#Always weird the way a lot of these things completely divorce aesthetics from their inspiration | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sepiadice · 6 years ago

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Art Direction of Tabletop RPGs

Dungeons and Dragons is good at being Dungeons and Dragons.

That shouldn't be a controversial opinion, and it's not worded as one, yet I have one friend who derisively labels it as a war game, and another friend who believes D&D is all you need in regards to TRPGs. These two are from distinct eras of my life, and have never met.[1]

My moderate view is such: Dungeons and Dragons is good. It's not the ultimate system, but if you want a western fantasy built on the framework of Tolkien, Fifth Edition is the way to go. You could use a different system, in theory, but no other system has the same reach and stability. Everyone knows D&D, which is valuable.

Its combat and mechanics are a good balance of grit and function, and it's mostly teachable. My friend's 'wargaming' derision is because he believes it doesn't support role-playing well. Something about the guy who wrote Dungeon World saying if it's not in the rules, it’s not in the game.[2] But I've always felt that D&D makes the right decision in not bogging it down with structure and dictating the 'correct' way to role-play.

However, if you want to do anything else (Sci-fi, non-european fantasy, superheroes, Slice of Life), best case scenario the seams will creak in the attempt. D&D is good at being D&D, and that's the limit.

I appreciate D&D. I'll play D&D, happily!

There's a reason I bristle when “DM” is used as the generic term.

That said, I've always had a sort of tonal disconnect when I play D&D, and it's because of the art.

Fair warning, what follows is a lot of personal interpretations and vague mumbling trying to relay a point. I’m not actually an authority on anything.

(Dungeons & Dragons owned by Wizard of the Coast . Image sourced from Wikipedia)

Dungeons and Dragons does not have pretty art. It’s technically well done, and far from ugly, but it’s not actually inspiring. Above we have the cover of the Player’s Handbook, the first thing most new players see. Setting aside that the focus of the cover art for what should be the book about Player Characters is a giant monster man[4], the cover is very orange. The actual people are composed of muted, neutral colors, and the background is vague and out of focus.

It’s not really conveying an air of fantastic worlds and larger-than-life characters (giant wearing a dragon skeleton aside). It coveys oppression, monotony, and “realism”.

(Pathfidner owned by Paizo. Image sourced from Wikipedia)

Pathfinder’s core rulebook, on the other hand, is colorful. Look at that big, bright dragon![5] Sensibly dressed Fighter Man’s brown clothes are still bright enough to pop him out from the green-grey dungeon background[6], and Fantastic Sorceress’s red dress is also bright and helps frame the Fighter as her hand glows with magic.

While both covers feature a woman with an orb of magic, D&D’s cover shows magic as contained and lighting a small space, while Pathfinder’s magic is big and trailing, hinting at movement.

Actually, D&D’s mage girl doesn’t have a cohesive movement. Is she falling from above? Jumping in from the left? Where is she going? It doesn’t really follow in a meaningful way.

Anyways: color. Yes, yes, I know the plague of brown and and muted tones is a much whined about criticism, and it might seem odd from someone calling himself SepiaDice, but neutral tones have their place; usually as background and supporting other colors to pop more.

Besides, Sepia has a noble history in film, the brown range isn’t a common image color, and Sepia is fun to say.[7]

Color choice is very important. Bright colors draw the eye and make visuals more distinctive. Bright colors also denote and bring energy to things. Dull colors are used for locations meant to be calm and sedate. If you want the characters and locations to seem fun and full of life, you fill it with bright colors.

Everything breaths, adventure can strike at anytime!

Dull colors, and it’s hibernation. People are around, but they don’t seem to enjoy it.

But let’s turn to the visual storytelling: what does each cover tell you about life in their setting?

D&D: lots of posing to look fancy, but there’s no real sense of energy. Jumpy Magerson’s weird Megaman hop has been mentioned, of course. The Giant has a look of dull surprise as he drops Jumpy Magerson,[8] as he holds a sword in the non-active hand. Foreground fencer man is wide open, holding his own foil up and away from where it might accidentally jab anyone. The locations is… orange? Looks like there might be lava geysers?

Patherfinder: A dragon roars at its enemies! Teeth bared, tongue coiled, tendons on display! Wings unfurled to make it seem larger! The fighter is yelling back at the dragon, his weapons mid-swing! Shoulder forwards to defend the rest of the body! The Sorceress is holding a firm stance as she casts a spell that crackles with arcane energy!

Pathfinder’s cover tells a story of epic combat, fizzly magic, and energy. D&D’s cover tells a story of two adventurers existing in a space also occupied by a giant.

Now, both of these systems have the same ancestry, as Pathfinder is an iteration on D&D 3.5.[9] But one sparks more joy when I look at it.

But let’s do another case study. I’ll need an audience volunteer, and my brother’s the only person immediately on hand.

I’m going to make him list three qualities of goblins real quick:

Green

Wimpy

Sneaky

Awesome. Don’t know if the green text translated, but those are what he wrote. Give him a hand!

So, with those three traits in mind, let’s look at a goblin picture from D&D Beyond:

(Owned by Wizards of the Coast. Source here)

Like, you can’t say D&D doesn’t call that a goblin, it’s literally on the goblin page.

This guy is yellow. He’s built like a four foot tall WWE Wrestler. He’s defending with his advancing arm as he rears up to smack ya!

(Okay, “Sneaky” is a hard one to argue.)

Moving on, what does Pathfinder call a Goblin:

(Owned by Paizo. Source here)

Look at this charming miscreant! Green. Big ole head. Good mix of of ugly and oddly adorable. Probably two feet tall, and happens to want your two feet, please, but you could step on him if you’d like.

He also looks like a Gremlin

(An adorable little chaos monster owned by Warner Brothers. Source)

Point is, Pathfinder’s more cartoony take on the classic monster feels more in the spirit of the thing. Every time I see one of those goofy faces, I feel like I’m in for an enjoyable time.

Bringing us back around to the point of this essay: the art direction of D&D bogs down my theater of the mind. The art in the rulebooks don’t inspire creativity or fantastic visions. It inspires… dull, lifeless people walking through dirt roads flanked by dead grass.

I don’t enjoy looking at D&D’s art. Relatedly, I don’t like looking at the art of Magic: the Gathering, whose style I can’t help by see in every D&D sourcebook cover I see. Neither game invokes an inviting world, but utilitarian ones that exist to give quick, forgettable visual flair to represent mechanical card effects.

To save making this long essay even longer and unfocused, I’ll save talk of actual ‘canon’ lore for another time.[10]

So why do I, a semi-professional funny man and sad dreamer who can’t actually draw, want to talk about rulebook art?

Well, I’ve always felt a disconnect when I play D&D. I make the characters, I roll the dice, I attempt to role-play, but I’ve always had an emotional gap between me and the character I’m playing. I like the concept, but when I use my theater of the mind, the character feels stiff and divorced from everything. Kind of like the 5th Edition rulebook.

Then I saw this:

(Source tweet. All of this artist’s work is great and I wish I could hire them.)

This half-elf showed up on my twitter timeline, and my first thought was ‘How come my characters don’t look like that?’

Soon followed by ‘Why couldn’t they?’

Then I completed the trilogy with ‘Why haven’t I imagined my characters in a style appealing to me?’

As I was deep into contemplating what sort of aesthetic I consider my “brand”,[11] it was entering a mind primed to start overanalyzing.

So, how do I imagine my characters? In the neighborhood of the D&D art, if I have firm concept. Micah Krane always was mentally nebulous to me, just kinda being a generic half-elf dude. Trix (who was created for the brightly colored Pathfinder) is green-haired and wears a tail coat, but otherwise is also normal looking in my mind’s eye. In the last two D&D campaigns, Tybalt was also vague in appearance, and Teddi had Goat horns, but those were meant to stand out on a generic rogue character.[13]

But you know what I’ve never put on a character I’ve played? Glasses.

I hope that those who read my various media reviews[14] don’t need this overly explained, but I like glasses. I, myself, don’t wear glasses, but I find them to be great accessories in character design. Frames the eyes, come in a variety of shapes, adds bit of extra visual interest. I always point out Meganekkos and pay them extra attention.[15] I really, really like girls with glasses.

But I’ve never made one. Because there’s no cute design in D&D rulebooks. Just a range of handsome people to ugly halflings.[16]

That is the effect of art design in a system. It sets tone, expectations, and aesthetic for the players. It’s so ingrained that everytime I see art of players’ characters that break the standard, it always takes me aback. It’s inspiring to see artists who manage to divorce D&D the game from D&D the art.

I want to imagine fun, personally appealing characters. But the subtle direction of the insert art as I look through to rulebook, or the provided character portraits of D&D Beyond does not suggest things I like to see. It infects the mind, and leaves specific molds. People in practical, mundane clothes, walking down drab, uninteresting roads.

It’s the same lack of escapism that makes Western (Video Game) RPGs super unappealing to me.[17] Dark Souls, Elder Scrolls, Bioshock don’t look like fun places to be, they look tiring and full of splintery furniture waiting to do 1d4 nonlethal damage.

So I have to talk about anime now.

My mother was staying at my home a little while ago, and I turned on My Roommate is a Cat. This prompted her ask me about what about anime was appealing. I couldn’t form a competent answer for the question at the time, but it’s had time to churn in my head.

Anime is a good middle ground between cartoon and realism. It can broach deeper topics and more mature storytelling than children’s cartoons,[18] without sacrificing a light visual tone and fantastic imagery. Also, the fact that it’s produced by a non-American, non-European culture lends a degree of separation with cultural expectations and tropes. Enhances Escapism.

Luckily, in (very) recent years, after generations of exchanging video games and animation back and forth, Japanese Tabletop RPGs are starting to join in on the fun.

Which means I can look at Ryuutama.

(Image copied from DriveThruRPG. Brought over the pacific by Kotodama Heavy Industries. Buy this book.)

I love this system.

Watercolor art direction. Layout evokes a spellbook. Two Characters and a Dog take the focus on the cover, while the road signs and tiny shrine in the background invoke the emphasis on travel and wonder.

The interior art?

(Taken off the Ryuutama (english) website. Buy this book.)

Well, that makes the game just look like fun. Cartoony characters fighting cat goblins. Conflict, but it doesn’t make life feel like a constant struggle. A world I wish to inhabit. There’s also more detailed images of dragons and other world-establishing pictures mixed in to give the art range, but it’s this sort of charming that makes Ryuutama the first rulebook I actually sat and read cover to cover.[19] It’s a good system I already reviewed. Buy this PDF, maybe they’ll reprint the physical book.

Anyways, I’ll admit, the art’s a little too simple for D&D. Perfect for Ryuutama, and the end of the scale I want my mental image to be, but overshoots the sweet spot. And it’s difficult enough to find players for the much more popular 5e, so Ryuutama exclusivity would grind my playtime to zero.

