#Drew callander | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ohctranscripts · 2 years

Text

Season 1, Episode 2 (R): Secondly! - The Cricket

Narrator: As night begins to fall on Paris, backstage at the broadcast ballroom, busy preparations for this evening’s broadcast of The Orbiting Human Circus of the Air begin.

[Doors opening, footsteps, elephant trumpets]

[Music in the background]

But, before we listen, there’s one thing I think you ought to know. You’ll remember, last week, seeking forgiveness, the janitor snuck backstage to clean host John Cameron’s dressing room as the last song of the evening played. And that music – and this is what I really wanted to tell you – was performed by the Orbiting Human Circus Orkestral, a rare African bird that can mimic all 47 instruments of the orchestra at once.

The Orkestral is something of a Parisian Bigfoot, believed only to land where orchestras are rehearsing. Many people claim to have seen them, but one has never been filmed or recorded. Yet, there one was, perched in its cage on the stage in full view of the entire studio audience – beautifully mimicking a waltz! With no visible strings or wires! Even the stagehands don’t know how it’s done. And it’s that way with all the acts.

With that thought, we take you back to last week [Cleaning noises] in host John Cameron’s dressing room, where the janitor cleans with greater and greater enthusiasm until—look out!

[Muffled explosion]

In his exuberance, the janitor accidentally knocks a small crate, marked, ‘For Mister Cameron’s Eyes Only, exclamation point’ off the table. Out of it spills several tiny tomes of sheet music and some bird seed.

Suddenly, the door opens! [Door and floor creaking] And in sneaks stagehand Jacques, guiltily starting to light a cigarette!

Jacques: Kid, I was told to throw you out on your ass.

Julian: I won’t tell Laeticia you were smoking!

Jacques: You wouldn’t?

Julian: I won’t if you let me finish cleaning!

Jacques: Cleaning? [Scoffs] This place is a wreck, look at that on the floor. Oh—whoa, look at that crate. Is that what the bird came in?

Julian: …Yeah.

Jacques: Hey, lemme see that. Whoa, look at this. He’s gotta know how this bird works, I was—I was thinking it’s gotta be a robot.

Julian: It’s not a robot!

Jacques: What’s this white stuff? [Groans] It’s not a robot!

Julian: It’s not a robot.

Jacques: Ugh.

Julian: Here’s a paper towel.

Jacques: Alright, so what do I got here?

Narrator: Suddenly, a commotion out in the hall!

Laeticia: Allons, allons, attention, get out of ze way, zis machine, it is ‘eavy!

Jacques: Ah, shit, I’m supposed to be out there helpin’ her! If she catches me in here, and I’m talkin’ to you?

Julian: Please, you’ve gotta let me finish cleaning.

Jacques: Okay, but you get me in trouble, I’m gonna break your legs.

Narrator: Meanwhile, at home, the listeners sat back and listened to… this.

[Christy Gressman intro message]

[Bell tolling]

John: Eldrid, the tap dancing mouse!

[Mouse skittering and squeaking]

[Opening music]

John Cameron: Broadcasting from the top of the Eiffel Tower, the Orbiting Human Circus of the Air! To start us off, as part of our continuing series on the formative influence of Judaism on rock and roll, we give you this 1921 recording by Cantor Moishe Lebowitz, clearly an influence on the song ‘Surrender’ by popular singing group, Cheap Trick, decades later!

[Music and ballad-like singing]

Narrator: Meanwhile, as the broadcast continues, high in the shadowy outer walls of the Eiffel Tower, far from the microphones hearing, the sound of a single mop [sound of a mop hitting the floor] and the lonely silhouetted figure holding it.

[Julian sighs]

Narrator: This of Julian, janitor of the Eiffel Tower, banned from the broadcast ballroom for his on-air interruptions. Follow him as he mops the tower’s outer walls and climbs higher, dangerously high, without scaling gear, ropes, or scaffolding to hold him!

Julian: I don’t need that stuff. I’ve been climbing my whole life.

[Voice yelling ‘Julian’ from far away]

Julian: I gotta go.

Narrator: With one free hand, he scales the tower, spilling soapy water from the bucket he holds and nearly dropping the mop. [Julian breathing heavily] Still he goes higher, and higher, and higher, like a small animal climbing a tall tree to escape its pursuers! Much too high! My god, what’s he doing?! Has he no fear of heights at all?

Julian: Heights are the last thing I’m afraid of. Up high, you’re safe.

[Bucket clanging]

Narrator: But still, he climbs higher, and higher, and the higher he climbs, the calmer he becomes.

Julian: Everything looks so beautiful from up here. There’s not a thing that can touch you.

Narrator: The janitor leans back on one of the tower’s upmost girders and gazes off, as if lost in memory.

Julian: When I was a kid, my stepfather used to be afraid of heights. I used to climb this water tower, we had this water tower—it was the tallest structure in our town and I’d, like, climb up it, and I’d stay up there for hours. But the first time I came to Paris, I never saw anything like this.

Narrator: Yes, Eiffel really knew what he was doing.

Julian: I mean, it was the tallest thing I’d ever seen in my life. I would—all the buildings were, I mean, I was ten. I ran away.

Narrator: To Paris? At ten?

Julian: Well, I knew I had this great grandpa, and he was a stage hypnotist… So I snuck on a train. [Chuckles] I went to the train station, I went into the turnstile, I—I went down and nobody saw me, and I got onto one of the trains when no one was looking. And I got under the bench seats, and I was down there, um, by everyone’s feet, I could see everybody’s shoes, and…

The train started moving, like – nobody caught me! And, uh, I didn’t even know – I hadn’t thought about where I was going, or how I was gonna eat or survive, and—and the next thing I knew, we got in Paris. And when we got in Paris, there were posters for my great grandfather’s show – everywhere!

[Chuckles] I—so I—I found the theatre where he was playing, and I snuck backstage.

Narrator: Well, what happened?

Julian: He took me home with him. And he lived in these wonderful apartments. There was red velvet everywhere, and, and, uh… there was all these famous people, like actors and actresses. Like, people I knew, I mean from posters, and—and there were always parties.

And my great grandpa was just handsome and elegant and—and, oh my god, and I remember, I remember some nights he even forgot to feed me. Like, he didn’t know how to take care of kids, but I didn’t care. I mean, he forgot that I had to go to school, he never thought about that – which was amazing. Um…

I just wanted to be near him.

Narrator: Sounds like he was very special.

Julian: There was this one time… I was in his, I was in his office. And I was hiding, he didn’t know I was watching him. And he was sitting at his desk and he was writing, and he started—he had this cigar in his mouth, and he started blowing these, uh, smoke rings. But he wasn’t looking at them, and they started getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger, and he still wasn’t looking.

And they slowly, slowly started getting smaller, and smaller, and smaller, and then, without looking, he just lifted up his left hand, and he extended his finger, and he stuck it right through the center of the ring. And he put both of his hands in front of his face and he started puffing, and when he took his hands away, there was a perfect smoke polar bear… just floating! In the middle of the room!

And there was even a polar bear-shaped shadow on the carpet! And it drifted up, and up, until it reached the ceiling.

I wanted to know how to do that! I want—I just wanted to stay with him, I wanted him to show me how to be a show person… I wanted to live like those people.

Narrator: Did you get to?

Julian: [Sighs, laughs softly] No.

Narrator: The janitor takes his bucket, looks down at the glowing lights of the city far below, and begins to mop.

[Wind whipping]

Meanwhile, below, in Paris, people gather ‘round their radios. [Music starts] You see, there’s a rumor that something unusual, something quite unprecedented, is going to happen on The Orbiting Human Circus. It’s going to happen during the feature presentation! You know, the strange story that ends each episode, which all Paris waits for?

What’s going to happen? Well, all Paris is going to have to wait to find out. But I can show you…

We zoom in on a small, enclosed space that looks a lot like the janitor’s pocket. A dark, womb-like space, where a small figure lies curled in a fetal position…

Well, I don’t know if they have fetal positions. You see, it’s an insect. And what does an insect have to do with the feature presentation? Well, it must be something, because backstage at the broadcast ballroom, the large tape machine which usually plays the feature presentation is still tucked away. And stagehand Jacques pays little attention to it!

Jacques: Hey, hey, somebody help me lift these pies onto the stage for the next act!

Narrator: Meanwhile, above, at the tip of the Eiffel Tower, the janitor leans perilously off the side, mysteriously pauses mopping, and puts his ear to the metal girders to listen.

Julian: If you put your ear up against the metal, you can hear things. The tower picks up radio signals from all over the world depending on which girder. Here, listen.

Narrator: The janitor presses his ear against the girder.

[Slow music]

Julian: Or listen over here!

[Hawaiian-style music]

Julian: And if you put your ear up to this girder here, listen to what you can hear.

John: That was Yurmac, the pie-eating Cossack! Yurmac, ladies and gentlemen!

Julian: You know how I live in the janitor’s closet… there’s no electricity, so I can’t have a radio. I come up here for hours and listen…

John: Yurmac!

And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s nearly time for our feature presentation!

Julian: I gotta go!

Narrator: Where are you going?

Julian: Down to the show, it’s almost time!

Narrator: And so, the janitor begins a frenzied climb down to the ballroom!

But they won’t let you in.

Julian: Look, look at this. I got it here in my pocket.

[Cricket noises]

Narrator: It’s… a cricket.

[Voice yelling ‘Julian’ from far below]

Julian: Oh, come on, we gotta go! I’ll explain about the cricket. Late at night, after everybody goes, I’m allowed to clean the acts’ cages.

Narrator: An important job!

Julian: I was just finishing up, and I went to the—the new orchestra bird’s cage, and it wasn’t in there!

Narrator: You mean the Orkestral, the rare African bird that can mimic all 47 instruments in the orchestra at once, the Orbiting Human Circus’s one-bird band?

Julian: I looked everywhere for it, and it wasn’t anywhere! It was all my fault! Sometimes the lock doesn’t lock. I was scared it ran away! Everyone was gonna know I did it.

But then I heard something in Mister Cameron’s office!

Narrator: You mean John Cameron, host of the Orbiting Human Circus, whose dressing room you’ve invaded on multiple occasions? You didn’t.

Julian: I had to! It was dark, and I turned on the light, and there it was! The Orkestral was standing right over this cricket like it was gonna eat it, but it didn’t. It was… listening.

Narrator: Listening?

Julian: I swear to god. It looked like the cricket was telling the Orkestral a story!

Oh, through here. It’s time! [Clapping] Listen, he’s talking about me on the air!

John: Last week, ladies and gentlemen, we demonstrated the Cricket’s Song Trans-Migrator, a machine that allows us to hear the cricket’s song as the cricket hears it. After the show, I discovered Julian toying with that machine, violating a great many rules.

But for once, we’re glad he did! The machine caught a cricket backstage in mid-anecdote. And for the first time, a cricket story was translated into the human tongue! I realized we simply had to share it with you! We discovered not only that crickets are the greatest storytellers in the world, but why they are.

When a cricket is caught by a bird, he is always given a chance to tell a story. And if it’s a good one, that bird will spare that cricket’s life. So, let’s bring out the cricket!

[Clapping]

Our janitor, ladies and gentlemen. [Quieter] Put him in my hand, Julian. [Cricket chirping] Roll out the machine, Jacques. Little cricket, up on the platform you go. [Cricket chirping louder]

And now, ladies and gentlemen, we make radio history – a cricket’s own story, our feature presentation, “The Extraordinary Tale of Ladislas Koskovsky”.

[Technological noises]

[Gurgling, followed by laughter]

[Clearing throat]

Cricket: Hello, ladies and gentlemen! [Clapping] It is we, crickets, who see what no one else does. But there is no mystery more beloved amongst us than that of Ladislas Koskovsky.

Ladislas Koskovsky was a promising young clockmaker who believed, due to certain incontrovertible laws of physics, clocks would run more accurately counter-clockwise. And he was correct, his clocks were too accurate, in fact! Who wants to own a clock that runs a different time than all others? Nobody!

He cannot afford to eat, his whole life is his shop – and his shop is failing. He had to find some way to make people want his clocks. But he finds it impossible to work.

Through the ceiling in his workshop come piercing the voices of the two children who live upstairs, as if in the room with him. The children constantly beg for dolls he knows the parents cannot afford. Christmas will come, bring disappointment. [Babbles]

Ladislas finds himself gathering small bits of fabric from his wardrobe, materials from his workshop, and beginning to fashion the children two dolls – one for the boy and one for the girl. They will be good dolls; he will ask only for peace and quiet in return.

When the family opened the door to reveal Ladislas holding presents, they are stunned. Ladislas had never been the least bit friendly to them, and yet here he is.

“Merry Christmas,” is all he says, “ask them to keep quiet for me.” And avoiding all eye contact, he dumps the packages in their hands and runs away.

The battle of curiosity of even the parents cannot be contained, the packages unwrapped immediately. How much the children loved their dolls cannot be measured in words.

Then, a miracle happens.

Customers begin coming into Ladislas’ shop!

Narrator: As the cricket’s voice rings out, the cast and crew listen, and chief stagehand Laeticia is so touched that later that night, she tells the story to her downstairs neighbor.

Laeticia: They are, like, coming into his shop! All of a sudden, where are zey coming from, you know? Is not like the people who used to come, no zese people are, zey are wearing stylish clothes and, more importantly, zey begin buying his clock!

And, er, they smile at him when zey come in and zey are like, “Oh, Ladislas, you know, you are, you are a genius!” and all this, oh. And he is like, [gasp]!

Some of zem, zey are very beautiful women, you know, and say, “Si, Ladislas,” you know, he is like, whoa. [Laughs] You know what it is like when you have not been with someone for a long time and zen zis beautiful person come in and is, like, looking at you, you know, he is like, “Oh my,” like he’s, uh, his face is on fire, you know.

But he’s like, “I’m going to buy myself a new suit, and I am going to buy myself, like, a new hat, and is gonna make a difference and I’m gonna go, uh, talk to zose people! I’m going to go to ze party!” Because zis one girl, she had invited him to zis party. So he’s gonna go!

He arrive at ze party, so he come to Marie’s door. He knock on the door, and, er, ze butler open the door, and, you know, “I am Ladislas Koskovsky, I have come—come to ze party.” And he look inside, and zere is Marie, and she is like, [gasp]! You know, like, uh, kind of a little bit, like, shocked or something?

