#Judge and Executioner || Post Apocalypse Era

[deputygonebye]

@depictedblue asked: Cassie just places a soft kiss against Shane’s shoulder to remind him he’s alive and with her and she loves him so much.

Inbox Starters!

Napalm and the smell of a city burned, the nightmare that Shane awoke from was one that refused to release its claws. Cut deep into his skin and sunk low into his bones, the world around him was a distorted reality, neither of unblurred sight or sound. Outside the window to the bedroom, the wind whistled and tapped at the glass. Like fingers; so gnarled and without warm flesh, stained in hair and muscle that wasn't its own. Something dead and gross, a corpse reanimated and come alive, back to haunt him and take him down. Toward a world unknown - fire and flame, the heaviness of his sins finally caught up, chains and shackles, the tight noose to be wrapped around his neck and strung up high. All the evils that dared to happen, Shane almost leapt from the bed he slept in. Unaware for a moment that he wasn't alone, feet on the floor and his head in his hands, shaking, tears to his eyes. Panting and nearly whimpering, trapped in the dream that didn't try to end, the failures laid before him.

A kiss to his shoulder, with a start did Shane jump, but soon settled once sense came around. A love that could calm the storm - tender and sweet - blonde and perfect, the keeper to his wounded heart and protector to his damned soul. Scared and confused herself, Cassie could soothe hurts and pains without the utterance of a word. Silent, actions spoken so loud, her gentle touch able to bring comfort. Haze from his vision cleared, back to their bedroom was Shane returned. No more wandering in the dark and damp, the cold towns and destroyed farms. Come back to home; safe and loved, hands from his face lowered and body turned around some, just so he could take Cassie's hand into his own. Voice chipped and broken, tears not cried but still within his gaze, Shane welcomed her. Absorbed her love, held it tight, was thankful to the night and the promise of darkness.

Ashamed of himself and the red that painted his face, the panic and the dread, he brought his other hand upward to clean his eyes, felt his stomach twist at the sensation of wetness on the pads of his fingers.

"Sorry, baby. Did I wake you up?"

Shane admitted, his face turned away from Cassie, hiding. "Can't seem to kick it. It's gotten worse. I know it has. I... I can still hear them, see them. All those folks back home... in the hospital... along the highway. Cassie, they're with me all the time, every day. Don't matter if I'm awake or asleep anymore - they're always there."

Looking to Cassie at last, the shape of her body in the dim light of the moon and stars, Shane offered his apologies.

"I'm sorry, darlin'. This ain't a burden any woman should go through. Laying beside a man as crazy as I am, that's a damn heavy cross to carry, and believe me, I know it. I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for you. I... I love you, Cassie. More than anything. More than life."

[deputygonebye]

@luposcainus asked: “ i remember my.. memories before this whole zombie thing.. bits by bits.”

Inbox Starters!

Enervated, as though the fragile grip upon lucidity was gone completely, everyone within the group was made numb, exhausted and too tired to speak. Burying bodies and striking dead whatever remained, the attack from the night before had turned them all cold. Hardened and angry, frustration bloomed within Shane like a rose between sidewalk cracks, persistent and stubborn. Friends lost would still be alive had Rick not left. Gun in hand, determined to be the good guy and hero- for the benefit of someone who didn't deserve it. Merle Dixon was scum. A rat who cared for none else but his own; addicted to more than the pills in his pocket, the whiskey on his breath. Merle hadn't deserved to be saved. Didn't do much to warrant the effort, had Rick been back at camp, back with his family, Shane wouldn't have had to hold a shovel within his hands. Covered in dirt and dried guts, burying good people, the innocent lives stolen. Warned but ignored, Shane had told Rick. He knew what would happen.

Beside Caspian as they threw more mounds onto the pile, the shape of a mother whose children had to watch her be destroyed, Shane could only sneer and grunt. Unable to express much else, desperate for sleep that wouldn't come, that couldn't. Screams and pleas for mercy drawing him into bitter memories, the sole thing keeping him back from hunting down Rick. From shaking him, berating him, losing all control and unleashing the wrath that swarmed inside. Shane had told him not to go. Knew better, as the sweat dripped down the bridge of his nose, a sniffle danced within the quiet, Shane was brought away. From the mounds of dirt, the faint lace shirt that was still yet exposed to the light, the mother's favorite.

Caspian broke the silence.

Shane growled, his voice pitched by temper while his shovel lifted another lump of soil and pieces of busted rock. "Yeah, well, don't think about it too long. That world, it ain't ever comin' back."

A sigh passed between chapped lips, in an unspoken apology, something tender not made aloud, Shane frowned to Caspian. Tried to make better what he had said, to not send his hurt where it didn't belong. Caspian didn't deserve that.

"What do you remember? You mean, like, your family? Your friends? Hobbies? Shit like that? Or... Cas, you ain't meain' all that Halfie stuff, are you? You mean, you're remembering your life before that?"

[dreddedwheat]

Back to the Dredd-tomes: Judgement Day

Okay, so-!

Brief introduction: I used to have a previous blog that focused on my youthful fanboyism of the 2000AD and Judge Dredd universe. A few misstimed clicks a year or so back and that all got nuked, and it basically killed my enthusiasm for writing stuff up, since I lost a metric ton of amateur analysis, fan-mixes and other stuff that most people would usually forget.

There was a lot of back and forth with good folks like @judgeanon (who I credit with helping support what is a vanishingly small online discussion around Dredd and 2000ad in general), which is now sadly mostly lost. Usually for the better with my more immature antics, hence the fresh start and fresh name to go with it.

However, after a Christmas filled with a sudden surge of - probably ill-informed - Dredd buys, I decided to get back into things. That means actually talking about the comic that was formative for me as a fan of both comic-books and fiction in general...

JUDGE DREDD

And where better to start than the biggest, the meanest, and the best/baddest (depending on who you ask) Dredd epic, JUDGEMENT DAY. (Spoiler warnings, images courtesy of the 2000AD site and Google Search.)

So, let's get into a basic overview of this contentious Dredd epic...

The Story so far: Judge Dredd is a law-enforcer in Mega-City One, a massive post-apocalyptic metropolis. As a Judge he's authorised to deliver instant sentencing on the spot, no jury or court necessary. He's judge, jury and executioner, and he is the law, but you probably already knew that.

Johnny Alpha is a Strontium Dog, a mutant bounty-hunter that wants to break free of life on an increasingly anti-mutant Earth. Taking on the bounties no-one else will touch, he utilises his unique 'Alpha Eyes' to see through walls, sense other people's intentions and more. He always gets his man.

Alright, now that introductions are out of the way, let's get into it. For the uninitiated, a Dredd 'epic' is a pretty standard description for a big summer storyline. This all started with the "Apocalypse War" back in the eighties, a storyline which defined not only Judge Dredd but also British Boy's comics.

