#Hysteria SHOULD have a proper introduction

[gatheredfates]

17. — audience (Elandervier)

ONE WORD WRITING PROMPTS. Funnily enough, I was playing with a concept similar to this that hasn't amounted (yet). Consider this a prelude of sorts if I end up writing it. CONTENT WARNINGS. This fic deals with mature themes including, but not limited to: pregnancy, childbirth, mentions of abortion and women's bodily autonomy, misogyny and my personal interpretation of a woman's place in Ishgardian high-society. Please do not read if any of these are personal triggers. I have done my due diligence to warn ahead of time.

i'm glad i met the devil because he showed me i was weak, and a little piece of him is in a little piece of me.

The rage of the girl banged on the bones of the woman, all bared teeth and frothing anger. She knew her well, this outraged daughter — kicking, screaming, wailing in her hysteria, ungovernable and unknowable.

Unsightly. Unbecoming. Fifteen years on and her mother's words were ever the knife she dug into her breastbone as if to sever a rib and deliver it to the daughter. 'Yes, we are ugly. Bide your time,' it said, 'There will be deliverance soon, be still. These lessons will be useful to us.'

"I didn't know where else to go."

Elandervier didn't like that she recognised the girl's name — that she watched stony-faced and set-gazed her deliverance onto the marital bed, the third daughter in a line of women and still-born sons. The babe was passed haphazardly to her, a hiss to bathe and swaddle while the lord of the house screamed and tore down the nearby torchères like he intended to deliver them to the Hells himself. "The gods themselves fuck with me!" He declared while his wife cried and consoled him from his bed, "Of the duties you perform, you give me useless fucking women!"

This useless woman was a pragmatic woman for making it this far. The bobbin lace on her cuffs were bare and browned now, hanging by single threads in some places, but it did not waste in the snow gnawed at by the wolves. She was thin but not emaciated, the vigour in her gaze undercut only by the hand that pressed to the swell of her belly, and she looked to the witch with her mother's brown eyes — the very same which plucked her from her arms all those years ago, soothing her that she would be loved.

She would be safe.

The first lie in a thread woven by Ishgardian society, another falsehood added to the tapestry of violation — white, in that it was pure and born from a fervent wish — but would not stay when the blood was doused over the frame.

The lordlings were never pragmatic. When their sons were killed by fire, famine and fatigue they fought over the scraps of their lineage like carrion birds — all to the machine. But never their daughters. A daughter who fought was a daughter of the Brume, she lived and died destitute, but their daughters? Pretty girls waged wars on their wombs and the hearth of their houses; they were too empathic, too gentlehearted, too emotionally intelligent for the field. Ratatoskr was but a woman killed by men for seeing through the propaganda.

Control the womb, control the war.

"Whose?" Elandervier did not bother with a proper introduction, ink-dyed fingers gesturing to the pregnancy. The girl looked down and pet her skin so tenderly, even as her voice warbled with her rage.

"My lord husband's," bitterly replied, "That I should give him the pleasure."

The girl in her bones banged painfully on the filaments. That this should be what she was known for; devourer of children, the witch in the dark, the last bastion for desperate women choosing between three kinds of death; the man, the tundra or the severing of the soul. El sighed and rose to her feet, sliding a knife free from the belt on her waist as she stepped towards the girl. When she recoiled the witch shook her head and gestured for her to open her palms.

"You have choice to make," she said, settling the blade on her skin, "A sacrifice must be made."

Six months later two lords lay dead in their beds — eviscerated at the abdomen, disembowelled as if something was trying to tear it away. 'What a travesty!' the gentry declared, looking at the hysterical girl, 'That she should be delivered from the wilds by Halone's grace mere weeks after their death! What savagery, what witchcraft!'

The void knew its kin better than most: the all-consuming hunger, the revel in wild panic. Imbued in an animal and fed the blood of the babe, parricide was a indulgent taboo that fed its aether and stole their souls for the witch.

A little boy was discovered on the doorstep of a peasant house desperate for a child. After the war, they were funded by a wealthy noblewoman who kept her distance, wishing only the best for the babe. In her home, the skull of a wolf bared teeth over her fireplace where she told stories of how she fended off the wilds with naught but a knife.

