#Sheridan had me worried there for a minute but we got there

[carmenized-onions]

Tony, Terry, Tommy? | Walk-In Hotfix

synopsis; You get an unexpected call from an old friend in need of an emergency repair. Good thing: that's kind of your whole gig. Bad thing: You've been avoiding the Berzatto family for the past year.

tasting notes; hurt comfort? idk man, he's in a fuckin' freezer. this is gonna be a long slow-burn series. We don't use Y/N here and we've got a very preestablished storyline going on babes. Eat up.

portion; 3.1k+

possible allergies; SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS, I've started writing this before Season 3 comes out in June so we're going WAY off canon (unless I'm an oracle), Mikey is gonna be central baby, any tw you require for the bear-- you require for this.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns!)

I have not written fanfiction in 5-6 years and once again some goddamn pretty boy just YOINKS me back in. I'm making up my own season three here so I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants with this series, hopefully it turns out. If it doesn't... C'est la vie, I had fun.

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life—                    Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call from an old friend.

You stare at your screen for what feels like eons but it’s really just a few rings. It’s enough time to frantically search through blankets on your couch for your remote to pause your show— Which might as well be like 10 years of time. You’re heavily debating not answering; what if it’s something heavy? What if a mutual childhood friend died? What if it’s a love or murder confession? What if it’s about the money you owe her? The money she owes you?

Do you really want to take that kind of call? On what’s been a peaceful Friday night? That’s a rarity in your part of Chicago, c’mon. If it’s important, she’ll leave a voicemail... Who are you kidding, she doesn’t leave voicemails— Frankly, it’s bizarre and concerning that she’s calling in the first place instead of spam texting. …Alright, she’s let it get to the fourth ring, she’s probably dead or dying. You need to pick up.

“…Syd?”

She sounds infinitely stressed, but relieved to hear your voice.“Hey, hey, uh—”

There’s a cacophony of yelling, banging, and what you imagine are kitchen noises in the background. Guess she kept to her guns after Sheridan. That’s nice. Or maybe it’s not. Hard to tell.

“Are you good?” She can’t see the concern on your face or your free arm crossing over your waist— But she can imagine it in the worried lilt of your voice.

“Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah— I-I’m good— Well actually, no, I’m not good, that’s why I’m calling. Actually. Sorry. I know it’s been a minute, it’s fucked up to call only when I need something—”

“Syd.”

“Is your dad still a handy-man?”

Ah. Goodbye peaceful Friday night. Hello emergency hotfix services.

You click your teeth, “Oh, no, he retired. Got a case of… Getting fucking old disease.” But a part of you is relieved it’s a thing that’s broken, and not her. This is at least manageable— Whatever it is.

“Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Ha, yeah, my dad’s got that too— Well, okay, then I’ll talk—”

You’re quick to jump in. “I took over the business though. So, if you’re—" “We need help so bad right now.”

You can’t help but laugh at the speed of it, but immediately feel guilty hearing the desperation in it. “Yeah? Who’s we?”

You stick the cellphone in the crux of your neck, already walking across your apartment to throw on your jumpsuit— Dark navy blue, elbow length sleeves, dad’s old logo embroidered on your right breast pocket.

CHICAGO’S KINDEST ⚒ FIXERS & CO. It’s managed to grow on you.

There’s an egregious number of patches ironed or sewn onto the back and shoulders of it. All from businesses you and your father had either worked with or done odd jobs for. A NASCAR jumpsuit, but for nostalgia and small businesses. Something something ‘it all starts with your neighbourhood’. Your dad would say.

Syd continues, she hasn’t changed much. You hear her sharp dicing in the background, the rhythm seems to calm down into an actual flow instead of erratic speed. You figure either the dinner rush is starting to slow down or she’s relieved you’re coming. Who are you being humble for, no shot it’s the former.

“So, you know how I’m like— Like a chef and shit?”

 You hum the affirmative, putting her on speakerphone so you can pull out your tool kit with both hands.

“So like, I actually co-own this restaurant opening tonight.”

“Oh nice!”

“Yeah— Yeah, yeah, it’s really nice, but actually, it’s not, because it’s bad.”

“In the way I can fix?”

“In the way you can fix, yeah. Hopefully.”

“What’s the damage?”

“So, my co-owner uh, Carmen, he got locked in the walk-in. Like trapped.”

You take a beat, a confused one. Half-stepping, almost tripping. You stare at your tools, picking out what you’ll actually need for this— How the fuck— “How is he trapped in the walk-in?”

“So, he meant to call to get it fixed—” “And he didn’t?” “And he didn’t.”

“What was broke about it in the first place?”

“The doorknob on the inside, broke off. And right now, or, more like, 5 minutes ago, the handle on the outside broke off too.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

“Do you have the outside handle, still?”

“Yeah. Yeah, laying around somewhere— It snapped off though, like—”

“Clean?”

“Uh…. Y’know, I would check, but I’m actually kinda—"

“Can we run table 36, please, Chefs?!” Now that’s an uncomfortably familiar voice.

“Yes, Chef! …I’m kinda busy.”

“Right. Restaurant. Oh, what fucking restaurant? You said Carmen, that’s that fuckin’ Michelin guy, right?” Berzatto. It has to be. The smallness of this world is a personal prank on you.

“…How do you know that?” Son of a bitch.

“…I try to remember what you like.” It’s a good save, but that was too intimate for 3 years of no contact besides Happy Birthday texts, fuck fuck, recover— “Ahem, uh, Restaurant?”

“The Bear. Formerly The Beef. You do still live in Chicago, right?”

Berzatto. Confirmed. Bleh.

“Fortunate for you, I do. I know The Beef, I’m not far, I’ll be there in ten. Tell him to not have a panic attack, if you get a minute.”

“I will not get a minute. But I love the dream.”

And you’re off. Jumpsuit half zipped over what was supposed to be a sleep shirt but is now posthumously a work shirt. Nobody has to know you’re wearing pajama shorts under this. Carhartt jacket thrown over your shoulders— Your dad’s, so, a bit oversized. Toolbox in hand, utility belt on— Though you’re mildly sure if your hypothesis is right, you will only need your threateningly long sledgehammer.

Thank God for your car. CTA would not like you right now.

You pull up front. Oh boy. The sign change is making you feel a type of way that you were not expecting. Pride? Envy? All seven of the deadly sins? Maybe. No time to stew on it because there’s an older woman smoking and having an emotional spat with who you assume is her shivering son out front. So. Definitely going through the back alley instead of getting in the middle of that shit.

Alas, it’s not any better, because there’s Syd, vomiting next to a dumpster.

“Better to ignore or acknowledge you in this moment?” Is the response you decide is best, despite the question, you’re already by her side. You put your tools down (out of the splash zone) and rub her back with one hand, holding back straying braids with the other.

“I couldn’t—” More vomit. “Fuckin’ tell ya.” Syd takes a few deep breathes before standing. She considers going in for a hug, but remembers, the vomit. “Good to see you. I want to catch up, f’real, but—” “The bear in the walk-in?” “The bear in the walk-in.”

You nod, fishing through your pocket. You hand her a mini container of Tums. She waves it off, of course, and you double down, of course, “Who you acting tough for?”

“Fuckin… No one.” She grimaces, taking the box. She makes a show of taking one, like a fussy kid.

You refuse to take it back. “Keep it.”

“Never stopped being the mom friend, eh?”

You laugh, picking up your tools again. “Listen, there’s no telling what the night and your stomach holds. Lead the way?”

The Bear is pretty, or at least the kitchen of it is, so far. It’s clean. Cleaner than it used to be. The death trap walk-in is really the only eyesore for you. You stare at the broken-off handle in your hand, twisting it back and forth to look at all the angles. It’s honestly a pretty clean break.

Sydney’s left to talk to her dad, as she should, and the rest of the kitchen is either too busy to pay you mind or is just silently relieved to see you.

Tina— Who has thankfully opted to not say ‘Hey, good to see you, it’s been a year, what the fuck’—Taps the walk-in door and says to this elusive Michelin Carmen that she’ll be right back, that help’s here. He does not seem to register this at all. She gently slaps your cheek before rushing back to her station, regardless.

“Maybe I’m just not built for this, maybe, maybe that’s okay— Maybe that just is.”

You’ve never said his name to him, it feels heavy on your tongue. “Carmen.”

“Right? What the fuck was I thinking?”

Alright, he’s too far gone. You flag down one of the cooks that are just shadowing for the night. “Hey, can you hold this in place for me?”

You stick the handle into what’s left of the hinge still attached to the door, which is, not much— But hopefully, again, if your hypothesis is correct, it’ll give enough leverage. The cook holds it in place, a little terrified as your sledgehammer comes into view.

“Not gonna hit you, promise.”

“—I’m a fuckin’ psycho. That’s why. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”

You tap (bang) the hammer on the door, enough to stop his train of thought. For a second, at least. “Sweetheart, I need you to stand up for me, Carmen Chef Sir.”

“…Tony?”

“...Who the fuck is Tony?”

The meek cook beside you speaks up, “He means Tommy.”

And Tina is quick to yell from across the kitchen— hearing how? We don’t know. “It’s Terry!”

“I am none of these people.” You sigh, readying the hammer. “Carmen, can you stand up, and just tuck your fingers in the wedge of the door? If there is one?”

“Heard. Yeah.” There’s shuffling from in there, getting into position. Though the steps and the words seem dazed, as he’s forced out of a mental fog. “Here.”

“This isn’t a fix by the way. Your whole door is fucked after this. Not that it isn’t already, but, y’know.” You back up, teeing yourself up before running forward.

“Well, wait—”

You slam the mallet into the tip of the handle perfectly, forcing it way too tight into the gap of the hinge. You push the cook aside with your hip, now using the long handle of the mallet to stick between the knob and the door, using it as further leverage to pull it open. It is incredibly straining.

“Carmy!” Is it okay to say that nickname before you’ve even seen his face? Eh. You’re moving the boulder, he’ll forgive you. “You feel air?!”

“Holy shit— Yeah, yeah— Push?!” “Of course fucking push!”

And it becomes apparent in this exchange of force that this Head Chef must be significantly stronger than you, because it’s opening a lot faster now. Though, fast is a strong word for the snail pace this is happening at. But it’s more than the nothing that was happening a minute ago.

“Aye… Cousin?” Richie, in a… suit? Runs up to you, coming from front of house. He immediately grabs a free spot on the sledgehammer’s handle to help pull. He was shocked to see you doing, well, this, right now, but then upon registering, he’s just shocked to see you. Period.

You can only groan in response, sticking a leg up and putting your foot on the wall as if it’s gonna add meaningful leverage— Oh wait, it kinda is. “Y'clean up good, Rich— Opening going—Fuck— well?”

“Oh yeah, fucking peachy.” He can only manage to wheeze in reply. Investing his strength in yanking rather than reintroductions; thankfully it pays off.

The hinge shoots open, you would have absolutely fallen on your ass if Richie was not ready to stabilize you. The walk-in door cracks open. Just a bit. It’s not dramatic, it’s just a breath.

It’s so anti-climactic that Richie doesn’t mind walking off to cheer before Carmen even comes out. Clapping your back as he does. “That’s what I like to fuckin’ see, Cousin! Ingenuity!”

Though, to be fair, he’s moving to intercept a very sweet looking, worried girl. You look up at her, wheezing as you keel over slightly to catch your breath, hands on your knees. She’s saying something along the lines of ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Is he okay?’ Girlfriend? Probably. Richie seems to be coaxing her accordingly. You turn your head back to the door. Carmen hasn’t come out yet. That’s a red flag. With another wheeze, you stand up right, opening the door further, peeking in.

He's standing there, catatonic. Not looking at you, but straight forward, beyond you. He must’ve been by the door to push it open but now he’s stumbled against the back shelf. Every time his girl’s voice manages to ring into here, his eyes crinkle— Wince. His breath keeps hitching. He looks afraid. It is better to be caged right now than it is to be out there, doing whatever he could be doing, right now. Talking to anyone might be a death sentence, right now.

“I don’t need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I don’t need to receive any amusement or enjoyment. I’m completely fine with that.” He mumbles repeatedly. You can barely hear it over the buzzing of the freezer.

Whispering it just for himself, like some sort of fucked up mantra. Like it’s a state of inner peace to feel this bad. You doubt he even sees you right now.

You know you don’t know Carmy personally. Mostly just through hearsay.

He’s never met or heard of you, that’s for sure.

But you know Berzattos. Or. Knew the one.

And you know a downward spiral. Intimately.

And you know that right now, he’s fucking cold. He is shivering and making no move to leave that state. You think he thinks that’s the state he deserves to stay in.

Nothing to lose but a good first impression, right? You drop a screwdriver in the doorway as a doorstop— Because how fucking dumb would it be if you both got stuck? And. Extremely slowly, you approach him not unlike approaching an actual captive bear. In your eyes, you might as well be.

Standing right in front of him doesn’t stop his mantra. You slip your jacket off, half hugging him to drape it over his shoulders. “You’re just cold.”

“I’m a—” “You’re just. Cold.” You cut him off before he has the chance to self-deprecate again, smoothing out the sleeves on him. His eyes readjust to actually look at you rather than somewhere beyond.

You sniff. You’re already cold and it’s been 30 seconds. This poor thing. You rub your hands together, breathing hot air into them before touching them to his frigid fucking face. “Fuck you’re really cold. Like danger cold.”

Never being one for boundaries or hesitation, you hug yourself to him. It’s the fastest way to warm him up. You slip your hands under the jacket— Your jacket— And just engulf the Italian Popsicle Man before you.

Shockingly, he doesn’t push you off or suddenly reawaken to his senses and tell you to fuck off. He doesn’t flinch, if anything he leans in. His body doesn’t really have time for surprise, right now, it just takes what it needs. And what it needs is warmth and oxytocin. His breathing slowly but surely self regulates, and once you start to remember decorum you lower your arms— But. He opts to place his chin on your shoulder, like the world’s most gentle hook, and that alone is enough to keep you there.

It's a long, silent, liminal spacey moment before he speaks again. Both of you speak just above the decibel of the freezer's buzzing.

“You’re not Tony.”

“Terry.”

“You’re Terry?”

“No, Tina said Tony’s Terry. I don’t know who the fuck Terry is.”

“Terry’s the fridge guy.”

“You’re still going to need to call him; I did just make it worse.”

“That’s fine.” He swallows. “Who called you?”

“Syd.”

“Should’ve called you earlier.”

“Should’ve called the fridge guy earlier.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, but he makes no move to move, so you don’t either.

“You know Mikey too?”

Ah. The patch. The Beef. It's worn, but it sits proudly on the left shoulder of your jumpsuit. Your heart tightens and so does your posture.

“Yeah.” You sigh. It’s shakier than you’d like it to be. “Dad knew him, so then I knew him, so then I occasionally fixed shit for him. Shit that ‘Fak couldn’t?’ I think his name was?”

“Hm.” He hums. “He ever got locked in the walk-in?”

“Yeah, he really fucked it up, like waayy worse than whatever happened with you tonight. Like whatever happened. At least 10 times worse.” Your voice is coated with sarcasm, but it’s not entirely untrue.

You’re relieved, when Carmen laughs at this, a touch maniacally, but it’s something. Right now, any emotion from him besides regret and anxiety feels like a trophy. He straightens up, pushing his hair back, so you remove your arms.

“You’re fuckin’ funny, Tony.”

“Still not Tony.”

“Oh my god!” A blonde, very pregnant woman cracks the door open, relieved. “Are you okay, Bear?” You step aside so she can hug Carmen, holding his cheeks to look over him. Oh, this has to be—

“I’m good, I’m great, Sug.” He says this incredibly unconvincingly, hanging one hand on her wrist.

But what matters more in your brain right now is: That’s Sugar. Natalie.

And now you can put a face to both siblings you’ve been bitched about to.

Chain-smoker, means well, cringeworthy husband, too good for her family, incredibly judgemental, cares too much and worries more, loves to fight, her mother’s daughter, pushy, sticks her foot in her mouth, can’t take no for an answer, would lay down her life. Natalie Berzatto. Little sister.