For American fans, and British comic readers of a certain age (like me) it's hard to imagine a time when most British comics were simply lukewarm re-treads of the same adventure stories you'd read in the fifties, sixties and seventies. Of course, not all of these were bad - far from it - but like many things in Britain during the eighties they were a victim of a stuffy, uptight and squeamish society.

2000AD proved to be a seminal title in many ways, mostly in introducing borderline graphic violence, mature storylines, cynical themes and more complicated heroes. Judge Dredd, a tyrannical authoritarian supercop who nonetheless has strong principles and heroic intentions is the most emblematic of that.

However, for most of his lifetime Dredd had been a relatively straightforward and heroic figure. And although a direct criticism of this was not far away - in the form of the Democracy Now storyline - the Apocalypse War was perhaps the first time we saw Dredd on a firm backfoot.

The lantern-jawed hero was put thoroughly on the defensive when the Sovs, a pastiche of Soviet-era Russia, attacked and destroyed a large portion of Mega-City One. It was a grand war story depicting the Judges of the city waging guerilla warfare and culminating with a particularly chilling page where Dredd retaliates using the Sov's own nukes, obliterating hundreds of millions of people.

Yee-ikes, even nowadays this is vicious stuff. Now imagine this in a mag that's being sold next to "The Beano" on shelves and you can imagine why this was considered such a definitive storyline.

But, okay, why am I telling you this? Well, put simple, Judgement Day is a result of the inherent love that writer Garth Ennis, best-known now for titles like The Boys and Punisher Max, had for this storyline. At least that's the prevailing thesis put forwards by people like JA, God knows that online discussion of Dredd is hard to come by no matter what.

Regardless, this should set the stage. By now, Mega-City One has fazed many crises and successive near-extinction events. Most recently - at the time - Necropolis, where the Dark Judges (we'll get into them) invaded and took control of the city's Judges, attempting to carry out their campaign of omnnicide before being narrowly halted by Judge Dredd, McGruder, Cadet Giant and the everlovin' Psi-Judge Anderson.

So, stage-set, where does that lead us?

Judgement Day is, in simple terms, Dredd vs Zombies. Pretty cliché now, but back in the 90s this was still a fresh and rather bloody concept. And regardless of what one thinks of Ennis' writing, the art is stunning and graphic, with Dredd mainstay Carlos Ezquerra taking center-stage. Although I'd argue that Dean Ormston is at least second-best if not better, with some mouthwatering - pardon the pun - depictions of flesh-eating zombies cribbing from giallo films.

Judge Dredd - and the rest of his post-nuclear world - suddenly face an overwhelming undead assault from the necromagus Sabbat. Resurrecting billions of corpses, Sabbat wages all-out war on the Mega-Cities, and all seems lost until the arrival of Johnny Alpha...

Alpha and Dredd had already met in the story "Top Dogs" where Johnny and his partner, the time-displaced viking Wulf Sternhammer, narrowly escaped capture by the lawman. Naturally, they don't get on too well.

Regardless, Alpha proves instrumental in helping Dredd - and a coalition of international Judges - finding and destroying (or near-enough) Sabbat in a bloody showdown in the Radlands of Ji, a part of post-nuclear China.

In-between we have lavish set-pieces of Dredd and his fellow Judges fending off hordes of the undead, flashes to other parts of the globe and other judges playing their part, as well as fantastic art throughout.

So, what's the problem?

Well, the main issue is that, as JA pointed out in his own posts on the storyline, Judgement Day is very much a 'blockbuster' event. And sadly, it's as close as 2000AD has ever gotten to emulating the American comics ideal of the big crossover event. And NOT in a good way. Although you couldn't criticise it for being slow-paced and overwrought, it has many issues that mark it out for fans.

For one, the storyline - as I only recently found out - ran consecutively in both 2000AD and the Judge Dredd Megazine, the latter a solely Dreddverse-focused publication. Now, obviously, the issues with asking people to buy two magazines, monthly and weekly, aside this also meant that the fairly fast-paced movie-style storyline was constantly being broken up.

Add onto that the ridiculous stakes ("Billions of people are dying! Planet Earth is on the brink!"), an at-times-confusing tone (Sabbat's zombies performing a Disney-esque musical number during the climactic showdown), the destruction of various international Mega-cities - few of which we'd even had the chance to know - and the borderline fanservicey pairing of Dredd and Alpha, and we have a recipe for...not a disaster, but something that's a bit of a messy moment in the Dredd saga.

Because, yes, Dredd's story has been continuous, and while not concrete generally the broad-strokes have always been pretty solid (usually a tweak to a character's origin or what they said and did here, but stuff like the Apocalypse War is almost untouched). Judgement Day really feels like a moment where a lot of potential areas of the world like Brasilia, Mega-City Two and others were, quite literally, nuked off the face of the Earth. We also saw some interesting side-characters gored under the zombie hordes, such as Oz Judge Bruce and Judge Dekker.

Basically, Judgement Day slammed the door shut on potential plotlines, was shaky in terms of the publishing angle and overall had more of an overwrought Hollywood blockbuster than intense action-thriller. It also came hot on the heels of Necropolis, and arguably was part of a quick-succession of world-shaking crises such as Inferno which, as far as I can tell, numbed readership going into the 2000s.

Sabbat also stands as quite a weak villain. He rarely appears until the finale, and his backstory - a downtrodden teacher's pet turned murderous necromancer - may be an amusing reference to the aforementioned "Beano" but it's also a bit of a silly one for someone who's meant to be our big, brutal bad-guy, and not in a good way. He's not a bore to read, but sometimes his moments of simpering arrogance can undercut what is essentially an apocalyptic moment for the world of Dredd.

However, even more frustratingly, Judgement Day is also a massive stepping-stone in terms of the-then current Dredd plotline, making it very hard to ignore. It effectively marked Chief Judge McGruder's last major heroic moment, the first time we saw Judge Hershey take up the mantle of Chief Judge and perhaps the most definitive Alpha/Dredd crossover.

I think it's a testament to the overall high-quality of major Dredd storylines that Judgement Day holds up as well as it does. But it also bears all the hallmarks of something that would work well in a vacuum, but which has a messy place in continuity. I'd loved to have seen a non-canon take on this, perhaps allowing us to bring in characters like Wulf Sternhammer - who was sadly offed before this storyline was written - into the zombie battle royale.

There's also some usual holdovers of poorly-aged stuff that was endemic to British comics at the time. Hondo-City, Ciudad Barranquilla and other areas get equal billing but some traces of their stereotypical origins remain. This storyline did go some way to fleshing out the wider world - as much as it obliterated it - of Dredd.

Yet I can't deny that, in the moment of reading, Judgement Day is enthralling. It's pure, gorey action and fanservice. I just wish it didn't cast such a shadow across later stories, and that it hadn't taken so many interesting places and people with it in the process.