One soul distilled into raw aether, given to a 'useless' girl to help her survive. The other Elandervier fed to Gobnip.

After all, she told the girl inside her bones, these lessons were useful to us.

[victorluvsalice]

Forgotten Vows Friday: Forgetting You Chapter 5 -- Director’s Cut Edition

NOBODY PANIC I’M NOT ABANDONING EVERYTHING TO GO ON A WILD EDITING SPREE AGAIN. This is simply the addition of a single scene to Chapter 5 of “Forgetting You.” So why am I going back and sticking new scenes into an old story again?

Well, you can blame my new fan/buddy MartyrFan, an Iced Tea (Alice/Jack Frost from Rise of the Guardians) fan who recently got into my Valice stuff and started binge-reading a lot of the Forgotten Vows Verse. He recently wrote a slew of reviews for “Forgetting You,” and one of them contained this quote:

It's a little late for me to be asking about this, but what about Hysteria? Alice uses it for the first time after the first memory of the fire. I think that being to do THAT was definitely worth writing about, no offense. 

Seeing that made me remember something -- I actually HAD written a scene showing off Alice’s first use of Hysteria, which also introduced the “burning Liddell doors” memories (aka the plot-important memories you have to see to progress). For some reason I don’t remember, though, I never put it in the finished product. With MartyrFan asking about, and me knowing that it was probably WAS a little weird that Hysteria and mentions of it appeared later in the fic as normal, I figured it was worth going back, rewriting the scene up to my current standards, and slapping it in Chapter 5. It comes between Alice collecting the Victor memory and Alice finding the Hatter (as Alice gets the tutorial on Hysteria right before she meets up with him again). I’ve touched nothing else save the first couple of lines of the “meeting the Hatter” scene to help it merge in a little better.

Chapter 5 on FF.net

Chapter 5 on AO3

Chapter 5 on my website (formatting went funny there though, and I still haven’t managed to change my theme)

One of the things Alice hated about the human brain, and her brain in particular, was its tendency to associate certain innocent objects and events with rather less-pleasant ones. White sheets with her bed in Rutledge, for example. Old keys with Bumby's hypnosis sessions. Red-and-white stripes with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum.

Or, like at the current moment, the front door of her house with her first fight with the Jabberwock. She glared at the portal before her – familiar white wood tarnished with gray ash, flames leaping behind the decorative iron flowers in the window, LIDDELL written in charred letters across the top. What it was doing here, set into a pile of old junk cogs and springs in the depths of the Lost and Found, she couldn't say. But it was there nonetheless – and, annoyingly, appeared to be the only way forward in this maze of clockwork and steam. "Come on, Alice," she scolded herself. "You mustn't dillydally. You saw the Jabberwock's skeleton blow away on the breeze. He's not a threat anymore. And this – it's just a door. It can't hurt you."

Her right hand ached from a long-healed wound, reminding her that yes, when the door was on fire and the knob blazing hot, it could hurt you, and very well. She sighed. "I'm wearing gloves this time – well, most of a glove," she corrected herself, wiggling her bare fingers. "And there's metaessence galore in all those boxes and barrels scattered about. I can heal myself in moments. We've barely started our journey – there's no point in stopping now."

Evil yellow eyes, thick sharp claws, a boiling furnace that poured out streams of flaming death – Alice shook the image away. "He's gone. I can't spend my life afraid of something I've already defeated." She squared her shoulders. "And if anything like him lurks behind that door, it'll have to face my Blade and my Grinder, and fall like all the rest." As encouraged as she could possibly get under the circumstances, she stepped forward and grabbed the knob, twisting it quickly and wrenching it open to reveal –

The library.

Alice stared as she stepped inside. The room was just as she remembered it, back in happier times. Shelves on almost every wall, filled practically to bursting with books old and new. Papa's photography equipment, lovingly spread out over a nearby table, filling the air with a chemical stench. Toys scattered across floor and chairs (including a jack-in-the-box – that explained a lot about where the Jackbomb had come from). The family portrait at the head of the room, showing all four Liddells in their Sunday best. And beneath that – the fireplace, blazing away to chase off the early November chill. Alice swallowed as she took it all in, only too aware of how little effort it would take to turn pleasing heat into a raging inferno. A single malignant spark, as her mother had said. . . . "Our lovely library was a fire trap. A conflagration waiting to happen!"

