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joannasprose · 16 days ago

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CHAPTER ONE

—⊱✿⊰—

free Palestine, free Sudan—no one is free until we all are free.

hi ! I am so glad to share the first chapter of my little series Bite Your Tongue! :) I really do hope everyone enjoys this read,, and it eases your mind even slightly. enjoy :) 💜

content warnings: this chapter contains mentions of self harm, alcohol usage, drug use, and other mature themes. please do not read it any of topics might trigger you. ICYMI — if you’d like to read it on wattpad, for better formatting, and pretty images, my username is joannasprose 💜🗡️ :)))

—⊱✿⊰—

THE NIGHT THOSE feelings had arrived unwarranted, had been one full of an array of emotions. Questions danced across your mind in complete silence as you sat by yourself in the dark. Wondering, contemplating—anything that might solve the complexity in which your mind holds.

———

ITS A COOLER night than most.

You hadn't been one for it, the unrelenting cold. You run your hands over the exposed skin of your arms, and as you step into the crowded space—almost immediately met with smell of alcohol and artificial air wafting through it; you find yourself regretting the agreement of a night out.

The venue is filled with strangers; some stumbling over their own feet, others stand near the front door—strangers, in which you nearly have push past to get by, and finally, the weird sweaty smell that lingers in the air.

Perhaps it was the alluring feeling of relief, leaving the stress of life tucked beneath bed-covers, and consuming the potions that you knew Dina would concoct. Or maybe it had been her alluring words themselves; that somehow, in some way, had always seemed to persuade you. But the adrenaline, the tiniest bits of excitement that pooled in your mind slowly began to dissipates along with other things—and you find yourself cringing as you nearly bump into everyone around you.

Taking a vacant seat at the bar, in the far corner, you find that your heart is beating as fast as your thoughts. Another senseless night of watching strangers become too drunk to hold themselves up—and another wondering when it would end. And as your foot taps against the floor incessantly, Dina's hand to your shoulder is the only thing that pulls you out of that dissociative state.

"Hey! You made it!" she says, her words spoken loudly over the blaring music, leaning close to your ear, hoping to evade the mix of voices and music that seems to bounce off walls and blend together.

Now, as she takes a seat next to you—turning to her—you meet her eyes, looking over her thick eyelashes.

Dina Woodward always held some kind of edge to her. Whether that was in the way she dressed, the way she held her bluntness between her teeth, or her dark brown hair that fell past her shoulders tonight; all of it was piercing as a snake bite.

Yet she loved the simple things; the movies and books she would often find herself crying to, the vulnerabilities that steadily seemed to resurface. All of it had been put on display amongst the walls of your shared apartment.

"You asked me to come," you say. Dina rolls her eyes before taking a sip from the drink clutched in her hands, and then, "where's Jesse?" You could almost feel the annoyance hanging off her alcohol coated breath. Her frustration was not aimed towards you, but rather, the difficulty of her relationship.

"Wherever he is." She simply says, and this time, she brings the cup to her lips and swallows a mouthful.

You hum in response, settling your hands into your lap and watching as she sets her cup down on the wooden counter. "You want a drink?" She leans in close, nearly shouting in your ear when she does. You shake your head in response, and as she settles back into her seat, she rolls her eyes. "Seriously? I didn't beg you to come so you could stand off in the corner and do nothing."

Shrugging your shoulders, you speak: "Yeah? And if I get shitfaced, who'll drive us home?" You cock a brow, just in time to catch yet another roll of her eyes.

"What? Poor baby can't handle her alcohol?" This time, you're the one to roll eyes when she speaks. You had known Dina since the end of your 8th grade year in middle school—and since then, the two of you had always seemed to stick together like messily placed glitter.

"Shut up," you say, nudging her side playfully.

Suddenly, she perks up. Dina stands from her seat next to now readily getting up to move. "I'll be right back! Gonna do find someone," she says, looking off at whatever's behind you, before directing her attention back to you. "And I'm gonna go get you that drink." Before you could protest, Dina's already left your side, blurring into the sea of people.

You've found that you never enjoyed large gatherings. You never strayed away from them, but you had never indulged in them either. Your eyes skim across the room, watching people packed together as if they were in minimal space converse in undying conversations.

The moment Dina had left out of your sights, and the moment you turned back around towards the wooden counter—that unyielding anxiety had begun to latch on again like a vine infested bush.

You think about spring in your sophomore year of high school; one spent sat on Dina's floor, making shitty posters for her band on canvas using a free trial. That spring, one where it had been so humid, that you could almost find comfort even in its humidity. And you know it's because you'd hadn't met him yet—when he hadn't stuck his dog-teeth into you.

Your foot begins to pick up where it left off, tirelessly bouncing up and down against the floor. That same, grueling anxiety seems as though it begs to take root in your mind.

Terminal was the name of Dina's band. Herself, and two other girls around your age. You'd never met them, far too busy with cognitives of work and your home life to venture and leave. You had yet to see her preform either—not including when she'd play demos and such of what she had been working on.

You've heard them on CDs she would give you, recordings she made, "Why not just use Spotify? Isn't that easier?" You asked her as she shoved her hand in the deep pits of her bag, searching for a few moments before pulling out the thing and giving it to you.

"Because we're broke as shit." She had replied, and as she lingers bitterly in your mind, you begin to shift in your seat, placing your elbow on the table and resting your head on your hand.

Dina didn't quite fit the 'normal' standard for the music she played. And that alone is what you always admired about her. Surely, her witty and snappy demeanor had made up for it.

Five minutes have gone by now. Five long minutes of no sign of Dina, no text message, and indication on when she would be returning. Pulling your phone from your pocket, holding it close to your face to unlock it—you open the messages between the two of you, now typing away on your phone.

YOU: hey, you okay? where are you?

A few minutes pass—one, two, three, four of them before you get a text back.

DINA: shit, yeah sorry. I'm with Jesse, I didn't mean to leave you I swear. We're talking now I guess

YOU: it's fine. I'm gonna head step out for a little bit. If you need me

DINA: are you okay? I can come back and talk with him later

YOU: Dina, It's fine, seriously it's just kinda hot in here

DINA: okay, text me if you need anything okay?

YOU: okay

———

( play Main Theme - soundtrack by Alex G )

Pushing past the mounds of bodies, letting countless of apologies fall from your throat is what annoys you the most. Not the fact that Dina had brought you here, and then promptly left you for Jesse. Irritation, as it had, slips past your barricade, and renders it all useless as you slither through the crowd, stalking towards the sign that read exit, in a bright, red neon.

You don't smoke and yet as you leave the venue, pushing your back harshly against the wall behind you, you found yourself wishing you did. The moon is a sharp blade of silver, keeping the alleyway alight, along with the street light that stands tall at the end of it.

For the first time tonight, you are truly alone. Alone with what haunts you, with your grueling thoughts and what the night has to offer you. Though, that unrecognized ache still curls inside of you.

Maybe you would have still been alone, if the sound of footsteps weren't thudding against the ground, invading your silence.

You quickly lift your head up, eyes pouring over the stranger who approaches you, hands that had once hung at their sides for a brief moment, now pulled promptly to either side of their head.

"Sorry," they pause their stride almost immediately, now only standing a few paces away from you. "Didn't mean to scare you or anything." Now, as you get a good look at the stranger—something about them had seemed so familiar as the moon puts their features on displays.

From a short distance, you almost couldn't tell if her hair was black or merely just a dark brown. Her frame is tall, not much taller than your own, but tall enough to vaguely stand over you. Freckles decorate her face like scattered paint, and her eyes are unreadable, they sit between a light green, and yet a much darker one. A Loose pair of blue jeans hug her waist almost perfectly, and on her shoulders, lays a grey flannel, along with a white tank top that displays only a hint of her collar bone.

It's a new angle for you. To see her fully. It clicks when she lowers her hand, when the shadow across her face now promptly falls and you finally get to see her fully.

Now, it's when you notice the scar that adorns her right eyebrow.

After a long moment, she speaks again, "You're Dina's friend, right?" She asks, moving to lean against the wall along with you, though she leaves a lengthy space between the two of you.

You nod hesitantly before speaking, "Yeah," you say, eyes watching closely as she shoves her hands into pants pockets, and then: "Aren't you the guitarist in her band?"

She scoffs, looking over to you with narrowed brows, "'Her band'," she questions, smiling with her teeth now, "it's Dina's band now?" She measures, amusement strung across her features.

"I mean, well, Terminal." You stumble on your words, though you find that the smile she held a moment prior still resides there, unwavering.

"Yeah. I'm in Dina's band. She asked me to come out here to make sure you were alright." Before you know it, shes pulled a hand from the depths of her pocket, holding it out to you, "Ellie Williams, and you, Dina’s friend?"

You roll your eyes, but nonetheless, you place your hand in hers, feeling as her grip tightens slightly around yours. Shockingly, it isn't harsh. You could practically feel the callouses on her fingertips, yet you find that her touch is still soft. Weirdly comforting.

"Y/N." You breath.

She smiles when you look at her, though this time it feels different from the others. More genuine.

Your eyes travel down to her hand, and slowly, they travel up her arm, only momentarily catching the black ink sunken deep into her skin—as well valley of red hidden underneath the sleeves of her flannel before she briskly pulls away.

"I haven't seen you around before," she mutters, her voice suddenly quieter, digging into her pockets before pulling an out a pack of cigarettes from them, taking one out of the pack while she holding it in her hand as she speaks. "You just moved here?" Ellie pulls a light out of her other pocket, flicking it a few times, and when it finally ignites a flame—she holds it to the bud.

"Yeah. Just moved here a few weeks ago." She hums, pulling the cigarette from her mouth, while then letting tendrils of smoke escape her lips, and with you watching guilty, she speaks, "You smoke?"

For a moment, you think back to the reason you left the venue in the first place. The undying conversations, the smell of alcohol seeping into your nostrils—and that brief annoyance you had willfully felt for Dina when she left. You think about it for a short moment, eyes still on Ellie, you heave a sigh, "A little," you say, which hadn't completely been a lie, yet not the truth either.

Her eyes watch over you for a moment, eyes wavering, she gestures the box towards you, and watches as you take one from the pack.

Slyly keeping the thing tucked between her lips, she lets you settle it between your own lips. Nearing you, again, it takes three tries until the fire ignites. She nears it to the tip of it, waiting, and then pulling away when she's sure it's been lit.

You inhale its smoke, tasting its bitterness, and take it all in, while briefly exhaling. A faint cough escapes your throat.

"What do you do?" She says, which startles you considering you had only just now gotten used to the brief silence. Pulling it from your lips, and looking over to Ellie as she stares at the puddle in front of her speak: "I'm a journalist. I also write books sometimes, working on my first one."

You watch her eyes rise, and you watch as a smile pulls at her lips, willingly, "Well shit," she says, a smile that you strangely find comforting—which is weird, considering you don't know her—curls on her lips. "Dina really does have some interesting friends."

"She doesn't talk about me?" You ask, feeling a sting of pain at the revelation, though Ellie is quick to crumble any of those feelings, "She does, I'm sure. I'm just not around much."

You hum in response tiredly in response before speaking, "What do you do?" You ask, realizing the cigarette had been hanging between your fingertips, the smoke vaguely emitting off of it. You pull it to your lips. "Well, as you know, I'm in Dina's band," you roll your eyes as you let smoke fall from your lips, "I've said that once. And this is my first time speaking to you, are you ever gonna let that go?"

"Nope." She says, quickly, too quickly for comfort.

"Anyway," she follows, "I'm also a tattoo artist."

Your brows perk in interest, eyes skimming over her skin, and in that moment, you watch as she turns away from you.

"Are you gonna show me any of your tattoos? Wanna try to impress me?"

Ellie hums, perhaps contemplating, perhaps alluding you to believe she is before she says, "Maybe another time."

A rebuttal lies on your lips, another strange urge to see the strangers hidden tattoos inked in skin, but you have restraint tucked between your gums. So you don't question her.

"Well..." you say, switching the topic, "I'm writing a piece on the Enchanting Beauty of Art," you say, pulling the almost finished bud to your lips, inhaling the smoke, and then promptly blowing it out.

You put it out on the brick wall, listening to its subtle hiss as you speak, "it's about art. Um, obviously."

Ellie hums, and then, "Is that your title," she questions. Now, you notice that she's already finished hers. The space between her lips are empty, along with her fingers, "You want me to give you some insight, or some shit? I'm not that good." She says, rather plainly.

"You're probably good enough. Better than me."

Ellie pushes herself off the wall. And for a moment, you begin to she's planning to get ready to leave before she pulls her phone from her pocket, opening it and handing it to you. "Text me. Call me, or whatever you want. I'll answer your questions."

Your brows raise when she spoke, looking down to her hand, and back up to her space, you find yourself yet again, stumbling over your words, "I mean. You don't have to, I was joking."

Ellie doesn't drop her hand, only a sly smile sneaks onto her lips again, though, you never even considered if it had left, "Well, if you were joking, then that's seriously fucking embarrassing on my part," she began, still gesturing towards you, "and to soothe said embarrassment, give me yours and I'll give you mine. Text me when you need it."

A smile creeps on your lips, it's undeniable, and you watch as her eyes waft over to the cupids bow of them, watching for a considerably long moment before saying: "Playing the guitar has helped me learn I can keep my hand up for a very long time," she shrugs, "might wanna take it before we spend the entire night out here."

You practically scramble to take her phone from your hands as you pull out yours. "Shit. Sorry."

You hold hers in your hand for moment as you pull out your own, unlocking it and then pressing the phone app and quickly handing it to her.

The both of you type away. She calls her own number, and you feel as the phone buzzes in your hands when she does.

Ellie slips her phone into her pocket when you hand it to her.