But zen, “Oh,” you know she is very happy, she’s inviting him in, and he walk into zis amazing party with ze champagne, you know, and ze trays, and everyzing is, like, sparkly zere, like, it is all so beautiful. You know, ze people but also ze ways zey laugh, it is like Christ alors or something.

So zis blush on his cheeks is just deeper and deeper, you know, like a beet or somezing. But it’s okay, he’s like, going from room to room, you know, with Marie, and she is like, “Zis is zis room and zis room and ze terrace,” and, uh, you know, ze terrace, it smell like, uh, like a whole garden is out zere, blooming, you know, in ze midnight with the stars and the light, it is all so fragrant, you know? You come back inside and every room he go into with Marie, zere is a clock of his.

Ze people are all smiling at him and he see his clock is in every room, like, uh, “I did not know zis was my home, I did not know zis was always where I was going.” And then, suddenly, zere is somezing in him, it is, like, coming up, like tingling. What is zis feeling, it is like, rising, and rising, and rising, rising, what is zis? It is in his throat and out of his mouth and…

It’s a sob?

Zere is somezing in him, like, coming up, like a… like a boulder, gaining speed, you know, rushing toward him, and he feel it coming up through his body and just as he come into ze big grand ballroom and he see his clock on ze other side of ze wall, it is like, “[Gasp]! Zey are laughing at me! Zey don’t like ze clock, zey think it is a joke! Zey brought me here to make fun of me.”

And he cannot control the pain and ze rage, it is like, uh, pours out over him and through him and it is rushing over, like, the whole ballroom, like, uh, like ze snow just *pow*, just, you know, like he is, like a doorway through which winter comes rushing.

And, uh, he is crying on ze carpet and making a scene, and just, like, cannot move, like, uh, frozen to ze floor. They ask the butler, ze butler, you know, he comes, everyone’s a little bit nervous, you know, because there is zis, uh, crying clockmaker on ze floor. And zey pick him up, and, uh, zey kick him out, because, you know, zey are going to clean up zis mess on ze carpet now.

Narrator: And stagehand Jacques tells it to his elderly aunt!

Jacques: So, listen, that night, he smashes all the clocks. He smashes his own prized possession. He takes, you know, his little squeaker clock? The one that goes off in the morning, and he fuckin’ hurls it across the room. Smash! He takes his grandfather clock, he pushes it down the stairs. It tumbles, it tumbles, it tumbles, and crack at the bottom, alright? He’s just chucking ‘em everywhere, it’s hittin’ the ceiling, you know. One of ‘em, you know, crashes out the fuckin’ window. It’s unbelievable.

Like, like, this guy is so pissed off. Everybody’s wakin’ up in town, you know. The neighbors, the people upstairs. He hurls one, it smacks against his fuckin’ plumbing, you hear water comin’ out. It’s crazy, this guy’s goin’ crazy.

So then, they hear, like, a shuddering of the doors. Here’s the thing: after all that, he never came out.

Narrator: And, even later that night, janitor Julian tells it to Coco, elderly night watchman at the Eiffel Tower, who counts on the janitor’s nightly telling of the radio show to help pass his lonely watchman’s hours.

Julian: They thought he was dead.

Coco: Okay. [Laughs]

Julian: And after a few weeks, kids started, you know, saying that it was haunted, and they’d dare each other to go up, and tap on the window.

Coco: Oh, yes.

Julian: Or to try and get as close to the window as they could, and of course they’d all run off, and then, some of them started to hear these sounds.

Coco: Uh-huh!

Julian: Um, late at night, there’d be these crazy sounds, like knocking, uh, banging. Really scary sounds.

And it would terrify the people living upstairs, and all the noise would happen all night and then in daylight, it would stop and it would get quiet again.

And this went on for weeks!

Coco: Wow.

Julian: And then one morning, the sun was rising and the shades on the shop window just went up!

There was a doll shop!

Coco: No!

Julian: Nobody could believe their eyes! And the window displays were amazing, and the dolls? The dolls had this thing that just makes you feel safe and happy and warm. Kids loved them, it became a sensation. I mean, kids just wanted to even be in the shop, and they’d press their faces up against the window and their breath would fog it up. There were people lining up for blocks!

Coco: No!

Julian: And Ladislas was there, right in the middle of it. He went out and he found all the people, um, that were at that party, and he gave them dolls for free, just as gifts for their kids, and—and, well he found the people that used to come into his shop just to keep warm that he used to kick out and yell, and he gave them dolls for their kids and their friends’ kids.

It got to where Ladislas was, like, the most famous person in Bucharest.

Narrator: But, Ladislas’ story does not end there! In fact, it doesn’t end at all. But I’ll get to that in a moment.

As we all heard, live on the air…

Cricket: One morning, Ladislas Koskovsky disappeared.

Narrator: Both he and his doll shop, gone! Without a trace! All Romania wanted to know – what happened to Ladislas Koskovsky?

But, it is not what had happened to Ladislas Koskovsky – it is what he had done. On every doll he had created, there was hidden a tiny catch. This catch was protected by a thin layer of vaunge, which, lovingly handled, would wear off in no less than a year – the exact same amount of time it would take for a child to bond with their doll completely.

Cricket: Then, the first time that the child would drop the doll, or place it down roughly, the catch would trigger and set into motion a mechanism that, faster than the eye could see, would replace the original face with another that lay hidden inside, the same face but with a new expression – a horrific expression, of hatred, such pain, such monstrous, mortal accusation. It would traumatize the child who loved it for the rest of their life.

For their dolly turned to them, now hideous with pain – Ladislas’ pain. With bitterness - Ladislas’ bitterness. With hatred - Ladislas’ hatred. To fill the dreams of the children of Bucharest with nightmares to last a lifetime. And once the faces had changed, the mechanism would lock forever. No one would know how it happened – only the horror it produced. And so…

Narrator: But, the story went no further! Because, though stagehand Jacques, chief stagehand Laeticia, and our janitor Julian all thought it was a good story, there was one key member of our cast who did not!

Which will become increasingly apparent in just a moment as—look out! [Screeching followed by screams] The Orkestral escapes its cage and lunges at the cricket who, abandoning the story, skitters off, with the bird in hot pursuit – and the janitor, dashing madly close behind!

Julian: The Orkestral’s gotten out of its cage! Oh, my god, I didn’t lock it. I didn’t lock it! Oh, my god, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!

[Cricket chirping, flapping, screaming]

John: Good lord, save that cricket! Good lord, he’ll eat him alive! I’ve grown very fond of that cricket, whe—

Make the Orkestral play the end music!

[Music starts playing, continued flapping and cricket chirping]

Narrator: And, the Orkestral does begin to play the music while chasing the cricket while being chased by the janitor, round and round in dizzying circles!

John: And that’s it for this week! Tune in next week when our safely returned cricket will continue his story!

Broadcasting from the top of the Eiffel Tower, the Orbiting Human Circus wishes you a good night!

[Ending music, clapping]

Christy Gressman: The Orbiting Human Circus of the Air is a copresentation of WNYC studios and Night Vale Presents.

Welcome to the special commentary for season 1 of the Orbiting Human Circus! If you are a new listener, we strongly recommend that you listen to the complete narrative season first, and then return to these commentaries.

Julian: Hello, everybody! This is Julian. I wanted to let you know two things. Uh, one is that in portions of the commentary that you’re about to hear, you’ll be hearing from Drew Callander over the telephone, uh, from Ireland, talking to us at WYNC studios, and during that portion of the conversation, um, I have the hiccups. Uh, when I get the hiccups, they usually last about two or three days and there’s nothing I can do about it, so I do apologize for having the hiccups during that portion of the conversation, and I hope you enjoy it!

Thank you!

Christy Gressman: In episode 2’s commentary, you’ll be hearing from David Barlow, who plays Mr. Chouinard, Drew Callander, who plays the Narrator, and me, Christy Gressman, the show’s producer.

[Saw music]

Julian: The Narrator is something that comes a little bit from my own life, actually. I actually did have, at different times in my life, sort of imagined a narrator. I don’t remember how old I was when I started, but it was kind of, I think, in my teens when I started, when things were a little bit scary or when I wanted to feel differently than I was feeling, I would sometimes pretend that I was a character in a movie or, uh, a show. There would be narration, and, um, that would calm me down, uh, if it—if what was happening was, you know, an anxious thing or a scary thing.

It would also, uh, I found that it helped me go to the place that I would go to when I was really living a moment in a way that I loved, so…. That was, in some ways, I think that was the inspiration for the Narrator character, and for the janitor.

[Saw music]

So, Drew, of course, is the Narrator and how—may I say how wonderful Drew is in this show, um, and…

Drew: Awww.

Julian: You are!

Drew: Thanks!

Julian: You are! And I’m only sayin’ that because I’m drunk.

Christy: He would—

Julian: I’m just kidding.

Christy: He would say that anytime.

Julian: I’m not drunk, I just [hiccups] have the hiccups. But if it got edited out, he said I was—sounded like I was drunk. Anyway…

[Christy and Drew laughing]

So, Drew’s—the sound of Drew’s voice other than the sound of your very special and unique throat and lungs and tongue and—and other associated organs, uh, is an RCA ribbon mic that only your—your character is one of the only ones who speaks into it. [Starts laughing] Everyone’s laughing! I think I said something bad!

[Christy laughing]

Um, but it’s—

Drew: I think it was the—I think it was the sensual way you—

Julian: Oh, god!

Christy: That was it!

David: And clinical also, ‘associated organs’.

Christy: Clinical, yet sensual, a very unique approach.

Julian: This will be edited, thank god.

Christy: —will be in.

[Laughing]

Drew: Glad you didn’t say anything about my hard palette.

Julian: But your—that microphone is one of my favorite things in the world. It’s one of my, um, prized possessions that [hiccups] I’ve had. It—the microphone’s from the 30’s, it’s an RCA 44 microphone and, and the marriage of it and Drew’s voice is such a magical thing and, uh, yeah! Well, anyway, I’ll let you take over for a minute, Drew.

Drew: Well, it’s—it’s funny, it was like, uh, you remember I moved up to Vermont for, like, 6 months, and I had that microphone with me, and, you know, it was like—it was like a relic, it was like this…. [starts laughing] It had this little special box that it went in, like a reliquary, you know, and it had Julian’s handwriting on the box. It was, like, ‘Fragile! No bumps!’ And I moved it back and forth between my apartment and that place I was staying in Vermont, and I—every time I moved it, I was so, like… I was so aware of not bumping it.

Julian: Aww.

Drew: But anyway, um… and I never bumped it once, and if it doesn’t work it’s not because of me.

Julian: Aww, no, it works!

Drew: But it was, it was, um… so that was one of the coolest parts for me, was seeing the—that mic, which was, like, you know, I had never seen one in real life. I had only seen them, uh, in old movies, you know? And, um, the thing that was really cool to me, or for me, was the, um, the wire.

So, Julian showed me, after the mic recorded me, then he transferred it onto, uh, the wire, which was like the recording equipment that they had back in the 30’s, right? ‘Cause you said it wasn’t until the 40’s that we had magnetic tape, is that right?

Julian: Yeah.

Drew: And that machine with the wire was, like, from the 30’s, right?

Julian: Yeah, yeah, it’s—it’s a beautiful machine. It has a magic eye, which is like a big circle that glows with the most beautiful glow depending on how loud the signal is, it glows to a certain point, like these two, um, these—this glow comes from two sides, and it’s this beautiful green glow inside of this eye, the signal looks like the eye, and when it gets to a certain level, if it’s too loud, they meet, they touch, so you don’t want them ever to meet.

[Christy laughing]

Julian: And it’s got a beautiful spool like a sewing machine that’s kind of helping, because it’s—you have two [hiccups] spools of silver wire, like really beautiful, like, silver wire, um, not much thicker than human hair, and it goes between the two spools and so like a sewing machine, there’s a little thing that goes up [hiccups] up and down on it so that it doesn’t all get all tangled on the spool. And it’s just beautiful, it looks like—it looks kind of like Metropolis, something from [hiccups] Metropolis, the movie, if you’ve ever seen that.

Drew: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Um, and I remember you saying that it had not broken since, uh, like, it was built in the 30’s and it still functioned, and the only time anything had gone wrong was when you tried to replace a part and it actually was something that you did wrong, but other than that, it was, like, it was still working, and that was amazing to me, that this piece of equipment that was built, you know, approaching a hundred years ago still worked.

Julian: We—when we first met, Drew, it was during a period of time, so a lot of the Orbiting Human Circus stuff started in my apartment where I live, and it was this incredibly cozy period for me because it was just [hiccups] like I was still writing the season, and then folks would come over and we would all sit together and read it in the living room around the Christmas tree, basically.

With the Narrator, that was one of the hardest—because I’d imagined this very specific character that was—lives sort of in the 30’s, like that style of speaking even, the cadence and the way that people talked, especially in public, and in official-dom, and in media it was so different, and I watched so many old movies that it’s almost second nature to me, like I hear it in my [hiccups] head all the time and I hear it so intimately but a lot of folks don’t even have that reference point, so… that was one thing that was just tripping up a lot of folks, uh….

It was like [hiccups] the narrator character almost never worked, and then one day Drew came, because different folks were coming in to just help read and to, like, breathe it to life and see what it felt like, and….

And then Drew showed up one day and read the Narrator, and I was just like ‘Oh my god, that’s it! That’s the Narrator!’ It’s like… and, and it was such a wonderful turning point, because I feel like without that character being who he is, the whole thing doesn’t exist, it doesn’t work, like….

So, I was so grateful [hiccups] that day that you showed up and that you—you had that in you, your body and your voice, and you knew it, and it came out of you, and I was just like, ‘Oh.’ That was one of the moments where I really knew that this was all gonna happen.

Drew: I knew exactly what you wanted when I read it. [Laughs] Because if you know that 30’s style, then it’s very clear.

Julian: Do you remember coming? Do you guys remember coming to those—those days when we were all, like, reading the scripts and stuff?

Drew: Oh, yeah. Of course. I remember the Christmas tree and I remember the couch, you had just got the couch and you were excited about that.

Julian: [Laughs] Yeah, it was my first couch.

Drew: Yeah, I remember you saying that.

[Saw music]

2 notes · View notes

janitorkoster · 4 years

Text

“How can one speed from solitude to small talk, when hiding under the covers is an option.”