Michelin Star retaining, big shot, sensitive, definitely a virgin, ball buster, sweats the small stuff, sweetheart, asshole, incredibly smart, flighty, coward, deeply loyal, whiny, screamer, show-off, fantastic drawer, shell, mister new york, annoyingly humble, undeniably the most talented. Carmen Berzatto. Baby brother.

Mikey’s words. Of course.

Nat turns her gaze over to you, “Thank you.” You can only bring yourself to nod in reply, a bit awkward— Lost in your rolodex of memories of the people you’ve never actually met until right now. It’s weird to feel parasocial about a normal person.   

“Our toilet, exploded.” She says.

Now that pulls out you of it, and gets a laugh out of you. You put your hand over your mouth. “Yeah?”

Sugar shakes her head, eyes widening like she’s just stepped in it, “I didn’t mean like— Like, you just did a job, right, that’s like tacking on another last-minute service—”

“That’s fine.” You put a hand up stopping her from continuing, still chuckling. “I’ll take a look at it tonight and try to fix it tomorrow?”

She nods, smiling bright, “Thank you, Tommy.”

Who needs to use Y/N when you have the fridge guy?

I so desperately hope you liked this first chapter. I've been stewing on this for like a week so I beg of you to reply/reblog/send me an ask (anon or not!!) telling me what you thought!! Unless it's mean!! In which case, do NOT!!!

And just a forewarning, as we step into uncharted territory where the walk-in meltdown was cut short, I need you to hold my hand through it bb. We're making this man's life better or we're gonna die trying.

Next Part

[wall-legion]

The Space Between

It had been a long day at the soap shop, and everyone was exhausted by the time the sign was flipped to "closed". So many people had stopped in to pick up last minute gifts, and many were not as patient as they could have been about the shop being low or out of products at that point in the day. "Does anyone want to actually go out and celebrate tonight?" Leyya asked as she watched Odetta come into the back and slouch into a chair. "Sheesh, kill the vibe more." This came from the meerkat perched in a tube near the ceiling. "No one asked you, Cepir. And you lost your stupid hat." "Ah! My fez!" From the other end of the table, Zojja shook her head and laughed. "Don't let him wind you up like that. Besides, there's still time to freshen up. Soon as Sheridan's done, one of us can." "Don't worry about me." Odetta finally looked up from where she had collapsed onto the table, head on her folded arms. "I'm not going anywhere but to bed with the leftover scones and tea." Zojja glanced from Odetta to Leyya, as the other asura shrugged. "But what about Zio and Iialli..?" "He's new, so of course he got assigned duty tonight. And Iialli is busy at Pheazza's because a ship came in with new inventory." "I see..." Leyya looked up as Mabon drifted in from the kitchen, sporting an apron that read "Mursaat do it Unseen". "Mabon, what are your and Sheridan's plans?" "Oh, nothing complicated. I plan on enchanting myself to look like a sylvari so we draw less attention, then wine and sweets on the beach. Why?" He looked at Odetta as she groaned softly. "...have I said something to offend?" "No, because that sounds wonderful!" Odetta sat up. "What about you two?" she asked while gesturing at the two asura. "Oh, we'll be heading to the Grand Piazza for an event! A combination fig tasting from an orchard in Cantha and lecture about mutualism!" "Don't think about it," Leyya muttered. "Why?" Odetta just stared at Leyya, face full of confusion. "You don't... oh. You don't know. Never mind. We'll bring you back some figs if we can." Odetta frowned, both at Leyya and at Zojja as she muffled a snort of laughter. "Okay. Thank you. I think." At that point, Sheridan came all but tumbling down the stairs and beamed as they caught sight of Mabon. "I'm ready!" "I should say," Mabon replied with a chuckle. "You're certainly eager." "You two have a good time," Odetta said as she made herself smile. "It sounds like you're in for a lovely night." "Thank you Odetta." Sheridan stopped briefly to give the woman a hug, as Mabon worked his magic to transfigure himself into a tall male sylvari with silvery birch skin. "We'll see you later!" "We should be off as well." Zojja got up from her seat. "Don't want to be late, after all." Leyya reached out to pat Odetta's hand. "I'm sure you'll have a nice evening in spite of everything," she said. "Chin up." Odetta watched them depart, locked the door behind them, and then set herself to cleaning the shop. Once that was done, she retreated into the kitchen to finally make herself tea, only to hear someone knocking. "You gonna get it?" She sighed before looking up at Cepir, who was lounging in his 'kitchen globe', an orb that Mabon had crafted and added to the pipe network so he could be included when everyone gathered in there. "I am considering it." "Well consider faster. They're knocking hard enough to rattle the walls." She rolled her eyes, but went to the door. She unlocked it and pulled it open hard, eyes shut while raising her voice. "We are closed-" "Even for Valentine's gifts?" She finally opened her eyes. Iialli was smirking and holding a box of chocolates, while Zio was standing over her and grinning as well, a bouquet held in his hands. "I... I thought you two had work," she finally managed. "Phee said she would manage without me. Can't speak for him." "I let the Zio charm do the work for me." Odetta folded her arms across her chest. "So you're in trouble." "Probably." He started to turn away. "Do you want the flowers or not, princess?" She grinned for the first time in hours. "Get in here, you two."

[forever-rogue]

OKAY blurb/fic request. Stealing Javis cigarettes. Not the whole pack but just one when you want one and you and Steve just watch as he tries to figure where they are going. Or something along the lines of that . Just some plain old goofy office pranks/ partner teasing

Stealing Javi’s cigarettes? Teasing? I got you covered 😌

Javier x Fem!Reader; warnings: smoking, slight language, sex themes

Javier Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

Stress.

It was the least you could use to how you were currently feeling. Nothing but dead ends and dead bodies had been turning up over the couple of weeks. And you were on thin ice. Well - you, Javi, and Steve.

And while you had a moment alone, you remained in the silent office, letting your thoughts wash over you, laying your head on the desk and practicing your breathing for a few moments. It was then that you took a look at Javi’s desk and found his pack of cigarettes discarded and tossed onto the middle. Strange. He usually always had them tucked into his back back pocket for easy access. He must have forgotten them.

Drumming your fingers along the top of your desk, you contemplated taking one. Unlike your two partners, you were not a big smoker, only partaking socially or on the rare occasion when your will was comprised and you just couldn’t help yourself.

Like now.

One couldn’t hurt.

He probably wouldn’t even notice.

Jumping out of your office chair, you darted across the room to his desk and snatched the box, popping it open and snatching out of the few remaining sticks. Shit. Maybe he would notice. Or hopefully he’d already have another pack at the ready.

It was already too late, you realized as you held the cigarette between your lips, bringing the lighter to it and inhaling deeply. Tossing the lighter back down, you sat on the edge of Javi’s desk and took a long, deep drag before exhaling heavily and wiping at your tired eyes. You were sure you looked as bad as you felt.

“Hey,” Steve’s gentle voice quickly pulled you of your thoughts as you turned to him with a sheepish expression. Ever the federal agent, it only took him a few moments to put two and two together, “don’t let Javi see. He’s already looking for any excuse to lose it.”

“I couldn’t help it,” you groaned as you walked back to your own desk, “one moment of weakness and he’s going to chew my ass off.”

“Not you,” Steve snorted lightly, “we both know that.”

“We’re not-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he cocked an eyebrow as you sat back and put your feet on your desk. Whatever you and Javier had was...something. Both simple and straight forward, but also incredibly complex, like the two of you were constantly walking on glass around each other, “we’re not dating, Steve.”

“You’re not not dating,”  he insisted with a little smirk as you mouth his words back in a low, mocking tone. He only laughed as you sighed and looked at the ceiling, “whatever you guys want to call it, it’s something.”

“Sure, Steve,” you sighed softly, “just don’t tell him about this, yeah? I’m hoping he won’t even notice. If nothing else, I’ll go and buy him a new pack.”

“I saw nothing,” he gave you a small salute as you turned back to your paperwork, trying to quickly finish the cigarette before Javier returned it.

Sure enough, within a few minutes, Javier stormed back into the office, stopping at the door and glancing at the two of you. He huffed as the two of you only gave him small nods of acknowledgment but remained engrossed in your work. Your heart skipped a beat as you were sure he expected you to say something - anything - but you choose not to.

Slamming himself back down in his chair, he reached for the pack to grab his own cigarette. He paused for a moment as he appeared to do a quick inventory, brows furrowing when he appeared to notice something was off. But if his suspicions were raised, he made no comment and just started worked.

Crisis averted. For now.

Steve caught your eye for a fraction of a second, a little smirk tugging on his features as your eyes widened in a silent plea to remain inconspicuous. The room in the air was thick and tense, but no one said anything, luckily, as you all went back to work.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next several weeks weren’t much better. Each day was just as hectic and chaotic as the next, with barely a moment to breath. And although you hadn’t wanted to succumb to your primal needs, you caved and started to pick up a new smoking habit. Still nothing compared to Javier or Steve, still not enough to have your own pack on you. Instead, you took them from Javier. At first it was just one then, but then it almost turned into a little game with you and Steve, to see how long you could keep this going on.

Today? Today you were almost desperate for a quick smoke. Groaning, but quick on your feet, you sneaked over to Javi’s desk and reached into his desk drawer to pick up the pack you knew he had stashed there.

But it wasn’t there. Nothing was besides the usual mess.

Fuck.

“Looking for these?” Javi’s voice reached your ears and you immediately froze as you slowly looked up and met his eyes. A warm flush washed over you, as he displayed the box of cigarettes you had been looking for.

Caught red handed.

“Umm...” you gave him an innocent look as you he came closer and closer, effectively trapping you behind his desk.

“I was wondering where these were going,” he smirked as he tossed the new pack onto the desk, “but you didn’t make it very hard to figure out. Sneaky little thing.”

“It was an accident?” you tried as he sat on the edge of the desk, his dark eyes watching you like he was the hunter and you were the weak prey caught right in his grasp, “umm...a moment of indiscretion.”

“Many moments of indiscretion,” he raised an eyebrow before reaching up and grabbing your chin, a firm but still gentle gesture, as he forced you to look at him, “you could have just asked.”

“Wasn’t as fun,” you swallowed thickly, feeling heat pooling low in your belly as you could already see where this was going. And damn, if you didn’t like the thought of that. He chuckled darkly before letting you go and quickly darting his tongue out to wet his lips. It was a habit that you had picked up on a long time ago, but it still made you heart flutter every dam time, “maybe I wanted to get caught.”

“Did you want to get caught?” he asked as his hands found your waist and he pulled you closer to him. You could feel his body heat radiating onto you and it was enough to send shivers up and down your spine.

“I like when you get mad,” you confessed as you played with his tie, tugging on it gently and pulling him almost to your lips. It was just enough to where you could feel his ghost over yours, but you weren’t going to be the one to make the first mouth, “you always fuck me right when you’re mad.”

“If that’s what you wanted all you had to do was ask,” and then he closed the gap between the two of you and crashed his lips onto yours, his hands moving to your backside as he squeezed the soft flesh, causing you to groan into his mouth.

“Javier,” it was nothing more than a soft, reverent moan as you pressed yourself against him, “please.”

“Ahh, sorry baby, we’re in the office,” he let you go completely, causing you to huff in annoyance, “guess you’ll just have to wait until later.”

“You’re an asshole, Javier!”

“And you’re a sneaky little thief, so I guess that makes us even” he pressed a kiss to your forehead before moving you slightly out of the way to sit back down in his chair. You made a small sound of annoyance as you stared at him in disbelief, “did you need something, sweetheart? If you want a cigarette, help yourself.”

“That’s not what I want and we both know it.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re all out of luck,” he said casually, “until later.”

“I hate you,” you stuck your tongue out at him as you went back to your own desk.

“I love you too, baby,” he shot you a wink, “I’ll make it up to you later. Don’t you worry.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[underworld-of-imagines]

Alone - Spencer Reid

Prompt: “Did you get any sleep last night?”

TW: Heavy mentions of death, angst

A/N: Hey guys so this is something I worked on for a few days. I got the idea from a list of dialogue prompts I have.

Part 2

“Why didn’t you save me?”

You shot up like a bullet, your heart racing as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. The cold air burned your lungs as you drew in deep breaths, your ears still ringing from the nightmare. Your sweat-soaked shirt clung to your body, leaving a sticky residue over your skin.

Glancing at your alarm clock you let out a big groan, 4:23AM, you had barely made it 2 hours.

Knowing you wouldn’t make it back to sleep, you dragged yourself out of bed and into your kitchen. Tipping out your now cold coffee, you set about making a new hot cup to awaken your mind for the excruciatingly long day ahead. The bitter coffee burned your tongue, too lazy to care about the taste or burning you downed the cup quickly. You filled the cup again, downing it once more before throwing the cup into the over-piling sink.

The nightmares since your sisters death had been relentless, torturing you past the point of exhaustion. Avery, your sister, was killed by a drunk driver a mere two weeks ago. You weren’t very close to your younger sister, but still her sudden and painful death left you with a myriad of nightmares that followed. Your parents had already died, quite a few years ago, leaving only you and your sister to carry on the family line. But now, you were the only one left, left alone to deal with the aftermath of your sister’s death.

Hell, you and your sister weren’t close. In fact, you couldn’t be more opposite from each other. But that didn’t stop the love you had for her. Sure, you fought, every sibling fights every now and then. She didn’t approve of your work and you didn’t approve of hers; yours was dangerous, hers wasn’t enough to support her. You made it work though. Because you loved your sister.

And now, she was gone, just like your parents.

Your apartment seemed empty, no one else had ever lived there, but the hole in your heart made a hole in your apartment. You were alone. The photos of your family that you once proudly displayed now sat in a box, painful memories of everything you had lost.

Tired of standing in your apartment, you reached for your car keys before leaving the apartment. Driving was one of your favourite ways to get things off of your mind. You didn’t have to think of the pain, or the loss. It was just you and the road.

4am meant mostly empty roads, and tired drivers who wanted to be anywhere else but there. Except for you, you were wide awake and looking for the perfect distraction from your thoughts. Turning on the radio, you waited for a quiet sad song to start playing before pulling out of your apartment’s parking lot. It was the perfect distraction.

After a few hours of driving, you got a call from Hotch on your way back to your apartment.

“We got a case; briefing is in 30 minutes.” He announced sharply before hanging up. Letting out a loud sigh, you turned around and drove back towards the office. Luckily, you had thought ahead and thrown your go bag into the backseat of your car, along with a change of clothes for work. You weren’t really planning on heading home before work started. Instead, hoping that you’d find something to entertain yourself with.

“Y/L/N, how nice of you to join us.” Emily teased jokingly as you rushed into the briefing room, breathless from the quick change you had done.

“Sorry, long night.” You apologised before sitting in your seat, the tablets being handed around by Penelope.

“Oh, was he good?” Emily said teasingly.

“Um, what?” You questioned. Confused, you looked at her before realising that she thought you were with a guy.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Derek asked, his eyes watching you carefully. You glanced at him nervously, avoiding his eyes. He already knew the answer, they all did.

Hotch cleared his throat, drawing the room’s attention back to the case at hand.

“Okay, so we have a murdered couple in Sheridan, Wyoming. It’s a small town with about 18,000 people. The local police department have done some investigating but came up with no viable leads. This is believed to be the third couple murdered in a string of crimes. We’ve been asked to come in and help catch the unsub.” JJ explained, pictures flashing up on the screen of the couple.

You zoned out, focusing on the photo of the female on the screen. Her black hair was the same colour of your sisters, her lips the same shade of pink. She looked scarily like your sister, so much so, that if your sister weren’t already dead, you’d be convinced that it was her.

“Y/N, come on we’re leaving in 30 minutes.” Reid announced, nudging your side almost painfully to bring you out of your trance.

