#Shaw Centre

[irisslove]

Sushi Ryujio - One Starred Michelin Sushi Restaurant from Tokyo now in Singapore

[thepastisalreadywritten]

London (CNN) — An art historian has identified a missing portrait of King Henry VIII after spotting it on social media.

British fine art researcher Adam Busiakiewicz was idly scrolling on X when he was stopped in his tracks by a post from somebody he follows.

The post was a photograph shared by Tim Cox, Lord Lieutenant of Warwickshire, an honorary position representing the British Crown in the central English county.

It showed a gathering at a reception in Warwick’s Shire Hall, where Warwickshire County Council is based.

But Busiakiewicz wasn’t interested in the people smiling at the camera.

His focus was on the background where, hanging on a wall, was what he suspected was a missing portrait of the Tudor monarch Henry VIII.

In a post published on his blog earlier this month, Busiakiewicz said he had been “scrolling at speed” when he spotted the painting “with a distinctive arched top” on the wall.

He was immediately reminded of a series of 22 portraits commissioned by a local politician and tapestry-maker during the 1590s.

According to Busiakiewicz, Ralph Sheldon (1623–1684)��commissioned the pictures – which were mostly of kings, queens and “significant contemporary international figures” – to hang in his home, Weston House in Warwickshire.

The reason they had arched tops was because they “were once incorporated into an architectural frieze of the Long Gallery at Weston,” Busiakiewicz said.

In a press release sent to CNN, Busiakiewicz said the arched top was a “special feature of the Sheldon set,” while the painting’s frame was “identical to other surviving examples.”

The painting also showed the king holding a sword and wearing a feathered hat – just as he appeared in an engraving of the Long Hall made by antiquarian Henry Shaw in 1839.

The series of portraits was later dispersed at auction and “the majority remain untraced to this day,” according to Busiakiewicz.

After making his theory public, Busiakiewicz visited Warwick’s Shire Hall together with local historian Aaron Manning to see the painting close up.

“The portrait is large, and completely in-line with the other Sheldon portraits,” Busiakiewicz wrote in a later blog post, on July 22.

In a telephone call with CNN, Busiakiewicz revealed that this was not the first discovery he had made thanks to social media.

In 2018, he stumbled across a picture a friend had taken at a wedding and posted on Instagram.

It featured a portrait that he identified as the work of 17th-century female artist Joan Carlile (1606–1679).

“Social media is a crazy thing,” Busiakiewicz told CNN, “because some people use it to watch cat videos and follow what’s going on in the world, and then people like me just look at what people have hanging on their walls.”

A spokesperson for Warwickshire County Council told CNN in an email that Busiakiewicz and Manning approached them about the painting and arranged to come and see it.

“Adam and Aaron viewed the painting at Shire Hall, and have confirmed they think it is definitely one of the Ralph Sheldon commissions,” the spokesperson wrote.

“Since this discovery, the painting has been moved into our Museum Collections Centre to allow further research to take place.”

Busiakiewicz told CNN that the identity of the painter is not known, but the creator of the portraits is sometimes referred to as "The Sheldon Master.”

He is now working on trying to establish the painting’s provenance.

It was acquired by the council as recently as 1951 but there are gaps in the records.

“Provenance is always such a really tricky thing - it’s very hard sometimes to find, particularly when pictures are sold privately. But there’s no doubt that this is Ralph Sheldon’s painting of Henry VIII,” he said.

“Looking at paintings and pictures of paintings is my life and it’s great fun, particularly when you can in some way right a historic wrong, let’s say.

Pictures that are overlooked, pictures that aren’t appreciated as much as they might be.”

[dykemaclachlan]

okay prometheus (2012) was frustrating and badly written but. david dyeing his hair. watching shaw’s dreams. infecting holloway’s water just to see what would happen. the human crew’s motivation to see where they came from. why do you think your people made me. we made you because we could. can you imagine how disappointing it would be for you to hear the same thing from your creator. shaw telling david not to touch anything in the ‘tomb’ but doing so anyway. shaw grieving her inability to create life. shaw yelling at david to get the fetus out of her. taking away her necklace. it must feel like your god abandoned you. david mending shaw’s feet after what he did. doesn’t everyone want their parents dead. shaw putting her necklace back on.

[lastfrogstanding]

Been travelling recently and visited an aquarium yesterday with my family. Though not huge, it was very lovely and informative on the local marine life. Hopefully, there will be more cool stuff to come.

I’m going to be on Vancouver Island for the next week so activity here might be sporadic.

[hicginewsagency]

UN summit calling to end plastic pollution starts today   in Ottawa.

                               by ronald sserwadda, 23-04-2024 One of the art display outside the Shaw Centre in Ottawa, host a  of the UN summit on ending plastic pollution. Scientists and experts from around the world will descend on Ottawa in time for Earth Day as part of a global effort to end plastic pollution on Earth. The fourth of five rounds of negotiations as part of a United Nations…

[suchananewsblog]

Siddhartha Mukherjee and the song of the T-cell

A doctor, researcher of translational medicine and author, Siddhartha Mukherjee, 52, is astonishingly eclectic. The Indian-American biologist, an assistant professor of medicine at Columbia University, best known for his Pulitzer Prize-winning book The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer, has been on an enduring quest to discover new treatments that could give cancer patients a fresh…

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Wedding Invitations (2)

Summary: Colter Shaw x Fe!Reader -> You and Colter have known each other since you were 15. He was there to help you once, and he's here to help you now.

Disclaimer: This is Part Two. Fluff, maybe some light swearing. Mostly just cute fluff, with the added addition of some slightly annoying family members.

“Reenie,” Colter’s voice came out a little shocked as he held up the suit in front of him. “It’s tailored.”

Reenie smiled on the other end of the phone. “You’re welcome.”

“How is it tailored?”

“Relax, James Bond. I have a video, remember? I sent it to Bobby and he used his magic and got your measurements.”

“What video-” Then Colter remembered. “Please delete that.”

“I don’t think so. You’re very…appealing to the eye, shall we say. But the look of shock on your face…I think I might make it my screen saver.”

“Please don’t.”

“Just make sure to get to the venue on time.”

“I will.”

And he did. 

However, it just took him a little longer to actually find his date. 

But once he spotted you, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. 

You stood, dressed in the bridesmaid’s gown you’d been given, in the corner talking - or rather, being interrogated – to one of your aunt’s. 

But Colter’s breath knocked him out for a few seconds. He’d seen you dressed up before. He’s seen you…like this before. But something just felt…different. 

“But, honey, if he doesn’t show, what am I meant to say? That my niece got jilted at the altar and is now making up dates? Do you know how that would look?”

“There is more to me than being engaged,” you replied. 

Colter smiled. 

You frequently kept in contact with each other and over the last couple of months, you seemed happier. Certain things you’d remember when you were with Jonathan and you’d, slightly, be thankful that you were no longer together. 