. . .Which I already knew, so why on earth are we belaboring the point?

Alice put her hands on her hips, letting out a frustrated growl as the memory faded back into darkness, leaving only the flame-licked door behind her. Wonderland was playing games, and she didn’t like it. Why dress up such a simple reminder so? She'd just had a memory from Mama about how dangerous her father's "unnatural devotion to printed paper" was to them. Granted, Lorina's tone had been more jocular, equally a playful complaint about her husband's hoarding habits and a hidden warning to be careful when in the room, but still. It had delivered the same message. What had been so special about this brief image that it warranted further dressing up from the little crystal house? Was there a clue she was supposed to have seen – a little thing out of place that hinted at the true cause of the fire? But everything had seemed in order. . . . If you want me to get to the bottom of things, Wonderland, you have to give me more than that!

Well, at least she hadn't had to shed any blood in her family home this time around. She turned and opened the door again. More heaps of rusty junk greeted her eyes – but they were different heaps this time, at least. Apparently she'd been taken just that bit closer to the Hatter. Which is the absolute least Wonderland can do to help – oh damn!

She burst into butterflies, just barely avoiding the steaming, oozing hand. The Insidious Ruin flapped its china jaw and waddled after her. Alice turned and sliced it to ribbons with the Blade, but more were already forming, thick black puddles rising up through the junk. . .she darted around the trash piles, trying to keep track of them all without taking a hit. Two – three – four – five – “Ah!”

She stumbled, pinwheeling her arms wildly as she teetered at the edge of a sudden drop. The Ruins (two more, seven now, she'd never faced so many at once) took advantage of her distress and charged. Alice butterflied out of the way again, but a straggler managed to sear her side as she reformed. She went to slash its hand off, only to be knocked off-balance by one of its friends scorching her back. And then another rammed into her, sending her to hands and knees. . .she butterflied once more, looking for free space, but they just followed, an inescapable black wall of pain. . .she got her feet, but another hand came out and she was stumbling backward again, terrifyingly close to the edge. . .a leap took her over them, but they turned with distressing speed. . .one tore at her hair, another grabbed her arm, and she couldn't get to one without opening herself up to another. . .it hurt, it hurt, it all hurt so much. . .so much pain, so much fear, so much – so much –

So much anger. Her jaw clenched as the Ruins kept up their attack, chipping away at her life bit by bit. She could have returned to the Home by now. She could have just gotten the stupid pills and been back in time for lunch. She could have found a book to read, or told another story to the children, or gone for a walk with Victor. She could have even been doing more chores like a normal person. But no, Wonderland couldn't let her have that, could it? It had to drag her away from reality and torture her with happy memories gone sour and never give her a straight answer to any of her questions and try to bloody goddamn KILL HER EVERY TIME SHE TRIED TO PROGRESS – Her entire body throbbed with pain, and it was too much, too much, too MUCH –

The scream exploded out of her throat, a shockwave of sound that sent the Ruins flying back. Moments later, her Blade was in her hand, and she was slicing and dicing with a fervor she hadn't felt since the last time she'd been hit with a Ragebox. "How fine you look when dressed in rage," Cheshire purred across her memory, and she did, she was a goddess of destruction in black and white and red and the Ruins were screaming, doll heads tumbling into the abyss, pipes and pulleys crashing to the ground, and it was all glorious she could do this forever kill and kill and KILL –

And then, suddenly, brown and gray and brass were back in her vision, and she had no idea how she was even staying upright.

She braced herself against a junk heap, looking around. Not a Ruin to be seen, but a whole field of metaessence roses, glittering in the dim light leaking through the ceiling. Alice collected the nearest, shaking as it broke apart into red mist and soothed her pain. She was glad that the threat was gone, but – how was she capable of such intense fury? Had some somehow managed to internalize that horrible sprayed poison from the boxes? Or was that rage just an essential part of her being? I know I can be moody, and snappish, and just plain mean, but. . .oh God, I hope I haven't hurt anyone in reality. She wiped the sweat from her forehead. Probably just proved all those doctors who liked to call me "hysterical" right. . .actually, thinking about it, "Hysteria" wouldn't be a bad name for that. . . .