- The Orbiting Human Circus, Naughty Till New Years: Fourthly... How To Disappear (Lesson III of III)

#this line ressonated with me haha #i do this on a regular basis around family #ohc #the orbiting human circus #the music tapes #julian the janitor #julian koster #tohc #naughty till new years #quote #orbiting human circus #the narrator #drew callander

34 notes · View notes

imaginarysymphonies · 8 years

Audio

The narrative finale of Season One has entered the orbit!

@orbitinghumancircus recently shared that there will be an additional episode, answering questions and telling the story behind the story in two weeks, so stay tuned for that AND forthcoming tour dates!

22 notes · View notes

mockingjayne12 · 7 years

Note

Is it too late for TNS prompts? If not, I'd love to see TC and Jordan on a double date with Drew & Rick please.

The sky slowly changes from orange to pink, the colors signaling dusk, as the the sun goes down on their day. The waitress walks by, lighting the candles on the various tables, the air stagnant, the heat unrelenting in august, not even attempting to blow out the flame being lit.

Jordan smiles down at her plate, as Drew takes a bite of his sandwich, only to jump abruptly when something warm and fuzzy brushes against his leg.

The table bursts into laughter, a panting dog staring up at him, before he’s quietly called back to his table.

TC’s hand coming to his mouth, as Rick wraps his arm around Drew, a giant smile on his face.

“You know, people should really watch their dogs,” Drew tries to reason, but cracks a toothy grin by the end of the sentence, as Jordan as already leaned over enticingly teasing the dog to come back.

“I think you have this one to blame,” TC tilts his head to her, and she pointedly turns towards him, her green eyes flickering in the light on the table.

“She’s cute,” Jordan throws out, as if that explains everything. “Besides, our daughter’s off terrorizing other tables,” she gestures towards the little girl racing through the tables, gripping Bri’s fingertips, her little sandals smacking the grass, giggling at Bri’s long hair touching the top of her head, as she bends over to talk to her.

“I can’t tell who’s more smitten, Bri or Clara,” Rick says, resting his head on his hand, staring off at the two of them.

“Clare nearly face planted it into a cactus to get to her earlier, so I’d say she’s pulled ahead,” TC jokes, stealing a fry from Jordan’s plate, her hand coming out to smack it away. Her face scrunching at him, and he makes a hurt face, but his eyes glinting with amusement give him away.

“I can’t believe she’s leaving for college soon,” Drew says, a forlorn look on his face.

“She’s still got a year,” Rick says, grabbing his hand and squeezing, causing Jordan to smile at the gesture.

“They grow up fast,” TC says, taking a swig of his beer, glancing over at the girls, and Jordan knows he’s thinking about how it felt like just yesterday that they were bringing their baby girl home from the hospital, nothing but dark wispy hair, and a whimpery cry that sent him into a panic every single time.

Clara had had him firmly wrapped her around her finger from the moment he found about her, and the grip had only become tighter as the years had gone by.

“They sure do,” Rick agrees.

“I was talking about Drew here,” TC says with a grin, pointing his beer at the man.

“Hmm, I thought you were referring to yourself, for sure,” Drew fires back, and Jordan snickers next to him.

“He’s got you there,” She says, pointing her own fork at him, knowing full well that while he was still running towards the danger, it was at a slower pace, and with a thoughtful glance behind at his family. Never changing who he was, but cognizant of the ones who needed him.

TC acquiesces, tilting his head side to side with a grin, knowing full well what they’re referring to.

“Puppy!” They hear shrieked from Clara, as she races over to the dog that had come by earlier, wrapping her tiny arms around it’s neck, thankfully a friendly dog, that their daredevil child had decided to ignore previous warnings about not doing exactly that. Bri hot behind her heels, but quickly sitting down with the little girl, and joining in, a giant tongue licking the teenager’s face.

Jordan holds up her half full glass.

“To changing for the better,” she toasts, the rest of the table following suit, grabbing their glasses and clinking them together, the group having been through it all together, and having come out on the other side, more content, and with a full life none of them could’ve imagined before.

Leave the first sentence of a fic in my ask box and I will write the next five sentences.

#the night shift #tc callahan #jordan alexander #callander #callander fanfic #clara callahan #drew alister #rick lincoln

11 notes · View notes

oots-digitalmedia · 3 years

Text

Queer Rep in The Orbiting Human Circus

Title: The Orbiting Human Circus (of the air)

Status: Unknown

Written and Directed by: Julian Koster

Cast: John Cameron Mitchell, Julian Koster, Tim Robbins, Drew Callander, Susannah Flood, David Barlow, Dan Solomon, Jessie Shelton, Miche Braden, Nicholas Carter, Hy Wolfe, Harrison Beckwith, and Walter Lowery. Season One features Mandy Patinkin and Charlie Day

Queer Creators: Yes

Accessibility: No content warnings per episode or transcripts available.

CW: Involves abuse, cannibalism, and attempted suicide

Summary: Discover a wondrously surreal world of magic, music, and mystery. This immersive, cinematic audio spectacle follows the adventures of a lonely, stage-struck janitor who is drawn into the larger-than-life universe of The Orbiting Human Circus, a fantastical, wildly popular radio show broadcast from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Tags: mlm main character, Multiple mlm characters

More details and/or spoilers under the break.

Check out our other queer podcast recommendations here.

ID tags: Julian the Janitor: Mlm, John Cameron: mlm

Details and/or Spoilers: John and Cary are dating

Check out our other queer podcast recommendations here.

#oots #queerdigitalmedia #queerpodcastrecommendations #queerpodcast #queerpodcastrecommendation #queer sci fi pocast #the orbiting human circus #the orbiting human circus of the air #julian koster #nightvale presents #wnyc studios

16 notes · View notes

clarislam · 3 years

Text

Reading List As Of March 8th, 2022:

Books I’m currently reading:

“Maybe A Mermaid” by Josephine Cameron

Books I will read eventually:

“Mightier Than The Sword” by Drew Callander & Alana Harrison

“Stolen Magic” by Gail Carson Levine

“Tightrope” by Amanda Quick

Books I’ve dropped (a.k.a did not finish (DNF) and will not be reviewing):

“Two Girls, A Clock, And A Crooked House” by Michael Poore

#reading list #amreading #readblr #bookblr #writeblr #books #mystical reads #reading #am reading

1 note · View note

weavingthetapestry · 4 years

Text

2nd January 1264: Marriage and Murder in Mediaeval Menteith

(Priory of Inchmahome, founded on one of the islands of Lake of Menteith in the thirteenth century)

On 2nd January 1264, Pope Urban IV despatched a letter to the bishops of St Andrews and Aberdeen, and the Abbot of Dunfermline, commanding them to enquire into a succession dispute in the earldom of Menteith. Situated in the heart of Scotland, this earldom stretched from the graceful mountains and glens of the Trossachs, to the boggy carseland west of Stirling and the low-lying Vale of Menteith between Callander and Dunblane. The earls and countesses of Menteith were members of the highest rank of the nobility, ruling the area from strongholds such as Doune Castle, Inch Talla, and Kilbryde. Perhaps the best-known relic of the mediaeval earldom is the beautiful, ruined Priory of Inchmahome, which was established on an island in Lake of Menteith by Earl Walter Comyn in 1238. Walter Comyn was a powerful, if controversial, figure during the reigns of Kings Alexander II and Alexander III. He controlled the earldom for several decades after his marriage to its Countess, Isabella of Menteith, but following Walter’s death in 1258 his widow was beset on all sides by powerful enemies. These enemies even went so far as to capture Isabella and accuse her of poisoning her husband. The story of this unfortunate countess offers a rare glimpse into the position of great heiresses in High Mediaeval Scotland, revealing the darker side of thirteenth century politics.

Alexander II and Alexander III are generally remembered as powerful monarchs who oversaw the expansion and consolidation of the Scottish realm. During their reigns, dynastic rivals like the MacWilliams were crushed, regions such as Galloway and the Western Isles formally acknowledged Scottish overlordship, and the Scottish Crown held its own in diplomacy and disputes with neighbouring rulers in Norway and England. Both kings furthered their aims by promoting powerful nobles in strategic areas, but it was also vital to harness the ambition and aggression of these men productively. In the absence of an adult monarch, unchecked magnate rivalry risked destabilising the realm, as in the years between 1249 and 1262, when Alexander III was underage.

(A fifteenth century depiction of the coronation of Alexander III. Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Walter Comyn offers a typical picture of the ambitious Scottish magnate. Ultimately loyal to the Crown, his family loyalties and personal aims nonetheless made him a divisive figure. A member of the powerful Comyn kindred, he had received the lordship of Badenoch in the Central Highlands by 1229, probably because of his family’s opposition to the MacWilliams. In early 1231, he was granted the hand of a rich heiress, Isabella of Menteith. In the end, there would be no Comyn dynasty in Menteith: Walter and Isabella had a son named Henry, mentioned in a charter c.1250, but he likely predeceased his father. Nevertheless, Walter Comyn carved out a career at the centre of Scottish politics and besides witnessing many royal charters, he acted as the king’s lieutenant in Galloway in 1235 and became embroiled in the scandalous Bisset affair of 1242.

When Alexander II died in 1249, Walter and the other Comyns sought power during the minority of the boy king Alexander III. They were opposed by the similarly ambitious Alan Durward and in time Henry III of England, the attentive father of Alexander III’s wife Margaret, was also dragged into the squabble as both sides solicited his support in order to undermine their opponents. Possession of the young king’s person offered a swift route to power, and, although nobody challenged Alexander III’s right to the throne, some took drastic measures to seize control of government. Walter Comyn and his allies managed this twice, the second time by kidnapping the young king at Kinross in 1257. They were later forced to make concessions to enemies like Durward but, with Henry III increasingly distracted by the deteriorating political situation in England, the Comyns held onto power for the rest of the minority. However Walter only enjoyed his victory for a short while: by the end of 1258, the Earl of Menteith was dead.

Walter Comyn had dominated Scottish politics for a decade, and even if, as Michael Brown suggests, his death gave the political community some breathing space, this also left Menteith without a lord. As a widow, Countess Isabella theoretically gained more personal freedom, but mediaeval realpolitik was not always consistent with legal ideals. In thirteenth century Scotland, the increased wealth of widows made them vulnerable in new ways (not least to abduction) and, although primogeniture and the indivisibility of earldoms were promoted, in reality these ideals were often subordinated to the Crown’s need to reward its supporters. Isabella of Menteith was soon to find that her position had become very precarious.

At first, things went well. Although one source claims that many noblemen sought her hand, Isabella made her own choice, marrying an English knight named John Russell. Sir John’s background is obscure but, despite assertions that he was low born, he had connections at the English court. Isabella and John obtained royal consent for their marriage c.1260, and the happy couple also took crusading vows soon afterwards.

But whatever his wife thought, in the eyes of the Scottish nobility John Russell cut a much less impressive figure than Walter Comyn. The couple had not been married long before a powerful coterie of nobles descended on Menteith like hoodie-crows. Pope Urban’s list of persecutors includes the earls of Buchan, Fife, Mar, and Strathearn, Alan Durward, Hugh of Abernethy, Reginald le Cheyne, Hugh de Berkeley, David de Graham, and many others. But the ringleader was John ‘the Red’ Comyn, the nephew of Isabella of Menteith’s deceased husband Walter, who had already succeeded to the lordship of Badenoch. Even though Menteith belonged to Isabella in her own right, Comyn coveted his late uncle’s title there. Supported by the other lords, he captured and imprisoned the countess and John Russell, and justified this bold assault by claiming that the newlyweds had conspired together to poison Earl Walter. It is unclear what proof, if any, John Comyn supplied to back up his claim, but the couple were unable to disprove it. They were forced to surrender all claims to Isabella’s dowry, as well as many of her own lands and rents. A surviving charter shows that Hugh de Abernethy was granted property around Aberfoyle about 1260, but it seems that the lion’s share of the spoils went to the Red Comyn, who secured for himself and his heirs the promise of the earldom of Menteith itself.

Isabella and her husband were only released when they promised to pass into exile until they could clear their names before seven peers of the realm. John Russell’s brother Robert was delivered to Comyn as security for their full resignation of the earldom. Having ‘incurred heavy losses and expenses’, which certainly stymied their crusading plans, they fled.

In a letter of 1264, Pope Urban IV described the couple as ‘undefended by the authority of the king, while as yet a minor’. However, though Alexander III was technically underage in 1260, he was now nineteen and could not be ignored entirely. Michael Brown suggests that Isabella and her husband may have been seized when the king was visiting England, and that John Comyn’s unsanctioned bid for the earldom of Menteith may explain why Alexander cut short his stay in November 1260 and hastily returned north, leaving his pregnant queen with her parents at Windsor. Certainly, Comyn was forced to relinquish the earldom before 17th April 1261. But instead of restoring Menteith to its exiled countess, Alexander settled the earldom on another rising star: Walter ‘Bailloch’ Stewart, whose wife Mary had a claim to Menteith.

Mary of Menteith is often described as Isabella’s younger sister, although contemporary sources never say so and some historians argue that they were cousins. Either way, Alexander’s decision to uphold her claim was probably as much influenced by her husband’s identity as her alleged birth right. Like Walter Comyn, Walter Bailloch (‘freckled’), belonged to an influential family as the brother of Alexander, Steward of Scotland. From their origins in the royal household, the Stewarts became major regional magnates, assisting royal expansion in the west. The promising son of a powerful family, Walter Bailloch was sheriff of Ayr by 1264 and likely fought in the Battle of Largs in 1263. In 1260 Alexander III had the opportunity to secure Walter’s loyalty as the royal minority drew to a close. Conversely John Comyn of Badenoch found himself out of favour and was removed as justiciar of Galloway following the Menteith incident. The king would not alienate the Comyns permanently, but for now, the stars of Walter Bailloch and Mary of Menteith were in the ascendant.

(Loch Lubnaig, in the Trossachs, another former possession of the earls of Menteith)

Isabella of Menteith and John Russell had not been idle in the meantime. Travelling to John’s home country of England, they probably appealed to Henry III. In September 1261, the English king inspected documents relating to a previous dispute over the earldom of Menteith. On that occasion, two brothers, both named Maurice, had their differences settled before the future Alexander II at Edinburgh in 1213. The elder Maurice, who held the title Earl of Menteith and was presumed illegitimate by later writers (though this is never stated), resigned the earldom, which was regranted to Maurice junior. In return the elder Maurice received some towns and lands to be held for his lifetime only, and the younger Maurice promised to provide for the marriage of his older brother’s daughters.