Spencer was your closest friend at the BAU, you told him everything, from a book you read, to some interesting fact you had found out. You knew about his mum, and even had gone to meet her with him once. But this is something you wanted to keep to yourself, you didn’t want pity, or help – you just wanted to get over how you were feeling. Admittedly, you had hoped there was something more between you and him, but he never acted, so you assumed it was just platonic for him.

“Oh, yeah.” You nodded before standing up and leaving the room hastily, you didn’t want Reid to know why you were acting so weird. He was a genius; he’d figure it out somehow.

*****

You wrapped your jacket tighter around your body as the chills set into your bones. For some ungodly reason, the air-conditioning on the plane was always colder than necessary, and you always needed a jacket for the ride. Jokingly, your sister used to call you lizard, because of the fact that you were always cold, no matter the temperature outside.

“So, anybody got any ideas?” Hotch asked as you sat around the plane, everyone moving closer to discuss the case. You zoned out of the conversation; your eyes warily trained on the closed file in before you.

“Y/L/N go visit the last crime scene.” You zoned back into the conversation, focusing on Hotch who was sitting across from you. “The families of those victims are on their way, so we’ll touch base with them when they arrive.” Hotch assigned your roles, leaving you to continue looking over the cases on your way to the location.

*****

“Mr. Morrison was killed over here, coroner put his death at before Miss. Turner’s, who was killed in the bedroom.” You followed the officer into the bedroom, unconsciously taking notes of both the victim’s lives and their deaths.

“Were there any signs of sexual assault on the female?” You questioned, averting your eyes from the large blood stain on the bed.

“Not from what we could tell, although it seems like the killer may have positioned the body postmortem.” Around the room there were several photos of the seemingly happy couple, as well as some of their respective families. Walking over to the nightstand you noticed the slightly open bottom drawer.

“Has this been searched?” You questioned, pointing towards the open drawer before you.  

“No.” Usually you refrained from looking into one’s personal lives so much, but you needed to find any link you could between the victims.

Bending down, you opened the bottom drawer. Inside the drawer were a pile of magazines and catalogues, all about weddings and relationships. On top, was a black velvet box with a small silver leaf imprinted on it. Opening it, you saw that it was empty, the engagement ring missing from the box.

“Was she found with an engagement ring?” You questioned, examining the back of the box.  

“No, she wasn’t.” You showed the empty box to the officer, who eyed it curiously.

“So, where’s the ring?”

*****

Cold water dripped down your face, chilling your skin as you leaned against the basin, your elbows resting on the counter. The cold-water working miracles to awaken your mind again, shocking you into a state of semi-consciousness. Sucking in a deep breath, you splashed your face with more cold water again before looking up at your reflection in the mirror. You looked beyond exhausted, sunken, dark purple eyebags, pale skin, slightly sunken in skin. It was a wonder you hadn’t passed out from exhaustion entirely.

The door to the bathroom opened, Emily stepping into the small space. She quickly noticed you, and your distressed appearance. You watched as she cautiously stepped towards you, her hand extended out slightly.

“Y/N?” She asked, her hand resting gently on your shoulder. “Are you okay?” You held your composure as you dried your face, forcing your lips into a gentle smile.

“Yeah, just been a rough day. This case isn’t easy,” you lied. Profiling made lying come easy to you, you could lie through your teeth about almost anything now.

“Bullshit. Something is wrong, the whole team can tell. You’ve been hurting for weeks. You obviously haven’t been sleeping, and you’re distracted almost all of the time. We’re worried about you,” tears pricked at your eyes as Emily spoke, her words hitting deep into your heart. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.” She assured, her hand gently rubbing your back in circular motions.

“My sister-” you choked, the ball in your throat hardening, “she was killed in a car accident. Drunk driver.” Emily let out a painful sigh, her arms pulling you into a tight hug. “It happened about 2 weeks ago; I haven’t been able to sleep since.” You admitted, the words coming out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“Y/N, why didn’t you tell us?” She questioned, tears pricking at her eyes as well.

“Because I need to deal with it on my own. I can’t take time off, the team needs me, victims need me. But I’m getting better,” you forced a smile to try and convince her of your words.

“You need time to heal Y/N. We can find a way to manage without you. You’re all alone in this aren’t you?” Reluctantly, you nodded your head, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I’m sorry,” she apologised. “Taking some time off might help you though. It’s easy to tell that you’re exhausted and not working at your best. Nobody will blame you; we just want what’s best for you.” She reminded, her words full of warmth and heart.

“Thank you,” your voice was quiet, but she smiled, nonetheless.

“We’re here for you.”

*****

The door to Hotch’s office swung in, Hotch stood on the other side of the doorway, a grim expression on his face.

“Y/N, come on in.” You nodded, following him into the large office that you had only seen a few times. “What’s the meaning of this meeting?” He questioned, his eyes not averting from yours.

“I-I’d like to request some time off sir. My sister passed away a few weeks ago, and I thought I could handle it and work. But I haven’t been able to,” you admitted, hanging your head in shame. Anyone else on the team could have handled grieving and work, or at least separated the two from one another. You couldn’t, everywhere you went, your sister was there. Everything you did, she was there.

“Why didn’t you tell us Y/N?” Hotch’s body relaxed, a sad expression washing over his face.

“I didn’t feel like you guys needed to know.” You admitted shamefully, regret laced into your words.

“We’re your team Y/N, you should have told us.” He chastised; his voice thick with sadness.

“I know sir, I’m sorry I didn’t.” You paused in silence for a minute, the air thick as you thought of your actions. “Can I take a few weeks off sir? I promise it won’t be long, I just need some time to grieve and sort through things,” you assured, your eyes pleading.

“Of course, Y/N, take however long you need.” He reached for a piece of paper, handing it to you. “Just fill this out and send it back to me in a few days. I’ll sort out the rest.” Grateful, you took the piece of paper out of his hand, holding it gently in your own.

“Thank you, sir, see you when I come back.” You appreciated, shaking his hand briefly before walking out of the office.

The bullpen was now empty, everyone having already left to go home for a few days after the long case. You had successfully caught the killer, right before he killed another couple. Turns out he had been hunting couples looking to get engaged, because his ex-girlfriend had turned down his proposal.

The team had agreed to go out for drinks after the case, to celebrate yet another win. You had opted out of going to the bar, instead lying that you had some things you wanted to do. It wasn’t a complete lie. But thankfully, the boys had believed it. JJ and Garcia were a bit more suspicious. Emily just watched you warily, already knowing what you were going to do when you got home.

Since you had told her of your sister, she was more than understanding of your actions. And even helped you out by bringing you coffee and checking in on you. She was one of your closest friends, and you were ever grateful for her.

Grabbing your bag, you packed away some important stuff from your desk before looking around the empty bullpen – it was your home away from home. Letting out a small sigh, you hitched your bag over your shoulder before walking out of the bullpen, aware of Hotch watching you walk towards the elevators.

*****

~3RD PERSON POV~

“Hey, has anyone heard from Y/N lately?” Derek question as he walked into the break area, everyone was spread around the small area, chatting between themselves. Emily stayed quiet, glancing at Hotch who was now paying attention to current issue. The team had a right to know at least something for your sudden disappearance.

“Some things happened recently, and Y/N needed to take some time off to deal with them.” Emily spoke up, being careful not to release any telling information. Knowingly, Hotch glanced at her, he didn’t know that Emily knew, but now it made sense since Y/N wouldn’t have gone to him without being pushed.

“She was pretty out of it for the past few weeks,” JJ pointed out. The team had picked up on your behaviour and knew something was wrong from the day after her death, when you walked in late with bloodshot eyes.

“Team, Y/N took some time off for personal reasons. I can’t go much into it, but a family member passed away and she was struggling with the situation. She requested some time off to deal. I know it hasn’t been easy for her lately, so please, can we stop speculating and give her privacy.” Hotch requested, putting his coffee mug back down on the bench. Spencer glanced up at him, his eyes full of concern as he profiled his supervisor.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, standing up and grabbing his coffee. He hurried back to his desk, quickly sitting down, and sending you a hasty text.

S: Are you okay?

He waited for what seemed like forever for your response. It was only a few minutes before his phone dinged with a response.

You: So, you found out?

He ignored the pain of your harsh response as he quickly typed a response.

S: Why didn’t you tell me?

You: I didn’t feel the need to. I didn’t want anyone to find out. Emily convinced me to tell Hotch after she cornered me on the last case.

S: I thought we were close though?

You: Spencer, we are close. But this is something I wanted to deal with on my own.

He sensed your hesitation in the text, the lie that you blatantly told. Spencer knew you better than anyone, he could read you like a book. You couldn’t get anything past him.

S: Do you want me to come over?

He watched carefully as the three dots appeared and disappeared a few times. Letting out a groan, he put his phone down, he knew you needed someone to help, to talk to. But he couldn’t help but feel stupid for asking. Obviously, you didn’t want him around, or you would have told him earlier.

You: Please

With that simple word, he jumped up and practically ran over to the break area. His pleading eyes looked at Hotch, and before he could even open his mouth, Hotch spoke.

“Go,” Hotch acquiesced. He knew that you needed someone, and Spencer was the someone you needed.

Part 2

[dimitrescus-bitch]

That Morgan (Kailen Sheridan x Morgan!Reader)

“Alex, yeah, I gotta go,” you said as you saw your girlfriend approach you. “Bye, love you too.”

“Who was that?” Kailen asked, setting two drinks down in front of you. She wasn’t jealous, just curious, you could tell from her relaxed tone. “Secret girlfriend?”

“Older sister, she’s coming to my game tomorrow,” you said and Kailen nodded. “Which means you’ll finally get to meet her.”

“What do I need to do in order to make a good first impression?” Kailen asked and you had to think about it for a moment. “There’s gotta be something.”

“Just be supportive and let’s hope for the best,” you said and Kailen seemed a bit worried about that. “She knows I’m out, but she doesn’t really know we’re dating.”

“Hmm, I wonder why,” Kailen said sarcastically.

“After this, after you meet her, I’m posting all of the appropriate photos of us I have on my phone,” you said and Kailen chuckled as she kissed you.

“I was joking, I swear,” Kailen said, leaning against you. The two of you finished your date before Kailen took you home. You drove yourself to an afternoon practice after that and you were pretty sure that you had this game against Boston in the bag.

Everybody knew you sister, but they didn’t know you. To be fair, women’s hockey wasn’t really a big deal in America. You were also fairly new to the sport. This was your first season away from college, where you had made quite a name for yourself. Tonight was technically your first professional game on the first shift. Alex was coming to watch it and after the game, you’d introduce her to your girlfriend. You met Kailen for breakfast, picked Alex up from the airport after that, and then started getting ready for the game. You did your normal rituals and then before you knew it, the game was starting.

“Fuck yeah!” you yelled. You had scored your first goal and it was barely 4 minutes into the game. That set a pretty good tempo for the rest of your shifts. You’d go on and either get an assist or a goal. You had gotten a penalty for fighting towards the end, but by the final buzzer, the Riveters had easily defeated the Boston Pride. You took some pictures, showered, changed, and then met Kailen in the parking lot.

“Where is she?” Kailen asked, nervously shifting back and forth. Actually, you couldn’t tell whether she was nervous for just cold. Kailen had given you her coat for the night, which was the warmest thing you’d ever worn.

“She’s coming, be patient,” you said, hugging Kailen. She held onto you and didn’t let you go, trying to steal some of your warmth.

“Y/n,” Alex said and you turned around. “Good game, even if mom’s gonna mad about the fight.”

“Better the fight than the girlfriend,” you joked and Kailen nervously chuckled. “Alex, Kailen. Kailen, Alex.”

“You didn’t tell me that your sister was Alex Morgan,” Kailen said, a little surprised.

“Kailen, what’s my last name?”

“Morgan.”

“What did I tell you my sister did for a living?”

“Played soccer.”

“Where and when did we meet?”

“Sky Blue at Pride, my first season, and now I feel like an idiot,” Kailen said. You gave her a kiss on the temple and then got into her car. Kailen got in after shutting your door and Alex followed her car to your house. You quickly fixed something up to eat, watching from the kitchen as Alex and Kailen spoke with each other. Kailen came in towards the end of you making dinner and sat on the counter. “So, I think she’s cool with us dating. I got a shovel talk and then we both had a nice moment of woe is me over the states of our club teams.”

“Well, that’s good,” you said and Kailen grabbed a cookie from the cabinet. Kailen and Alex seemed to get along well and at the end, you took some photos for Instagram, having promised Kailen that you’d post about her.

[safflowerseason]

Cassie’s diary - an excerpt

(I truly do not know what this is. I wrote it when I was supposed to be doing other things, and here we are. It was fun to write, though. The usual caveats about writing quality apply, I didn’t even edit this before posting. Who am I.

I suppose I am technically spoiling my own story but also, I think if you’re paying attention, nothing gets spoiled. 

December 16th, 1:25am

Mom’s first day of “retirement” (except of course we can’t call it that, even though she voluntarily chose to leave her job as the first female of chief of staff to the second elected lady president). She spent the day on the couch watching CNN obsessively and calling her replacement every thirty-five minutes. 

This is all according to Dad because they made me go to school instead of staying home and watching Mom go insane like I wanted. I asked Dad why he didn’t go to work and he said he had to stay at home and make sure my mother didn't start breaking things out of rage. Also because she would kill him if he let me stay home when I had finals to take. 

I said it was one of the finals was for my constitution class, and it’s insulting that I have to take it in the first place, all things considered, but no fucking luck. 

I finished early and spent the rest of the period writing a detailed summary of all the mistakes and typos in the exam paper, which will probably make Ms. Hill fail me out of rage, but it was a better use of my time than the exam. Nick Sheridan finished with about ten minutes to go and he sauntered up to submit the paper like he was on the fucking red carpet at a Hollywood premiere. He spent the rest of the class whispering very obnoxiously about how his family is going to Tahiti for Christmas. I ignored him because he is worse than the excrement that builds up in the upper cracks of a toilet bowl. Plus, I know for a fact he got question twenty five wrong, because we studied together yesterday and he was not paying enough attention to the nuances of Article III.

After finals the girls went downtown for hot chocolate and ice-skating, but I went home to check on Mom and to study. Apparently the stock market dipped 1.3% percent and her replacement’s assistant had blocked her number, so she had moved onto drinking the good whiskey from Dad’s office that we’re not supposed to know about. Dad had even skipped going to the gym in favor of staying at home, so I could tell he was secretly worried, even though he tried to cover it by saying that this was all just good material for the book. 

To cheer Mom up I made her quiz me for my art history final, which seemed to work, but then her phone went off with a notification that the UN ambassador had been exposed in tax fraud scandal, and she started yelling for my father because the ambassador was a hand-chosen pick by Liz. Dad, who was lying on the couch with a sheet mask on, said nobody gives a fuck about the UN anyway and to get over herself but if she really wanted he would go make a call. (Which he did). 

We went out to dinner to “celebrate” and Mom’s phone didn’t go off once, which was actually miraculous and also a little bit weird? The best part of dinner was when Richard stopped by our table during dessert to ask Mom how her “retirement” was going, and Dad had literally restrain her from pouring the water carafe over his head. I told Richard all about my constitution final and he said I should come over and tutor his kids sometime. At this point, Mom ordered another dessert to go. 

Later, Mom stayed up past midnight pacing around her office and obsessing over the stock market. Eventually, Dad started threatening to take her on a real vacation, and she told him she’d like to see him fucking try, at which point Dad snapped “careful what you fucking wish for, Amy!” and they both slammed their respective doors. My parents are truly the biggest fucking babies on the planet. 

(Dad’s already planned for us to go “somewhere warm” between Christmas and New Year’s, but he won’t tell me where it is—shit, I hope it’s not Tahiti. I’m assuming we’ll just tranquilize Mom to get her onto the plane? I hope the flight attendants wear padding…)

Anyway, she finally went to bed when I told her I couldn’t go to sleep until she did and I had my last final in the morning, but I could hear her ranting to Dad on the other side of the house. God. If I fail my art history exam, it’s going to be their fault.

