#Cops chasing me on horseback

[juniette13]

I had a dream last night where my dad gave me a Freddy Fazbear suit and I was like “Oh this is cool!” so I put it on and suddenly the cops were outside our house and thought I killed somebody?? So obviously the most reasonable course of action I took was to escape on horseback, which lead the policemen to chase after me, also on horseback

That horse was doing so much parkour cause of me

(What makes this even funnier is that I used to take horseback riding lessons 💀💀💀)

But anyway yeah silly dream I thought I’d share!

OH I ALSO ONCE HAD A DREAM ABOUT AN ALCOHOLIC CAT! That can be for a separate Tumblr post though

[rockofeye]

It's been A Lot recently, which has pushed me to silence. Between the earthquake and the absolute horror unfolding at the US southern border, I hit a pretty big wall.

I do advocacy for a living, and have done so in one capacity or another for almost 15 years. It's good work and it's fulfilling work, but when it suddenly overtakes each part of your life due to both professional and personal involvements...you get really tired really quickly. It's that deep emotional tired of 'I can't look at one more awful thing without needing a drink and a hot bath and maybe fifteen minutes of screaming into my pillow'. It's been a lot.

Seeing the news from the US border kinda broke me. Watching people get chased down by glorified cops on horseback is indescribable...the hopelessness that creates is just so heavy and it batters you because it is played over and over and over and it doesn't change. People I know have friends and loved ones who were potentially out there, but tracking them done is hard now. Sons and daughter and husbands and wives are missing and are locked in holdings when they weren't doing anything illegal. Many of them should have been processed for status by now...if you can get one foot across the halfway point of that river, you have made it to US soil and are afforded rights. The government ignores that, of course.

I don't have too much more that I can say on that, because it's been said already and it's a repeating of the same thing over and over. Does it change anything to say it? I don't know. My cynicism says that those who want to have compassion and treat others with dignity and respect do that already and don't need convincing.

If you can, donate to the Haitian Bridge Alliance. They are an incredible legal aid org that has been on the ground for Haitian migrants, refugees, and others at the southern border for a very long time. One of my siblings has been working for them since their inception as an immigration and human rights attorney, and the org is the real deal. They have been confronting this for a long time, and are stretched thin right now.

In other news, I have been considering where to go next with this blog. I honestly thought about letting it sort of ride off into the sunset, but that doesn't seem like the right thing to do. I am planning out some regular writing to get back into the swing of what this blog has always been for: to record and relate my personal experiences in Haitian Vodou, and to provide accurate and non-sensational information about sèvis lwa.

I am planning on feeding this blog into a larger standalone website before the end of the year. It's been a project that's been on my mind for awhile, and it's time to bring it to fruition finally. I by and large do not teach or lecture on Haitian Vodou out in the world (save for some very niche appearances that relate to my experiences directly), but I have been taking more professional writing projects and it would be good to have a hub that folks can go look at for my writing and the services I provide as a priest, along with spiritual supplies, ritual objects, and art that I made.

The latest pro writing project is a chapter in a book that doesn't yet have release date (that I am aware of) that features writing from people who are converts to African or African-descended religions. It was kind of a trip to think back on my religious history, and I am excited to see what other people write as well.

I've also got a book in process that I am hoping to wrap in the next month or two. It's not on Vodou, but it is on one of my favorite things to create as a priest, which are spiritual baths. Spiritual baths are my jam, and I've been doing them for years and years even before I met the lwa. So, I've started gathering a lot of my notes and my practice into book form, along with hefty doses of historical and cultural context. Thinking about doing a weekend intensive class on spiritual baths and bathing, which would be online. If I can get this book and intensive together, the next one will be on oil lamps.

I'm also hoping to put some stuff down on paper about how to develop yourself spiritually and build a spiritual life and life outlook. It's something that has come up with a lot of clients and even some co-religionists, and it's something that I think is important to be able to do, especially when the world is such a garbage fire. This might turn into some sort of class, too.

Otherwise...I'm planning on digging in on a lot of the questions y'all have asked (there's a lot of really good ones...super excited for that), and have started on a few new posts detailing some things that happened in Haiti for me this summer and other adventures.

I hope you are all as well as is possible in consideration of everything happening out in the world.

[love-killed-the-superstar]

tw for mentions of death and injury for this one lads!! but on the flip side of that, i finally wrote actual cassunzel interactions, yaay

CASSANDRA APPRECIATION WEEK DAY 6 - FIGHT/BATTLE

Cassandra tries not to worry Rapunzel too much.

If she had it her way, Rapunzel would never have to know about a single dangerous situation she ends up in, whether its by accident or diving in with both feet. Unfortunately scars are telling, and if Cass doesn't give her an honest play-by-play Rapunzel will be up til the early hours in agonies over the dangerous life she is living out on the road. So, like a good girlfriend should, Cass measures the kind of exploits she should tell Rapunzel about in her letters with whether or not she has sustained injury. Anything more serious than a scratch and she'll tactfully leave it a secret until the next time she's within the palace walls.

So when she runs into Vex on the road a few miles north of Vardaros, she figures this will just be another one of those events that she'll paraphrase in a strait-laced letter to Raps. Perhaps she will share some good-natured sparring with the townsfolk, pal around with Vex, taste-test some fresh honey from Quaid; all the fun, low-stakes stuff. She only intends on stopping over in Vardaros to stock up on supplies and take it from there – but upon her and Vex arriving back at the sheriff's office, she's met with the sight of three men hanging from the bridge overhead, being fished down by stricken townspeople simply wanting to remove the sight lest it scare away travelling patrons.

“Raiders,” Quaid says solemnly from behind her, as Cass watches on in muted horror. Vex strides ahead, avoiding looking at the sight altogether. “We chased a group of them out of town two weeks ago. Yesterday they struck again, so I sent a trio of our new town guard to scope out their base. And, well... it looks like they wanted to send a message home this time.”

Cass feels sick to her stomach. She's no stranger to how fucked up the world can be, especially since striking out on her own, but this is something she can't simply stand by and watch.

“What's your next move, Captain?” she asks quietly, following him towards the sheriff's office. From somewhere beyond her line of sight, she hears a man crying as his husband's body is lifted down.

“We fight, of course,” he says gravely. He takes a seat at his desk and mops his brow tiredly. “But with three of our men down, I'm not sure how well we'll fare in the fight. Our town guard is small as it is, and those raiders are ruthless. But the people of Vardaros don't back down. Not anymore.”

“I... I could write back to Corona,” Cass says quickly, grasping at straws for a way to aid the situation. “The guard there is huge, I'm sure Eugene wouldn't mind deploying a dozen or so soldiers to assist...”

“Wow. And here I was, thinking you were the only one of your friends that understood how things work here,” Vex snorts, as the front door slams shut behind her. She stalks past Cassandra, leaning back against the wall with a deep scowl.

Quaid shakes his head and smiles wanly at her suggestion. “I don't need to tell you of all people that Corona to Vardaros is at least a four day journey on horseback. We have no time to waste. The next time they come knocking, we have to be prepared to fight, no matter the cost.”

“Then I'll fight.” Owl hoots nervously on her shoulder, and Fidella, though resting just outside, looks equally perturbed by the notion of sticking around. “Captain, I have been training for my whole life. Whatever these raiders have planned, I can at least help even the score.”

He watches her with narrowed, haunted eyes. “Your life will be at risk. This is no game, Cassandra.”

“Of course it isn't! People are being killed, Captain, you can't seriously expect that I would sit back and watch this happen?”

“I only insist that you understand what you're getting yourself into, Cassandra.” He folds his arms, regarding her in silence for several dragging seconds, all while Vex mutters some choice expletives under her breath. “If you understand that and still wish to fight alongside us... I would be more grateful than you'll ever know.”

“I'll do it,” Cass promises. “You can count on me.”

…

Things move quickly after that. Vex gathers the townsfolk in the square to rally the locals into fighting for what's right. The people of Vardaros, beyond infuriated by the hangings that morning, are already fired up and ready to fight. For her part, Cass runs through basic drills – calling for everyone to bring forth their weaponry, teaching basic attack stances, offensive and defensive manoeuvres, everything she thinks she can squeeze into an afternoon. The idea that she is potentially sending these people to their deaths depending on how well she's taught them is nothing short of terrifying; but Quaid seems relieved at her assistance, and takes the valuable time to discuss strategy with his remaining guard.

They will defend Vardaros at any cost. They surrender to nobody. And Cass can't help thinking, despite her willingness to fight alongside them, that this mindset coupled with the minimal planning and inexperienced fighters is how entire civilisations get wiped off the map.

That night, while the townspeople grab a few precious hours of sleep, uncertain of when exactly the raiders are planning on striking next, Cass finds herself restless. Despite Vex and Quaid's dual pessimism, she finds herself reaching into her satchel for a pen and paper anyway.

Hey Raps,

It's funny that I should write to you now, when I never like to worry you on my journey. But Vardaros is in trouble, and I think that if you wake Eugene as soon as you get this, send out a dozen or so men as soon as you can, you might just be able to help. The town is being threatened by raiders, and it's bad. I'm going to fight with them, but I don't know that we'll prevail. Not to be an alarmist, but please, send some assistance. I really think we'll need it.

Captain Quaid believes that Vardaros is beyond outside help, but all I've been able to think about today is something my father once said to me: 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.' Well, here I am, trying to do SOMETHING. I only hope that it's enough.

I love you, and I don't want these people to die. I'll write again soon.

Sincerely yours, Cassandra.

“Owl,”  she murmurs, so not to wake Vex, lightly snoring against her shoulder. Owl looks up, eyes blinking rapidly. “I need you to get this to Corona as fast as you can. You know how important this is.”

She binds the letter and hands it over, and Owl bows his head a little, meeting her gaze. There's an unspoken feeling there – be safe, don't you dare get yourself killed – and then with a quiet hoot he launches himself from her arm, making his exit through a window pane missing its glass. She watches him until he leaves her sight and then exhales.

Well, if she does end up dying tomorrow, at least she can do so knowing she tried her hardest to help this town. And, a thought equally as comforting, she can accept dying as long as Raps knows she loves her.

All that's left to do now is shut her eyes and wait for sleep to take hold.

…

A lot of things happen that day, in the battle that historical records will one day refer to as The Great Strike Back of Vardaros. Nearly three hundred people lose their lives. Most of them, in a twist of events, happen to be the raiders.

The landslide victory comes without the help of any outside soldiers, save for one brave drifter who, despite the dismissal of the the captain, sent out a pleading message to the nearby kingdom of Corona the night before, begging for reinforcements. It doesn't bring any soldiers in time to assist in the fight; however, they turn up in spades to help the clean-up operation and bury the dead, all in awe at how well a small, untrained town of people could hold its own just out of sheer spite towards the enemy.

In Cassandra's case, the majority of this information is learned days later – when she awakens, weak and confused, in a dimly lit room that she soon comes to realise is one of the town's makeshift hospitals for casualties of the battle.

It takes a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to her surroundings, but when she finally tilts her head to the left hand side of her Cassandra spots a petite figure slumped back in a chair beside her, chest rising and falling as she dreams.

Rapunzel.

Cass lies there in stunned silence, unable to peel her eyes away from the sight of her girlfriend dozing beside her. It's almost enough to distract from the pain she's in, but as she grows more and more alert it's glaringly clear to her that something bad happened.

“Cass, you're awake!” Vex bounds over to her bed and Rapunzel snorts a little at the noise, eyes blinking sleepily, opening and closing a few times before ultimately closing again, losing their battle with the tiredness plaguing her head. The relief on Vex's face only makes it more obvious to Cass that the injury must have been pretty damn awful. “God, I – shit, it's good to see you're awake. How's your wound?”

“I... hmm. It hurts,” she grits out. “I, uh, don't really remember anything.”

“Yeah, I bet. You, uh, got hit over the head pretty hard in the fight. And, er... got yourself impaled on the way down.”

“Well, fuck.” Cass doesn't really know what else she's supposed to say to that. Now that Vex mentions it, she does remember the searing pain from the blow to the head. She's just grateful she was too out of it from the blunt force trauma alone to feel the impalement. “God. How'd I make it out of that one alive?”

“Quaid said you're just someone who isn't ready to die yet,” Vex says with a shrug. “Sounds like a total cop-out to me, but you're alive, so who cares how?”

“Seriously, Vex, I should probably be dead right now.”

“Then shut up and just be thankful that you're not.” Vex's eyes narrow, her patience for Cassandra's bewilderment waning already. “We patched your abdomen wound up fine, and we gave you some stitches on the back of your head too. That was like two days ago, though.”

Cass blanches. “Shit. Two days?” She glances over to Rapunzel, who is only just starting to wake up properly. “And when did Raps get here?”

“Few hours after the battle was over. She came in this huge balloon thing, you wouldn't believe it. She said the captain had to stay back to watch over Corona but she still brought like, eight guards with her in the balloon to help us treat the injured. Rapunzel barely left your side once she found your bed, though.” A sly smile creeps up on her. “Must be nice, having your girlfriend come to watch over you.”

“Can it, you.” Cass can barely keep her eyes off of Rapunzel, though, as she yawns and stretches. “Raps?”