It is probable that Isabella was the daughter of the younger Maurice, and that she produced these charters as proof of her right to the earldom. Perhaps Mary was her younger sister, but it seems likelier that Isabella would have wanted to prove the younger Maurice’s right if Mary was a descendant of the elder brother, and therefore her cousin. However despite Henry III’s formal recognition of the settlement, he did not provide Isabella with any real assistance: for whatever reason, the English king was either unable or unwilling to press his son-in-law the King of Scots on this matter. Isabella then turned instead to the spiritual leader of western Europe- Pope Urban IV.

(A depiction of the coronation of Henry III of England, though in fact the English king was only a child when he was crowned. Source: Wikimedia Commons)

A long epistle which the pope sent to several Scottish prelates in January 1264 has survived, revealing much about the case. Thus we learn that Urban was initially moved by Isabella and her husband’s predicament, perhaps especially so since they had taken the cross. Accordingly, he had appointed his chaplain Pontius Nicholas to enquire further and discreetly arrange the couple’s restoration. Pontius was to journey to Menteith, ‘if he could safely do so, otherwise to pass personally to parts adjacent to the said kingdom, and to summon those who should be summoned’. But Pontius’ mission only hindered Isabella’s suit. According to Gesta Annalia I, the papal chaplain got no closer to Scotland than York. From there he summoned many Scottish churchmen and nobles to appear before him, and even the King of Scots himself. This merely antagonised Alexander III and his subjects. Although Alexander maintained good relations with England and the papacy throughout his reign, he had a strong sense of his own prerogative and did not appreciate being summoned to answer for his actions, especially not outwith his realm and least of all in York. Special daughter of the papacy or not, Scotland’s clergy and nobility supported their king and refused to compear. Faced with this intransigence, Pontius Nicholas placed the entire kingdom under interdict, at which point Alexander retaliated by writing directly to the chaplain’s boss, demanding Pontius’ dismissal from the case.

Urban IV swiftly backpedalled. In a conciliatory tone he claimed that Pontius was guilty of ‘exceeding the terms of our mandate’ and causing ‘grievous scandal’. To remedy the situation, and avoid endangering souls, the pope discharged his responsibility over the case to the bishops of St Andrews and Aberdeen, and the Abbot of Dunfermline. Thus the pope washed his hands of a troublesome case, the Scottish king’s nose could be put back in joint, and Isabella’s suit was transferred to men with great experience of Scottish affairs, who should have been capable of satisfactorily resolving the matter. However, there is no indication that Isabella was ever compensated for the loss of her inheritance, and when the dispute over Menteith was raised again ten years later, the countess was not even mentioned (probably she had since died). Possibly her suit was discreetly buried after it was transferred to the Scottish clerics, a solution which, however frustrating for the exiled countess, would have been convenient for the great men whose responsibility it was to ensure justice was done.

(Doune Castle- the earliest parts of this famous stronghold probably date to the days of the thirteenth century earls of Menteith, although much of the work visible today dates from the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries)

The Comyns could not be dismissed so easily. Never resigned to losing Menteith, John Comyn of Badenoch claimed the earldom again c.1273, on behalf of his son William Comyn of Kirkintilloch. William had since married Isabella Russell, daughter of Isabella of Menteith by her second husband.* The 1273 suit was unsuccessful but William Comyn and Isabella Russell did not lose hope, and in 1282, William asked Edward I of England to intercede for them with the king of Scots. In 1285, with William’s father John Comyn long dead, Alexander III finally offered a compromise. Walter Bailloch, whose wife Mary may have died, was to keep half the earldom and he and his heirs would bear the title earl of Menteith. William Comyn and Isabella Russell received the other half in free barony, and this eventually passed to the offspring of Isabella’s second marriage to Sir Edward Hastings. Perhaps this could be seen as a posthumous victory for Isabella Russell’s late parents, but their descendants would never regain the whole earldom (except, controversially, when the younger Isabella’s two sons were each granted half after Edward I forfeited the current earl for supporting Robert Bruce).

Conversely, Walter Bailloch’s descendants remained at the forefront of Scottish politics. He and his wife Mary accompanied Alexander III’s daughter to Norway in 1281, and Walter was later a signatory to both the Turnberry Band and the Maid of Norway’s marriage negotiations. He also acted as a commissioner for Robert Bruce (grandfather to the future king) during the Great Cause. He had at least three children by Mary of Menteith and their sons took the surname Menteith rather than Stewart. The descendants of the eldest son, Alexander, held the earldom of Menteith until at least 1425. The younger son, John, became infamous as the much-maligned ‘Fause Menteith’ who betrayed William Wallace, although he later rose high in the service of King Robert I. Walter Bailloch himself died c.1294-5, and was buried next to his wife at the Priory of Inchmahome on Lake of Menteith, which Walter Comyn had founded over fifty years previously. The effigies of Walter Bailloch and Mary of Menteith can still be seen in the chapter house of the ruined priory: the worn faces are turned towards each other and each figure stretches out an arm to embrace their spouse in a lasting symbol of marital affection.

(The effigies of Walter Bailloch and Mary of Menteith at Inchmahome Priory, which was founded by Walter Comyn in 1238 and was perhaps intended as a burial site for himself and his wife Isabella of Menteith. Source: Wikimedia Commons).

The dispute over Menteith saw a prominent noblewoman publicly accused of murder and exiled, and even sparked an international incident when Scotland was placed under interdict. For all this, neither Isabella of Menteith nor John Comyn of Badenoch triumphed in the long term. Even Walter Bailloch eventually had to accept the loss of half the earldom after holding it for over twenty years. In the end the only real winner seems to have been the king. Although at first sight the persecution of Isabella and her husband looks like a classic example of overmighty magnates taking advantage of a breakdown in law and order during a royal minority, Alexander III was not a child and his rebuke of John Comyn did not result in any backlash against the Crown. Most of the Scottish nobility fell back in line once the king came of age, but the king in turn had to ensure that he was able to reward key supporters if he wanted to expand the realm he had inherited. Although it was important to both Alexander III and his father that primogeniture and were accepted by their subjects as the norm, in practice both kings found that they had to bend their own rules to ensure that the system worked to their own advantage. The thirteenth century is often seen an age of legal development and state-building, but these things sometimes came into conflict with each other, and even the most successful kings had to work within a messy system and consider the competing loyalties and customs of their subjects.

Selected Bibliography:

- “Vetera Monumenta Hibernorum et Scotorum”, Augustinus Theiner (a printed version of Urban IV’s original Latin epistle may be found here)

- “John of Fordun’s Chronicle of the Scottish Nation”, vol. 2, ed. W.F. Skene (this is an English translation of the chronicle of John of Fordun, made when Gesta Annalia I was still believed to be his work. It provides an independent thirteenth or fourteenth century Scottish account of the Menteith case

- “The Red Book of Menteith”, volumes 1+2, ed. Sir William Fraser

- “Calendar of Documents Relating to Scotland, Preserved Among the Public Records of England”, volumes 1, 2, 3 & 5, ed. Joseph Bain

- “The Political Role of Walter Comyn, earl of Menteith, during the Minority of Alexander III of Scotland”, A. Young, in the Scottish Historical Review, vol.57 no.164 part 2 (1978).

- “Scotland, England and France After the Loss of Normandy, 1204-1296″, M.A. Pollock

- “The Wars of Scotland, 1214-1371″, Michael Brown

As ever if anyone has a question about a specific detail or source, please let me know! I have a lot of notes for this post, so hopefully I should be able to help!

#Scottish history #Scotland #British history #thirteenth century #women in history #Menteith #earldom of Menteith #Isabella Countess of Menteith #John Russell #John Comyn I of Badenoch #Alexander III #Henry III #Pope Urban IV #Walter Bailloch #the Stewarts #House of Dunkeld #House of Canmore #Mary of Menteith #inchmahome priory

13 notes · View notes

jenny-kirk · 4 years

Text

Story Time with Jenny: Joining the Gang

The Rocky Mountain trail had seemingly gone on for days, shards and needles of the cold spiked at Jenny’s back, her only company; her father’s old work horse Bobbin.

A sigh filled the air to join the calling animals and whistling wind. A woollen shawl wrapped snuggly across her hunched shoulders.

The Western Grizzlies wasn’t a place Miss Kirk ever thought to visit, Ambrino seemed far too cold and dangerous, not like those far away countries of Europe she so dreamed to someday visit. But there wasn’t much choice in the matter.

After leaving home disgraced, kicked from her own doorstep by a heartbroken mother, Jenny was resolved to live her life on her own terms, stealing the family horse in spite.

‘How had things turned so hopeless so quickly.’ She would find herself wondering only to shake the remark with remembrance of her new ability to live wild and free!

Survival wasn’t difficult, robbing folks blind, swindling drunkards in nearby towns was fun and funded Miss Kirk’s travels just about as she moved from the east, westwards in search of adventure.

Having never been good nor fond of hunting, food was purchased and stolen as often as possible. Repressing doubt and fear, (she couldn’t waste time on such thoughts if she wanted to survive). Fending for herself, it wasn't long before the law came to view Miss Kirk as an outlaw.

The brunette had been riding alone now for a few weeks. It was impressive how easily she managed to remove herself from danger. Sure she’d had to shoot a few fellers who informed the law of her misdoings, now having a small bounty on her head, but it was in Jenny’s mind all part of this new exciting game. This new life she found herself making the best of.

This new life wasn’t planned but it was one hell of a ride, one she was going to enjoy while it lasted, an outlaw, living free on her own terms! No one to stop her or tell her what to do with her life!

In tricking folks in passing saloons, Jenny was able to educate herself more on the local underground. Gangs, all across the states she planned to visit. It didn't deter her one bit, no quite the contrary, it was a challenge to become a better shot while living fast. For the world to remember her.

Jenny’s willing and hotheadedness left her heart in the right place for the job, she almost certainly looked the part. A revolver shoved into a thick brown belt (on account of not owning a gunbelt), a long pale blue skirt muddied and torn while her once white shirt had stained with dirt and age.

But Jenny couldn’t waste her hard earned money on such trifles, no, she needed it to travel! To live!

The heavy hooves stabbed into the frosted ground, a satisfying crisp sound with each step. God the horse was too tall. Beautiful but not good if one was aware of heights.

Slowing to a stop as the sun began to fall, a rock along the roadside providing a perfect, rather uncomfortable seat for a break. Jenny hadn’t quite mastered how to build a fire in such a climate and so, sat, her last tin of peaches quickly finished, a small pathetic cracker offered to the horse.

That persistent smile the small woman had managed to keep fixated dropped momentarily. Sure she was free, but at what cost? Hunted, and while she could fight, she had not the strength. The dark circles and a new sickly complexion was symbolic of this fact.

“I’m sorry boy.” Reaching into her saddlebag Jenny fished out a map of the land, a fragile finger running over it to locate themselves. “We’ll get you some real food in the next town...whereever that issss....”

Huh, a small resort town name of Strawberry was along the way down south, Valentine was the closest but already having a run in with the local law there didn’t make it a safe bet. Besides, going back on herself would only slow their venture down.

Having rested as darkness continued to fall, the cold became increasingly noticeable. It seemed the best course of action would be to continue moving.

Mounting up, using the rock as a step the girl continued. Humming to herself, complaining and reassuring under her hushed breath as to not feel so alone. Not frightened, yet unexcited by being stranded in such desolate land.

Glancing back to the map as Bobbin slowed they had almost reached the state line, good! The bad news? The trail seemed to shorten, covered by spiny overhanging branches, like something out of a fearsome story.

“Woah boy, woah easy! Shshh, c’mon boy,” the dusty horse getting the jitters. That feeling in the pit of ones stomach sensing a bad idea. Something dark and forbidding about the path ahead. But what choice was there? Go back to the mountains where wolves jumped at every corner?

Speeding up to get through the darkened area as quickly as possible, Jenny felt her heart rate quicken on the sound of twigs and branches snapping. The crunch of fallen dried leaves. Just from her horse right? Reaching for her revolver to feel more secure, her cold hand, near shaking, had hardly grasped it when she found her path blocked. Stopping in an instant with a tug of the reigns.

Bobbin was big, they could easily run the man down and was about to do so right as a gun was drawn to meet her own lightly freckled face. The sound of other guns cocking around her as men stepped out from the shadows. All part of a gang out to make a bit of cash, their green neckerchiefs a dead give away.

Jenny felt sick to her stomach. Hazel eyes widening. Running from lawmen, drankards and bounty hunters was one thing, but being held up on a roadside. Somehow this seemed much more difficult to escape.

“Look what we got here! Whoo a lost girly? Off the horse! Empty out those pockets.”

One of the men began up to her, searching through the saddlebags. Dangerous, reckless anger festering inside the brunette. Everything she had was being taken before her very eyes.

“I ain’t looking’ for trouble-I just need food if you-”

They weren’t having any of it. No reasoning, no bargaining. She found herself still reaching for her gun, that was the mistake.

“Get your damn hands up woman! Off. The. Horse.” The voice startling Jenny more than the guns surrounding her with a small jump.

Seeing little way out, Jenny followed through with the O’Driscoll’s wishes, slowly sliding off the large mount, her legs feeling uneasy under her weight, a gun to her temple as one of the men began searching through her pockets.

“She ain’t got nothing!” Throwing the map, remaining crackers to the ground. Jenny bit back the wish to turn smugly with a ‘told ya’.

“Whatever, she ain’t worth it” They mounted up around her, the cold barrel of a gun leaving its position.

Had she just survived a robbery?! They’d taken everything but the clothes on her back but she was alive at least. Relief waved through Jenny as she began to ponder how she might avoid such prediciments in the future.

But that look on their faces, the same agreed glare between them. She was a hazard.

A loud shot soon answered her curiosities as the men rode off, shouts of laughter echoing. Bobbin falling to the ground, a ghastly sound ringing through her ears hardly gave her enough time to move before the creature came crashing down stop of her. Her right leg trapped, passing out on impact, the heavy beast laying dead.

A quiet hour or two passed until the conversing of two men hushed, as their alert mounts protested the path.

“Well, that is not ideal. H-Oh look, little scamp’s alive.”

“Dutch, we don’t need more mouths to feed- we’re already low on supplies, after that fire we can’t-.”

“And what kind of a chance does she have if we don't offer our sincere support Hosea? Look at her, come now, help me with this-”

Waking up disoriented, the soft crackling of a fire audible, its glowing light visible through her half lidded eyes.