Now, you could bake whenever you liked in the kitchen, not having to be worried if it would upset his sense of smell. You could finally finish TV shows you’d been dying to watch, without fear of spoilers or someone getting bored and switching it over. You could also finally decorate your bedroom how you liked. Of course, you liked it how it was. But the small things, like the colour of the throws, and pillows, and the way you organised your clothes. It could be…you. 

When certain events came around, it hurt. Like what was meant to be your wedding day. The entire day you just walked around a garden centre looking at plants until you grew hungry and went to get a pizza. 

You even managed to go on a couple of dates. 

They never lasted longer than a month or so, but it was nice to have the feeling of moving on. 

Until you got cornered by your aunt, interrogating you over your relationship status and if you had in fact made up your date for the evening. 

Thankfully, luck was on your side because just as she was about to point out the list of pros a relationship can provide, Colter came up behind you. 

And your aunt fell silent. 

At first she was shocked. The fact that you did, in fact, have a date and it just so happened to be a man that looked like Colter was the first part. Then she smiled. 

“My goodness, didn’t you strike lucky with this one,” your aunt said, talking to you. 

Until you felt Colter’s hand on your arm. “I did.”

You smiled and leaned a little into Colter, silently revelling in your aunt’s shock at his answer, rather than yours. 

“Please, excuse us.”

You walked Colter away from your aunt before she could quite literally jump on him. 

“Thank you for coming, nice tux by the way.”

“Reenie.”

“Figured. She does know a good tailor.”

“What was that back there?”

“My aunt? Oh, yeah, apparently being a tenured history professor doesn’t live up to the same standing as being a married tenured history professor with a kid on the way.”

“Shouldn’t they be more focused on, I don’t know, your happiness?”

You nodded. “Most of them are, but there’s just the odd few who don’t realise how deep they’re actually digging their knives.”

Colter studied you for a moment. “Are you okay?”

You looked up at him. “It’s been a long day.”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“I have been up since four am, I feel like I’ve been poked, prodded, burned, scratched and pinched on every surface of my body. God only knows how Ida is feeling, and she’s the bride. I just hope they start the wedding soon because my feet are killing me.”

You lowered your hand to meet your raised ankle, to rub at it for a moment. 

“Don’t you wear heels for work?” 

You nodded. “I do. But they’re broken in. These are not.”

“But I thought-”

“Last minute change.” You quickly explained. “Either way, I’m glad you’re here. Thank you for coming.”

“No need. I was in the area.”

“How was the case?”

“Quick, easy. Stolen car. The husband reported it missing, but it turned out his mistress had stolen it because he still hadn’t left his wife.”

“Wow.”

“I was there when they had the argument. Got heated, let me tell you that.”

An hour later, the ceremony started and Colter’s eyes rarely left you. People laughed and cried during the speeches and you couldn’t have looked happier for the couple. However, the minute it was over you found Colter before he could find you in the sea of wedding guests. 

And for the next forty minutes whilst the new bride and groom shared some alone time surveying their venue, yourself and Colter found two seats at the back of the hallway. 

From your purse you pulled out a small pile of plasters. 

“Here, let me.” 

Colter tore some of them open whilst you angled your foot to place them on the growing hot spots. However, just as you placed your feet down on the ground, thankful to feel the flat floor, your aunts seemed to have jumped out from the corner beside Colter. 

And you were both subject to different questions until they finally opened up the doors to the dining hall. 

“Thank god, I’m starving.”

Colter managed to get yourself and him around the crowd to find your seats. You’d been placed at table four with a couple of the other bridesmaids and their partners. 

For most of the night, it ran smoothly. You ate, drank, danced. All in all it was a fun evening. You listened to the different speeches made by the parents and new in-laws. 

However, when couples were dragged onto the dancefloor, you were fully prepared to sit that section out. Until Colter reappeared from the gents toilets, just past the bar, and lowered his hand to you. 

“Colter…”

“It’s just dancing.”

It took you a moment before you placed your hand in his and allowed him to pull you towards the dancefloor. 

Holding you in his arms, his hand enveloped yours by his chest whilst his other hand remained securely on your back, your own hands in his and on his shoulder. 

For a while, you both danced. Slowly, holding each other closer. Until Colter shocked you by dipping you slowly with the song. 

And you smiled. 

And so did he. 

Bringing you back to your feet, he spun you close to his body before pulling you back in. 

“I don’t know if I’ve said this already, but thank you. For coming, I mean.”

Colter smiled, leaning down. “You never have to thank me for coming to you.”

“I do mean it, though.” You told him. “I could have made up an excuse or found someone else. You didn’t have to say yes, and you did, and I’m…glad. Thank you.”

“Do you have anything else to do? For the wedding?”

You shook your head. “Not unless Ida needs to go to the bathroom.”

“Can’t the other girls help her?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Want to get out of here?”

Usually, you would have said ‘no’, but something changed when you looked at Colter. So, you replied. 

“Yes. But let me say goodbye, first.”

Colter nodded, letting you go for a moment whilst you walked around the dance floor to where Ida was standing by her table, finding her drink. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” Ida smiled as she looked over your shoulder and back to you.

After that, you grabbed your bag and found your hand in Colter’s as you both made your way out and away from the wedding. 

Colter helped you into the passenger seat of his truck, closing your door for you. By the time he got into the driver’s seat, you already had one of your heels off. 

It wasn’t long before Colter was pulling up alongside his home, and grabbing the small bag of groceries from the back whilst you hooked your heels through your fingers, hitched up your dress and carried the pizza box inside. 

Shutting the door behind you, Colter came back out from his home and took the box from you before helping you up the stairs. 

By the time he closed the door behind him, you were already pulling the pizza box open as you sat down by the table. 

“So they just had one delivered to the classroom?”

You nodded. “Yep. It was the final day and they did share, so I let them off with a warning. It’s fun to have cake delivered to the classroom, but it’s also not school policy to have food delivered during class time.”

“Sounds like I missed a party.”

You laughed before taking a bite of your pizza. 

It wasn’t long before you found yourself snooping around Colter’s place, leaving him sitting at the table, watching your every move. 

“You have a mug from every state? Hey, wait a minute.”

Colter hung his head to cover the smile creeping up on his face before he looked back at you. He tried his best to remain guiltless, but you could practically smell it on him. 

“This is my mug.”

“Is it?”

“This is my mug that has been missing for three months.”

“Three months? Sure you didn’t just leave it at work?”

“This is my mug that you stole-”

“Stole?” Colter asked. “You should have set up a reward.”

“-from my home.” You gasped a little, trying to hide your smile. “Oh, Colter. I never pegged you for a thief.”

“Finders keepers, I say.”

“Oh,” you said, your eyes never leaving Colter as he stood and walked closer to you. “The Rewardist is calling finders keepers now, is he?”

“I believe he is. Considering you never set up a reward.”

“Because I thought I lost it.”

“Oh, well in that case.” Colter plucked the mug from your hands before placing it back on the shelf in pride of place. “It’s still lost.”

“Oh, really?”

He shut the door. “Really.”

However, when Colter looked back at you, you felt something shift. It felt silent in the camper. Too silent. And yet somehow, too loud. You were suddenly aware of your own breath, trying to find a way to keep it controlled in order to avoid suspicion until you noticed Colter seemed to be, albeit more subtly than you, doing the same thing. 