“Mhmm... Vex?”

“That wasn't me,” Vex says flatly. With that, Rapunzel's eyes snap open and she whirls around to see Cass.

“CASS!! Oh my gosh, Cassandra!”

Before Cass even has a chance to try to sit up Rapunzel leaps from her seat, tackling her with such a force that it sends a spike of pain through her stomach, in what she guesses is the sensation of her wound being jostled. Raps squeezes her tight, rocking a little. Next come the kisses, peppered all over her face as she laughs weakly in protest. Vex makes an exaggerated puking sound effect, and Cass waves her off with a roll of her eyes. But as Rapunzel goes back to hugging her, resting her head against the crook of Cassandra's neck, she feels her body begin to tremble.

“Hey,” murmurs Cass, reaching up to rub Rapunzel's back in a soothing motion. “Hey, come on, it's all right.”

Rapunzel shakes her head, and her voice is wet when she speaks. “It's not all right! Cass, you could have died! You've barely been conscious for two days, my god!”

“Raps...” Cass gently steers her back by the shoulders and Rapunzel watches her, large eyes brimming over with tears. Reaching up, Cass thumbs them away and tries to smile in a way that will convince Rapunzel that she really is okay. “I'm all right now, really. Sure, my head is a little sore and I'll need to take it easy until my wound heals up, but look. I'm here with you now.”

Rapunzel sniffles and moves back, nodding. She pulls her chair right up close to the bed before sitting down again, reaching over to take Cassandra's hand in her own and turning to Vex.

“Vex. Would you mind, um... giving us a moment?”

“Oh, no problem, I was feeling queasy anyway,” she drawls. Despite her tone, Vex flashes them a small smile and nod before leaving to check on a man four beds to Cassandra's right. Cass exhales and squeezes Rapunzel's hand, pushing herself upright into a semi-sitting position. It's painful on her torso, but she just feels dizzier trying to hold this conversation lying down.

“I'm sorry for worrying you. I... I didn't think you would come, though. I only meant that we needed back-up out here.”

“I didn't come on official business, Cass,” Rapunzel begins, reaching up to wipe at her eyes again. “I mean, I came to help, of course, but – but god, Cass, how could you send that to me and not expect me to freak out?!”

“Uh.” Cass chews her lip. “I don't know. I hoped you'd overlook the part about me being there and just, uh, focus on the part about rallying the troops.”

Rapunzel sighs loudly, eyes still shining with tears, and Cass feels her stomach drop. Geez, Raps is still mad.

“Cassandra,” Rapunzel says slowly, as if to spell it out for her, “you wrote that you desperately needed reinforcements. You wrote that you were going to fight, but you weren't confident that you would win. And you actually wrote the words 'I love you'. In ink. In a letter that you knew I would be showing other people.”

Cass nods just as slowly.

“...Cass, it sounded like a goodbye! Don't you think? How did you expect me to – to just stay put, in Corona, knowing you were here and you might be dying?!”

“I said I'd write again soon,” Cass protests, but it's a weak defence and she knows it. “That part was supposed to be reassuring. I didn't want you to worry, but-”

“But you don't get to decide for me if I should be worried, Cass! We are in love, and if you think for one moment that I wouldn't come to you if I had even an inkling that you could be hurt...!”

“I know,” croaks Cass. “I know, Raps, shit. I know. I'm – I'm sorry.”

Now it's her turn to well up. She looks away, reaching up to wipe at her eyes, trying to make it look like she's fiddling with her hair. Rapunzel lets her keep her pride.

“I didn't come all this way to yell,” Rapunzel promises. “...Well, all right, I did a tiny bit. Cass, I know I can't tell you to stop doing this, I just want you to be careful.”

“I am careful, Raps, but these people were in trouble. Do you think I should have stayed out of it?”

“No,” sighs Rapunzel, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Of course not. Even if I did it's not your way of doing things, I know that. I would have done the same. It doesn't stop me from wishing you would value your life a little more, though.”

“I swear to you, I don't plan on getting myself killed when I get into fights like this,” Cass emphasises, reaching up to cup Rapunzel's cheek. “I'm sorry for scaring you.”

She leans forward and, with Rapunzel's eyes flickering to her lips receptively, kisses her softly. Rapunzel returns the enthusiasm and Cass realises, in a real moment of panic, that she might never have kissed Rapunzel again.

“I'm so glad you're okay,” Rapunzel whispers, before kissing Cass again. “I love you so much.”

“I'm really sorry,” Cassandra utters, trembling as Rapunzel pulls her in close. “And I love you too, Raps.”

[exkernal]

My Only Peace: 3/?

William insists he stay the night, and after a token protest, Nelson agrees. To his surprise, William leads him to his old bedroom.

"But it's the master," he says, confused. "It should be yours."

"Didn't feel right," Will mutters, and that's all the explanation he'll give.

It's exactly as Nelson left it two years ago, with one notable addition on the mantelpiece: a framed photograph of the original Minutemen at the height of their glory.

Nelson stares at the youthful faces of his comrades. They're all old or dead or disgraced now. He sees his younger self, brimming with confidence that bordered on the absurd, standing close to Hooded Justice, who looked like a god among men. Even in the black and white photograph, his desire for closeness is obvious. How he couldn't resist the back pats and shoulder clasps, or any of the other myriad of socially acceptable touches that always lingered a little too long.

Little wonder that their relationship became an open secret among the Minutemen.

Nelson sinks into the old familiar bed, but he already knows he'll have trouble sleeping that night. After all, this was the very place where he and Will made love for the first time.

"Making love" was probably not the right term for it. He'd lusted after William from the moment he first appeared in the New York Gazette. At first he told himself that it was simply admiration, but it was the beginnings of a school boy crush, the kind that used to keep him awake at night in the boarding school dormitory, intrigued and disturbed at the same time.

After his brief meeting at the Reeves' home, he reached two conclusions: that young Officer Reeves was not a simple courier but Hooded Justice himself, and that there was a spark between them.

He cautioned himself. He'd become quite adept at recognizing the subtle cues that men put out, but he'd been wrong before. One of those wrongs resulted in a black eye and cracked rib, which he passed off to his fellow Marines as the result of a drunken fall after a night partying. Luckily, the other officer was too embarrassed to tell their superior, or else Nelson would've lost more than his pride.

It goes without saying that Will wasn't what he expected--and truthfully, Nelson's only experiences with black people were as servants--but it didn't take long for him to fall head over heels.

To stave off the early morning awkwardness, Will suggests they go out to brunch. The diner is similar to their old meeting place, though slightly more upscale. IT reminded him, bitterly, of their last conversation together.

Don't think about that now, he tells himself. Not when William is actually speaking to him.

"Don't worry," Will mutters, opening up a newspaper. "If anyone asks, we're two retired cops catching up."

Nelson bristles a little. "I'm not worried."

And he's not. There was a time when that's all he'd be thinking about, but those days are long gone.

"Isn't that your friend?" Will says, jabbing at a black and white photo of Adrian Veidt. "Ozy-man-mouthful-of-a-name?"

He snorts. "I wouldn't call him a friend exactly. We've barely spoken since my, uh, bout of foolishness in '66."

The waitress brings them their coffee. Nelson doesn't wait for the scalding beverage to cool off. He's too eager to do something with his hands.

"Speaking of Veidt," he says, "he told me an interesting theory about you."

"Oh yeah?" Will raises an eyebrow.

"He investigated Hooded Justice's disappearance before I ever formed the Crimebusters. Apparently, it led him straight to Eddie Blake. Eddie mistook him for a criminal, and beat him up."

William chuckles. "You don't say."

A smile twists at Nelson's lips. "Adrian concluded, based on your documented feud, that Eddie killed you back in '55."

His expression darkens. "As if that sniveling little pissant  could ever get the drop on me. I should've snapped his worthless neck after he attacked Sally."

"That probably would've been for the best," Nelson agrees. "I thought it best to let Adrian believe his theory--after all, you don't want the worlds smartest man on your case. "

"More like the world's best PR man," Will mutters.

Nelson clears his throat. "Have you read Hollis's book?"

"Might've skimmed it in an airport," he says breezily. "Why?"

"According to Hollis, you were an East German strong man with, um, strange proclivities whose body was found in Boston Harbor in 1955."

Will's whole body shook when he laughed. Making Will genuinely laugh-- not a wry chuckle or sardonic snort, but a real honest to God laugh-- was so rare that Nelson always savored the sound like it was the New York orchestra. He joins in.

The waitress brings them their plates of bacon and eggs, and their laughter dies down.

"It's funny how they all thought my costume was some sex thing," William says, voice light, but there's a slight menace to his words. "Think that says more about them than me."

He's dying to ask William the meaning behind his costume. That was one thing they never discussed during their relationship. Yet he hesitates. Maybe they didn't discuss it for a reason.

"Nothing against Hollis," Will goes on, "but he never knew when to keep his mouth shut."

"I had to call him on the verge of tears to stop him from publishing more details about...about us," Nelson says. It hadn't been the verge of tears, but William doesn't need to know that.

He and Will rarely broached the topic of "us," never defining the relationship that consumed Nelson's life for sixteen years. They had to keep it secret, for one. For another, Will was a married father for most of it. Friendship is what he called it in his will. "He was a very good friend," is how he explained it whenever anyone questioned him about Hooded Justice. He always hated it, just a little bit, but that hatred paled in comparison to the terror of being found out.

Will frowns. "Yeah. Sally wasn't too happy with some of the stuff he said."

"Mm," Nelson goes. "That's a bit of a pot-kettle situation. Sally basically outed me in her latest interview, without naming any names. It's was still abundantly clear who she meant, though."

"She probably didn't think it mattered, since we all thought you were dead." Will says that last part with an edge to his voice.

"I don't really blame Sally," he says, eager to avoid that conversation again. Keep it light, Nelly. "Did I use that term correctly? Outed?"

"How should I know?" Will says through a mouthful of eggs.

"You're the one who lived in San Francisco."

"Yeah, but I wasn't hanging around that scene. Not that much, anyway. I know as much about the counterculture as you do."

Nelson feels warm, and it has nothing to do with his coffee (which is lukewarm now, anyway). He has no claim on Will's heart, and it certainly isn't his business if he's had any dalliances (Lord knows Nelson hasn't refrained). Still. He's glad all the same.

Will glances at the window. "You know, it's a good thing for the young ones coming up. That they have a community that's putting up a fight. Maybe it won't be as hard for them as it was for us."

He's surprised that Will's bringing it up. This is the closest he's ever heard his former lover come to acknowledging that he was a man involved with men. Not that he ever expected him to; after all, Nelson rarely verbalized it either, thanks to his years of keeping it secret. Even now, as an old nameless man with nothing left to lose, he couldn't completely let go of his fear.

"Yes," he mumbles, "it is."

Will insists on paying. "Technically it's your money," Will says when Nelson resists. Now that brunch is over, he's not sure what to do with himself. At the diner, they had a good report going. But now what happens when there's nothing to do? Will William come to his senses and get sick of the tag-along?

"Wanna see how I spent your money?" Will asks. They journey through New York's mobbed streets, as much an adventure as his days soldiering through the jungle.

Will explains that he auctioned off the Minutemen memorabilia  for the Southern Poverty Law Center. "That was a good idea that you had," he comments, "so I did it. Altogether, it came too nearly a million."

William doesn't mention the one piece of memorabilia he's kept, so Nelson doesn't either.

They stop at a grand old movie theater, the kind that was popular when Nelson was a boy. It looks as if it's been recently touched up, casting an impressive figure. William looks at him expectantly.

"You bought a theater?" Nelson says. Well, it makes sense; Will was always a cinephile.

"And fixed it up," he says proudly. "When I first started working here, it was a dump. Now it's the most profitable historical theater in the borough."

William gives him the tour.

"We play all kinds of films here. The modern stuff, but we also show classics. There's theme nights, too. Some of the kids get all dressed up for some of the showings, but I don't know much about that. If we hurry, there's a showing I want you to see."

William takes him to a projector room. There's a smattering of people in the theater below, maybe a dozen scattered along the wide rows. A young white man with wiry long black hair sits by the projector, loading up a reel.

"Mr. Reeves?" he says, more politely than his appearance would suggest. He looks curiously at Nelson.

"You can take an early lunch break, Don," Will says. "I've got it from here."

"Thank you, Mr. Reeves!" the youth says. He doesn't hesitate to take him up on the offer.

The movie starts. It's a black and white, silent picture that takes Nelson back to his childhood. A man chases another on horseback, his face obscured by a hood.

"This is that film you always talked about," Nelson says. "Trust in the Law, was it?"

"I'm surprised you remember," Wilal says. Nelson's a little offended by that. But only a little, seeing what an ass he'd been before.

He also remembers that a young Will was watching this movie when a race riot broke out in Tulsa. William mentioned it once, early in their relationship. At the time, Nelson privately assumed that Will was exaggerating; he was only a child when it happened, so surely it couldn't have been as bad as he said. Or perhaps, if it was bad, than it was somehow...justified. Now, the memory sickens him. He wishes he could go back in time and knock some sense into his younger self.

"Didn't it inspire you to become Hooded Justice?" he asks. The flicking black and white light casts shadows on their faces.