"You goin' back inside?" She asks, her eyes narrowing at you. You catch a hint of a sweet southern accent.

"Are you trying to get rid of me that fast?" You quip, and Ellie smiles.

She sighs, "Just wanted to make sure you got back inside safe so Dina's not on my ass again." You laugh, stuffing your phone into your pockets. You hum in response, and she bids you goodbye.

When you near the door, she watches and then turns on her heel. And for a moment, you watch her departure.

You feel the simmer of something bubbling up inside your stomach, something unrelenting as you walk through the double doors. You realize, as you shuffled through your pants pockets, that you've been clutching the abandoned cigarette the entire time.

You hadn't felt the burn. If there were one.

You think of Ellie's subtle, kind words, her restrained yet welcoming demeanor. And as you spot Dina in the crowd, ushering you over—you'd wished you met her earlier on.

———

THE FOLLOWING MORNING

10:37AM

STUFFING YOUR FACE with the hash browns Dina had gotten from the diner just down the street from your apartment, she spoke: "You saw Ellie, right?"

You hum in response, chewing your few, and swallowing it down, "Yeah. She gave me her number too." Dina's eyes narrow in interest. Sitting new to you on her brown two-seater, she slides herself closer to you. "Oh? And what happened after that?"

You squint your eyes at her, already knowing what she's suggesting.

"Jesus. Not like that. We talked, exchanged numbers, and said goodbye. That's it."

Dina rolls her eyes, taking the plate from your hands, and practically clutching it near her chest. "Yeah sure. I give it a few months and you guys'll be together."

Your eyes widen. You nudge her shoulder harshly, and when you do, the hash brown nearly falls to the floor—luckily, though, Dina held it more tightly just in time. "I'm just saying! She usually never..." you watch as Dina tries to finds the words, the laugh track from the show that plays on the tv is the only thing that seems to fill the silence before she speaks.

"She doesn't talk much. I thought she would tell you who she was, and that would be the end of it."

You think back on it now.

Ellie didn't seem to fit Dina's description. At least in your head. Part of finds yourself wondering what that Ellie is like. Though part of you wants to know more the Ellie you'd met last night.

You switch the topic. "What was that last night? Why'd you leave so suddenly?"

You watch as Dina looks over to you, the fork that you had once previously stabbed into the food, now flipping it over. "Jesse had flowers for me, he apologized." You could nearly roll your eyes at her statement, yet you only let out a half-hearted smile.

"Again?" You joke, though not really.

You expect Dina to at least get somewhat irritated with you. You'd assumed anyone would at a comment like that. Though, she only places the paper plate down on the wooden table in front of you both, and throws her arms over your shoulder.

"Yeah, whatever. Keep talking."

You shrug her off her of you, a smile curling on your lips slightly—you focus back onto the screen ahead, thinking back to Ellie's alluring smile, and the moment you do, you find yourself questioning why you're even thinking about her at all.

#the last of us 2 #ellie williams #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #bite your tongue #ellie williams the last of us #ellie x you #ellie x reader #fanfic

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unholyhelbig · 4 years ago

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Evergreen | Chapter One

Summary: Beca Mitchell is a reporter that travels across the east coast. When scarlet fever begins to overtake much of the world, she’s forced to cover a story in one of the largest, newest, hospitals. She is soon captivated by the head nurse and then stolen by something more.[The Prequel to "What's Forever?"]

Ship: Beca Mitchell/ Chloe Beale

Read the series here

Beca Mitchell spotted Evergreen Sanatorium through the large oak trees before anything else. It could very well be due to the fact that it stuck out in the rolling green hills of Virginia like a sore thumb. It was the only building for a matter of miles and quite the building it was; with its dark brick exterior and iron gates keeping everyone from climbing in- or for that matter, out.

She couldn’t help the way her breath caught. She had pushed herself forward in the little town car and felt her sweaty palms slip against the cracked leather seats. The man driving frowned in the rearview mirror, but she pretended not to notice, just like she pretended not to notice the stench of whisky on his breath and the crumbs in his uncombed mustache.

He had been leaning heavily against his taxi cab, a Chevy that may have been new at some point, but was a dingy maroon now. It was a sorry attempt to imitate the checkers she had left behind in Chicago hours before. He had taken four bites to the bitter core of his apple and dragged his sleeve against his lips before tossing it aside when he saw her approach.

“Ye heading to Evergreen, are ya?” He had a thick welsh accent.

She nodded as he popped the trunk and she wondered how he had ended up on the East Coast. Virginia was no place for fools or a place to settle down. It was part of the reason her editor had sent her here in the first place. She was expendable, and so was this story. It was nothing but a puff piece on one of the newest Hospitals in the state; the first of its kind. It was bent on solving the rising threat of Consumption. Something more than stifled.

The real reporting was for the men.

But Beca Mitchell considered herself something of a real reporter, so she jumped at the chance to board a flight. The scent of nature and manure was overwhelming, and so was the apple that her driver had discarded. But she was glad to be here, peering up at the large building. It made her fingers tingle, and her toes even more.

“This place is huge.”

“Better be, it houses half of Waverly’s population. Tiny little town. It’s been hit just as hard as the rest of the world by this illness. You ain’t feeling sick, are ye?”

She eyed him and pushed herself back into her seat. “Nauseous from your driving, that’s all.”

He laughed at that and she smiled. He wasn’t too bad, a little brash. She wanted to learn more of him and how he had ended up here, surrounded by this much grass instead of the dank streets of Europe. But they had pulled up to the large iron gates before she could fish for what she really wanted to know.

The trees that surrounded the property were in full flame. Beca could smell the pungent dirt in the air as she cranked the window down and welcomed the way Jack Frost bit at her cheeks. It mixed toxically with the embossed leather of her driver. He mumbled something under his breath and tightened his coat. The gates pulled themselves open effortlessly because they had been expecting the pair.

Evergreen Sanitarium was larger than it had been when they started up the drive, and that, she expected. The main building was comprised of three parts, one that stretched into the slate sky and two others that moved to the side. It was carved from brick and stone and a large metal plaque was welded into the face. Evergreen Hospital & Research Facility It read EST. 1910.

There was a large fountain and a circle that stopped the drive. The gravel crunched under their tires, but she focused on the two angels with slightly green water dribbling down their chins into an even greener pool.

“You need help with yer bags, ma’am?”

“No, I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

Her words had a bit of a sarcastic bite to them, but she truly meant them. There was an ungodly chill in the air and no two people should suffer the elements when it was only one stop. She fished out a hefty tip from her coat pocket and dropped it in his callused palm before parting ways.

She hadn’t expected a welcome wagon, not in the slightest, but the property looked abandoned entirely. Beca adjusted her bag over her shoulder and watched as the town car that had brought her up here turned into nothing but a speck.

She takes a few steps towards the fountain, listening to the trickle of the water as she fought off the scent of gasoline. The pool wasn’t emerald, not entirely. There was a layer of copper coins at the bottom that reflected the grass. She let the tips of her fingers brush against the surface, sending ripples as the cold shot up her arm.

“Folks try anything to ease their minds.”

Beca startled, pulling her touch away entirely as she turned towards the voice. She hadn’t heard the doors open, nor the footsteps in the gravel. She blamed the plain white nurses' shoes that that woman wore over her own lack of perception.

She recognized the voice from over the telephone almost instantly. Director Emma Woodward was older than she had imagined, in her Mid-Forties. She had embraced the grey that sprinkled her hair, pined up in extravagant curls. She wore a form-fitting baby-blue dress with a neatly folded collar. The neckline dropped down enough to expose a pale white chest. She wore a simple gold cross to cut against the color. It was modest and professional, and she didn’t seem to acknowledge the chill in the air.

“It must be frightening for them, leaving people here.” Beca shifted her bag and extended a hand “Rebecca Mitchell, Chicago Gazette, it’s nice to meet you in person.”

Emma smiled and it was a stunning sight. She had crinkles at the corners of her eyes and her nails were neatly painted. Beca found them too neat for a nurse, but she supposed becoming a director, as a female in the early 1900’s, was cause enough to treat for a manicure. She took her hand firmly.

“Emma Woodward, the pleasure is all ours. I must admit, Miss Mitchell, we found it quite odd that a paper of your magnitude wanted to do a story on a place such as ours.”

Beca found heat blooming against her cheeks. It wasn’t their idea, it was entirely hers. It took hours of flirting and a couple of glasses of fine bourbon for their editor to agree to any type of story she had to offer that wasn’t about kitchen appliances or the proper way to tend to a man in his time of need.

She had done more than enough to persuade him, and when he finally did agree, it was in hopes to see her crash and burn. He had gotten a pleasant night out of it, and she had earned a chance (however slim) to run with it. Even if it was in a practical asylum at the height of a deadly illness.

“Yes, well, we’re very progressive.”

Emma nodded with that kind grin of hers and lead Beca up the stairs and into the main hall of the Hospital. An instant edge of heat wormed under her clothes and made her shiver. The scent of antiseptic burned her lungs in a quick moment.

The floor had an ugly checkered design of yellow and green, both colors faded and worn. There was a large oak staircase that leads to different wards, she assumed, and a few sofas with old editions of magazines on metal tables. Emma didn’t’ skip a beat as she started to ascend the steps.

“We have a couple of floors here, Miss Mitchell. The top one is strictly for research, then we move down to trauma level three. It’s where the patients that are furthest along stay, those who have signed off for study and treatment. Then we have our second to last floor. The right-wing is for mild cases while the left is for our staff's comfort. That’s where you’ll be staying.”

“And the ground floor?” Beca asked.

“That’s for those lucky enough to see themselves out.”

“Does that happen often, then?”

“Not as often as we would like, I’m afraid. Consumption is entirely new to all of us, and we’re still learning the ins and outs of its effects.”

Beca nodded even though she knew Emma didn’t notice. Her shoulder was aching by the time they ascended to the first landing. Instead of turning in the direction of the ward, they made their way down a crudely lit hallway with large metal doors blocking the main way.

Once through, the sticky heat of Evergreen seemed to thicken once more. The lights dimmed and the floors switched to linoleum instead of wood. Beca liked the way her shoes were muffled, and the paintings of flowers tacked to the yellow wallpaper.

“Evergreen used to be a schoolhouse.” Emma spouted off absently “After Thomas Evergreen’s daughters graduated and married on their own accords he sold it to a developer that made this place into a hotel. The basement flooded and then”

She stopped in front of a small door that had a little glass window cut out of it, she seemed to take a moment to catch her breath. “Well, he didn’t’ want to fix it so the city awarded it to us and we’ve done our best to make it easier on our staff. It’s simple to have them stay in here, but if we get too many patients I’m afraid we’ll have to relocate them as well.”

The door creaked open, and Beca could tell instantly that it was once used as storage. There was a small cot in the corner layered with multiple sheets to cushion the springs. There was something of a school desk with a few candles and a lighter by their side. It too smelled of antiseptic, a small window leading to a fire escape that she hadn’t noticed on the way in.

“It’s not much, I’m afraid.”

“It’s perfect,” Beca said.

Truthfully, it was bigger than her little apartment in Chicago and warmer too. She figured that the rest of the staff didn’t’ get much time to rest, to begin with. She was thankful to see an effort at making the tiny space livable.

“well,” Emma clapped her hands together “I’m sure you’re exhausted. We served dinner at Seven sharp, but don’t worry, if you sleep through it, breakfast is early enough. You’ve got free reign of this place, Rebecca Mitchell. You can shadow whenever and whomever you want for your story as long as you don’t get in the way. And stay out of the basement, there’s still a good bit of water damage down there, and I don’t want to see you in a bed on the other side of the hospital.”

Beca put two fingers over her chest “Scouts honor, Ma’am.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She beamed that signature smile once more, the kind one of a maternal figure. “Now, I recommend steering clear of our nurses, at least for a bit. They’re wary of allowing the outside press into this environment. The orderlies will be more than happy to answer any pressing questions you have.”

“That sounds like quite the challenge, Miss Woodward.”

The woman scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest “Nurse Beale is challenging. So is her staff. Sleep tight.”

The director gave one last fleeting wave before swinging the door shut and leaving Beca to her own devices. The early Virginia sky was a sharp purple and reflected dust coating the window onto the cot. She flopped down onto it, letting out a thick sigh. She was going to get her story- even if it meant digging further than she had ever done before.

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #Bechloe #AU: Vampires #Pitch Perfect #pitch perfect fanfiction

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westworld-daily · 7 years ago

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Welcome to 'Westworld': Inside the HBO Drama's Season 2 Hollywood Premiere

The cast and crew of Westworld brought themselves back online Monday at the world premiere of the HBO drama's second season, with the red carpet rolled out at the Cinerama Dome in Hollywood.

"We're in a new loop," series co-creator Jonathan Nolan told The Hollywood Reporter, standing alongside his co-creator and wife Lisa Joy, both of whom were minutes away from delivering a speech in front of an auditorium filled with hundreds of their contemporaries and loved ones. "This loop looks a bit like the last loop. It's the same carpet ... the same shade of red."

The carpet was a soft red, a far cry from the blood-stained hues that coat season two of Westworld, launching April 22 on HBO. The premiere, titled "Journey Into Night," marks the first new episode of the genre-bending hit since it went off the air in December 2016 — almost a year and a half since Dolores Abernathy (Evan Rachel Wood) launched a revolution against her human oppressors.

"You're getting a much darker version of Dolores this year, that's for sure," Wood told THR about what's next for her human-slaying host. "Now she's well and familiar with all sides of herself: the Dolores that we love, the darker Wyatt version, and she's also building herself anew as we watch her throughout the season. We'll be seeing more and more of who she really is."

Fans are understandably eager to know not only Dolores' next move, but the greater narrative's next steps. Many of the actors count themselves among the fans awaiting the show's twists and turns, given how little the cast members know about the series as they're shooting it.