Picking this story up, you know what you're getting, and if you're along for the ride...you'll have a hell of a time.

As it stands, Judgement Day is a weaker entry writing-wise but still well-worth picking up for the art and general premise alone. If you're a new Dredd fan and want something a bit lighter than the commonly-cited "America" storyline, this is a fine way to get into the fast-paced and more action-focused content of 2000AD without needing much forward knowledge.

FIN

[deputygonebye]

@xgoldxnhour asked: “Why don’t you give Daddy what you spent all morning making?”

Happy Father's Day, Shane!

Nestled on the corner was a small piece of heaven. A home with white shutters and lace curtains, filled with nothing less than the happiness that Shane and Eloise built together. Something better than the campfires and tents of their past, no more exposed to the elements or the dangers that lurked within the woods. Surrounded, by both walls and unfamiliar people, sheltered but ever still at a distance. Garrulous conversations that never seemed to truly understand the outside - the residents of Alexandria had much to learn. Desired to be taught, too, Shane had spent many hours to the cause. Demonstrated weapons safety, simple combat holds, patrolled the streets as an officer of the law. A land that felt to be almost totally lawless. Didn't need him around, with muscles tender and sore from a particularly difficult training session, he walked through the front door of his beloved home.

Back into the arms of those most loved and held dear, the faint sounds of his wife and children were able to soothe whatever hurts his own hands couldn't work out. Eloise, Roan, and Winnie; the only reason that Shane had not lost himself. Was able to not be driven insane, without a bullet to his brain or worse. Sat in the living room, the hum of a television being played, a cartoon cat and his imaginary friends, Shane made his way toward his loves. Kicked off his boots by the front door, stretched out his fingers, felt as a warm smile grew on his lips. Moving behind the couch, head bent down and just near the side of Eloise's face, he stole a chaste kiss from her, a silent hello.

His palms rested on her shoulders, rubbing delicately, it wasn't until his eyes found his children and their creative works that Shane remembered what special day it was. In bright bold letters, colorful depictions of himself and them, Roan and Winnie captured more than just Shane's heart. Entire soul melted into a puddle, brown eyes become wholly soft; Father's Day.

"You made all this for me?" Shane asked as he positioned himself around the coffee table, the workspace of Roan and Winnie, their crayons, markers, and glue sticks scattered about.

Legs crisscrossed, comfortable on the rug on the floor, arms wide open to welcome both son and daughter. Roan and Winnie in either arm crook, sat on either thigh, he inspected their homemade gifts, the light never lessening in his gaze, so proud and so very honored. A card and beaded necklace, the best presents Shane could've asked for.

"Roan, you wrote all this yourself? I love it, little man! Check it out, Sunshine. Our boy knows just what I like: trucks and fishin'. Gonna hang this on the fridge, bud. Gotta show it off, don't you think?"

Shane ruffled Roan's honey-blonde curls, peppered Winnie's cheek in kisses, tickling her with his beard.

"And you, little girl. What you doin' spoiling your daddy like this, huh? Winnie, baby, I love it! Ain't gonna take it off. I'll wear it everyday. Think it'll look alright, baby girl? Here. Let's ask your ma."

Removing his hands from their children, Shane worked the back hooks of the necklace, small and needing a gentle touch. Fidgeted with the jewelry until it locked together, the green, black, and blue beads a stark contrast to the dark gray of his uniform shirt but not an unpleasant one.

Shane asked, lifting a brow to Eloise, displaying himself like a prized bird, cocky and playfully arrogant, "what do you think, Mama? Daddy doesn't look too bad, does he? I think these colors are quite fitting, if I do say so myself. Shoot, they're my favorite... You guys are my favorite. I love you three. Best things that ever happened to me, I swear."

[deputygonebye]

Crumbs left on abandoned plates, wine glasses drained completely of their fill, a dinner and feast finished, the others of the group had gone to bed. Desperate to find the sleep that had long evaded them, all but Shane, who sat tall in his chair, watched as the little bit of his wine swirled around his glass, red and pretty. Far was the CDC from Fort Benning. Miles away, beyond concrete walls and medical screens, as distant as the drink that was held between his hand, parted by only glass, muddy and slightly scarred fingers. Better was it to be inside than out, Shane couldn't help but feel as anxiety creeped across his back, the fragile bone of his spine. It wouldn't last forever. Protected for the time being, bound to run out of resources. Only a limited amount of food, no weapons, the clothes brought with them, the group would be destined to move on sooner or later. Despite what was said; the doctor declared them safe, Rick so believed it, everyone else unable to see the reality that dared to bite so close. Rotten and sharp, like teeth sunk into flesh, breaking and tearing, Shane sipped the remaining wine from his glass, swallowed hard, only to be pulled out of his thoughts by a voice recently familiar.

Evenorra Jenner. Edwin's daughter, just as outspoken and unafraid to be heard. Lurking out from the shadows, the last of the dinner party, Shane alone no more.

Licking his lips of the bitter taste of his drink, Shane's expression was stoic, resigned but ever still on the verge of allowing his eyes to roll.

"Well, forgive me if I appear insensitive to the emotions of others, Ms. Jenner, but I'm only trying to do what's best around here, okay?"

Shane looked to her, his stare an intense one, browns darkened. "Listen, I appreciate what you and your father have done. Feedin' us and givin' us a place to stay. I do. But this? The CDC ain't gonna last. All this, it's temporary. A couple glasses of wine and the promise of hot water ain't gonna do nothin' but stall. The group, my family, we need to get moving. We need supplies. We need shelter, more than just concrete walls and tile floors. But... they don't see that."

"What about you, huh? Do I scare you?" Shane asked, countenance pained, the guise of being wounded and hurt clear.

@deputygonebye. EVENORRA & SHANE.

❝ i'm sure everyone is too scared to say this to you. but you're truly starting to scare people. ❞

[i-left-my-room-tidy]

i saw you are a naruto shifter and wanted to ask about the violence??? how do you deal with trauma and death ?