"Partly," Will says. He looks directly at Nelson. "I never did tell you what made me put on the mask that first time."

Nelson feels cold. There's a shift in Will's tone that seems to change the very air around them. It feels ominous.

"It started with Cyclops," he says with a faraway look in his eyes. "Though I didn't know it at the time. I arrested a white man for throwing a Molotov cocktail at a Jewish deli. When I brought him in, some other officers took him off my hands, saying they'd book him. Days later, I saw the same man walking free.

"I was told not to question it. But I couldn't let it go. So one night, when I was walking home, three of my fellow officers jumped me in an alley. They beat me, forced me into their car, and drove to a secluded area. They tied my hands together, put a bag over my head and a noose around my neck, and strung me up from a tree."

"What?!" Nelson gasps. His hands ball into fists, clenching his pants leg. How is this the first time he's hearing about it?

"I struggled and kicked. I felt myself chocking to death. I was so sure I was going to die. But they cut me down. I was a crumpled mess on the ground, sputtering and coughing, when the officer yanked the bag off. He got right up in my face like this," William leans so close that his breath's in Nelson's ear.

He whispers what the officer told him that night, directly into his ear. Nelson feels sick to his stomach. He wants this to stop now. But willful ignorance won't change what's been done to Will.

Will leans back. "I walked home in a trance, with the noose around my neck and the bag in my hands. Couldn't tell you what I was thinking, even if I wanted to. Guess you could call it being on autopilot. As I got close to home, I heard a lady screaming in an alleyway. A couple was being robbed. I didn't think. I ripped eye holes in the bag and put it back on. Then I beat the robbers to a bloody pulp. They weren't the ones who wronged me, but it felt so good to act. To have power. To bring justice, even if it was justice for something as small as a mugging.

"The next day, I saw it in the newspaper. They called me a hero. And well, you know the rest."

William looks off at the screen, where the townsfolk cheer for Bass Reeves.

"William..." Nelson says weakly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Without looking, he says, "Would it have made a difference back then?"

He wants to say yes. Yes, of course it would have. If Will had told Nelson about being lynched, for God's sake, then Nelson would've cared. Even when he was at his most racist, he still would've believed the man he loved. Wouldn't he?

But then...he'd had doubts about Tulsa. He hadn't believed Will then. William tried to tell him many things over the years, tried to open his eyes, yet Nelson remained willfully blind until it was too late. Until Will's absence finally caused him to reevaluate those beliefs. So if William had told him about being lynched in 1939, would it have been enough to finally make Nelson change? Or would it have been another Tulsa?

"I don't know," he croaks, mouth dry.

"Yeah, well, this way we never have to know the answer," Will mutters.

The words resonate with Nelson. If they knew the answer, then well, maybe they wouldn't be having this conversation right now. There were some things that William could never forgive. Perhaps they both needed the deniability.

Hesitantly, Nelson puts his hand on William's knee. William lets him. "I'm so sorry, Will. I'm sorry it happened, and I'm sorry that you couldn't tell me. I should have been there for you. I should've...God, I wish I could change so much. And I want to kill those officers."

William finally looks at him.

"Don't worry," he grunts, "I killed most of them, the night of the warehouse fire. When I called you about Cyclops mind control."

"Oh," Nelson mumbles. Regret hits him all over again. Why hadn't he listened to William back then? To think how different there lives might have been if he had. "I should've listened to you. I should've helped you get the bastards. I'm--I'm sorry I was such a racist little prick."

"I always know you're serious when you start cussing," Will says wryly.

Nelson snorts. It comes out more like a sniffle.

"Don't tell me you're crying again," Will says, but he can't help it. The nicer William is to him, the worse he feels. We wishes Will would scream at him or strike him, anything that would make them even. The house doesn't feel like enough. The money isn't enough.

"I'm sorry," he says, again, rubbing at his tear-stained cheeks. "I didn't--I'm not--"

"You're not making any sense," he says. "Nelson, calm down."

"I just want you know," he says shakily, "that it wasn't the mask."

"What?"

"It wasn't the mask I fell in love with. That's not true. Maybe I didn't show it the right way, maybe I was too selfish and blind to treat you the way you deserved, but it was never the mask. I really did love you, Will. Please believe me."

"Nelly," Will says softly.There's no anger in his beautiful brown eyes, no hatred. They're softer than usual, showing something that Nelson won't dare read.

Will's hand cups the back of his head, fingers gripping his hair in a way that's a little rough and a little tender, just like he remembers. For a moment, they stay like that, faces bent towards each other, eyes locked on one another.

He's not sure who initiates it, but when their lips meet it's surprisingly gentle. Their first time was all raw passion; their last, bittersweet. This is something new entirely. William pulls him closer, deepening the kiss, as the movie plays in the background.

Nelson can't bring himself to care about anything else.

[lawandorderforevercsi]

Love Desires Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: Miami, Anthony Zuker, and CBS do and Bruno Mars owns the song Marry You.

Beta'd by: calleighstorres

-Summer 2013-

Since becoming a couple, they have been happier than they ever remember being. Horatio and Natalia tried to keep their personal life and professional life separate. However, sometimes that was impossible. Of course, all of their co-workers caught on instantly, and they were happy for them, especially Eric and Calleigh.

Without Stetler there anymore, they dared to engage in subtle flirting and PDA, like holding hands and bringing up her hand and kissing it. It was a new side to their lieutenant they never get to see much of. Plus, now everyone at the lab knew that Natalia was spoken for, and no one would dare cross their lieutenant.

When they had their days off together, they did everything together, from learning to dance, to ziplining to yoga and horseback riding. Then there were days they stayed in had had movie nights. It was only six months later before Natalia took Horatio back to California to meet her family. At the lunch gathering and Horatio was glad to see that Anya was doing well after her scary ordeal. At the same time, they were grateful that he had found Anya, but Natalia's father, Jeffrey, wanted to make sure.

While Natalia, Anya, and Christine were in the kitchen with their mom Joan, Jeffrey sat down with Horatio. Jeffrey began, "First off, Lt. Caine, we are so grateful that you were able to find Anya."

Horatio nodded. He said, "The moment I saw how much Natalia was in pain, I knew I had to do everything I could."

Jeffrey cut to the chase, "You know about Nick Townsend, I presume."

At that name, Horatio felt his heart rate and blood pressure rise ever so slightly when he heard the name. Jeffrey asked, "How can I be sure that you won't end up like him? I can't bear to see my little girl get hurt."

Horatio took a long deep breath and answered, "Mr. Boa Vista, not many people know about my childhood save for Natalia and my co-workers. I lived with an abusive father during my formative years. At times it was either my mom was his target or I was. I tried to get him to do to me more to protect my mom and prevent my brother Raymond from becoming a full-time target. After he killed my mother, he came after me, so I killed him in self-defense. From there on out after I became a cop and then a detective, I made it my mission to protect the innocent while ensuring that justice was served. Because of what I experienced, I will never lay a hand on Natalia."

Though Horatio didn't talk about Marisol's death very much, now was one of those times.

Horatio asked, "I know that you, Natalia may have mentioned my late wife, Marisol."

Jeffrey nodded, "Yes, she has albeit very little."

Horatio said, "Well, not long after we were married, she was murdered by a sniper's bullet on the orders of a crime boss. I wasn't able to deliver on my promise to protect her. I can and will promise you this I would rather die myself before I even let Natalia get hurt. You have my word, Mr. Boa Vista."

Jeffrey nodded. He had no idea that his eldest daughter's boyfriend had a horrible childhood. A childhood that helped shape him to protect the victims and do the right thing. Not to lose his new wife so soon after they got married. Smiling, Jeffrey held out his hand, "Welcome to the family Horatio."

Horatio shook his hand. Natalia then reappeared with drinks and, after putting it down, wrapped her arms around Horatio and kissed him on the cheek. She asked, "Dad, you didn't try to scare Horatio away, did you?"

Jeffrey answered, "Of course not honey, he gets my stamp of approval."

Later that afternoon, before they left, Horatio pulls aside Jeff and Joan.

Horatio began, "Mr. and Mrs. Boa Vista…"

Joan interrupted, "Uh-uh Horatio, it is Joan and Jeff now."

Horatio added, "Jeff, Joan, before I leave tonight as you can pretty much tell how much.

Natalia and I love each other. I want to ask you for your permission and blessing to ask Natalia to marry me."

Both Jeff and Joan were impressed. Not one of the guys that Natalia had brought home had made this extra effort. Not even Nick. Jeff and Joan looked at each other and nodded in agreement. This time Joan said, "You have our permission and blessing. We are so glad that our daughter has finally found someone worthy of her love."

Horatio smiled as he got the blessing he was seeking.

Following a tough commute from her parents' place in Long Beach to Santa Monica (where they were staying), instead of heading back to the hotel, Natalia took him sightseeing. One of these places was the Santa Monica Pier. As they walked on the beach with their shoes in hand, Horatio held her close.

Giving a big, loving kiss, she leaned her forehead against his and said, "See, I knew my

the family would love you."

Horatio smiled, "I had no doubts."

Natalia grinned, "Ever so humble."

Unbeknownst to Natalia Horatio had hired a dance troupe to do a flash mob with a popular song. Right when he knew the dancers were close by, and he leaned and whispered, "My love does you want anything to drink?"

Natalia replied with a kiss, "Yeah, an iced coffee would be nice. Thank you, handsome."

Horatio went to the 'orders.' But instead of the coffee, he went to get the ring and the flowers. After a while, Natalia began to worry. I hope he didn't get lost or anything.

A few people started dancing, and I didn't take Natalia long to recognize it; it was one song she liked. As the dance number continued, she noticed that they something in their hands, single red roses. The group of people dancing began to attract a more extensive viewing crowd; it wasn't long before it was a flash mob. Everyone around her stopped to watch.

It's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you Is it the look in your eyes, or is it this dancing juice Who cares baby, I think I wanna marry you

Well I know this little chapel on the boulevard We can go No one will know Oh c'mon girl

Who cares if we're trashed Got a pocket full of cash we can blow Shots of Patron And it's on girl

Don't say no no no no no Just say yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah And we'll go go go go go If you're ready, like I'm ready

'Cause it's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you Is it the look in your eyes or is it this dancing juice Who cares baby, I think I wanna marry you

Oh I'll go get a ring Let the choir bell sing like ooh So what you wanna do Lets just run girl If we wake up and you want to break up That's cool No I won't blame you It was fun girl

Don't say no no no no no Just say yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah And we'll go go go go go If you're ready, like I'm ready

'Cause it's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you Is it the look in your eyes, or is it this dancing juice Who cares baby, I think I wanna marry you

Just say I do Tell me right now baby Tell me right now baby, baby Just say I do Tell me right now baby Tell me right now baby, baby

Oh It's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you Is it the look in your eyes, or is it this dancing juice Who cares baby, I think I wanna marry you

Towards the end, all the dancers came forward with the flowers in their hands and gave it to her. By the end, she had two dozen single-stemmed roses in the crook of her arm. Then she heard him clear his voice and gasped when she saw Horatio down on one knee. The jewelry box opened, showing off the emerald cut ring with two stones set on the side set in a yellow setting.

Now she knew why Horatio chose this song. Looking to Horatio's eyes as he began his proposal, "Natalia from the time I saw you at the FBI lab when I was with Agent Reed, something stirred in me. But I was there on business and couldn't do much. I thought that was the only chance I would see you, but our paths did cross again, while it did hurt as to why you were placed at the lab at first when we found out why it helped to ease the sting. As time went on, our work lives intersected, but our personal lives prevented that. After I lost Marisol, you were there for me to help me. It was that day how deep in love I was with you. So, Ms. Natalia Boa Vista, would you do the honor of becoming my wife, will you marry me?"

One of the many things that she loved about Horatio was his subtle, spontaneous nature. With the bouquet of one stem roses, Natalia leaned in and gave him her answer in the form of a long and sweet kiss. As for the crowd, she stood up and, without break eye contact with her, shouted, "Yes! Horatio, I will most definitely marry you!"

The answer she gave earned cheers and claps all around. Horatio got the ring on her finger, gave her a quick kiss before he pulled in her into an enormous hug. For Natalia, this is one of many days that will go down as the best days of her life. She knew that there many more to follow.

Parting lips, Natalia knew what she wanted to do. Once the crowds had dispersed, Natalia whispered in a low alluring voice, "Why don't we go back to our hotel, order in, how does that sound, hm?"

Taking her by the hand, he led her back to their hotel. As soon as they were in their room, Natalia set aside the roses, toed off her shoes, and pulled him in and kissed him long and deep. Horatio loved kissing her luscious lips. Without breaking the kiss, Horatio bent over slightly and swept Natalia up and carried her to the bed. Placing her on the couch, they continued passionately making out, letting their hands roaming each other. The more they kissed more, they craved each other's kiss and touch. Horatio broke the kiss, and Natalia whimpered at the loss of his lips. She would have kissed his lips forever if she could. Gazing deeply into each other's eyes, they saw love radiating from the other's eyes. Quickly taking off his outerwear and pants, he only left his muscle shirt before getting back on the bed. When she saw him in the, she licked her lips at the prospect of being completely shirtless.