"I feel like there are three phases for someone who takes part in the show," said Ptolemy Slocum, who plays the selfish lab technician Sylvester. "You read it. Then you shoot it, and it's a totally different story. Then you watch it, and it's a totally different story. I'm about to embark on one of my favorite parts of being on the show: watching the show. It might sound like I'm bullshitting, but I'm not. It's fascinating. So much changes."

Indeed, much is changing as Westworld enters its second season, shattering the previous status quo in favor of a new narrative filled with expanding notions of consciousness, empowerment, oppression, war and what it means to be alive.

"For me, one of the fascinating things about season one is we were looking at hosts trying to understand the nature of their own reality as they come into power," co-creator Joy said. "By the finale of the season, Dolores has claimed some power for herself. Some agency. All of the hosts are moving toward agency. And the question now is: once you have power, what do you do with it?"

"Season one was very much about setting up the world and the characters in it, and the structures that we're working with," said Simon Quarterman, the actor who plays narcissistic narrative director Lee Sizemore. "This season, we're tearing down that structure. The container we created in season one is blown open. It's so much more expansive this season. It's an awful lot of fun."

Based on the 1973 Michael Crichton film of the same name, Westworld takes place in a far future where human "guests" visit a park populated by robot "hosts." Unlike the film, the TV series finds its roots in the perspectives of the hosts, originally presented as malfunctioning antagonists in Crichton's movie. Over the course of the first season, various hosts embarked on journeys of self-discovery, all thanks to the designs of park founder Robert Ford (Anthony Hopkins), who realized far too late in his life that his creations could be both physically and morally superior to humanity.

In engineering his own death at the hands of Dolores, and in unshackling the programming that prevented the hosts from harming the guests, Ford created a new status quo in which the hosts could not only rule Westworld and the surrounding parks (and yes, plural: beyond Westworld and the already teased Shogun World, the existence of at least four other parks has been confirmed by viral marketing for the show), but the wider world itself.

"There are awakenings happening," said Clifton Collins Jr., who plays Lawrence, the host who often acts as the Man in Black's gunslinging wing man. "How do you think Lawrence would react if he started developing a little bit of a conscience?"

Those are the kinds of questions the cast members loved chewing on over the course of filming season two, and certainly the same questions fans devour with insatiable appetites. Among the many reasons why Westworld captured imaginations with its first season, the fervent desire to solve the show's riddle-filled narrative stands close to the top. Reddit detectives and other sleuths all over the Internet spent weeks embedded in the theory trenches, in an attempt to figure out the biggest mysteries ahead of the show's reveals. Among the solved cases: the Man in Black's true identity as William (Jimmi Simpson), Bernard (Jeffrey Wright) secretly being one of the hosts, and Bernard also being based on the likeness of park co-founder Arnold Weber.

In the spirit of the online theory culture that's developed around the show, Nolan and Joy recently had some fun at their fanbase's expense, promising Reddit users a full-blown spoiler video if they received enough support from the community. With more than enough of the support they requested, the duo behind Westworld instead trolled the fandom with one of the Internet's greatest memes: the Rickroll.

"I've been a fan of the Reddit community from the beginning," says Nolan. "That community in particular rallied around the first season in a way like none other: dissecting and breaking apart the story, spending almost as much time thinking about it as we did while writing it. For us, it was a special thank you to that community, in a language perfectly tailored to them."

For the crowd gathered at the Cinerama Dome, there's no longer any need to theorize about what's ahead in the season two premiere, as the episode (clocking in at 70 minutes) unfurled in front of a packed audience. Before the screening, HBO programming president Casey Bloys introduced Nolan and Joy for some remarks about not only the world in which Westworld takes place, but the real world that inspires the show.

"Our show is about human nature — the dark side of human nature," said Nolan. "Our task was made vastly more difficult every day by the people we work with on our show. We were trying to hold onto [the darkness], and every day we had to work with the most talented, positive and generous collaborators — from the incredible writing-producers to the directors whose ambition never let up."

Saying it would be impossible to talk about "the professional without the personal," Joy concluded the opening remarks with a moving expression of appreciation for the human nature of the people who have brought Westworld online.

"We're a group of advocates, and we're a group of feminists, not just in the large and incredible sweeping gestures — the heroism of testifying before congress, the heroism of advocating for communities, and the heroism of battling injustice — but also in the small private gestures," she said in her opening remarks. "The ways we listen to each other. We enrich each other off of each other's experiences and perspectives. The way we are continually thriving, in art and in life, to do better and be better. We see examples of it every day on set. Jonah and I ourselves are beneficiaries of this kindness. Nothing in the world makes us prouder. Thank you for being collaborators who help us explore the dark themes of humanity while actively embodying and reaching the light. There are more stories to tell, more strides to be made, and we cannot wait to make them."

Following the speeches, and the premiere itself (which will remain unspoiled here, except for this innocent tidbit: there was at least one major laughing fit during the episode, thanks to a scene between Thandie Newton's Maeve and Simon Quarterman's Sizemore), attendees were invited out to the after party, held at NeueHouse Hollywood.

Bartenders and wait staff were outfitted in dark uniforms branded with the word "Delos," the same company that runs the show's parks. A DJ controlled the upbeat music from a balcony station high above the main floor, surrounded by robotic vultures and multicolored horses. Drone hosts lorded over several different corners of the space, and iconography from the series (including Arnold's maze) were studded throughout the party as well. Food items on display included sliders and endives with beet hummus, and reserved seating for members of the HBO family featured edible centerpieces, including olives, prosciutto-wrapped breadsticks, and more.

A litany of celebrities were spotted at the party, including Christopher Nolan and Liam Hemsworth, both of whom were supporting their respective brothers Jonah Nolan and Luke Hemsworth (who plays QA expert Ashley Stubbs). Also in attendance: Lea Thompson (Back to the Future), Bryan Fuller (Hannibal), James Tupper (Big Little Lies), David Wain (Wet Hot American Summer) and Silicon Valley stars Martin Starr and Thomas Middleditch.

But the most buzzed about star who came out in support of Westworld was none other than Katy Perry, who was photographed at the party and inside the theater alongside Shannon Woodward (who plays behaviorist Elsie Hughes, missing in action since the first season's sixth episode). As is the case with the award-winning music artist, fans will hear Westworld roar when it premieres its second season on April 22.

#westworld #articles #the hollywood reporter #season 2 #articles 2018 #s02

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ohgoddard · 3 years ago

Text

FoF:Omega.1.10.

Stars shining bright above you Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you" Birds singing in the sycamore tree Dream a little dream of me

The song plays alone and solemn from some forgotten record player, just out of sight. The street is sparsely busy, a few walking pairs and some with children hurriedly walking behind them. A bright sunny day, giving a slight warmth despite the autumn leaves fluttering through the air and landing upon the sidewalk. I lift a cup of coffee to my lips, enjoying the bitter taste. This cafe isn't my go-to place to go, but with the combination of the cool weather and the scenery, I just needed to sit outside and enjoy it with something warm. Though I do miss the chatter of a crowded cafe, the nice quietness of one in the early morning is nice as well. Of course, I don’t expect the street to be this busy in the morning. But the best coffee is made right when the barista wakes up, at least that is what my dad used to say. I'm certain he was pulling my leg, as coffee beans are not like apples. It has been so long since I have been able to just walk outside and enjoy life as I and no one else. I wear oranges and browns, not greys and blacks. I am my own person. And I feel like the world finally reflects that.

“Ahem.”

A shock runs through me. I didn’t hear this person coming up behind me. I would have to get used to that...Well, it shouldn’t be too hard. That's what I did for most of my life before..yeah. I turn and see a tall-ish man in some very shabby clothes. He wore an overcoat with too many straps and pockets to count. Underneath it, through no super-vision, just my perceptiveness, I saw a white button-up with a Windsor-knot tie. His rough hands went to his sharp face to remove the lit cigarette he was smoking. His skin seemed extremely pale, yet had a strange grayscale to it. His hair was black as ink, though I saw little of it under his large fedora. And before he could flick the cigarette away, I saw that his eyes had no color other than gray and black upon a sea of white. The man honestly looked like he walked out of a 40s noir detective show.

“May I take this seat?” he said, gesturing to the empty chair across from my table. He had piqued my curiosity, and I needed at least some excitement in my life. I nodded, and as he sat down I noticed a little more about them. Their clothes, I thought were just shades of gray to match the season oncoming colder season, matched their skin tone in just a few shades darker. And before I could say anything, he lit another cigarette across from me. He must have seen the face I made because when he looked my way I saw a smirk come across his gray face. “Oh, don’t worry. These won’t give off a stench at all. Special kind.” His voice carried with it a sort of calm gravel sound, with a hint of a trans-Atlantic accent.

“Strange cigarettes you have then, mister. They are therapeutic, then?” I asked, taking another sip from my cup. He chuckled, dragging on his cigarette some more. “Oh, these couldn’t do anything worse to me than what's already been done. Honestly, It's become a habit at this point to just light one up. I imagine many can say that about them.” I nodded as he took another long drag. “So,” I said while watching a couple of shopkeepers arguing in the street about who gets which trashcan for the noon trash pickup, “what’s your name, stranger?” He drops the now finished cigarette on the floor, reaching into his pocket for his pack at the same time. I was not aware that much time had passed already with him sitting here. Either that, or he goes through them very quickly. “You can call me Blanca,” he said as he put another white and black cigarette into his mouth, already smoking it. Strange, I didn’t see him light it…

“Blanca?” I said, “Strange name, who just calls their kid ‘white’?” He gave me an eyeballed look, then chuckled. A comforting chuckle it was. I had barely met him, but I felt like I have always known him. “Believe me, I didn’t choose it. It was given to me by my,er,boss. Said it fit my new disposition. Though, I don't particularly believe it was the most covert of names for what he was sending me to do most of the time. It's the type of name that people remember, and in my line of work, that's really not something you need to be doing. Less, of course, you’re looking to be the new mantle piece of some gangster that any hero who’s worth anything hasn’t gotten to yet.”

“Well now, you’re opening a whole new can of worms for me to ask about you, Mr. Blanca.” “Please, just Blanca. Mister Blanca was my father.” This time it was me who chuckled. I had a soft spot for dad jokes. “Well then, Blanca, what is it you do for a living?”

He takes a long drag, letting the question sit in the air. Noticing my hot beverage was noticeably less hot, I decide to indulge in some impromptu lukewarm-blend coffee. I took a look around at the nice evening sky and the people who were about to enjoy it. My back hurt from sitting that long in a cafe patio chair but I hadn’t seemed to have noticed until now. The setting sun began to light up the town, in a sense, as the buildings and shops all turned on their lamps and window displays to catch the nighttime shoppers. Finally, he spoke. “I am a private detective. I look for missing children, cheating husbands and wives, and employees who think they can skim a few hundred off the top and get away with it.” He said it all with such a monotonous voice it sounded rehearsed.

“How very exciting you make it sound, detective.” I stifle a laugh. He cracked a smile. “Well, when you have to explain it so many times, and when it's your line of work, the little pleasures of it all seem to drift away. Also,” he said as he dropped another one of his seemingly endless cigarettes and lit another.

“I am the Private Detective here, yet I seem to be getting interrogated like a common crook. I feel it's only fair I get to know something about the person I'm sitting with?” I hesitate. True, it would be rude, but he is a private detective. And there may still be a bounty on my head from countless countries that either doesn’t believe I'm dead or doesn't bother to remove it just in case someone finds my corpse for proof. Still, I get this feeling of trust from him. Maybe it's the smoke, reminding me of home. “My name is Kiara. Though, I don’t lead an exciting life like you do, detective. I’m a freelance journalist.” “You say that Ms.Kiara, but our two jobs are more similar than you may think. One of us just gets paid worse. I’ll let you guess who. The one in the six-year-old coat or the one drinking coffee in a main-street cafe.” I smile. “You flatter me, detective.”

“It comes with the job, these types of skills. You gotta woo the doorman, charm the bellboy, et cetera et cetera. I wouldn’t pin you for a journalist though. You look like you have a good head on your shoulders. Probably one that can do a lot more than just write articles.”

“Look like I have a good head on my shoulders? Oh, are you complimenting me now detective?” I had made him laugh, though it was more of a smoker’s wheeze.

“Not what I meant, ma’am.” he still said smiling. “You seem like the type to take charge and lead. A lot of good ideas I bet. A few concepts on how to improve the world and rid it of the bad. I’d wager you’re trying to be the next Woodward or Bernstein.” “Well,” I said trailing off. “They are my icons I look up to in that respect. But I tried the whole ‘leading’ thing. It was not my cup of tea after all. Leading requires people that will listen to you. And I wasn’t very good at making people listen to me. In the end, I got... fired for lack of a better word.” The detective gave me a long look as he pulled another magically lit cigarette from his mouth, the smoke pooling above us. “No good deed goes unpunished, I believe is how the saying goes ma’am.”

I smile at him. “You got that right, though I will admit I went too far in my...policies. Thankfully, someone managed to catch me as I fell and put me in my current position after I mended my mistakes.”

He laughed. “I’d say. That Capitol Hill Massacre? Tough sell to the American public.”

My blood turned to ice. He raised an eyebrow at me, not saying a word as he took another drag. There was a pile of butts at his feet, though I don't remember being here that long. The street is now empty. The wind is still cold, the leaves still flying the wind, but the music has stopped, and the warmth of the sun and my drink are now gone. “What do you want, Detective? Here to turn me in?” I had to keep up the act for a little bit, hope he leaves scared. I want him to know that I don’t-

“Please, Ms.Kiara, don’t insult my intelligence. Right now you’re more powerful than any woman with a strict gym regimen. And I’m not here to turn you in. Now, I’m here to ask some questions.” He snuffed out the cigarette in his mouth, grinding it into the ground with his black shoe. “I am a detective, I must detect as it were. You are incidental to my current task, so I won’t bother with you. Besides, you’re suffering enough as it is.”

