupola" as they called it.

hms captain was inspired by the lady nancy, and so, it was also intended for shore bombardment. for this purpose, two big fuck off rotating turrets were mounted inside the hull on the gun deck.

these had been patented by coles himself in 1859 which is partly how he became a consultant for the admiralty when it came to building ships. being the nephew of admiral lord edmund lyons 1st baron lyons gcb gcmg kch, by marriage, twice over certainly also helped.

quick note on that:

its not technically incest, i think, his wife emily pearson was lyons niece and his mom is the sister of lyons wife augusta

i also didnt know what those acronyms meant beforehand, gcb is a british order of chivalry called most honourable order of the bath, gcmg is another one: most distinguished order of saint michael and saint george, kch is a hanoverian order of chivlary called royal guelphic order. yeah thats just gobbledegook.

lyons was important because of his role in the crimean war as commander-in-chief of the mediterranean fleet and hes credited as ensuring victory for britain.

originally, the admiralty just ordered prototypes of his big fuck off turrets and they were actually impressed with them.

and so the hms prince albert was built with four of them (is that four turrets in your pants or are you just happy to see me) and the hms royal sovereign was converted to be a turret ship. both, however, could only operate as coastal service vessels.

hence, the admiralty allowed coles to draw up plans for a two (2) turret oceangoing ship in 1863, working with nathaniel barnaby who was chief constructor for the navy. keep in mind, coles had little to no experience in ship design.

then, they suspended the project.

but they allowed him to work on a one (1) turret oceangoing ship that was based on the hms pallas with joseph scullard who was head draughtsman in 1864.

and then in 1865, a committee rejected/cancelled his projects, and decided to move forward with a different design for a two (2) turret ship called hms monarch.

this made coles very angry, and an angry coles is not a good thing for the british admiralty.

(i spent an hour making this because im so bad at making things look purposefully bad)

so you know like today where bad actors like andrew tate, tucker carlson, joe rogan and even like graham hancock can just use public platforms and social medias to get a relatively large portion of the population of their side, seemingly with ease, just by talking/communicating confidently, playing into fears and anxieties of the public, and creating an us and them?

yeah so cowper phipps coles was also really good at this. grifters, liars and pretenders have alway existed.

(milo rossi discusses this a lot in his series on hancock's ancient apocalypse docuseries, and id 100% recommend the whole series.)

so how did coles do this?

well, he began with a very strong and very harsh attack on robert spencer robinson who was a vice admiral and controller of the navy, and his full title was admiral sir robert spencer robinson kcb frs.

the title admiral sir is very funny, like i want to get a cat called that with the nickname addy. kcb is basically the same as gcb. lyons was general grand cross and robinson was knight commander, because of fucking course its this stupid. frs is an award given to you from the royal society of london; the fellowship of the ring royal society is granted to those who have made a "substantial contribution to the improvement of natural knowledge, including mathematics, engineering science, and medical science".

it wasnt just mr admiral sir that coles attacked; he also attacked several other admirals who were on the committee but he really seemed to hate robinson. coles also lobbied parliament and the press, focussing on the flaws he saw in monarchs design and how britain was going to be left behind in the shipping arms race since many other nations were pressing ahead with several oceangoing turret ships. unsurprisingly, it was the united states that were winning the race so far.

around this time, coles' contract as a navy consultant was terminated in january 1866. like thats as hard as he was going, he fully lost his job. of course he had his dear not-quite-incest uncle lord lyons to fall back on. one hell of a safety net, very well entwined.

in response to this professional fuck you, coles simply protested that he had been misunderstood and the man must have rolled a nat 20 on his charisma saving roll because on the 1st march 1886, he was re-employed.

he waited a month and a half to submit his critique of the monarch proposal on the 16th april. he refused to publicly support a vessel that didnt represent his "views of a sea going turret-ship" because He Was Like That™. we're in the cowper karen era. his critique went on to say that hms monarch could not give his "principle a satisfactory and conclusive trial."

now at this point, the admiralty really should have just sent him packing. theyve given him chance after chance after chance despite him having pretty much no experience.

like say you have a blocked toilet that you cant unblock, but instead of calling a plumber, you ask your friends nephew whos an art curator who really wants to give this plumbing thing a go. then his first attempt makes it worse; now the taps in your bath turn on everytime you use the kitchen sink and your toilets still blocked. but you give him another go and now theres a shower curtain stuck in your toilet which is still blocked. and now youre fingers are hovering over the call button on a plumbers number when your friend calls and asks you to give their nephew another go. its only been three weeks and theres a 24 hours mcdonalds up the road that you can go to for the bathroom and youve got a shower at work you can use, so you think, okay, sure. and then he accidentally rips your kitchen sink out and you still have a blocked toilet and a non-working shower and your bath taps are running 24/7, and your friend asks you again to give him a "second chance."