[applebyarrows-official]

A Very Sheri(dan) Christmas 8 PM, December 25th, 2009

Perching uncomfortably in a stiff sitting room chair, near a quiet, flickering spark of a fire left in the ashes of the day’s burnings, Avery gazed out into the living space around them, taking in the wreckage that had sprouted from Christmas Day. Scattered on the floor were the torn remnants of the wrapping paper from many presents, as well as the many colored bows and ribbons that had topped them. Unwrapping gifts had taken place that morning, and it was long past sundown now, but no one could seem to bear cleaning up the holiday cheer. The only being set on doing anything this time of night after the celebrations were Jessica, who was off doing housework, and the dog. Avery had never been a big fan of dogs. Crups were one thing, as they were at least generally intelligent creatures, but even they were on thin ice! They thought fondly of the brief interaction they had had with the Headmaster’s crup as they informed him they’d be taking the holiday to visit family. Proper dogs though, they were a whole different can of worms. This dog, in particular. Avery looked cautiously at the dog in question--Jessica’s dog--and he looked back at them with a completely vacant expression. He was utterly idiotic, Avery thought, as they watched him try, again, to eat the lower branches of the Christmas tree. Jessica was proud of that dog. “He’s purebred, you know! Absolutely perfect in every way!” Jessica had spouted earlier today. The Hogwarts professor had sat through Jessica’s ramblings, thoroughly finding humor in the half-blooded witch being so incredibly proud of her designer idiot. As if he knew he was being thought poorly of, the Pomeranian trotted over to Avery’s exposed ankles and gave them a wet, sloppy lick. They lifted their feet up so they were out of dog-range, and tucked their toes underneath their legs, sitting barely on the seat, just barely out of reach of Chuffy’s mouth. Why were dog mouths always so wet? Avery frowned at Chuffy and shooed him away. As much as they tried to put up with being in this damn house, for Margie’s sake, they were not going to allow themselves to be subjected to and slobber that was not from their own pet, who was unfortunately stuck at the school while Avery was away.

It was just for a couple of days, but Jessica had told them straight off the bat that she didn’t want to introduce Chuffy to any cats, and Avery couldn’t promise that Ganymede would do well with such a small dog. He had hunted bigger things in Brazil than that Pomeranian, so maybe it was for the best, in the end. Sairish had promised to take good care of Ganymede, and Avery had told Ganymede to behave before they left. He might be upset for a little bit, but he’d be okay by the time they came back, and he'd be doubly affectionate upon their return, they were sure. It was just a matter of him behaving while they were away. Surely someone would write if he was causing problems at Hogwarts. A loud clatter from behind Avery, coming from the direction of the dining room caught their attention. They stood quickly, turning to see the source of the noise, only to see Jessica already stooping down to pick up a dropped platter and waving off Avery’s unspoken concern. “You are a guest,” she spoke clearly. “I will not have you lifting a finger to help clean in my house.” Ah, of course. Avery shrugged and returned to the stiff chair. This wasn’t their house anymore-- It was just hers. It would never be Avery and Jessica’s home again. Just…. Jessica’s house.  Avery was nothing more than a minimally wanted guest, staying the holiday to see their daughter. Jessica inviting Avery to stay the holiday had been nothing more than a peasantry, a “look, we’re doing just fine without you here,” now that they were back in the country again. Hell, it hardly seemed like Margie even wanted them here. The nine-year-old had only just barely managed to sit through the uncomfortable dinner with the three of them. She was much more excited to have time off of school this week and excited to wait up for Santa than she was the see Avery again. Perhaps seeing them outside of their regular summers was odd for her. Avery wasn’t supposed to get Margie again until late May. A long, wordlessly tense silence followed Jessica’s quick denial of any help that Avery had to offer. Now instead, they sat, once again returning to the terrible chair. They tried to relax into it, hoping that maybe sitting back into the cushions would soften them a bit. It did not.  Avery returned to watching the dying fire, only passingly noting as Jessica moved on from cleaning up the dining room and moved into another part of the house. Only the occasional sound of a passing car or muggle carolers singing broke through to Avery as they thought.

Suddenly, and with seemingly no warning, the sharp clunk of a heavy glass being set on a nearby side table startled them out of their thoughts. Quickly looking up to the source of the intrusion with a scowl etched into their features, Aver came face to face with the woman they had been thinking about, and the scowl vanished. Jessica held out a second glass towards them. “Ah, thank you.” Avery took a cautious sip of the offered beverage, briefly relishing in the familiar flavor before returning their gaze to the fireplace. “You know, if you stare at that fire long enough as intensely as you are, someone might start to think you were trying to get it to relight it without using your wand. What’s occupying your mind, Avery?” It would be asking for too much for Avery to choose to be completely honest with Jessica. Instead, the chose to keep silent for a long minute, mulling over just what exactly they should say back. “Oh, nothing much,” they replied eventually. “My mind was just wandering. You understand how I can be sometimes. I was thinking about how the other professors are holing up. You remember how restless the students can get when they stay at school over winter break. I just hope they’re managing with all the troublemakers we have this year.” Jessica smiled half-heartedly, most likely thinking about the adventures the two of them had shared over their own breaks, creating and causing havoc in the castle. “I didn’t ever think I’d see the day when Avery Sheridan turned over the ‘concerned professor's’ leaf in the place of the ‘quiet, rebel troublemaker’ leaf. It suits you.” She sighed deeply before continuing. “Taking that teaching position has really done some good to you. I’m glad it brought you to your senses about moving back into the country, even if it was a bit late. But,” she shrugged, “better ten years late than never, I suppose.” Jessica’s words seemed kind and joking on the surface, but Avery could all but taste the disgusting venom they were truly laced with. “Yep… better late than never, that’s what people always say, isn't it?” Avery forced a smile onto their face and gritted their teeth. Surely, Jessica wasn’t planning on having this conversation again, especially not with Margie sleeping upstairs. “But hey, I’m here now, and that’s what matters at the end of the day. Margie won’t have to go across the ocean to go between our homes anymore. I want to be better at this parenting thing. I want to make it all easier for her, you know? Especially before she comes to school. As much as I like being a professor, I want to be Margie’s parent before I’m her professor. I’m grateful that you’re allowing me to take a more active role in her life by inviting me for the holidays and that sort of thing before she comes to Hogwarts, Jessica. Thank you.” The tension that followed Avery’s thanks was thick enough to cut with a holiday carving knife. Avery glanced up at Jessica. “What’s the matter? Dog got your tongue?” “Marjorie will not be attending Hogwarts.” Jessie’s words severed the space between them both. “Pardon?” “I’m sorry, did you not hear me? Margie will not be attending Hogwarts.” “And why, pray tell, is our daughter not going to be attending the prestigious wizarding school we both went to?” “Because, Alberich, our daughter is a fucking squib, which you would very well know if you had spent any more time with your daughter than the couple weeks during the summers you were graciously given! She’s nine! There’s been no leviations, no color changes, nothing! Not a single thing other magical parents look forward to experiencing with their child! And I had to deal with that alone.” Avery stood quickly to their full height at Jessica’s raised voice, towering over their ex-wife, watching as she stood to match their gaze, unfaltering. Both of their faces were covered in deep-set frown lines, each of their furious intents matching the other’s. “How dare you” Avery’s voice came out in a curt whisper before raising to a volume just under a shout. “How dare you call me that fucking name. You have no right! How dare you blame me for thinking that my daughter was going to be an amazing witch one day, and for being excited about it! How DARE you act like it was my choice to split Margie’s time between us and to not have very much time with her. How DARE you blame my focus on my career for me not being around! You don’t think I know that I’ve been a shitty parent? You don’t think I want to try harder? That’s why I’m here, Jessica! I’m fucking trying, which is more than some other shitty fucking parents can say about their goddamn liv--”

“Baba? Mum? What’s going on?” Avery turned quickly towards the stairs where a soft-spoken girl, rubbing her bleary, sleepy eyes stood, and they felt their heartbreak. Of all the things they had wanted, Margie listening to them fight was never one of them. Jessica recovered first. “Go back to bed, lovely. Your father and I were just talking about what school he wanted you to go to when you’re older. I told him that you would be attending the local high school with your friends, as we talked about. It’s nothing to worry about tonight.” Avery bit their tongue and the obvious sleight by Jessica, for Margie’s sake, watching as Margie nodded slowly and turned around to go back to her room. Avery looked backed towards Jessica, an apology already forming on the tip of their tongue. “Jessie, I’m so sor--” “Stop.” Jessica held up her hand and looked away. “I don’t want to hear anything come out of that damn mouth of yours, least of all those words.” Jessica picked up the two glasses that had been left on the side table by the both of them. Not saying a word as she turned away and walked towards the dining room, Chuffy following happily behind her. Without so much as a glance back, she spoke again. “I think you should go.” Avery watched in silence as their life fell to pieces before them once again. Their daughter was likely confused and hurt because her parents were fighting, and Jessica wouldn’t want to try being friends again, not after this. Not even for Margie’s sake. The best they could ever be was cordial. They ran their fingers through their hair, messing it up in the process, before swearing and shuffling to pick up their things from the guest room before heading back to the castle. Hopefully, no one would ask why they came back so much earlier than they had planned.

[frederator-studios]

Tiya Zhong: The Frederator Interview

Tiya Zhong, known to the interweb as Addictiya, is an animator, illustrator, designer and doll artist still brushing off glitter from her graduation just a few weeks ago. Her final film as a student of Sheridan College’s Animation program, “Lost, Stolen, Dropped,” is an autobiography of her daily struggle. It is also among the most relatable, inspired and squishy 2 minutes of animation I’ve seen in a good long while. Enjoy the short above, then read on for Tiya’s journey from schoolgirl doodling in her textbooks to professional artist!

Did you always want to be an animator or artist?

I discovered my passion for drawing when I was 4 years old, and I have always loved doodling figures on my textbooks, reading comics, and watching animation. When I was little, I never thought about becoming an artist - I just thought it would be fun if I could draw forever. In high school, I wanted to be a comic artist, but I became fascinated with making characters come to life. Animation was even more vivid than comics, which is why I chose to major in it.

How did you decide to move from China to Canada to attend Sheridan?

I grew up in China, so at first I planned to attend a university in Beijing that features the best animation program in China. In an extra-curricular art school where I was studying to pass the university’s entrance exam, I met a substitute teacher who'd studied abroad. Talking with him made me realize how many opportunities and great artists are out there. That’s when I started to research animation schools in North America, and got to know Sheridan.

What did you like best about studying at Sheridan?

I learned a lot at Sheridan. The school has great, experienced teachers. But I learned the most from my peers, who are all amazing artists. Being in that group gave me no choice but to improve. What I enjoyed most is how free the environment is, compared to the one I’d been in. I also had a lot more resources at my disposal. Being at Sheridan really helped me discover my own art style.

Did you work any jobs during your time in college?

Since high school, I have always worked on stuff for conventions: things like zines, charms, and commissions. During college I actively kept my eyes on the industry and started to take freelance jobs. I’ve done character illustrations for games, art for a published illustration tutorial, design work, and more commissions, mostly with Chinese companies. I think it’s really important for artists to have at least some experience working with partners or employers before finishing school.

What are your favorite techniques, considering you've worked in both 2d and stop-motion? And those are just the two I know for sure!

Yes, I’ve done a little bit of 3D for assignments, but so far I’ve only worked in 2D and stop motion. I love both techniques equally! They are two different forms of art and each has stunning aspects. I love how free 2D can be, and how much you can play with crazy distortions, squash and stretch. I also love the process of crafting puppets and sets and being able to hold them in my hand.

What inspires you and your work the most?

Japanese anime definitely influences my work. They are my childhood and what made me keep the pencil in my hand! In the process of creating, I also look for references in many forms: live action movies, fashion, short films, photography. Anything related to art.

Is there anything that comes up in your work over and over?

I built my interest in life drawing while studying at Sheridan. Now, emphasizing the beauty and curls of human bodies has become a core part of my drawings.

How was the experience of creating "Quarters" in a team of 9 animators? 

Creating “Quarters” with 8 other amazing artists was a really great experience! It was our first try, but there were no conflicts and everything went smoothly. Everyone pitched an idea for the film and we voted for the ‘four neighbors’ idea, which became “Quarters”. I worked on layout designs, prop and sets fabrication, shooting area setups, animation, and some post-production color corrections. We spread the work pretty much equally to everyone, so that we could all gain experience in every stage of creating a stop motion film.

What inspired you to create "Lost, Stolen, Dropped"?

I had two other ideas for my final film before “Lost, Stolen, Dropped,” but they didn’t feel authentic to me. Personally, I prefer telling stories on subjects that I’m knowledgeable about, or have experienced myself. So one month into my 4th year, I gave up my first idea and all the storyboards I’d done for it. I thought, “What subject am I really familiar with? Is there anything that I know better than anyone else?” At the same time, I lost my brand new Cintiq pro pen. Not long before then I had lost my wallet. Aaaand my portable hard drive. My roommate commented that losing things is my everyday life. That’s what inspired me - I am really good at losing things! So I decided to make a film about that.

Love it. Do you often pull from your own life in your stories?

Actually, I can trace it back all the way to primary school! I used to draw comics as my diaries. With four panels comics, I’d record anything that happened in my life that I found fun. By the end of grade 7, I had a whole sketchbook of my personal life. I only showed it to my closest friends.

What were the biggest changes you made to "Lost, Stolen, Dropped" while working on the film? What were the biggest challenges?

I made a big change in the story. At the end of the first version, I made lots of copies of the main character, which came from all the different scenarios or timelines. They all appeared in her messy room, staring at her and guiding her to find her phone. That ending had a very dark and absurd feeling to it. The problem was, in order to explain that story and deliver the right feeling, the film would need to be a lot longer. And so, too much work for me. In the end, I changed lots of things and compressed the storyboard so I could finish it.

What do you plan to do now that you've graduated? Sorry to ask that question, I know it's the worst for new grads, haha.

Haha, I was so lost on this before, but now I kind of have a blueprint! The very first thing I want to do is find a job that I like, start saving, and get my PR (permanent residency) here in Canada, which is very realistic. I'll use my savings to go to grad school or take online classes: anything to improve my skills and broaden my perspective. Eventually, I want to work on personal projects without having to worry about financial issues.

Do you have a favorite cartoon, film, or artist?

Different films have been my favorite at different times in my life... I just love work that has great stories or strong emotions. I can’t really pick one film as my favorite, but Masaaki Yuasa is definitely one of my favorite directors! What I admire most about his films is how the abstract parts serve the expressive storytelling, and the drawings are always loose. That’s what I need to learn!

What's your biggest dream?

My biggest dream used to be becoming a zoologist! That was when I was 8. Now, my dream is to connect with great artists and studios over the world. To learn from them, work on fun projects, live a happy, healthy life, and occasionally go on vacations so that I can work on my other hobbies!

What are your hobbies outside of animation?

I’m interested in a wide range of things! Biking, gym exercise, photography, choreography, sculpting, sewing, leathercraft. But my greatest interest, outside of animation, is dolls and puppets! I love all kinds of dolls and toys. Different doll artists always make dolls with different characteristics, and that self-expression element is what appeals to me. I want to be able to create my own porcelain or resin doll one day. I am working hard toward that goal! ❀

Follow Addictiya on Instagram

Thank you for the interview Tiya! Love your work and am so looking forward to seeing what you do next. Enjoy home and your summer vacation pre-Adulting, you’ve earned the heck out of it!

- Cooper ❀

[sheridancarrington-blog]

TITLE shooting star TIME & DATE after midnight, january 1st, 2019 TRIGGERS drug abuse, alcohol abuse, drug addiction

It was just a party. Sheridan had been growing used to those since she moved her, used to the kind that dealt with alcohol harder than champagne and wine. She was enjoying herself too, when she was drunk enough to shake something loose but not too drunk that all of her emotions got drowned in the bottom of the bottle. It was a fine line and Sheridan was jumping rope with it. One minute she was happy and smiling a real smile, actually enjoying herself and everything around her. One drink more and that genuine smile went away, being replaced with a mechanical one because she didn’t have it in her to pull out a real one. From feeling a fire in her, laughing to going dead behind the eyes because she didn’t feel anything anymore.