I looked at him quizzically. “I am not suffering. I am free for once. I am not a prisoner in my own mind, I walk these streets a different person.”

He looked at me thoughtfully, before taking out a notepad from his pocket. He removed the pencil stuck through its binding rings and began to jot some things down. “So you’re telling me you’re not aware?” “Aware of what?”

He looked at me pitifully. “Oh dear, this is truly something sad. But it does make it easier for me. I’ll tell you what I know in exchange for what you know. And you know I’m good for it.” He winked at me. If I still had my powers, I’d have killed him right here. Omegaman persona be damned, I would do it. I’ve had enough of men winking at me and insinuating they know more than me for one lifetime. “What do you want, detective?” I say, trying to lace as much venom into each spoken syllable. He chuckled. “Oh, this part never changes. I’ll get right into it. I'm tracking the criminal known as ‘Puppet Master’. You may have known him by a different name ‘Dr.Eugene Krieger.’ A short, rather chubby man?” He pulled from his pocket a Polaroid, Christ this guy really is from the 40s, showing…

Him. The beige monster.

“Yeah. I know of him. What about him?” If I could snarl without looking sad, I would. I’d leave this very second if not for the fact he knows something about me that I don’t. “Well, the good doctor has forgotten the noble life of the hero and dawned the mask and dastardly mustache of the villains. He robs banks using their own workers against them, heroes cant do anything to stop him without they themselves being caught. My boss sent me to you, as you had the closest interaction with him and still lived and remembered it. You answer my questions, and I’ll answer yours.”

“Fine. Ask.”

“How did you do it? How did you break his hold on you?” “I didn’t. He still got to me, I spilled everything I could while he got me. I could only resist with great effort and not for long. All he did was sit there. I recommend shooting him from a long-distance away. He seems arrogant enough to walk in the open by himself.” The detective smirked. I hate him.

“Alright,” he said while jotting in his notepad, “and how about his power? Describe it.”

“Like someone has their hand on your brain and clawing at it like a wolf in a mountain of ground beef. Pain. You feel pain until he gets what he wants. He can stop you from moving. He can make you say anything.”

“He doesn’t sound like someone I'd invite for dinner. Course, I haven’t had a dinner for while anyway.” As he began writing more into his notepad, I got antsy. How had he kept me in this one spot for so long without me noticing? I must have been here for ten hours. How had no one come from the store to say anything to me? It had only felt like minutes of talking, yet hours have passed.

“Interesting.” His voice broke me from my train of thought and drew my ire-some gaze to him once more.

“Well, we may have to take your word for it and go with the bullet method. Crude, but effective.” He put his notepad away and leaned back in his chair, hands in his pockets. “You may now as your questions. I imagine you have a fair number more than me.”

“Who do you work for?” I spat out at him.

He scratches his chin. “That's client confidentiality, Kiara. You know I can’t answer that. Well, actually, given your circumstances, I Imagine I can.” He leans forward. “I serve the dark lord in the mists, the one with plans beyond my knowledge and purpose, he without a name and method, I am his tool. He wishes to know things, I provide answers. One region begins to accumulate too much power to his liking, disturbing his plan? I destabilize it. I was in Serbia in 1914. I was in Rome in 44 BC. I am here now because that Puppet man irks my boss.” He leans back again. “That good enough for you?”

“Fuck no. That creates so many more questions, answers not one part of mine, and makes no sense to me.”

He laughs at that.

“You get one more question. Equal to me. I like to keep things square.”

I frown at him. I want to ask him so many things, but he knows what I’m going to ask next.

“What did you mean by me being aware?”

He smirks.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“How’s she looking today?”

Two women in lab coats stand next to a window, looking over a large machine. They stand in a room with nothing but plated metal walls and computers lining the walls. Blinking lights, tanks of liquid, and buttons and levers everywhere. One of the women looks at a clipboard in her hands, flipping a few sheets.

“The simulated autumn is beginning to start, so we should begin adjusting the temperature slightly to adjust for this.” The other nodded, jotting down some notes on her own clipboard. They both peered through the window, looking at the machine. It was a huge monstrosity of tubes and lights, with wires and exposed electrical circuits occasionally flashing and fixing themselves. An old machine, combined with machines of the new world to make some unholy technological abomination between a server rack and an Iron lung. And iron lung that is occupied at the moment. Laying a steel bed before them, behind several layers of reinforced steel and glass, is a woman with severe burns. Their hair is gone, their face a mess of scar tissue and scabs. Placed upon her head is a helmet that is a mess of wires and tubes, syringes, and electrical wonders. Her mouth is covered in a mask with tubes going in and out.

“We need to do the daily report, you got the recorder?” One of the scientists digs in their pocket before pulling out the black box, nodding. She clears her throat.

“Daily report number 29. Regarding Kiara Keita, a.k.a Omegaman. Simulation remains positive, though, “ she pauses while looking at a screen, “we are detecting some irregularities in the REM pattern than we expected. Will need to do another round of memory treatment at the end of the week to maintain stability. Treatment of the scar tissue remains a request from onsite staff, as it lowers morale to look at it. Contact Sunspot for more information on how to heal solar wounds. Simulation is entering the autumn phase of the cycle as planned. As of now, she shows no signs of consciousness. Requesting more anesthesia, just in case.”

The doctor walks over to a large monitor in the corner, displaying several vitals for Kiara. “Technical stability remains positive. Report end.” As she clicked the box off and returned it to her pocket, she sighed.

“Claire, this job sucks.” The other woman, Claire, laughed.

“It's not that bad. Pays well.” Her gaze never left the window. “At least you get to see interesting people, you know?” The other women sighed, walking over to join Claire. She put her hand against the glass, peering down at the woman they have put into a prison of her own mind.

“It just feels wrong. Doing this to them. We didn’t even try to rehabilitate them.” Claire raised her eyebrow, looking at the other woman. “Katie, you don’t honestly believe Omegaman could have rehabilitated, do you? They killed congress! They almost killed Sunspot, have killed numerous other heroes. We can’t talk to them without fear of them breaking out and going on another rampage. Hell, it's a miracle Sunspot did what she did to make this happen! She was on the verge of death when she dragged her body into the facility! And she was the only one who stood a chance against them.” Katie groaned. “Those people that Kia...Omegaman killed though were proven corrupt and generally evil! Like Fantasma?! Those senators? They have done much worse. We never even tried.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Look, I don’t want to get into this with you again. Besides, this whole machine was made for this express purpose. Maybe not this exact person, but for the same powers. Omegaman, the real one, the first one, made this place for the possibility that he might go rogue. He was probably expecting Reverse or Knock-Out to bring him in, but that's not gonna happen because all the old guard is dead, along with the original Omegaman himself. This was the plan for this, sadly, eventuality. I’m going to go check on my normal human patients now. Ones that can’t kill me with a look.” Katie kept staring as the door opened and closed behind her, staring at the woman on the table.

“We never even tried...I could have done something...I could have changed it.” She whispers as she puts a hand to the glass. “I’ll find a way to make sure we’re together again, Kiara.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I don’t believe you.”

“Choose what you want to believe, Ms.Kiara. You’re in a simulation of your own mind currently run and supervised by the government. I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t seen it.”

“Oh yeah? If this is a simulation, how are you here? Can't I be the only real thing in a simulation?”

The detective smiled. “I’m just special I suppose. I’m not from around these parts, so I guess that gives me some extra leverage in my movement.”

My mind was spinning. That didn't make any sense. It was insanity. Yet... “It..makes sense of a lot of things. I don’t remember anything past when I last saw Sunspot. Just that I was being wheeled out of a hospital by someone. I don’t know why I cannot perform any of my powers, only that I was told that Sunspot burned them out of me. And I just...accepted that as fact.”

The detective looked at me from across the table with his monochromatic eyes, red light glowing from the cigarette on his lips. “It's a wild thing to take grasp of, I won’t fault you for struggling to get it. They went through a lot of trouble getting you in this thing,” he gestured around him,” and getting it to work. They couldn’t kill you, not for any legal reason but because they physically could not. So they did the next best thing, and just removed you from the equation.”

Tears started to well in my eyes. “I...I never thought I’d be put in prison I couldn’t break out of.” The detective nodded slowly. “It's a stark realization once it hits. However, do you think it's wrong to do it? To put you where you are?” Wet lines streak down my cheeks. “No, no they are right. I’m too dangerous out there. In the real world, I am not me. Kiara is dead in that world. Here though, in my mind in this simulation, as you call it, I am me.” I look up, my head previously hanging, into the detective. “This is the first time in years I have been me, but why does it still feel like a prison? Functionally, the world is the same and everything is the same why do I still feel imprisoned?”

“Because she’s not here.” The detective replied. “You were cheated out of a good life, Kiara. I’ll grant you that. One hero goes rogue and inadvertently creates the world's most powerful villain. Ruins countless lives. But no one ever seems to consider your life, do they? They don’t consider what goes through your head to make you think this is the right course of action. They only look at what you did. Not what was done to you. It’d make any sane man crack. What happened to your dad could happen to anyone. Because he’s super made no difference. Same story, different names, and consequences.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out a flask, taking a swig of it before passing it to me.

“You feel imprisoned because this is where you have been for years. Stuck in your own head. And you know that if you go outside again because you obviously can do that if you will it hard enough, you won't be you anymore. You’d scare away everyone again. This is the worst imprisonment because you’re doing it to yourself. And you’ll keep doing it because you know it's the right thing to do.”

I take a deep swig of his flask, burning my throat. “Fuck doing the right thing,” I say in between coughs. “I just want my life back. With her. Why can’t I just have that?” The tears in my eyes well once more. “Why couldn’t I just have that? People’s dads die all the time, some of them even see it like me, but they don’t all go insane as I did. Why is it that my mind is the one screwed up? Why was I cheated out a good life? Well, detective? Have any good answers there?” I stand up, kicking the chair out beneath me, looking into the sky. “Why me?! Why did you take it from me? I was never fit to be a hero, I couldn’t be a hero after what I saw. I couldn’t be a hero after what I did. I lost the cosmic flip of the coin and landed tails up. Why me, detective. “ I turn around to face him again. “Why me? Why do I have to deal with this?”

“Because that's just the way things are.” He says calmly, standing up from his own seat and picking my chair. “And we can’t change what happened. So there is no point in dwelling on it. We can only move forward.” He gestures for me to sit down, and I begrudgingly do so. “Kiara, you are now shouldered with the greatest responsibility in the world right now. You can either shuck it into the river and wake up to be the tragic villain in everyone’s story that is defeated. Or.” He moved one of his dark leather gloved hands to my chin, moving my face up to look into his. “You can be the martyr that brings about an age of change. The character that flips the system on its rear.” He removed his hand and sat back down in his seat. “Already, there are people who are pushing protests and bills through this and what not about changing the system for the better. Led by those you inspired, though in methods far different in severity compared to yours. And with words far less charged as well.” I just looked at him. I had no idea what to make of the detective. Or if what he said mattered. But I could trust what he said in the end, at least I hoped I could.

“So,” I mumble out, “I choose to stay in this world, my one prison, and fewer daughters have to see their fathers die? Fewer villains get to pick up the title of hero?”

“It has a higher chance of happening than if you wake up.”

I pause. “And what about me? Where’s my peaceful ending?” The detective let out a sad sigh. “This is your peaceful ending, Kiara. You know that. If you wake up, then you’re no longer Kiara. This is it.”

I look up at the night sky. I smile. All the stars are wrong, but it still looks nice. “I guess I’ll stay. Maybe they’ll find out what's wrong with me and I can go to a real prison one day. Though, I’ll be lonely knowing I'm the only real person here.”

The detective smirked as he rose from his seat, letting out a grunt of humor. “I wouldn’t say you’re alone, Kiara. You have someone watching over you outside.” “Like what? Some technician or nurse? Not that comforting.” He straightened your hat. “Your fiancee. Ah, I knew that’d get a shock out of you.” And he was right, my face could have been used to wake people up, it was so alarmed. “S-she is-” “Standing outside looking at you right now. And has been every day. She never dated anyone else, you know? Kept waiting for you.”

A single tear managed to escape the well in my eyes. The fog began to roll in down the street, and the detective sighed. “That's my cue. Well, it was nice having this conversation with you, Kiara. May we meet again.” His footsteps echoed as he walked towards the oncoming smoke. I could only watch as the black of his jacket and hat were covered in the masking white of the huge rolling fog. He turned to me, one last time.

“Oh, and one more thing. She’s going to get you a little present. You’ll see it soon.”

And with that, he turned once more into the fog and disappeared. Minutes later, the fog itself was gone, and I was all alone.

Truly alone.

I turned back to the coffee table, looking into my now empty cup. I guess I’d have to get used to this now. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Katie opened the door to the observation room. As usual, whenever she entered, she walked to the glass and looked down at Kiara. “Morning, or evening, love. Whenever you are in that world.” Today she would go about her usual procedures. She would check the diagnostics, administer the water and nutrition pumps, and maintain the integrity of the simulation.

But today was not just an ordinary day. She had a gift for Kiara, one she carried in a USB around her neck. And a USB she entered into the simulation. And as she watched the files transfer and begin materialization in the simulation, a single tear dropped from her eyes onto the keyboard. “At least we can be this close, my love.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I sat alone at the table, awaiting the simulated sunrise. It would be perfect, as it was supposed to be in a world where I was supposed to suspect nothing. I sighed, knowing that the life before me would be very boring.

“What's the long face for, love?”

I turn with such speed, I knock the table over. Standing before me is….her.