like youre not giving him another chance, theres a goddamn shower curtain in your toilet and your kitchen sink is in your fucking living room. of course, youre not giving him another chance.

but say everyone in your street and everyone in your friend group is on his side because hes been telling little lies and charming them all with his aunts baked goods and his knowledge of local art and history. and everyone else is rooting for him and they all believe this is the chance.

thats the situation first naval lord admiral frederick grey (full title: admiral the hon. sir frederick william grey gcb) found himself in. obviously coles should not be given another chance, but the whole country believes he should.

so on the 21st april (thats me moms birthday :)) he agreed that coles should be allowed to build his "perfect" oceangoing turret ship.

and so the hms captain was born

the ship was to be built on a private shipyard and coles selected laird brothers' chesire yard on the 8th may 1866.

one of the biggest problems ship designers had with turret ships is that ships tend to have quite a lot of rigging that gets in the way of the turrets. this was a genuine design flaw for the hms monarch, it was brought up by the chief designer sir edward james reed kcb rfs, but he was overuled. he didnt think a turret ship should have either a forecastle or poop deck.

on a typical warship, youll see a small rise on either end of the ship. at the front/bow, you have the forecastle which was typically used as a defensive measure. at the back/stern, youd typically have the captain quarters within the hull and the roof of that is the poop deck. it would be used for either the captain or a helmsman or a first mate maybe to supervise the crew and their work.

reed, very correctly, did not want these measures because they interfered with the turrets. he also wanted much less rigging because the more wooden beams and rope and sail youve got, the less room the turrets have to fire.

he wrote that "the middle of the upper deck of a full-rigged ship is not a very eligible place for fighting large guns."

and coles and the lairds seemed to agree with this sentiment because their design corrected these flaws.

their solutions were to erect a hurricane deck to place the rigging on. this is an upper deck that is above the frame of the hull. they also used tripod masts to reduce rigging. they also placed the turrets within the hull in their own special gun deck.

now, just because youve corrected for some flaws doesnt mean you havent introduced several of your own which spoiler, the captain had a lot of flaws which we will be getting into.

captain had a length of 320ft or 97.54m; she had a beam (width at the widest part) of 53ft3 or 16.23m; her draught (the distance between the waterline and the keel/bottom of the hull) was 24ft10 or 7.57m; and her top speed was 15 knots which is about 17mph.

in a futile attempt at a balanced view, i will say that the speed was fairly impressive. most other ships had top speeds of 10-12 knots or about 11-14mph. the use of double propellers was a good choice.

one of the very few good choices.

see the captain was designed to displace or essentially weigh 6910 long tons, and was expected to have a freeboard of about 8ft or 2.4m.

a ships freeboard is the distance between her exposed upper deck and the waterline. typically, warships have high freeboards. its not quite as simple as the higher the freeboard, the more stable your ship is, but in general, higher freeboards do offer more stability. this is something the captain needed

see, most of her weight was high up in the ship which meant she had a low metacentric height. to not get into all of the complicated science that im not entirely sure i understand (dyspraxic nation rise up), lower metacentric heights tend to make ships more unstable.

[from wikipedia:]

so all of this is a bad design. apart from her impressive speed, she seemed like a ship with poor stability and a real risk of flooding because of the exposed gun decks. and with flooding, you might just fucking capsize 🚢⬆️↗️↘️🌊☠️

mr admiral sir robert spencer robins already raised concerns at the design stage in regards to the low freeboard and flooding. reed also raised concerns about the ship being too heavy and having too high a centre of gravity, but they were ignored.

if i had a nickel for every time edward james reed was overruled after raising a legitimate concern about the design of a turret ship, id have two nickels, but its weird its happened twice.

still, first lord of the admiralty (genuinely feel like this is a made up job) sir john pakington approved the design on the 23rd july 1866, though he did note that coles and the lairds would be held responsible for any failures.

if youre interested, john pakingtons full title is john somerset pakington 1st baron hampton gcb pc frs and he was a fucking tory, and the right honourable lord hampton, which okay, dude, you overcompensating for anything over there? pc means he was a member of his majestys most honourable privy council, who are all advisors yes-men to whichever bellend is on the crown.

moving past that cag-mag of a man, lets talk about how this mess got even worse. and you might be asking, "kai, how can it get worse? havent you already told me that the ship can easily sink?"

and you know, fair point, but you can always make your ship even more likely to sink.