She took a deep breath and steadied herself. It's over with now, she thought as she circled around the battlefield, touching each rose in turn to regain her strength. And to be fair, it got me out of a very bad situation just now. Hopefully it only triggers when I'm that near death. And, doubly hopefully, only here in Wonderland. Otherwise. . . .

She didn't want to finish that thought. She picked up the last rose and brushed off her skirts. "Over and done with," she repeated. "And I don't think Wonderland would keep me if I'd actually killed someone. Just have to keep a close leash on it." She ran her fingers through her hair. "Come on. You'll feel better when you find Hatter." I hope.

[angeledwings]

ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ꜱʜɪᴘꜱ | @hartofbalamb //HMR I LOVE YOU TY. YOU ALREADY KNOW ME SO WELL asdfghjkl;♥♥♥

Send me a Ship and I’ll Break Them DOWN

How did they they meet?

Hoooboy this is gonna be kinda long.

So, I have this headcanon that Rinoa was looking everywhere for a Garden who would agree to offer their mercenaries in exchange for a low price---which is a very horrible exchange. And she knew that.

First. Rinoa went to Galbadia Garden; the snooty rich SeeDs with more experienced fighters. Their headmaster declined Rinoa’s offer---as expected, but that hardly unmotivated the determined resistance leader.

Next, she applied for help to Trabia Garden. The best they could do was offer some technicians and a trainee to ensure safety protocols and offer security. And while that was a kind offer, it wasn’t what Rinoa was looking for. Trabia declined Rinoa’s want for their experienced fighters but gave her a referral for Balamb and allowed her to board the train free of cost. (They were a bunch of nice people.)

The minute Rinoa arrives in Balamb, she’s met with the sight of a silver haired woman ruthlessly kicking the snot out of some poor helpless burly guy while another man in a white coat brandishing a sword laughed hysterically at the woman’s antics. Indeed, that was the posse we all know and Seifer loves.

Rinoa immediately assumes Balamb is an island full of delinquents with a bad reputation, but that doesn’t deter her from seeking out what she came there for.

However, before she was going to head down the road towards the Garden, she was going to stop the brutal beating by stepping between the woman and the cowering man, DEMANDING they stop. She didn’t mind a brawl if it meant fighting for what was right. And they were vehemently out of line.

This triggers Seifer, and he decides to introduce the fear of god into the small woman’s tiny form. He leers over her, using his tall stature to make her feel small, obsolete, weak. His piercing greens bore into her skull. And if looks could kill? She’d have died a thousand times.

Rinoa cared little for his approach. She was NOT afraid of him.

She stares back, eyes winced, brows furrowed, hands on her hips. She challenged him; a huge mistake no one DARED think about.

Still. He was not getting his way by trying to intimidate her.

They stay like this for a good five minutes. Seifer breaks, finding everything about her...amusing. different. hilarious. surreal. He smirks, then scoffs at this little spitfire and tells her to get out of his sight.

Fujin ceases her brutal beatings on Raijin and notices Seifer watching the blue clad woman with a wide eyed stare, and a psychotic curl of the lips.

He did not want their game to end. He wanted to make her suffer.

So he  follows her...

Who developed romantic feelings first?

Seifer.

Rinoa was too involved with getting Independence for Timber that she didn’t have time for romantic feelings. Or so she thought. Yes. Seifer was cute. He smelled good. His voice was was like a melody to her ears, but it was normal to get infatuation. And Rinoa assumed it would pass. It obviously did not.

Seifer, however, developed feelings for her because she didn’t want him, and she never took his shit. He was a selfish asshole and always treated their meetings like a game. Until it wasn’t...

Something about how passionate Rinoa was about her cause woke something up inside of him. Her determination for what she wanted was inspiring. Just like a little boy he once knew from long long ago...

Rinoa’s feelings eventually grew the moment Seifer started talking to Rinoa about Forest Owls. He would show minor tender moments to show Rinoa that he sincerely wanted to help her. It meant a lot to her because of the lengths he went to make sure her dream would prosper. He didn’t care about Timber at all, though. He cared about Rinoa, and what she wanted. So, what was important to her, was important to him.

He promised her he’d become a SeeD, and offer himself in Garden’s stead. But not for free. She owed him a date, and she was already neck deep in a shit ton of debt---or so he claimed.