Still, Ryuutama does a great job of setting it’s light, fantastic tone, where D&D has failed me. The art direction of the books, and years of exposure and defaulting to what I assume D&D should look for establishes a mental habit that’s hard to break. Wizards of the Coast has drowned nerd spaces with its particular kind of art, especially with MtG plastered all over hobby stores, deck boxes, dice, playmats, and even D&D sourcebooks.

That’s not even accounting for fanworks and the speculative fiction art in online spaces.

So what do I want to look like? Were I blessed with talent or with patient to actually learn to draw well, what would I be referencing?

What about what set my expectations of fantasy years before IndigoDice invited me to that fateful Traveller game?

(Screen cap of Tales of Vesperia grabbed from here.)

Well, okay, what I’m actually thinking about is Tales of Symphonia, but Vesperia’s graphics are kinda what nostalgia tells me Symphonia tooked like, as opposed to what it actually looks like.[20]

Look at that verdant town! Warm lighting, bright characters, leaves growing to depict life. A hotel built into a tree. This is a fantasy world that is unashamed about life thriving.

Forget solarpunk. This is my aesthetic.

As for the party members…

(Okay, Judith’s a little gratuitous, but The Definitive Edition lets me put her in a suit, and she’s awesome. Art stolen from here.)

Oddly enough, as far as JRPG outfits go, these are pretty tame with details.[21] Mostly bright, popping colors, even Yuri’s dark clothes are done in such a way to not feel grim and edgy, hints of personality, and I just enjoy looking at them.

The Tales series as a whole does a good job of taking European fantasy and applying Japanese whimsy to the design. Also yukatas. Every member looks like the hero of their own story, while still being part of a cohesive whole.

Which is, you know, the ideal way to operate as a TRPG party.

So, what’s the take away?

Artists, keep being creative. Pull inspiration in from things besides the rulebooks and Critical Role. Look at the other things you love and bring visual flare and whimsy to your art. Then share it. Ignite the passions of those of us who can’t do the draw-good thing.

Players, play with the tropes. I love doing it narratively and mechanically. My favorite rogue is still my neutral good stage magician who would never do a crime. Explore what’s possible in the freeform world of tabletop games, both in play and your Theater of the Mind.

Game designers, branch out with the art. And stop using Powered by the Apocalypse as a crutch.[22]

Hope this long ramble was enjoyable and cohesive. If you want more of this, my other works, and maybe to allow me to make an actual play podcast, consider supporting me through Patreon or Ko-fi.

Until next time, may your dice make things interesting.

[1] Though I would love to read a transcript of the two discussing it. It'd be a fun debate. [2] I don't like Powered by the Apocalypse for precisely this reason. Every actual play I've heard with the system has players talking about their characters in the abstract, because they're just pressing the buttons on their character sheet.[3] [3] I maybe should do a breakdown of PbtA one day. [4] Which is pretty poor direction. Do an epic group shot of characters battling a horde around them. [5] None of the D&D core books has a dragon on the cover. Come on, that should’ve been a gimme! [6] Similar note as footnote 5. [7] Also CornflowerBlueDice is too long to be catchy. [8] I figured it out! [9] I haven’t looked at at Pathfinder’s forthcoming second edition. Fifth Edition reclaimed it’s throne as The ubiquitous system after fourth lost its footing, so I don’t think there’s much point. [10] TL;DR: I ignore it. [11] Pulp Fantasy is too mundane. Steampunk is too victorian-y. Sci-fi fractals into so much. Solarpunk has appeal, but isn’t quite right.[12] [12] Haven’t really found the term. [13] Let’s not examine that I put more thought into female character design than male for the moment. [14] Which you should. Validate my efforts! [15] And desperately pray it’s considered innocent enough of a fetish that I don’t have to stop. [16] Never liked halflings. Gnomes are fine. Halflings, in art, have always been off-putting and malformed. [17] That and the emphasis of character customization kneecapping the Player Character’s narrative involvement. Can’t give them a personality if that’s the end user’s job! [18] Even Avatar: The Last Airbender felt like it had to sneak the narrative depth it achieved past corporate. [19] I do need to give it a reread, though. Relearn the system. [20] It still looks good, especially the environment, but the characters are kind of… leaning towards chibi. [21] This, specifically, is why I chose to highlight Vesperia over Rune Factory. [22] Technically nothing to do with this essay, but I can’t stress this point enough.

#SepiaDiceRants #ryuutama #Fifth Edition #Dungeons and Dragons #pathfinder #tales of vesperia

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iv-kplpt · 7 years ago

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you steal the air out of my lungs

plot summary: au for charlie and oswald inspired by my fav movie - “red eye”. loosely inspired. she falls for a handsome friend of a friend. he turns out to be not who he claimed to be. she’s conflicted. there is some Sad involved. also, a man dies - actually, make that 2. basically i built another au with a lot of potential. i always wanted a batman universe without the batman. will be put on ao3 along with the collegeverse as soon as i write some more weird aus.

10k words. no explicit violence or sex. skyler hill belongs to @alan-of-all-trades and louise still belongs to my babe. thanks for letting me use them, i love you guys.

At first it was just a blind date.

It all began about three months earlier, when her friend set her up on a casual date with someone. Charlie had moved to Gotham about six months earlier, because her parents - renowned hotel owners, behind family-owned Crowne Continental suggested a change of surroundings might help her. They wanted to try and branch out a bit, and Charlie was tasked with overseeing Crowne Continental's first branch outside of New York.

Being a resolute person, she quickly found some friends in Gotham to hang out with during rare free evenings - a lawyer, two journalists and a secretary, all young, elegand and succesful; and in relationships. She actually befriended two couples - and they were absolutely wonderful, helpful and welcoming when needed and snarky at other times; but their pet names and lovestruck gazes felt a bit like salt to the wound of her own loneliness.

She was not on good terms with her ex-husband. Their - quick and ugly - divorce left her feeling scarred and disillusioned; but at the same time, she missed and craved the emotional intimacy of a relationship, the pet names, the feelings, the physical aspect. She missed being in love and she missed the feeling of someone being in love with her.

(She knew the world is not a loveless place. She still had people around to remind her of this fact.)

So when Louise - her lawyer friend, who was actually an assistant district attorney, working under Harvey Dent - offered to hook her up with a friend of hers Charlie didn't really mind.

"He's a decent guy." she assured her, when they were sitting in their favorite café, drinking iced lattes. "He's kind of... Obnoxious at times, but he's an old friend. He's a charmer, really."

"Alright, let's say I'm in. Is he handsome?"

"That depends on your definition of handsome, sugar. He's definitely not my type."

"Well, what does he look like?"

"Like an asshole." Louise replied instantly, laughing quietly. "Sorry. Me and Tommy, we go way back and after some time this became my default way of describing him. He's... Tall. Black hair, grey eyes... Kinda slim. I'm sure he's handsome in eyes of people who like the bad boy type, because that's his main aesthetic. And he's very committed to it. He's great at pretentious dishevelment."

"Did you just quote Robert Pattinson?"

"Maybe." Louise replied nonchalantly, taking another sip of her coffee. "But how would you know this in a first place? Been watching some interviews, Charlie?"

"I liked Twilight for some time." Charlie confessed. "I was totally Team Edward."

"Fuck, seriously? We're no longer friends, I was Team Jacob. But I guess... You might like Tommy, considering your shitty taste in men." Louise said with a smirk and Charlie groaned, almost regretting mentioning that in the first place.

"So, are you up for it?"

"Alright." Charlie agreed more enthusiastically than she planned to. "Set us up on a date. Just... Don't make it a coffee date. I'm starting to get sick at the thought of bean juice."

"Oh, you high maintenance minx." Louise sighed dramatically. "Fine. No coffee. It's a good thing he prefers tea anyway. When are you free?"

"I have a slow afternoon tomorrow."

"Perfect."

She took out her phone and - not taking her eyes off Charlie's amused face - called someone.

"Hey asshole." she said after a moment. "Are you free tomorrow? She said yes. What? Oh, sure. Hey Charlie, any location preferences?"

"Somewhere near Crowne would be perfect, I have a meeting in the evening-"

"You heard her, somewhere near Crowne. Mmmhmmm. Yeah. Sure. Don't be late. Fuck off. Bye!"

She hung up and smiled cheerfully.

"He can meet you at three at Aisha's. You know where that is, right?"

"I've been there a few times. They have great cupcakes there."

"Great, then you're all set. He says he's looking forward to meeting you."

"Does he know how I look like?"

"I told him you're pretty. And... Very red-haired. Is that even your natural color?"

"It is, actually. It runs in the family."

"You're a mutant."

"Aren't we all?"

*** The thought of - altough a casual and with no strings attached - her upcoming date with Louise's mysterious friend was making her slightly nervous and excited at the same time. She knew Lou wouldn't set her up with a complete douche - she had faith in the people Louise surrounded herself with. He was an old friend, after all; their relationship lasted for years for a good reason.

She was slightly late, when she arrived at Aisha's Teahouse - her previous meeting was longer than she planned and then she got lost on the way, because she decided to not take a cab.

The place was crowded when she walked in, her hair a mess and her cheeks red, thanks to the wind. She looked around quickly, trying to figure out if her date is already there.

"Are you Charlie?" she suddenly heard a voice; an elderly waitress was standing in front of her, resting her empty tray on her hip. "There is a young man waiting for you. There, in the corner."

"Thank you!" she replied, taking her jacket off and putting it on a rack. "Oh, I see him."

Tommy indeed was already there - in the far corner of the room, occupying one of the more secluded tables. He was reading something on his phone and only looked up as she approached the table; and during her short walk she had a chance to take a good, long look at him.

He was handsome, she decided. Exactly her type, if she even had one - if she was younger and still in her rebellious phase, she'd probably fall for him instantly, for his smirk, for his bright eyes and a small scar across the bridge of his nose.

"Hey." she said nervously. "Sorry I'm late."

"Not a problem." he said; he put his phone down and got up, looking at her and for a brief moment she found herself completely lost in his eyes and the first hints of crow's feet next to them. "I have to say, Lou's words didn't quite do you justice."

He winked at her, gently took her hand and brushed it with his lips, still looking her in the eye. She was almost glad her cheeks were red from the wind - it masked her blush a bit.

"She was right when she said you're a charmer." she said, as he pulled out a chair for her and she sat down, noting the faint scent of his - definitely not cheap - cologne.

(Her father was a connoisseur, and she learned the difference between the good colognes and the cheap stuff at a fairly young age. In fact, she was almost sure Tommy is using the same brand as her father.)

They ordered - classic Earl Grey and blueberry muffin for him, and Darjeeling and strawberry cheesecake for her - and she started playing with her fingers, staring at her palms and only glancing at him occasionally.

He was smiling every time she looked at him, his head tilted slightly to the side.

"So, Charlie... Who talks first?" he said finally. "You? Me?"

"Let's play rock-paper-scissors." she suggested and his face lit up. "The loser has to be first to introduce themself like a loser."

"Deal." he said, hiding his right hand under the table.