However, just as you felt yourself leaning in a little and seeing Colter doing the same, it was like something pulled you back into reality. 

Cleaning your throat, you placed your gaze anywhere else. Or, at least, the very least, you tried. Every other second, your eyes flashed back to him as you both leaned against the counter and dared not look at each other. 

“I better-”

“Yeah.”

However, despite that awkwardness passing when Colter jumped into the shower and you had full access to snoop. You found a picture of himself, his brother and his sister. By the looks of it, his mom had made them all pose for it. And it didn’t look like it was that long ago.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“This your brother?”

Colter paused for a moment. “Maybe. Why?”

“He’s hot.”

Colter tried his best to hide his groan. “Please don’t tell him that. It’ll only inflate his ego.”

You chuckled softly. “Relax, Colt. It’ll just be our little secret. Besides, he’s a little too…burly, for my type.”

“Burly?” Colter asked, trying his best to not let his smile show in his voice. But you heard it. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view though. Your mom seemed to strike gold with her children.”

Colter paused for a split second, not holding back the smirk. “Are you saying I’m good looking?”

“Shit,” you thought to yourself. “Don’t let it inflate your ego, Shaw.” You told him. “Just because you’re not…unpleasant to look at.”

The shower cut off and a moment later, the shower door opened causing you to turn around and face Colter as he stepped out, sweeped up in steam whilst his towel remained securely wrapped around his hips. 

“Unpleasant?” Colter repeated. 

“You have nice…” you swallowed, taking in the picture in front of you. Colter. Shirtless Colter. Wet hair, smelling great, shirtless…Colter. “Eyes.” you forced yourself to finish, whilst also forcing your eyes to look at his face. 

But he caught you staring. 

He half smiled coyly. 

“Eyes, hm. Never heard that one before.” 

Turning around, you found yourself watching him and his back, partly memorising the small scars you saw littering his back before he turned back around and closed the door. 

Ten minutes later, it was you being his bedroom door getting changed. However, the struggle came with your dress. 

“Colter?”

“Yeah?”

“I need your help.”

You slid open the door. “My dress. Can you do the zip?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Walking closer, Colter found the top of the zip and pulled it down watching it loosen around your shoulders and hips before it reached the bottom. 

“Thanks.”

Colter cleared his throat a little as he closed the door on you once more to let you get dressed. 

When you opened it again, you were dressed in a t-shirt and what looked to be Christmas pyjama bottoms. 

Your hair that had been styled for the wedding was now a little messier, but out of your face a little more. 

And at some point between brushing your teeth and arguing with Colter over which movie to watch, you fell asleep beside him. 

Little did you know, everything would change when you woke up. 

A small sliver of light was coming in through his blinds, lighting up the side of your face in a warm glow of the first breath of the morning sun. And all Colter could do was watch you for a moment. 

You were so still and calm. No thought process that made your brows furrow or made you rub your hands across your face. Not worrying about getting up early or grading papers or teaching a class was only taking it for the credit rather than the actual joy of the subject. 

You were just…you. 

“Are you watching me sleep?”

“You look peaceful.”

“Only seems fair. I watched you.”

“I knew it!”

“Shut up.” You laughed a little, digging your head further into the pillow. “What time is it?”

“Early, I’d guess.”

“How early? Because if it’s before eight, then I’m using you to block out both the light and the cold.”

Colter turned over and looked at his watch. 

“It’s before eight.”

You groaned and when Colter turned back around, it looked like you were wishing for the bed to swallow you whole. 

“Come here.”

Scooching closer, Colder wrapped the blankets, along with his arm, around your back before allowing you to lower your head against his chest. 

“You really are like a hot water bottle.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

After a few moments of silence, which included Colter unknowingly tracing patterns on your back with his hand that lay under you, you asked him a question. 

“Where did you get your scars from?”

“Hmm?”

“The scars on your back. They’re small, but they’re deep. Where did you get them?”

“Since when did you know how deep a cut was?”

“I’m a History Professor.” You told him. “I’ve seen plenty of case pictures.”

Colter smiled a little before nodding and explaining a couple of them. 

“Okay, so what about this one?”

Your finger lightly traced an old bullet wound on his shoulder. 

“Bullet wound.”

“What?!”

“Relax, it wasn’t fatal.” Colter assured you. “Hurt. But it was a clear wound.”

“I can’t believe you got shot.”

“Twice.”

“What?”

“And that’s just recently.”

“Do you make it a habit of getting shot?” You asked him. 

“I try not to.”

And then there was that look again. Except this time there was no turning away. There was no escaping to a shower or bathroom. Mostly because, well, you were interlinked. 

But also because…you didn’t want to. 

Laying beside Colter, it made you feel…calm. And for the first time, you didn’t want to turn away. 

So when Colter pulled away for a moment before leaning in further, accepting your nod, you let his lips meet yours. 

It was shy at first. New. Uncertain. You’d both been friends for over twenty years and in the blink of an eye, you were kissing him. 

But then, something broke. Or, rather, moulded into place. 

You pulled Colter closer, holding the side of his face. Whilst his own hands pressed you closer to him before one creeped up towards your own face, through your hair and back down your back. 

After that, it felt like your body was moving independently, or maybe with your mind. 

Pushing up, Colter rolled onto his back, still holding onto you before you managed to move to straddle him, your hands running down his chest before he shot up to meet you once more in a kiss where your arms stretched over his shoulders just as his own hands were beginning to make a mess of your hair, letting it down from the scrunchie you had thrown it up into. 

However, before things could go any further, a call came through Colter’s phone. 

Looking to his bedside desk, you looked back at him and for a moment, you wished it would stop. But then, reality hit. 

“You should answer that.”

“Wait.”

“Answer it, Colter. It could be important.”

It took Colter a moment but he stretched back as you climbed off him, escaping out of the bedroom as he answered it. 

“Hey Teddi,”

Forgetting your shoes, you grabbed one of Colter’s sweaters and made your way outside, being hit with fresh, but very cold air that was as close to a cold shower as you could get for the time being. 

However, it wasn’t long until Colter opened up the door and walked down the steps to where you were pacing back and forth. 

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- we-we shouldn’t have-”

“Shouldn’t we have?”

“Should we have?” 

“I don’t regret it, if that’s what you’re asking. Do you regret it?”

“No. At least, not yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You stopped pacing and faced him. “What is this, Colter? Because I don’t have any answers. And we’ve been friends for, what, twenty years? I didn’t even see this coming. I- did you see this coming?”

Colter had to speak truthfully. “Not exactly.”

“See. So…what do we do? Do- are…are we meant to forget it? Do we move on?”

“Do you want to move on?”

You shook your head. “Colter…I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe we don’t have to know.”

You looked at Colter. “You do know me, right?”

Colter smiled a little and walked closer towards you, albeit a little slower than normal. 

“I do,” he nodded. “Which is why I am going to ask you this. Not thinking of anything else, not thinking of how it will change things, did you want to kiss me?”