Not able to take it any longer, Horatio leaned forward and captured her deliciously sweet lips once more, this time with more zeal than last time. As the smooching continued, Natalia undid the strings on her wrap dress and opened it. Stopping to catch their breaths, Horatio tried to make eye contact; he knew he was losing the battle and lowered his gaze to her bra covered chest. Horatio felt his boxers grow tighter; she looked so enchanting. At first, all Horatio could do was stare at her, followed by, "Wow."

Natalia shook her bra clad chest and asked in a suggestive tone, "Like what you see handsome?"

Horatio replied huskily, "You have no idea, my sexy lady."

Without giving him another chance, Natalia placed her hands on the back of his head and ravenously took his lips with hers, and soon, they dueled for tongue dominance. As the kissing continued, they let their hands freely roam each other's bodies. When Horatio felt the light touches of her fingers on his body, it felt like feather gracing his epidermis.

Before long, their clothes have been shed and scattered all around, and Horatio whispered, "You are all mine, Natalia."

With that, they plunged into a night of sizzling passion.

A/N 2: Thanks for reading the second chapter of "Love Desires" As always, reviews are appreciated!

[beatricebidelaire]

Brighter Days

pairing: Bertrand Baudelaire / Dewey Denouement

summary: Dewey pines over Bertrand. Beatrice and Ernest ride horses.

word count: ~2.2k

alt: ao3

Kit was speeding through the traffic, breaking several traffic rules under one minute, but Dewey’s mind was barely there. As they drove through a tunnel, he remembered that night all those years ago, in the dead of the night, the first time his friend without a license drove him all the way to another city just to visit a library that was rumored to only open from 10pm to before dawn.  (Though, on another note, Dewey realized he couldn’t be actually 100% sure that Kit had a license now.)

Dewey remembered Bertrand had been driving far more carefully at that time than Kit was doing now, with the explanation of not wanting to draw attention and get stopped by a cop, but Dewey had been quite excited and a little scared anyway.  The thrill of the late night adventure and sneaking out had been fun and an everlasting memory that made him nostalgic until today.

They were fourteen, and Bertrand somehow managed to convince his chaperone to let him borrow the green roadster for the night. 

Dewey had read books on driving before, but his experience with actually driving was quite limited – well, none, in fact.  Unlike Bertrand, who just shrugged and said “yeah my chaperone lets me drive the roadster sometimes” when Dewey first found out Bertrand had already done this several times.

“So, tell me about this night time library,” Bertrand asked, sounding curious, and Dewey latched into an excited explanation about the rumors he heard of, and the scraps of information he gathered from newspaper and magazines.

“One of the magazines says they have lots of books about vampires, don’t know if that’s true or not, but it sounds pretty interesting.”

“Hmmm,” Bertrand said, sounding amused, “if it’s true, those bunch of theater kids would be so mad you didn’t invite them.”  They both laughed.

Dewey noticed Bertrand had quite a nice laugh.

They continued the drive, a drive that would, at some later point in time of Dewey’s life, made him wonder if this was the start of his attraction to people who would take him on adventurous car-rides, while he studied maps and inaccurate tour books info beside them. People who’d been on many missions out in the city and other places while he spent most of his time in the library – they had a certain kind of appeal.  Though the drive with Bertrand wasn’t as dangerously speedy and rules-disregarding as the later ones he would have with Kit, the night time sneaking out was enough for his 14-year-old self.

Later into the night, Dewey would get excited over all the new books he hadn’t seen in other libraries before. He would memorize every piece of rare edition of classics he found, while Bertrand trod patiently alongside of him and seemed visibly more excited when he reached the engineering section.

“I take it you’re not much of a classic literature guy?” he asked later, a little curiously, as they stepped out of the library.

Bertrand considered that. “Let’s just say I enjoy building things more,” he said.

“And yet you drive me all the way here, to a library in a different town.”

Bertrand hesitated, and Dewey couldn’t really see his expression in the dark of night. “The library doesn’t just have classic literature, Mr. Denouement.”

In retrospect, Dewey desperately wished he’d seen his expression.

During their teenage years, Bertrand would sometimes escape his group of theater friends he often help build sets with and join him in the library.  Occasionally, he brought some fancy shape chocolates R made for everyone. “You can’t just stay in the library for 12 hours and not eat anything,” he would say, slightly disapprovingly, but would give in easily when Dewey claimed he’s ‘almost finished with this book’.

They would carefully eat the chocolates together, trying to not to drop anything, and Dewey would finish his book while Bertrand did Sudoku puzzles beside him.

He couldn’t remember exactly which time they started leaning against each other.

If he wanted to pinpoint exactly where things started going downhill, Dewey would probably say a certain night at the opera, one he hadn’t actually attended himself.  Everything became a little off after that, though he didn’t immediately notice.  By the time he heard about what happened that night from other people, it was already too late.

He remembered, clearly, their first fight that happened because of that. It was probably not big enough of a fight in other’s people’s eyes, but it was bad enough, considering how they usually were.

“Maybe you’re right, but I don’t want to – I can’t talk about this anymore. And we’re not going to change the past by talking about it.” Bertrand said before he left.

It was, as he feared, all downhill from there. Some days he wished he’d told him his feelings, some days he was glad he never did.  On the day Bertrand came to tell him he and Beatrice were leaving The City, he kind of wished he had.

“What about all the volunteer work?”

“There are more important things, Mr. Denouement,” Bertrand replied, and Dewey hated the formality that he’d found endearing all those years ago.

“That’s not what you said when we were kids,” he argued, weakly.

“We were never kids,” was the answer he got, and also the last words he’d ever gotten from him.

[A timestamp, between the present and the memories]

“Hey, Frank,” Beatrice greeted him as she climbed onto a horse cheerily. “Ready to admire my speed on the horse from far behind again today?”

“Hello, Beatrice,” Ernest nodded curtly, thinking that was probably how his triplet would’ve greeted her, if he was the one talking to her here right now.  From Beatrice’s delighted laughter, Ernest knew he got this one right. After all, it was fairly easy to impersonate someone when you knew of all their mannerisms and ways of speech. Oh, the being identical thing helped too, of course.

He climbed onto the horse he’d seen with Frank in the photo taken by Monty, pleased that he did his research thoroughly. He’d been on a horse before, so even if he didn’t go on monthly horseback riding adventures with the city’s most famous opera actress like Frank did, Ernest liked to think he could manage this just fine.

“See you at the lake!” Beatrice yelled, and her horse echoed her yell enthusiastically. Before he could say anything, they were already getting further and further away. The city’s most famous opera actress did like her speed, alright.

He chased behind her, but it took him a while to adjust, and he briefly wondered if horses could distinguish between triplets.  Was it possible they were that smart and intuitive? Not even most humans could do that.

This was fun, he thought. The wind blew past him sharply, a rare enjoyable treat that felt so different than the staying at the hotel 24/7, and he let himself immersed in that feeling. Beatrice and her horse were now a small figure amidst the grasslands.  The rhythm of up and down and going forward fast in the same time was another delight, too. Wow, he really had been stuck at that hotel for a long time, hadn’t he?

He allowed himself, for a while, to pretend that he didn’t come here to do something important. That they were just old friends going horseback riding together. Like normal people who didn’t have secret information to pass do, probably.

When he finally arrived by the lake, Beatrice was waiting. She stood beside the horse, leaning down slightly to prop an arm on it to support her chin.  She was looking at him, almost too thoughtfully.

He realized his cover was blown.  Well, better now than earlier, he thought. He needed to tell her eventually, anyway. Preferably at some faraway lake where they could talk without prying eyes.

“Ernest Denouement,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s been a while.”

“Beatrice Baudelaire,” he returned smoothly, “Always a pleasure. What gave it away?”

“Apparently, even triplets ride horses in different manners.  I’ve been doing this monthly thing with Frank for a while now, I know his style.  Unless you’re Dewey, I suppose, but then you would rather invite me to your library to talk instead of, hmmm, intercepting Frank’s letter saying he had some urgent matters to attend to and couldn’t come, and come meet me yourself instead.” She looked at him questioningly. “Did I guess right?  I love guessing other people’s plans!”

“Well, I’m afraid I come bearing news about a certain nefarious plan, therefore reducing the guesswork you’ll need.”

The corner of her lips quirked up slightly. “We can play 20 questions, that’ll be fun! Question one – does it involve an unhygienic Count?”

Only Beatrice Baudelaire, Ernest thought, could be enthusiastically playing 20 questions with someone who was known to be on the other side, at least publicly. “Yes,” he played along. “Very much.”

“And … what do you have to gain by telling me this?”  She asked shrewdly.

He blinked, not expecting her to bring up this question so fast.  Then again, it did seem very – Beatrice, for lack of a better description. “I’m just – wait, open-ended questions aren’t allowed,” he tried.

“But you were planning to tell me before I suggested the game,” she countered immediately.

“Not including my motive,” he argued, not even sure why he was arguing.

“Then how should I trust you?” She asked, reasonably. “I mean, I think I probably do know, talented detective that I am –”

“You played the role of a detective once in an opera –”

“—But still, I’d rather hear you confirm it, or I might need to fight you and then throw you into the lake.  Oh, did I tell you I could guide a second horse at the same time while riding the first one?”

He was beginning to wonder why he didn’t just pass this piece of information to his brothers and asked them to relay the message.  Of course, he didn’t want his brothers to possibly mention this to more people, people who might not necessarily need to know, which might lead to higher chances of the firestarting side suspecting him.

Besides, it was cool to have an excuse to get out in the wild once in a while, even if the only person he needed to justify this to was himself.  His triplets probably thought he was back in his room watching black and white old movies.

“I just thought, I’d do this for Dewey, and – and he would’ve wanted you to know. Though I didn’t tell him because I don’t think he could be that much help in this situation.”

“Bertrand,” Beatrice nodded, knowingly. “So he still hasn’t …”

Ernest hesitated, “I mean, I think he’s moving on, it’s just I know he’ll still care, and …” he trailed off.

“And so do you,” she commented.  He shrugged, noncommittal.

“And well, he has been spending a lot of time with Snicket lately, so …” he directed the topic away from himself, and she let him.

“Jacques?” She questioned.

“Kit,” he corrected her.

Beatrice frowned, then sighed. “Alright, next time we meet under layers of disguises, we’re discussing Kit’s taste in men.”

He studied her, interested. “Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t,” she said, almost too fast.  Then she added, primly, pushing a pair of imaginary glasses up her nose slightly. “I’m just a thorough detective.”

“Shouldn’t’ve worn contact lenses if you wanted to do that, Madam Detective,” he quipped.  

She rolled her eyes. “Now that reminds me, J would be joining us for a while from a boat, so when the time comes you either need to act like Frank or reveal who you are.”

“Snicket?” he questioned.

“Anwhistle,” she corrected him.

“Ah, I see your point.  ‘Shouldn’t’ve’,” he said wryly. “I might make an early leave then, perhaps. Something that’s suddenly came up at the hotel sounds like a very realistic excuse.”

“So, O’s plan,” she reminded him.

“He was bragging about finally getting the evidence on you and Bertrand’s involvement of the opera night,” he was speaking fast now, wanting to finish before Josephine’s arrival. “I don’t know where the evidence is but Esme does. They would probably do something with it very soon.  I would suspect blackmail if they were sensible and love money the same way the rest of us do instead of having a personal vendetta against you or obsession with a piece of teaset, so …. honestly … probably arson.”

She mulled over the information, frowning hard. “Perhaps we could plan something too, even striking first.”

“I think the less I know, the better.”

“Very true,” she smiled a little, “fragmentary plots.” She closed her eyes for a moment, and he wondered, if she was thinking about Lemony.  He didn’t ask anything.

They saw a boat was now moving closer to them in the lake, and Ernest nodded, “Well, it’s time to leave.  Give Josephine Frank’s regards.”

“Of course,” she hesitated. “Well, thanks for the information.”

“Be careful,” he blurted out, and she nodded solemnly.  He took one last glance at the lake, before climbing back onto the horse. “See you around, Beatrice.”

[redfire-blackash-whitegold]

Los Santos was used to the antics of the Fake AH Crew, but no one was prepared for the day the FAHC rode around the city as a cavalry. 

It all began with a plan gone wrong, a trek up north of the city that resulted in the crew being split up, every member of the crew on their own to escape. Some of the FAHC had cars, others could steal them, but Jeremy, Jeremy found himself in farm country on foot, with a police helicopter’s searchlights getting uncomfortably close. When he saw the stable his first thought was simply to shelter, a place to hide it out until the cops gave up. And that’s when he saw it. A beautiful white steed, its eyes staring down at him majestically, silver mane groomed perfectly. And it was wearing a purple and orange horse blanket to shield it from the cold December nights they’d been having lately. It was a match made in heaven, like a sign from the Gods.

“I’m going to name you Trotti Tim,” Jeremy said, as he climbed up onto the beast’s back with practiced ease. He readjusted his signature cowboy hat and gripped on tightly to the animal, preparing to make his daring escape western-style.  

Jeremy rode through the streets, bareback on a horse, levelling his gun at any officers that dared stand between him and the open road. He looked all too much like Napoleon, charging into battle on the back of a horse with a rifle replacing the bayonet. 