He lost and she took a sip of her hot tea to hide her smile.

"Let's see..." he said eventually, stirring his tea. "My name's Thomas, I've lived here and there, and I'm not related to the Gotham businessman named Thomas Elliot. I like... Dogs. Nerd stuff. Oh, and boxing. And color red." he finished with a smirk, glancing at her hair. "Now's your turn."

(His eyes on her felt rigt.)

"My name's Charlie, I'm from New York and yes, I am related to those slightly obnoxious hotel owners. I like..."

She paused for a moment, trying to find the right stuff to list (and to not impulsively say you).

"I like games. And good tv shows. Not soap operas though, those are unbearable. Red wine. Penguins. Lace."

"That's an interesting combination. Penguins? Really?"

"They are cute." she said defensively. "Also I watched Pingu a lot as a kid. Must have imprinted in my brain, or something."

"I'm not judging. Usually people pick cats or horses or snakes as their favorite animals. Not... Penguins."

"Yeah, well, I'm one of a kind." she said nonchalantly and he grinned and her heart skipped a beat.

"Then I guess I'm a really lucky guy."

They spent a nice afternoon together, once she loosened up a bit - Tommy really was a charmer. He was funny, attentive, great at compliments; and there was something in the way he looked at her, the way he tilted his head that was making her feel a pleasant warmth.

"God!" she said eventually, glancing at a clock and getting up. "I have to go, I'm going to be late!"

"Time flies when you're having fun." he stated playfully. "Now, before you go... Will I see you again?"

"If you want to." she said quickly, her heart beating surprisingly fast; she damn sure wanted to see him again. "But now I really have to go. I'll take your number from Lou... Oh, and next time's on me."

She - hastily, and clumsily - planted a kiss on his scruffy cheek and hurried outside, grabbing her jacket on the way out, her face burning red and her heart pounding.

Later that day, somewhere around midnight - as she was heading to bed, tired but pleased - her phone rang. It was Louise.

"Hey girl!" she heard her friend's chipper voice. "So, how was it?"

"It was... Alright." she said reservedly, not having the right words to describe her feelings - how she felt a connection and how Tommy was the first man in many months to make her blush and how he made her skin tingle.

"...just alright? I'm going to kick his ass."

"No! Fine, it was great. I like him, and I think... He likes me. And we'll see where it goes from here."

"That's better." Louise said with satisfaction. "Hit me or other girls up if he fucks something up though. We'll fix him up."

"Noted." she said, yawning quietly. "Sorry Lou, I feel like I'm about to pass out... I really need some sleep."

"Sleep tight! I'll tell the asshole he did well."

"Yeah, you do that. Night!"

The next morning she couldn't remember what she dreamed about, but she woke up with a smile on her face and her heart filled with a pleasant, soft warmth.

The next weeks were a long string of meetings and calls, mixed with occasional dates with Tommy. The initial chemistry she felt never faded away - he was still a delight to have around and he was still acting like her company's his favorite part of the day. They kept things as casual as possible, and slow - it took them ten dates and eleven weeks to actually talk about their plans for the future.

This time they decided to go for a walk in Gotham's most beautiful park - recently funded by a Cobblepot family, one of the cities oldest, most respected families. She never had a chance to see it and he claimed it's a must-see, especially during the sunset.

"So, I've been thinking..." he said as they were walking among the trees. "It's been some time. How do you feel about me?"

"What do you mean?" she asked carefully, admiring flowers planted next to the sidewalk.

"I very much enjoy our time together, Charlie." he said hesitantly, standing behind her as she crouched to take a closer look at a particularly eye-catching daffodil. "I think... I might be developing feelings for you."

She gasped quietly, as her heart - very literally - stopped beating for a moment and a sound of her own blood briefly filled her ears.

She absolutely, desperately wanted to hear him say that - but it was still almost shocking to hear. Almost surprising, even despite the way he looked at her.

It's been months since she divorced Harry, since she found out who he really is. Maybe it was time for her to give love another shot. Maybe Tommy - Thomas Elliot - was the right person. He was funny and nice and hotter than hell and always knew exactly what to say and she often found herself missing him. Maybe he was the right one for her.

She got up and turned around to face him and he was looking at her expectantly, hopefully, tenderly. He had his hands in his pockets and she absentmindedly reached out to take some pollen off the collar of his coat.

"The feeling's mutual." she said finally and she could see the relief in his eyes. "I... You make me feel something. And it's a good feeling. And I think... We should give relationship a shot."

"Can I kiss you?" he asked and instead of answering, she closed her eyes and leaned in, thanking herself for wearing heels that day; without them, she'd have to tiptoe to reach him.

The kiss felt right, it just felt right - and so did his hand on her back and another one in her hair.

"God, you're fun to kiss." he whispered eventually. "Why didn't I do it sooner?"

"Because you're a gentleman?" she suggested softly, her hands still on his arms. "I don't know."

He kissed her again, and again, and a few more times, before someone interrupted them - a visibly disgruntled, older couple, telling them to either get a room or stop being disgusting in public.

"They are probably right, you know." Charlie giggled as they walked away hastily, her fingers intertwined with Tommy's. "I want some ice cream."

"Everything for you, darling." he said nonchalantly. "Pick a stand. They're all good. I'd know. I've tested all of them."

"Are you an ice cream connoisseur?" she asked, trying to decide whether she wants sorbet or something with dairy or maybe something fancy.

"You could say that."

They got their ice cream and left; the sun had set and other people started to leave the park, only leaving silence and trash behind.

He walked her home that evening; and for a moment, for a brief moment, she considered inviting him upstairs, for some wine. They'd talk. She'd kiss him and he'd give in and they'd spend the night together; it'd be her first night with someone in long, long months.

But in the end, she ended up not inviting him. Instead, she planted a kiss on his cheek and he kissed the back of her hand, looking her in the eye, just like he did on their first date.

"See you around, darling." he said and one more time she considered kissing him properly - but she knew she wouldn't stop if she started.

(And as much as she wanted him, she also wanted to not scare him away.)

"See you." she said instead, turned around and entered the building, feeling like she's about to burst, or start singing and dancing, or both.

And that was the last time Charlie ever saw Tommy Elliot.

*** He didn't disappear without a trace, no. It was simply a matter of time - Crowne Continental Gotham's grand opening night was coming up and she was too busy with preparations. He understood - they still had texts and calls. She missed his lips and his warm embrace, but she kept telling herself that once everything is done and the hotel is officially open and the guests are gone she'll finally invite him over for dinner.

He actually called her twenty four hours before the party. She didn't feel as tense as she did during the last week; all the most important guests - the Waynes and the Cobblepots and the Kanes and the Hills and many, many other people - RSVPed already, confirming their presence. The catering was taken care of, and so were the decorations and even her parents told her to take a night off, to relax before her night.

(Of course, they were supposed to be there, as the original brand owners - but it was supposed to be her night.)

So, when her phone called she picked up without giving it a second thought.

"Hey honey." she said, closing her laptop.

"Are you free tonight?"

"I might be." she said flirtatiously. "Why?"

"Because I miss you, obviously. Also there's something we should... Talk about."

"Did something happen?"

"It's complicated. And I'd... Rather do it face to face."

She was worried for a moment, but he didn't sound sad or tense - so probably everything was fine.

"Alright. Where do you want me?"

"Aisha's?"

"I'll be there in thirty. See you!"

When she entered the - crowded, as usual - teashop she instantly spotted him, sitting at the same table as during their first meeting. He looked... Different.

His usually carelessly messy hair were slicked back and he was wearing a suit, instead of his usual, casual clothes. His sack-like trench coat was nowhere to be seen; and he looked damn good, but she was still a bit surprised by this change of image.

(He still had his bad boy charm to him though. He was still scruffy and he still had that scar she loved to kiss.)

"Hello, darling." he said, as she approached him. "You look beautiful."

"What's up with your clothes?" she asked, as he pulled out a chair for her.

"What, you don't like it?"

"You look... Different. It's not bad, just... Different."

"Serious clothes for a serious occasion." he said, ostensibly nonchalantly - but she could sense some gloom and seriousness in his tone.

It took them a while to get to the point, but eventually it happened. Tommy - a man she knew as Tommy, a man she started falling in love with, a man she fed ducks with, a man she wanted to introduce to her parents eventually - cleared his throat and she looked at him.

"Charlie." he said finally. "There's something... I need to apologize for."

(Hit me or other girls up if he fucks something up though. We'll fix him up.)

"What?" she asked calmly, nervously playing with a paper napkin, tearing it to shreds. "What happened?"

"I'm not Thomas Elliot. That is not my real name, my real identity."

His words echoed in her head, like a monastery bell in an empty hall. Her heart dropped and her vision became slightly blurry.

"Then who are you?" she asked finally. "And... Why have you been lying to me?"

"My real name... Is Oswald. Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot." he said calmly, looking at her apologetically and she laughed, shaking her head.

"That's impossible. I've met Oswald Cobblepot. He looks... Nothing like you."

"I'm not saying I'm the only Oswald Cobblepot in Gotham. No, the man you met - pale and short and polite to the bone - is my cousin. My father and his mother... Are twins. We're both heirs to the Cobblepot fortune." he said, weighting every word, not taking his eyes off her. "I asked him to not mention me. I told him... You don't know I exist."

"But why?" she asked faintly, suddenly realizing how tense the atmosphere in the teahouse was that afternoon. "Why were you lying to me?"

"Charlie, I assure you, this was the only lie I've ever told you. Everything I said... I meant it. Every word. And every kiss."

"But why?"

"I had my reasons. But... Does it change how you see me? Does it change your feelings for me?"

She took a sip of her drink, trying to think of a good answer. Tommy or Oswald, rich or not, heir to a fortune or an orphan - sitting in front of her was still a man she had feelings for. He was still the same person.

At least he admitted to his own lies.

"I'm not sure." she said finally. "Why admit to all of this now though?"

"Because..."

He reached out and brushed her free hand with his fingertips and she felt the familiar, electric tingling go through her body.

"Because I need your help." he said finally. "I need your help in killing someone."

"What?" she asked after what felt like a infinity, filled with surreal, palpable, thick silence. "What? What? What?"

"Your reaction is understandable." he said quietly, sorrowfully. "And I'm deeply, truly sorry for getting you tangled up in this mess. I swear it wasn't my idea."

"Is this a joke?" she uttered, not fully comprehending her situation. "T... Oswald. Is this a joke?"

"No. I am very serious, my darling."

"Don't call me that." she snapped at him and he winced and his eyes got darker. "What the fuck is going on, Oswald?"

"Do you want a long or a short version?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm not helping you."

"And yet you're still here." he said quietly, his eyes still on her and she almost felt uncomfortable under his piercing, burning gaze. "It's quite simple, really. I need you to move the main event to another part of the main wing. That's it."

"This is a joke." she stated suddenly, deciding to hold onto this possibility for as long as possible. "Right? This is just a fucked up joke. One that's going to almost ruin us, yes... But it's nothing that can't be fixed. Yes?"