“Yes,”

“And not thinking about that, would you want to do it again?”

“Colter…” You could feel yourself blushing, hard, as Colter got closer to you. 

“Just answer the question,” he smiled reassuringly, his voice a little softer. 

“Maybe…yes.”

“And if I asked you that tomorrow night,” Cotlet took one of your hands in his, slowly, before picking up your second.”Could I take you out on a date, what would you say?”

“Yes.” 

“Then, tomorrow night, at seven o’clock, can I pick you up from your home and take you out on a date?”

You finally met Colter’s eyes fully, for the first time, since you were lay in bed. 

“Yes.”

Colter smiled, leaning in closer. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes.”

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Andrew Wyeth

* * * *

“Stories with weight to them have what C.G. Jung terms ‘the lament of the dead’, which in our frenetic culture we can no longer have time to hear. Most indigenous cultures will tell you that this world belongs to the dead, that’s where we’re headed. So mythology for me involves a conversation with the dead, with what you might call ancestors.Whatever we are facing now we need to have a root system embedded in weather patterns, the presences of animals, our dreams, and the ones who came before us. Myth is insistent that when there is a crisis, genius lives on the margins not the centre. If we are constantly using the language of politics to combat the language of politics at some point the soul grows weary and turns its head away because we are not allowing it into the conversation, and by denying soul we are ignoring what the Mexicans call the river beneath the river. We’re not listening to the thoughts of the world. We’re only listening to our own neurosis and our own anxiety.”

— Martin Shaw. (via saltwaterhoney) [soracities]

[via "alive on all channels"]

[knickynoo]

Back to the Future Part III, The Novel by Craig Shaw Gardner: Thoughts, commentary, and general ramblings

Part 1: Marty-themed nightmares and lots of cowboy talk

• So! We all know how this one starts. Marty's just come running down the street; he announced he’s back from the future, and Doc is out cold.

• Marty brings Doc home, and while Doc is unconscious, we get to go inside his head for a little dream sequence! And if I may say so: it’s a travesty that this wasn’t in the movie. He has a nightmare that there are Marties everywhere, and he can’t get away from them. Everywhere he turns, there’s A Marty staring back at him. His escape from the horde of Marties only comes when the “Howdy Doody Time” theme song starts, and he wakes up. Since the song also wakes up Doc in the movie, I’d like to believe he was also having Marty Nightmares.

Also, this reminds me of that one post. I can't track down the original to include a link, but I do have a screenshot saved, so that'll have to do.

• Meanwhile, Marty is over on the couch having Cowboy Dreams. He dreams he’s in the Old West with Clint Eastwood and is woken up by the sound of Doc talking into his tape recorder.

• As Doc reads the letter, Marty sits quietly in a chair, intently listening to the whole thing, which is very un-Marty if you ask me. Very glad we ended up with Movie Marty wandering all over the place and touching everything, as it should be.

• Ok, the book earns a point for having both Doc and Marty get emotional to the point of actual tears after reading his letter. Doc is sniffling and wiping tears away, and Marty is described as, “trying hard to keep his lower lip from quivering.” They should have cranked up the emotion for the movie scene.

• Also, I somehow purchased a version of the novelization that was printed in Great Britain, so I’m continuously running into different spellings, such as “centre” and “favourite.” My inner voice narrating as I read is occasionally speaking with an accent because of this. Adds to the fun, I guess.

• Once they locate the DeLorean in the mine, it says, “Doc and Marty grinned at each other,” then they just get to work uncovering it. This is interesting to me because it contrasts so much from the actual movie scene where these supposed grins are replaced with a look of awe from Doc and a look of what I can only describe as horror/fear in Marty. It’s one of my favorite scenes of part III because of their reactions, actually. It's almost as if the realization that the car has been there for so long, and that the older version of the guy standing next to him had stood in that very spot to hide way back in 1885 is a little too overwhelming for Marty. It's a great moment. Next time you watch part III, really focus in on their expressions during this quick little scene.

• Book Marty does NOT stumble over the word “schematic.”

• When Doc tells Marty that he always wanted to be a cowboy, he mentions that he spent a few summers working at Statler’s Ranch, where he learned how to ride horses and shoot guns. In the DeLorean Manual (you know I always have to bring up this book; it’s a treasure trove) Doc says he learned these skills because his father sent him away to “wilderness camp.”

• Got a chuckle at what follows Doc talking about those summers working at the ranch: “Marty got the oddest look on his face. He was probably trying to imagine Doc Brown as a cowboy.”

• Marty then asks Doc how he ended up becoming a scientist instead. Which is kind of an odd choice. Are you to expect me to believe that Marty doesn’t already know the story of how Doc went into science?? This is something I assume 1980s Doc would have told him in their first week or so of knowing each other.

• Marty, initially wary at Doc being “stuck” in 1885 has a change of heart after hearing Doc talk so enthusiastically about his older self getting to live out his cowboy dreams. He says, “Doc, if you’re happy, then I’m happy. It’ll be a whole lot easier for me to go back to 1985 knowing you’re living it up in 1885.” I actually think this is a wonderful addition that might have been nice in the movie. It just…it displays their relationship so nicely. Marty doesn’t WANT to lose his best friend, but he values Doc’s own happiness above his own. To Doc, he isn’t stuck or condemned to a life in the Old West. He’s living out his childhood dream! If you’re happy, then I’m happy. It’s such a beautiful way to reframe the situation.

That seems like a good place to leave things for now.

[irisslove]

élan - Modern French Cuisine That Took Over La Strada

Met with with some friends some time back and I decided to check out this new restaurant that took over La Strada at Shaw Centre. Well, as you would have guessed, the new restaurant is a new concept by Les Amis group of restaurants. Named élan, it serves modern French cuisine with a touch of Asian flair in their food and I was rather looking forward to dinner (more…) “”

[thoughtlessarse]

In July, a long-running Royal Commission of Inquiry into Abuse in State and Faith-based Care released its shocking finding that between 1950 and 2019 up to 256,000 people in facilities including boarding schools, youth justice centres, foster care and psychiatric hospitals, were the victims of abuse and neglect. This is more than one in three of the estimated 655,000 people who were institutionalised during this period. The inquiry was launched by the previous Labour Party-led government in late 2018 following many years of demands and petitions for justice from survivors of abuse. Its final report, based on testimony from nearly 3,000 survivors, and more than a million documents, reveals criminal actions carried out on a vast scale by state agencies and churches, with devastating consequences. The number of victims equates to more than 5 percent of New Zealand’s current population of 5 million people. The royal commissioners—Judge Carol Shaw, Dr Andrew Erueti and Paul Gibson—describe their findings as “a national disgrace.” They note: “These gross violations occurred at the same time as Aotearoa New Zealand was promoting itself, internationally and domestically, as a bastion of human rights and as a safe, fair country in which to grow up as a child in a loving family.” In fact, the widespread, routine and prolonged abuse, in many cases amounting to torture, is an unanswerable indictment of capitalism. The brutal conditions documented by the royal commission are inseparable from the decades-long assault on workers’ wages and living standards and the gutting of social services, in order to transfer more wealth to big business and the rich. This has been accompanied by racist scapegoating of Māori and other minorities, and the promotion of militarism and “tough on crime” policies by successive Labour and National Party governments. Hundreds of thousands of children from impoverished families, and people suffering mental and physical disabilities, were deemed unproductive and a burden on society, and effectively thrown on the scrap-heap. The 3,000-page report details the appalling suffering endured by generations of young people, including:

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Bet you can't guess who was overrepresented in those hundreds of thousands. Of course, you can. Like every other WASP settler colony, it was the indigenous people, in this case the Māori.