Rinoa loves Seifer, and still does to this day. Theres a connection she feels that cant be said with words. Its just there. And it always will be.

Who is their biggest “shipper?”

Raijin. Raijin likes Rinoa because she saved him from Fujin’s wrath more than once. THEREFORE. HE ENCOURAGED SEIFER TO CHASE HER. Lmao. But oh. Don’t tell Seifer what to do. xD

When did they have their first kiss and under what circumstances?

Very bad circumstances lol. Seifer is an asshat. We all know this. How he shows affection or interest is...unusual at best.

What he did was, he needled her over the smallest things, tried to convince her she was stupid, told her she was weak, and on one occasion prevented her from going anywhere by barring her path with his legs. He was sitting in a seat blocking the door, laid back, watching her freaking out to let her go. It was amusing. He LOVED playing with her.

During that moment of hysteria, he drops his feet, grabs her, and plants a good one on her. She answers with a big slap against his face and screaming about something or another. Yeah, yeah. He’s heard it all before sweetheart.

He laughs and simply says, “Wow, that actually hurt.” He bars her path again by slamming his hands on the wall behind her and whispers, “Do it again...”

Who confessed their feelings first?

Seifer. Though not in your usual way. I mean, of course right? He’s a pompous asshole. Confident as hell and really doesn’t care any other way. It was just.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not concerned about what you’re saying, but I like your face.”

What was their first official date?

Uhhh. Rinoa is still in “debt”. Loooool.

How do they feel about double dates/group dates?

Rinoa thinks they’re adorable. Seifer thinks its tacky. And what if he got a boner? Its not for them. But. Oh well. they can look. He’s a pretty impressive guy and all. -rolls eyes-

What do they do in their down time?

I can imagine Rinoa likes to pamper herself with bubble bath, massages, facials, and taking naps with Angelo. She also likes to catch up with some of her friends with lunch or a little get together.

And I figure Seifer is doing something dangerous or completely stupid. You know. So he can come out in a blaze of glory.

What was the first meeting of parents as an official couple like?

Well. Being that Rinoa only knows Edea due to....reasons. She never got a proper introduction.

Seifer met Fury and he didn’t care to change his personality to look good in front of the General. And Rinoa LOVED THAT. Seifer wasn’t afraid to continue being himself even towards a man of “great importance”. Seifer was just Seifer.

Caraway HATES his guts.

What was their first fight over and how did they get past it?

Obviously over the stunts he does. He is reckless with how he approaches things and due to that, it could land the Forest Owls in hot water. Rinoa was PISSED with some of the things Seifer threw himself into for fear that he wouldn’t come out alive. She was constantly worried that he would die over just one mistake, and he NEVER took her worries into consideration.

He knows he’s hard to kill, and he always told her that. Why did she care so much, anyway?

Women. Right?

They never really got passed it. Just bored of it? It was the same argument over and over. Seifer was not going to change and Rinoa had to accept that. And she did, no matter how much it hurt.

Which one is more easily made jealous?

Uh. Both, honestly? Though I see Seifer much more inclined to turn the entire misunderstanding into a fiasco that would make you regret having known him. Like. Punching out a guy for having looked at his girl a certain way. Starting an argument with a guy at a checkout register for telling Rinoa to have a good day bc thats obv signs of flirting. (Yes, I am aware that is VERy toxic. Seifer is toxic.)

Rinoa is more reserved and wants to keep it between them. But she isn’t all innocent. If Seifer even so much as says “hey” in a certain way to another, Rinoa will do the same with a guy to make him jealous. Its just a cycle of ugliness lol.

What is their favourite thing to get to eat?

Who doesn’t like sushi, fam? ;D

Who’s the cuddly one? What their favourite cuddling position?

Rinoa obviously cuddles Seifer. She loves every snuggly position. Just as long as she’s near him she loves it.

Seifer prefers laying on his back with an arm around her.

Are they hand holders?

Rinoa certainly is. She wants to hold Seifer’s hand all the time.

Seifer thinks its pathetic and embarrassing as fuck. Buutttt. He’ll give Rinoa this ONE exception.

How long do they wait before sleeping together for the first time? What’s the circumstances?

They should have waited longer buuuut, about 5 months since they met.