Not that anyone cared enough to look twice anyway. She was Sheridan Carrington. Nothing was ever wrong with her. Despite the fact that her life was in shambles and she felt like one of the only things keeping her together was the need to be better than her mother and better than her father and to prove that she could have what they couldn’t. A good family. Starting with O. Who Sheridan got tongue tied and flustered around whenever she spoke to her. How do you tell someone you’ve only spoken to twice that you’re sisters? (You don’t.) Her life was in flames and the person staring back at her in the mirror wasn’t Sheridan but she was fine.

Really.

She’d been somewhere in between the two extremes when there was a pounding on the door and every part of her said to get out. To run, don’t look back. Don’t even worry about anyone else. For the first time in a long time, put herself first. But she didn’t. Handcuffs clicking closed around her wrists and cold air hitting her in the face was enough to start to sober her up and the gravity of the situation started to hit her. She was being arrested because she was high off her ass and she had more cocaine on her. The rumors would get back to her parents tomorrow and they would shake their heads, each mumbling about what a disappointment their daughter was but not to each other. Yes, her father was a cheater and her mother was a stone cold bitch but at least they’d never been arrested.

After a moment though, sitting in the back of the police car and trying to compose herself, stop her thoughts from running wild, she realized that she didn’t care what they thought. They had raised their child and for 26 years, Sheridan had been perfect. Never an outburst, or a temper tantrum. Asking instead of demanding and always being grateful. Growing up and into her teenage years, she’d never gone out partying, never was home any later than curfew, all because she wanted to be good, keep her family’s reputation silver and shiny.

Now though? Sheridan was going to crawl through hell and drag the family name with her, see which came out the other side looking better.

The whole process of being booked into the jail went both too quickly and not enough. The precious coke she’d bought off of Rowan was taken from her, she was shown to a cell and the handcuffs released. Part of her wanted to smirk, wanted to be there to see the look on her mother’s face when she got the news that her daughter had been arrested. Wanted to see what happened when her father went into work just to have people commenting that the daughter of an ambassador went to jail on drug charges. It wouldn’t look good for either one of them. She hardly cared about her reputation anymore, it was all about ruining theirs now.

What was one more model with an arrest record anyway? Sheridan had probably been one of the few that couldn’t say she’d ever sat behind bars before tonight.

Looking deeper made her realize that she didn’t recognize who she’d become. The Sheridan that came to New York was a completely different person than the one who was here now. It was like pulling a loose thread, how far would you go before eventually the whole thing unraveled. All Sheridan had been doing since getting to New York was yanking at it, seeing how fast she could lose herself. Until she could look in the mirror and not even see herself staring back. But that wasn’t something she wanted to think about. So she buried that under the rest of her mess and self loathing to deal with another day.

There was no going back from here. This had been her choice and she was going to have to live with it. Sheridan didn’t want to do another disappearing act, leave New York this time and pop up again some place random. She wanted to ride this tidal wave out then check for survivors, weather it be her relationships, reputation, or even herself. It was going to be messy and she couldn’t wait to see the wreckage. 

Except in a game where you were seeing just how much you could ruin everything, was there even anyone to call to bail you out when you needed help, literally in this case? The idea of calling her parents never even crossed her mind, there was nothing she would ask them for ever again. She’d never gotten a lawyer upon moving here, it wasn’t something that ever even crossed her mind. Naiveté: 1, Sheridan: 0.

The fluorescent lights of the police station were killing her head, contributing to the headache already throbbing away. Her entire body hurt and she felt awful all over. It was only then she remembered that she felt this way after hooking up with Chessie the week before. She assumed it all was due to getting wasted and having sex, sex that she couldn’t even remember which was unfortunate because no doubt was it hot. It was slowly coming back to her now, albeit in blurry fragments. White powder neatly lined up, a rolled up bill next to it, in her hand, in her nose, feeling better than she ever thought she could feel.

The same way she felt tonight after getting high at the party. Now it all made sense and if the worst she felt was like she was getting sick, with aches and a headache and feeling fuzzy, Sheridan actually kind of felt the trade off was worth it. Getting a little rundown in exchange for being reminded that you can feel, that you weren’t just numb all the time? Put her name down on that dotted line.

She only had three real friends in the city, one didn’t have a cell phone and the other she hadn’t spoken to in weeks. That’d be a hell of a call. Hey, I know we haven’t talked in a minute, but I need you to bail me out of jail. It left only one option: Buffy. She closed her eyes against the throbbing of her head, getting it together to finally pick up the phone and put the her fingers to the buttons. One of the only numbers she knew by heart that a United States landline could dial. “Buffy? Thank god, I need you to do something for me …”

[fibula-rasa]

(Content Warning: anti-Latino bigotry in coded language)

Romantic Romero

by Elisabeth Badger

Excerpt from Modern Screen (August 1939)

Full article & transcription after the JUMP

ONE OF Hollywood’s most contradictory personalities is tall, dark, sinister-looking Cesar Romero. If you belong to the misguided group who take Cesar at his face value and think of him as a cross between a gangster and a parlor snake, prepare to readjust your opinions—for Cesar has the most misunderstood face in town.

Though he has never given a bad performance, Cesar hasn’t been allowed to get very far in the movies, chiefly because his physiognomy isn’t the dimpled, curvaceous type that is the mark of the glamor boy, and manna at the box-office. The planes of his face, the implications of his mysterious eyes and sometimes cruel mouth, have more significance and less sunshine than is seemly in a public idol, especially a movie hero.

But in private life, Cesar is one of the most sympathetic, amiable and universally well-liked men in pictures. You can’t find a girl or man of his acquaintance who doesn’t say, “What a sweet guy!”

In the field of romance, likewise, he’s far from what he seems. Confirmed column-readers get the impression that Cesar is a philanderer, an accomplished side-stepper of matrimony. Actually, he has more good, sound old-fashioned ideals about women and marriage than most of the dimpled delegation.

“Everyone has the idea that I go with a different girl every night,” he said reproachfully, “whereas very few of those items in the columns are true. One girl at a time is enough for me.”

Red-headed Ann Sheridan was the girl at the time. But Cesar didn’t specify how much time is allotted to each girl, so I can’t guarantee that the romance still thrives—what with Ann being elected Oomph Girl, and Cesar having to wear a beard for weeks and weeks for his role in “The Return of the Cisco Kid.” However, Ann’s case will serve to exemplify Cesar’s point of view about women.

“Why do we have to marry?” he demanded, when I asked about their intentions. “Isn’t it possible to be attracted to each other, fond of each other’s company, without being expected to end up in matrimony? I’m very fond of Ann, I love her company, and we have loads of laughs. But I don’t intend to marry her, and I know she wouldn’t want to marry me.

“I’m the last person in the world that Ann should marry. A girl like that, with a career that interests her more than anything else, should marry someone who can help her. A producer or a director. Certainly not an actor.

“Besides,” he continued, distributing his six-feet-two more comfortably on the divan, “I have a lot of ideal about what I want marriage to be. I’ll be very cautious about whom I marry because when I do, I expect it to last forever. No divorce for me! And I can tell you one thing—my wife will be a non-professional. It isn’t possible to have two careers in one marriage—not mine anyway.”

CESAR DISMISSED the idea that an actor’s leading women are a threat to marriage. Even though stars do with great regularity discard their mates in favor of the most recent leading lady, the surprising Mr. Romero has no fear of such pitfalls. He thinks it would be a poor husband who couldn’t withstand that temptation.

“What would worry me would be clash of temperament, ambition and working hours. That’s what I’ll never marry an actress. An actor’s wife has to efface herself, in a sense, and adapt herself to his way of life, and care more for his success than her own.”

I pointed out that if marriage is his ultimate object, he’s wasting a lot of valuable time these evenings, for Cesar seldom goes out with anyone but actresses.

He nodded assent. “But I don’t know anyone else,” he said simply. “I have been very much in love—once, in the East, before I came to Hollywood. She was a woman ten years older than I and she had two children, but I was completely in love with her. I never wanted to be apart from her. That, to me, is the real test of love.

“I’m afraid that has spoiled me for everything else. I’m sure if it hadn’t been for that experience. I would have thought many times since that I was in love. But because I know what it is really like, I’ve never been able to deceive myself. I’ve always known it wasn’t the real thing. That thought has probably cheated me out of a lot of fun.

“I’ve been infatuated, of course—crazy about various girls for the moment. But really being in love, to me, is being unhappy unless that person is with you every minute—the feeling that you want her with you, must have her with you, all the time. I’ve never felt that way about any other woman.”

Few men have been exposed to more high-powered blandishments. Cesar has been in Hollywood since the first “Thin Man” picture, which is quite a span of years. In that time his career has gone through various phases, but he has never really had a real break professionally. He’s become well-known principally through his extra-studio activities which included going to the most prominent parties, dancing with stars who could appreciate his professional smoothness, and beauing all the glamor girls to places well within the range of the candid camera’s eye.

It was rather a strange set-up—young man with a relatively small salary and a minimum of fame, finding himself always in the thick of the most successful and celebrated. But that role was a familiar one to Cesar. His adult life had always been that way.

ELDEST SON of a well-to-do Cuban family, he lived in comparative luxury for fourteen years in New York City, where he was born. Just as he reached an age when money begins to have some meaning, his father’s business crashed with the collapse of the sugar market. The Romeros took refuge on the New Jersey shore where they had always spent their summers, and devoted themselves to painful economy. When he wasn’t in school, Cesar worked in various lowly capacities at a big New Jersey department store.

But the social standing of the Romeros did not stop with their income, so Cesar found himself in the anomalous position of delivering packages at a lady’s door in the afternoon, and brushing shoulders with her at a fashionable dance in the evening.

He had quite a career in the department store—progressing from wrapper to stock boy to truck driver. One summer, he endured the rigors of a soldier’s life at the Plattsburg Military Training Camp because his father saw an advertisement in the paper: “Send your boy to Plattsburg and swap him for a man.” Cesar went under protest, and doesn’t think the swap quite came off. His family moved back to New York so he could have his last three years of schooling at the Collegiate School there.

“That period of my life seemed very glamorous and exciting,” he recalled. “The Collegiate boys used to take the Spence School girls out every afternoon that we could afford it. I had just enough money to walk to the girl’s house, take her in a taxi to the Ambassador tea dance, and get her back to her house in a taxi—and then walk home. It was not considered cricket (Continued on page 84)

ROMANTIC ROMERO

(Continued from page 29)

for a girl to order anything more expensive than cinnamon toast and tea, and if she did, she was never invited again.”

There must be honor among glamor girls in those matters, too, for though Cesar still takes out girls whose expensive whims are far beyond his income, figuratively speaking, they stick to the cinnamon toast and tea.

AFTER graduation, his father’s friends got him a job as a runner for a Wall Street bank. He lived alone in a little hall bedroom and continued his double life. At night he was the perfect dancing partner at innumerable debutante parties. While by day he tramped around Wall Street with a pouch full of valuables shackled to his wrist. This being handcuffed to a mail-bag, for practically nothing a week, was what got Cesar down. It was inevitable that a boy who could dance that well wasn’t going to see much of a future in Wall Street. He was ripe material for a girl friend who itched to go on the stage and urged him to become her dancing partner.

They worked, they rehearsed, and at last they were engaged for a spot in a musical show. Cesar gave up his job, and sent word to his family that he had gone on the stage. They were staggered. So was the audience. The act lasted exactly one night. But Cesar now had his foot in the door of a theatrical career, and wouldn’t remove it. He worked hard on new routines, changed partners several times, and finally, after a long heartbreaking siege of ups and downs, became a successful ballroom dancer. He was featured at all the smartest night spots, among them the famous old Montmartre—which is where producer Brock Pemberton saw him and gave him the lead in the road company of “Strictly Dishonorable.”

That tour was Romero’s start as a legitimate actor. Shows on Broadway followed, and then M-G-M’s screen test which brought him to Hollywood and a long series of villainous roles.

Cesar’s swarthy coloring, and particularly the bony structure of his face, give it a sinister cast, but when you look closely you see that his eyes are kind; his mouth, gentle. On the day I talked to him he looked positively spiritual, because he was wearing a beard. It was grown for his role as a dirty but benevolent Mexican in “Cisco Kid,” but seen without the serape and sombrero, it made him look as if he might perform miracles.

The tragedy is that no one will cast Cesar in the kind of role his sympathetic personality deserves. Even at Fox, where he is now under contract, more often than not he gets parts that don’t do his popularity any good. But the protests are mine, not his. Cesar doesn’t feel sorry for himself at all.

“I’m grateful to be earning enough to take care of my family,” he said, “so my father has no more worries. They are all out here now—my mother and father, two sisters and a brother. They don’t live with me. Oh, no!” He shook his head with a laugh. “I’ve lived alone too long to be able to live with my family again. But they have an apartment in the same building. I’m very happy to be able to take care of them and have them with me.

THE greatest disappointment I’ve had was not getting the part of Dr. Saffi in “The Rains Came.” I wanted it terribly and I think I could do it well,. But they won’t give me a chance. Tyrone Power’s going to do it. He isn’t the right type for the part, but I’m not a great star and I’m not box-office.

That’s the sort of thing that can happen to a man when his bone structure is against him.

[alicelong]

15th January 2021

I keep thinking about Uni life – my previous student life, particularly my third and final year, how I enjoyed it so much, I was excited about what the future held (sell out at a bank for a while, but skim over that.) That’s a joke I say to myself, that I went the opposite to my studying, rather than into a creative or art-based route. Oversized shirts and ripped leggings were folded away in exchange for blouses and pencil skirts. Now I’m reverting back to my roots and I couldn’t be happier about it! I tried the other side, for a while I did think ‘yes this is for me,’ I really liked helping customers, fixing their problems and making them smile and a massive part of my job in management was helping and motivating my team. I think this is because I am a bit of a people person. All of my jobs from sixteen were customer service based, I enjoyed being around people, talking (endlessly at times) I enjoy observing people too. I remember getting coffees with my best friend, once we’d had a catch up we’d people watch, making up background stories as to why they were in the shopping centre, even putting on voices and accents. I am not the best at accents. I do try! If I’ve been watching a film or show with different accents I can lean into it more, Gavin and Stacey being a prime example as to when I can pull of an excellent Welsh accent. Theatre Love: I have still stayed creative in other ways during these sell out banking years. Cooking and baking. I love musical theatre, making my own money and having odd days off in the week I was able to see more shows at last minute discount prices too. I think the most was seven in one year, from most shows I have bought a souvenir mug, all of which I’ve cleaned, catalogued, wrapped and packed ready for the move. I love the theatre, I have seen more musicals than plays, the plan was to see more dramatic performances this/last year, however the pandemic had other plans. Its heart-breaking that the theatres have been closed for over six months now and the lack of funding and support performers and theatres have received. When I’m having a bit of a wobble day or just generally in a shitty mood I tend to put on a musical soundtrack, listening from start to finish imagining the show on stage in my mind. I get so swept up in the story telling through song, sometimes I laugh, others I cry. I always get goosebumps that’s a constant with all. One of the first shows I remember seeing was Joseph and the technicolour dream coat, I was in primary school and carried on singing ‘any dream will do’ on the drove home. When I really got the theatre but though was at 10 maybe 11 after seeing We Will Rock You. That’s when my little intrigued and analytical brain started switching on. I used our family PC (dial up internet times) to google the show, when it was made, who starred in the Broadway and West End runs and so on. I went to our local library with my Dad to check out the live recording CD, he helped me to make a copy and I’d play it on repeat in my room re-enacting my favourite parts of the show – I Want To Break Free and Somebody To Love were firm favourites. I developed a big love for Queen too and remember feeling so upset after discovering Freddie Mercury was no longer alive, as I would hear their songs on the radio and see their albums in my Dad’s CD collection it didn’t dawn on me how long ago they were made. Time and decades weren’t something I thought about much, I enjoyed the moment and the now. (That’s something I’m trying to do more of now! Less worrying of what I should or done earlier or what I need to do in the future!) I have even seen a show on my own. I had a ‘me day’ up London. I don’t mind doing things on my own, going to the cinema, art galleries, shopping. I became comfortable with my own company and enjoyed my time to think, explore and learn. I had a stall seat at The Savoy, it a matinee showing of Funny Girl with the amazing Sheridan Smith. I treated myself to prosecco during both acts and the matinee. I had a warm, fuzzy glow after leaving the theatre. A combination of the alcohol and endorphin rush I had from seeing such a brilliant performance. Oh I miss that feeling! (I’m currently completing dry January, a cold glass of prosecco would go down a trear right now!) I even considered a career in the performing arts, attending theatre school for a year and a half. I had a mixed relationship/feeling over this time. I enjoyed learning new things that I wouldn’t at school, meeting new people and the praise I would get from the dance teacher in particular. I was in the ‘younger group’ ages 7-12 whilst my sister was with the teenagers. I wanted to be with the older lot as they seemed to be doing more, they had more stage time on the shows too – I looked up to the older girls, who oozed with confidence and were going to auditions for advertisements and tv shows. It was at this time that I was becoming more aware of my body and weight, I started comparing myself to them, wanting to be thinner and have longer hair. I didn’t think I’d have the chance of getting any parts and didn’t sign up to be a part of the audition process yet. I felt like the bigger and old one in my pre-teenage group, so many of them were dainty and cute. God, I just would compare myself to either group rather than make the most of being in the moment. I started to get more and more self-conscious. I knew I’d have to wait another year being with the younger kids before I’d get to be in the older group.  I thought I could have a total transformation in that year, be a part of the ‘cool’ experience, pretty crowd. But in the end, I quit. I was getting more self-conscious each week, the excitement I had when I joined was being clouded by my own negative voice and opinions of myself. I have thought about revisiting this, knowing that there are adult performing arts groups, I’m not the best singer but also not the worst. Fitness and exercise are a big thing for me now, I feel like I could use that determination and drive to learn dance routines. Who knows.