“Jeremy!” Gavin exclaimed when he was safely back at the penthouse. “I didn’t know you could ride a horse!”

“Yeah, but what the hell did you do to it?” Michael added. “What is it wearing?” 

“It’s a blanket!” Jeremy assured. “So it doesn’t get cold!” 

“It’s atrocious.” 

Of course, this new opportunity for shenanigans did not go untapped. At first, it was just wanton destruction from horseback, but then they started getting creative with it. The lads found an old western style pistol, took the western theme to its logical extreme, terrorizing the townspeople like bandits and cowboys. Ryan’s discovery of a lance resulted in a brief jousting match between Jeremy on his horse and Michael sitting on top of Jack’s car, a game that resulted in surprisingly few injuries but still landed Gavin with a sprained ankle for the next heist.

But the really terrible idea, the one that would come to bring the city to its knees, even if just for a day, came when Michael discovered that Lindsay also knew how to ride a horse.

“Of course I can Michael, I’m from the south!” She told him.

“Can you teach me?”

Before long the crew had a plan. It would be the greatest heist ever planned, their magnum opus. And when it came time, all of them, seven heinous criminals on black steeds, and one on a white horse leading the charge. It was wonderful, horrible, and they had all made sure to acquire horses that were at least two hands taller than Jeremy’s, just for a laugh. Rifles and shotguns and pistols in hand, they rode through the town like the owned it, they rode through the town that they owned. They took what they wanted, shot what they wanted, and had as much fun as they wanted. There was a brief moment when the citizens were too startled by what they were seeing, modern day criminals on inefficient rides, but someone eventually called the police and the chase was on.

They rode up hills, took the back routes and countryside, started down in the city and ended up north of it. Before long the crew was back in the penthouse, exhausted and newly horseless, each with $15 profit to show for it, having had the best time of their lives.

“Jeremy?”

“Yeah Michael?”

“Let’s never do that again.”

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

The Texas Job by Reavis Z. Wortham

 Set during the depression, this book has the feel of a dime novel or perhaps pulp fiction. It feels “of the time” and the time of the story is early 1930’s. Set in a booming oil town during the heyday of a new era filled with men wishing to rake in the money…oil towns seemed to have the same feel as old gold towns.

 Tom Bell, Texas Ranger, is on horseback chasing a criminal when he meets eleven-year-old Booker Johnston who takes him to a female corpse. Tom and Booker become friends of sorts over the course of the book as Tom realizes that something isn’t quite right in Pine Top. An era with horses and automobiles both on the roads, good people being pushed aside by those ruthless enough to take what they want, bigotry and racial discrimination rampant, social divides prevalent, prohibition and speakeasies the norm, mafia types on the move, corrupt cops getting away with…a lot, and murder aplenty – well, this story is action-packed, filled with colorful characters, dark, and gritty.

 The Texas Rangers are doing their job but it isn’t always easy. Being a good person in Pine Top might not see you alive till the end of the book…and being a bad person might have the same ending for some of the book’s characters, too.

 This is a novel that will appeal to those who enjoy vintage stories with bigger than life characters, a bit of feel-good here and there, good vs evil, and a bit different flavor ovreall. It was not exactly what I thought it would be but was great for what it was meant to be…or what I think it was meant to be. I do believe I would read another book by Wortham and am glad I read this new-to-me author’s work.

 Thank you to NetGalley and Poison Pen Press for the ARC – this is my honest review.

 4-5 Stars

        BLURB

 "Texas Ranger Tom Bell is tracking a fugitive killer when he rides into Pine Top, a hastily erected shanty-town crawling with rough and desperate men-oil drillers, come by the thousands in search of work. It soon becomes apparent that the lawman's poking around has irritated the wrong people, and when two failed attempts are made on his life, Bell knows that he's getting closer to finding out who is responsible for cheating and murdering the local landowners in order to access the rich oil fields flowing beneath their farms. When they ambush him for a third time while he's out with a local woman he's fallen for, they make the deadly mistake of killing her and leaving him alive"--

[nataliesnews]

Settler violence

15.12.21  בקעת הירדן, חמרהתב וצילם: גיל אלכסנדר15.12.21  בקעת הירדן, חמרה 15.12.21  בקעת הירדן, חמרה

  Hebrew below

   21 Jordan Valley, Hamra

Written and photographed by: Gil Alexander

Please get to know: Moshe Sharvit and his apprentice Nehorai. We met again today in the Jordan Valley. About two years ago, Moshe established a lone farm near Moshav Hamra in the Jordan Valley. The farm is two kilometers from the village of Ein Shibli. Near Ein Shibli, a family of Palestinian shepherds who were deported from the southern Hebron Mountains for the establishment of the settlement of Susya have been living for more than thirty years. Together with my friends Menachem and Amir, we accompanied Mo'in to the pasture today. Mo'in and his ancestors made a living quietly and respectfully from herding sheep. But since Moses arrived in the area, the silence has ended. Almost every day he tries to drive out Mo'in's herd. In addition, Moshe apparently received permission from the Ministry of Welfare to take in religious boys on the farm, such as Nehorai, who dropped out of the education system. He sends them on a motorcycle, on an ATV to chase away Moein's sheep. Sometimes he comes by himself on horseback or in an SUV. It also operates a skimmer for the same purpose, the noise of the skimmer scares the sheep.

Today he arrived with three boys. When I saw that a violent confrontation might develop, I called the police.

Two boys were left with the herd and Moshe and Nehorai climbed the hill opposite to harass and expel Mo'in's sheep. I stood between him and the herd with open arms to stop his progress. Moshe lost his composure and punched me in the stomach. Then a police car arrived. I filed a complaint against him and he filed a complaint against me for violence on my part. A well-known patent he learned from his friends from the "Hannano" organization.

We were interrogated at the Benjamin police station and we were both forbidden to meet for a month and return to the same area for a week. ZA that for the cops, spreading hands in front of a 30-year-old man is as violent as punching a 69-year-old man in the stomach.

The hard problem for me is not the violent behavior of Moshe but that this violent man, against whom many cases have been opened in the police, gets permission to educate boys. And here in addition to punching some of the curses I received from Moses when Nehorai, a young boy, stood by him:

"Gil, you are the most rotten person I know, you received the rot even in your mother's womb, your grandchildren are ashamed of you, you are the greatest enemy to the people of Israel since the destruction of the house, take off your fake dome, etc."

Moshe's farm was established without the approval of the Israeli government, but with the blessing of Zambish and the Amna movement and with the support of the Jordan Valley Regional Council.

When Minister Bar-Lev talks about settler violence he means Moshe and many others. True, they make up a small percentage of the religious population in Judea and Samaria, but no one has stood up to condemn them.

Moshe and his friends may be weeds, but they grow near sturgeons called Zambish, Smutritz and others. And worst of all, they are educating boys to government-funded violence. You, the members of the settlers, must put an end to this. Otherwise, you can not claim that "our hands have not shed this blood."

      נא להכיר: משה שרביט וחניכו נהוראי. שוב נפגשנו היום בבקעת הירדן. משה הקים לפני כשנתיים חוות בודדים בסמוך למושב חמרה בבקעת הירדן. החווה נמצאת במרחק שני קילומטר מכפר עין שיבלי. בסמוך לעין שיבלי, כבר יותר משלושים שנה מתגוררת משפחת רועים פלסטינים שגורשו מדרום הר חברון ל��ובת הקמת היישוב סוסיה. יחד עם חברי מנחם ואמיר לווינו היום את מועין למרעה. מועין ואבותיו התפרנסו בשקט ובכבוד מרעית צאן. אך מאז שמשה הגיע לאיזור, נגמר השקט. כמעט מידי יום הוא מנסה לגרש את העדר של מועין. בנוסף משה קיבל כנראה אישור ממשרד הרווחה לקלוט בחווה נערים דתיים כמו נהוראי, שנפלטו ממסגרות החינוך. הוא שולח אותם באופנועה, בטרקטורון לגרש את הכבשים של מועין. לפעמים הוא בא בעצמו רכוב על סוס או במכונית שטח. הוא גם מפעיל רחפן לאותה מטרה, רעש הרחפן מפחיד את הכבשים..

היום הוא הגיע יחד עם שלושה נערים. כאשר ראיתי שעלול להתפתח עימות אלים הזעקתי את המשטרה..

 שני נערים נשארו עם העדר ומשה ונהוראי טיפסו על הגבעה ממול כדי להציק ולגרש את הכבשים של מועין. עמדתי בינו ובין העדר בזרועות פתוחות כדי לעצור את התקדמותו. משה איבד את שלוותו והכניס לי אגרוף בבטן. ואז הגיעה ניידת משטרה. הגשתי נגדו תלונה והוא הגיש תלונה נגדי על אלימות מצידי. פטנט ידוע שהוא למד מחבריו מארגון "חננו".

נחקרנו בתחנת משטרת בנימין ונאסר על שנינו להיפגש במשך חודש ולחזור לאותו שטח במשך שבוע. ז"א שעבור השוטרים, לפרוס ידיים מול גבר בן 30 זה אלים כמו לתת אגרוף בבטן לגבר בן 69. ניחא..

הבעיה הקשה בעיני אינו ההתנהגות האלימה של משה אלא שהאיש האלים הזה, שנגדו נפתחו הרבה תיקים במשטרה, מקבל אישור לחנך נערים. והנה בנוסף לאגרוף כמה מהקללות שקיבלתי ממשה כאשר נהוראי, נער צעיר, עומד על ידו:

"גיל, אתה הבן אדם הכי רקוב שאני מכיר, קבלת את הרקבון עוד ברחם אמך, הנכדים שלך מתביישים ממך, אתה האוייב הכי גדול לעם ישראל מאז חורבן הבית, תוריד את הכיפה המזוייפת שלך, וכו'".

החווה של משה הוקמה ללא אישור של ממשלת ישראל אך בברכת זמביש ותנועת אמנה ובתמיכת המועצה האיזורית בקעת הירדן.. 

כאשר השר בר לב מדבר על אלימות של מתנחלים הוא מתכוון למשה ולעוד הרבה אחרים. נכון, הם מהווים אחוז קטן של התושבים הדתיים ביו"ש, אך אף אחד לא קם כדי להוקיע אותם. להיפך, דוברי המתנחלים חוזרים על זה שאני וחברי פרובוקטורים מהשמאל הקיצוני שממומן עלי האיחוד האירופי

משה וחבריו הם אולי עשבים שוטים, אך הם גדלים בסמוך לשטוצרים בשם זמביש, סמוטריץ ואחרים. והכי חמור, הם מחנכים נערים לאלימות במימון הממשלה. אתם, חברי המתנחלים, חייבים לשים לזה סוף. אחרת, לא תוכלו לטעון ש"ידינו לא שפכו את הדם הזה".

  https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=1393018091200375&id=100014765913582

     N

[finalvortex]

Trip report from The New Scooby-Doo Movies:

Most of these are bad! Either bad as Scooby-Doo episodes (because they don't feature any real mystery solving or interesting villains), or bad as crossovers (because they don't feature the guest starts actually doing the things they're known for), and usually both!

This series really suffers from a lack of musical chase sequences and elaborate trap setups. It also really loves to have undercover cops who were already investigating the villains. You get a sense that a lot of the time the mystery would have been solved even if Mystery Inc. hadn't shown up, which is... weird.

Here are my personal highlight episodes, in no particular order:

1. The Haunted Horseman of Hagglethorn Hall (with Davy Jones)

The gang goes sightseeing at a castle which happens to be the ancestral home of Davy Jones from The Monkees. But the castle is being haunted not only by a phantom knight on horseback, but a moat monster! This episode rules. Having only a single guest star allows them to spend the majority of the episode actually solving a mystery, which let me say again, involves a ghost knight charging around this castle on a ghost horse. Davy Jones himself is great too - he's introduced attempting to dress up as another knight in order to try and counter-frighten the actual ghost. At one point he tries to sing to calm down the moat monster, leading into this series' only musical chase scene.

2. Guess Who's Knott Coming To Dinner (with Don Knotts)

This episode basically asks 'what if the guest star was the antagonist?' and it's great. When the Scooby gang wanders into the manor of Captain Moody for directions, they find that the Captain is missing and his disappearance is being investigated by detective Homer Pipsqueak (played by Don Knotts), who mistakes Mystery Inc for the culprits. He tries to scare them into confessing by dressing up as the ghost of Captain Moody, and for a solid half of the episode it's just the kids vs. Don Knotts in a battle of wits. It does eventually turn out that there are other ghosts about and they team up to catch them. It also deserves special mention for being the first time they ever do the running back and forth between doors in a hallway scene.

3. The Ghost of Bigfoot (with Laurel and Hardy)

On a ski trip to a lodge in Vermont, the gang run into Laurel and Hardy, who are hoping to pick up work as bellboys. Laurel and Hardy work surprisingly well as guest stars given that the actual duo had been dead for over ten years by this point. Stan and Ollie's particular brand of slapstick comedy mixed with occasional witticisms and snippy remarks feels right at home in Scooby-Doo. The classic "here's another nice mess" exchange is one I could just as easily imagine coming from Shaggy and Scooby. Also, the antagonist is a Bigfoot ghost.