I jump from my seat and run over to her, hugging her tightly in my arms, her arms embracing me too. “Katie..I-” “Shhhh, Kiara. It is ok. I’m here now.” “H-How? I’m in a-” “I know. And now I am too. Just you and I.”

I pulled back from her, tears in my eyes and being happier than I’ve been in years. I went in for the kiss, holding her close to me. I missed her curly hair, her shampoo smell, her warm touch. I whisper in her ear.

“Just you and me.”

And the music starts up once again for the new day.

[i]At last My love has come along My lonely days are over And life is like a song[i]

#FoF:om

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bigyack-com · 5 years ago

Text

Arnold Aronson, Who Revitalized Saks in the ’80s, Dies at 85

Arnold Aronson, a retailing executive best known for reviving the financial fortunes of Saks Fifth Avenue in the early 1980s, in part by appealing to a younger clientele, died on Tuesday in New York. He was 85.The death was confirmed by a family spokeswoman, who did not provide further details.Mr. Aronson, who never retired, spent more than three decades operating an array of national stores and chains, including Saks, before becoming a consultant. He had been the principal director of retail strategies at the consulting firm Kurt Salmon Associates since 1997.“Arnold was one of the top department store merchants of his era,” said the designer Ralph Lauren, a supplier to Saks. At his death, Mr. Aronson had sat on the Lauren corporate board for 19 years.As chairman and chief executive of Saks from 1979 to 1983, Mr. Aronson sought to erase what he called its “traditional dowager image” and focus instead on a younger customer base, mainly baby boomers at the time.This transformation involved a complete remodeling of Saks’s flagship store, built in 1924, on Fifth Avenue between 49th and 50th Streets in Manhattan, including the installation of escalators; an expansion of its national store count to 40 from 27; and a major marketing and public relations effort highlighting European fashion designers as well as American ones.These initiatives led to a 50 percent increase in revenue and an almost doubling of operating profits during Mr. Aronson’s four-year tenure.“His strength was in leadership,” said Terrence J. Lundgren, a former chairman and chief executive of the rival Macy’s. Mr. Aronson, he said, was known to get up from his desk and mingle with sales-floor employees to “rally the troops” and to see whether customers were carrying shopping bags out the door or just browsing.“He never thought you could learn everything about the customer by reading reports,” Mr. Lundgren said.Arnold Harvey Aronson was born in the Dorchester neighborhood of Boston on Jan. 14, 1935. His father, an immigrant from Poland, was an accountant, and his mother, an immigrant from Russia, was a lawyer.Arnold attended the Boston Latin School and, beginning at 13, did odd jobs, including working as a soda jerk, or what he came to refer to as a carbonic engineer.After high school — and before enrolling at Harvard College — he spent the first of six summers working at the Berkshire Country Club in Wingdale, N.Y., near the Connecticut border.Male employees there were expected to spend time in the club’s social hall, dancing with the female guests, who far outnumbered the male guests. But the employees were forbidden to cut in on a couple who were dancing. Young Mr. Aronson, however, couldn’t resist, and that was how he met his future wife, Sheila Roth, who survives him.“It was love at first sight,” he said in an interview for this obituary in 2018.At Harvard, where he majored in political science, he had the coveted job of managing the 130-member university band, in which he played trumpet. He said the experience was the most valuable preparation he got for his retail career.“It was a fantastic influence on my life,” he said, noting that he had been responsible for recruitment, travel, appointing assistants, holding auditions and raising money for the organization.“It was my first experience in managing a profit-and-loss statement,” he said. “It was like running a business.”Mr. Aronson and Ms. Roth, who had a career as an interior designer, were married in 1957, while he was obtaining an M.B.A. at Columbia Business School. In addition to his wife, his survivors include their two sons, Steven and David.With his formal education completed, Mr. Aronson joined a Bloomingdale’s trainee program in 1959 as an assistant buyer of women’s coats. He was paid $100 a week. But his budding career was interrupted when his Army reserve quartermaster unit was called to active duty during the Berlin crisis of 1961 — although the unit spent its nearly yearlong call-up period at Fort Lee in Virginia.After his service, he returned to Bloomingdales as a vice president in home furnishings; he then became a division merchandise manager. In 1969, he moved to California as executive vice president of the department store concern the May Company.Three years later he joined the Los Angeles-based Bullock’s department store chain, which became Macy’s West, first as president and then, at 41, chief executive.Mr. Aronson’s revival of Saks, which he called the high point of his career, was next. With its acquisition by the Batus Retail Group, he had the task of integrating Saks with Marshall Field’s, Kohl’s, Gimbels and other chains.Then came a dizzying fall. In 1986, Batus, created by British American Tobacco, decided to shed its retail empire.“I had to preside over the dismantling,” Mr. Aronson said. “And I was out of a job. I was a beached whale.”(Saks was acquired by the Hudson’s Bay Company in 2013.)Mr. Aronson soon formed an investment firm specializing in leveraged buyouts of retailers. In one deal, in 1989, he became chief executive of the Woodward & Lothrop and John Wanamaker department stores.Outside the business world, Mr. Aronson was a trustee or a board member of the New School for more than 30 years and chairman of the university’s Parsons School of Design for 13 years.After five years at Woodward & Lothrop, Mr. Aronson shifted to consulting, initially at Levy-Kerson-Aronson & Associates, which subsequently merged with Kurt Salmon Associates, where he worked until his death.In this role reversal, a long-held suspicion was confirmed, he said: “It’s more fun to give advice to boards of directors than to take advice from them.”Julia Carmel contributed reporting. Read the full article

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perksofwifi · 5 years ago

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Mopar Lowliner Concept Limbos Into the 2019 SEMA Show

Many of our favorite Mopar custom projects start out as tattered vintage vehicles. This one began life as a 1968 Dodge D200 Camper Special—a heavy-duty pickup with an 8-foot bed and chassis optimized to carry a big, heavy slide-in camper. This camping arrangement left the trailer hitch free to tow a boat, dirt bikes, or other recreational gear.

This truck, procured in Ohio for $6,800, miraculously survived its working life without getting rusty. Nevertheless, the body and box came off the frame, so it could be media-blasted and have its C-channel section fully boxed for strength. The wheelbase was also stretched 3 inches in front of the cab.

Moving the front wheels forward improved the proportions (especially with the new 22-inch eight-lug wheels, which look like giant steelies but are milled from billet aluminum) and made it easier to package the 325-hp, 610-lb-ft 5.9-liter Cummins turbodiesel I-6 crate engine (which dates to roughly 2006). That engine is backed by a six-speed manual, the physical size of which limited the degree to which the Lowliner could be slammed. Some 4 inches were cut out of the engine’s oil pan to allow the powertrain to nestle as low in the truck as that transmission would allow. The air-sprung control-arm front and Dana 60 live-axle rear suspension is entirely custom and adjusts to three heights: slammed, drivable, and clearance for loading on and off trucks/trailers.

Packaging the giant wheels, that huge powertrain, and all that air-suspension gear required minor modification to the cab firewall and a major redo of the pickup bed. Basically, the bed features a modern Ram floor tubbed for the fat tires and installed (very shallow) inside the ’68 truck’s walls and tailgate. The air-suspension gear lives under a subfloor in the rear.

Design-wise, Joe Dehner’s Mopar team started by removing all the trim, shaving off the drip rails, filling the door-handle holes, and sharpening the signature “check-mark” bodyside character line. Then making the revised front-end bodywork into a unitized forward-tilting engine cover. Another cool touch: The big, dorky fuel filler cap was removed from the B-pillar right behind the driver’s door and replaced with a custom motorcycle-style filler on the top of the pickup-bed wall. Press the flush-mounted cap once, and it pops up to allow you to unscrew it.

The team removed the Camper Special’s diamond-plate rear step bumper and replaced it with a stamped steel one from a base D truck of the period, while the stock front bumper was subtly reworked to give it some plan-view curvature. Custom taillamps were fabricated, incorporating Mopar logos and the reverse lamps, which had been separate in ’68. Finally, the body and frame were treated to a deep coating of Candy Delmonico metallic paint, set off by a grille, bumpers, and wheels in Dairy Cream.

We expect the Lowliner to spend the next several months on the show circuit before (hopefully!) giving auto scribblers like us a chance to test drive it on Woodward Avenue during the week of next year’s Dream Cruise. Stay tuned.

The post Mopar Lowliner Concept Limbos Into the 2019 SEMA Show appeared first on MotorTrend.

https://www.motortrend.com/news/mopar-lowliner-concept-limbos-2019-sema-show/ visto antes em https://www.motortrend.com

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atfoklahoma · 1 year ago

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Get top-notch surface preparation and industrial flooring services in Midwest City, Enid, Stillwater, Norman, Oklahoma. We specialize in epoxy kitchen floor solutions for both residential and commercial properties. Contact us today. http://atfoklahoma.com

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#Flooring Installation Contractors in Stillwater

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basiltonn · 8 years ago

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Chapter 2

An ongoing chaptered fic about kids and fluff and angst and stuff

One, three

Simon

Baz came home late and in a bad mood. A really bad mood. I was waiting up for him with two cups of tea,

“Hi,” I said timidly. He tossed him coat on the back of the couch and sat across from me,

“What’s this for?” He spat. I was used to Baz’s bad moods, but this one was bothering me,

“I thought you might like some tea. I’ve got something I want to tell you. What’s wrong anyway?”

“My fucking professor. He’s an idiot.” I sighed,

“And why are you so late?”

“I went out for a drink.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Oh fuck off. I don’t need to tell you everything.”

“Baz. What are you doing?”

“I’m just mad, alright?” I sighed again,

“Can I tell you my news?”

“Sure.” I looked at the floor. I was hesitant to tell him. He was being such a prick. But I did anyway,

“We might me able to have a baby.” There was silence and Baz just stared at me. Then, quietly he said,

“Really? How?”

“There’s a girl at Watford who’s pregnant. Penny’s mum said we can meet with her on Saturday if you’d like.” He nodded. Then nodded again, then stood up and hugged me. He smelt like alcohol. I told him to take a shower and then come to bed.

On Saturday morning Baz got up at the crack of dawn. He was already dressed and eating breakfast with Penny when I woke up. I walked into the room, my hair all over the place and not wearing any pants,

“Hi, love,” Baz said and kissed me. He tasted like excitement and toast,

“Simon! Baz told me about your meeting with my mum. Why didn’t you tell me? I’m coming,” Penny said sternly

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” I grumbled. I sat down next to Baz who was all touchy, that meant he was really happy. A thought popped into my mind, what if this Lucy girl didn’t like us? I shook the thought from my mind.

I stepped into Baz’s car, washed and dressed. Penny was sitting in the backseat talking to someone on the phone. I sat next to Baz who was beaming with excitement,

“Are you excited, Simon?” He whispered to me. I nodded. It was weird seeing him so… youthful. Baz and I hadn’t been kids since we had first been at Watford. He started the car and talked the whole way to Watford. He ran his hands up and down my leg and Penny joined in on the conversation, occasionally. She told Baz how she and Micah wanted children as soon as he moved to England. And Baz told her how lovely that was. I stayed silent.

Baz

We reached Watford and I helped Simon through the gate. We made our way up to the headmistress’ office. Professor Bunce stood there waiting for us. Behind her was a girl with short brown hair and a blue dress. She was looking at the ground. Simon and I said our hellos to the professor and Penelope chatted with her. She told us to take a seat. I looked at the room. My mother’s room. A chill ran down my spine. I could see the hurt in Simon’s eyes as well. The Mage was a father to him and he still blamed himself for his death. The girl, Lucy presumably, looked up at us for a moment and then returned her glance to the ground. Professor Bunce joined us again and sat next to Lucy,

"Lucy, these two are Simon and Basilton Snow. And this is my daughter, Penelope Bunce." Lucy looked over at Penelope,

"Why is she here?" She asked bluntly. I liked her. Penelope flared her nostrils at the girl,

"Because I live with Simon. I wanted to meet you as well."

"Why do you live with Simon? Aren't they married?"

"Because. Simon and Baz were roommates at Watford-"

"Oh. They must have gotten up to some fun." She grinned and winked at me. I felt myself blush. Penny looked sternly at the girl,

"Simon and I always wanted to share a flat. My fiancé lives in America. We'll move out when he's able to live here." She said with a bitter tone. Lucy grimaced and nodded, then turned back to me and Simon,

"So. What do you want to know? Or what should I know?" Simon looked at me and then back at Lucy,

"Do we get to meet the father?" Simon asked,

"Oh. That. I don't know if he'd want to. I mean. He doesn't exactly know."

"Is it your boyfriend?" I offered. She stared at me,

"No. I haven't got a boyfriend. It's a boy who decided it would be fun to have casual sex with me. Believe it or not." Professor Bunce was standing awkwardly in the corner. Penny was grinning,

"Can we know a little about him?" Simon asked. Lucy looked at professor Bunce,

"I guess. His name is Tony Woodward." I scanned my brain for that name. Lucy was sixteen, meaning she would have been in second year when I was in eighth. No Tonys jumped out. But neither did any Lucys,

"You wouldn't know him. He transferred here in the fall. He plays football and reads astronomy books." Simon squeezed my hand under the table. I ran my fingers over his knuckles.