"So you want proof. Fine. I can give you proof. Ever heard of the Penguin?"

Of couse she heard of him - who didn't? A mysterious, masked individual, who also happened to be world's most elusive and efficient assassin. Nobody ever saw his face and lived to tell the tale. Some said he was a demon; some said it was an inherited title; some said it was a series of very devoted impostors and that the original Penguin was long, long dead.

"I am the Penguin." Oswald Cobblepot said quietly. "Well, the current one at least. On my phone, I have a recording of me... Putting the mask on."

"How am I supposed to know it's not a replica?"

"Think about it, Charlie. Cobblepots are an old, very rich family... Our money didn't come out of nowhere. It all makes sense, you simply... Have to accept it."

"Accept it?" she repeated bitterly. "Accept what? That- that someone I loved had been lying to me for months? That a man I loved is actually a fucking hitman? That someone is trying to use me - again?"

"Darling..."

"Don't call me that!" she repeated, her heart breaking; she loved the way he said this word. It always made her feel at peace. "Please. Just... Don't."

"I am sorry." Oswald said and she covered her face with her hands to avoid looking at him. "I really, really am. Please... Charlie..."

"No." she said firmly, feeling... Almost empty.

(What she hated the most about this whole situation, was the fact it didn't feel half as bad as when she found out what was Harry really after. Harry kept lying till the very end; Oswald was being honest and open. It was fucked up.)

"I'm not going to help you kill anybody." she continued, her voice muffled by her hands. "What I am going to do though is to go straight to the police. Tell them everything."

"They're not going to believe you." he said quietly, his voice tense. "Nobody's going to believe you."

"Well, somebody's going to believe me."

He didn't say anything and she slowly moved her hands away from her face to look at him.

He wasn't looking at her anymore; his gaze was stuck on his own hands, lying on the surface of their table. He looked sad, really, genuinely sad. Resigned.

"What now?" she asked finally, feeling waves of inert calmness washing over her. "You just confessed to being the Penguin and I refused to help. What now?"

"What are you suggesting, d... Charlie?"

"Are you going to kill me?"

"I'd rather take my own life here and now than hurt you." he said quietly and oddly tenderly. "No, I'm not going to kill you. But I can't just let you go either. Not until you agree."

"But I'm not going to agree to anything!"

"But you have to, Charlie. You have to. Please." he pleaded. "I am not going to hurt anybody. But people I work for..."

"People you work for?!"

"People I work for... They don't have my morals, Charlie. They don't follow my don't touch the innocent principle. And they know you. And your family."

She felt the ice cold grip of fear tighten around her throat.

"What?" she asked slowly. "No..."

"Please." he pleaded. "Help me and I will get you out of this mess. They won't go after you if you help me. That'll give me a chance to fix everything. I give you my word."

"Your word is worthless, Oswald." she said impassively, feeling like someone dumped her insides in gasoline mixed with salt and sulfur. "It means nothing. You lied to me - fine. I'd accept it as some dumb test, to see if I like you or your name. I'd accept it. I'd move on. But this... No, Oswald. No."

She felt like she's about to pass out. She looked at him, trying to keep calm.

"Excuse me for a moment." she said, getting up. "I need to use the restroom. I'll be right back."

"You do that." he said quietly and she turned around and walked away. She knew he's following her with his eyes; and she knew there's no window in the ladies room. No escape routes. The only way out was either through the main door, or through the back door, accessible through the kitchen - both of them visible from where he was seated.

She felt trapped and terrified and sad and heartbroken and empty and oh god, she felt so many, many things at once, colliding, overflowing, confusing.

She stood by the sink, staring at her own reflection, her face a picture of shock and heartbreak and fear. She saw the drops of water stuck in her lashes. She remembered Tommy - Oswald, she firmly corrected herself - saying he'd kiss each and every of her freckles if he had a chance. She remembered looking at him and thinking they were shaped for each other.

All gone now, replaced with this bizarre knowledge of her partner being a hitman in need of her help.

(It wasn't all gone, but she muffled it, repressed it, hid it, locked it away. It didn't matter anymore anyway.)

As she was walking back to their table, a faint outline of a plan formed in her head. First she had to get away. Then... She'd figure something out, she was sure of it.

As she was right next to their table and as he was looking up, she grabbed a glass from the nearby table and smashed it on his head, spilling orange juice everywhere. Before anyone reacted, she turned around and ran out of the teahouse, frantically reaching for her phone. The battery was dead - because of course. She had a spare in her apartment; and she decided there's no time to try going to the police. She had to call her parents, she had to warn them. She had to get away. Figure something out. Figure out who on her guest list is Penguin's target. Warn them.

(She remembered his eyes when he first told her he's developing feelings for her. She remembered every kiss, every word. Was it all a lie? A ploy? A manipulation tactic? She hoped so. It would make hating Oswald Cobblepot so much easier.)

She got in the nearest cab, slamming the door behind her. The driver looked at her in the rear mirror; he looked amused. The plaque attached to vehicle's radio announced his name is Brian Thomas.

"Bad day?" he asked, as she nervously gave him her destination and asked him to be fast.

"The worst." she replied, rubbing her forehead with her palm; everything she felt was gone, replaced with weariness. She wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. "What's the absolute worst date you've ever been to?"

"He didn't show up." Brian replied casually and Charlie sighed, wishing this could be her problem as well. A simple case of being stood up; not... Whatever the hell was this.

"I can take you to a police station if your date tried something funny." the driver suggested, and she shook her head quietly, looking outside the window. They were passing soon to be opened hotel building; the sight of it sent a shiver down her spine.

"It's not like this." she said eventually. "He just made me... Uncomfortable. And now I just need some wine and a bath."

"Suit yourself. We're here. Hey, beautiful stranger." he said suddenly, as she was reaching for her wallet. "Can I get your number?"

"I'm sorry, Brian." she said tiredly, handing him a wad of cash; a tip to be remembered. "I'm sure you're a very sweet guy, but for now I don't think I'm in mood for anything. Maybe next time."

"Here's to hoping our paths cross again." he said cheerfully as she got out and closed the doors behind her.

She practically ran inside the building, not looking back at Brian, who only took off after the doors closed behind her.

"Good evening, miss!" the receptionist greeted her cheerfully as she hurriedly approaced the counter.

"Leslie, I need a huge, huge favor. There might be someone looking for me here anytime soon." she said quickly, looking at the attentive young woman. "Please don't let them in. Tell them I'm not here. Anything. I know you'll think of something."

"Naturally, miss. Should I call the police?"

"No!" she said with exasperation. "Please. No police. I have this under control."

"Take care, miss." Leslie said as she was disappearing inside the elevator.

She forgot where exactly she put her spare phone and it took her about fifteen minutes to find it, and then - with her fingers shaking - another five to take her SIM card out of her dead phone and put it into the charged one. She stared at her contact list, frantically trying to decide who to call first. She didn't have time to call every single person from her guest list, but she knew the victim is there. Was it Bruce Wayne? Was it Harvey Dent? Was it one of the Kanes?

For a brief moment she considered calling Louise, but quickly abandoned the idea. Louise was not to be trusted anymore. After all, it was her who set her up with "Tommy" - and other girls weren't much better either, considering "Tommy" was also their friend. Maybe they also worked for the same people as he did.

She decided to call her father first. His calm demeanor always helped her focus and she knew he'll think of something. Make everything right.

But neither her father nor her mother picked up. They were probably busy, or asleep; and they weren't picking up.

She spent the next few minutes sitting in the middle of her spacious living room, crying out of frustration.

As she was getting up - she wanted to go to her bedroom and get her handgun, just in case - someone's strong arm suddenly wrapped around her, tighthly pressing her arms to her torso. Someone's gloved hand covered her mouth, as she began to scream.

"Please don't scream." Oswald Cobblepot whispered into her ear, holding her tight. "I only want to talk. Please."

"Mmmhmmhmff!" she gurgled angrily, aggresively trying to stomp his foot; but it wasn't very effective, considering she took her killer heels off as soon as she entered her flat. Oswald sighed.

"Please don't make me tie you up, Charlie." he said tiredly, still holding her.

(She hated and despised the fact fear didn't come first. What came first was... Definitely not fear.)

"I'm now going to take my hand off your mouth and you are going to not scream bloody murder. Deal?"

She shook her head furiously and he sighed again and rested his chin on her head.

"I'm going to do it anyway." he muttered eventually and did as he promised; she was free to speak, but he still hadn't let go of her. "Oh. You're not screaming. That's nice."

"Let go off me." she said quietly, writhing in his iron grip. "How did you get in anyway?!"

"The back door." he said tiredly, letting her to much to her surprise. "And then the stairs. Your receptionist's unharmed and unaware."

"What now, Oswald?" she asked, deciding to put all of her eggs in one basket. "You have me. What now?"

"I told you, I'm not going to hurt you. I want to talk some sense into you."

"SENSE?!" she practically exploded. "Sense?!"

"Charlie..."

She was facing him and she punched him in the chest and he didn't even budge, looking at her with his tired, tired eyes. His hair were a familiar mess again and he almost looked like that man she had ten dates with.

(She still had to warn her parents. She still had to figure out who's the target.)

She turned around and ran into her bedroom and he followed her, not letting her lock the door behind.

"Charlie, please." he said as she groaned with frustration. "What do you want me to do, get down on my knees?"

"The chance to explain yourself was about five dates ago, Oswald!" she said frantically, as he came closer.

Her fingers finally found her gun and she pulled it out triumphantly. The gun was loaded, and she pointed it at Oswald, her hand shaking. "Don't... Don't come closer."

"You know what? Fine." he said, running his fingers through his hair, looking her in the eye. "I'm tired, Charlie. Shoot me if you want to. I probably deserve it."

He did drop down on his knees and looked up at the gun she was holding in her shaking, shaking hand.

"What are you doing?" she asked frantically, as he gently took her hand and guided it, until the gun was touching his forehead.

"Pull the trigger if you want to." he repeated tiredly. "Let's make a deal though: if you can kill me, fine. Have it your way. No one else will die and this will be the end of this Penguin. Someone else will take the mask. But if you can't... You will hear me out."

She was looking at him, her body trembling, her eyes wide open, her heart pounding, her breaths short and shaky. Could she do it? Would she do it?

(Harry came back to mind. How adamant he was in his lies, how his lies turned into threats. It was her parents who saved her that day.)

"I can't do this." she said eventually, her eyes filled with tears. "I... I can't. I can't kill you."

"Why?" he asked quietly, his eyes closed. "What's stopping you?"

(The way he looked at her, the way he kissed her, the way he laughed at her terrible jokes.)

"You said... You meant everything you said to me as Tommy." she said eventually. "Is that true?"

"It's painfully true, Charlie."

"What was first - me or the job?"

"You." he replied instantly, his eyes still closed. "You were first. If it depended on me... I wouldn't get you mixed up in all of this."