The first thing Jenny noticed was the pain in her leg and side, the thumping of her head, before realising she was no longer cold. In fact she had a blanket wrapped around her, a warm fire to one side.

“Oh! She lives!” A hot tin of coffee passed to her Jenny looked in confusion still gathering her bearings. Her dirtied and grubby gun laying by her side.

It was evident the girl was considering threatening her ‘rescuers’ and taking off, that twinge in her leg however convincing Jenny otherwise.

“Looks like you took quite the tumble.” The man crouching eye level to her as she lay propped up on her elbow, smudging dirt into her drained face before accepting the beverage.

“Dutch Van der Linde, and that,” the moustached man pointed to another, older appearing man tending to their horses, “well that is Hosea, pay him no heed.”

“I heard that”

“Jenny, Kirk, Jenny Kirk” She stammered still unsure of her surroundings, recollecting the evening’s events.

Warming by the fire the night was spent in calm conversation, not quite trusting her two rescuers but reluctantly appreciating their help.

Somewhere within the delirious conversation the decision came.

“Well Miss Kirk, we’ve a group of individuals much like yourself. Seeking freedom, purpose. Now, you’re more than welcome to stay with us until you’re back on your feet-”

It took a few days to reach the camp, it was unfortunately back in the wilderness of the Grizzlies however Jenny was quick to learn that the plan was to move on down to a place called Blackwater.

Her arrival was received with mixed feelings, some clearly irked by having another ‘helpless woman to wash the clothes’ as Mac Callander, the brawler snakily remarked, his brother appearing to be a little more tolerable.

Others welcomed her like family, Miss Mary-Beth and Mr Summers eagerly offering to help settler her in. Lame and bed bound her first few days.

As time drew on and Jenny began joining in jobs, embracing her new life as an outlaw, even acquiring a new horse, Lola. Her anticipation and excitement radiating each time, becoming comfortable enough to joke and flirt with most everyone in camp.

Months passed before the gang had packed up to move towards Blackwater, picking up yet another straggler. A curious and mean one. Micah Bell.

#tw: depictions of violence #Story time with jenny #Jenny's origins #Jenny Kirk #headcanons #headcanon

7 notes · View notes

hysterialevi · 4 years

Text

Red Dead Rising | Chapter 3

Fanfic summary: 12 YEARS BEFORE RDR2 - Greed, money, and larceny. These are the only things Arthur has ever known; the only things he’s ever been taught. But when Dutch decides to hit a town called Harlow, what started out as nothing more than a plan to rob the local bank ends up igniting the events that lead to RDR2, and a 24 year-old Arthur is forced to confront his morality while the gang faces a terrifying enemy of their own making.

Point of view: third-person

This story is also on AO3 and Wattpad

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Author’s note: Apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes. It was really late when I finished this and I don’t have the energy to review it lol. Hope you enjoy regardless though :)

TWO MONTHS LATER

APRIL, 1887

INDIGO PEAK

Scribbling down a few more lines into his journal, Arthur added some last-minute touches to his sketch of Indigo Peak, doin’ his absolute best to capture what was in front of him.

There was a whole array of purple mountains just sitting in front of this camp. They all sat in a majestic, uneven line right above the horizon and towered over a gathering of evergreen trees, separating the sky from the wildlife that lived in the fields and meadows below.

The white sun also hovered above the mountains in a thick blanket of blue-tinted clouds, and provided the landscape with an abundance of rays. They passed through the space between the summits like something out of a painting, and touched the ground in a scattered pattern, giving the grass a dotted look.

It was extraordinarily beautiful, in Arthur’s opinion. He had seen nature’s beauty many times before, but... it was just one of those things that never got old.

Unfortunately for him however, he absolutely despised his drawing.

“Dammit...” Arthur muttered, smudging some of the graphite out.

How did people do this? Arthur originally got the idea to try it from Thomas who was constantly sketching away in his own journal, but the man made it look so easy. His “doodles” were always so detailed and lifelike, and in the meantime, Arthur’s looked like someone drew them in the midst of an earthquake. Or, at least, that was how he saw it.

The young outlaw let out an annoyed sigh and shut the journal closed, deciding to take a break for now as he relaxed on a nearby tree stump.

He was planning to visit Mary, anyway. The woman sent him a letter not too long ago, and apparently, she was in the region with her family. They were attending the wedding of one of her cousins and were staying at a farm that her grandparents owned, just outside of Harlow. Arthur figured he may as well stop by and say hello before they left.

He just hoped he could avoid Mr. Gillis.

None of the people in Mary’s family really liked him to begin with, but that man was an absolute menace whenever Arthur was around. The young outlaw didn’t know what the hell it would take to please Robert, but the fact that the one person who wanted him dead was the father of his fiancée worried him, to say the least.

Arthur understood Robert’s concerns about letting his daughter marry someone who was a criminal -- any good father would -- but at the same time, he thought he had more than proved himself during his time with Mary.

Arthur never put her in danger, or allowed her to get involved with the gang’s activities. He kept her well away from anything Dutch or Hosea did, and even promised to leave that life behind once he and Mary finally tied the knot. There was also the fact that little Jamie seemed to enjoy having Arthur nearby.

He just didn’t know what else he could do to show Robert that he would be a good husband. Maybe he thought Arthur wouldn’t keep his promise? Or that he was too incompetent?

Well, whatever the case was, Arthur had a bad feeling that Robert was going to be more of a headache than he originally expected. He assumed the man would’ve warmed up to him by now -- the wedding wasn’t too far away, after all -- but that obviously hadn’t happened yet.

He supposed he would just have to keep trying. Mary always told Arthur to have hope, but the young man wasn’t so sure that’d be enough anymore. Mr. Gillis was probably the most stubborn man he’d ever met in his life, and if things didn’t work out between the two of them -- well, that was a bridge they’d have to cross when they got to it.

Arthur just prayed he wouldn’t ever have to worry about that.

Breaking the silence, the sound of people arguing suddenly drew Arthur’s attention away from the landscape and cut off his train of thought, leading him to see what all the commotion was about.

It looked like Thomas and Mac were currently stuck in a spat about something at the moment, and the latter seemed to cling to his companion while he strode around camp, desperate to get away from the quarrel.

“--I’m just saying,” Mac reiterated, “we can’t wait forever!”

“And we won’t,” Thomas replied, clearly vexed. “But we need to be careful.”

The two of them came to a halt, carrying on with their argument not too far away from where Arthur was.

“C’mon, Mac. We’ve been robbing stuff with Hosea for nearly a year now. You know how this works. We make a plan, we wait, and when the time comes, we strike. It’s always the same.”

The other man crossed his arms. “Yeah, but we ain’t never robbed a bank before!”

Thomas placed his hands on his hips. “All the more reason to make sure we do this right. We only have one chance to pull this off, Mac. You understand that? One chance. Ain’t no way we can come back from this if we fail.”

Mac let out a sigh, still not convinced.

“It’s been two months, Thomas. How much longer are we gonna wait?”

Moreau leaned against a tree, shrugging. “I don’t know.”

“And what happens if the law finds out we’re here? We gonna move camp again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what about Shaw? Has he made any progress with Farley?”

“I don’t--!” Thomas took a breath, calming himself down. “...I don’t know.”

Arthur jumped into the conversation before the two of them could argue any further and glanced over his shoulder, trying to defuse the situation.

“Hey, uh... you boys alright?” He called out.

Thomas dismissed the question, evidently just wanting to walk away from this.

“We’re fine, Arthur,” he answered, his tone saying otherwise. “Just... a tad anxious about the upcoming robbery.”

Mac scoffed. “If it ever comes.”

That caused Moreau to snap somewhat. “Yeah, well, you got any better ideas, Callander? Maybe you think we should just run up to the bank and shoot our way through the front door? In broad daylight. Oh, and while we’re at it, we could say hello to Sheriff Farley on the way back to camp! Maybe stay at his place for a cup of tea.”

“You know what, Frenchy,” Mac fired back, “you can be a real pain in the ass sometimes. Why Hosea even bothers puttin’ up with your bullshit is beyond me. He shoulda left you in New Aubertin as far as I’m concerned.”

“My bullshit?” Thomas repeated. “If I recall correctly, it’s always me who’s cleanin’ up after you and Davey! Like that hell y’all raised back in Mercy when Hosea first found you.”

“Oh, you’re really gonna pull that one out now--”

“--Gentlemen!”

Bringing the dispute to an abrupt halt, a guttural voice suddenly cut Mac and Thomas off right before things started to get heated, causing everyone to fall silent as a third party joined the scene.

Sauntering in their direction, Dutch casually walked up to the pair of outlaws with an amused grin on his face as he took a long drag on his cigar, chuckling at their behavior.

“You know, gentlemen, while I do appreciate a good ol’ fashioned fight like no other man alive...” he breathed out a puff of smoke, “...I’d rather you saved the killin’ for Farley’s boys. We got enough of a storm comin’ our way as is.”

Thomas sighed wearily. “Sorry, Dutch. It’s just... folk are gettin’ restless. We been sittin’ on this bank robbery for two months now, and Shaw has yet to give us the all-clear. Some are worried that we’re never gonna pull this off.”

Dutch smiled, pointing with his cigar. “Now, listen to me son, if there’s anything you’re gonna learn from your time with me, it’s that losin’ faith never did no one any good. This robbery is going to happen, and it’s going to happen soon. In fact, I actually received a letter from Benjamin yesterday evening. He thinks we can make our move at any minute now..”

Mac’s expression lit up with a newfound interest. “What? Really? When?”

The other man didn’t promise anything just yet. “I don’t know, but I’m planning to pay him a visit in Harlow. We’ll speak to him face-to-face, and see when we can get things rolling.”

Arthur picked up on that. “We?”

Dutch turned to him. “Yes. I need you to come with me too, Arthur. Apparently, Ben’s got a job for you to do. He asked for you specifically.”

Well, it looked like Arthur wasn’t going to see Mary as soon as he thought. The young man concealed his disappointment. “...Alright, I guess.”

“Good. Then you and I will take a trip down to Harlow, see what Benjamin wants, and in the meantime...” Dutch brought his gaze to Thomas and Mac, “make sure the camp stays in one piece while we’re away, would you?”

Thomas nodded. “Things’ll be fine when you get back.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Dutch put out his cigar and headed for the horses, beckoning Arthur. “Come on, son. We got a job to do.”

Slipping the journal back into his satchel, Arthur removed himself from the tree stump and followed Dutch at a brisk pace, sticking close-by while Thomas and Mac returned to their business.

It looked like the two of them had calmed down by now, and to finish things off, they exchanged some final words before parting ways for the afternoon.

“Hey...” Mac murmured apologetically, “sorry for, um... what I said back there. Y’know I didn’t mean it.”

Thomas let out a fatigued breath. “...Sure. I know.”

The hot-tempered outlaw threw in a quick offer. “...Wanna head down to the saloon later?”

Thomas repeated his answer, although a bit more relaxed this time. “Sure.”

Arthur grinned at the sight and chuckled quietly to himself, shaking his head in amusement. He supposed he and Marston weren’t the only ones who had a relationship like that.

There was no doubt that the little boy drove Arthur insane sometimes, but deep down, the young man knew he could never really hurt John. The kid was like a baby brother to him, after all. Dutch and Hosea pretty much raised them like siblings, and underneath all the havoc, Arthur couldn’t deny that he loved Marston.

He just wished he could get some alone time once in a while. Lord knew John loved getting attention.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt any plans you had,” Dutch suddenly remarked, bringing Arthur back to the task at hand. “I know I dragged you into this rather quickly.”

Arthur decided to be honest with him. “Well, I was gonna visit Mary, actually. She’s in the region right now, and wanted to see me before she left. But it’s like you said, we got a job to do first.”

Dutch approached Belle-Dame, unhitching her from the post. “Mary’s in Harlow?”

“Not Harlow,” he corrected. “On a farm outside of it. She’s stayin’ there with her father and grandparents.”

“Ah. Well, tell you what -- we’ll just have a short chat with Benjamin, hear what updates he’s got for us, and afterwards, you can go on and see Mary. Sound good?”

Arthur mounted Abitha, readying himself for the ride. “Sounds good.”