[weekendwarriorblog]

The Weekend Warrior Home Edition 8/14/20 – SPUTNIK, THE SILENCING, FREELAND, SPREE, THE BAY OF SILENCE

Another week, another batch of movies to get through in hopes there’s one or two worth writing about… and then writing about all of them anyway. (Sigh). I hope there are people reading this, at least. If so, go to the bottom of this column and drop me a line!

Before I get to this week’s movies, I want to give a special congratulatory shout-out to the wonderful Melanie Addington, because this is the final week of the 17th annual Oxford Film Festival. I have to say as someone who regularly covers a couple other bigger festivals, she’s done such an amazing job pivoting to the virtual world, to the point where what usually is a five-day very localized festival turned into a nationwide digital festival that’s been stretched out for 16 weeks! Those bigger festivals like SXSW and Tribeca could take a lesson from Oxford, because what usually are two highly-anticipated festivals every year became a whole lot of nothing thanks to COVID. It’s like they gave up, rolled over and just died. Oxford, meanwhile, has done Zoom QnAs with a lot of the filmmakers and casts from its films to help maintain the community feeling that makes the festival such a great destination for those in-the-know. (I haven’t even gotten into the amazing drive-in screenings or the year-round On Demand program they’ve been having over the past couple months.)

Anyway, OFF ends this week with the world-premiere of a movie that was supposed to open at SXSW, Mario Furlani and Kate McLean’s debut feature FREELAND, starring Krisha Fairchild from Trey Shults’ movie, Krisha. Freeland is a similarly strong indie r drama, this one starring Ms. Fairchild as Davi, a black market marijuana farmer in Humboldt County, Norther California, who sees her way of life changing when she’s forced to go legal after California legalizes marijuana. Instead, these changes might run her out of business. It’s a beautifully-shot (Furlani is also the cinematographer) character drama that spotlights Fairchild giving another memorable performance, surrounded by an equally excellent cast that includes Lily Gladstone from Certain Women. I hope a good distributor like IFC or Magnolia will scoop this up for release, as I think it’s an interesting look into the pot business from a unique perspective. I also think it could do VERY well at the Indie Spirits. You can watch Freeland for a couple more days (at least) with a QnA with cast and crew on Thursday night right here.

Also, check out the Eventive site for the final week line-up which includes a TON of shorts. (Be mindful, that some of the content, specifically The Offline Playlist, will only be watchable if you’re in Mississippi.)

Also starting this week on Thursday is the 5th Annual Dallas-based Women Texas Film Festival (aka WTxFF), also going virtual this year, which I don’t really know that much about, but it’s run by my friend, Justina Walford, and she generally knows her shit when it comes to movies. Its mission pledge is right there in the title, but all the movies in the festival have a woman in at least one creative role. You can check out the full list of movies playing here, although they are geoblocked to Texas unfortunately. The festival’s series of panels and QnAs, though, can be watched anywhere in the United States, and those should be good.  

Let’s get to the regular releases….

This week’s “Featured Flick” is Russian filmmaker Egor Abramenko’s SPUTNIK (IFC Midnight), a sci-fi thriller taking place in 1983 after an incident the Russian spaceship Orbit-4 that leaves one of the cosmonauts in detention after the death of his commander. Oksana Akinshina (who was in The Bourne Supremacy) plays Tatyana Klimova, a psychologist sent to study the surviving cosmonaut, Konstantin Veshnyakov (Pyotr Fyodorov), and she learns that he brought back something with him from space.

I was a little worried about this movie, only because the opening reminded me so much of my experience watching the original Russian film Solaris so many years ago. Its quizzical opening in space leads to Akinshina’s character being introduced in a way that’s so slow and talkie that I worried about what I should expect from the movie as a whole. Thankfully, about 20 minutes in, we meet the creature that’s seemingly come down from space inside the cosmonaut, and it immediately changes the very nature of the film.

I don’t want to spoil too much about why the movie gets so interesting, because it’s not non-stop creature kills, although the movie does get quite exciting every time this creature emerges, particularly when it’s being fed various Russian convicts. Even so, the film always remains fairly cerebral about the creature’s origins and its relationship to the cosmonaut, who abandoned a child before his fateful space accident.  Adding to the grey area about whether Tatyana should ally herself with Konstantin is her supervising officer, played by Fedor Bondarchuk, who clearly wants to use the creature as a weapon, knowing that both Konstantin and his “other” only trusts Tatyana, so they all need her.

Needless to say, the creature design is absolutely fantastic, and the comparisons this movie is going to get to Alien are quite apt, because the creature is on par with the xenomorph. I only wish I could see it better since it only comes out in the dark, and watching a movie that plays with light like this one does is just not conducive to watching on a laptop. (In fact, if you’re in a position to see Sputnik in a theater, even a drive-in, and you’re not averse to subtitles, I’d recommend going that route.)

Sputnik might fool you at first into expecting something in the vein of the original Solaris. In fact, it’s more in line with The Invisible Man, a creature feature that explores one man’s inner demons through the lens of science fiction. This probably would have been a better Venom movie than the one we actually got.

Jamie Lannister himself, Nicolaj Costar-Waldau stars in THE SILENCING (Saban Films) the English language debut of Belgian filmmaker Robin Pront (The Ardennes), a dark action-thriller set in the rural area of Echo Falls where a serial killer is hunting and killing young women and girls.

Robin Pront’s The Silencing is usually the type of movie I’d enjoy, if only I haven’t seen the exact same movie so many times before. I wasn’t sure whether it’s Costar-Waldau’s alcoholic hunter Rayburn Swanson, whose daughter disappeared years earlier, or it was cause of Annabelle Wallis, the town’s sheriff, Alice Gustafson, whose troubled brother Brooks (Hero Fiennes Tiffin) is caught up enough in the towns drug issues to act as the movie’s second-act red herring. Throw in the Native American aspect of the movie, and you’re right back at Taylor Sheridan’s Wind River, which was just a much better version of this movie all around.

Adding to the lack of originality is the fact that there are now so many television shows about serial killers, which is a shame since Pront’s previous film showed so much promise but also suffered from similar issues. Costar-Waldau gives a credible performance, maybe slightly better than Wallis, but we’ve seen this movie so many times before that even trying to throw in a twist or two goes awry since no one ever commits. The major plot twist about halfway in has an opportunity to change everything but instead, it’s negated mere minutes later.

Slow and grim, The Silencing suffers from being an overused genre that’s been done so much better before. It’s already been playing on DirecTV but will be in select theaters, On Demand and Digital this Friday.

Next up is the thriller THE BAY OF SILENCE (Vertical Entertainment), starring Claes Bang from The Square as Will, whose girlfriend and baby momma Rosalind (Olga Kurylenko) vanishes with their twin daughters and baby son, and her father Milton (Brian Cox) seems to know more than he’s telling.  The film is written and produced by British actor Caroline Goodall (who has a small role in this one), adapted from Lisa St. Aubin de Teran's 1986 novel and directed by Dutch filmmaker Paula van der Oest, who has made some decent films like Black Butterflies and the Oscar-nominated Zus & Zo.

We meet Will and Ros as they’re having a romantic moment in the titular bay in Luguria, Italy, and after a few odd occurrences, Ros vanishes with her twin girls and the baby boy they had together. It doesn’t take long for Will to find her, but she seems to have gone insane, and Will needs to find out what happened.

Honestly, it’s not worth getting too deep into this movie’s plot, not so much due to spoilers, but more because there are just so many WTF moments that happen out of the blue, and then the next moment they’re forgotten. For whatever reason, the movie just doesn’t allow any of the tension or mystery to build, and even the most horrificly grim plot turn is handled so matter-of-factly.

There’s no question that van der Oest is a fine filmmaker, something you can tell from the general look of the movie, but the pacing and tons is generally all over the place as nothing happens and then a LOT happens. Bang’s decent performance is countered by a lot of overacting from Kulryenko, and while Cox plays a much bigger role in the story than you might expect, his scenes do very little to elevate the film’s plodding tone.

The Bay of Silence is a highly uneven and bland thriller that tries to offer a twist a minute with very of them ever really connecting, instead feeling grim and tedious and like a lot of wasted potential. Oddly, it feels more original than The Silencing above but just doesn’t come together even as well.

Where do I even begin with Eugene Kotlyarenko’s SPREE (RLJE Films) except that it stars Stranger Thing’s Joe Keery as Kurt Kunkle “of Kunkle’s World,” a social media vlog where he tries to get viewer’s attention and likes. He finally decides to go on a killing spree (get it?) while picking up passengers in his car ride service Spree (see?), until he encounters a stand-up comic (Sasheer Zamata) who fights back.

Listen, I understand fine why a movie like Spree might get made, since it’s meant to be relevant to the youngsters, who are much like Kurt, totally obsessed with their own social media and getting attention. The idea of some kid becoming a serial killer just to draw more attention to himself is not exactly incredible. I found Kurt so annoying that I didn’t think I would ever be able to have any empathy for him, and I was right.

We basically watch Kurt driving around and killing various people, most of them pretty horrible, granted, but Keery comes off more like a bargain-basement Christian Bale in American Psycho. Zamata is generally the best part of the movie, which is why the last third starts to get past some of the movie’s earlier problems to become more about an actual influencer showing Kurt how it’s done. (Zamata’s “SNL” castmate Kyle Mooney can’t really do much to make their scenes together funnier, since it’s just another sleazeball hitting on her.)

David Arquette also has a few funny scenes as Kurt’s father, but what’s probably gonna throw a lot of people off and make or break the movie is that so much of it is made to look like it was filmed on a smartphone, complete with running commentary from the viewers that you’re supposed to read, and presumably enjoy? Me, I just found it annoying.

Spree is gonna be one of those love-it-or-hate-it movies depending on which side of the age gap you’re on. To me, it just seemed way too obvious and not something I could possibly recommend to anyone over 19.

Okay… Documentary time!

I really wanted to like Amanda McBaine and Jesse Moss’ BOYS STATE (A24/Apple TV+), which won the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance and received Special Jury Prize at SXSW Film Festival, but it’s a pollical doc that deals with a subject that just didn’t interest me very much. It follows a thousand teen boys from Texas who come together to form a government from the ground up, and that’s the problem right there. The fact this is all about guys. I just couldn’t get interested enough to watch the whole thing since it seemed obvious how it would turn out. Boys State was supposed to open in select cities last month but instead, it will be on Apple TV+ Friday after getting a few drive-in preview screenings, cause that’s just the way things are going these days.

Willa Kammerer’s Starting at Zero: Reimagining Education in America (Saul Zaentz Charitable Foundation/Abramorama), which will open in Virtual Cinema Friday after a Virtual Premiere tonight. It seems very timely, as it deals with investing in high-quality early child education. Just as timely is Muta’Ali Muhammad’s Yusuf Hawkins: Storm Over Brooklyn (HBO Documentary Films), which premieres on HBO tonight, looking at the events around the 1989 murder of teenager Yusuf Hawkins by a group of white men in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn.  Erik Nelson’s doc Apocalypse ’45 (Discovery/Abramorama), which will be in theaters this Friday and on Discovery over Labor Day weekend, is about the end of World War II, using never-before-seen footage with narration by 24 men who were there for it.

Quiver Distribution has two movies out this Friday, both which could probably be seen as young adult movies – not really a genre I like very much, so your mileage may vary?

ENDLESS from director Scott Speer (Midnight Sun) is a romantic drama starring Alexandra Shipp (X-Men: Apocalypse) as graphic novelist Riley, whose boyfriend, Nick Hamilton’s Chris gets stranded in limbo after he’s killed in a car crash. Taking the blame for his death on herself, Riley struggles to find ways to reconnect with Chris in the afterlife.

I wasn’t sure if this movie would be for me, since I’m not a very big fan of young adult movies generally. So many of them have hard-to-believe high-concept premises involving two lovelorn teens – Midnight Sun being a good example. Unlike so many of these movies, Endless isn’t based on a popular book, and I was a little worried about Speer’s skills as a director and whether he could avoid turning this into a very obvious teen version of Ghost. There’s a little bit of that but on a whole, the movie isn’t a complete waste of time. For instance, Shipp is decent in this sort of dramatic role, probably better than Hamilton, and it avoids getting too weepy thanks to DeRon Horton’s animated Jordan, who befriends Chris in limbo and quickly becomes the movie’s frequent saving grace.

Otherwise, the movie feels like any other soppy teen romantic drama, being very predicable with way too much overacting, particularly from Fammke Janssen as Chris’ Mom. Even though the relationship between Shipp and Hamilton works fine, unless you’re on board with the whole concept of the latter spending the entire film as a spirit, you’re going to have a hard time fully enjoying the movie.

In Bobby Roth’s PEARL, Larsen Thompson plays the title character, a 15-year-old piano prodigy whose mother Helen (Sarah Carter from The Flash) is murdered by her stepfather (Nestor Carbonell). She’s sent to live with Jack Wolf (Anthony LaPaglia), an unemployed film director, who used to be one of her mother’s ex-lovers, who also might be Pearl’s father. I know! Let’s spend an entire movie going back and forth trying to figure it out, okay?

I don’t have a ton to say about this movie, but if for some reason, you want to watch it just cause you’re a fan of Carter from The Flash, you should know that she appears in the movie via a series of black and white flashbacks to show her relationship with Jack, but those might be the best part of a very bad movie.

Thompson just isn’t a very solid actor to carry this, and Roth must have pulled a lot of favors to get this movie made ‘cause it wasn’t financed based on the script. Her relationship with LaPaglia just seems kinda creepy. Things just gets worse and worse, especially when Pearl goes to school and the other girls act like they’re in prison. There’s also Barbara Williams as Pearl’s alcoholic grandmother – the fun just never begins, does it?

At its worst, Pearl comes across like a Lifetime movie – not the first time I’ve used this statement this year and probably not the last. It’s just very dull and not a very good movie; LaPaglia is way too good an actor who deserves better than this.