"Then why did you get me involved? Me and my family?"

"Because the person who ordered a hit had some very... Strict preferences. And people I'm currently working for... They are perfectionists. Everything has to go in accordance to our client's preference, otherwise... Otherwise someone close to me will pay the price for my mistakes."

He finally opened his eyes and looked at her and she felt her heart almost melt.

"So please, Charlie." he continued quietly, gently taking her hand away and the touch of cold leather on her skin made her almost drop her loaded gun. "Help me with this one thing. Help me keep you safe. And I.... I will take care of the rest."

(His words were a promise of a bloodbath and she hated the fact she believed in his promises of safety.)

"Fine." she said finally, putting the gun away. "Fine. Have it your way."

"Do you hate me now?" he asked, getting up and putting his gloved hand on her arm. "Please. I need to know."

"I'd love to." she blurted out. "I'm trying to. But I can't. I just... Can't."

"I'll make it up to you, somehow. I can... Disappear from your life forever, once this is all done."

"Just tell me what do you want from me." she said tiredly, rubbing her eyes with her hand. "Don't give me any details, just... Tell me."

"I only need you to move this thing to another part of the main wing, that's all. Move it to the Scarlet Lounge."

Her phone was ringing in another room. Her parents, probably.

"Who's the target?" she asked finally and Oswald sighed.

"Hamilton Hill."

"He has a family, Oswald."

"Who do you think ordered the hit?" he asked quietly. "Have you met his daughter?"

Of course she met Hamilton's daughter. Her name was Skyler, she was few years younger than her and was beautiful like a sunset and sharp like a razor. She was a brilliant young woman, on her way to becoming one of Gotham's best lawyers.

"She has her reasons. Very good reasons. Have you ever thought about what kinds of people Penguin kills? Corrupt politicians, abusers hiding behind their public faces."

"You're going to ruin my family's good name." Charlie muttered, once again feeling like she's about to pass out. "This is going to be a disaster."

"Skyler had the same concerns, that's why she insisted on not making it look like an accident. She's a thoughtful girl."

"Fine. Fine. Fine. I'll do it." she finally gave up, putting the gun away. "Oswald..."

"Yes?"

"Don't disappear from my life." she blurted out. "I... I don't know how I feel about you anymore, but please, don't disappear."

"I won't." he said softly. "Do you want me to go now?"

"Fuck, I don't know. I feel like an idiot now. I don't know."

"You're not an idiot, Charlie. You're an opposite of an idiot. You think on your feet, and you stalled me for hours. And I'm a professional hitman... Who might or might not be slightly blinded by his feelings."

"That's not a compliment a girl wants to hear, you know."

"And what do you want me to say? That you're beautiful? And distracting? And charming?"

"...for example, yes." she muttered and he smiled faintly.

"I can tell you a lot of sweet nothings and compliments, Charlie. But I'd rather do it over dinner and some wine."

"Are you... Asking me out?" she asked slowly. "After... All of this? You're asking me out?"

"Yes. I... I already made a reservation." he confessed and she smiled nervously. "At Lafontaine's. Two days after tomorrow."

"Fine." she said eventually and his face lit up. "I'll be there. Now... Can you please go? I have some... Calls to make."

She almost stopped him from leaving, actually. She almost kissed him and almost put his gloves off and put his hands on her back. She was feeling tired and yearned for physical touch, now that she knew what was really going on.

(Don't make me tie you up, Charlie.)

But instead, she saw him leave, closing the door behind him. She sighed. She rubbed her forehead, wondering where did all her emotions go suddenly.

(She never liked Hamilton Hill. He was a Republican, and a really far-right one. She knew his stances on various social issues; and sure, he was courteous and polite during their rare meetings, but he was still a disgusting man. And she wondered what exactly prompted his own daughter to order a hit on him. What was happening behind the closed doors of the Hill family?)

*** Hamilton Hill died at her party.

Everything was splending - nobody minded the fact everything was moved to another place, which she excused with some unforeseen technical difficulties that were previously overlooked. People hired to help were paid triple for the fact they suddenly had to move everything to another part of the main wing. Everything was great and her parents were so, so proud of her. She kept looking around, searching for Oswald - her Oswald, not his polite, short cousin - but naturally he was nowhere to be seen.

(She did some reading and apparently the son of Esther and Theodore had been absent from Gotham for a few months now. She kept wondering why exactly is he living a double life.)

"Charlotte!" she heard his cousin's voice behind her and she turned around to face the smiling, young man in a tux. "What a lovely night."

The shorter Cobblepot leaned in.

"I have a gift from my cousin." he whispered into her ear, sliding something into her palm. "He says... Thank you."

"Thank you, Oswald." she said calmly, hiding a small box inside her purse. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, very. Your mother is absolutely incredible. Such grace!"

"I'm very glad to hear it." she said, glancing at the Hills over Oswald's shoulder. They looked peaceful, calm, happy. Skyler noticed her gaze and slightly nodded in her direction, quickly turning her attention back to her mother.

The Scarlet Lounge had a better view on the city, than the Golden Hall - one of it's walls was made entirely out of glass. Charlie could see almost everything from where she was standing - the stars, the river, the Wayne Tower, the mayor's office.

Hamilton Hill was standing there, alone, with a glass of champagne, staring at a city that wanted him dead.

She approached him with a glass of wine, wondering if everything had been just a bad dream. Nothing had happened so far; maybe Skyler called off the hit? Maybe it really was just her imagination?

"It's a beautiful night in Gotham, isn't it?" Hamilton said, not looking at her. "From here, it all looks so peaceful... So right."

"I have to admit, I'm growing quite fond of this city." she admitted, taking a sip of her wine. "It looks and sounds like chaos, but there is beauty in its pulse."

"It's a shame it's been infected with so much scum." he muttered and she rolled her eyes. "Bah. Life's so short. I wish I had more time to help this city shape itself into something truly beautiful, you know? I wish I had more time."

"Can't do, Hill." she suddenly heard a raspy, artificially modified voice behind them. They both quickly turned around - only to face the Penguin himself, to stare into his mask's black, lifeless eyes.

She had no idea how he got there unnoticed, but he did - and now the others were noticing something's going on.

"All debts must be paid, Hill." Penguin said calmly, completely ignoring mortified Charlie standing next to the politician. "And your debt is long overdue."

He pulled out a gun, and she scoffed at the sight of it. Of course he was using a silenced AMT Hardballer. He pointed his gun at Hamilton's face and everyone in the room froze in place.

"Turn around, Hill." Penguin ordered quietly and Hill mindlessly obeyed.

The hitman turned his head and looked at Charlie.

"You might want to take few steps back." he informed her in a polite, casual tone of voice. "So sorry to ruin your party like this... But you know how it is. Work is work."

Charlie slowly stepped back, unable to take her eyes off Hill's mortified profile. Penguin put his gun to mayor's head.

"Take a good look at this city, mayor. Take a good look at everything you almost ruined. And now... Goodbye."

He pulled a trigger and someone in the room screamed when Hamilton Hill's blood splattered on the glass in front of him.

Penguin slipped away in the ensuing chaos, and Charlie somehow ended up next to exceptionally calm Skyler, who was staring at her father's corpse the way someone else would look at a broken pen.

"I know what you did." Skyler said quietly, so quietly only Charlie could hear her. "Thank you."

"Things we do for love." Charlie replied equally quietly, glancing at Skyler. "Why did you do it?"

"I didn't do anything."

"I hope you won't regret this, Skyler."

"Oh, trust me. I won't. This is a childhood dream come true."

The tone of her voice told Charlie everything she needed to know about what was going on behind the closed doors of the Hill family.

When the police arrived - lead by a very disgruntled (who could blame him? Gotham's mayor just got murdered on his watch) Jim Gordon, accompanied with visibly stressed out Harvey Dent - Charlie came off clean. Her story about an overlooked technical problem in the Golden Hall miraculously turned out to be true; they found some issues with the water pipes. Nobody questioned Penguin's interaction with her - the elusive assassin was well-known for being a gentleman towards people who were not his targets.

"That's one hell of an opening night." her father muttered, downing a glass of whiskey and her mother sighed and shook her head.

"Nobody could foresee this." she said sadly. "Usually political assassinations are not on a list of possible problems."

"Bah! Political my ass." her father scoffed and Charlie turned her head away to hide her smile. "Democrats don't have what it takes to order a hit on anyone. Bunch of weenies."

(In his youth, Crispin Schiller-Aberdeen used to be an antifa activist. With age - and marriage - he softened down a bit; but it was a well known fact he sometimes still bails out anarchists and other young antifas out of prison.)

"A man is dead, Crispin." Eleanor said coldly, rolling her eyes and taking her husband's hand. "No more whiskey for you tonight, darling."

Louise showed up, tapping Charlie's shoulder.

"Charlie? A word." she said to her, and briefly turned her attention to Charlie's parents. "Louise McDonagh, assistant district attorney. Pleased to meet you. My superior needs to talk to your daughter."

She grabbed Charlie's hand and pulled her away.

"Does Dent really want to talk to me?" Charlie asked finally, after making sure nobody can hear them. Louise shook her head.

"No, but I do. I guess... I should apologize."

"Yes." Charlie said coldly. "You should. You could have warned me."

"There's no good way to warn anyone of something like this, you know. What was I supposed to say?"

"The truth!"

"Look, I'm sorry! Okay? I'm sorry! I'm really, really sorry! I didn't know he's going to get this job! If I knew, I'd tell him to stay the fuck away from you!"

"This is all I wanted to hear, you know." Charlie sighed, awkwardly putting her hand on Louise's shoulder. "Look. I'm... Fine. I think my reputation's fine as well. A bit of a shocker... It might be a good advertisement."

"This is the most fucked up think I've heard this year. How is mayor's death a good advertisement?!"

"You know how people are."

"Fuck. You're right. Uh-oh." she muttered, glancing at her phone. "Turns out Harvey does want to speak to you. And he's... Not happy. Fuck."

"You can't expect him to be happy, considering what happened tonight. But don't worry, I'm sure his boyfriend will cheer him up." she said with a smirk and Louise snorted quietly.

*** Only after finally getting home - which happened after the dusk - Charlie opened a gift from her Oswald.

It was pearls; he gave her a pair of pearl earrings, and matching necklace and a bracelet. Attached to the bracelet was a note.

Once again - so sorry for ruining your night, darling.

She smiled faintly to herself, wondering what's going to happen between her and Cobblepot next. She was still shocked by his identity - she never expected her date to turn out to be a fucking Penguin - but she also felt... Excited. She felt a pleasant thrill.

(At least he was honest. And she appreciated this honesty more than she cared to admit. The man who kissed her was a killer.)

She wondered what's going to happen next, now that he abandonded his Tommy Elliot persona. Did it mean they're going to become something serious?

(She hoped so.)

Finally, their date night had arrived. He asked her to meet him at 6pm; and he even sent out a limousine to pick her up. It seemed like he's very determined to make their affair public - and she didn't mind.