4. The Spirited Spooked Shorts Show (with Tim Conway)

This almost feels like a regular episode of Scooby-Doo that happens to feature comedian Tim Conway. The gang visits Velma's old high school, where they discover that Tim Conway is working as a coach as method acting for an upcoming role. However, all the athletes have fled as the stadium is being haunted by the ghost of a famous athlete, and the school will lose its funding if they're forced to cancel the upcoming sports event! Not only does this episode feature an actual mystery with multiple suspects and clues, but the monster of the week is given a backstory that justifies his abilities - as an athlete, the ghost of Fireball McPhan is both fast and strong. This is also one of the first times we see them play on the idea that Shaggy is a great athlete because of all the running he does when scared.

5. The Haunted Showboat (with Josie and the Pussycats)

Normally, the more guest stars present in an episode, the less I like it, but there's something about Josie and the Pussycats that really works for me here, even over the other Hanna-Barbera crossovers. Maybe I just like the added element of snark that Alexandria provides. Either way, this is another episode that provides an actual mystery with multiple suspects. Alexander has gotten the Pussycats caught up in another of his get-rich-quick schemes, playing a gig on an old rundown showboat that of course turns out to be haunted, when the Scooby gang runs into them by coincidence. Now they've not only got to work together to fix up the boat, but capture the ghosts so that the show can go on! My biggest complaint is that the Pussycats never actually play a song here, despite being, you know, a band.

Some honorable mentions

The Haunted Carnival (with Dick Van Dyke) has some great comedy, probably one of the funniest episodes of this show. Wednesday is Missing is less 'the gang meets the Addams family' and more 'the gang explores the Addams family house', and unsurprisingly the Scooby gang exploring a haunted house makes for a good time. Sandy Duncan's Jekyll and Hyde and The Secret of Shark Island are episodes I wouldn't describe as particularly good or bad, but are probably worth watching as both Sandy Duncan and Cher came back for Guess Who?

[ritware1850]

Reposted from @mrsraiking Read this and it resonated so deeply with me. As we watch desperate human beings, beautiful people from Haiti (a country close to my heart) being chased by whip wielding cops on horseback (if it looks like a whip and is being used like a whip, it's a whip), I can't help but think of all the "Christians" who will condone these actions. ⁣ #funny #cat #feline #nope https://www.instagram.com/p/CUGJaiJguFR/?utm_medium=tumblr

[aion-rsa]

How a Batman 1989 Deleted Scene Cost Sean Young the Co-Starring Role

https://ift.tt/3tLKA4I

1989’s Batman is widely regarded as a time-tested, transformative entry for the comic book movie genre, and its $411.5 million worldwide gross ($872.8 million adjusted for inflation,) certainly shook an unsuspecting film industry to its core. However, for actress Sean Young, who was initially set to co-star in the film as Vicki Vale opposite Michael Keaton’s Caped Crusader, it represents a point in which misfortune pulled her away from a prospective mainstream breakthrough. Indeed, not only did a pre-production accident force her off the film, but the scene for which she was preparing ended up getting cut from the movie!

Director Tim Burton’s choice of Sean Young for Batman’s leading lady role, photojournalist Vicky Vale, seemed auspicious, since it brought the genre experiment a rising star with pertinent gravitas from roles in then-recent offering like Blade Runner and Dune, along with dramas like No Way Out and Wall Street. It was a positive outlier against the buildup from the film’s 1988 production, during which it was preemptively savaged by fans and critics over Burton’s selection of comedic character actor Michael Keaton—fresh from starring in Burton’s 1988 hit, Beetlejuice —as opposed to a conventionally imposing action movie star. However, a fateful accident would see blonde bombshell Kim Basinger take the role of Vicki, depriving Young of the film’s defiant, industry-altering success.

Amongst a normal number of revised permutations, the Batman script, written by Sam Hamm and Warren Skaaren, once had equestrian leanings—initially involving Vicki—designed to build toward a major action sequence. Consequently, in a setback that now resides in the realm of comic book movie legend, Young, who had been in London for four weeks of read-throughs and rehearsals for Batman’s imminent production in Pinewood Studios, was practicing her horse-riding skills when she was thrown off and sustained a fractured arm. That led producer Jon Peters—who had purportedly convinced Burton to cast Keaton—to suggest that the incapacitated Young be replaced with Kim Basinger, as cameras were set to roll in a week. The suggestion was immediately accepted, resulting in the replacement being quickly flown in, costing Young what was to be the biggest role of her career.

“They did spring the horse-riding thing on me, and I fell and had an accident,” explains Young in a recent interview with The Daily Beast. “Could they have kept me on the show and shot around my arm? They probably could have. I think [producer] Jon Peters had this hard-on for Kim Basinger, and he saw an opportunity to exit me, and he did. And no one ended up being very happy with that choice. But it is what it is. I had an accident and then got walked to the door.”

Warner Bros.

The scene in question was the intended start of Bruce Wayne and Vicki Vale’s first date, set at Wayne Manor. While the final cut started the date inside the dreary, echoey estate, the date would have instead started outside, at the horse stables. There, we briefly see the two riding horses—with Vicki coming across as the more experienced rider—before they dismount and kick off their flirtations. In an example of intended foreshadowing, Bruce says, furtively alluding to his secret crimefighting exploits, “Horses love me. I keep falling off. Maybe that’s why they love me. You should see me, I’m one big mass of bruises.” At that point, they walk off to a patio on which Alfred (Michael Gough) awaits them with a bottle of champagne,” at which point their date continues inside. Indeed, it’s a minor scene, and, as we were meant to see later in the film, Vicki’s horseback riding was merely a plot device designed to set Bruce on an arc for his own horseback action sequence; an aspect that lends Young’s role-costing accident a cruel element of irony.

The eventual payoff to the stable scene would have manifested after a scene that did make the film (at least partially), in which Bruce visits Vicki in her apartment, hemming and hawing as he tries to muster up the courage to reveal to her that he’s Batman. Of course, the Joker (Jack Nicholson)—enamored with Vicki—then interrupts at the door, resulting in a confrontation with Bruce that ends with Joker—after dropping the crucial clue of the “You ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?” line—shooting Bruce with a pistol, leaving Joker convinced that he killed him before leaving Vicki with an offer to consider. As we saw in the movie, Bruce secretly lined his shirt with a bullet-stopping metal tray, and pulled a Batman-esque disappearing act on Vicki after Joker departed. However, this scene was initially designed to kick off an elaborate chase sequence.

Read more

Movies

Batman 1989: The Long Journey and Enduring Legacy of a Superhero Classic

By David Crow

Movies

Michael Keaton is Not Becoming the Default DCEU Batman

By David Crow

In a major contrast from Batman’s onscreen form, early drafts of the script’s apartment scene had the Joker kidnapping Vicki after he revealed the suicide of girlfriend Alicia (Jerry Hall), and smashed the porcelain mask that covered her acid scars. Indeed, the famous, “You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs” line was to be followed by a dramatic cut, after which we see that Vicki was taken by the Joker and his men in their convoy of purple vehicles. At this point, Bruce arrives on the scene to find a mounted policeman in bad shape, sporting a familiar unnatural grin delivered by Smilex gas. Thus, without any other vehicle nearby, Bruce commandeers the cop’s horse and proceeds to chase down the Joker’s convoy. As the chase through Gotham starts to prove fruitless, a red symbol light flashes on Bruce’s belt, at which point a Volkswagen Bug—conspicuously going 70 mph—closes in on him, revealing the driver to be Alfred, who arrives bearing a bundle of fresh Batman attire, resulting a quick pit-stop before the rescue commences. It’s a major divergence from the film itself, in which Vicki wasn’t taken by the Joker at all, save for the climactic scene atop Gotham Cathedral.

“Falling off that horse was something kind of—I couldn’t hang on. There’s kind of a poetic symbolism about that,” lamented Young back in 2005 DVD documentary Shadows of The Bat: The Cinematic Saga of The Dark Knight. “In a way, I look back at that particular time in my life and I go, ‘Wow, I wish I’d been able to hang onto that horse. I wish I’d been able to do that.’ Because then the turning point in my particular career—I would have been able to stay on the film, I would have been in a big box office hit, I would have been able to go on to other big box office hits. That kind of domino effect would have occurred in my career. That was the turning point in my career where that didn’t happen.”

DC Comics

The horseback scenes, while ultimately cut, weren’t as excessive as they seem in retrospect. That’s because it was always clear that Burton’s version of Batman was to reflect the darker elements that came into prominence with Frank Miller’s groundbreaking, profoundly influential 1986 DC Comics miniseries The Dark Knight Returns. By no coincidence, that comic story contains a scene in which Batman rides a horse off into battle; an element of the story that created iconic imagery. Thus, it was merely a reflection of the revolutionary influences—divorcing Batman from the comical stereotype from the 1960s Adam West TV series—that helped form the film. Additionally, one draft even used this sequence as the vehicle to set up the origin story of Robin.

Yet, the saga of Sean Young and Batman continued in the public sphere—sans horses. As the sequel that would eventually become 1992’s Batman Returns had just cast Michelle Pfeiffer for the key role of Selina Kyle/Catwoman, Young felt slighted for not having been given the chance to audition for the part. It’s an understandable feeling, given the way she was unceremoniously recast, which belied any serious volition for her to field the part, since they could have possibly shot around her broken arm during the production’s initial months. Consequently, Young started what became a very public campaign to be cast as Catwoman. This culminated in a 1991 appearance on The Joan Rivers Show (seen just below), in which Young showed up in a homemade Catwoman getup and—through a sultry performance of the character evocative of Eartha Kitt—took Tim Burton to task on his apparent reluctance to even meet with Young in any capacity.

“Even if he wasn’t even going to use me in the sequel, I can’t understand why he wouldn’t at least see me. He wouldn’t see me,” exclaimed Young—at this point out of character—to the late talk show host, who then brought up the rumor that Burton thought the Walkie-talkie Young liked to carry during those days was a gun. “How would I know what he thinks,” Young responded. “He wouldn’t see me, he ducked me, he ran. And then later on, my agent told me that he was going to hire a bodyguard because I was like a dangerous lethal person.”

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Nevertheless, Batman‘s nixed horseback scenes ultimately proved to be a major undoing for Sean Young. Her status as a rising headliner evaporated after that tumble. She would subsequently suffer from, as she now alleges, being blackballed by prominent Hollywood figures such as Steven Spielberg, Warren Beatty and, yes, Tim Burton. In fact her most prominent post-80s movie was the co-starring (twist-touting) role in 1994’s Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, which Young says she only landed because star Jim Carrey advocated on her behalf in spite of studio Morgan Creek. Yet, Young has always worked steadily, and was recently seen in director Tracy Wren’s 2020 drama, Rain Beau’s End, with multiple movies still on her backlog. So, don’t discount the prospect of a potential Sean Young-issance just yet.

The post How a Batman 1989 Deleted Scene Cost Sean Young the Co-Starring Role appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3vWGuIP

[cinderellascribbles]

1: Precanon

(ao3)

Sloane was missing something.

She had the battlewagon. She had the core-all thanks to the local dealer, not that they were yet aware of it. She just got the most badass getup for the race this weekend-a silky black cape that sent chills throughout her every time that she touched it, and a raven’s mask with real raven feathers that she was so proud of that she could burst. She had the skills needed to drive it-all of the medals and trophies hanging on her wall proved that, despite the giant learning curve that came from not having a second rider. She had almost everything that she needed for the race this weekend, save for one thing.

Standing quietly in the alleyway, watching the parade go by, she waited patiently for an opening. Di Mane, one of Goldcliff’s most famous designers, was touring the country to show off her designs, and had stopped by as a part of her tour. There was to be a big procession of all her stuff leading to the museum, where she would give a grand speech to start the grand opening. Even better, hundreds of shopkeepers had set up near the event, making the already crowded streets even more packed with people on top of the chaos. The whole thing ran through the part of town with the least amount of visibility, but throwing in the parade, the music, and the cheering crowds, it held the perfect opportunity. I should be okay, she mused as she slid on her mask, tightened the strings on her cape, and took one last breath, long as I can get past the other cops.

And cops there were by the boatload. If they weren’t darting between the crowd and the floats, making sure that people didn’t get too close, or thundering by on ginormous horses, they were surrounding Di’s personal cart, with the woman herself on it, waving and beaming at the crowd, draped in her most expensive creations-and the best of Goldcliff’s police that money could buy.

It was almost comedic how airtight they kept the perimeter around the float. There were two officers on horseback at least ten feet away from the front of the float, and two in the back. In between that were four officers bordering the float itself. Sloane recognized them from her previous run ins-the half elf in the front was formal, efficient, and brutal with evocation. Just looking at him made the burn scars that knotted her arm ache. The short, stubby one with the sleepy face was damn good with abjuration-Sloane put a hell of an effort in getting out of one of her last traps. The large reptile flanking the far left didn’t know anything as far as Sloane, but was dangerous enough in combat-Sloane saw them using styles that she didn’t recognize.

And all the way in the back was the halfling.