[thanks for this ask!]

first off, i want to say that I'm somewhat surprised at being asked this question just now. as someone who's been shifting on and off to the elemental nations for over a year now, it just came as a belated realisation.

it's simple but you did not hesitate to pull a punch with that question holy shit

- - -

[TW: talk about death and violence]

note that the only things i fully scripted for this DR (I'm assuming you meant my warring clans era one) are aspects of life that directly relate to me. i hardly interfered with anything from canon save a few key events, nor have i scripted out anything that relates to the world at large (societies, traditions, cultures, and et cetera). everything else is a result of kishimoto's writing and worldbuilding.

one of my oldest posts in the main blog addresses half of this issue. from what i can remember of it, i talked about the trauma naruto shifters can experience while shifting to the elemental nations. when you have people like danzō and orochimaru, for instance, many contingencies need to be made. when you have people like sai and kakashi, therapy is very much a requirement. DR trauma is a very real thing, and my experiences with my warring clans era DR are no exception to that.

if you're referring to the violence in my DR—no, i did not script it out. call me blunt for this, but what's the point of wanting to become a ninja without actually experiencing the essence of being one? the world of naruto, in itself, is ugly by social standards. i can accept the fact that it's not perfect.

i can script certain things out, i know. why have child soldiers? why have human experiments? why have poverty in the world?

say that i do script those kinds of things out. what replaces them, then? I'm not a god—not in the way it counts—I'm a regular person who can make mistakes and miscalculate even the smallest details. how do i reassure myself that what comes after my scripting is the best course of action to happen? everyone likes to talk about snapping things into place, but what about what comes after? and after? and after that?

there's a reason i don't like playing judge/jury/executioner when it comes to moralities. everyone lives different lives, born into different families—what i know and was taught to know is not always going to coincide with what you do. so, i leave the world at large alone. unless i plan to do active worldbuilding for a DR, i won't change much of its story's premises to begin with.

i know what you're probably thinking: have i ever killed in my DR?

and it's a reasonable question. the answer?

yes, i have, but not when I'm actively shifting. I've alluded to it when i posted about my DR script in the main blog. i chose to belong to a clan, to one of its upper branches, to become a shinobi. nearly everyone in my immediate family in that DR has been raised to become a soldier for the clan. it's as simple as that.

however, i haven't gone on missions that involve fighting while I'm shifting. a few diplomatic talks outside the compound, but that's it. there haven't been any major altercations in my DR lately either, from what I'm aware of. it doesn't make it any better, though that's more on the objectivity of it than anything else.

you have to understand that some shifters out there also shift to dystopias and apocalypses, like The Hunger Games or The Walking Dead, or even horror worlds like IT. when you find media you like, you realise it's because you attach meaning to characters and their lives, or to the structures of the worlds that they are living in. and when you're planning to shift to their realities, while you can script things out, you still need to remember what brought the appeal to go there on in the first place.

that doesn't justify killing—i think we can all agree on that—but it's less to do with conscience and more of convenience. feel free to disagree with me on that, but I'm settled with what i am now.

if it's about trauma and death; I've already scripted beforehand that nothing carries over to my CR. I'm of the idea that things that happen in other realities should stay in those realities. I'm not a god, even if i have a developing god complex because of shifting. i know that there are stuff that, despite my initial thoughts of overcoming them, would actually leave their mark. whatever happens to me in my naruto DR will stay there—i don't need to bring it back here.

- - -

apologies if i was blunt about it, or even if it sounds apathetic. i just want you to know that I'm not justifying nor glorifying anything, only stating the situation as is.

[deputygonebye]

@lunarruled asked: 'You can't leave me'

"I Can't Live Without You" Prompts

Hackneyed conversations, neither fresh or funny, too often used and so bitter on the tongue. Repeated over and over like a broken record, scratched with its needle unable to move forward, the entire group trapped. Escaped from one hand of death but taken by another - flames behind their backs, glass and stone across the gravel, the CDC destroyed with a beloved friend still inside. A final choice made by Jacqui, rather be burned than eaten, Dale's RV proved faithful until it couldn't. Overworked and drained; stuck on the miles between the road and Fort Benning, the Geeks and the certainty of end. Scared little girl, Sophia did only what she thought was best. She ran into the woods. Past the trees, with the sunlight on her shoulders, crying and screaming, begging and praying. Searches commenced, Dale and T-Dog remained at the Winnebago. Ever proud soldiers, watchful of all, the rest went beyond the guardrail and into the thicket.

Over roots and weeds, Shane and Rick led the group. Neither too far nor so close - barricaded by pride and unspoken frustration, the strength of their relationship tested with every step. As though something laid between them and refused to move, burdensome and another cross to carry. Survived so many years, so many memories, Shane hadn't ever had so many arguments with Rick. Constant, over the smallest of things, Lori in a corner that did little to ease matters. A third voice to add to the tension - harsh and cold - always to defend but never to listen. It was a battle that Shane fought alone. Without armor, his flesh painted by the pains, his eyes, silently, if only for Kyleigh's sake. The sole person who gave him the chance to be heard; to hold his love in her hands, his kisses on her lips.

Angered by being ignored, disregarded, tossed aside, Shane dared to act on his plans to leave. Rather be alone than face the reality of his station, to go away would kill him, but it was better than what was had. Already had he lost the support of the group. Already had he lost his place as leader - shared with Rick but then suddenly stolen entirely, usurped. Already was he named dangerous. Unable to stand it anymore, with his blade dripping still in the blood of Walkers, the once-living who found eternal peace in a house of God, a little church, Shane prepared himself to go. Without goodbyes, without the heartfelt tears and lengthy embraces, without seeing Kyleigh. One final time; no farewell kiss, no whisper of her name, no declaration that would last until forever, beyond them both. It would've hurt too much.

A last disagreement between he and Lori finished, sharp words and adored family interwoven together, a promise of leaving, only when her voice was heard did Shane turn around. Soft around the edges, no more the wolf than the woman, afraid and almost desperate. A command and lover's plea, Shane looked to the ground before his eyes rose to meet Kyleigh's. Slowly, to drink her all in before they parted, shamed to have been caught so soon. There was no reason to lie.

"I'm only trying to make things easier, Ky."

Shane remarked, firm and without delay. "This ain't gonna be easy on anybody, least of all me. I'm the one who loses you. "

"There ain't no story. Ain't nothin' else to be said - I don't belong here. Been the odd man out for a while now. Just took me some time to notice."

"It's for the best." Shane mumbled, low and deep in his throat. "You'll be alright. The group, they'll look after you. Rick, he'll keep you safe. You're capable, you've always found a way to survive. Just... don't... don't do nothin' stupid, Ky. You live, you understand me?"

[mozgoderina]

Yue Minjun: behind the painted smile (The Financial Times)

One of the art world’s most bankable stars, the Chinese artist talks about capitalism, democracy and the legacy of Tiananmen.

Pale and weary from an exhausting promotional campaign in Hong Kong, Yue Minjun looks nothing like the “laughing man” of his celebrated paintings. As he works his way through signing a stack of catalogues in the fiercely air-conditioned boardroom of his sponsor, it is hard to imagine him breaking into the guffaw of his pink-skinned caricature, eyes tight shut and white teeth bared, which he has described as both a self-portrait and an alter ego. But there is often bitterness behind the Pagliacci smile, and his character is portrayed as the fool who, for better or worse, has become inured to Yue’s bleak version of the modern world.