Lafontaine's was one of the best restaurants in America, and the best one in Gotham. Some people waited for their reservations for literal years; but it seemed like all it took to get in was to have the right name. Like Cobblepot, for example.

Mere moments after she stepped inside Lafontaine's luxurious hall, she was approached by a chipper maître d' with a spring in her step.

"Miss Charlotte Schiller-Aberdeen, I presume?" the woman asked politely, and Charlie winced slightly, hearing the disliked full version of her name.

"Yes. This is me."

"Mister Cobblepot is awaiting you. Please, follow me."

Their table was in the middle of the well-lit room. She could hear smooth jazz playing quietly in the background, mixed with a quiet shimmer of the water from the nearby decorative fountain.

"Charlie, you look simply breathtaking." Oswald said as soon as he noticed her, tapping his finger on the surface of their table and getting up. "And those pearls... Look very familiar."

"Same can be said about your hair and cologne, Oswald."

"Ah, so it's working. Good." he said with a wink. "I have to be honest... I was half expecting you to cancel."

"It can still be arranged, you know."

"Don't." he said softly and she smiled, glancing at her hands. "How is... The aftermath?"

"Everything's under control... On my side of the bargain." she replied quietly. "And on your end?"

"I took care of everything." he said very seriously. "Just like I promised I would."

(She wondered how many people had died because of her. She wondered if he was covered in their blood.)

"So." he said in a more upbeat tone, "Let's switch to more pleasant topics. Such as all the compliments I owe you."

He looked at her tenderly and she tilted her head, wondering what happened to that almost broken man who put her gun to his head and told her to kill him if she wants to.

"Go on." she said eventually. "Just... Not all at once. Save some for later."

"Oh? Are you implying... There will be more?"

"Of course." she said softly, brushing his hand with her fingertips. "I still stand by everything I said, you know."

They spent a nice evening with wine and truffles and other fancy food. They talked; she told him about her divorce and in return he told her about his last ugly breakup. She almost forgot he's an assassin. She almost forgot she almost killed him.

(They didn't know they parents are in the same restaurant. It turned out Crispin and Esther used to be friends during their rebellious youths. They decided to have a double married date; and now were sitting not too far from their children, who were too busy with each other to notice their parents.

"Reminds me of our first date..." Esther sighed, looking fondly at the way her son brushed Charlie's hair away from her face. "We raised our boy well."

"You better." Crispin grumbled and Esther and Eleanor laughed in response. "He better be good for my girl."

"He's my son, Crispin. Of course he'll be good... Or I'll whoop his ass." Esther said archly. "But what about your child?"

"Oh, Charlie used to be a little hearbreaker!" Eleanor giggled. "But I think this is serious for both of them."

"Mmmmhmmm." Theodore said absentmindedly, watching his son. "I'd recognize those pearls everywhere."

"Let's give them some space though." Crispin suggested, taking his eyes off Oswald's face. "Now, let's drink to a bright future...")

He walked her home that night.

"Do you want to... Stay the night?" she asked hesitantly, as they were quietly standing in front of the entrance to her building.

"I don't know." he replied nonchalantly, brushing her palm with his gloved fingers. "Do you want me to stay the night?"

"Yes." she said almost instantly and he smirked. "You're not going to kill me, right?"

"We've been through this already."

"I just want to be sure."

"My father and his sister were also Penguins, you know." Oswald said quietly. "And look at their spouses now. Alive and well. And I assure you... Mom and uncle had both been in this exact same situation."

He brushed her hand with his lips, looking her in the eye, sending electric shivers down her spine.

"I won't hurt you, unless you want me to." he assured her with a wink. "So?"

"Stay the night." she said breathlessly, thanking herself from few hours ago for putting on some nice, lace lingerie.

They entered the building hand in hand, saying good evening to Leslie.

"Miss!" she called out to Charlie. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Leslie, why do you ask?"

"Well, last time I saw you you acted like you're running from someone..." Leslie said, visibly abashed and Charlie smiled.

"Everything's fine, Leslie. Your concern is very touching though. Have a good night."

"Yes, Leslie, have a good night!" Oswald repeated, nodding vigorously and winking at Leslie, who gasped when she realized who's that standing next to Charlie.

"She's going to tell everyone." Charlie muttered in the elevator, between kisses.

"Do you mind other people knowing? About us?"

"No, but I don't want any pesky journalists digging into my life."

She gasped when his hand crawled under her dress.

"I'll take care of them." he promised in a raspy voice and she sighed, wondering if he's going to bribe them or kill them. "Now hush. They're not important."

He made her forget about everything, for a night - the journalists, Hamilton Hill, her gun put to his head, her doubts. He made her forget her own damn name. All that mattered was his presence intertwined with hers, their breaths tangled together, his skin and her skin, her voice and his kisses.

He was still there when she woke up; he was asleep next to her and in that one moment, Charlie couldn't decide which of the three men - Oswald, Tommy and Penguin - is lying in her bed.

She decided she doesn't care. She loved him anyway; and something told her the feeling's mutual.

*** One week later Oswald Cobblepot was in Perth, Australia. He was visiting an old friend - of sorts. It was not going to be a friendly visit.

The man he was looking for went by many names, but he only cared about two of them - Harold Spencer and Alexander Krill. They worked together a few times years ago, but then went their separate ways - and Oswald hadn't really thought of his old coworker, until he learned what happened between Charlie Schiller-Aberdeen and her ex-husband; a con-artist, who first wanted to simply steal her fortune and run away, but - after being found out - attempted to kill her in cold blood. Charlie was saved by her parents's surprise visit; and she wasn't aware Oswald Cobblepot knew Harry.

Or Alex. Depends on who you ask.

He knew there are better ways to steal a girl's heart than to kill her ex husband who used her. He gave her pearls. He complimented her. Took her out on fancy dates, made her writhe under his touch. He was good at this game and he knew that - even despite a rocky beginning - his relationship with Charlie is secure.

Still, he felt like killing Alexander is just... A right thing to do.

(He considered calling it "one last job" - he knew his cousin has his eyes on the mantle of the Penguin. Maybe it was high time for him to step back and to live the way rich playboy should; no assassinations, just champagne, fancy clothes and his beautiful darling at his side. Yeah. It felt and sounded right.)

So there he was in Perth, where Krill had holed up, probably planning his next big scam. He was hiding in a crappy apartment complex - even though Oz was well aware his old co-worker can afford something luxurious.

He put his mask on. He fixed his tie. He knocked; he very much enjoyed the peculiar sound of a hand covered with a glove made out of expensive, high quality leather knocking on a cheap wooden surface.

Krill opened the doors after a while and he wasn't happy to see Oswald.

"Fuck, Penguin?" he asked, visibly disgruntled. "What do you want?"

"To talk. Let me in."

"Alright, but make it quick." Krill said, turning around and coming back to his shitty living room. "I have stuff to do."

"No, you don't." Penguin replied calmly, reaching for his gun. "And to be honest... You're not going to be doing a lot of things ever again, Alexander."

"What?" Alex asked with annoyance, turned around and froze at the sight of Oswald's gun. "Dude. What the fuck?!"

"One last shitty joke, before we part ways forever, partner." Penguin sad, tilting his head to the side. "Do you know what penguins eat?"

"N-no!" Alexander replied, his face a picture of pure fear. "What do you want from me?!"

"Penguins - among other things - eat krill." Oswald replied calmly. "Say aaaa."

Alexander Krill opened his mouth to scream and Penguin pulled the trigger.

The bullet was faster than his voice.

*** "How was your trip?" Charlie asked him a few days later, once he was back in Gotham and he dropped by to pay her a visit in her office. The business was booming, it seemed - Crowne Continental Gotham was filled with guests. It seemed like a recent death of the mayor that took place in the same building didn't discourage anyone.

"Perfectly uneventful." he said, deciding on not telling her the true purpose of his sudden trip to another continent. "My parents are hosting some fundraiser at out park in two weeks. Care to come as my plus one?"

"Does it mean you want to introduce me to your family?"

"Well, my cousin already knows you, and you met his parents... But I guess this might be a good time to tell my parents to stop trying to hook me up with Kate Kane." he said with a smirk and she giggled.

"Really? They tried that?"

"A lot of times."

"Well, I don't have any plans, so count me in." she said after taking a look at her schedule and he smiled lightly at the way afternoon light played with her red hair.

He noticed a small drop of dried up blood on his shoe; probably Krill's. But it didn't matter.

"I missed you." Charlie said suddenly. "Come on. Kiss me."

They kissed in her office at the top floor of Crowne Continental and he had blood on his hands and she still hadn't decided who does she really love; but none of this mattered. The Penguin gave up his title and all was good in Gotham City.

(In the other part of the town, Skyler Hill was watching the sunset with her mother. They were both dressed up in black. They were both relaxed and happiest they've been in many, many years. There were no regrets in the Hill Mansion. There were no regrets to be found anywhere in Gotham.)

#dc #telltale batman #ff #eng #oc #pinnguin

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thejustinmarshall · 6 years ago

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Anya Miller On Climbing, Cancer, And Creative Strategy

NOTE: In 2018, I started recording interviews with creatives (writers, filmmakers, podcasters, photographers, editors, etc.) in the adventure world. I’m publishing the highlights of those interviews monthly in 2019.

Everyone finds their way into adventure storytelling in a different way, but Anya Miller’s journey to working on film projects, creative campaigns, and podcasts for Duct Tape Then Beer is definitely one of the less straightforward ones: It started with a career in architecture, then bedbugs, then cancer, then a mid-career internship making the same salary she made as a lifeguard in high school, then a job at a big design and creative firm, then finally going to work with two of her longtime friends, Fitz and Becca Cahall. Oh, and lots of climbing, snowboarding, mountain biking.

You’ve probably seen something Anya had a hand in making, even if you didn’t know it. As the Director of Brand and Creative Strategy at Duct Tape Then Beer, she does a little bit of: creative strategy, art direction, graphic design, film production, story development, photo editing, and whatever else needs to be done as part of a small team that makes two adventure podcasts (The Dirtbag Diaries and Safety Third, and films like Follow Through and Paul’s Boots.

Duct Tape Then Beer’s client list includes a lot of the biggest names in the outdoor industry: REI, Outdoor Research, Patagonia, The North Face, The Access Fund, Protect Our Winters, National Geographic, Black Diamond, Chaco, Arcteryx, Subaru, and others. I’ve been lucky to work with Anya on a short film project and see how she works (and how she draws), and why Fitz and Becca invited her to be part of their creative team.

I asked Anya to sit down for an interview a few weeks ago—here’s our conversation, edited for length:

ON GROWING UP IN CHATTANOOGA I’m the youngest of four kids. I was born in Canada in a small town called Hespler, Ontario. I have two sisters and a brother, and they are the best. My siblings really shaped my ideas of what I thought was cool, what I wanted to do with my life. Be good at school. Be Good at sports. Be able to talk with anyone with curiosity. I always wanted to do everything that they did. My brother says that my super power is absorbing other people’s super powers. I think of it more as just learning from rad people.