Circumstance? They were horny? asdfjgdflks;

Who tops?

Seifer. He has more experience.

It took Rinoa a little while to really learn about her body and what it liked. She can top when given the opportunity.

What’s the worst first they’ve ever gotten into?

I’d say, their first kiss was the worst fist of the century. xD Pretty sure the people of FFVIII heard Hyne crying.

Who does the shopping and the cooking?

Both. Rinoa LOVES Seifer’s cooking. Rinoa is also skilled with culinary arts. And she also does the shopping since Seifer gets irritated and loses his patience.

Which one is more organized and prone to tidiness?

Seifer is really organized for being a scatter brained asshole. Rinoa is the tired little poof. She loves her naps. <3

Who proposes?

Unfortunately....we all know how this panned out. :’(

Do they have joined Bachelor/Bacheloette parties or separate?

Who is the best man/maid of honour? Any other groomsmen or bridesmaids?

Big Ceremony or Small?

Do they have a honeymoon? If so, where?  

Do they have children? How many?

[midwestmontessori]

Charlotte had a knife incident today. I recently introduced this knife, so it's brand new (and therefore sharp), and admittedly I haven't given her a proper lesson on how to use it. She was peeling cucumbers (see previous post) and she really wanted to use her new knife to cut them up. I told her she could and reminded her that it was sharp. I was busy making hummus, which, looking back I should have stopped and modeled and supervised more closely. Not 3 seconds after I gave her the knife she was crying. She came to me with a small but bleeding cut on her finger. For some reason in these scenarios I can be quite uncharacteristically calm and thankfully today was one of those times. I helped her rinse it and held it in a paper towel until I could get the bandage wrapped around it. My calm must have been contagious because she become very matter-of-fact after we got it bandaged up. She typically would have been in hysteria but she was so relaxed. "It hurt for just a little bit but now I'm okay." She explained that she had run her finger along the blade and I inferred that she was testing if it was sharp. She certainly found out. In hindsight I definitely would have done a better introduction with the new knife - absolutely. But what happened today was a valuable experience as well. She learned firsthand that knives can be sharp and the consequences of touching a blade. I had practice in keeping my cool in a scenario when she needed me to be an anchor. I also had a lesson the consequences of letting a child loose without a proper lesson. So would I change it? I'm not sure I would.

[universitychallenged]

University Challenge Episode 25: Review

The Quarter-Finals! The teams in various face-offs and shirt-offs! I hardly bore the few hours run-up to this match, such was my anticipation after seeing this lovely illustration by @ChesterScribble, which heralded a right old knees-up, brainy-fashion. 

MONKMAN vs GOLDMAN! I missed the last pre-Christmas appearance of Captain Goldman, but DID check out a clip of him directing his thug life vibes at Jeremy Paxman, such was the hysteria over at Huffington Post. Not only did he give a sarcastic thumbs-up but actually said ‘whatever’ to another answer. The CHEEK of it! How thrillingly scandalising (Monkman would never do that). 

What would transpire today? Goldman giving a proper ‘up yours’ arm movement? Sucking his lips into his teeth and muttering ‘bumbaclart’? ONLY TIME WOULD TELL.

Team Vibe: Wolfson: The semi-Canucks have the cooler name. The sons of wolves, basically the Starks in Game of Thrones! (They are nothing like the Starks in Game of Thrones.)

Balliol: A near-silent orbit around Goldman’s terrifying halo of intelligence. He is Joffrey Baratheon and Ramsay Bolton and Tywin Lannister. (He’s not really any of those people.)

Grandad Count: I missed the stats, but they seem young enough to me, in a PhD-ish sort of way. Not young at HEART, you understand. Just young.

Girl Count: Urgh, what do you mean, GIRLS? Girls are GROSS. URGHGHGH. *pulls a girl’s hair, runs away tittering*

STYLE NEWS: 

Hmm. Um. Well, ok, Goldman’s horn-rimmed specs are on fleek, as we all said for five minutes in 2015.

Cult Hero of the Episode: It was a tight one. Captain Goldman was all over it - his three comrades flailed near-silently as he answered just about everything. There was little of his ‘what? SAY SU’INK’ stylings, apart from one upturned, questioning palm at a wrong answer. DISAPPOINTING. But I am sure we will see these boys back with this incisive Superbrain at the helm, even after losing today. Holding out for a few V-signs next time!