“My work is to do with the fundamental agony of being human and the sense of confusion that comes with living in our society,” he says, speaking in September at the start of his first solo show in Hong Kong, “The Tao of Laughter”. It is rather a weighty message for visitors to the crowded shopping mall where the exhibition is being staged. But Harbour City – the vast collection of luxury waterfront outlets frequented by mainland Chinese tourists on shopping trips to the tax-free haven – makes, he thinks, a perfect backdrop. “The shopping centre is the heart of human activities in today’s world,” he says. “I want people to look at my art and then pause for reflection as they look for luxury handbags.”

The 50-year-old former electrician is among the biggest stars in Chinese contemporary art today. He belongs to a generation of artists who grew up during the cultural revolution and have taken the world by storm as they track their country’s radical transformation, escaping the limits of socialist realism under which most of them were trained and coming up with their own distinct styles. Yue’s repeated use of the same motif since the early 1990s and his prolific output – there are several hundred paintings featuring the “laughing man” – make his work highly recognisable and now highly desirable to international collectors and curators.

Yue has become a fixture in any survey of contemporary Chinese art, such as the inaugural show at the new Saatchi Gallery in London in 2008, which attracted more than half-a-million visitors. The previous year “The Execution”, probably his most famous painting, sold at Sotheby’s in London for £2.9m, roughly the same price as Cézanne’s “Maisons dans la verdure” sold for in New York a month later.

“The Execution”, which Yue finished in 1995, is widely seen as his most political work. A row of men is lined up against a scarlet wall, laughing, but also looking vulnerable in nothing but grubby briefs. A number of fully clothed men are about to shoot them with imaginary rifles and they, too, think the whole thing is a game, judging by the expression of the one executioner who faces the viewer. It is difficult not to associate this image with the 1989 massacre in Beijing: the wall in the picture is a similar colour to the real Tiananmen Gate and those who died in the military crackdown on a peaceful demonstration were mostly unarmed young students and workers. It also has obvious art-historical references to Manet’s “The Execution of Maximilian” (1868-69), and Goya’s “The Third of May 1808”, both paintings made in response to the political events of their times.

Li Xianting, a well-known Chinese art critic, counts Yue, along with other artists such as the painter Fang Lijun, as members of the “cynical realism” movement, formed partly in reaction to the trauma of 1989. But Yue refuses to be labelled and has always avoided making direct comments on politics. The closest he ever came to saying something negative about the Tiananmen massacre was in an interview with Richard Bernstein of The New York Times in 2007. “My mood changed at that time,” he commented. “I was very down. I realised the gap between reality and the ideal.”

Speaking about the subject in Hong Kong, he remains elusive. “There are many people who want Chinese artists to speak out for them,” he says. “They always have this need to look at my art through a political lens. It’s restricting.”

He ventures a little further: “I think all conflicts are not one-sided but a reflection of current conditions. I’m not saying [Tiananmen] was not important but the main thing is for the two sides to move beyond the conflict and find resolution.”

Compromise, however, does not sit well with the convention that artists speak up for justice and freedom of expression, particularly when there are plenty in China who do exactly this, such as Ai Weiwei, persecuted for his criticism of China’s authoritarian rule, and the jailed Nobel peace laureate Liu Xiaobo, who inspired many around the world with his courage. But Yue remains unapologetic. “I paint about the universal experience. Why do I have to be explicit all the time?”

. . .

Born in 1962 to two oilfield workers in north-eastern China, Yue was a child during the cultural revolution, but grew up in a country where Chairman Mao was still idolised. He studied at the fine arts department of Hebei Normal University, and was inspired by the works of another Chinese painter, Geng Jianyi, whose faces are more grimacing than laughing, representing a deep, internal anguish. In the early 1990s, soon after graduating, Yue moved to Beijing when the country relaxed its rules on internal migration, and shared a studio in a derelict farmhouse with other poor artists including Yang Shaobin. Today, he has two full-time assistants working for him in a custom-built studio and lives in a luxurious Beijing mansion.

There is no doubt that Yue and his fellow artists have done well out of the art market’s China fever in a way that their Russian counterparts never did. The changes to Yue’s personal circumstance parallel the nation’s own transformation.

“To me, capitalism can mean democracy, fairness,” he says. “It’s not all bad. At the same time, it has become the new God. Instead of going to temples, people in China pay their tribute to Mammon in the shopping mall. Religion has been replaced by this vacant materialism.”

Hong Kong, one of the most capitalist cities in the world, is, for Yue, the new China. His show of a dozen paintings, all featuring the laughing man in a variety of situations, is hung in a room tucked away between the luxury outlets. Each work is accompanied by a poem, mostly despondent in tone. “All these fools will probably perish trodden down, pulverised by an unspeakable and awesome apocalypse of which menace they are not even aware,” reads one. But what most visitors see are the five giant bronze versions of “the fool” on display in the mall forecourt. These might be viewed as a post-modernist deconstruction of the classical statue but they also form a cutesy backdrop for holiday snaps. The sunny, cartoon-like appearance of the laughing man also makes him perfect for an accessory line. The shopping mall is offering limited-edition Yue Minjun umbrellas and make-up pouches to those who spend over a certain amount, and he has also produced teapot sets in partnership with two galleries in Taiwan and Beijing.

Yue says his ultimate goal is to make the laughing man a household icon. Critics have said that it’s a clever way of debunking the tradition of Communist party mythologising. He says he just wants to spur the unthinking crowd into adopting a more philosophical approach to life. If commercialisation is what it takes, then bring it on. “Some artists are totally market-driven. Others are so supercilious they don’t want anything to do with it. I am somewhere in the middle,” he says.

Yue’s painting portfolio is more diverse than many art critics give him credit for. A recent retrospective at China’s Chengdu Contemporary Art Centre showed works which hark back to the Chinese ink landscape tradition, and a range of other pieces will be on show at the Fondation Cartier in Paris, where his first major European retrospective opens this month. Marcello Kwan, a specialist in Asian contemporary art at Christie’s, puts Yue’s importance partly down to his arrival in the early 1990s “when Chinese artists wanted to bring in a new era which challenges the rigidity left behind by the previous decades. His laughing man is his answer to Mao Zedong, who used to be the idol. Using himself as the basis for a new idol is a very interesting subversion,” he says.

Yue comes closest to saying something subversive when he describes the role of laughter in his works. “If you are faced with a situation you cannot change, then laughter may be the only possible reaction,” he says. “But if many people start laughing, it can become a proactive force for change.” His creature might lack the wit and wisdom of a Shakespearean fool, and any wry comment on the human condition is hidden behind the laughter. But maybe that’s the point in a country whose critics are silenced.

  Source: The Financial Times / Enid Tsui. Published: November 2, 2012. Link: Yue Minjun: behind the painted smile Illustration: Yue Minjun [China] (b 1962). 'Welcome', 2005. Oil on canvas (170 x 140 cm). Moderator: ART HuNTER.