If Sloane had to describe her, she would describe her as compact-in word, movement, and action. It wasn’t just her short stature, or the clipped, proper way that she spoke to both civilians and criminals, or the corkscrew curls that were close to her head, just threatening to burst out from underneath her cap. If Sloane was pressed, she might say that it was in how she carried herself. In every run-in with this cop that Sloane could recall, no matter what trick she pulled, she’d always find the cop not too far behind her.

Sloane remembered this cop as unflappable, even in the heat of the moment-Dogged as hell, too, she recalled, even with the way that she gives chase. This parade wasn’t Sloane’s first run in with the halfling cop-they had clashed before over stolen valuables and magic items. Sloane would do everything to have the cop lose her trail-run through rushing water, navigate through crowded alleys, even hide in an abandoned factory at one point, but the halfling had swam through the river, bowled through the alley, and burst into the factory. She’d chalk it up to some overzealous newbie trying to get into some higher-up’s good graces, or a cadet bluffing themselves up into victory, or even just stupidity, but this felt different. Nobody was that overzealous, that self-absorbed, or that stupid. And every time that she’d meet with the cop-or more like, every time that she would corner her, she’d still be completely poised and precise, in speech, manner, and fighting style. The way that she moved in those few moments that they were alone, however, felt a little less rigid, less controlled, less compact. If I didn’t know any better, Sloane mused, I’d think she was enjoying herself.

A loud bang drew Sloane from her thoughts as a firecracker shell burst at the crowd’s feet, and pulling a flinch from Sloane. Delighted shrieks emanated from the audience as a prankster in a suit covered in firecrackers on the float in front of them laughed and beamed and waved, and despite her mission here, she felt a cloud foul over her good mood. Gaudy, she spat. On any other day, that’d be considered dangerous, but pay enough money here and it’s a party trick. Glowering, she sank her hand into the pocket and felt for her prop.

The trinket was barely worth mentioning-just a shell tied together with some leather, and a small pearl dangling from it. She had found it on some trader’s cart a few years back, and she figured that it wasn’t valuable enough to warrant him missing it much. The important thing was that it looked glossy and expensive, though. Sloane understood when everyone got upset when she took something that did something-block magic, or open doors, or give you good luck, but she found it funny the way that people put value on things that sparkled, glittered or just looked nice, then blamed her for stealing them. If people didn’t say they were valuable, she mused, then I wouldn’t be stealing them in the first place. She looked cautiously around the crowd, scanning for someone who would seemed like they would draw the most attention. Picking out a nervous looking redheaded girl, she walked past her quickly, brushing past her noticeably.

She saw the raven’s mask and the necklace dangling from Sloane’s hand before she saw Sloane. With a simple cry of “Thief!”, the crowd that she was in was roiling-some of them trying to get away, some of them trying to get a closer look, some of them trying to grab her. Good thing I don’t need to deal with crowds today, she thought idly. She touched the ring on her finger and jumped, sending her springing through the air and onto the rooftop. Even from up there, she could still hear the commotion down below her-people screaming and shouting, officers trying to control the crowd-and the orders of a commanding officer deploying a small squadron.

And I haven’t even really done anything this time, Sloane thought. She could barely imagine the chaos that would unfold if she did.

She could hear the squadron storming down the alleys, two on both sides of the building that she had landed on. She was well aware of the drill by now-they usually split off with the elf accompanying the conjurer, and the lizard going with the halfling. The magic user in the group would know some combat, and the fighter would have one or two magic objects on them, in the event that they were separated, but Sloane knew she could count on them not shifting roles. Choosing to attack on a parade day was a benefit as well-the streets were stuffed with attendees and sellers, but the police probably have most of the area behind me already cleared out. The area around her-full of small alleyways and tight turns-would be her best bet. I just need to know how far behind the cops are, she thought. Without stopping, she cast a downward glance at them.

Fuck, she spat as she watched the baby face caster and the giant lizard head directly in front of her, and the elf dart off behind her far left, the halfling trailing behind. On the one hand, she thought gleefully, it’s kind of flattering that they made a new formation for me. The lizard was built like a tank, and Sloane knew that they were there to cover the abjurer when she casted. So interrupting her concentration’s out. The elf wasn’t fast or strong, but he had a hell of an aim-her arm was testament enough to that. And even if the elf didn’t hit her, he’d certainly drive her into the abjurer’s trap. Then there was the matter of the halfling. Even if she weren’t part of the plan, she’s still good enough to take me in combat and cover the elf. It was all that Sloane could do to not just tilt her head to the sky and groan her frustration. In a matter of seconds, the entire squad had blown through her original plan-and her back ups-just by shifting positions.

Pushing past the panic that was rising through her, Sloane slowly sat down and reached into her pocket. Pushing past the magic bric-a-brac that she had packed, she brought up three smooth stones, midnight blue in color. She always did love how silent they made her as soon as she touched them-she couldn’t even hear the sound of her breathing, or the rustle of her cape. So it looks like the plan is to box me in, she mused, running the stones through her hand. The elf’s good enough to fire at long range, and the halfling’s fast enough to catch her while she was dodging his Magic Missiles, so going back or left is out. She cast a glance ahead, towards the abjurer and the lizard. The abjurer would box me in, and the lizard would make sure that I stayed put. Frustrated, she pursed her lips and let out a silent groan. So going forward or right is also out. Looking farther out forward, she saw nothing but rooftops of various lengths and areas. But the further they go, the closer that they get to the dumpsters and junkyards. Better than the developed areas behind her-she’d have more room to navigate, but she’d be sure to get caught.

She sat like that for a few minutes, weighing the risks and the options, twisting the rocks in her hands, trying to swallow the lump of frustration in her throat. The more that she sat there considering her options, the less time that she had to move-and the less patience that the officers down below would have.

At least there’s a breeze, she thought. Despite the still day, she was high enough to have the wind run by her, shifting her hair and her clothes. It helps me look cool in the ca-.

Realization hitting her lock a rock, she stopped mid-thought, her mind running with an idea, her hands racing around the stones. Without warning, they stopped, and she sprung up, rejuvenated with her new idea. Shrugging the cape off of her shoulders, she dipped deep into her pocket, searching intensely. I could have sworn that I had a rope in here…

She switched her concentration to the elf behind her. It looked like he had taken up rotations around a city block, moving in a line. The halfling was directly behind Sloane’s building, poised in a defensive position. Looking ahead, she caught the abjurer not even half a block away, the lizard directly next to her. Both of them were poised in front of the building that was two buildings away from Sloane. Not actively attacking, but not not attacking either, Sloane groused. At least the caster hasn’t put up the wall yet. Digging up the bottle from her pocket and gripping the cape in her other hand, she made her way towards the front of the building, concentrating on the elf’s rotations around the building. The breeze was right behind her, pushing her hair into her eyes and fluttering the cape forward. She looked behind her at the elf, who was finishing easily his tenth or twelfth revolution, and almost about to turn the corner away from Sloane. She held her breath as she counted his steps. This would be walkaround thirteen, she counted quietly as she listened for the hiss of air escaping the bottle. As soon as she heard it, she pushed the rest of the cork out with her thumb and slid it over the bottle. He was almost 500 feet to the corner of the block, and he would turn left, away from her.

Sloane took a breath in and let her thumb off of the bottle, flinging the cape in the direction that it was pointed. All she needed was a little gust…

The tornado quickly caught the cape, and the eye of the elf. Before Sloane could really process it, a Magic Missile flew right past it, and then another, then another. His eye on the target, he forged forward, casting with ease and directness. Sloane heard something break in the distance, and turned to see a large prismatic wall, more than a mile across, burst out from the ground, the abjurer crouched on the ground mid-cast. The lizard had taken a defensive stance around them, in the event that the Raven would try and break their concentration.

And the halfling was on the other side of the wall.

Sloane eyed the distance between the building that she was on top of and the wall that was right next to it. While she was no caster, she was familiar with the spell, and knew that going through the wall would leave her with some damage. Twisting the ring on her finger, she sprung down, then bounded over the wall and past the halfling, running straight as she hit the ground. She could hear the elf call out, “Hurley!” to the halfling, surprisingly more clerical than Sloane would expect from someone just outsmarted by a silk cape. She was after Sloane before he could even open his mouth, and she swore that she could feel the halfling’s-Hurley’s-feet hitting the dirt with every step.

So that’s her name, she thought with a pang of excitement.

Sloane knew that she should have been tired already, but all that she felt was the pulse of adrenaline running through her body, and the sting of exhilaration pushing her aching legs forward. She had spent the past few months planning, searching, calculating, all to make this meeting work out. She had run through what she felt was every possible variation of this evening, with all possible scenarios-the building crumbling beneath her, the prismatic wall breaking down early, her getting a muscle cramp-and did everything that she could to cut out any minor variable that could throw this off. There’s no way that this can screw up! she mused gleefully. ...Unless she arrests me. She shook her head, jarring the thought out. We’ll work around that.

Left, right, left, left. Sloane didn’t even have to think about where she was heading, she had visited so many times before. She turned around one last corner and walked right into a dead end. Set by a brick building easily 60 feet high, the little abandoned corner was a half circle of flat dirt, covered in junk, iron, and refuse around the edges. Perfect for a little rendezvous, she thought, looking over the area. To the average passerby, it looked dry and dead, but Sloane knew that anyone still enough could see small flowers climbing through the cracks in the ground.

She couldn’t resist-sinking to her knees, she scrutinized the little white flowers poking through. It’s probably because of the building’s shadow, she thought excitedly. I bet it creates enough condensation for them to grow.

Oh my God, what am I doing. She stood up and started dusting the dirt off of her pants, a flush rising up her face from catching herself in the moment. She’ll be here any second. The chase hadn’t treated her well, with dust hanging on her now loose clothes. I’m probably red from running all over the place, too, she sulked. Grabbing her mask, she made as if to take it off, then pushed it back on again. Wait, no. I should leave it on. She probably hasn’t seen me without it. Satisfied, she resumed her position against the wall, and then resumed attempting to remove the mask. Yeah, she’ll be real happy to see someone waiting for her in a dead end wearing an animal mask. Girls love that. She tugged on the ribbons in the back, only to realize that they were stuck.

Goddamnit.

Heart pounding, she slid it up her face to the top of her head, still working with the ribbons. How about, I just…

“Sloane Ramirez!”

Sloane froze mid tangle and tilted her head in the direction that the voice came from. The cop-Hurley-stood right behind her, feet planted firmly on the ground, hands held in a bare block position. Even caught with her fingers mid-tangle, just looking at her made Sloane feel enthused. She had just run-how far?- into an abandoned part of town, right after a twenty minute standoff, by herself after her team had gotten isolated from her, and she wasn’t even flagging.

She would be perfect.

Sloane gave the cop-Hurley!-a casual smile and swiped the mask from the top of her head. “Took you long enough,” she in a tone that she hoped sounded leisurely. “To get here. Running, I mean. Running fast.” Folding her arms behind her, she cast a teasing glance at her. “Feels like I’ve been here for hours.”

The halfling kept her stance. “Sloane Ramirez, you’re under arrest for petit theft and resisting an officer. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

...So not how she exactly imagined things going. Sloane had envisioned this with a bit more of Hurley dropping her stance and saying something like, From the kindness of my heart, I will hear you out. Sing me your cares, you muscular goddess, and then they’d sit and talk about Sloane’s plan for a while, right between the flowers in the cracks on the ground, with the breeze blowing through their hair.

Still, Sloane didn’t want to give up just yet. For months after each of their encounters, Sloane could close her eyes and still see Hurley’s attacking stance, her fluid movements, the gleam in her eye, and know that she was giving chase for as much the thrill of the chase as for the duties of her job. Even now, with Hurley right in front of her, Sloane could see the shake of her shoulders, measure the seconds between her breaths, watch her eyes follow Sloane’s movements. She isn’t tired at all, she realized with a jolt of euphoria. She was as excited for this meeting as Sloane herself was.  

Taking one last nervous breath, she looked Hurley in the eyes and gave her her most devil-may-care smile.

“...actually, I was wondering if I could make you an offer.”

[thackerybinx01]

Dream

Had such a cool dream last night. It was a mix of anime and Harry Potter where I’m visiting a foreign country and somehow I get kidnapped and put into this super important dudes harem. He’s been kidnapping all kinds of women this way and the harem is huge but anyway it spans years and I’m pretty badass.

I’m always looking for ways out or how to protect the other women and there’s rivalries and jealousy. A lot of us are separated into groups, like favorites/types or whatever and of course treatment differs depending on who’s the favorite. He has so many women the groups rarely see each other. This keeps them from really planning anything of course, and there’s a lot of different motivations for each woman. Some are happy with the situation because they’re taken care of, some have accepted their fate, some adore and worship the dude, and some are doing their best to escape, etc.

But I’m trying to overthrow the dude and get me and these women home. I have a baby for him and it’s Harry and he’s a favored child to the point where my rivals and their kids try to sabatoge him but I’m badass enough to protect him and as he grows he can protect himself. For some reason I’m a favorite but dude knows not to fuck with me too much bc I will kill him. Harry’s survival depends on me behaving tho so he’s got me tamed. Kinda.