Captain Monkman just has to appear on screen for me to go a bit wobbly, even though he seemed to have worn the same navy blue striped jumper every time. He was VERY serious today, and it near-breaks my heart at how he looks at an incorrect guess - like a tiny part of him has died inside. Still, he gets plenty right. ’Big up ya status, Monkman’ said Andy, after our massive-jawed hero had valiantly responded ‘apogee and perigee’. THERE’S JUST SOMETHING ABOUT HIM.*

Handsome Person of the Episode: What sort of a blog IS this? It’s not about being HANDSOME. It’s about being insanely knowledgeable and quick on the buzzer. It’s about sharp wit and listening to your teammates. It’s about saying ‘Wolfgang Pauli’ with very deliberate Canadian-inflected German pronunciation. 

Alright, Goldman and Yang were quite cute.

Jezza Watch: Would Jezza bite back on Captain Goldman’s previous INSUBORDINATION? Well, he giggled as he informed Balliol that they were no longer in the lead, biting his lip, so I’m going to say yes. ‘You could take the lead if you get these, Wolfson,’ he continued later, almost flirtily. ‘They’re on inorganic chemistry.’

Dream Question Round: It should have been the European painters or the classical operas, but I couldn’t even remember who composed The Sorcerer’s Apprentice (I have a PhD in Composition).

Glaze-over Round: Many. ‘From now on, the questions get harder,’ Jezza said blithely in his introduction. No shit, Sherlock.

Caspar David Freidrich Bonus Round: Andy’s favourite German painter appeared, as of course he would in a question about 19th-century German painters, because in these instances the answer is never anything but Caspar David Friedrich. IT’S THE RULE, BLUD.

Kerry and Andy’s score: After a very sluggish start, Andy had a surge which I rode, shouting ‘PRESTON NORTH END!’ and ‘COLUMBIA!’ and ‘SNEEZY!’** and ’AUSTEN!’, among others (Andy notched up Wolfgang Pauli). TWENTY-TWO! In your FACE, quarter-finals!

Brain Food: Gluten-free pasta with mushrooms, garlic, tender stem broccoli and peppers.

*I’m not the only one. #Monkman has 4k tweets half an hour after the show.

** ‘Imagine knowing Sneezy,’ said Jezza at the end with a frothy smirk, leaning back and folding his arms.'FUCK OFF, PAXO!' I shouted at the telly.

[clubofinfo]