[deputygonebye]

@divinityrisen || Continued from here.

Born from a breakfast of stale pizza, what was once frozen inside of a grocery fridge and then discovered within an abandoned homestead, barely warmed when left over muted flame, the vomit that Glenn spilled was unnatural. Diluted from the few sips of water he was able to drink - a communal container that was less than a gallon, not enough to go around the camp - a mangled mess of white and red, flecks of green and globs of brown. Drenched in sweat, little comfort was found in the cushion of grass beneath the knees, Glenn hunched over nearest the weeds, an empty stomach made more so. Shaking, skin turned to an odd shade of pale, eyes watered and dark. A vision that brought about thoughts so terrible; the phantom of death, the fight that couldn't be beaten. Modern medicine and miracles damned, stock was nothing more than the promise of Aspirin and burn cream, stashed in the only cabinet of Dale's RV not hung to the wall by hopes and used duct tape. Small relief, modest to the agony so felt by Glenn, last seen covered head to toe in spare blankets, his lawn chair before the firepit a mediocre throne, Shane couldn't stand it.

Blade and gun carried, favored pistol holstered to his hip, he went off in search. For the sake of Glenn and the others, the need of their stock to be replenished and the promise of having more than not. A supply run that would be done alone - a burden carried unattended, sacrifice from the soldier onto his people, the family and friends who depended upon him. An entire world and more placed on tired shoulders. Better to have he than they, the rest of the group who survived Atlanta considered safe. Sheltered from the misery, if only for the bit of daylight that remained, the Walkers at rest for their hunt. Lost in the sleep that didn't need for the eyes to shut; the slow limp from span of time into the next, the endless cycle that was life forever. Storms within their irises, colors once so bright now dull, only those that didn't travel in packs would be found. Lone wolves; corpses without their hordes, snapping and biting into the open air, the flies that buzzed about or the birds that fluttered too close, banished even in demise.

Familiar road walked along, Shane continued until he came to face the carcass of a once thriving town. A skeleton that stood unmoved - doors and glass windows caved in - wood splintered, concrete busted, flower pots turned over and the beautiful buds trampled, petals scattered and ripped. Where kinfolk used to abide, cuddled close beside the fireplace in the living room, the grocery store just around the corner or the library only a block away. Heart and soul nestled beyond the city lights, the glamour and the frills, before a small market did Shane end. Fliers still plastered to the front door - opening and closing hours, special deals and coupons - tarnished by the elements, the faint sign of hands and nails that fought to get inside, dried blood and grime stained. Fingers to the handle about to pull, the sound of a crash stopped Shane in an instant, made him noiseless, breath stalled from the nose and released in stiff stream. All senses attuned, voices overheard gave cause for the quickness of his feet. A dash toward a used car lot, across the street from the quaint and humble market, behind the bumper of an old Jeep Patriot, billet silver in the body, total black in the tires.

Pistol taken into hold, a blur of blonde hair and scared expression captured Shane's attention the second it passed him. Waves of gold that moved to the strength of the wind, the thump of feet onto pavement and desire to be unseen. Panicked, annoyance outlined in the lines of her features, young but made older due to circumstance, her own weapon grabbed for with intention so well understood. Unprepared to welcome final moments, stubborn to accept fate, the hand not stationed to his gun was raised by Shane. Palm brought up, to the skies and all the angels above, defensive and in the tone of surrender. A flag of white waved in the breeze. Under the oath of his own choosing, vow that was far from what was so screamed by others, men of elder and youth alike.

Shane whispered, pitched at the end, the silence so loud. "Am I right to assume you ain't with them?"

Startled from the echo of gunshots, the reverb of slugs, the grind of jagged shale underfoot, Shane steadied himself, propped his stance.

"Listen to me, I ain't gonna hurt you, okay? But if you wanna make it out alive, you're gonna have to trust me. Start comin' to me this way, real slow. Keep your weight even - don't run. Come to the other side of me and stay down until I say so. I'll cover you. Bastards, they must've flanked every exit of this damn lot!"

Shane encouraged, a command rather than something sweeter, tender but roughly shared, "hey! Come on. Get over here!"

[deputygonebye]

@luposcainus asked: saves shane.

Inbox Starters!

A simple supper turned deadly in an instant, around a small campfire, the horde had descended upon the group before Shane could even notice. Given neither enough time to swallow his share of dinner or better prepare, the shotgun was within his grasp as fast as he could manage, his body a barrier between the undead and his family. Pale flesh covered in scabs and scrapes - the movement from the fire toward Dale's RV was a slow one, meticulous and careful. Little thought was paid toward Ed, whose body had become cold, his eyes lifeless. A fate that was deemed far too good for him, kinder than what Shane figured he deserved, a rotten corpse in a tent. Hearts broken all around for Amy; devoured, left to bleed, surrounded only by her own screams and the anguish of her sister. So young, had so much more to prove, was never allowed the chance. Shane could only watch as the bodies piled, were torn and butchered, eaten.

Rick and the others returned, rushed out from beyond the bushes of the wood, in a split second of looking away, Shane found himself cornered. Nearly face-to-face with death, matted hair and decayed teeth. Soulless stares and the smell of spoiled meat, with the shove of his arm did he force Lori and Carl back, created space. Was ready to take the brunt of the fight, body tensed for the sensation of nails to drag into his skin, until Caspian stepped his way. A wall of lean muscle and unassumed strength. Power beneath the charm and polite manners, before him did Caspian become someone else, a creature just as vicious as the Walkers. Bared his teeth and fought against them, alongside gun and blade Caspian gave his all. Until there were no more Geeks standing, Shane out of breath and stunned silent. Caspian saved his life.

Gasping for the air that had been stolen from him, Shane walked from Dale's RV door to the middle grounds of the campsite. A lonesome place where Caspian stood, drenched in ichor that wasn't his own, dirt and earth, just like Shane. Andrea's wails echoed throughout, her beloved sister dead in her arms, Shane tried to find the voice that had been lost, so scared, so unnerved.

"You're one crazy son-of-a-bitch, you know that?"

Shane said, almost quietly, his words a mix of shock, sadness, anger, and thanks. "My God... Hey, you alright, man? You hurt, Cas?"

[deputygonebye]

@xgoldxnhour asked: “pay close attention, okay?” (showing him the card trick)

Inbox Starters!

Shane watched closely. Brown eyes flickering between the cards laid across the living room coffee table, from a deck that had seen better years. Corners bent, the white of the cards tarnished with age and turned ivory, a bit of colorful marker between the hearts and spades, the hand drawn doodles by their sweet girls and clever son. Dealt by Eloise, a smirk on her lips that appeared more feline than not, a cat who caught her pray just where she wanted. Since he had learned she knew how to, Shane wished for Eloise to teach him her famous card trick. A slight of hand - the bend of her delicate fingers, a quick flick of her wrist - able to outsmart even the best of fools. No matter the amount of focus, she always got one over on Shane. Never could he figure out her methods. Desperate did he try, succeeded so rarely he had given up, determined to never mention the whole thing again.

