#WE are down bad for that old man to a degree that's frankly terrifying | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kj-1130 · 4 years ago

Text

Nothing For Me

Part 7

Main Masterlist

Part 6|Part 8

You and MJ’s relationship continued to grow as time went on.

As she started her first year of high school, you worked on yourself, wanting to be good for her.

Overtime, you learned how to process and deal with things better. You focused on yourself and your developing relationship with MJ and needless to say, things started to look up.

The ‘present but not really present father’ thing didn’t affect you as much as it did, but it was still there. It was one of the only things you hadn’t fully processed and to be honest, you didn’t think you ever could.

Your father is there, and has been aware of presence for almost a decade. And not once has he given you any type of consolation or love like a father should. You would think after Pepper was getting more involved in his life and forcing him to clean up (most of) his act, he would open his eyes and realize that a whole human being was living with him, waiting for him to realize that they were supposed to be relying on him; not an AI built in the comfort of their room.

But nope. Absolutely nothing changed. If anything, things got worse.

He was away more often, focusing on the Avengers. Or he was with Pepper, the new love of his life.

You tried not to linger on the situation often, knowing it would only lead to pain in your chest. So you just stuffed it in the back of your mind, hoping one day that the pain would just lessen all together.

About two months ago, you and MJ had decided to make things official after going on your first date. At first you talked about how fast the two of you were going, but Michelle simply said ‘we’ll be u-haul lesbians then.’ That was the end of the conversation.

Currently, you and your girlfriend were facetiming. You would’ve made the trek to her house but she was about to study and you both knew that you’d distract her. Plus the two of you were due for some time away from each other considering the fact that you’re at her place almost everyday.

“Okay, so I found this recipe the other day and I’m just now remembering it.”

MJ looks at you confused, “Okay?”

You roll your eyes playfully.

“I wanted to try it with you. After my ban from your place has been lifted.”

“It’s not a ban,” she chuckled.

“Well, it sure as hell feels like one ba-” “Mr. Stark has arrived with a guest,” M.I.A cut you off.

“Who is this guest?”

“Secretary of State, Thaddues Ross,” the AI replied, pulling up pictures of the man.

“Hey M, I’m gonna call you back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she nods, looking a little concerned. “Take all the time you need. Let me know if everything’s okay.”

The two of you give your goodbyes and you ask M.I.A to pull up the live footage from the conference room.

“Perspective. The world owes the Avengers an un-payable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives… but while a great a=many people see you as heroes, there are some who would prefer the word “vigilantes”, is what you first hear when you start watching.

Immediately your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?” Natasha asks.

“How about ‘dangerous’?” he replies. “What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?”

The secretary activates a screen behind him which begins to play the previous battles the Avengers and SHIELD have fought in.

“New York.”

He clicks a button, footage of chitauri, shooting guns, and Hulk smashing plays.

“Washington D.C”

A new video appears, showing the insight helicarriers firing at each other with chaos following.

“Sokovia.”

The frame changes, showcasing the terrified citizens that were on the flying piece of land.

“Lagos.”

“That’s enough,” Steve interrupts.

Ross nods in response and begins his speech again.

“For the past four years, you’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That’s an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.”

He places a thick document on the table and slides it across to Wanda. As the team slides the book to each other Ross starts talking.

“The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries… it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they’ll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary.”

“The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place,” the Captain begins. “I feel we’ve done that.”

“Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?” There was a momentary pause as the two men’s eyes met. “If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes… you can bet there’d be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That’s how the world works. Believe me, this is middle ground.”

At this point, you’re walking out of your room after transfering the feed to your tablet and making your way to the elevator.

“So, these are contingencies,” Rhodey states.

“Three days from now,” Secretary Ross begins. “The UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords. Talk it over.”

Natasha speaks up, “And if we don’t come to a decision you don’t like?”

“Then you retire.”

The elevator stops and you look up seeing the Secretary walk in with someone behind him. You give him a subtle disgusted look before turning your attention back to the security footage.

As the deathtrap descends, you can feel his eyes lingering on you.

“Can I help you?”

“You’re a little young to be an intern.”

“You’re a little old to be looking at me like that,” you shrug, swiping away from the video on your tablet as you feel him looking over your shoulder.

Ross gives an awkward chuckle and furrows his eyebrows. When you reach the bottom floor, he gets ready to step out and places a hand on your shoulder.

You look at him like he’s lost his mind.

“You seem like a good kid. Be sure to make good choices.”

Raising an eyebrow, you refrain from saying what you want to say. You lift your hand and gently take his off of you.

“Don’t touch me,”

Once he exits, you hear the chatting start back up.

“Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honor,” Rhodes told Sam. “Which is one more than you have.

“So let’s say we agree to this thing,” Wilson starts. “How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?”

“117 countries want to sign this. 117, Sam, and you’re just like, ‘No that’s cool. We got it.”

“I have an equation,” Vision announces as you get back on the elevator.

“Oh this will clear it up,” Sam mutters.

“In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.“

“Toaster oven’s got a point there,” you mumble, stepping back on the metal deathtrap.

Steve asks,“Are you saying it’s our fault?”

“I’m saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict… breeds catastrophe. Oversight… oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”

“Boom,” Rhodey says.

You see Tony lying on the couch, quite relaxed, contradicting the tense atmosphere.

“Tony,” Nat starts. “You are being uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal.”

“It’s because he’s already made up his mind,” Steve explained.

“Boy, you know me so well,” Stark starts, getting up and rubbing the back of his head. “Actually I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache,” he pauses to grab a mug of coffee. “That’s what’s going on, Cap. It’s just pain. It’s discomfort. Who’s putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”

Tony puts his phone in a basket and taps the screen. An image is projected of a smiling young man.