[dmercer91]

an idea i had was nhl!ranger reader is like fairly aggressive, yeah?

like she’s had to hold her own, and prove her own bc she’s a woman.

but against this one team, she’s absolutely brutal.

and maybe it stems from her old rivalry with one of the players, OOOH OR MAYBE one of the players almost ended her career in juniors??

i made a new player up for the sake of this being friendly for people who cherish the usa wjc players however they play for the hawks just cause.. she’d so have a vendetta against the hawks idk i feel like she’d despise them

like she’s just here to serve cunt, fuck shit up and curse a bitch out

also, i picture charlie with a scar in the front of her eyebrow, like where the hair still grows straight rather than to the side, due to where her injury was

this…. turned into a full fic. blame my perfectionism and incessant research, idk. there’s also minimal jack which is why the title is njd

the full story | hooked au, njd

u-20 world juniors, december 26, 2019. preliminary rounds

line brawls were your forte. not only were they fun, and usually harmless, but they also gave you a chance to prove that your physicality wouldn’t be an issue if you got drafted to an nhl team.

in a canada vs usa game, the rivalry usually called for some penalty minutes

currently, your helmet was nowhere to be found, your gloves were voluntarily discarded, and your nose was bloody.

you’d concentrated on keeping the us players away from nico, and the guy who’d originally slid into the net and tripped him had taken most of your attention.

tyler shaw- a bigger centre who’d been drafted to chigaco the year prior.

you were holding up fairly well, until he took a stray stick off the top of the net and used it to shove your hand off his jersey.

you slid, turning so your back was facing him, and he cross checked you in the back of the neck, sending you forward and face first into the goal post.

a final time, he did the same near your shoulder blades, effectively keeping you down on the ice.

the room was spinning and the lights were too bright for your liking- you felt like you were ready to faint and throw up at the same time

dawson was quick to switch his fighting to shaw, quickly looking over at you to see if you were still conscious.

jamie drysdale had left what was essentially an aggressive, ill intended hug with the guy he’d picked up for the scrum to pull you over to the boards, giving an alarmed look to the coaching staff.

you weren’t responding to your name, or charlie. you were squeezing his hand but it was your only true sign of consciousness

most of the players had pulled away from their respective fights, staring over at you and jamie with looks of concern, some looking at shaw with looks of confusion- including his teammates.

when dawson was satisfied with his defence of his friend, he skated over, flexing his fingers in pain from punches.

he made it over a few moments before the teams medical staff, taking your hand and having jamie back away a little.

“you in there, char?” he took your neck guard off, knowing you’d always felt like it suffocated you.

you blinked, looking at him. he smiled, squeezing your hand.

“nico fell,” you murmured, worry laced in your voice for your goalie

“he’s padded like a marshmallow, rocky. i think you fell a little harder,” you smirked at his nickname for you, a mock of your likeness for fights.

that was all the reaction you had to anything for the rest of the night- a small grin.

when staff made it to you, you’d gone nonverbal again and you seemed to be slipping in and out of yourself. sometimes it looked as if you’d been out, couldn’t feel a thing, and other you were squeezing dawsons hand so hard you were cutting off circulation

the medical team had dawson and jamie help you off the ice, dawson staying with you in the ambulance since he’d been ejected from the game due to his defence of you.

when you were finally allowed visitors, the doctors let you explain to dawson- who you made promise to dumb it down and kid friendlify it for your little brother.

your neck was broken from the initial check. the doctors weren’t sure if you had paralysis until you became verbal again and calmed down enough for them to run necessary tests.

they concluded that other than some tingling in your arms and feet- you should be able to walk and eventually skate just fine.

you required surgery to fix the broken bones it your neck, but luckily the break did no damage to your spinal cord, so you’d be able to make a recovery.

they told you that other than your lack of ability to concentrate, which you assured them came long before the injury, you had no physical or memory related issues cause of your concussion

due to you presumably losing consciousness and going nonverbal after the blow, as well as your headaches and two consecutive seizures in the ambulance, they did imaging tests to see if you had any skull injuries or bleeding

you got lucky.

there were many opportunities for the injury to be career ending, even fatal- but the hospital assured you that you’d be able to return to mundane life in a week or two, after the concussion symptoms, and that you could return to sports once your neck was healed and you were cleared by your women’s league.

dawson was your caretaker, never leaving your side cause he was so anxious that the doctors had missed something- he needed to be ready to help if you needed him.

you tried to keep it lighthearted, despite your boredom and your throbbing pains

“my face feels eight feet wide,” you complained, eyes fluttering shut.

dawson stayed quiet, looking over at you for a moment and then returning to making you your lunch

“at least the several pints of blood coming out of my head made me look sick,” you chimed, smiling to yourself and pouting when dawson paid no mind

“mercer. you’re killing me, dude,” he sighed, coming over and sitting on the couch next to you.

“i was worried about you, y/n. i didn’t leave the waiting room other than to pee, i had nurses bringing me food cause they saw i wasn’t leaving. on the ice, i tried to make jokes but i was losing it,”

you leaned your head on his shoulder to the best of your ability with your neck brace, taking his hand.

“you’re still stuck with me. i’m too stubborn to die,” he finally cracked a smile, leaning his head onto your head.

“im holding you to that,”

-

january 5th, 2024. chi @ njd

you’d been dead silent ever since you’d gotten back to the dressing room since warmups.

tyler shaw had been marinating in the press box all season, and the team had chosen today to finally give him a spot on the fourth line.

when you saw his last name on a jersey you already weren’t fond of gliding around on the ice, your head immediately went back to the game that could’ve ended your life,

he’d been suspended from competing in iihf games since the incident, and his career had gone down hill from there, but the fact that he was still allowed on professional ice irked you to no ends.

dawson knew well enough why you looked like you were about to throw up, but your boyfriend and your captain were confused and concerned.

nico nodded for dawson to leave him to talk to you and sat in the now empty cubby, nudging your knee pads with his own.

“you alright, charlie?” you smiled softly at the ground, your soft spot for nico already grounding you.

“i’m okay, neeks,” you rested your head on his shoulder, the padding making for a comfortable spot.

“back in november you got enough penatly minutes against these guys to beat jack for the next two seasons, so how about we cool it today, yeah?” you giggled, wrapping both of your arms around nicos one that he used to pat your knee

“no promises. haven’t seen shaw since my last juniors game,” nicos lips parted, not having seen shaw on the ice during warmups and not clocking that your vendetta against the hawks was partly due to him.