see coles came down with an illness during the building of the ship. im not sure what it was; i cant find anything on it, but whatever it was, it meant he couldnt supervise the building of his ship. now, im not sure how much that would help considering he was the art curator turned amateur plumber in the metaphor, but maybe it would have done some good.

because when she was finished, she did not displace 6910 long tons. no, she displaced 7767 long tons. and her 8ft freeboard turned into a 6ft6 or 1.98m freeboard. she was floating 22 inches deeper than expected. oh, and her centre of gravity raised by 10 inches!

reed didnt just raise hell over this, he dragged heaven down too. and its not like he was wrong. the ship was a floating disaster.

hms captain had an angle of list of 21°. this means of she listed 21° or more, she would capsize.

now, theres no real average angle of list, but most people would say 40-50° as a reasonable yardstick. for some vessels, it might dip into the 30s°, but 21° is a ridiculously low angle of list.

for reference, this is a 20° angle.

its not much of an angle, is it?

and remember, the captain is meant to be an oceangoing vessel. the oceans dont exactly have a reputation for being calm.

unless youve got a direct telegram to poseidon and are in a place where you can ask him to calm down, the captains not gonna have fun.

and of course when reed raised his concerns, he was overuled.

if i had a nickel for every time edward james reed was overruled after raising a legitimate concern about the design of a turret ship, id have three nickels, and its kinda concerning that its happened three times.

instead, she was commissioned on the 30th april 1870 under captain hugh talbot burgoyne vc. to commission a ship is simply to place it into active service. also vc simply means burgoyne received the victoria cross whatever that one is.

anyway, she underwent several trials in the months after this and i guess everyone had pre-ordered their rose-coloured glasses because the captain won many supporters and was considered everything that coles had promised.

part of these trials were the gunnery trials. these took place in vigo and the captain was against both hms monarch and hms hercules, a non-turret ship. their target was a 600ft long, 60ft high rock. they each had 5 minutes of continuous firing.

all three ships had problems with aiming after the first few shots because the smoke emitted from the weapons meant they couldnt fucking see anything.

still, hms hercules had an accuracy rate of 65%, while hms monarch came in with a 40% rate and hms captain limped in with a 35% rate.

and im not just using "limped" as an exaggeration, these trials showed that when the turrets fired, it caused the ship to list and the list was 20°.

im sure you can see the problem there.

if you can, youre better than the admiralty who just ignored it and was like fantastic, she works. coles straight up had the entire admiralty hostage and the only person speaking up was reed.

if i had a nickel for every time edward james reed was overruled after raising a legitimate concern about the design of a turret ship, id have four nickels, which is great and all but id rather give reed a hug at this point.

-

now the 35% accuracy didnt really matter if the captain was going to be used for shore bombardment. most of the time, youre not aiming for anything specific, youre just trying to cause as much damage as possible.

but that 20° list? that mattered.

it mattered a lot because on the 7th september 1870, she capsized.

shocking i know. only five months after being commissioned and everything.

that day, she was running trials in the bay of biscay during a storm when she was hit by a gale of wind. she rolled over and capsized.

there were over 500 people on board and only 18 survived. coles was among the dead. i hope their souls were able to find peace.

theres a memorial for them in st paul's cathedral in london if youd ever like to pay your respect to them.

now theres not much else to say about the captain other than the inquiry into the sinking blame the public for it.

they concluded that "the captain was built in deference to public opinion expressed in parliament and through other channels, and in opposition to views and opinions of the controller and his department" and this was pretty significant in victorian britain as it was unprecedented.

but realistically, it wasnt wrong. they were the ones backing coles the whole time.

so i guess if theres something to learn from this mess, its that if youre going to support a public figure, whether it be a celebrity or politician or scientist or whatever, take a step back and ask yourself "do i agree with what theyre saying or are they just very good at talking?"

im sure someones said it better than me, but you know, that sentiment. we can also laugh at how much of a disaster hms captain was.

[thewarmestplacetohide]

Dread by the Decade: Mystery House

👻 You can support me on Ko-Fi! ❤️

½

Plot: After desecrating a Hindu temple, a drunken archeologist is cursed to be hunted by a gorilla.

Review: This muddled story is further weighted down by bad performances, atrocious pacing, failed comedy, and racism.

Source Material: The Ape by Adam Hull Shirk Year: 1934 Genre: Occult, Creature Feature, Horror Comedy Country: United States Language: English Runtime: 1 hour 2 minutes

Director: William Nigh Writer: Albert De Mond Cinematographer: Archie Stout Editor: Carl Pierson Cast: Ed Lowry, Verna Hillie, John Sheehan, Brandon Hurst, Joyzelle Joyner

------

Story: 1.5/5 - The premise is obtuse and racist, made all the more confusing by its bad pacing. Who characters are and how they relate to each other is often impossible to decipher, and almost nothing is shown, with scene after scene consisting of boring exposition.