My parents were divorced when I was five — it was a really rough relationship and so I was a pretty stressed out kid. When I was twelve, my mom decided to move from Canada back to her home town of Chattanooga, Tennessee. Moving to the South was probably one of the best things that happened in my life because it put me in a more nature-focused place. In Canada, we lived in a small old town with stone buildings and neighborhoods full of kids. Getting outside meant going to the local school and hitting a tennis ball up against a giant brick wall, cruising on bikes in the street or watching my brother and his friends skateboard in the Taco Bell parking lot. When I moved to Tennessee, we moved in with my grandmother, Gigi, who was like a second mom to me. She lived on a small acreage that had been part of her family farm for three generations. She lived and passed on the same plot of land where she was born — so land was important. There were tomato plants, frogs, lightning bugs, fresh mint and magnolia trees — space to just run around. We were close to a lake, so I would run down there to feed ducks and swim.

There were a lot less kids nearby, so I spent a lot of time with my sister Michaela and Gigi outside — working in the yard, playing checkers and drinking sun tea. Moving to Tennessee really set a different tone for the rest of my growing up and for my life.

My family was not an outdoor adventure family at all. My mom was a single parent with four kids, so she got us into as many organized sports programs as possible to deal with our energy levels and probably just to free up some personal time for her.

I did gymnastics, played soccer and tennis and eventually got into diving. Those sports were great for strength and discipline, but I experienced a lot of injury in high school, specifically in soccer. It seemed like I was working really hard athletically, only to then be at the mercy of some overly aggressive hack on the field.

I broke my leg the summer before senior year of high school and basically was just done with soccer — I hated every bit of it at that point, so I washed my hands of team sports. My sister was a pro cyclist at the time and gave me her old aluminum Trek 1500 and I started riding all the time. It changed my idea of distance and freedom. At this point, I was figuring out where I wanted to go to university. I hadn’t ever even been west of the Mississippi at that point — but somehow I thought that I where I wanted to be.

[photo by Anne Cleary]

ON MOVING OUT WEST There was an image — and this does not sound that deep at all, but it was an image the old rubber-banded Patagonia Capilene packaging. Steph Davis was climbing some crack. I had never rock climbed in my life and I didn’t know who Steph Davis was at the time, but what I saw was just a super-strong female and she had chalk on her face and her hair was whipping in the wind. Didn’t look perfect, looked like she was trying hard in a wild place, and I wondered where she was. I was inspired by her, but I was also inspired by the place and the sea of rock she was moving through. I’d never been to a place so arid or stoic.

None of my family lived out west then. All of my siblings were either still in Canada or in the southeast. I just thought the west seemed amazing. I was the last of four siblings at home, and I made no secret of the fact that I wanted to go far away, not have a support network and just see how it would go.

I remember sending away to University of Colorado and getting this information packet that had a VHS tape in it. I wish I still had it! It was so ridiculous. It had 80s synth music and this dude rollerblade shredding around the campus, giving a sort of tour. It wasn’t a causal rollerblade tour. The guy was getting rad on campus and pointing out different buildings! As I said, I was kind of a stressed out kid in school. I made straight A’s and was valedictorian. From that rollerblading video, I guess it seemed like CU was a good place for a stressed out, sometimes-too-serious kid to go.

So I applied the School of Environmental Design and Architecture, and went.

ON DRAWING I can’t remember not drawing. I was always drawing things. In hindsight, I probably just should’ve gotten an art degree. But I think when I was making the college decision, all of my siblings were sociology majors or history majors, which can be cryptic majors to develop a career from. I think I went into school with a practical driven idea that I would know exactly what I was going to do when I got out of school if it killed me.

Considering the different programs that CU offered, it looked like their environmental design program was good. It focused on sustainable architecture and reuse of old buildings, which I was interested in — my mom collected antiques and love making old things new. Plus, I thought architecture was practical. Theoretically, that major equals a decently clear career path after school. Maybe almost too clear of a path — it can be hard to stray from.

I was always drawing as a kid. I remember getting Calvin and Hobbes cartoon books for holidays. I’d go through the pages and duplicate all of the cartoons, hundreds of them. I didn’t trace them — I just redrew them identically, right down to the word bubbles and writing. I did that with Snoopy, Garfield and Far Side comics, too. I really liked cartoons in general. They were funny, they had a dry sense of humor that reminded me of my brother. He cultivated my sense of humor, for sure. He helped explain some of the more complex cartoons and cultural concepts in them.

I would draw on my own, too. For hours at a time. Sharks and birds. My own hands. I’d look at magazine covers and draw them. Time magazine’s person of the year. National Geographic — that woman with the crazy aqua eyes. There were a bunch of skateboard magazines sitting around the house — my brother was a skateboarder. I’d try to redraw the Thrasher logo, which is a really tricky logo to redraw, by the way! I liked looking at that stuff because it seemed raw and cool, for whatever reason.

ON FINDING CLIMBING My first time climbing was on Flagstaff in Boulder. The granodiorite up there is this weird conglomerate rock — it is pretty grippy until its little embedded pebbles get polished. I remember just thinking how cool it was up there. It was so accessible! And at that point, it was pretty quiet there. I lived close to the trails, so I could jog up Flag. I loved that I could go whenever I wanted to. Even at night. I didn’t have a car in university. I didn’t have a car in high school, either, so I fell in love with things that I could do right out of my door with little equipment or support from anyone.

Climbing wasn’t like skiing or snowboarding — you needed a good chunk of money and a car to do those things. Climbing, and bouldering in particular, was something that I could walk out my door, do on my own and have complete control over my experience. With team sports, I couldn’t control my experience. It felt like other people could injure me. At least I had (kind of) had control over whether I hurt myself.

The transition from bouldering to tying into a rope was pretty quick for me. I ended up stumbling into a really good group of people that were better climbers than I was. Probably within the first few months of climbing, I drove with them out to Wild Iris. I remember not really understanding the concept of grades that much, just deciding what I wanted to try based on aesthetics and the encouragement of my friends. I’d say, “That thing looks good! I’ll try that.” It was really important to me to know that my friends believe in me. They did, and I got better quickly.

It was within the first month of climbing that I wanted to try to lead something. Everything about the sport was exciting — I just wanted something of my own. And it seemed like something I could have, in terms of just being able to develop my skills at whatever pace I wanted. I climbed so much (and probably so badly) when I started that I constantly had injured fingers and weeping skin.

[photo by Anne Cleary]

ON HER FIRST JOB After graduation, the job market was okay. I wanted to stay in Boulder for a little bit. Right out of school, I got a job at a small, residential architecture firm. They were modern and fun and also did a bit of branding and graphic design for the buildings they made. That rollerblade video was full of shit — I worked my ass off in school. I could have gotten a job at a bigger, better-paying firm, but a smaller shop felt more ‘me’. A lot of people in my class were going to giant corporate firms down in Denver or other cities, but I was more interested in smaller scale residential design — and I was more interested in working closely with clients and staying close to the mountains.

That shop was a safe place to escape to after being intense (again) throughout school. I didn’t want to jump into a high-intensity job. There, I got exposed to graphic design, brand design and architecture. They did a lot of the drawing by hand, which I loved. Right then, things were teetering on being all computer-based. Eventually, we did take all drawings into the computer, but all of the concept iteration was hand-drawn. All of the renderings were hand-drawn, which I got to do and loved.

ON LEAVING BOULDER The person I was dating at the time is now my husband, and I think after about a year in Boulder, Charlie and I were pretty ready to take off. We decided to take a trip to South America, go to Chile and Argentina to go snowboarding and skiing down there.

We were at a resort called Las Leñas, which has an amazing zone of lift-access / assisted backcountry. One day, Charlie and I were riding separately. It was really crap conditions and I kind of got off my line and was a bit lost. I saw these people just beyond me on this plateau with sastrugi all over it. It was sunny, but windy, like hard-to-move type wind. And I remember seeing a few people and thinking, “They look like Americans,” I screamed out to them, “Hey, can I ride with you guys?”

So we basically get together on that random plateau in Argentina. Maura Mack, her husband Jason, and Adam DesLauriers. We rode a shitty, icy line together and had a hilarious experience in super bad conditions. We got down and decided to go get beers and hamburgers and meet up with their buds, Lel Tone and Tom Wayes. Charlie joined us at the end of the day, and we all went to a hot spring and had non-stop, hilarious conversations. They felt like our people and they told us we should move to Tahoe. A week after we got back from Argentina, we decided to go to Tahoe and check it out. They set us up with a place to live, I got an architecture job, and Charlie started working at Granite Chief, tuning skis. Plus, it was only a short drive from Bishop. I was sold.

ON MEETING FITZ AND BECCA CAHALL That first year in Tahoe, I spent a lot of time in this really tiny climbing gym, if you could even call it that. The Sports Exchange in Truckee. It was really just a used gear shop that had a room in the back with some holds on a woody. But I spent a ton of time there, looking for friends like those I had left in Boulder.

There weren’t a ton of women climbing in there. I saw Becca Cahall — she was strong and I decided, “That girl’s gonna be my friend.” I like to say that I ‘picked her up in the climbing gym’. We started talking, I met Fitz, and Charlie and I started going over to their place in Kings Beach every week for dinner. Becs makes a mean lasagna. It’s amazing at that point in time in my life how much time I had — or made — to connect and chat with people.

We started climbing with those two. At the time, I think Fitz was in the very early stages of starting The Dirtbag Diaries and he was doing a bunch of writing for print publications. Becca was often gone during the summers, doing field biology work in Oregon. And Fitz and I would climb a good bit together in the summers when she was gone. The friendship really started from there.

They moved to Corvallis, Oregon, for Becca’s graduate program. From there, they moved to Seattle. Charlie and I were still in Tahoe, but we kept in touch with those guys and saw them whenever they came through. We were in Tahoe for just over seven years and I was working at an architecture firm there. I was getting really tired of designing 3,000 square foot “cabins” for people from the Bay Area. Architecture was barely providing a living in a mountain town that’s difficult to make a living in. But it wasn’t really filling me up creatively.

Charlie was tending bar, skiing a bunch and tuning skis — at some point, he wanted more of an intellectual pursuit. He started looking around at programs to get his MBA. He was interested in getting into the creation ski clothing and technical outerwear. We were poking around for schools for him — we chose Seattle because of its creative opportunities and proximity to mountains. He had also grown up in Washington, so family was a draw. It was a huge benefit that Becca and Fitz had already made camp here.

Charlie got into the University of Washington and I found a really great position at a firm called Graham Baba Architects. I basically walked into a dream job in an outrageously bad job market. So it just seemed like everything fell into place. Then I found myself in the city. I never really thought I would live in a city, but all of a sudden, I was.