“never mind. do crime, have fun, all of the stuff a captain absolutely wants to see,” he kissed your forehead and you laughed, looking up at him with a bright smile

“thank you, ni. your silly accent and questionable rule bending made me less prone to crimes,” he grinned.

“if you need a minute tonight, you’ll tell me?” you nodded and he hummed, staying in dawsons cubby while lindy spoke and up until it was time to get back onto the ice.

[petermorwood]

Interesting to see this post cross my dash again.

I was watching a movie late last night and, with that post's criticism of unbroken long speeches and suggestions of how to break them, here's an example of how a very famous one was done.

The movie I was watching was "Jaws", and the long speech is The Indianapolis Monologue. There are several YouTube clips, but a couple of them leap straight in at the start of the speech.

The clip below has the lead up to The Speech which, IMO, matters a lot in preparing for what follows; there's not just a Mood Whiplash - cheery drunk to OMG Whut - to make the viewers pay attention, but also what I mentioned in the other post, an entirely legitimate reason for an "As You Know" speech.

One character, Hooper, knows the significance of "USS Indianapolis" - his shocked-almost-sober reaction makes that very plain - but the other character, Brody (and the audience he represents), doesn't know and needs told.

In addition (also as mentioned in the other post) despite being a single-character monologue, the speech is "broken" by cutting away from the speaker, Quint, to reaction shots from the other characters present. Even when Quint is on-screen he isn't centre-screen, Hooper is visible in the background where his silent, apprehensive attention accompanies the story he's hearing.

*****

This can be done in words, too: inserting other actions or reactions by means of paragraph breaks is the equivalent of visual cut-aways, and serve the same functions - making a lot of words from one character into several smaller groups of words, while showing the cumulative effect of all those words on other listeners.

Even a soliloquy with no-one else listening benefits from occasional breaks describing what the speaker is doing, how their emotions show, where they are etc. It's all far better than A Wall Of Text.

The entire speech is 438 words, and Robert Shaw delivers them over 3 min 34 sec.

I've got three PDF versions of the "Jaws" screenplay, all different, and this speech varies in every one but are never what's in the movie, so I constructed mine as a transcript from several listenings, and have used paragraph breaks to try matching Shaw's delivery.

Also, as an Exercise For The Scholar (me, anyway) I've inserted and timed the cuts where Quint isn't on screen or speaking to show how short they can be.

Japanese submarine slammed two torpedoes into our side, Chief. We was comin' back from the island of Tinian to Leyte. Just delivered the bomb. The Hiroshima bomb. Eleven hundred men went into the water. Vessel went down in twelve minutes. Didn't see the first shark for about half an hour. Tiger. Thirteen-footer. You know how you know that when you’re in the water, Chief? You tell by lookin' from the dorsal to the tail. What we didn't know ... was our bomb mission had been so secret, no distress signal had been sent. Huh.

CUT TO BRODY (3 sec) then BACK TO QUINT WHO TAKES A DRINK (2 sec)

They didn't even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, Chief, sharks come cruisin'. So we formed ourselves into tight groups. You know it’s ... kinda like old squares in a battle, like you see in a calendar, like the Battle of Waterloo, and the idea was, shark comes to the nearest man, that man he start poundin' and hollerin' and screamin’, an’ sometimes the shark go away. Sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark, he looks right into you. Right into your eyes. You know the thing about a shark, he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When he comes at you, doesn't seem to be livin'. Until he bites you, and those black eyes roll over white and then, ah, then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'. The ocean turns red, and despite all the poundin' and the hollerin' they all come in an’ they... Rip you to pieces.

CUT TO BRODY (2 sec) then BACK TO QUINT

Y’know, by the end of that first dawn, lost a hundred men. I dunno how many sharks, maybe a thousand. I dunno how many men, they averaged six an hour.

CUT TO BRODY (3 sec) AS QUINT CONTINUES OFFSCREEN

On Thursday mornin', Chief...

BACK TO QUINT

I bumped into a friend of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball player. Bosun's mate. An’ I thought he was asleep; reached over to wake him up. Bobbed up an’ down in the water, was like a kinda top. Upended... Well, he'd been bitten in half below the waist.

CUT TO BRODY (2 sec) then CUT TO HOOPER (2 sec) then BACK TO QUINT

Noon the fifth day, Mister Hooper, a Lockheed Ventura saw us, he swung in low and he saw us - a young pilot, a lot younger than Mister Hooper. Anyway he saw us and he come in low, and three hours later a big fat PBY comes down and start to pick us up. You know that was the time I was most frightened. Waitin' for my turn. I'll never put on a lifejacket again. So, eleven hundred men went into the water, three hundred and sixteen men come out, the sharks took the rest, June the 29th, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.

*****

For comparison, down below is what it looks like without any paragraph breaks, speech instruction (gravely / incredulous etc.) or screen direction (track right / dolly in / close on / match cut etc.).

(BTW, some of these effects can be used when writing prose, to good effect, but that's for another time.)

This is the Wall of Text effect, and it sometimes turns up on the internet, courtesy of people who don't know how to use Enter except when they're sending a post.

I'm not saying this is how the speech would have looked in the real shooting script, but it might. From my own screenwriting experience, actors don't like being told how to deliver their lines and directors don't like being told how to set up their shots.

There's a bit more flexibility when writing animation, but in both cases crafty writers write so that the way they want a thing done works out as the best way to do it.

Sometimes this trick even works... :->

*****

Here's the Wall Of Text:

Japanese submarine slammed two torpedoes into our side, Chief. We was comin' back from the island of Tinian to Leyte. Just delivered the bomb. The Hiroshima bomb. Eleven hundred men went into the water. Vessel went down in twelve minutes. Didn't see the first shark for about half an hour. Tiger. Thirteen-footer. You know how you know that when you’re in the water, Chief? You tell by lookin' from the dorsal to the tail. What we didn't know was our bomb mission had been so secret, no distress signal had been sent. Huh. They didn't even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, Chief, sharks come cruisin'. So we formed ourselves into tight groups. You know it’s kinda like old squares in a battle, like you see in a calendar, like the Battle of Waterloo, and the idea was, shark comes to the nearest man, that man he start poundin' and hollerin' and screamin’, an’ sometimes the shark go away. Sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark, he looks right into you. Right into your eyes. You know the thing about a shark, he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When he comes at you, doesn't seem to be livin'. Until he bites you, and those black eyes roll over white and then, ah, then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'. The ocean turns red, and despite all the poundin' and the hollerin' they all come in an’ they rip you to pieces. Y’know, by the end of that first dawn, lost a hundred men. I dunno how many sharks, maybe a thousand. I dunno how many men, they averaged six an hour. On Thursday mornin', Chief I bumped into a friend of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball player. Bosun's mate. An’ I thought he was asleep; reached over to wake him up. Bobbed up an’ down in the water, was like a kinda top. Upended. Well, he'd been bitten in half below the waist. Noon the fifth day, Mister Hooper, a Lockheed Ventura saw us, he swung in low and he saw us - a young pilot, a lot younger than Mister Hooper. Anyway he saw us and he come in low, and three hours later a big fat PBY comes down and start to pick us up. You know that was the time I was most frightened. Waitin' for my turn. I'll never put on a lifejacket again. So, eleven hundred men went into the water, three hundred and sixteen men come out, the sharks took the rest, June the 29th, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.