But Eloise knew her husband. Was skilled in what to say, what to do, could always bring him back despite his better judgements. So certain to never play her games, never to entertain her and her silly card trick, Shane found it difficult to refuse. Couldn't ever; the offer to see her demonstrate the trick one more time was always accepted. Like a slave he would follow her into the living room, just as he had done so many times before. Before the world changed forever, before they had loved and lost. Shane bound to her - an invisible string, until the end. Gaze locked onto the cards, Shane got comfortable on his side of the table, straightened his posture and welcomed the support of the couch, plush and soft. Was half tempted to just kiss the proud smirk off of Eloise's lips - become a victor, even if it wasn't by solving the card trick.

"Yeah, yeah, Sunshine. I'm watching. I'm watching."

Shane smiled, allowing for his eyes to look away for but a moment, couldn't keep from staring into the beauty that were Eloise's. "That ain't fair, you know. All these years I've been askin' you to show me. Been beggin'. And all these years you told me no. 'A master can't reveal her secrets.' Well, you know what, darlin'? I think you never showed me because you knew I'd beat you. I think you knew I'd pull one over on those pretty blue eyes of yours. Be real slick about it and all. Or did you just like hearing me beg?"

[deputygonebye]

@luposcainus asked: “get away please! get out!”

Inbox Starters!

Back hunched over and arms pulled close to his chest, as if to keep at bay claws that wished desperately to extend, Caspian was a man greatly pained. Carved deep into his features - brown eyes usually so full of warmth, the sure sign of a gentleman made true - his mouth twisted into scowl. Accompanied by only Shane and woodland trees, the change from pleasant camp surveillance to sudden torture was quick. A pin dropped into the quiet of afternoon; disturbed the few animals who still called the forest their home, the way the winds blew, groans from within the belly and words spoken from between clenched teeth. Starved and tired, the shift would've seemed like madness to anyone else outside of the camp, to anyone other than Shane. Insanity that finally got the upper hand - captured what little Caspian had left, the marbles not rolled about in his head, the screws not yet completely loose. Violated by means unseen, the shotgun that Shane held was gripped tight, brought to the shoulder and rested, aimed and pointed but with finger not placed onto the trigger.

Breath inhaled through the nose, slow and steady, Shane took into view the sight before him. Caspian replaced by someone else - fearful, agony able to flush out the color of his cheeks, a beastly thing that had waited too long to strike. Chomped at the bit in all the days that had passed them by, gnawed at the bones, the meaningless dinners that would never wholly satisfy. Substance that would never cease the hunger; the curse that was cast onto Caspian, the very bane that had made Shane so weary in the first place. An unanswered question ever still, a thousand thoughts pooled into his mind, the choices that Shane would, that Shane could, make. Exhale lazy and cool - underneath the surface a bubbled anxiety - stance straight and posed, knees bent and ready.

"Caspian. Hey, dude. Just take it easy, alright?" Shane cooed, delicately. "Ain't nothin' bad gonna happen, you hear me?"

"Caspian, listen to me, man. Everythin' is gonna be okay. Just take it easy, nice and slow. You've made it this far - don't let that Halfbie shit take you down now. I know we've had our differences - shoot, I wasn't the most kind to you - but we've found an understandin'. I ain't gonna hurt you. You ain't gonna hurt me. Ain't gonna hurt nobody in our camp, either. I'm not leavin' you out here in these woods like this, Caspian."

Shane began, attention focused, a hawk. "Listen here, dude. I'm gonna lower my gun. You take a second. Gather yourself. Then, you tell me what's goin' on, what hurts or what's botherin' you. We'll go nice and easy, do it together, okay? You and me, Cas. Just us."

[deputygonebye]

@florrentine asked: are you… laughing at me?

Pride and Prejudice (2005) Prompts.

Sterile, unusually pure, uncontaminated by the decayed touch of Walkers. Alexandria was the world before the outbreak. Homes nestled all in a row, painted fences and warm fireplaces that smelled of smoke. Tablecloths upon tables and silverware placed nicely, fresh cooked meals and cold drinks served with ice. Televisions that could catch a signal - static but nonetheless a picture to witness - radios and phones able to receive and work as intended. It was as though the entire fall of the world hadn't happened. Was merely a dream, a fantasy that had haunted Shane for years, a cruel game that his mind had dared to play. But the pain to his hands was too real. Stiffened joints so sore - bones felt as if they could break on command, scars across skin dug too deep - the crushing truth. Alexandria was safe; protection that was too strange to bear without worry. Shane was uncomfortable.

Stalking the premises like an animal in a cage, an unnatural home, Shane watched those around him, the residents of the Zone. Pretended to play a part assigned to him; just as was asked of by Rick, as was done likewise by everyone else of their family. Fiction brought to life, like an actor upon a silver screen, polite and kind, genuine but with the inner workings kept under lock. Situated on top of sidewalk path, Shane stood like a statute and observed. A little home just on the corner, brown hair styled in waves, green eyes trained on the task of her hand. Bound to Britain; an isle so far, seeped into her person as near as the soul, an air about her that was not like the others. Different, clever and loyal, stubborn and impulsive: Emilia.

Shane was uncertain. Questioned, found little in answer, merely watched her more, an almost intense stare. His mouth raised to a slight smirk, a laugh parted from his lips; there was humor in the entire scene. Alexandria was uncanny.

"No. No, ma'am." Shane answered, his mind returned to him, his role of normal commenced, not a survivor but deputy. "Just curious as to what you're workin' on."

Shane explained, "Deanna mentioned how you're into art, creative things. I was walkin' around the neighborhood, noticed you were in the middle of somethin'. May I ask what that somethin' is? Ain't ever been much of an artist myself, I'll tell you that much. Can sketch a mean stick-figure, though."

[deputygonebye]

@rickgrimesdoingrickthings asked: "Why do you have to make everyone hate you?"

Dark and Angsty Sentence Starters

Charred firewood filled the evening air that cooled Hershel's farm and those upon it. Smoke that rose until it reached the stars above, bright and bold in silver. Flame that burned in orange and red, blood and passion and whatever else was lost to the world presently known, had it not been for Rick, the silence between he and Shane would've stayed. Partnered perfectly with the chirps of crickets, leaves blown from their hold on tree branches, a quietness that was every ounce unnatural. Shane was dubious that any sort of change would've happened. All else within the farm's lines static - invariable to all things except for Shane himself. None viewed him as they once did. Never considered him as they used to; beloved dog dragged to the doghouse and left to wither underneath a leaking roof. Fear was held for Shane in every choice he made. Curious glances, confused faces, not the same that was given onto Rick for he and his decisions. Quite simply, love had turned to hate.