Performances: 1.5/5 - School theater level line delivery. No one has the charisma or timing for comedy.

Cinematography: 2/5 - A few interesting shots are tempered by an overall blandness.

Editing: 1.5/5 - Sometimes scenes cut too soon, further muddying the plot.

Sets: 2/5 - Cheap and sparsely dressed.

Costumes, Hair, & Make-Up: 2/5 - A combination of boring, cheap, and racist.

Trigger Warnings:

Mild violence

Brownface

Inaccurate, racist portrayal of Indian culture and Hinduism

Animal death

[pedanther]

The older translator takes the pruning shears to the poetical descriptive passages again:

«Mais où diable trouvez-vous de pareils chevaux? demanda Albert. Vous les faites donc faire exprès? —Justement, dit le comte. Il y a six ans, je trouvai en Hongrie un fameux étalon renommé pour sa vitesse; je l’achetai je ne sais plus combien: ce fut Bertuccio qui paya. Dans la même année, il eut trente-deux enfants. C’est toute cette progéniture du même père que nous allons passer en revue; ils sont tous pareils, noirs, sans une seule tache, excepté une étoile au front, car à ce privilégié du haras on a choisi des juments, comme aux pachas on choisit des favorites.

“but where the devil do you get such horses? Are they made to order?” “Precisely,” said the count; “six years since I bought a horse in Hungary remarkable for its swiftness. The thirty–two that we shall use to–night are its progeny; they are all entirely black, with the exception of a star upon the forehead.”

“Where in the world did you find such horses?” Albert asked. “Did you have them bred specially?” “Just so,” the count replied. “Six years ago, I came across a stallion in Hungary, famous for its speed. I bought it, I don’t know how much it cost; Bertuccio paid for it. In that same year, it had thirty-two offspring. We shall be able to inspect that entire generation of children from the one father. Each one is alike, black, without a single blemish except a star on the forehead: this privileged member of the stud had his mares chosen for him, like the favourites of a pasha.”

-

Dans une anse d’une certaine grandeur se balançait une petite corvette à la carène étroite, à la mâture élancée, et portant à la corne un pavillon aux armes de Monte-Cristo, armes représentant une montagne d’or posant sur une mer d’azur, avec une croix de gueules au chef, ce qui pouvait aussi bien être une allusion à son nom rappelant le Calvaire, que la passion de Notre-Seigneur a fait une montagne plus précieuse que l’or, et la croix infâme que son sang divin a faite sainte, qu’à quelque souvenir personnel de souffrance et de régénération enseveli dans la nuit du passé mystérieux de cet homme.

In a creek lay a little sloop, with a narrow keel and high masts, bearing on its flag the Monte Cristo arms which were a mountain on a sea azure, with a cross gules on the shield.

A little corvette was bobbing in a fairly large cove; it had a narrow hull and tall mast with a flag flying from the lateen yard and bearing Monte Cristo’s coat of arms: a mountain on a field azure with a cross gules at the chief, which could also have been an allusion to his name (evoking Calvary, which Our Saviour’s passion has made a mountain more precious than gold, and the infamous cross which his divine blood made holy) as much as to any personal memory of suffering and regeneration buried in the mysterious night of the man’s past.

-

... une pièce plus haute, et placée au rez-de-chaussée, était consacrée à toutes les ingénieuses machines que les Anglais, grands pêcheurs, parce qu’ils sont patients et oisifs, n’ont pas encore pu faire adopter aux routiniers pêcheurs de France.

... a lofty room on the ground–floor containing all the ingenious instruments the English—eminent in piscatory pursuits, since they are patient and sluggish—have invented for fishing.

A more lofty room on the ground floor was given over to all those ingenious devices that the English – who are great fishermen, because they have both patience and leisure – have so far not managed to persuade the more workaday fishermen of France to adopt.

-

«Vous trouverez peut-être mon départ étrange, insensé, dit le jeune homme. Vous ne comprenez pas comment quelques lignes écrites sur un journal peuvent mettre un homme au désespoir; eh bien, ajouta-t-il en lui jetant le journal, lisez ceci, mais quand je serai parti seulement, afin que vous ne voyiez pas ma rougeur.»

“You may think my departure strange and foolish,” said the young man; “you do not know how a paragraph in a newspaper may exasperate one. Read that,” said he, “when I am gone, that you may not be witness of my anger.”

“You may find my departure odd, even senseless,” he said. “You may not realize how a few lines in a newspaper can drive a man to despair. Well,” the young man added, throwing the paper to the count, “read this, but only after I have left, so that you do not see my shame.”