"So. What do I get to know about you two?" Lucy inquired. I thought for a moment,

"Well. Simon, of course, was the Mage's heir. But he doesn't have magic." Simon's fingers tensed up around mine. He hates to be reminded of what he had once been and what he had become. I whispered a simple apology in his ear and he shook his head. Lucy eyed us but chose to ignore our encounter, "What about you, Basilton?" Simon and I exchanged looks. We were both thinking vampire. I gave him a look and hoped he would understand. He did. He kept quiet,

"Well, I finished top of my class. I'm studying history and English. I work at Watford occasionally, but I come from money. My mother was Natasha Grimm-Pitch." My voice cracks at the last part and Simon tightens his grip,

"Oh. I'm sorry for your loss." Lucy says. I nod in thanks. The room has grown quiet. Professor Bunce interjects,

"Perhaps we should continue another day." Simon and I nod. And Penelope offers to walk Lucy back to her room. The young girls leave and the older woman turns to us,

“Do you like her?” Simon answers for us,

“Yes. A lot. I think we’d really love to be able to take care of her baby.” Professor Bunce nodded,“I think Lucy will take you on. Not many mages are willing to raise a baby with someone else’s magick. Lucy is very good with her magick and Tony is too. You’ll have quite the child. Speaking simply as a mother, at least one of you is going to have to have a steady job and get your insurance and things sorted out.” I nodded and so did Simon. We thanked the professor and got up to leave. Simon left and turned down the hallway, but the professor caught my arm before I left,

“Basilton. Tell Simon that we’ll have it in my classroom next time, alright?” I smiled,

“Thank you,” I said.

Okay cool. Is this going somewhere? Who knows. Does this make sense?Who knows, it’s 1:30 am!! Ugh.

#carry on #carry on fanfiction #carry on rainbow rowell #carry on book #snowbaz #simon snow #baz #basilton pitch #basilton Grimm pitch

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mastcomm · 5 years ago

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Arnold Aronson, Who Revitalized Saks in the ’80s, Dies at 85

The death was confirmed by a family spokeswoman, who did not provide further details.

Mr. Aronson, who never retired, spent more than three decades operating an array of national stores and chains, including Saks, before becoming a consultant. He had been the principal director of retail strategies at the consulting firm Kurt Salmon Associates since 1997.

“Arnold was one of the top department store merchants of his era,” said the designer Ralph Lauren, a supplier to Saks. At his death, Mr. Aronson had sat on the Lauren corporate board for 19 years.

As chairman and chief executive of Saks from 1979 to 1983, Mr. Aronson sought to erase what he called its “traditional dowager image” and focus instead on a younger customer base, mainly baby boomers at the time.

This transformation involved a complete remodeling of Saks’s flagship store, built in 1924, on Fifth Avenue between 49th and 50th Streets in Manhattan, including the installation of escalators; an expansion of its national store count to 40 from 27; and a major marketing and public relations effort highlighting European fashion designers as well as American ones.

These initiatives led to a 50 percent increase in revenue and an almost doubling of operating profits during Mr. Aronson’s four-year tenure.

“His strength was in leadership,” said Terrence J. Lundgren, a former chairman and chief executive of the rival Macy’s. Mr. Aronson, he said, was known to get up from his desk and mingle with sales-floor employees to “rally the troops” and to see whether customers were carrying shopping bags out the door or just browsing.

“He never thought you could learn everything about the customer by reading reports,” Mr. Lundgren said.

Arnold Harvey Aronson was born in the Dorchester neighborhood of Boston on Jan. 14, 1935. His father, an immigrant from Poland, was an accountant, and his mother, an immigrant from Russia, was a lawyer.

Arnold attended the Boston Latin School and, beginning at 13, did odd jobs, including working as a soda jerk, or what he came to refer to as a carbonic engineer.

After high school — and before enrolling at Harvard College — he spent the first of six summers working at the Berkshire Country Club in Wingdale, N.Y., near the Connecticut border.

Male employees there were expected to spend time in the club’s social hall, dancing with the female guests, who far outnumbered the male guests. But the employees were forbidden to cut in on a couple who were dancing. Young Mr. Aronson, however, couldn’t resist, and that was how he met his future wife, Sheila Roth, who survives him.

“It was love at first sight,” he said in an interview for this obituary in 2018.

At Harvard, where he majored in political science, he had the coveted job of managing the 130-member university band, in which he played trumpet. He said the experience was the most valuable preparation he got for his retail career.

“It was a fantastic influence on my life,” he said, noting that he had been responsible for recruitment, travel, appointing assistants, holding auditions and raising money for the organization.

“It was my first experience in managing a profit-and-loss statement,” he said. “It was like running a business.”

Mr. Aronson and Ms. Roth, who had a career as an interior designer, were married in 1957, while he was obtaining an M.B.A. at Columbia Business School. In addition to his wife, his survivors include their two sons, Steven and David.

With his formal education completed, Mr. Aronson joined a Bloomingdale’s trainee program in 1959 as an assistant buyer of women’s coats. He was paid $100 a week. But his budding career was interrupted when his Army reserve quartermaster unit was called to active duty during the Berlin crisis of 1961 — although the unit spent its nearly yearlong call-up period at Fort Lee in Virginia.

After his service, he returned to Bloomingdales as a vice president in home furnishings; he then became a division merchandise manager. In 1969, he moved to California as executive vice president of the department store concern the May Company.

Three years later he joined the Los Angeles-based Bullock’s department store chain, which became Macy’s West, first as president and then, at 41, chief executive.

Mr. Aronson’s revival of Saks, which he called the high point of his career, was next. With its acquisition by the Batus Retail Group, he had the task of integrating Saks with Marshall Field’s, Kohl’s, Gimbels and other chains.

Then came a dizzying fall. In 1986, Batus, created by British American Tobacco, decided to shed its retail empire.

“I had to preside over the dismantling,” Mr. Aronson said. “And I was out of a job. I was a beached whale.”

(Saks was acquired by the Hudson’s Bay Company in 2013.)

Mr. Aronson soon formed an investment firm specializing in leveraged buyouts of retailers. In one deal, in 1989, he became chief executive of the Woodward & Lothrop and John Wanamaker department stores.

Outside the business world, Mr. Aronson was a trustee or a board member of the New School for more than 30 years and chairman of the university’s Parsons School of Design for 13 years.

After five years at Woodward & Lothrop, Mr. Aronson shifted to consulting, initially at Levy-Kerson-Aronson & Associates, which subsequently merged with Kurt Salmon Associates, where he worked until his death.

In this role reversal, a long-held suspicion was confirmed, he said: “It’s more fun to give advice to boards of directors than to take advice from them.”

Julia Carmel contributed reporting.

from WordPress https://mastcomm.com/arnold-aronson-who-revitalized-saks-in-the-80s-dies-at-85/

#Business

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samslater305 · 5 years ago

Text

How to Get a House Ready to Sell Quickly: 5 Things to Do Before You List

If you’re like many people in Scottsdale, you need to know how to get a house ready to sell quickly – but other than pricing it right, is there anything you can do?

Here’s what you need to know.

How to Get a House Ready to Sell Quickly: 5 Things to Do Before You List

Your REALTOR® will talk to you about pricing your home properly, which can have a lot to do with how quickly it sells – but there are other things you can do to help your agent sell your home quickly, too, including:

Declutter, clean and depersonalize every room

Address repairs

Paint, if you and your agent decide it’s a good idea

Stage each room, focusing on deal-makers first

Get the lighting just right

Here’s a closer look at each.

#1. Declutter, clean and depersonalize every room

You need to sell more than a house – you need to sell a lifestyle. One of the best ways to do that is to show that your home is open, easy to move through, clean and generally appealing. That means you have to:

Declutter. Take out everything you haven’t used in 6 months – even if it’s tucked away in a cabinet or closet – and decide whether to donate, store or sell it. Decluttering also means clearing out furnishings that make your space look cramped, so if there’s a comfortable-and-well-used easy chair in the pathway from the living room to the kitchen, it might be time to put it in storage.

Clean. One of the best ways to get a house ready to sell quickly is to ensure that it’s spotless, so many people choose to hire a professional cleaning service for a deep-clean before listing a home for sale. If that’s what you choose to do, you’ll only need to maintain what the cleaning pros did while your home is on the market.

Depersonalize. You want your home to appeal to as many buyers as possible, which means it’s in your best interest to take down family photos, eccentric decor, or anything that could be considered controversial (such as political decor).

#2. Address repairs

If anything needs to be repaired, handle it as soon as possible. That way, when buyers make an offer and hire their own inspector, there won’t be anything you need to address at that time. Check everything, and look for things like:

Dripping faucets

Burned-out bulbs

Dirty air filters

Creaky floors

Damaged window screens

Doors and windows that don’t close properly

#3. Paint, if you and your agent decide it’s a good idea

Sometimes a fresh coat of paint works wonders – but you should talk to your real estate agent before you hire a painter. In some cases, it’s not worth the expense, so you and your agent can decide together whether it’s an investment you should make.

You should consider repainting when:

You have bright or bold colors on the walls

Your paint looks tired and needs to be refreshed

You have wallpaper

Your walls are damaged

You have gender-specific bedrooms

#4. Stage each room, focusing on deal-makers first

Talk to your agent about the most important rooms to stage. Most likely, he or she will talk about the kitchen, the living room and the master bedroom – but every community is different, and different buyers value different rooms.

Your REALTOR may suggest that you hire a professional home stager, and if that’s the case, he or she can give you a list of local professionals. However, there are plenty of things you can do to make your home more appealing to prospective buyers. Check out:

How to stage a house while you live in it

How to stage your garage

5 features that can make it easier to sell your home

How to stage a luxury bathroom

How to stage a guest room

3 ways to spruce up your yard to sell your home

#5. Get the lighting just right

When people come to see your home, they want to see every corner – and your lighting scheme should enable that. Open all the blinds and pull back all the drapes in the early evening; once you’ve done that, look for dark spots that you’ll need to illuminate. When you’re learning how to get a house ready to sell quickly, you’ll discover that floor and table lamps can make a world of difference in your space.

Are You Selling a Home in Scottsdale?

Call us now at 480-351-5359 to find out how we can aggressively market your home and put it in front of all the right buyers. We’ll be happy to show you how to get a house ready to sell quickly and to help you sell at the right price.

If you’re looking for a new home in Scottsdale, explore all our Scottsdale real estate listings or look in specific communities:

Desert Highlands homes for sale

Hidden Hills homes for sale

Legend Trail homes for sale

Pinnacle Peak homes for sale

Sincuidados homes for sale

South Scottsdale homes for sale

SunRidge Canyon homes for sale

Winfield homes for sale

If you’re selling a luxury home in Scottsdale, we can help. You can use our home value calculator to get a ballpark idea on what your home may be worth – and you can call us at 480-351-5359 to talk to a REALTOR® about how we can market your home to all the right buyers.

Don Matheson REALTOR® | Founder The Matheson Team RE/MAX Fine Properties 21000 N. Pima Rd., #100, Scottsdale, AZ 85255 480-351-5359 [email protected]

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The post How to Get a House Ready to Sell Quickly: 5 Things to Do Before You List appeared first on Scottsdale Real Estate.

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gyrlversion · 6 years ago

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Aintree Festival 2019 Day 2:Its Ladies Day

On Thursday the ladies of Liverpool braved plummeting temperatures, high winds and persistent rain as they got day one of the three-day Aintree Grand National Festival 2019 off to a glamorous start.

And on Friday the guests continued to up the style stakes as they descended on the annual festival in an array of polka dots, florals, frills and fancy fascinators in a show of even more glamorous ensembles than the previous day.

The impressive displays were part of an effort to win the coveted best-dressed Ladies Day award, and racegoers certainly gave judges a tough job as they arrived in a flurry of precarious heels, statement hats and dramatic dresses.

More than 150,000 are expected at the three-day meeting, which is in its 180th year and hosts the showpiece Grand National race on Saturday afternoon.

The day will see over £25million spent in bets and while a jaw-dropping 20,000 bottles of bubbly will be consumed.

A right giggle! These ladies looked picture perfect in white as they posed on a leather sofa placed between two pretty pink flower displays

Giddy-up! A lady in yellow jumped on a toy riding horse provided by the RSPCA as she joined the festivities on day two of the three-day festival, right, while two ladies in red embraced ahead of the fun day, right, while a group of ladies got the party started as they ditched the cups and decided to drink the bubbly straight from the bottle on day two of the races

No rain today! A group of excited ladies posed outside as they made the most of the the milder weather on day two of the festivities

Here come the girls! Three ladies were seen strutting their stuff as they put on a fierce display while enjoying Day Two Ladies Day to The Grand National Festival At Aintree

One group of ladies looked fabulous in bridal inspired ensembles as they opted for the monochrome look for day two of the three-day Aintree Grand National Festival 2019 in Liverpool.

An early bird couple were seen arriving at the venue in their best attire, with the female racegoer matching her pink heels to her dramatic dress, teaming it with a white blazer and wide rim hat.

Elsewhere a trio of women were seen arriving in coral-coloured ensembles with pretty fascinators, layering up to ward off the April chill.

One style maven took the theme of the day quite literally, and looked chic in beige jodhpurs, knee-high boots, a flat cap and a black blazer as she posed alongside her dapper partner, dressed in a tweed jacket and waistcoat.

Meanwhile A group of ladies injected a splash of colour to the dreary day as they arrived in a flurry of bright dresses, polka dots and head-turning hats.

TV presenter Alison Hammond was also seen among the first arrivals, bringing a splash colour in a cobalt blue cardigan and matching dress.

Turning heads! One lady made a statement in a pink glitter-encrusted jumpsuit in a daring attempt to win the daring Best Dressed award on Ladies Day while another opted for cheery florals

What a display! A group of ladies turned heads in an array of stripes, polka dots, florals as they made their way towards the races today

It is the afternoon after all! One woman got the party started as she kicked off festivities enjoying a glass of the bubbly stuff as she joined racegoers for the annual day, while another decided to wear a flamingo hat on her head

One lady was seen drawing admiring glances from the crowd behind her as she had a go at horse riding at the three-day event

Oh no! One woman snapped her heel as she made an applaudable effort to get the party started – using her umbrella as a makeshift microphone

Presenter Charlotte Hawkins was seen arriving in a Rachel Trevor Morgan hat, a cobalt blue coat by Hobbs, a matching dress by Fallon K, and shoes by Steve Madden, styled by Debbie Harper.