Pretty soon after we moved to the city, I convinced Charlie to take half of a year of his MBA program and in France. So I took an eight-month sabbatical from the architecture firm, even though I hadn’t really been there that long. I spent the season climbing in Fontainebleau. We lived in the 11th in Paris, and traveled around to Italy and Switzerland to do some climbing and snow sports.

ON CANCER When we got back from Europe, I ended up getting a rash all over my body. I thought I had developed a food allergy, so I went to a doctor and I went to a naturopath to get tested for food allergies.

She said, “No, sweetie, you don’t have an allergy. You have bed bugs.” They were pretty common in France at that time, come to find out. She told me how to get rid of them and offered to do my annual exam while I was there (she was a nurse practitioner, too). She does a breast exam on me and she says she feels something. A lump. I could tell she felt like it was bad. She said, “I think you should go get this checked out.” For whatever reason, I just knew there was something wrong. I hadn’t been feeling well, but I couldn’t really attribute anything. Had I not brought those bed bugs back from Europe, I might not have found the tumor. I fucking love bed bugs.

So the very next day I got in for a biopsy at one of the cancer centers in Seattle, and it came back as Triple Negative Breast Cancer. That’s an invasive form of breast cancer. All at once and very quickly, things slowed down for me and sped up, if that makes any sense. I went through a series of tests to see what the extent of the cancer was — full body scans to see if it the cancer was anywhere else. Waiting for those results was terrifying. I was trying to figure out my course of treatment, and just trying to understand and grapple with everything.

I was whisked into chemotherapy, and that was a crazy, awful chunk of treatment. It stops all fast-growing cells — like cancer — from producing in your body. That’s why your hair falls out — your hair is fast-growing cell. I decided to take some control and shave my head before my hair really fell out. It just seemed like a helpless situation.

Can you believe that I had a wig made of my own hair? I had it made, and then I never wore it. Not once. It just sat on this weird styrofoam head in the corner of the bedroom the entire time. It was like this weird little animal sitting in the corner. I don’t know why I had it made. Like a security blanket, I think. When I put it on it felt like I was lying about what I was going through.

Chemotherapy just makes you feel acid washed from the inside out, but it’s what they said was the best and only treatment for my cancer type. Afterwards, I had surgery to take out the tumor, followed by radiation. You don’t fight cancer, you just weather it.

ON DECIDING TO SWITCH CAREERS Coming out of cancer, I realized that architecture wasn’t what I wanted to be doing. I wasn’t happy on a day-to-day basis. At that point, after all the cancer stuff, I realized I could pull the plug on architecture and not feel bad at all. I deeply realized that time is short and that I didn’t want to spend a single day doing something that I didn’t love. So I started looking around for other things.

I sat down with my pen and paper, as I usually do. I drew out my problem. I basically tried to draw an infographic of the things that I liked about architecture and the things that I didn’t. I mapped out all of the tasks that I did in between the beginning and end of an architecture project, starting from the first client meeting and ending with them moving into their new or redone house.

Overlayed on the project timeline, I drew an up-and-down heartbeat line. It trended up when I loved the project tasks, and it would go down when I really didn’t like what I was having to do. This line didn’t correlate to difficulty of task — all jobs have hard parts that need grit to get through. True. But this helped me understand what I didn’t like and why.

When I looked at my infographic of my life, it seemed like such a small portion of every project had a loving heartbeat line. The ratio of I love this to I really don’t was just not enough. This visual helped me communicate with people that I was having coffee chats or meeting with, exploring new careers and positions. I could point to the graphic and say these are the things that I’m doing in every project that A) I really excel at and B) fill me up emotionally and really satisfy me as a professional and a creator. Clear, insightful visuals are so key to having good conversations.

I met with a guy who worked at a brand agency. He said, “You really seem like a creative strategist or a brand strategist.” I said, “Okay cool — what is that?” Basically, a strategist makes creative plans and develops foundational ideas that give meaning and inspiration to projects. Strategy helps teams of understand and fulfill creative goals. I wasn’t sure I understood it at first, but I finally had a job title to search for online. I didn’t even know that job existed.

So I started looking for jobs as a creative strategist. I came across an internship that was being offered. This job was definitely aimed at someone ten years younger than me. It was at brand and design firm here in Seattle called Hornall Anderson. Basically, I took my infographic and my architecture portfolio into the interview. I got the job.

[photo by Ken Etzel]

ON HOW BRAND STRATEGY RELATES TO ARCHITECTURE Essentially, I figured out that creating a house or a space for somebody to use is really similar to creating a brand. In the beginning of an architecture project, you meet the people that you’re going to be working with, the people that will live in that house. You understand how they want to live, the types of spaces they’ll need for their specific lifestyle. You understand the land they have to build on, whether it’s really hilly or flat. You understand the adjacent buildings and you decide how you want your building to respond to those around it. Stand out? Fit in? Be crazy or subdued? Be earthy or modern? You consider budget and you consider the builders that will actually create building. You chart a creative course.

At the end of the day, that planning process that I learned in architecture can be applied to almost any creative project, especially brands. You take a brand. You look at the landscape — where is it going to sit? You understand the brands that sit around it. You consider how your brand is going to respond to, compliment or go against those adjacent brands. You learn about the people that will be ‘living in that brand’ — the people that are running it and the people that will be purchasing its goods. You set a creative intention that helps develop a solid plan for your building or your brand. Or solid plan for making a film. Or an advertising campaign. Or an event. Whatever that is, there can always be a front-end structuring and creative process that helps you launch into ‘making’ in a considered, intentional and (hopefully) unique way.

ON DOING AN INTERNSHIP IN THE MIDDLE OF HER CAREER I got the internship and it was three months long — terrible pay, of course. But I learned a lot. I had also been in the professional world for ten years at that point. I got hired the day my internship ended, and started working as a Brand and Creative Strategist.

The internship was definitely a proxy for going back to school. I’d definitely recommend it. That job gave me amazing experience and mentors. There, I was able to develop my own techniques of working through brand problems with large teams. Strategists shape clear creative ideas so that it is easier for multiple people to express them.

ON JOINING DUCT TAPE THEN BEER I worked at Hornall for several years. It was the type of agency that had ping pong tables and kegs of beer and free cereal for breakfast. All of those things meant that they wanted you to never leave! I worked a ton, my climbing dropped off. I felt pretty unhealthy. Creatively, I was producing a lot of awesome stuff, working with big brands and talented designers — but eventually it felt a bit soulless. You can only use your intelligence and creativity to sell potato chips for so long.

I wanted to be climbing more. Through those first six years in Seattle, I was of course hanging out with Becca and Fitz. We loved talking about professional and creative stuff. I was always tracking on what Duct Tape Then Beer was doing. One night, I went over to their house and held a little facilitated visual Post-It party to chat with them about creative goals, what they were working on and what they wanted to be. At this point, they had positioned themselves pretty squarely as a film production company and of course The Dirtbag Diaries were still going strong.

When I was at that large agency, I saw people making films and content for brands in categories other than the outdoor industry. I saw how campaigns were being created and how solid, unique creative was being monetized. Basically, I wanted to help Duct Tape expand what they offered. People were coming to Duct Tape saying: We want a film. And then Fitz and Becca would ask: What do you need a film about and why? The brands rarely had good or solid answers for these questions. Maybe they didn’t actually need a film — maybe the brand actually needed a perspective.

Essentially, Duct Tape Then Beer had been creating emotional, unique perspectives for brands and expressing them in films. The value though, for the first years, had been being placed on the film outcome rather than the strategy and thinking that needs to be done before a good story is told.

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ON WHAT SHE DOES AT DUCT TAPE THEN BEER Fitz and Becca told me they thought they could hire me. That was a big deal. I was really wary of working with good friends. I had always kept my personal life and work pretty separate. I just didn’t want to ruin our friendship by working together every single day, or having weird professional interactions with folks that I love so much. Eventually, those guys just talked me down from the ledge. They said their first priority was keeping our friendship solid — and they thought we could make some really cool things together. They said we would only work with brands and strengthen and nurture connections to the natural world. They said I could go climbing. That was it. I ended up leaving the big agency and joining Duct Tape to develop a brand strategy offering so that we could answer the brand questions before the topic of the creative output was even addressed.

Before a creative expression (film, messaging, campaign) is ever decided upon, we crystallize emotional ideas that will elicit action. How will we express an emotional idea? Maybe a film. Maybe a podcast. Maybe new headlines or messaging that gets rolled out over a few years. Maybe a social media campaign. Maybe an event. But we always start with clear, emotional ideas.

There aren’t many projects that come through Duct Tape Then Beer that I don’t have some sort of hand in. But you could say that about all of us — we all touch every project. Our skills overlap and are complementary. I make all of the pitch decks. I don’t like to admit that I am a writer — it was always so hard for me — but it has flowed as I’ve gotten older. If it’s a story that Fitz discovered, he’ll write it up and then I design a compelling story deck — sometimes with infographics — to get our ideas across. I do a lot of strategy work for us internally and for our clients. I do the graphic design and edit the photos that come out of our office, functioning as the art director and social media person. But my official title is Director of Brand and Creative Strategy.

Our podcasts need a good bit of overarching creative strategy. We don’t just haphazardly assort stories and guests. We look at culture and we try to understand what’s going on and try to actively seek out stories that express complex, emotional topics in today’s world. I’ll work to help shape this topic mix.

At the helm of Duct Tape, we’ve got five full-time people. We are all seasoned creatives and high-functioning human beings that love to contribute and work hard for each other. I think that’s what makes project good — when several smart people contribute in a considered way.

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ON SNOWBOARDING VS. SKIING I snowboard. I skied when I was tiny in Canada a couple of times. Since being in Colorado, I’ve been a snowboarder. More and more, I stay out of resorts and am loyal to my splitboard and to snow that makes no noise. I’ve had three torn ACLs on one leg. I’ve torn my meniscus three times. So yea, I ride snow that makes no noise. Luckily, soft snow is usually easy to find in Washington.

ADVICE It was scary and hard for me to leave behind a profession that I’d put a lot of time and energy into. But I knew, deep down, that I didn’t enjoy it. My advice? Take some time and be really honest with yourself about what you like doing (and why) and what you don’t like doing (and why). Because every job is going to have something that sucks about it. Really anything worth doing is going to be pretty hard at some point, so the answer, “I don’t like doing this because it’s too hard,” is bullshit.

But I do recommend that process that I went through. Visually mapping out what filled me up emotionally and what depleted me emotionally. Visualizing that was so helpful. And clear. And it helped me realize what I wanted to be spending my time doing. Continually revisiting those two questions: What do I like doing and why? What do I not like doing and why? Continually revisiting those has been the most helpful thing for me over the last ten years.

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olivereliott · 6 years ago

Text

Anya Miller On Climbing, Cancer, And Creative Strategy

I asked Anya to sit down for an interview a few weeks ago—here’s our conversation, edited for length:

[photo by Anne Cleary]

So I applied the School of Environmental Design and Architecture, and went.

[photo by Anne Cleary]

[photo by Ken Etzel]

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