[aimeedaisies]

Court Circular | 12th November 2024

Palace of Holyroodhouse

The Princess Royal this morning attended the HIV Drug Therapy Glasgow Congress at the Scottish Event Campus, Exhibition Way, Glasgow, and was received by Mr John MacLeod (Deputy Lieutenant of the City of Glasgow).

Her Royal Highness this afternoon visited the University of Glasgow’s Mazumdar-Shaw Advanced Research Centre, 11 Chapel Lane, Glasgow.

The Princess Royal, Royal Patron, MND Scotland, afterwards attended a Supporters’ Reception at the MND Scotland Office, Merchant Exchange, 20 Bell Street, Glasgow.

Her Royal Highness, Patron, the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo, later received Mr Jason Barrett (Chief Executive Officer).

[materialsscienceandengineering]

The best microphone in the world might have an unexpected source: spider silk. Spiders weave webs to trap their insect snacks, but the sticky strands also help spiders hear. Unlike human eardrums and conventional microphones that detect sound pressure waves, spider silk responds to changes in the velocities of air particles as they are thrust about by a sound field. This sound velocity detection method remains largely underexplored compared to pressure sensing, but it holds great potential for high-sensitivity, long-distance sound detection. Researchers from Binghamton University investigated how spiders listen to their environments through webs. They found the webs match the acoustic particle velocity for a wide range of sound frequencies. Ronald Miles will present their work Thursday, May 16, as part of a joint meeting of the Acoustical Society of America and the Canadian Acoustical Association, running May 13-17 at the Shaw Centre located in downtown Ottawa, Ontario, Canada.

Read more.

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

He dreams of revenge pt. 1

Dallon

this is going to be a two chapter story, inspired by this dream I had

word count: 2.7K

masterlist

TW: sibling death mention, suicide mention, referenced captivity and torture, suggestive themes (nothing 18+/nsfw happens, but there's a vibe), choking, fade-to-black ending, gun mention (hopefully i got all of it? lmk if i missed something)

I'm going to kill Wesley Shaw tonight.

I tried to accept it as a fact, doubting it would only bring about a load of unnecessary anxiety, and I didn't need anything that could potentially poison the success of this mission.

We had been planning the hit for months now, everything had to be perfect. Every step had been thought through well, we had plan Bs and Cs for each and every one of them. By the end of the night that monster would be dead.

Before we entered the convention centre, Bailey and I went over our cover stories and aliases, quick, as if we were reciting a a well-learned poem.

The only good thing, I could honestly say I liked about her, was that she spoke fast. Sure, she was a great cop, with a steady aim, and she was awfully insightful, she just never shut up, and I could never get over that.

I fought the assignment hard, when the project started, I'd have been willing to work with anyone, but her. If there was a chance for a slip of a tongue compromising the mission, I would want to prevent it, even if it ruined my reputation as a good partner to be assigned with.

Fuck Bailey. I planned on doing this right, thankfully our cover stories let us spend the first half of the evening separately. It was a safety measure we took, we pretend not to know each other, so if anything goes south, we don't drag each other down. I was entirely convinced this was put in the plan for my safety, I would never let myself get in trouble like that.

She got out of the car a block away from where I did. I was to arrive from another direction, at a different time.

"You're gonna do great, Dallon!" I heard the captain's voice throught the earpiece, I would discard immediately upon arrival. We didn't wish for luck on high stakes missions like this one.

"I know" I replied with full conviction. I was going to do great and Shaw would die and it was going to be perfect.

I got out of the car just in time to spot Bailey saunter inside, flashing her wristband to the security guard. I heard her laughter from where I stood, and felt an uneasy shiver run down my spine at the thought of having to "accidentally" run into her inside and rejoin forces for the takedown.

Phase one, I go inside and mingle. I already hated it, every ounce of willingness to talk had evaporated from me, as Bailey entered the building before I did. I still had a list of conversation starters and a hell of a great ability to lie my ass off going for me. I would not enjoy a second spent in this phase, but I'd do well enough.

It was too bright inside. My skin crawled with how many bodies pressed to my side as I tried to push through the crowd. I had to keep my eyes open and actually look, which took tremendous effort to keep up against the onslaught of sensations.

My heart jumped every time I saw a feature that slightly resembled the one haunting me in my nightmares. Every glimpse of light reflected from a pair of glasses, every face with black stubble on set me off to no end.

Phase two started, when I finally spotted him. He stood off to the side, surrounded by a close circle of people with a glass of champagne in hand, a horrendously smug smile on his face. The latter might have been my imagination, he could only have been smug if he considered himself the winner of the fight already, and he didn't even know about the operation. At the end of the night I planned to make that expression, while he bleeds out on the ground and I claim self-defense.

It started off easy, I positioned myself in the crowd so that I could keep an eye on Wesley at all times. This made it significantly harder to find my partner, who should also be looking for me after she found the target. He was hard to miss and however annoying Bailey was, she was a lot more comfortable getting lost in a crowd and had a decent amount of precision to spot him, maybe even faster than I did.

It wasn't time to get closer just yet, I needed to find Bailey, and start a conversation innocuously. For that to happen I needed to actually talk to people.

I joined a larger group, where a few others seemed to be just as much of an outsider as I was, so it isn't too weird that I joined. I laughed when the others did, tried to get a word in edgewise here and there, but I wasn't paying much attention.

I was scanning the crowd for my partner's outrageous golden dress and bright ginger hair. Against all odds, she was a lot harder to spot than Wesley Shaw, in his simple black suit. We locked eyes, it seemed she had found him as well. We had entered phase two.

We had to find our way to him. Not do dwell on the details, Bailey joined my group, then we went for drinks and pretended to introduce ourselves. We weren't missed after we left and let the crowd carry us to Wesley.

He wasn't surrounded as exclusively as I imagined, he was just an attendee like we were. It made our job all the more seamless.

When we joined the conversation he was a part of, we entered phase three. Get him alone and find something to arrest him for. We had a list of everything Wesley had ever done, incriminating himself, but it would be much easier, if he gave us a reason. I wasn't one for planting evidence and such things, that was usually below me. Not this time. Wesley Shaw was going down one way or another.

His voice was deep, I could feel it rumble in my stomach and if I didn't know who he was, I would have even enjoyed it. Maybe... It was hard to say. All I could think about was Marci and the way she looked at me when we found her, and that I'm so close to making the fucker pay for it. I hated waiting.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" Wesley aimed the question at me, looking me up and down. I shivered.

"No, I don't think so" I smiled politely, and reached a hand out for him to shake. "Max Brown" It's Dallon Burke, and I'm going to kill you.