There’s multiple escape attempts both from myself and the other women, separate and together and we get punished a lot and at one point I get caught and Narcissa, another kidnapped woman, who can’t stand me bc I’m a favorite of the dude’s and because I don’t want that favoritism, covers for me bc we have a mutual understanding. It’s because I saved her son Draco when he was almost killed in an attack. He’s her entire world. And while we have this stare off we both remember the day he was born and how much Narcissa loved him and how perfect he was. Blonde and beautiful and looking so much like her.

Anyways he and Harry can’t stand each other (of course) and more time spans... Harry is older now and joins a secret group looking to overthrow the dude and save the women who’ve been kidnapped. Eventually we’re able to overthrow the dude and escape. It takes the effort and teamwork of some of the women (me and Narcissa), Harry and a lot of luck. While all the women are gathered together in blankets and getting their statements taken by the cops/ secret group or whatever- Harry thinks about Draco and their rivalry and how through all of that hate Draco still came to help him when they were fighting their father. Draco was one of the few who was happy with the way things were and didn’t think any of it was wrong but he still came to fight and help Harry. Harry knows that it was only bc they were powerful together that they both survived and he goes to him to try and talk for once.

Meanwhile, I’m talking about how I was captured (it took a whole group of men and a horseback chase to get me the first time) and why I stayed when I could have easily escaped by myself at multiple points. They accuse me of Stockholm syndrome and I say that wasn’t it.

I look over at Narcissa and we share that held gaze moment and I explain that I couldn’t leave. There was no way I could leave the rest of the women who wanted to get out behind and that I would never leave our kids behind. Someone scoffs and says that I only had one kid and could’ve easily taken him with me when he was a baby.

I look from Narcissa to Draco, who’s being his dramatic self and waving off Harry’s “thank you for saving me, can we try to be friends speech”

And at the same time I tell the cops/secret group that “I didn’t have just one kid”

Draco goes “of course I have to save you dumbass, we’re brothers”

Which would be true regardless since all the kids from the harem would be half siblings but I reveal more backstory and tell them that I carried Draco for Narcissa. She kept losing her babies and was desperate for a child and Draco is the only one I carried for someone else.

When I had him, blonde and beautiful and perfect I put him in her arms, the first and last time I ever held him and told her that he was her son. And we never talked about it again.

Somehow, Draco found out on his own and decided to seek out a relationship with Harry since they were full blooded siblings, Harry wanted nothing to do with him and the rivalry spurred from there. Everyone knew but Harry of course and he gets annoyed at that but I tell him that Draco belonged to Narcissa and that It wasn’t my place to tell. But I refused to leave either of them behind and that’s why I stayed.

Narcissa, holding Draco’s hand leads him over to me and even though he’s a grown man he kneels in front of me and introduces himself and for the first time since he was born I’m able to look at him. He introduces himself like we’ve never met like

“Hi. My name is Draco. I’m x years old and I have two amazing mothers named Narcissa and x. I like riding horseback and reading...” and while he’s talking he’s holding my hands in his and looking down at them. He’s very emotional and you can tell he’s trying not to cry. But he lets me hug him and cry over him. Both me and Narcissa are crying but they’re happy tears. Harry’s watching over all of us smiling and a little emotional himself.

Then I wake up.

[caredogstips]

Microsoft’s new dog-labeling app presents hilarious outcomes for cats and presidential candidates

By now, most of us have given up on our annual January attempts to molted some of the plethora weight our widespread holiday feasting slapped on us. We’ve held dieting a shot. We’ve affected the gym. The most frantic of us may have even dipped with fucking CrossFit. Yet as the weeks go by, we’re gradually adjusted to our brand-new, slightly portlier illustrations and hearing to espouse the additional padding.

At least, that’s how most of us role. A select few will take one last-place, pathetic stair and decide to give working out at home a try. You know, because the driving to and from the gym is what certainly suctions about works out. Not everyone can afford to shell out for their own cardio machine and an array of weights, though, and opt instead to offer still-obscene dollar amounts for fruitless machines that predict a shortcut to health and fitness. For precedent …

HTAG 1 TT# 5. Osim iGallopHETAG 1 TT

Do you like horseback riding, but hate the notion of owning and caring for a giant swine? That … actually forms feel. Riding’s pretty good exercise, but horses are a hassle unless you happen to have a handy stable nearby, which you don’t. Also, a pony devour and turds, and keeping up with both expenditures about as much as a car remittance every month.

Way less happy to place a bullet in your vehicle where reference is breaks down, though . It’s not the ideal setup for the occasional 20 -minute workout, is what I’m adding. So why not get a phony mare? I’m not speak about kids’ rocking horse, or one of those mechanical police western-themed prohibits are so fond of( although if you have the chamber and money, sacred shit, utterly buy a mechanical cop ). “Theres” designs out there that simulate your body’s push during going, minus the “hanging on for dear life” constituent — which, come to think of it, is approximately 99 percent of the exercising you get from pony journeying. Oh well. Still, maybe products such as the iGallop aren’t a ended waste of time. Let’s appreciate what the ads say it can do TAGEND

… um. Ma’m? I’m not sure if you’re well informed it, but there’s no way you’re performing in an ad for a fitness product. Maybe that’s what you were hired for, but that’s either a Jessica Simpson video or the first times of a softcore porn flick. There’s no way whatever the hell you’re sitting on is a machine for “exercise, ” and even less of a chance told machine doesn’t vibrate.

OK, perhaps I’m being a little unfair. Maybe that shabby GIF is just an anomaly, and the product’s official promo draws don’t make it looks just like a orgasmatron.

Wrong !

I’m not saying this is necessarily a bad product. Few happenings that are designed to stimulate your ass slimmer are without at least a bit inherent ethic. Still, I don’t care how great a core manager this thing is — if you’re willing to move $400 at it, you might as well protrude it in a neighbourhood of honor in your living room and perhaps glue a few dildos on it. Because there’s no way in blaze any person who has considers it is going to believe it’s anything but a fancy Sybian.

HTAG 2 TT# 4. The Face TrainerHETAG 2 TT

SkyMall is a gift that stops on giving for enterprising slapstick websites. Their sales are comprised of 70 percent panicked knack orders, 30 percentage irony, and 100 percentage is just so endured and/ or drunk that ordering wine glass incumbent necklaces for your entire extended family seems like a funny meaning. Still, at least the company generally restraint its antics to the kind of clever-but-not-quite-useful trash Billy Mays had an opportunity to peddled back in the working day. It’s not like their target audience is more into the fitness marke–

Oh, god dammit .

Yes, that is a workout concealment for your face muscles. And yes , it works by working “proven principals of resistance trained to facial muscles” — which, let’s face it, is just a fancy terminology for “It’s a really fucking tight disguise, and now you have to represent faces. Cause us money.” The Face Trainer promises to take years off you, which is a claim I actually amply imagine, because there’s no way you won’t get chased off a cliff by a torch-wielding syndicate if you go out in public wearing this thing, doing frenetic Frankenstein faces to keep it from suffocating you.

Unfortunately, it looks like the product was too stupid for even SkyMall, since it’s nowhere to be found on their area today. Or is it ? A search with the keyword “trainer” gives me a bunch of Mad Max -themed neon trikes, panicking elliptical trainers with random lines, a Star Wars “Force trainer” because of fucking course, and … the “Tribal Style Giraffe Mask.”

Look at the Tribal Style Giraffe Mask. Look at it TAGEND Somewhere, the Jigsaw Killer is furiously masturbating .

There’s no way that act won’t slimed the shit out of your face the second you try it on, likely bear-trap-style. And you will try it on, if simply to stillness its constant whispering in eldritch tongues.

HTAG 3 TT# 3. ViPRHETAG 3 TT So you’re marching down the common early in the morning, doing something I generously presuppose is not crime-related, when you abruptly come across groupings of creepy fitness types waving immense records around.( Oh, get your sentiment out of the trough .) Like so TAGEND

“You won’t get away this time, Cobra Commander! ”

Hahahahahaha! What the actual fucking is going on? Did you stumble upon a Warriors -style territorial engagement between two 1980 s-themed CrossFit cliques? A no-budget Masters Of The Universe LARP?

Nothing that sane, I’m afraid. You’ve exactly watched the ViPR in action, and things aren’t going to get any better once those people actually start moving.

If you didn’t watch that video, two things. One: Delight do; you owe it to yourself. Two: That precise same convict, exclusively much louder.

The ViPR infomercial is a simple piece of work at heart.

Surely .

Basically, it’s several spandex-clad fitness enthusiasts doing the Stormtrooper stun baton twirl …

No need to click that relation. It searched exactly like this in the movie .

… simulating everyday pleasures such as shoveling …

I feel ?

… and even clumsily engaging in some of that bullshit Klingon pretend fighting in which they slap each others’ bat’leths and expect parties to be impressed.

Nerds !

Only they don’t have dazed wands, or scoops, or unwieldable blade things. They’re doing everything there is with a fucking log. Called ViPR . I entail, I imagine the record is called ViPR, but maybe I misconstrue something and it’s actually the true reputation of the entity that possesses all these beings and obliges them to do stupid shit for our amusement.

Example .

Again, I’m not saying this stupidly-named fucking thought is inevitably a bad produce at heart. It has a number of gaps that it declarations moves it fully consistent with a number of other incomprehensibly-named gadgets the more impressionable gym might boast, so I guess you can at the least join all those bullshit events into a monstrous Voltron of uselessness when you inevitably get bored with it. It’s just that if you’re trying to get in shape, I’d wager there are better ways to go about it than an exercise implement that moves you look like the Star Wars Kid grew up and connected a fraternity.

RTAG 34 TTRead more:

It’s easy to think of Microsoft as a giant, boring corporation that is good at the boring trash but bad at everything else. Over the past several months, though, the computing monstrous has shown off a bit personality with its artificial intelligence projectsthe latest of which is made to identify dog engenders.

Fetch !, the latest be applied in A.I. are derived from the quirky and experimental change arm called Microsoft Garage, can take any scene you shed at it and develop an trained guess at what dog is in the epitome. It’s facial acknowledgment but for pups.

The app, available on Web and mobile, also provides some fragments of information for each produce, discontinuing lore on a dog’s disposition, size, coat and what types of houses are best suited for each.

Fetch! differentiates the first crack at animal discovery from Microsoftprior to it, the company rolled out several apps specific for identifying information about humen. Using its neural networks scaffold, Microsoft created tools that guess a person’s age, identifies twinneds, and detects passions in facial expressions.

So how accurate is Fetch? Stick with purebred bird-dogs and it’s pretty good.

Microsoft Fetch

Microsoft Fetch

Microsoft Fetch

Mixed reproduces threw the app for a loop.

Microsoft Fetch

Microsoft Fetch

Microsoft Fetch

Dogs in disguise can beat the algorithms.

Microsoft Fetch

Microsoft Fetch

Microsoft Fetch

It didn’t do enormous with caricature dogs…

Microsoft Fetch

Microsoft Fetch

… though in it’s justification, Charlie B. Barkin from All Dogs Go to Heaven was technically dead and Snoopy was acting as a World War I fighter pilot, so Fetch! is rightthere are no pups to be found in those images.

Fetch! also thinks every feline is a pomeranian.

Microsoft Fetch

Microsoft Fetch

Microsoft Fetch

It might not be for felines, but Microsoft tones Fetch! isn’t just for dogsit’s for humen as well. “Just for recreation, we include a mode that would allow us to find out what hound engenders you and your friends are, ” the app description reads.

It’s smart of Microsoft to include that in its programming a room be held accountable for photographs of parties, because that’s exactly what everyone was going to heave at the app anyway. There’s simply one real practice to take advantage of that boast to the best of its ability: by throwing the remaining presidential candidates at it.

Microsoft Fetch

“Gets along with just about everyone” couldn’t be further from the truth for Ted Cruz, a follower who has managed to irritate even his closest friends in the U.S. Senate. But “eager to please” is mostly how his foe Marco Rubio described him on the campaign trail, saying he is “willing to say or do anything that are intended to win.”

Microsoft Fetch

“Face of a werewolf.” Yep, that checks out.

Microsoft Fetch

Rubio is the youngest party extending for chairwoman, so energetic and anxious fit him well. And his path to succes is in need of him to soak up voters from lesser nominees as they drop out of the hasten, which is basically preying on small-scale swine. He’s emphatically vocalhe just seems to say the same circumstance over and over again when he now open the mouth.

Microsoft Fetch

Jeb Bush( likely the inspiration for the Retrieve! mention with his Jeb! branding) is the real golden retriever here , not Ted Cruz. He’s just waiting for the voters to realize that.

Microsoft Fetch

John Kasich has been in politics for a very long time. He knows the game. Has it all precisely been an ongoing distraction to keep him from rending up tissues in the trash bin?

Microsoft Fetch

Bernie Sanders is no other candidate passing for chairman who isn’t beholden to the Big MilkBone manufacture. He wants to give every person the opportunity to be a good dog.

Microsoft Fetch

Everyone knows Hillary Clinton’s resume. They know what she’s reached and what she wants to do. But to earn the confidence of the voters, she is going to have to finally answer the issues to: is she a rough or smooth collie?

Photo via Microsoft

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