Also on VOD this week is Kevin Tran’s Dark End of the Street (Gravitas Ventures), an indie horror movie involving a community in the suburbs plagued by someone who is killing the residents’ pets. This wasn’t a terrible movie but I had a hard time getting past the general premise about killing pets, so it was hard to get into what Tran tried to do in terms of putting a twist on a tried-and-true horror genre. Maybe I’ll give this another try after finishing this column.

Also, Ben Galland’s action-comedy Gripped: Climbing the Killer Pillar (1091) follows Rose (Megan Kesley), a L.A. gym climber who falls for rugged outdoorsman Bret (Kaiwi Lyman) as they embark on a trip to climb the “Killer Pillar” in California’s Sierra Nevada mountains, only to get caught on a cliff edge.

The Metrograph’s Live Screening Series is continuing with a great line-up over the rest of August with the Satoshi Kon Retrospective continuing with Millennium Actress playing until midnight tonight, plus Masaaki Yuasa & Koji Morimoto’s popular 2004 film Mind Game starting Wednesday night at 8pm. Claire Denis’ Trouble Every Day (2001) will screen on Friday at 8pm, and then Monday, Jenna Bliss’ animated The People’s Detox (2018) will join the screening library. To become a digital member, it’s only $5 a month or $50 for a year, which is a great deal for the amount of movies you see.

Film at Lincoln Center’s Virtual Cinema will stream Paulo Rocha’s 1963 film Change of Life starting Friday while Film Forum will stream Weiner Holzemer’s doc Martin Margiella: In His Own Words about the fashion designer, as well as Bert Stern’s Jazz on a Summer’s Day which is a 1959 documentary about the fashion photographer filming the 1958 Newport Jazz Festival with the likes of Louis Armstrong, Hoagy Carmichael, Mahalia Jackson, Thelonious Monk and many more.

Apparently, Netflix has a new movie out on Friday called Project Power, starring Jamie Foxx and Joseph Gordon-Levitt, but I received ABSOLUTELY NADA about it from Netflix, so this is all you get. Watch out, Netflix, there are a lot of streaming options out there now!

Speaking of drive-ins (which I was WAY up there), on Wednesday, you can catch the latest in Amazon Studios “A Night at the Drive In” series. “Movies to Make You Open Your Eyes,” which will screen Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing and Jordan Peele’s Get Out.

Next week, more movies not in theaters!

By the way, if you read this week’s column and have bothered to read this far down, feel free to drop me some thoughts at Edward dot Douglas at Gmail dot Com or drop me a note or tweet on Twitter. I love hearing from readers … honest!

[milliondollarbaby87]

This is my overview of 2017 at the Theatre which has been a very special year with plenty of trips to London and even a trip to New York and squeezing in some Broadway shows. All to go along with the trips to Newcastle’s Theatre Royal and the Sunderland Empire to catch the latest UK touring shows.

In 2016 I managed to see 31 shows. In 2017 I managed to see 36 shows! So just beating the 2016 total! You can see a list of all of these shows here. This also included trying to get plenty of deals and really using the day seats to help save money.

January started off with a play and that was The Play That Goes Wrong which had fantastic reviews during its West End run and I could easily see why. Such a hilarious night at the theatre and much needed to start the year off, Read the full review here.

February turned into a pretty busy theatre month with a trip to London. But it started with Wonderland the Musical which is a pretty new musical and a new adventure for Alice heading back to wonderland, I really thought this was outstanding especially with Kerry Ellis in it too! Read the full review here and Stage Door with Kerry Ellis! Then onto a London trip and that included getting Day Seats for Dreamgirls with the incredible Amber Riley in it! A truly fantastic show that really does have so many good musical numbers, Read the full review here and stage door with the Cast! The following day a matinee performance of Beautiful: The Carole King Musical which has quickly became one of my favourites. Then that night it was over to the London Palladium to catch Whoopi Goldberg doing a stand up show, it had been a very long time since she had done that in the UK! Read full review here. I finished off this month with another UK Tour this time The Wedding Singer based on the popular film of the same name, which pretty much is what you would expect, Read full review here.

March included another trip down to the West End to see Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? which I have wanted to see live on stage since first watching the film. With Imelda Staunton taking on the role of Martha I just had to see this, Conleth Hill was outstanding as well! Read the full review here. The next trip was to see Million Dollar Quartet on its UK Tour in Newcastle, looking at the night when legends came together and what just might have gone on, a very interesting show, read the full review here. A repeat of a show I first saw many years ago in the legendary Blood Brothers which you can easily understand why it is still going to this day, read the full review here.

  April I had only one show originally booked with two very last minute deals. Since totally loving Les Mis last year I went to see Beyond the Barricade which features previous members of Les Mis cast and it is a fantastic musical theatre concert to check out if you love musicals, read the full review here. A very unknown and new musical was next up with All or Nothing the Small Faces musical which was very impressive and in the same format as Sunny Afternoon, read the full review here. The Woman in Black was next up and it is a very interesting play, really pushing the boundaries and keeping everyone on the edge of their seat from start to finish, read the full review here.

  May would see another trip down to London and a rather busy few days at different theatres. Taking in Funny Girl with Sheridan Smith taking the hit West End production on tour, read the full review here. The first show of two in the day in London was 42nd Street which was a very impressive show and even better that I managed to get the tickets from the Today Tix app! I have always been such a huge fan of tap dancing and this is the perfect show for that, read the full review here. Then another trip to see what had become my favourite show of the moment with Beautiful: The Carole King Musical, read the full review here.

  June for whatever reason ended up with only one show Dirty Dancing, which is pretty much the film just redone on the stage which is a little bit disappointing really as the tickets are rather on the pricey side for this one, read the full review here.

July was probably the most impressive month considering during the New York trip I managed to see three shows! Including some absolute legends on stage at the same time. Started off the trip with War Paint: A New Musical which had none other than Patti LuPone who I have always wanted to see in a show, along with Christine Ebersole and the songs had been specially written just for them, read the full review here. It was then also a fantastic experience to go to the CD launch for the show as well! I had just missed Groundhog Day the Musical when it premiered in London so managed to snap up some rush tickets for this one, a very clever musical considering the day is repeated over and over again but some very impressive songs to help this along, read the full review here. Then moving onto Hello, Dolly! Starring Bette Midler, yes really I had managed to get tickets for this well before we went and it was outstanding. The ticket prices taught me that the West End isn’t quite that bad (yet) but this was more than worth it as the theatre was pretty small the seats weren’t as high up as I expected them to be, read the full review here. To finish this month off I went to see local lad Joe McElderry and his Saturday Night at the Movies Tour, I had these tickets for so long that he actually changed the name of the tour in that time. It really was a good night of songs from the movies and I guess fits in so very well with what this blog is all about, read the full review here.

  August ended up having a very last minute London trip to catch the closing night of Beautiful but started off with La Cage Aux Folles which eventually got its UK Tour having cancelled one a few years ago now. It is a show that won’t be for everyone but very impressive and I enjoyed seeing it again after many years, read the full review here.   When heading to London for the last show of Beautiful I just had to squeeze in a matinee as well so I decided on Bat out of Hell the Musical, I have always been a fan of Meatloaf so just had to see this one. It was a very loud and amazing rock show which I was so pleased to get to see, read the full review here. Then the emotional trip to see Beautiful: The Carole King Musical as it closed in the West End, read the full review here. Then a truly spectular event happened in Newcastle at the Theatre Royal when Young Frankenstein the Musical made its UK debut with Mel Brooks present! Read the full review here and Mel Brooks on stage!

  September really pushed my obsession with Young Frankenstein the Musical so much that I went back to see it twice more during it’s Newcastle run as it really is such an incredible show, makes you laugh and happy which let’s face it is what everyone wants in life not just from a show! Stage door with the cast, stage door with Lesley Joseph and stage door with Susan Stroman. The next touring show was Flashdance the Musical and lucky last minute cheap tickets as well, considering I had never seen the film before and it wasn’t really my type of thing, read the full review here. The next was a brand new show Son of a Preacher Man and using Dusty Springsteen songs, being a huge fan I was very interested to how this one was going to work, read the full review here. Love Letters a show starring Ryan O’Neal and Ali MacGraw was coming on tour but it was cancelled due to O’Neal having back surgery. The last show this month was the UK Tour of Hairspray the Musical which for some reason I had never actually seen on stage before and it is such a fun show, read the review here.

    October would see my final London trip of the year and I actually didn’t have any tickets booked before going, attempting to get day seats for both shows. I was supporting a very local show as the first one this month with Geordie the Musical which had moved to another venue after seeing it at the Customs House a couple of years ago now, read the full review here. Then another show that I had never actually seen on stage before Mamma Mia as I didn’t really think I would be a huge fan of it even though I like the film as a guilty pleasure, read the full review here. Another new show and play Shirley Valentine which saw a truly fantastic performance from Jodie Prenger in this one woman show, read the full review here. My day seat challenge then happened in London as I went to see Aladdin the Musical which has always been one of my favourite Disney films and it really is a magical theatre experience, read the full review here. Obviously I had to go and see Young Frankenstein the Musical again since it settled in the West End and it see if they had changed anything since the previews in Newcastle, read the full review here and stage door with the cast.

    Spot me! https://twitter.com/DesOConnorCBE

https://twitter.com/DesOConnorCBE

November would see only two shows and starting with entertainment legends Des O’Connor and Jimmy Tarbuck on a UK Tour, which included a night of laughs and reminiscing about the older days, read the full review here. Finishing the musicals off for the year just had to be Beautiful: The Carole King Musical as it came to Newcastle on it’s UK Tour.

      December is always a pretty slow month now in terms of Pantomimes taking over the Theatres. Plus I couldn’t have my Wednesday before Christmas matinee trip this year (don’t worry I am starting 2018 with plenty of West End Theatre). This meant that I only went to see one production this month being at my local theatre The Customs House for their Pantomime The Lambton Worm, read full review here.

There you have it my very busy 2017 at the Theatre which I managed to fit in a lot of shows and was very obsessed with Beautiful: The Carole King Musical and Young Frankenstein the Musical, both for different reasons in terms of musicals but the enjoyment of both shows really was something else. I will be starting 2018 in London and taking in a few shows, but other than that I don’t really have many tickets booked yet so will be looking to try and get some last minute deals and seeing which other shows will be announced for UK Tours during 2018!

2017 at the Theatre This is my overview of 2017 at the Theatre which has been a very special year with plenty of trips to London and even a trip to New York and squeezing in some Broadway shows.

[austinpanda]

Dad Letter/Bangor Bound Ch. 3

1 September, 2019

Dear Dad--

My last day of work was Friday! Here’s a nice feeling: throughout the afternoon, various supervisors and managers would instant message me to say goodbye and wish me luck. One begins to wonder if the collective weight of all those wishes for good luck might actually have the strength to produce some! It’s taking a minute to figure out how I feel about leaving Progressive. For the moment, I’m stuck in that phase where I feel like Ed Tom from the end of No Country for Old Men, there in the eat-in kitchen, with my eggs and my tomato slices, thinking, “Jesus, what do I do now?”

I’ve come up with the brilliant idea of calling my job-quitting an “early retirement.” It occurred to me that saying, “I took early retirement so I could move to Maine,” sounds better than “I quit my job and moved here, jobless,” to prospective landlords and employers. Then, of course, I’ll find a job anyway, and look even more like a real grownup. Plus, I have found something positive about being 50, other than it being an easy number to remember.

I worked my full shift on Friday, and by the time it was over, everyone who was going to say goodbye had done so; I walked out to my car alone. Then, I swear, I tripped humorously stepping off a curb in the parking lot, and had to pinwheel my arms to right myself, which would have looked hilarious, because I was holding a big paper bag with a balloon tied to it in one hand. So it was okay that I was by myself. I drove home, traffic was so-so, and several people did rude things to me in traffic, because they’re assholes, and they don’t care. Zach, fearful of my potentially large emotions, ordered some great Chinese for dinner, and even decorated the apartment a bit, with blue streamers, like it was my birthday. It is so nice having someone who does shit like that! Congratulate me at home for surviving my last day of work.

Today, Sunday, September 1, begins the 30-day countdown to move. Now I probably won’t start really busting my ass until Tuesday, since Monday is Labor Day, but basically the shit starts now. My immediate goals:

Kitty goes to the vet, for annual tune-up, and drugs to put his ass to sleep for 3 days while we drive him from Austin to fucking Pluto. I’m afraid this is going to traumatize the shit out of him, and I’d like to minimize that any way I can.

Car goes to shop for oil change and replacement of burned-out right taillight.

Find a place to live in Bangor that doesn’t look like the site of a recent multiple homicide.

Arrange for the moving truck and the car carrier thingy.

Learn how to secure my car to the car carrier thingy properly, in such a way as to give me working brake lights and turn signals back there for the whole three-day drive.

Pack all my shit

Turn off all services here. Electricity, internet, etc.

Give new address to every entity I interact with.

Pay dudes to load the truck. I wouldn’t allow Zach to do all of it, and I also wouldn’t allow him to all that I couldn’t move myself, because that’s too close to being the same thing. I’m not an invalid or anything, but it’s 101 degrees here, we live on the third floor, my feet and ankles don’t work properly, and I’m not loading my own truck when I can part with some much-needed cash to get a few skinny college kids to do it for me.

Drive to Bangor over three (blissful, incident-free) days. Kitty has a blast, and is disappointed when the trip is over.

Unload truck, hopefully, into our new apartment, not a storage space.

Find a new job.

Begin anew, emerged from my provincial southern chrysalis as a big yankee butterfly, ready to shovel snow, and talk like the Pepridge Farm people talk.

Also on Tuesday, I’m going to begin the process by which I remove some money from my retirement savings. I have a couple of questions for those folks at Fidelity who handle my 401k, like: What if I need more money later? And, what if I take out more than I need to? Can I put it back in there, please? But basically I want me and Zach to have about $20k on hand to pay for all of this. We’ve saved about $11k. I want to take the rest from my retirement savings and have it handy in case something large and unpleasant happens. Whatever money is left, after the move, gets used to cover bills until Zach and I are both employed again. Plus, we need to buy coats and boots and shit; we need cold weather clothes. Once we’re at that point, I’ll take any remaining retirement savings and put it back into my IRA.

In the meantime, I don’t know if I’m going to be unemployed for two months, or six, or twelve, but I’m not too worried about it. I think there’s usually work for someone who’s familiar with computers, types 100 words per minute, and buys donuts to share with the office, whether it’s on a college campus, a car insurance call center, or tire supply company. And I’ve never been one to let his job determine his self-worth. I just want enough money to keep the lights and the internet going, so I can bootleg movies and share pictures of hummingbirds.

So yesterday, I did something designed to make my next 60 days more enjoyable. I used to start watching one scary movie every day in October, till I realized I have way too many scary movies, so now I start on the first day of September, which is...now. I spent a good portion of yesterday putting every scary movie I own onto our TV computer so I can watch them on the living room TV over the next two months. I only regret that I won’t be able to continue watching them while we’re driving to Bangor, but perhaps the hotel TV will have something scary! The movie I always like to watch first is Night of the Demon, from 1957, starring Dana Andrews. Not sure why. Then the second “scary” movie I watch is The Uninvited, from 1944, starring Ray Milland. Also not sure why.

And these movies aren’t really scary, of course. I don’t watch them to be scared. I watch them because it seems I have a passion for vintage films about honkies in supernatural peril. In fact, the thing I like most about The Uninvited is the movie’s sweetness! Martin Scorsese did a list of his favorite 11 Scary Movies and that’s where I got Night of the Demon and The Uninvited both. They’re two of his favorites. My personal favorite is probably the original The Thing From Another World with Kenneth Tobey and Margaret Sheridan. I love when they try to melt the ice around the UFO and accidentally blow it up instead. Good stuff.