Dutch smiled at him, climbing on top of his own horse. “Thank you for bein’ patient with me, Arthur. I know this process has been long, but we are gonna do this. We just gotta push a little bit more, and soon, that bank’ll be ours to pillage. Now, c’mon. Harlow awaits.”

~~~~~~~~~~

THE GALLOWS, HARLOW

Falling with a sudden drop, the criminal collapsed beneath the gallows’ surface and dangled morbidly in the air, causing the noose’s rope to go taut while the crowd watched in both horror and fascination.

Harlow was normally a peaceful town, and even prided itself on having such a low crime rate, but recently, things had changed for the worse... and everyone could feel it.

No one knew exactly where this feeling came from or why it was appearing so suddenly, but for the past couple of months, a peculiar sense of dread loomed over the town like a dark cloud that just wouldn’t leave.

There were more thefts, more break-ins, more fights... and even more murders. The people of Harlow were either vanishing or dying one-by-one, and as a result, the entire town was on edge. Though, no one was quite as stressed as their beloved sheriff, Ronan Farley.

The man had the population of a small city depending on him. Harlow always looked to him for answers whenever things went wrong, and normally, he was able to provide.

With everything that was going on though, the sheriff was at a loss for words. Ronan truly had no idea why the town’s overall safety had deteriorated so quickly, and the possibilities of what could’ve been at the heart of all this made him shudder.

Farley had been dealing with outlaws for long enough to know that crimes like this didn’t just fall out of the sky. There was something bigger going on here. Something lurking in the shadows... but he couldn’t act on pure speculation alone.

If Ronan was going to get to the bottom of Harlow’s turbulent situation, he’d have to hope that the people responsible would expose themselves eventually. His hands were full enough as is, and without any proper evidence to conduct a thorough search, there was really nothing more he could do.

Farley’s hands were tied.

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

SHERIFF’S OFFICE

“That’s the third execution this week...” Deputy Leighton said with a discouraged sigh, gazing out the window. “What is happening to this town?”

Ronan removed his hat and placed it down on the desk, offering some reassurance to his friend.

“Keep it together, Andrew,” he reminded the young lawman. “This ain’t the first time we’ve dealt with this.”

“True,” the deputy conceded, “but lately, it just feels like... the wind’s shifted in Harlow. Like our luck’s run out. There are more criminals hangin’ from the gallows than there are bounties on our wall, and this idea that we can’t do our job as lawmen anymore is startin’ to propagate.”

Andrew took a seat at the desk, leaning back in exhaustion. “...Everything’s just a mess.”

Andrew Leighton was the youngest out of the four deputies, and also happened to be the newest, apart from Deputy Shaw. He had only been working with Ronan for about six months, whereas Buchanan and Sommer had been at the sheriff’s side for a couple of years.

Andrew was twenty-one years old, and in contrast to his fellow lawmen, carried a slightly more gullible demeanor to him, often making him a target.

He wasn’t naive, necessarily. Andrew had seen more than his fair share of violence in the past, but he had also been blessed with the curse of wanting to believe the best in people. He tried to maintain the idea that no man was truly evil, and that good nature was reflected in his appearance.

Leighton had a clean-shaven face, a pair of kind blue eyes, and a head of short blond hair that he always kept in a neat style. He wore a slate-blue Classic Frock coat on top of a white shirt and black vest, and adorned a black Paragon Town hat to go with his boots.

Sheriff Farley, on the other hand, sported a much rougher temperament. The hardy man had loose and short brown hair, a full beard, and a noticeably wounded look in his eyes. He was only in his late-thirties, but had a few extra wrinkles creasing his face due to all the stress and lack of sleep.

Ronan’s usual attire consisted of a somewhat weathered Gaucho hat, a dark-brown duster coat, and a scarlet-red vest that he wore on top of an opened white shirt. His boots were nothing fancy and bore no sort of design, but they were sturdy enough... sort of like the people he worked so hard to protect.

Gazing blankly at the empty jail cells, Andrew decided to put professionalism aside for a moment and posed a more colloquial question to Ronan, hoping to get his honest opinion.

“Hey, sheriff...” he said, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Andrew softened his voice a bit, not wanting to announce their conversation to anyone in the vicinity.

“...What d’you think is really goin’ on in Harlow?”

Ronan paused at the vagueness of the question, not entirely sure what Andrew was getting at.

“What do you mean?”

The deputy took a second to clarify. “The deaths, the disappearances, the sudden lack in morale... Harlow’s had its rough patches, sure, but nothing quite like this. You think it’s all just a coincidence?”

The sheriff didn’t crack his shell just yet. “Coincidence or not, we’ll get through it.”

Andrew didn’t buy it. “...With all respect, Ronan, I’ve known you long enough to know you’re not that dense. I’m sure you out of all people can sense something’s wrong in Harlow. Something that... we might not be ready for.”

Ronan took a seat across from Leighton, hoping to relax for just a second.

“It ain’t our job to speculate, Andrew. When there’s a problem, we’ll deal with it. But we can’t go searchin’ for trouble when we don’t even know what to look for.”

“I know,” the deputy agreed, “it’s just... I hate this feeling, y’know? This feeling of sittin’ around, not being able to help the folk ‘round here. Everyone’s worried that we’ve got a rough road ahead of us, and they expect us to solve all their problems, but... we can’t even do anything without solid proof. I suppose I just wish I could do more.”

Ronan leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on the desk.

“You’ve got a good heart, Leighton, but we’re the last people this town needs to be gettin’ paranoid. Stay vigilant, and remember to use your head. If anything does happen to Harlow, it’s gonna need all of us to protect it.”

Andrew nodded in reassurance, deciding to drop the subject for now. “...You’re right, you’re right. I can’t go startin’ trouble when there might not even be any. I gotta keep my head on my shoulders. It’s just... it’s difficult when you don’t actually have a target to shoot at yet. But... you’re right. We’ll be okay.”

The deputy stood up from his seat and headed for the door, leaving Farley to his thoughts.

“...Anyway, thanks for listenin’ to me ramble, sheriff. I didn’t mean to put all that on you. You’re a rock for more people than you realize. I just hope I can repay you someday.”

Ronan’s expression remained flat, but it was still clear to Andrew that he appreciated the remark.

“You don’t owe me anything, Andrew.”

Opening the door with a firm pull, the deputy wasted no time in getting back to work and headed out into the open, only to stop in his tracks when he found someone blocking the doorway.

It was a woman. She was about ten years older than Andrew, and a head of black hair that had been tied into a loose bun.

The dress she was wearing appeared rather simple in terms of design, but it still carried an elegant shape regardless. The upper part was a soft shade of white, and the bottom had been dyed mahogany brown. As a way to top it all off though, the woman had also tied a yellow scarf around her neck, and let most of it hang off her back like a miniature cape.

The young deputy recognized her immediately upon seeing her, and gave her a brief greeting.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Farley.”

The woman smiled in response. “Hello, Mr. Leighton.”

Allowing Mrs. Farley to step in first, Andrew waited off to the side until she was in the office before finally making his way out, shutting the door closed behind him.

As for Ronan, the man got up from his desk almost as soon as he saw his wife and approached her, concerned about what she might be doing here.

“Annabelle? Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she replied calmly, sensing her husband’s uneasiness. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to check up on you. You haven’t been home much lately.”

Annabelle glanced out the window, lowering her head in fear as a grim expression spread across her face.

“I... heard about the execution today. That’s the third one this week, isn’t it? Or is it the fourth?” She let out a sigh. “I can never keep up. The days seem to blur together now with all these hangings. Are you... doin’ okay, Ronan? All of this pressure can’t be easy on you.”

Ronan sat on the desk’s surface, sliding a hand down his face.

“I’ll be honest, Annabelle. I’m... I’m worried.”

Annabelle stepped in front of him and gently held his hand, rubbing it in a comforting manner.

“Worried? About what?”

The sheriff gestured to the door. “Well, Andrew was talkin’ about this just before you came in, but... he feels like Harlow’s luck has run out. As if our time as a safe hamlet is over. And I’m inclined to agree with him.”

That sparked Annabelle’s interest. “Really? Why? Has somethin’ happened?”

Ronan shook his head. “Nothing in particular, but it don’t take a genius to see that Elijah, Curtis, and Suzanna’s murders are connected. Accordin’ to the evidence we found, they were three separate cases with three different killers -- and we hanged all of ‘em -- but... something just doesn’t feel right. Even after all that chaos, it feels incomplete.”

Annabelle took on a more steadfast tone. “Well, what do you think is happening? Forget the evidence. Forget what people are saying. What does your gut tell you?”

The sheriff fell silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

“...I think there’s more goin’ on here than we can see. I think somethin’ big is coming our way. I dunno what, or how, or even when... but I believe the true killer is still out there. The murders just seemed too similar. Too easy to solve. It all felt contrived to me, and I believe Harlow won’t be safe so long as the real murderer is still roamin’ about. I believe it’s gonna get a whole lot worse before it gets better.”

The woman furrowed her brows in anxiety, mindlessly tightening her grip.

“...You’re frightening me, Ronan.”

The man snapped out of his suspicions for the time being and put them aside, bringing a loving hand up to Annabelle’s face.

“I’m... I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to scare you. Things have just been tense around Harlow these past couple of months. I guess I needed to get that off my chest more than I realized. But don’t you worry. I’ll be home tonight. Before you go to bed.

Annabelle beamed at that, afterwards pecking a kiss on Ronan’s cheek. “Good. I miss you.”

The sheriff chuckled softly at that. “I miss you too.”

Mrs. Farley took a step back, still grinning from their conversation. “Well, I’ll let you go now. I’m sure you have many things to attend to. Just... be careful, okay? Harlow needs you now more than ever. And so do I.”

Ronan nodded firmly. “I will. The same goes for you.”

“Of course.”

Annabelle wandered closer to the door, offering some last-minute advice to the troubled sheriff before she left.

“These are strange times, Ronan. The only way we’re gonna get through them is with each other. Don’t forget that.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

THE BLUE BRONCO SALOON, HARLOW

Sitting on top of a barrel, Arthur avidly sketched in silence while Dutch slowly paced around in boredom as the two of them stayed patiently behind Harlow’s saloon, waiting for Benjamin to turn up.

It had been quite a long time ever since Arthur last saw Ben. The man visited their camp occasionally to keep Dutch updated on things, but Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he and Ben actually sat down together and just... talked.

He wondered what he looked like now. What he was doing. How he was getting on.

Sure, Ben wasn’t always the nicest man, or even the most righteous, but as strange as it sounded, that was one of the reasons why Arthur liked him. To him, it made Ben seem to more genuine.

He may not have always been the most eloquent with his words, and sometimes he straight-up tried to avoid people, but Arthur knew that deep down, Ben never worried about hiding behind some sort of pretense.

He said what he meant, and he meant what he said, so there was never any doubt whenever Benjamin expressed his thoughts. Ironically though, he was the one Dutch chose to act as somebody else.

Arthur didn’t know why Dutch thought he’d be the best person to work as a mole. Ben never struck him as somebody to go undercover like this, but despite Arthur’s concerns, Dutch seemed to have no skepticism surrounding Benjamin’s capabilities. According to him, he was the “perfect” man for the job.

Arthur just hoped everything would turn out okay. The gang had worked so hard and for so long to get this robbery done, that for something to go wrong now would’ve been a major setback.

The folks back at camp were nervous enough about robbing a bank for the first time, and Arthur didn’t even wanna think about the chaos that would ensue if their plan failed.

It was like Thomas said. They only had once chance to get this right, and there was no room for impulse. They needed to focus.

“Whatcha workin’ on there, cowboy?” Dutch asked, making Arthur pause mid-sketch.

“Drawing.” The boy answered simply.

His companion smirked. “Oh? Drawing what?”

Arthur shrugged. “...Things.”

“That so? What kinda things?”

The young man gestured aimlessly at their surroundings, admittedly somewhat shy to talk about it. “Y’know, stuff. That we see. Horses, people, trees.”

Dutch chortled humorously at that. “Oh, okay.”

Arthur sighed. “Look, it ain’t nothin’ fancy, alright? I just do it when I’m bored.”

The other man’s grin only grew wider at his annoyance. “Well, please, don’t let me disturb you. Carry on with drawing your... ‘things.”

The young outlaw mentally groaned to himself, returning to his work.

Just before he could start sketching again however, a third person walked into the scene, causing both of them to divert their attention.

“Gentlemen.” Benjamin Shaw greeted flatly, strolling in their direction.

Benjamin was a scraggly-looking man with sunken cheeks due to his growing addiction to alcohol, and displayed a collection of small scars on his face, the most prominent one being a thin, horizontal gash that sat just above his left brow.

As for his hair, it was chocolate-colored and reached long enough to touch his shoulders. In terms of style though, the strands were rather tangled and messy, and his facial hair wasn’t anymore tame.

Benjamin had nothing more than a prickly layer of scruff sticking to his jawline, but there was a slim gap in his mustache from another scar that sliced downwards across his mouth.

On the topic of clothes though -- at the moment, Benjamin was wearing a black Collar Overshirt with a hickory-colored leather jacket that made his badge stand out like a beacon in the night, and he adorned a dark pair of trousers as well as some Sleeked Riding boots to match the Stalker hat that he always wore.

Overall, he looked pretty much the same compared to when Arthur last saw him, and that made the young man happy.

“There you are!” Dutch replied excitedly. “How the hell are you, my boy?”

Benjamin didn’t appear to return the enthusiasm. If anything, he looked exhausted.

“I feel like shit and I look like shit, but I got some information you might be interested in, Dutch. Though, it ain’t all good news, I’m afraid.”

Dutch’s expression dimmed instantly at the news. “Straight to the point, I see. Very well, then. What is it?”

Benjamin lowered his voice. “Well, the good news is I think we’ll be able to hit the bank soon. Ronan and his deputies trust me. It took some convincing, believe me, but they finally see me as one of their own.”

“Extremely well done, Ben. I knew you was the right feller for this job. When do you think we’ll be able to rob the bank?”

The “deputy” thought for a minute. “Give me... one more week. I’ll be able to get things rollin’ by then.”

Dutch switched to a more serious tone. “Just one more week? Are you certain? We don’t wanna rush this.”

Benjamin insisted. “I’m certain. I’ve got the whole town on edge with a string of recent crimes, and tensions are startin’ to build. Now is the time to do this. If we wait too long, this may not work.”

The other man nodded in understanding. “Okay, then. I trust your judgement. One more week and then we’ll finally hit this goddamn bank. I’ll let the people back at camp know. Now... what’s the bad news?”