"Wesley Shaw. I swear I feel like we've met before" Do you even remember Marci? Here's a hint you, kidnapped her and tortured her for almost a year.

"I guess, I have one of those faces" She was my twin. We looked alike before you destroyed her.

"Yeah, probably" She killed herself. Did you even know that?

I had no way of keeping time as it passed by. People came and went, someone brought drinks at one point. I never left Wesley's side. The conversation was superficial, we chatted away about events, fundraisers and the dresscode, and I spoke to the best of my knowledge of what I thought Max Brown would say.

He didn't like strict black and white attires, much like the one Wesley wore. He preferred some frill and colour, as demonstrated by my dark blue, satin button-up.

I forcibly smiled as much as I could. I was used to doing it all the time, especially throughout the preparation process for this operation, because I didn't want to let everyone know how much I despised having to work with Bailey. I had reached my limit that evening and my jaw started to hurt.

I flirted with her and she with Wesley. We agreed on this beforehand, because there was no way in hell I would be able to keep up the facade for him, at least with her, I could practice beforehand.

She was smart to leave for a little while, so we didn't raise suspicion, as far as everyone else was aware, we we're strangers to each other as much as we were to them. After she got back, stumbling and slurring her words a little, acting drunk - at least I prayed it was an act, a rather prejudiced thought on my part - we set phase four into motion.

"Would you two care to join me for another drink?" the monster asked. Bailey stood close to him, leaning slightly on his shoulder, giggling like it was the best night of her life. Even though I knew it was fake, the sight left a sour taste in my mouth. "Maybe somewhere more private?"

"This place is crammed with people, do you know of some VIP area we hadn't been invited to?" I meant for the question to sound light, I think it came out a little awkward. He didn't seem to mind. Arrogant prick.

"I have a suite booked in the hotel next door" he replied smoothly. Bailey inched even closer to him, batting her eyelashes with not-so-secret intent.

"A suite? Are you rich or something?" She played dumb well. Her voice, usually sharp, even grating at times, was not soft and feminine. I wished she spoke more like that.

Wesley Shaw laughed and pulled her close by the waist. His hand didn't wander lower than it was appropriate.

"And you, Max?" He raised an eyebrow, as he inquired, I found it sort of comical as the frame of his glasses obstructed the view of the lower one. The sight of this monster of a man with only half a brow gave me enough material to laugh and smile in his direction.

"I'd love to" I made my voice deeper on purpose, so it sounded like I was actually into the idea.

We made our way back to the gates and walked over to the hotel. We locked arms with Bailey from both sides to keep her upright. I was starting to doubt whether she was actually sober.

Wesley Shaw's luxury suite was on the fifth floor. He invited us to sit in the living room, and opened up a bottle of wine from a wine cooler.

I wondered if he had brought that with himself for this occasion, or it was the courtesy of the hotel staff.

"Will you excuse me for a moment?" Wesley stood up abruptly, just after filling our glasses and making himself comfortable. "I have to make a phone call, it can't wait" He apologized again. I nodded, sure, it was fine, I was understanding. He walked into the bedroom and pulled the sliding door panel shut.

As soon as he was out of our line of sight Bailey straightened up and poured out half of what her glass contained on a plant next to the couch.

We heard as he picked up the phone, he paced the room. We couldn't hear much. Bailey immediately relaxed back against the cushions, when we heard him walk closer.

"This is going to take a while" Wesley came back to the living room, covering the microphone with one hand, he was half whispering. "You could make yourselves comfortable in the bedroom until then, my laptop is out here"

"Are you sure?" I asked with fake concern. Max Brown wouldn't want to be a rude guest. "We can leave and catch up later"

"I'm sure" He smiled warmly. It burnt my face. "Ten minutes at maximum, I'll try to make it in five, though" Wesley winked at me. I wanted to strangle him, but instead, I grabbed Bailey by the arm, maybe a bit stronger than it was necessary and pulled her up to come with me to the bedroom.

I pulled the door in, leaving it open an inch, so we could hear better.

Bailey was tense again, no sign of the alcohol induced lazy relaxed version of her. She sat on the edge of the bed, listening, still as a statue.

I concentrated as well. And when I finally picked up the thread of the conversation, I looked at Bailey in disbelief.

It couldn't have been this easy. He was dictating account numbers into the phone, with names and places. Wesley Shaw started phase five by himself.

The microphones sewn into our clothes were sensitive enough to pick all the sound up. We needed to get at least one of the devices out of here, so it can be traced immediately. Bailey was the one delivering it, I was tasked with keeping him there, using force if necessary, until we get the okay to arrest him.

Bailey put the drunken act back on. She stood up, swaying a little on her feet and walked out of the room. She whispered incoherently, from too far away and Wesley waved her off, apparently way too lost in his laptop screen.

She was out. I undid the top two buttons of my shirt and sat on the edge of the bed. I thought about how I should have drunk that glass of wine at least. Not like I needed the courage, I felt determined now more than ever. All I had to do was pull my gun, that had been safely tugged into it's strap on my ankle under my wide-legged dress pants...

I didn't feel the weight of it as I lifted my leg up. I tried the other, since I'm bad with directions, because maybe I just forgot.

There was no gun. I desperately tried to find the last moment I remembered having it. In the surveillance van I checked before I headed inside and then nothing.

Wesley had stopped talking, I realised a second too late. He was standing in the doorway, with a questioning look on his face. I looked terribly awkward, patting the side of my ankles, looking for my gun. I hoped he was drunk enough not to notice, though I didn't remember him having a single sip of any glass of beverage he had in his hands through the night.

I don't know why or how, but that set me off, and I knew that he knew. Still I tried to save the situation. If ot came to it, I would kill him with my bare hands.

"Ba- Ashley f-felt sick, she said she'd, she'd be back later" I gulped. I fucked up, I was panicking and he knew "I- I told her not to come back, if, if she gets suck" I stammered. He merely hummed and crossed the space between us with three long strides. I was sitting on the bed, he looked tall.

I really thought I was a good liar. I had been a flawless one all night, why do I have to fuck it up the single most important minute?

"Maybe it's better like that, I'd hate to have to get rid of her, if she witnessed what's happening here" Wesley lifted my chin with a finger so I had to look him in the eye. I was frozen under his gaze. At least he didn't figure Bailey's cover out.

"You look so much like her, Dallon" he leaned down. He turned my face around to inspect it from every angle.

"I didn't think you would, but it's like she's right here. I don't know why you expected this little plan of yours to work"

"I'm going to kill you" I finally found my voice again. I pictured Marci's face, that was a carbon copy of my own, beat up, bruised and pale as a ghost. I looked healthy, no bruises or scars, maybe a slight tan I got from visiting our mother back home.

I was nothing like Marci.

"Sure, you will" Wesley laughed and his hand slid down from my chin to wrap around my throat.

"If only you had your gun" he whispered in my ear, hot and sticky, and he pushed me down on my back.

My hands flew to claw at the grip on my throat, but it was futile. I felt dark spots starting to dance around the edges of my vision, and they grew and grew until it all faded to black.