Soprano Laura Wright opted for an all-yellow ensemble for the second day of the three day races after performing on day one of the event.

Elsewhere former Love Island star Olivia Buckland went for a blue and white crinkled frock and showed off her ankle tattoo with nude heels.

Vogue Williams was also seen wearing an Amanda Wakeley jumpsuit as she posed alongside husband Spencer Williams, dressed in a suave checked suit.

Hollyoaks stars Sarah-Jayne, Nadine Mulkerrin and Nikki Sanderson put on a head-turning display in trouser suits and an asymmetric striped dress.

Vogue Williams was also seen wearing an Amanda Wakeley jumpsuit as she posed alongside husband Spencer Williams, dressed in a suave checked suit

Who needs a glass… or even a bottle? One woman was spotted chugging a tasty alcoholic concoction straight from a jug while another went for a pretty Alice In Wonderland themed ensemble

Meanwhile the finalists for the coveted Best Dressed award were announced in the afternoon.

The panel – made up of ITV Racing stylist, Sarah Kate Byrne, Jay Hynd and a representative from the official Style Award Partner, Chi Chi London – revealed their final selection of glamorous guests in with a chance of winning.

Stacey Woodward, Luke Sugden, Emma Wakelin, Sue Moon and Kate Cook were all named as the most stylish attendees.

The winner goes home with a £35,000 Range Rover Evoque and a year’s supple of Chi Chi London dresses.

Thursday saw a few celebrity guest appearances as well as royal racegoers, with Zara Tindall and Princess Anne enjoying the races.

Elsewhere pregnant Beth Tweddle also made an appearance, while Love Island’s Chris Hughes was spotted alongside Sam Quek.

Stylish! Kate Cook put on a monochrome display in a checked dress and coordinating accessories, bringing back old school glamour, and was named as a finalist for the best dressed award

A whale of a time! A trio of selfie-taking ladies got into the party spirit as they enjoyed a tipple at the races in an array of ensembles

Hollyoaks stars Sarah-Jayne, Nadine Mulkerrin and Nikki Sanderson put on a head-turning display in trouser suits and an asymmetric striped dress while Vogue posed up a storm in her pinstripe jumpsuit

Posing up a storm! Another grou of guests got into the party spirit as they enjoyed a glimpse of sunshine on the day

Soprano Laura Wright opted for an all-yellow ensemble for the second day of the three day races after performing on day one of the event, left, while Nikki Sandseron looked great in a mint Miss Selfridge suit, right

Olivia Buckland was seen wearing a blue and white tie-die frock and showing off her ankle tattoo in nude heels, left, while two glamorous racegoers posed in their ensembles, right

Three ladies turned heads in their pastel ensembles and pretty headpieces as they arrived to get the party started

Joining in on the fun! Guests were spotted having a whale of a time as they enjoyed a go on the horses provided

On Friday the guests continued to up the style stakes as they descended on the annual festival in an array of polka dots, florals, frills and fancy fascinators

Despite it being a grey day, the weather proved to me much better than the previous day when it rained for much of the races

Pretty in pink! Glamorous guests brought the party inside as they turned the venue into a dance floor and sipped on the bubbly provided

Pretty in pastels! While Towie’s Amber Turner opted for a pink lace dress, former Love Island star Olivia Bowen donned a light blue and white off the shoulder number as she playfully poked her tongue out for the camera

Guests were spotted having a whale of a time as they enjoyed a go on the horses provided, before getting the party started by drinking straight from the bottle.

While Aintree may not have the royal touch Ascot does, it certainly holds its own in the fashion stakes when it comes to flashing the flesh.

As well as killer heels, thigh-skimming dresses and plunging necklines, the event is famous for its display of flamboyant headgear.

Soldiers of the Irish Guards were seen marching through the grounds as day 1 of the Grand National Festival 2019 at Aintree Racecourse kicked off.

Strike a pose! Hollyoaks stars Sarah-Jayne, Rory Douglas-Speed, Nadine Mulkerrin and Nikki Sanderson smile for the cameras as the attend Aintree today

Onto a winner! Eagle-eyed racegoers lined the course in the hope they’d catch a glimpse of their horse crossing the line in first place

What a turnout! These ladies looked photo-ready in an array of necklines and hemlines along with matching hats and clutches for the big day

Looking alright in white! One group of ladies looked fabulous in bridal inspired ensembles as they opted for the monochrome look for day two of the three-day Aintree Grand National Festival 2019 in Liverpool

Fascinating fascinators! The ladies of Liverpool showed off their best head gear as one lady matched her floral dress to her head band, another teamed her red dress to her rose-encrusted hat and one went for a bright yellow head piece

Day two of the event three-day event, is famously Ladies Day, where female racegoers get out their best outfits and put on an array of daring displays, with the ‘best-dressed’ receiving the coveted award.

According to racecourse bosses, there’s no strict dress code for the festival as there is for Royal Ascot.

Guidance on the course website reads: ‘Although there is no official dress code, smart is preferable and is often adopted.

‘Aintree is a spectacle of colour throughout the year, with many using their trip to the racecourse as an opportunity to showcase their favourite raceday outfits. Hats are optional too, but are frequently worn.’

Fancy dress and ‘offensive clothing’ also make an appearance on the list of banned items this year.

Going for nude: Elsewhere guests opted for a nude palette, wearing beige coats, pale pink frocks, tan sandals and sand coloured suits

Ladies arrive ahead of the Ladies Day: A group of women looked chic in monochrome outfits with one lady standing out in orange

A group of excited ladies got straight to the drinks as they giggled their way through an impromptu photo session on the second day of the races

Wrapping up! Elsewhere others made sure they layered up in wrap coats after Thursday proved to be a washout for many ladies who quivered their day through day one of the races

In high spirits! A group of colourfully dressed ladies are pictured at the Randox Grand National meeting, Aintree racecourse,Liverpool

Ladies in red! Elsewhere two women injected a splash of colour in scarlet coloured dresses and matching floral inspired headpieces

Looking lovely! A group of guests arrived in polka dots and florals with pretty hats as they posed for pictures

A group of ladies turned heads in an array of pretty pastels as they made their way through the grounds

Smile for the cameras! Hollyoaks star Sarah-Jane looked bold in blue while Jacqueline Jossa almost blended in with the floral background as she wore a similarly patterned off the shoulder dress

Actress Amy Jackson looked chic in a black trouser suit embellished with heart-shaped buttons, teaming it with a monochrome hat and heels

However, in recent years event organisers have been trying to encourage a more conservative approach.

In 2015, an optional ‘style code’ was released in an effort to smarten up the event and encourage more sophisticated fashion.

The guide was devised by fashion writers from Vogue and Tatler in conjunction with Justine Mills, owner of Liverpool designer boutique Cricket – a favourite with WAGs such as Coleen Rooney.

It was inspired by the Coco Chanel quote: ‘Dress shabbily and they remember the dress; dress impeccably and they remember the woman.’

At the time, John Baker, the northwest regional director for the Jockey Club, which owns Aintree, said he hoped to help give the event a facelift.

Making the street their runway! Female racegoers arrived in a flurry of frills, glitter and towering heels as they prepared for a day of festivities

Turning heads! A group of ladies injected a splash of colour to the dreary day as they arrived in a flurry of bright dresses, polka dots and head-turning fascinators

Feeling blue! Posing against a flowerwall these ladies certainly made for a pretty picture as they posed in sky-blue frocks and pretty bags

Lots to talk about! Two women in transparent heels were seen arriving at the venue in white blazers and pale pink dresses, left, while two others enjoyed a drink as they admired the fashion on display

Security officials were seen making stringent security checks on Friday morning ahead of day one of the much-anticipated racing event.

Racegoers have always been subject to strict security procedures brought in after the IRA bomb scare in 1997, with only small handbags allowed to be brought into the event.

Bets will be placed on the top racehorses getting in on the action, including Clan Des Obeaux and Bristol De Mai in the Betway Bowl.

Hold on to your hats! One lady teamed her bright sequin-encrusted frilly frock with her hat as she beamed during her arrival to the festival

Others battled the high winds with skill as they arrived in an array of colours for day two of the three-day Aintree races on Friday

Pretty in pastels! An array of guests opted for different hues of blue and pastel frocks, matching them to their colourful heels as they arrived

More than £1.5million has been invested in trying to protect the welfare of horses, following the recent deaths of horses Sir Erec and Invitation Only at Cheltenham, which sparked animal welfare protests.

Aintree has said it has ensured the safest ground is available to be raced on at all times, regardless of the weather and climate conditions.

The grass is cut to precisely four inches for the whole circuit to provide plenty of cushion. Even the species of grass, make-up of the soil and measured watering is considered to ensure the ground is safer for horses to run on while the take-off and landing areas around the fences have been created with greater spring in the ground.

Jockey Leighton Aspell, who won successive Nationals in 2014 and 2015, said: ‘There are two things particularly that have changed for the better. Firstly the core of the fences is now much softer and safer and secondly the bypass of the fences, particularly for the loose horses. Every year, Aintree takes another step in the right direction.’

Veterinary teams assess the health of horses as soon as they arrive to certify they are safe to race and not a danger to themselves or other horses.

Grand! A group of ladies were seen putting on a classy display in elegant frocks and hats, while another lady opted for a purple ensemble and matching hat

Matching in red! Two ladies posed alongside a soldier who posed with his Irish wolfhound

These ladies turned heads in their form-fitting drocks as they navigated the damp pavements ahead of the festivities

A grand display! These glamorous guests brought a welcome splash of fluorescent colour to the festivities

An early bird couple were seen arriving at the venue in their best attire, with the female racegoer matching her pink heels to her dramatic dress

Stylish in shades! Spencer Matthews and Vogue Williams turned the fashion stakes up a notch as they donned some chic sunglasses for the event – despite the chilly weather conditions

Security officials were seen making stringent security checks on Friday morning ahead of day one of the much-anticipated racing event

Dancing al fresco! The ladies made the most of the milder weather and enjoyed a dance on the grass during the races

Racegoers arrive by train to attend Ladies Day on the second day of the Grand National Festival horse race meeting at Aintree Racecourse in Liverpool,

Turning heads! Two ladies put their best feet forward as they made their way across the pink carpet and enjoyed a tipple

The post Aintree Festival 2019 Day 2:Its Ladies Day appeared first on Gyrlversion.

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otheatreopenproject · 6 years ago

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Open Project: Planning - 10/01/2019

At this stage in the process, this session was one for tying up loose ends and engaging with the general dramaturgy behind The Theallery Project: Colour.

The company’s time in the space involved Delya plotting out the lighting, experimenting with them and discussing different options with the rest of the group. Dawid and Gabrielle were analysing the recorded footage of the Viewpoints Rehearsal and discussing plans that they had brainstormed over the Christmas break away, involving what they were going to do in each section of the piece and why. The whole group painted the set – giving everything a second coat. Finally, they booked further rehearsal spaces on Saturday 12th, Sunday 13th, Monday 14th morning and evening, Tuesday 15th, Wednesday 16th.

Delya’s notes and discoveries from working on the lighting are as follows:

- Delya Joubert

The whole group’s discussion about what they had found to be the most interesting in the Viewpoints rehearsal and what they plan to do in each section are as follows:

Monet

At this point, quite near the beginning, Gabrielle’s bodily movements are quite controlled – at points, showy, as if presenting different types of Monet’s art and art in general – playing on the stereotype of female bodily image within art and then distorting it – all of the could-bes. Begin centre-stage-left sat down with the tin filled with paint – each time Dawid leans forward, I lean the tin forward, spilling a little bit of the paint at least three or four times. Begin washing hair with the blue paint on the floor. The meeting of atlas with the umbrella – this is what gets me up. Walk to the front of the stage (viewpoints) with the tin of paint. Look at Delya. Following Delya’s movements – mirroring her journey but not her movements – trying to get to Delya but every time Gabrielle walks, so does Delya as she should come to recognise what Gabrielle is doing. These movements – an exploration of Kinaesthetic Energy from the Viewpoints book by Anne Bogart – will lead to Gabrielle with the tin walking slowly towards Dawid. Keeping with the ‘could-bes’ she almost pours the tin of paint on Dawid, then instead, pours it on herself.

Klimt

At this point, Gabrielle’s bodily movements are quite rigid and the pace she moves at is very slow. This correlates with the company’s research on Klimt as an artist and as a person. For this section, the group wanted to experiment with very slow movement without any traveling on the stage to juxtapose the rest of the sections that all involve the group moving around the stage quite a bit. Gabrielle is standing behind the tray of gold paint, slowly lifting it whilst Dawid is constructing a gold + silver foil image out of her, reminiscent of Klimt’s Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I.

Delacroix

Stealthy Sleek movements Sharp movements Patrolling with the umbrella Experimentation with the umbrella prop to have as many different uses as it can during this section Start as suggesting it is a metal detector or a blind person’s cane – spreading the paint, or moving the rumble – quite isolated. Stop, use it as a cane – that image of a person on the floor and Gabrielle standing beside them with the umbrella as a cane dehumanises the person on the floor and puts Gabrielle on a pedestal, whether this is good or bad. This is when it can become less isolated. Continue with using the umbrella as a gun that soldiers patrol with but out of use, patrol with it. This leads to the marker where Delya is coming towards Gabrielle and Gabrielle opens the umbrella very quickly, shocking Delya. Then the umbrella can become an umbrella in storm. Gabrielle can travel with the umbrella, she can lower herself to the ground and have the moment where she is hiding from the storm.