Shaw leaned in a bit more, making sure that no one else could hear them.

“I did some investigatin’ into Sheriff Farley, and it turns out, that ain’t even the man’s real name.”

“What?” Dutch questioned, taken aback. “Then what the hell is it?”

Benjamin was quiet for a second, almost like he was worried to see his friend’s reaction.

“O’Driscoll.”

Arthur’s eyes popped wide open. “You’re shittin’ me. The sheriff of this town is an O’Driscoll?”

“Not just any O’Driscoll,” Ben clarified. “He’s Colm’s older brother.”

Dutch’s face scrunched into a glower. “How d’you know this?”

“I overheard Ronan and his wife talkin’ about it,” Benjamin explained. “Apparently, he changed his name to ‘Farley’ many years ago ‘cause he didn’t wanna be associated with the O’Driscolls no more. Sounds to me like he and Colm didn’t get along.”

“So, he’s not working with the gang?” Arthur asked.

“No. I don’t think so. Ronan’s got a strong hatred for outlaws. I highly doubt he’d ever work with them.”

“Still,” Dutch added, “it’s something to think about. When we first arrived at New Aubertin, Thomas told me there had been rumors of the O’Driscolls being in this region. If Colm’s got any affection left for his brother, and he finds out what we’re doing -- we need to be extra careful from here on out.”

“Agreed.”

“Well,” Dutch said, heading back to his horse, “I’m gonna return to camp. Let ‘em know about the plan. In the meantime, Arthur will help you out with that job you mentioned. Stay safe, you two. And keep a low profile. We’re this close to robbin’ that bank. We ain’t botching it now.”

Taking his leave, Dutch removed himself from the saloon’s vicinity and rode back to camp like a bat out of hell, eager to deliver the good news to the gang as the sun steadily began to set.

Meanwhile, Arthur stayed behind with Benjamin and simply remained seated on his barrel while the other man found a comfortable spot next to him, leaning against the saloon’s wall in a casual manner.

“So...” Arthur began, “what was that job you had for me?”

Ben took off his hat, wiping some of the sweat off his forehead. “There was no job.”

The young man raised a brow. “What? So why’d you ask Dutch to bring me here?”

“Because you’re one of the few people I like to talk to, and I need a break from this mess.” Benjamin quickly lit a cigarette, offering one to Arthur. “Anyway... how’ve you been? Things goin’ good at camp?”

Arthur took the cigarette and waited for Ben to light it, continuing the conversation. “As good as they can be. I’m plannin’ to visit Mary later. Apparently, she’s in the region.”

The other man’s face sagged with obvious disapproval. “Ms. Gillis is here?”

“Yes. You mean to tell me you still don’t like her?”

Benjamin put out the match. “It ain’t that simple, Arthur. Mary’s a sweet girl -- I ain’t suggestin’ otherwise. I just don’t know how serious she is about marrying you.”

Arthur couldn’t deny that he struck a nerve. “What do you mean by that? She said yes, didn’t she?”

“Well yeah, but how long before that dusty, old shithead father of hers gets in the way? You really think he'll have no influence on Mary? He’s already tryin’ to put your head on a pike as it is.”

The young man let out a cloud of smoke. “Mary loves me, Ben. And I love her. Nothing’s separatin’ us. Besides, what her father does ain’t her fault. I really don’t understand why you and Grimshaw dislike her so much. ”

Benjamin sighed in defeat. “We’re just lookin’ out for you, Arthur. You’re a good man. Much better than a lot of us. We don’t wanna see you get hurt. But... if you trust her, then I guess it wouldn’t hurt if I did too. Just don’t expect me to weclome her with open arms anytime soon.”

Arthur picked up on Benjamin’s agitated tone, suddenly worried about his friend’s well-being. This wasn’t just about Mary... was it?

“Hey...” he said, speaking more softly, “r’you good, Ben? I mean, you’ve always been an angry bastard, but you seem especially irritated today. What’s goin’ on?”

Thinking to himself for a moment, the deputy remained quiet and ignored Arthur’s question as he thought about what to say next, clearly conflicted about something.

It was unusual for Ben to be so reserved. He wasn’t a social butterfly by any means, but... even then, this sort of behavior was odd for him. Normally, he’d crack a joke or two -- maybe throw in a hint of sarcasm here and there, but today, he was completely serious.

It made Arthur suspect that this whole job was having more of a toll on Benjamin than anyone in the gang truly understood. Dutch did kind of force him into this, after all, and Arthur really had no idea what sort of experiences Ben was going through in order to get the gang where they were now.

Arthur just hoped that Ben wasn’t angry with him personally. It was no secret that Dutch favored the young man over anyone else in the gang, and part of Arthur couldn’t help but feel as if that was what got him out of doing this job, despite the fact that Hosea originally planned to send him or Thomas.

Just what was going on?

“...Y’know what, Arthur,” Benjamin finally said, sounding far more drained than before, “I won’t lie to you. These past two months with Ronan and his men... they’ve opened my eyes to some things. Things that... that make me question everything I’ve done in my life.”

Arthur turned to face him. “What d’you mean?”

Shaw looked at him with a guilt-ridden gaze, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“...I’ve done some terrible stuff throughout the years, Arthur. Stuff that even you don’t know about. I’ve hurt people like it was nothing, killed others for the sake of money, and even turned my back on a few folks who loved me just like you and Dutch do. But... after workin’ with Farley, I’m not sure that’s the man I wanna be anymore.”

Arthur quirked a brow at the statement. “Wait, are you sayin’ you wanna become a lawman for real?”

“Not a lawman,” Ben corrected, “but I dunno if I’m gonna be returning to the gang after this robbery. I’m thinkin’ of maybe going my own way. Starting a different life with the money we take, while I still have the chance. I’m... I’m sorry, Arthur. I probably should’ve said something sooner.”

The young man protested. “You can’t leave, Ben. We need you in this gang. Not only are you one of the best people we’ve had, you’re also my friend. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Benjamin flipped the subject to him. “And what about you? You’re gonna be a husband soon, Arthur. Possibly even be a father someday. You can’t stay in this life forever. It’s gotta be left behind eventually if you wanna be there for your family.”

Arthur felt admittedly somewhat cornered by the response.

“I-I know. And I’ll leave it behind when the time comes, but I still owe it to Dutch to stick with him throughout this whole thing. He saved my life. Yours, too. You’ve said it yourself.”

“Yeah, but my life wasn’t worth savin’ when he first found me. I wanna make sure that it is before I go.”

Somewhat overwhelmed by Benjamin’s sudden confession, Arthur gave the man nothing but a concerned gaze in response and simply sat there with a cigarette in his hand, watching the smoke dance from its tip as it slowly burned away.

Meanwhile, Benjamin threw his to the ground and swiftly stubbed it out with his boot, marking the end of their conversation.

“Do me a favor, Arthur,” he said before returning to his work. “Don’t become the same man I was. When the time comes, make sure you do what’s right.”

Arthur wasn’t sure how to take that advice. “It ain’t always that easy, Ben.”

“I never said it would be easy,” he countered. “In fact, it’s probably gonna be a goddamned nightmare before any of this blows over... but it’ll be worth it. So long as you do the right thing. Remember that.”

With that being said, Benjamin walked off into the busier parts of town just as more people started pouring out of the different establishments around Harlow, ready to go back home for the evening.

He threw a casual wave over his shoulder, saying one last goodbye.

“Take care of yourself, Arthur. Lord only knows what the future holds.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #rdr2 #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 story #rdr2 prequel #rdr2 oc

8 notes · View notes

scotianostra · 2 years

Photo

19th July 1896 saw the birth of AJ Cronin, the Scottish novelist and doctor.

For one short period Archibald Joseph Cronin was the highest-earning novelist in the world, outselling even Agatha Christie, and he is credited with encouraging the foundation of the National Health Service.

Born as Archibald Joseph Cronin in Cardross, Dumbartonshire, A J lost his father when he was young to tuberculosis and the family moved to Dumbarton, where he was educated at the Academy , before they moved again to Yorkhill, Glasgow and he attended St Aloysius' College. He was a fine athlete as well as an outstanding student; going on to study at Glasgow University qualifying in medicine at with top honours.

He worked at the Rotunda, Dublin, and on the Clyde before moving to Tredegar in Wales. He was a Medical Inspector of Mines, and was involved in the mining disaster at Ystfad colliery in which 38 miners drowned, and drew on these experiences in his writing. He moved on to Harley Street in London and finally established a very successful practice at 152 Westbourne Grove in Notting Hill, west London, where he practised until 1930.

Cronin’s writing career began when he was given six month’s bed rest for a digestive complaint. While convalescing from an attack of gastric ulcers on a lonely farm in the Highlands, he wrote Hatter’s Castle in 1931, about a Scottish hatmaker obsessed with the idea of his noble birth. It became a best seller. In the United States, a reviewer for The New York Times found it a work of a novelist “destined for the seats of the mighty.”

After the success he enjoyed with his first novel Cronin devoted himself full-time to writing. In 1935, he wrote The Stars Look Down, the story of a North England mining community that quickly captured attention. While The Times of London said the author had “a bent for melodrama,”

The Citadel drew on Mr. Cronin’s own experiences. It was the story of a young Scottish doctor in a Welsh mining village who sets up a fashionable practice in London and realizes the values of the life he had abandoned. It was made into a film starring Robert Donut.

The New York Times found him “uncannily like Dickens.” In 1940, the book was made into a highly praised film directed by Carol Reed for M-G-M.

The Citadel again drew on Mr. Cronin’s own experiences. It was the story of a young Scottish doctor in a Welsh mining village who sets up a fashionable practice in London and realizes the values of the life he had abandoned. Agaon it was made into a film starring Robert Donut. The Citadel did not go down well with the medical profession and Cronin made enemies in the medical profession, there was a concerted effort by one group of specialists to get The Citadel banned.

When The Keys of the Kingdom was published in 1941, it passed the half-million mark in sales and was a Book-of-the-Month Club selection. The hero of the novel was a self-sacrificing Catholic priest sent by his superiors into long service as a missionary in China.

Arguably Cronins most well known work, at least here at home, is ‘Dr. Finlay’s Casebook, about a pair of Scottish doctors sharing a practice. It became one of the longest-running British television series. Dr Finlay practised in the fictional town of “Tannochbrae”. The first few episodes of the original TV series were filmed in Milgavie, filming moved to Callander. The 90’s reboot was filmed in Auchtermuchty, Fife. But I hope I have demonstrated in this post that A J Cronin was not just all about Dr Finlay, which he didn’t start writing until 1952 by which time he had over 20 works published and was a very well established author.

By 1958, the total sales of his books in the United States alone had passed the seven million!

There have been numerous adaptations of his works made into Film and television series. The Citadel alone has been made into a Film once and a TV mini-series 4 times, the latest being in 2003 in Italy. Doctor Finlay has seen two TV adaptations through the years A J Cronin died at the age of 84 in a clinic in the village of Glion, near Montreux, Switzerland, where he had lived for the last 25 years of his life. He is buried in Cimetière de La Tour-de-Peilz, La Tour-de-Peilz.

Cronin may have spent many years away from Scotland, but oor country was always in his heart and thoughts, I love this quote from him;

“Although I have travelled the world over I must say in all sincerity that my heart belongs to Dumbarton… In my study there is a beautiful 17th century coloured print of the Rock… I even follow with great fervour the fortunes of the Dumbarton football team.”

#Scotland #scottish #doctor #novellist #history

5 notes · View notes

birdsareblooming · 5 years

Note

Can I just. Point out something no one seems to notice. That is CHARA in the opening scene, you can tell by the single stripe on their shirt. Which means it's CHARA that fell in 201X. Which means Frisk doesn't fall until several years later. Chara is canonically from around our generation.

Oh no everyone has noticed that.

Also, when you’re in asgore’s house, just as you unlock the chain you find callander with a date circled during 201X. In genoside, when Chara is narrating full time, when you click on the callander they say something like “The day I arrived here” or something

So no it’s fully canon you see Chara in the beginning, meaning we never see Frisk fall. We only see Frisk fall in the cover of the mini-story book that temmie drew for the switch Undertale, where the child on the cover has two stripes.

21 notes · View notes

ohctranscripts · 2 years

Text

Season 1, Episode 3: Thirdly!

Narrator: Sometime last week, stagehands Jacques and Francois had this conversation in the backstage lounge!

Jacques: I didn’t even tell you about this.

Francois: Yeah?

Jacques: I caught that janitor kid backstage.

Francois: What, the kid that was banned?

Jacques: Yeah, the one that was banned during the show. He’s backstage, I’m, I’m out for a cigarette, I see him standin’ there.

Francois: How the hell did he get back in?

Jacques: Well, that’s the thing, I don’t know!

Francois: Security, right?

Jacques: Hey, hey, us, right? I mean, so I’m about to throw him out—

Francois: Right—

Jacques: You know what I’m sayin’? He’s like, [higher voice] ‘If you let me stay, I’ll tell you where Mister Cameron gets the acts from!’

[Laughing]

Francois: First of all, he’s full of shit—

Jacques: Can you believe that?

Francois: And that was a horrible—that was a horrible impression.

Jacques: Hey, that is exactly what he sounds like.

Francois: Yeah, yeah—

Jacques: That is exactly what he sounds like. So, ten minutes, I come back to him, and I go, ‘Alright, kid, time to pay up. What’s the secret?’ He won’t tell me. So I push him around a bit.

Francois: You’re a tough guy.

Jacques: Hey, hey. Tougher than anyone here, you know that. You know that.

Francois: Alright, Rocky, alright, Rocky, pull it in. Reel it in, Rocky.

Jacques: But get this. He goes, [higher voice] ‘Even Mister Cameron doesn’t know. I—I can’t tell you!’ I’m like, really kid? Mister Cameron doesn’t know where he gets his own acts from?

[Drew Callander sponsor message + announcements]

[Opening music]

John Cameron: Broadcasting from the top of the Eiffel Tower, the Orbiting Human Circus of the Air!

The Orkestral starts us off with its version of Vaughner’s ‘Put No Pork in My Pork Pie Hat’ featuring North, the incredible singing saw!

[String music with squeaking, clapping]

Narrator: And as the earnest hardware saw sings its little heart out, they are listening in the fashionable restaurants beside the Seine!

Listener 1: I’m so glad that Gaston put on the radio, darling. You know, everybody’s talking about that story the cricket was telling.

Listener 2 (Lilith): Cricket, darling?

Narrator: Listening, in the bagel bakeries of Brooklyn!

Listener 3: Eh, the craziest thing happened! The cricket’s tellin’ a story, the crazy bird they got playing the music swoops down and attacks the cricket!

Listener 4: Just like that?

Listener 3: Just like that!

Narrator: Listening, in the taxi cabs of Leningrad!

Listener 5: [Speaking in Russian, car horns in the background]

Listener 6: Da!

Narrator: And at the switchboards at the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation itself. They are listening!

Phone Operator 1: Hello, Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation. We’re sorry, still no news on the cricket!

Phone Operator 2: Hello, Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation. I’m very sorry, sir—

Phone Operator 3: Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation—

[Overlapping voices; “cricket” heard repeating itself]