Love to you both! I’ll give you the next chapter in my continuing saga next week. And thanks for those YouTube videos you’ve been sending! They’re awesome! :)

[elevenhoursinfront-blog]

7th August 2017

0400 and Steve's alarm went off. I wanted to sleep more but I was so excited to leave. I love airport days. We got up, got showered and ready to leave. We were meant to leave by 0500 but we left at 0515. We had to make sure the house was left in a nice state and I wanted to take the bins out etc. We got into the car and Jack wanted to drive. He took a few wrong turns but we ended up at the airport by 0615. We had to fill up the car on the way too. We parked in the Europcar space but there wasn't anyone at the desk. We just left the key in the box and went to check in. We checked our bags in and Mel's came to 20.1kg with a nice orange 'Heavy' label. Steve's was down to 16kg and mine was 18kg. Not too bad. Jack booked at a separate time as us as he thought he was going to go to Brisbane. He decided Cairns last minute so he isn't sitting with us. He luckily managed to get on the same flights though. We were starving so we rushed to get through to get a coffee and breakfast. Obviously, Hobart Airport was going to be ridiculously tiny and there were only 2 food options that sold the same items at the same price. I found a breakfast deal which was 'Coffee and Toast for $10'. Not cheap but it'll do. Steve had an egg and bacon roll with a large coffee. He lives in the present - if he wants it, he'll get it then and there. I live in the future so I always say no and try to save in case there's something better to have. I posted all my blogs on the Hobart Airport wifi so I was up to date and ready to go with Cairns. We got on the plane just before 0800 for our first flight to Melbourne. The flight went pretty quick but it took longer than the flight into Tasmania because we were further down. It took about an hour, if that. We arrived into Melbourne at 0900 and collected our bags. Luckily, we didn't have to travel with them too far and we only had about 100 metres to walk to check them in again. We checked in straight away even though we had 5 hours until our next flight. We sat in the departure lounge, feeling pretty tired already. Mel and Jack were starving so went and got some food. Mel had a burger around 1030 and said that she couldn't believe she was eating that at this time. To be fair, we had been up nearly 7 hours already. My throat was hurting and my head was absolutely pounding so I didn't have food until around midday. Steve and I got a bite to eat but I felt so ill, I didn't eat much. I tried to lean against Steve to get some sleep so I could feel a bit better but it wasn't like Gatwick. There were only chairs with tables for families to eat. There weren't any in a row so we could lay out over a few. I did fall asleep for a short while but I didn't feel any better. Steve woke me up and I put the laptop on to watch Loose Women and ITV This Morning. He went off for a walk and came back with Panadol, travel sickness tablets and a book I had been in search for. He's a good egg. After about 30 minutes, I heard our flight be called. We packed our stuff up and walked the 40,000 miles to our gate.    We got there and most had already gone through. They were obviously waiting at the terminal. We had to walk outside to get up the stairs in the freezing cold, it was raining and the wind was going 100mph. We were seats 20 A, B and C. We had to take the back stairs which was further to walk and there was a massive queue to get into the plane. I'm not impatient, but I was getting annoyed. I was frozen standing on the stairs for 10 minutes. We eventually got into the plane and realised it was behind a massive family that couldn't figure out what seats were who's. I think we were the only people on the plane that weren't from an Asian country. A very stupid family who were obviously too impatient to wait on the stairs decided to go through the front of the plane to their seats at isle 27. They were all standing by our seats as we tried to put our stuff in the overhead lockers getting annoyed because they couldn't get through. I kindly stated that’s the reason why staff make people on isle’s 1-15 go to the front of the plane and isles 16-32 to the back... Morons. The flight took off 10 minutes late but we managed to catch up fairly soon. The pilot seemed very nice and honest, he told us what was going on and why. Half way through, Steve, Mel and I managed to fall asleep. I woke up absolutely freezing and my body couldn't stop shaking. I felt even more ill than before. Steve woke up and felt my face which was apparently boiling. He was worried I was getting what he had last week... We arrived in Cairns a bit early and the pilot told us Traffic Control told him to fly for an extra 10 minutes as we were too early and there was traffic. I just needed to get off the plane. I didn't feel well in anyway whatsoever, my heart was pounding, I was frozen but sweating and I felt like I was going to be sick. Eventually, we landed, to be told that another plane is in our parking spot so we had to wait even longer... After another 15 minutes, we got off the plane. My muscles weren't working and I couldn't walk properly. I actually processed the thought that I was dying. I obviously wasn't and I was being a drama queen, but it felt that way. Steve had to carry my backpack as I physically couldn't do it. I went to the shuttle bus to get our booking and we walked outside of the terminal. Luckily, I asked to be put on the earlier bus and the man said yes. We booked the 1900 bus but we were there by 1745. The bus stop was right outside the door with a bench. I sat on the bench with my pounding head in my hands trying not to cry. The others waited for the bus to come. The bus came pretty swiftly and we got on. I cried on the bus because I couldn't hold it in any longer. We were the third drop off which was great. 100 Sheridan Street. Not too far from the airport at all. We checked in and straight away, I got into bed. It was only 1830. I honestly felt so poorly I didn't know what to do. The room was so hot but the aircon was so cold. Mel and Jack went for a walk to find their bearings. Steve stayed with me for a bit before the door knocked. It was Sophie! I completely forgot she was meeting us here! She heard that I was ill from Mel who she bumped into in the kitchen area. I told her I would act more excited to see her in the morning. Everyone put my illness down to exhaustion, which it probably is. Hopefully I can sleep this off. Sophie stayed in the room for about an hour chatting away having a catch up. Mel and Jack came back after they had found Coles and Chemist Warehouse etc. They all left to go and have dinner. They were getting Pizza. You know I'm not well when I don't eat, that's all I can say!

[urbanshadowsparadise]

Reg’s Story

An addendum to the prologue in the player character’s own words

Statistics are a funny thing.  There’s something of a comfort to be gained with them-- “99% of the time that horrible thing won’t happen” or some sort of thing like that, and you go to bed 100% sure that that horrible thing won’t happen to you. The odds are just too slim for you to worry about.  Unfortunately, this means that you are woefully unprepared for when you’re in that 1%.

At the beginning of the war, I was scared of dying, but I believe I was as prepared for it as one can be.  My God would take care of me. After all, my cause was just.  I was defending my home from northern aggressors. I was confirming the God’s honest truth that, as Vice President Stephens said, “the negro is not equal to the white man.” 

That said, as the war went on, and I survived battle after battle; charge after charge, I figured that I would eventually go home again.  Even as Grant took over and Sheridan started marching us down, I believed in my heart of hearts that I would see home again. I was a Tiger of the Louisiana 9th Infantry.  I was immortal.

The Battle of Fisher’s Hill wasn’t a particularly large engagement.  Primarily we were just trying to get our asses out of dodge after we got buried in the Battle of the Opequon.  It looked like we would, too, given how strong our position was. Hell, just a few months prior in the same exact spot, the Yanks didn’t even dare advance on us. Our position was that strong.  I figured I was safe. I went to my tent 100% sure that no horrible thing would happen to me.

I was wrong.  We were flanked hard, and Gen. Lomax’s cavalry didn’t do shit.  We were soon rundown by more than 5,000 of these Yankee assholes.  Here is where that comfort that statistics give you fails you.

There were 9,500 Rebels at the Battle of Fisher’s Hill.  Only 30 lost their lives. That’s less than 1% of soldiers.  Furthermore, throughout the entirety of the Civil War, fewer than 1% of soldiers were even treated for bayonet wounds, let alone died by them.  The odds were stacked in my favor.  And yet there I was, lying in a field on Fisher’s Hill with a bayonet wound in my gut slowly dying.

Col. Peck had our regiment make up the rear guard as we retreated.  The Union Soldiers had pounced on us at first, but I don’t think they expected our troops to scatter so quickly.  They were a dog chasing a cart, and when they caught the cart they didn’t know what to do with us.

I fired off my rifle and reloaded, as I had hundreds of times in this war. Hundreds of times I fired my rifle, reloaded and was ready before anyone was able to attack me directly.  Nearly 100% of the time.  

Nearly. 

Some lanky northerner charged at me faster than I’ve ever seen a man move. Before I knew it, his long skinny arms had plunged the end of his rifle almost through me.  I tried to lift my arms and fire my rifle, but his blade was out and he was gone long before the thought even had a chance to work its way through my consciousness.

I dared not move.  The Yanks might see me and finish me off. At the same time, I feared that any additional movement would tear open what was left of my abdomen. I knew the chances of getting picked up in the field by the conquering Union troops were low, and my chances of surviving a trip back to a Yankee surgeon even lower. That’s even before their butchers would start cutting on me.  There was definitely a 100% chance I was a dead man.  

I coughed up some blood. It was hot, and filled my mouth with a viscous, earthy coating.  If I wasn’t dying, I probably would’ve called the sensation pleasant.

***

I didn’t expect to wake up-- or rather, I expected that when I did wake up, I would be in Heaven.  I expected St. Peter. What I got was Claire. 

I bolted up in my bed so fast I didn’t have time to register that I shouldn’t be able to move.  I looked down at my stomach, and though my skin was pale, no doubt from the blood loss, my stomach wound had healed with the exception of a large scar.

“Where are we?” The room was dark, but I could tell where ever we were it was expensive.  My sister always had expensive tastes.

“My apartment. In New York.”

My gaze locked with hers, “I was in Virginia when I passed out, how-” I didn’t finish my sentence because I knew how, but she obliged me with an answer anyway. 

“Remember when you called me--oh what was it--AH! I remember: ‘Satan’s whore that even Jesus would never forgive’?” she said playfully, “Well that title comes with some pretty lofty benefits, including the ability to swiftly carry your unconscious, bleeding brother from a Virginia battlefield to New York in one night.”  

“Christ Claire, you got a doctor in New York to work on a Confederate Soldier? How?” I asked, stupidly.  I’m afraid I was a bit clueless as a young man.

Her smile faded from her face and her tone changed to one I recognized from before.  It was the same tone she used when she told me she was leaving the farm for New Orleans, “Oh sweetie there aren’t any doctors.  No doctor was going to be able to help you last night with that wound.  Trust me, I know what death smells like, and you reeked of it.”

Across the room, I saw my uniform. It was torn and covered in blood and other unknown filth. It smelled of rot and decay.  It was only then, when I thought about how I was able to smell something so far away from me, that I started to piece things together.  The pale skin. The fatal wound that had healed overnight.  The blood in my ears began pounding.

“How could you do this to me?” I roared, and rushed to a mirror, faster than I ever had moved before.  There was nothing there. Of course there was nothing there. I felt stupid, terrified and furious all at the same time. Claire on the other hand, was incredibly calm.

“What else was I supposed to do Reggie, let you die? I didn’t spend 3 years saving your ass up and down the hick belt just to watch you die now when it looks like this stupid war is almost done.” I thought back to the number of close calls I had had throughout the war.  I had thought I had a guardian angel on my side. Turns out it was the opposite.

“You’ve damned me Claire. There’s no going back now, I am going straight to hell.” I crumpled to the floor in a heap, weeping like a child. 

“My life has been nothing but hard work, struggle and war.  Nothing in life has ever been mine for certain.  Not food. Not home. Not family,” the tears stung my eyes as I stared directly at Claire with that last point, “But I had been absolutely sure of one thing in my entire wretched existence and that was my salvation when I died, and now you took that too.”

I sat sobbing for what felt like an hour. In reality it was probably closer to 10 minutes before Claire finally spoke.

“I didn’t take anything from you Reggie.  I gave you the greatest gift of all.  I made you better than you ever could be.  I left you and Pa and the farm because I knew I could be better. Not just better than the n-rs in the fields, I could be better than everyone. I knew I was born to be more.  And now, so are you.” 

Before I even registered her movement she was sitting next to me on the floor.  She tried to put her arm around me, but I grabbed her wrist, “I’d rather be a dead n-r in a ditch than what you’ve made me. I hate you.”

Claire flinched at those words, but soon composed herself and stood.

“Fine, hate me all you like. You’re free to use this apartment, I have several.  I’m off to feed,” she stood at the door, “for what it’s worth, I’m proud of what you did in the war, fighting for your kind.  Just know, you’re part of a new kind now. You thought white folk were superior to n-rs? Just wait until you see how much better we are to humans. It gets easier once you realize that.”

Before leaving she added, “Oh, and be sure to get to the basement before the sun comes up. Don’t want any deadly accidents.” 

And with that, she was gone.

***

Upon reflection, I’m not particularly proud of the next portion of my life.  I dared not go home.  Pa had died when I was at war, and I didn’t want anyone I knew to see me as I was now; not that they’d recognize me.  I haven’t seen my own face since Claire turned me, but my barber assures me that it is “pretty,” which is not how I would’ve described my war honed maw before.  I did not want to live, but the fear of the certain damnation that awaited me on my death kept me from killing myself.

I had killed, certainly, but that was war.  Killing someone that wasn’t trying to kill me was a new frontier, and one I was hoping to avoid at all costs.  When the hunger became too much to bear, all I could think about were Claire’s words of advice before she left me.  I didn’t know if there was much truth to it, but I did know that I was of the superior race, and as such, I fed on the free black men of New York City.  And such was my life until 1923.

Having spent the first 23 years of my life being told what to do as both a dutiful working son and a loyal soldier, I didn’t have much of a concept of how to fill my free-time. Even then, throughout the 40 years after my turn, I still was not good at it.  

I took odd jobs at the docks out of habit to kill time, even though I didn’t need the money.  The apartment Claire provided was free and I wasn’t eating food I had to pay for.  After 20 years of this I realized I had amassed a small fortune.  Somewhere around 1912 I became interested in fashion, and that small fortune came in handy.  By 1920 I was one of the best dressed men in the city, though not many saw me as I was never out in the daytime.

You may not be surprised to learn this, but a vampire that is interested in fashion is a fairly common thing.  I think it has something to do with not being able to see ourselves in a mirror.  Since we can’t tell if our faces look good, we like to be sure that we are at least dressed well.  Additionally, as the hours my kind are able to shop in are limited, you start meeting some of these like minded vampires in the clothing boutiques around the city that cater to a late night crowd.

So it was one such vampire that implored me to go see a group led by Sydney Bechet in a club he was going to visit one night in 1923. I was not much of a music aficionado, but figured it beat another night looking at the same clothing I had seen for the past month or earning money I didn’t need down at the docks.  Imagine my surprise when I entered the club only to find that the entire band was black.

I almost walked out. I had no interest in watching these animals play their jungle music, but my friend insisted.  I ordered a very strong drink and settled in for what I assumed was going to be a disgusting primitive display.  And then a sixteen year old by the name of Johnny Hodges played.

I had never heard such music.  Somehow he was able to convey such amazing emotional complexity in such simple lines, while simultaneously making the most complicated passages seem so simple.  It was nothing short of sublime.  I sat and watched both sets, staying long past when my friend was done with the show and had retired to the streets to feed.  I stayed longer than I really should’ve stayed out at all. I’m lucky I wasn’t burnt to a crisp.  

I went home and rested, only to come back the next night, and listen to Mr. Hodges play again. It was similar but different. He was composing these solos off of the top of his head, and I couldn’t comprehend what it took to do that.  What it took to be able to hear something in your head and just, present it to the world exactly as you hear it through an instrument.  Even with my advanced instincts and senses, I didn’t see how I would possibly be able to do what this sixteen year old boy could do.  

I felt an extreme sense of shame.  I was like a bully that had been punched in the face for the first time.  I was so convinced of my superiority of race that I never even considered the possibility of genius coming from anywhere else, and yet here was Johnny Hodges giving me my comeuppance with his saxophone.

The next night I wandered the streets, hungry; looking to feed, when I spotted a young black man being followed by a gang of white men.  I knew what would happen next, I am ashamed, now, to say that before I might have lingered to finish the job once those men had gone.  I won’t bore you with the details of what happened next, but suffice it to say-I fed well that night.

The next evening, I arranged for someone to go to one of the shops on musician’s row.  The week after, I had waiting for me, a brand new Buescher Tru-Tone alto saxophone, special ordered such that any semblance of silver plating was removed from the horn.  I had the time, so now I needed to see if I could catch Mr. Hodges. I never have, but I’m still trying.