Bragolin

By this point Gabrielle’s bodily image/movements have changed to her being mostly hunch-backed – although still quite controlled, this becomes more intense throughout this section. The paint going on the baby – very delicate to juxtapose the intense movement and energy that should be happening around me in this scene. Movements building, the pace with which I do things is intensifying. The baby is tipped off the chair. There is a moment of ‘what do we do now?’ I uncover the baby from the wreckage, and try to revive it with the paint, as if when I paint it enough, it will come alive like people have always spoken about paintings doing. Maybe if the canvas comes behind me then I have a moment where I look up, holding the baby and smile for the shot. The baby does not come to life because it is not real and what people have been saying is just a figure of speech. I get up and put the baby back in the box before getting back up again.

Picasso Start sitting parallel to Dannielle downstage. Hand thing – Dawid will go forwards then come back, stand between Gabrielle and Dannielle – they will have the moment where they look at each other. Dawid controls Gabrielle’s movement with his hand movements, she falls to the side and gets up. Up with the hair – backwards and turn round. Dave behind her touching his leg. Gabrielle’s body is contorted, she is crumpled with her back to the audience, she is very inward on herself in her stance – she is hugging herself. It appears as if she is either being crushed or as if she is replicating the comedic ‘making out with yourself’ that is seen in a lot of teen movies. This is linking into Dawid’s previously suggestive pose and the erotic themes in some of Picasso’s work. A further exploration of eroticism – Dannielle looking at the audience and touching her thighs, Gabrielle in the stereotypical girl lying on a bed at a sleepover pose, with Dawid sitting on the chair watching.

Pollock By this point Gabrielle’s bodily image/movements have deteriorated like the costume she is wearing, she never stands up straight for more than a couple of seconds. This is very free. Gabrielle has studied the way Pollock paints + the way he walks and has explored different levels extremity within that. Gabrielle will be using this walk as a way of traveling, moving paint across the stage and when interacting with others. Gabrielle will try to only let her face be shown properly once in this section as she is using her long brown hair as a paintbrush. Markers include: Gabrielle at one point, covering her eyes with her arm whilst exploring coming to the front of the audience

- Gabrielle Benna

- Dawid Wiczynski

Haring:

Long drawn out sliding legs apart, sudden drops to the floor, out of time to the soundscape playing. Continuously stretching the limbs of the body, forcing jaggered steps as she pushs against the tarpaulin.

Monet:

Retrieves the umbrella and struggles to release it. The arms jump out and leave a dust of white paint. She provides cover for Gabrielle as she washes her hair with blue paint. Gabrielle stands with her tin of paint and responds only to the movements of Delya as she sets back unaware of Gabrielle’s mirroring movements. Delya uses the umbrella as a tool to trace paint over the surface, spinning the umbrella in her hands and spreading the paint further in flicks.

Van Gogh:

The pumping of the spray bottles, awaiting the time to coat Dawid in a blue jacket of paint. And once she’s done, a tin can with red paint is introduced and poured over Dawid’s left ear. Pouring down his neck, the tin is returned. Rough splatters are thrown up towards the overhead fixture.

Klimt:

Stood tall upon the ladder, addressing in a regal posture.

Delacroix:

Constant interaction with Gabrielle, a contrast is shown between the two as Gabrielle remains elegant, Delya becomes clumsy yet powerful as she begins to overpower Gabrielle for the umbrella.

Bragolin:

Running her fingers through the black paint, playing with it. Splashing it across the moving flat with strokes from her fingertips. Childish demeanour and physicality.

Picasso:

Hanging off the ladder by a single hand, opening her body to the listener. A stern voice is projected across the space.

Pollock:

Delya whips out the cardboard tubes, smacking them in the paint trays and splashing the surrounding surfaces. A mess of movements that bounced and crashed off of others in the space, only to unite in a single moment of stillness.

- Delya Joubert

The next session being, Saturday 13th, the plan is to source any remaining props that the group still have on their list, learn their lines and to build the rest of their set.

Company members present in the rehearsal: Gabrielle Benna Delya Joubert Dawid Wiczynski Dannielle Woodward

- Gabrielle Benna

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itsworn · 7 years ago

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This 1961 Ford Galaxie Sunliner Convertible was a Day Two Street/Strip Car in the 1960s and Still Cruises Woodward Today—with its Original Owner!

There was an automotive hierarchy on Woodward Avenue back in the 1960s. As the cruisers meandered between hot spots such as the Big Town, Maverick’s, and Ted’s drive-ins, where the hot cars gathered, to the Big Boy, where the girls were, there was a high-performance caste system that everyone understood.

“There were guys with regular cars out there, looking to meet girls, and there were guys with pretty hot cars who were interested in the car scene,” says Tom Sawyer (yes, that’s his real name). “And then there was the upper echelon of cars, the ones driven by factory guys and from the dealerships. They were on another level. We knew who they were, but we didn’t mess with them, and they didn’t mix with us, but we were all there on Woodward.”

Tom is one of Woodward’s original cruisers, raised in the Detroit suburb of Birmingham, which remains a central cruise spot during the summer months and during the annual Woodward Dream Cruise. From the late 1950s through late 1960s, he was a fixture on the Avenue, hitting all the neon-lit sites that have since been replaced with soulless strip malls and industrial parks.

He did it mostly in a 1961 Ford Galaxie Sunliner he purchased new. Five decades later, he’s back on Woodward in the very same car. He has owned it the entire time, although it spent more than 40 years in hibernation in a northern Michigan barn.

“I was 20 years old when I bought the car, but nobody would lend a kid my age the $2,800 to purchase it, so my dad had to sign for it,” says Tom. “A couple years later, he signed it over to me, officially selling it to me for $1.”

Despite a penchant for performance, Tom ordered a loaded, comparatively heavy convertible. Actually, his father, a Ford employee, did the official ordering, on the company’s A Plan. Bypassing the dealership made delivery a formality that took place at a Ford tractor outlet in Birmingham, which was razed long ago and is now populated by condos.

Tom’s Sunliner was built at the cusp of the factory horsepower movement, with most power parts offered over the counter rather than in a specific model. Tom’s car, however, was ordered with the high-performance package that included a four-barrel-fed 390 engine rated at 375 hp, heavy-duty brakes and suspension, 15-inch wheels, and electric wipers. Tom ordered the optional column-shift three-speed manual with overdrive. Stout stuff, no question about it, but it would be another year before Ford would offer the truly high-po 406 engines and a four-speed transmission.

As a stopgap measure, Ford offered a 6V, 3×2 induction system over the counter in 1961. It raised the 390’s output to 401 hp, which was just four horses shy of the legendary 406’s 405hp rating with a similar induction system. Tom drove his Sunliner for about a year, including banging off some mid-14-second e.t.’s at Detroit Dragway, before forking over more than a few of his hard-earned dollars for the performance promise of the triple-carb setup. He installed it himself, too.

“It all came in a box,” he says. “Like everything mechanical back then, it was a pretty simple installation. You just pulled off the factory intake, laid down a new manifold gasket, and installed the new intake.”

Well, there was a little more to it than that. For one thing, Ford reversed the position of the Holley two-barrels on the manifold, ostensibly to prevent interference issues with the distributor. That required a more complicated linkage that crossed over to the right-hand side of the manifold to connect with the carbs’ throttles.

“Rather than vacuum-assist, like the Pontiac Tri-power, the Ford setup was an entirely mechanical linkage,” says Tom. “You needed a ruler to measure the adjustable linkage rods, but after they were set and tightened, you basically never needed to touch it again, unlike the Pontiac system. I haven’t touched the linkage on mine since we restored the car back in 2011.”

Back in the day, the “backwards” position of the carburetors reportedly caused stalling or fuel starvation on hard stops because the fuel bowls were reversed. But Tom says he’s never encountered the problem, then or now.

The same year he installed the 3×2 setup, Tom also replaced the original column-shift mechanism with a sturdy Hurst stick.

“The column shift was clumsy, was hard to power-shift, and the linkage broke often,” he says. “Installing the Hurst shifter made a world of difference. Like the intake setup, I installed it myself, which included cutting a hole in the floor and getting the linkage rods set just so, but it’s been banging off the gears in the car now for more than 55 years.”

Curiously, Tom never swapped in a four-speed, preferring to stick with the original BorgWarner three-speed overdrive, the design of which dates back to the 1930s. It’s an electrically operated system with a dashboard control that engages OD or locks it out. Even when engaged, a throttle-activated switch on the firewall disengages it at wide-open throttle.

“It still works great after all these years, and it really comes in handy on the freeway,” says Tom. “At 65 mph, the engine is only turning about 2,800 rpm, and that’s with a 4.11 rearend, which is what the car originally came with.”

In the early years, Tom ran a 4.71 gear on the street, which really helped launch the S.S. Sunliner, but pretty much limited its practical top speed to 55 or 60 mph. “That’s just what everybody did back then,” he says. “It’s no wonder so many people blew up so many engines.”

Tom cruised and engaged in the occasional backroad challenge until about 1967, when he parked the car in a barn on some property he’d purchased in northern Michigan. Although he didn’t intend a museum-type preservation, the covers he used did a remarkable job of keeping the elements and critters at bay. He wasn’t even sure he was going to keep the car when he pulled it out of suspended animation in 2011, but his wife Judy (no, he didn’t marry a girl named Becky Thatcher) urged him to keep it.

Rust in the car was blessedly minor for an early-1960s Michigan car, but Tom had accumulated a number of N.O.S. parts through the 1970s, including front fenders and rear quarters. The door skins and other sheetmetal, such as the decklid and hood, were in great shape and were retained before five coats of paint replicating the original Monte Carlo Red were sprayed on the carefully block-sanded flanks.

The original steel wheels were painted, too, and as time passed they have become treasures in their own right. The reinforced 15×5.5 wheels from Kelsey Hayes are what Ford installed on its higher-performance models, but with the production numbers so low—and the fact a good many of them were dumped for being boring, heavy steel rims—precious few survive. The dog dish hubcaps were mandatory, too, because Ford didn’t have a full wheel cover for 15-inch rims.

“We called those hubcaps ‘dimes’ back then,” says Tom. “I don’t know why. Probably because of their resemblance to the coin, but that’s what we called them.”

The rest of the car received more of a cosmetic refurbishment, as Tom sought to retain as much of the car’s originality as possible. That includes the red-and-white interior, which features the original carpet, sill plates, and upholstery. Some of the original red paint is wearing off the steering wheel, but it simply enhances the car’s authenticity. And before any of you Ford concours nuts sends us a note to tell us the interior door handles are backwards in the photos, Tom knows. He reversed them more than 50 years ago.

“You always had wise guys doing stupid stuff in the parking lots,” he says. “One of them was reaching down and opening doors for no reason. Flipping the handles over prevented that.”

There aren’t too many jokers like that anymore on Woodward, and there certainly aren’t too many owners whose stories with their car date back to 1961, but Tom Sawyer is assuredly a Woodward original.

At a Glance

1961 Galaxie Sunliner convertible Owned by: Tom Sawyer Restored by: Owner Engine: 390ci/401hp V-8 Transmission: BorgWarner T85 3-speed manual with overdrive Rearend: 9-inch with 4.11 gears and limited-slip differential Interior: Red and white vinyl bench seat Wheels: 15×5.5 Kelsey Hayes steel with hubcaps Tires: P215/75R15 BFGoodrich Silvertown Radial Special parts: Dealer-ordered 3×2 induction system, vintage Hurst shifter

The body man who replaced the quarters on the Sunliner assumed they were repro parts and was shocked when they fit like a glove. His boss reminded him that they were N.O.S. parts that owner Tom Sawyer had collected 40 years earlier.

Dealer-supplied 3×2 6V induction bumped the 390’s output to 401 hp and 430 lb-ft of torque. The air cleaner lid barely fit under the hood with the original, very short air filter element. Taller replacements caused the front of the lid to rub against the hood, so Tom milled down the front of the lid for clearance. The engine compartment also shines with an original chrome dress-up kit.

The 3×2 setup uses backward-mounted Holley two-barrel carbs, reversed ostensibly for distributor clearance. The mechanical, progressive linkage requires essentially no adjustment when set properly. These are the original carbs that came with the over-the-counter intake system back in 1962.

The interior is essentially unrestored and features options such as a padded dash, padded visors, and very rare seat belts. The front belts appear tan but have faded from their original black over the decades. The red-and-white vinyl upholstery is original and has held up well over the years and the car’s 80,000 miles.

The dashboard-mounted control knob engages or disengages the electrically controlled overdrive for the three-speed manual transmission. When it’s pushed in, overdrive is engaged. When it’s pulled out, it’s disengaged. It automatically drops out of overdrive at wide-open throttle.

This Hurst shifter has been in the Sunliner since 1962, an aftermarket upgrade made after the original three-on-the-tree column shift couldn’t keep up with quick-shift demands on the street and strip.

Like the Hurst shifter, the vintage Sun tach is an original day-two enhancement that’s been with the car for nearly 60 years. It works a lot better, too, since being converted to electronic actuation. The original tach controller remains under the hood and looks just like it did in 1961, but it is virtually empty inside, with only a small circuit board replacing the original guts.

The car rolls on rare 15×5.5 Kelsey Hayes-supplied steel wheels, which are stamped on the inside with the rim size. The hubcaps on Tom’s car were used primarily in 1960 but bled over into early 1961. Ford didn’t have a full wheel cover for a 15-inch wheel at the time.

Owner Tom Sawyer, a former girlfriend, and the Sunliner, in Birmingham, Michigan, on delivery day, May 1, 1961.

Before the 6V induction system was installed, the nearly 4,200-pound convertible with its original four-barrel 390 turned 14-second e.t.’s on street tires at Detroit Dragway.

The post This 1961 Ford Galaxie Sunliner Convertible was a Day Two Street/Strip Car in the 1960s and Still Cruises Woodward Today—with its Original Owner! appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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