Expert: Orson Welles’ spectral return to the screen, ingeniously in posthumous mode, should have come as a comfort to the magicians skilled in the arts of trickery.  Beyond the grave, he seems to be exerting a continuing influence, with his film, The Other Side of the Wind making its debut after 48 torrid years at the Telluride Film Festival.  His delight for illusion and the magical manipulations of the camera would not have been out of place in the anxiety-filled age mistakenly called the “post-truth” era. Starting momentously grand and at summit greatness in Citizen Kane, and heading low into financial difficulty and stuttering projects, his genius was as prodigious as his luck was absent.  His aptitude in mastering the brutish nature of the directing set was unquestioned – except in Hollywood.  Throughout he was plagued by the curse that money has over the genius of expression.  Power and control do not necessarily entail backing and profits – for Welles, it was the sheer sense of doing something, the need to run multiple projects that might never have seen the light of day.  His mind, and application, proved inscrutably errant. What Welles did master, to an extent, was the degree of fakery, creating a world of illusion that refuses to date.  The word “fake” has a certain pejorative quality, having been further stained by its users in the age of Donald J. Trump, often in connection with that other unreliable companion, “news”.  But Welles managed to give it a boost of respectable guile, a teasing sense of about how other realities might be seen. Now, to challenge such ways of seeing by claiming them to be fake would either make you a mental patient or a US president.  For Welles, it was a cinematic experiment or a broadcasting contrivance, an effort to alter the senses and entertain. Welles could hardly have been despondent about this age, he being the finest exponent of the values of fakery.  He would have gotten down to work, tyrannically engaged with his staff in producing a fine work on the odiously named “post-truth world” (since when was there a fully truthful world in any case, one pulsating with verity?). His most delightful ribbings would have now been subsumed under such tags as misinformation, crowned by the meaningless nature of fake news.  Could he have gotten away with the radio announcement made on October 30, 1938 that extra-terrestrials had, in fact, landed on earth and attacked it with single minded fury?  Any empanelled jury would have to ponder. The occasion is worth retelling. Grover’s Mill, New Jersey, and the Mercury Theatre group, featured, along with an updated version of H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds.  National radio supplied the thrilling medium and the delivery.  “The Columbia Broadcasting System and its affiliated stations present Orson Welles and the Mercury Theatre on the air in the ‘War of the Worlds’ by H.G. Wells.”  A mild mannered, sensible start. Then came the Welles’ introduction, followed by a weather report.  The announcer duly took listeners to “the Meridian Room in the Hotel Park Plaza in downtown New York, where you will be entertained by the music of Ramon Raquello and his orchestra.” Cue the music, then a report that “Professor Farrell of the Mount Jennings Observatory, Chicago, Ill” had noted “explosions of incandescent gas, occurring at regular intervals on the planet Mars.”  Re-cue the music, then an interruption that a meteor had found its way into a farmer’s field in Grover’s Mill, New Jersey. The Martians had purportedly arrived.  Observers were on hand.  Emerging from a metallic cylinder was a creature “wriggling out of the shadow like a grey snake. Now here’s another one and another one and another one.”  There were unsettling notes of “wet leather”; the faces were “indescribable”. “The eyes are black and gleam like a serpent.”  Then the shooting commenced: “heat-ray” weapons trained on the humans at the site.  Some 7,000 National Guardsmen were vaporised. The US military were deployed.  Poisonous gas followed in retaliation. The hoax had seemingly had its dastardly effect, though the extent of it remains disputed.  Tim Crook, in his discussion on the psychological potency of radio, suggested that the newspapers had embellished the account, largely on account of the threat posed to their estate by the emergence of radio.  “It does not appear that anyone died as a result, but listeners were treated for shock, hysteria and heart attacks.” Welles came to a similar conclusion: paper headlines reporting lawsuits running into $12 million were a consequence of envy occasioned by threat posed by radio advertising. One myth speaks of thousands of New Yorkers speeding from their homes in deluded panic, their minds impregnated by the prospective deeds of extra-terrestrial terror.  Ben Gross of the New York Daily News recalled in his memoir a scene of New York’s streets: there was a state of near total desertion that October in 1938. The Federal Communications Commission, trapped between the remit of enforcing regulations ensuring proper use of the airways for such things as “promoting safety of life and property” yet also fostering “artistic, informational and cultural needs” conducted an investigation into the affair. It found the laws of the United States unbroken, regulations intact. This was a fine thing, given the famous assertion by US Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes in Schenck v United States (1919) that, “The most stringent protection of free speech should not protect a man in falsely shouting ‘fire’ in a theatre and causing panic.” The wily Welles, ever the tease, escaped ruination and duly went on to make Citizen Kane.  “We can only suppose,” he reflected on being informed that the FCC would investigate the episode, “that the special nature of radio, which is often heard in fragments, or in parts disconnected from the whole, had led to this misunderstanding.”  And in this, we have the precursor to mass information and disconnection; between selected parts and the baffling whole; the Internet and social media dissemination; Trump tweeting at midnight and digital trolls roaming around the clock; the misinformation merchants and the mercenaries of trickery. At the release of The Other Side of the Wind, Peter Bogdanovich struck a melancholic note on the Palm Theatre stage. “It’s sad because Orson’s not here to see it.”  But then came a rueful qualifier.  “Or maybe he is.” http://clubof.info/

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SBL Biocombination No 13 Tablets, Leucorrhoea

SBL Biocombination No 13 Tablets, Leucorrhoea

SBL Biocombination No 13 Tablets, Leucorrhoea Treatment in Homeopathy. Indicated for general weakness of young girls with or without functional neuroses. Clinical indications of SBL Biocombination No 13 Tablets Discharge like white of eggs, acrid and watery. Composition of SBL Biocombination No 13 Tablets Calcarea phosphorica 3x Kalium phosphoricum 3x Kalium sulphuricum 3x Natrum muriaticum 3x…