Narrator: Yet, beside the stage, we see our host John Cameron in the final throes of exhaustion, and the janitor himself standing despondently beside him. And, what’s this? In the janitor’s hands – a cricket-sized casket, carefully made out of toothpicks line with cotton balls? But what’s happened?

We take you back to four a.m. this morning. The janitor wanders the empty passageways of the Eiffel Tower, desperately in search of the cricket.

Julian: Please, cricket, where are you? Cricket!

Narrator: Suddenly, he hears footsteps!

[Footsteps]

And—

[Gasp, small thump]

—bumps into host John Cameron, who, his normally immaculate suit dirty and crumpled, staggers dangerously close to the tower’s outer railing!

[Thump, sigh]

John: It’s you.

Julian: Mister Cameron! What are you doing here? It’s late.

John: Trying to find the cricket you lost!

Julian: I’m so sorry. I thought I had locked the cage. I didn’t know the Orkestral was gonna get out…

John: Do you know what I had to do earlier? Pump the Orkestral’s stomach! Cricket wasn’t in there… Oh, god… Why did I even trust you? What’s happened to my life? What are these acts? I have no idea where they come from. Everybody wants to know if they’re real – I have no idea! Maybe none of this is real! Maybe I’m just having a psychotic break!

Narrator: The janitor’s eyes widen.

John: That’s what happens when you base your life on lies, when you take credit for something you don’t deserve! That wasn’t even an act today at the show, I—this is the first day this happened to me! I looked everywhere, there was always something waiting for me—there was nothing! Everybody would know the truth, then I saw you – you and the cricket, I thought, ‘My God, an act, I’ve been saved! Saved!’ [Laughs] I’m ruined!

Julian: But I wanna help you!

John: Help me? Don’t you understand? You’re the janitor! You’re not part of the show!

Julian: I’ll find the cricket!

John: Don’t you ever come near me or my show ever again!

[Footsteps]

Julian: I know how you find the acts!

John: Push me off the tower. Just push me. I’ll just stand right here by the edge, with my eyes closed.

Julian: It’s okay, Mister Cameron.

Narrator: Horrified by his words’ effect, the janitor tentatively puts a hand on John Cameron’s shoulder.

Julian: I mean, I mean, I know how anyone can find acts like that.

John: Wh—how?

Julian: Well, it’s all about how you look at things. Like, take the tap-dancing mouse, for instance.

John: Yes, yes?

Julian: If you see a mouse, and you look at it like you wanna hit it with a broom or you’re scared it has diseases, it’ll just run away from you! But if you love it, and you keep really still, it’ll come right up to you. How else are you gonna find out if a mouse can tap-dance?

[John Cameron sighs]

John: You know, it’s good that you can live and work independently.

Julian: Thank you!

John: [Yelling] Get away from me!

Julian: But—

John: [Yelling] Get away!

Narrator: Holding back tears, the janitor continues to search, but it’s hopeless! Finding one lost cricket in the whole of the Eiffel Tower? He studies every inch of the floor, examining every piece of lint, growing more and more depressed.

Julian: Please, please! Come on, come on…

[Bell, birds chirping]

Narrator: Sunrise. The morning mail is delivered to the base of the Eiffel Tower. John Cameron sleeps draped over an observatory telescope on the top observation deck.

[Snoring]

Suddenly, he is startled!

Julian: Mister Cameron—

John: [Grunts]

Julian: Mister Cameron! There he is, over there! By the boxes! I chased him down here!

John: What?

Julian: The cricket, over there on the floor! I give it up, and there he was!

John: The cricket!

[Cricket chirping]

John: You’re sure that’s the one?

Julian: Yes!

John: How?

Julian: I saw him shaking his fist at the Orkestral!

John: Thank God!

Jacques: Mister Cameron!

John: Oh, hello, Jacques.

Jacques: You’ll never believe it! A hundred bags of mail just arrived. They’re all about that cricket! I bet he’s just about the most famous cricket on the Earth!

John: Yes, I imagine he is, Jacques.

Jacques: Oh, here’s the crane with the letters.

[Beeping of a vehicle]

Voice in distance: Hey! You want the mail over here, right?

John: Wait, no, no!

Julian: The cricket!

John: No, no!

[Thud]

John: NO!

Narrator: All leading to the present moment, where our host John Cameron stands, holding the tiny toothpick casket, glancing woefully from it to a large group of thespians, costumed seemingly to perform William Shakespeare’s immortal Macbeth?

John: That was the Orbiting Human Circus Orkestral, featuring North, the singing saw!

[Applause]

Ladies and gentlemen, I know many of you are here tonight in the hopes of seeing a certain cricket…

Audience Members: Where’s the cricket?

Bring out the cricket!

John: However, however, it is important to remember in times like these with our flashy modern entertainment like tap-dancing mice, singing saws, and, yes, storytelling crickets—

[More applause]

John: It’s important to do honor to the high art that is the genesis of all that graces the modern stage! The immortal classics, ladies and gentlemen, that paved the way for the superficial diversions of the now. We present to you our performance of Shakespeare’s Scottish play!

Audience Members: Bring out the cricket!

We want the cricket!

John: Yes!

[Cries from the audience]

Well, please, do put your hands together for a play which is sure to turn your laughter into tears!

Audience Member: Where’s the cricket?!

John: We give you, Macbeth!

Audience Member: Bring out the cricket!

John: Macbeth, ladies and gentlemen! Mac-Beth!

[Music]

Actor: When shall we three meet again?

Narrator: But, in the audience, they are not listening, the word ‘cricket’ whispered in chorus throughout the house. And in the fancy cafes beside the Seine, they are not listening!

Listener 2 (Lilith): Well, with all this build-up I’m simply not going to enjoy my dinner if they don’t find that cricket!

Listener 1: Don’t be so demanding, Lilith.

Narrator: In the stagehands’ lounge, behind the broadcast ballroom, they are not listening!

Laeticia: Okay, if ze riot, Pierre, I need you stage left, Jacques, I need you stage right; and I will shield John.

Jacques: Yep, Miss Saltier, yep.

Narrator: And even in his seat beside the stage, John Cameron, our host, is not listening! He slumps despondently in his chair beside the stage. His eyelids growing heavy, he drifts and drifts.

[Snoring]

Actor (Lady Macbeth): It shall be done, a deed of dreadful know. What’s to be done?

Actor 2: [Groans] I’ve done the deed, does thou not hear a noise?

Narrator: But, what’s this? Like the Doberman pinscher of showmanship he is, John snaps to attention. What was Lady Macbeth saying?

Actor (Lady Macbeth): These pots, full of pastries, are greedy, greedy, greedy!

Narrator: And why was she straddling a mechanical bull?

[Actor chanting in the background, whirring]

Narrator: What was this, some horrid modernist deconstruction? Good lord! Not on his watch!

Actor 3: Who will be the first to blink? I’ve crazy-glued my eyelids, so not me! I’ve crazy-glued my eyelids!

Actor 4: I’ve crazy-glued my eyelids! Woo! Great locka-shake! [Quietly] Bleat like a sheep… [Louder] Baaaa! And hang—

Narrator: But, why was Lady Macbeth suddenly being played by his aged and annoying Aunt Helga?

Aunt Helga/Lady Macbeth: {Listen, creepy, and watch the preen and draw from your nostrils…}

Narrator: Those aren’t the lines… and Macbeth himself!

[Baby goat bleating]

That’s Morty the mechanic, from the garage down the block! And he’s… smacking a newborn baby?

[Smack, baby crying]

Morty: …acrobats, but I love to kiss a whale! So white, so white, to kiss it and give it ice cream! Of course! But all I have are pastries, greedy, greedy pastries. Give me your mustache.

Narrator: And at last, the dream grows peaceful, and John relaxes, and watches tiny Macbeth bubbles drift all around his weary head.

[Bubbles popping]

Suddenly, a tap on his shoulder!

Julian: Mister Cameron! Wake up! Wake up!

John: What?

Narrator: John Cameron awakes in his seat beside the stage, on which he hears Macbeth being played correctly, to find the janitor yelling and gesticulating wildly.

Julian: The cricket! I was all about to bury him, and the top of the casket opened! And he sat up and started chirping! He’s right here in my hand! Look!

[Cricket chirping]

John: What?

Julian: Listen! I brought you in the machine, he’ll tell you himself!

[Machine whirring, futuristic sounds]

Cricket: Oh, Mister Cameron, when I saw all of those beautiful letters all of those nice people wrote, I fainted dead away!

John: My god!

Cricket: But then, I came to, in the beautiful bird-proof bed you had made for me out of toothpicks lined with cotton balls! It was the nicest thing anybody has ever done for me!

John: Oh, well…

Cricket: Thank you, thank you, thank you. I have not slept so securely in a very long time.

John: My god, it’s a miracle! A modern radio miracle!

Narrator: John Cameron hugs the janitor!

Julian: [Quietly] Oh!

Narrator: And he hugs the little cricket!

Cricket: One thing I must ask you: when the radio broadcast is over, may I keep the bird-proof bed?

John: With the compliments of the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation!

Cricket: [Choked up] Oh, thank you!

Narrator: John Cameron turns and rushes onto the stage, where Macbeth continues!

Actor: Tomorrow, tomorrow…

John: And tonight! We bring you a small soul who needs little introduction!

[Applause]

That’s right! Put him down and turn on the machine, Julian!

[Machine whirring, futuristic sounds]

Cricket: Thank you, thank you! Thank you! Thank you, thank you…

Narrator: And so, the cricket begins to tell the shocking conclusion of the story the whole world was waiting for! We will return with our cricket and our feature presentation.

[Drew Callander sponsor message]

Cricket: Thank you, thank you! Thank you! Thank you, thank you…

Narrator: And so, the cricket begins to tell the shocking conclusion of the story the whole world was waiting for! That of Ladislas, genius clockmaker who realized that clocks run more accurately counterclockwise, but whose clocks no one wanted! Who, hungry and broke, could not work for the noise of the poor children upstairs, constantly begging their parents for dolls, and who found himself suddenly making from scraps two dolls, which he gave the children to their absolute delight! And as soon as this act of kindness was done, it seemed as though a miracle had happened! His counterclockwise clocks suddenly became popular!

…As a joke. It broke his heart, and he smashed his clocks and closed up his shop, and never came out.

But then, months later, the shutters on his window suddenly went up, revealing a wondrous doll shop! His dolls spread all over Bucharest, until one day, he disappeared! Because this is what he had done:

On every doll, there was hidden a tiny catch beneath a layer of varnish that would rub off in a year’s time. This catch, once exposed, would trigger when bumped, causing the doll’s facial expression to change forever to a look of such hatred, such hideous pain and vile, it would give the children of Bucharest nightmares to last a lifetime!

And what happened? I give you, our cricket, on the air.

[Applause]

Cricket: Thank you. Thank you, thank you.

When brutally attacked, I was telling the story of Ladislas Koskovsky. He has filled all Bucharest with his horrible dolls, and so he has to run away before the first catch is sprung. He flees to Paris. He turns to alcohol. He ends up on the street.

Here, at last, Ladislas feels he belongs. At least, he thinks, a man who had done what he has done deserves to be frozen; deserves to die slowly. And here, at last, he would.

But, he does not die, quickly or slowly. His constitution proves surprisingly robust. And so he lives, wishing to die nearly every moment. Ladislas lives and lives, and then, one night, he has a dream.

He is with a little girl, and that little girl is his. The little girl looks up at him with a look of love such as no one has given him in all his life. Its feeling fills all his soul.

He is happy.

But then, he realizes the little girl is holding one of his dolls. He sees the face hasn’t changed yet, but the varnish – it’s rubbed away. The catch, it will spring any moment. He struggles madly to take it from her, but cannot reach it, as if space and time become quicksand. And then it happens – he hears the catch strike; his heart runs cold. He turns his eyes to the doll.

But the doll’s face has not switched! The girl’s has! And her face has switched to such a… to such an inhuman mask of pure hatred – Ladislas’ hatred, terrifying cruelty – Ladislas’ cruelty. He feels as if everything he has ever loved in the world has been snatched away from him, never to be given back.

All goes cold, so cold. Ladislas wakes up in the act of vomiting, and lets loose a scream of such horror, it is heard that night on both banks of the river Seine.

He walks the Paris streets that night like a ghost, feels apart from all things on the Earth. He wants to be beaten, to be punished; he wants to return to Romania and take all of the abuse that would come, be sent to prison and be hated by everyone, grown-ups and children alike, for what he really is.

He sets out, as if in a trance, on the journey home.

When he reaches Bucharest, he expects a massive outcry. He makes it all the way across the city and no one noticed, at last arriving at the first house whose children he had given his horrid dolls.

He wants to cry. Like a child, he is terrified, so afraid. The time has come. He reaches the door. He manages to knock, much too loud. The turning of the doorknob from within; the creaking of the hinges; the opening of the door; and then the face, peering out at him. It was the mother, and then the look upon her face – horror.

“Ladislas Koskovsky! My god! What’s become of you?”

In her voice, warmth? Concern?

“Come in, my god! Come in!”

She takes his hand, leads him inside.

“My dear! It’s Ladislas Koskovsky!”

“Ladislas Koskovsky!” the man answers in shock. “Here!”

They sit him down, bring him water, and then their little girl appears.

“Look, Romika! It’s Ladislas, the man who made your dolly!”

“I know who he is, mommy! Everybody does!”

Ladislas looks at the doll clutched in the little girl’s fingers and sees the doll’s sweet face, and it’s just as it was – unchanged. But he can see the varnish has rubbed off, and the tiny catch exposed, waiting to trigger.

The girl looks to him, so like the girl in his dream. Panicked, he reaches for the doll, but unlike his dream, he is able to touch the doll. He pulls it from the little hand so hard, the doll smacks against the table. Expecting it to trigger, he buries the doll in his chest to shield the girl from its change.

But still, he hears no click. The face did not change. Amazed, he bangs the doll on the floor twice more just to see. Still, it does not open. And as he looked at it feverishly, madly, he realized this catch would not open – could not open! It was at least a sixteenth of a centimeter too long, too big for its opening! It could never be struck!

They give him food and a bath. Ladislas could barely talk, his mind swimming. He stumbles out of the house, and he brings himself to the next house. And house after house, he finds the same reaction, the same treatment. The catches had not opened! They’d all been made too long! Each and every last one!

In each house, he is given a hero’s welcome. The children look at him with reverence, and the parents treat him as an honored member of their family. He finds that in Romania, he is considered a great man. His dolls are national treasure, but one to be played with; to be passed down from generation to generation.

It was by this measure that he’d marked the time of childhood for an entire country.

So, what had Ladislas Koskovsky done? He had not brought nightmares to the children of Romania. He was a man, who, late for an important appointment, loses his keys and searches for them madly, when all the time, they were right there in front of his nose. How often in those cases is the appointment not one on which we really wish to go?

It is said that in Ladislas Koskovsky’s time, all children in Romania were his children. His dolls, outliving him in their hundreds, and buried deep inside some, gone forever, and smothered by a visage of love, was all the pain and frustration of a man who had been a great failure, hurt and rejected, with no idea at all of the hero he would become.

[Applause]

John: Broadcasting from the top of the Eiffel Tower, the Orbiting Human Circus of the Air!

Cricket: Thank you. Thank you, thank you. Thank you. [Laughs] Thank you!

[Music]

John: Well, that’s it for this week, ladies and gentlemen. I’m John Cameron…

Julian: And I’m—

John: Shh!

Broadcasting from the top of the Eiffel Tower, the Orbiting Human Circus wishes you a good night!

[Ending music]

3 notes · View notes