Tossing another stick into the campfire, a loose piece that had fallen from the pile collected earlier by Daryl, an insignificant addition, Shane shook his head. Distrust from the others was not something that he strived for. Never was his personal safety risked for such cause, only ever had he wished for the opposite. But tides had turned for the worse of the two. Loath bloomed where it shouldn't have - soil rich with tears and sweat - gratitude more like dead weeds. But if hate was what was gotten for sacrifice, Shane would not try to sway opinion in his favor. See his ways and welcome life, ignore him and choose death. It was only a matter of picking. And Shane would show everyone, Hershel's family and those that had become family from the Atlanta camp, the realities that they were so clearly blind to. A shepherd for lost sheep.

"I don't make nobody do anythin', brother." Shane said, eyes concentrated on the fire before him, watchful as the wood cracked and crumbled further into the pit. "They just don't like what I have to say. Better yet, they hate that what I have to say is right. Some of these people, Rick, they're clueless. They got no idea what life is really like out here. They think Walkers are still people. They think that the world is just gonna go back to how it was. That world's dead, Rick. It's long gone. Only world to look for now is the one right in front of our eyes. The one we're livin' in today. But these folks, they don't see that."

"They just see me as the asshole who talks too much. The guy that they can hate on when everythin' else around them gets bad. All I've ever tried to do was keep everybody safe. It's what I've done since this thing started. But they don't want me doin' that. They want you."

[deputygonebye]

@florrentine asked: ❛ you’re welcome to stay, if you want. ❜

Walls of white decorated in floral, blues and ivories, anthers colored to the brightest of yellows, a field of flowers and almost rustic sensibilities, Emilia's home was cozy. Hung picture frames displayed sketches behind their glass; pencilwork in black, watercolors in orange, from their canvases in an attention grabbing spectacle. Wooden stools centered around a kitchen island, a pot on the stovetop about to whistle, the signal that tea had been finished. Water in small cup, bronze around the top in delicate trim, pastel peach from handle to base. Shane's portion of the homemade brew. Warm to the touch - somewhat bitter to the taste without the addition of sugar or honey - a delicacy come straight from the isle, held within the hands of the enemy, an American satisfied in thirst. Unlike the coolness he was used to - tea on Sunday afternoons, filled to the top of the pitcher with ice and lemon - comforted, nonetheless.

Dressed in his best, jeans that were stained only around the calves, button down cuffed at the elbow, the first three buttons left undone, Shane meant nothing by his visit to Emilia. A simple get-together between neighbors - the soles of his brown combat boots dug into the floorboards, the hardwood of darkened craft, unlikely to move - the hour that Shane was allowed between fatherhood and Alexandria responsibility. Judith watched over by the others of his group, the strangers that grew to extended family, true family, it was meant only to be tea and nothing more. A quick break from the hustle and bustle; the pleasure of hot tea and biscuits, cookies, that smelled as good as they looked. Bound to be gobbled up as soon as they went from pan to plate, Emilia a dedicated hostess, her invitation an unexpected surprise. Sudden, but welcomed, irises of copper melted into puddles, made softer and tender.

"Aw, Em. That's real kind of you. I'd love to, but the boss has got me workin' overtime today. Somethin' about the kids - worried they've been messin' around the fence or somethin'. Gotta go check on it, maybe lay the law down, too." Shane smiled, closed mouth but with a boyish air, youthful and almost mischievous.

"Alright... just a few more minutes, then I really have to hit the road. Hey, thank you. This, it's been nice. I haven't had much of a chance to sit down and relax in, well, honest to God, forever. Tea's real good, too. Ain't never had it warm before - always had it chilled. Guess I've been missin' out, huh? You best come by my place this week, I'll make us some dinner. A little token of my appreciation, if you will, for bein' so nice to me. My little girl, she's a picky eater, so we might end up havin' pasta and sauce, again, but I promise, Ms. Emilia, it'll be worth the walk across the sidewalk. Shoot, I'll even make a dessert. I'll have Carol lend a hand - she's good in the kitchen - that way, it'll be guaranteed delicious."

[deputygonebye]

@luposcainus asked: are you… laughing at me?

Pride and Prejudice (2005) Prompts.

Little was there actual joke in the act, but nonetheless, the sight alone gave rise to a smirk upon Shane's lips. Rise of the corners, color born onto tanned cheeks, the mark of pink across what the sun had not already burned red. Leaned back in his lawn chair, a throne of teal-tinted plastic almost bleached white by the skies above, the brisk winds of Georgia able to provide relief from one of the hotter days. Cloudless for all of the morning and afternoon, chores done for the sake of the camp had been finished with less than enthusiastic draw. Shane beaten down from the effort - the repetitive nature, the lack of peace, little food to look forward to come supper. Canned corn and frog legs; the taste of outdoor temperature water for dessert. Survival found but at such heavy cost, entertainment contained to the outskirts of camp, the antics of the youngest Dixon brother that would lead to his possible demise or the flies that landed on skin, threatened to bite, for they were starved also.

Watchful of the green that fenced around, the trees and whatever else could be comfortable within its boarders, Shane could hardly keep his eyes away from Caspian. Seated next to him in the space - hunched somewhat and distracted by the decided meal - the look of disgust that all the others had shared while they, too, chewed and swallowed. It was an image that couldn't be forgotten easily. Warm brown eyes locked in concentration, stubble grown along the jaw, stained lightly in the juices of frog, brows close together and mouth pinned downward. It was food - better than nothing, worse than anything. Punishment for crimes that none in the camp committed, Caspian the most innocent though he gorged himself as if he were otherwise. Shane couldn't withhold his amusement.

"No." Shane tried, only to fail as a laugh passed his lips. "Alright, I am. But I ain't laughin' at you, Caspian. I swear on my own life, I ain't! It's just... I ain't ever seen a man get so serious over eatin' frog legs before. They never made some of that where you're from? I mean, hell. You English folks gotta eat some weird stuff from time to time, don't you? My grandfather, he was English. From what I've been told, he could eat those damn Scotch Eggs like they were goin' out of style. Loved himself some black puddin', too. Don't think I've got the stomach for either, I'll tell you what."

Sighing at the end, offering the last good napkin, a small pile that had been stashed away during his own eating, Shane smiled. "Here, dude. Better get yourself cleaned up or else the bugs will come after you. Had half the mind to just wipe your face myself, but with the way your attackin' that frog leg there, I didn't wanna risk losin' a finger. Or my whole hand. Next time, I'll make them real good for you. Hell, I know Dale did his best this go around. But you can only do so much to poor old Kermit before he just ends up tastin' like, well, frog."