“Oh, that’s Charles Spencer, by the way. He’s a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. Had a floor level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn’t want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn’t go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where, Sokovia.”

He pauses for a second as the team soaks in the information.

“He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won’t know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.

“There’s no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I’m game. If we can’t accept limitations, if we’re boundary-less, we’re no better than the bad guys.”

“Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don’t give up,” Steve rebuttals.

“Who said we’re giving up?”

“We are if we’re not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blame.”

“I’m sorry. Steve,” Rhodey blurted. “That-that is dangerously arrogant. This is the United Nations we’re talking about. It’s not the World Security Council, it’s not SHIELD, it’s not HYDRA.”

“No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change.”

“That’s good,” Tony starts. “That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.

“Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

“If we don’t do this now, it’s gonna be done to us later. That’s a fact. That won’t be pretty.”

Wanda finally speaks up, “You’re saying they’ll come for me.”

“We would protect you,” Vision promised.

“Maybe Tony’s right,” the redhead speaks. “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off--”

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?” Sam interrupts.

“I’m just… I’m reading the terrain. We have made… some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.

“Focus up,” Tony says. “I’m sorry, did I just mishear or did you agree with me?”

“Oh, I want to take it back now.”

“No, no, no. You can’t retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay, case-closed--I win.”

From what you see, Steve stands to leave abruptly.

You then walk out of the elevator, tablet still in hand with the footage up. The captain walks past you just as you turn the corner and spot the team.

“Someone’s upset,” you hum.

You walk past everyone towards the fridge and grab a water bottle.

“Anyway, that was very childish. And kinda stupid.”

Inquisitive looks are thrown your way and you hold up the tablet awkwardly as you plop down on a chair.

“I was watching you. I kinda do that a lot. It’s not as creepy as it sounds.”

You open the bottle and take a sip.

“What are you doing down here kid--”

“Ahhh,” you interrupt. “Don’t call me a kid. I haven’t been a child for years.”

“Just answer the question,” Tony snaps.

“I like to stay informed. No one tells me anything and while you think that these private meetings only affect you, it doesn’t. It affects me too. You may not remember I’m your child but several people do. And that puts me in danger. So yes, I listen to your conversations to make sure it’s nothing I need to worry about.”

An awkward silence washes over as you gulp down more water.

“Anyway, I was just riding up and down the elevator waiting for you guys to finish. That Ross dude is kinda creepy by the way. But you’re really considering signing that thing?”

“Not you too,” your father mutters.

You let out a laugh and everyone looks at you strangely.

“Is this funny to you?” Rhodey asks.

“Yes,” you stop laughing abruptly. “I find it hilarious that this is the same government that was ready to drop a nuke on the city during the Battle of New York not giving a damn about a single civilian that was still in the area. I find it hilarious that this is the same government that lets thousands of children and women of color go missing and not do a thing about it. It’s funny that this is the same government that let HYDRA, Red Room, AIM; all that shit grow right under their nose. It’s funny because this government is the same one that uses taxpayer money for dumb ass projects and unnecessary military funding instead of using it to fund shit that helps the civilians they claim they care so much about. I mean how can you not find this situation amusing?”

“Look,” Tony attempts.

“I’m not finished,” you challenge, looking him dead in the eyes. “This government don’t give a damn about y’all, especially not the three of us,” you say, gesturing to yourself, Sam, and Rhodey. “We’d be booted out of this country before you could even blink if they ever got the chance and you know that.

“I don’t know why y’all are so adamant on gaining the government’s trust when they don’t give a flying fuck about you or these goddamn civilians. All they care about is power. They don’t care how many civilians come up missing or die in some tragic accident. It doesn’t matter what happens. When they see someone becoming richer or smarter or more powerful than they are, they will do anything to shut that shit down.

“I don’t understand how you can’t see that. And maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s just me and my experience,” you pause, catching the gaze of every person in the room with hard eyes. You take a deep breath and try to calm down. “Sign it if you want to. Think about how many lives you’ll lose then.”

You stand from your spot and walk into the open elevator, ready to get to the comfort of your bed.

It had been two days since the initial meeting and you were currently sitting on Michelle’s bed watching her read.

“You’re really pretty,” you muttered out of the blue.

You saw your girlfriend’s cheeks develop a subtle red tint as she mumbled back a ‘thank you, and continued reading. You groan and gently pull the book out of her hands.

“Hey,” she quietly protests.

“Please,” you pout, holding your arms out as an invitation.

MJ fondly rolls her eyes before lowering herself onto you. You hummed contently and squeezed her before planting a kiss on her cheek.

She surprised you by turning her head and giving you a lingering kiss. That one kiss soon turned into something more.

Michelle gently pushed you onto your back and straddled your hips. Bending down she kissed you once again, her lips gliding with yours.

This continued for a few minutes, taking small breaks in between to breathe. You don’t think you could ever get enough of her and hoped that she was feeling similarly.

You kissed until your jaws hurt. The euphoric feeling still lingered as MJ rested her forehead against yours, trying to catch her breath.

“We should do that again sometime,” you mumbled.

Your girlfriend nodded in response, giving one more chaste kiss to your lips before dropping to your side.

“Tomorrow,” she said after glancing at the clock that read 10:47.

“Guess I’m spending the night then.”

“I have no problem with that.”

The next day, you were awoken by beeping from your phone. Once you were fully aware of your surroundings you picked up the device and read the notifications that M.I.A sent through. Scanning through them, you sat up with urgency and played the video.

“A bomb hidden in a news van ripped through the UN building in Vienna. More than 70 people have been injured. At least 12 are dead, including Wakanda’s King T’Chaka. Officials have released a video of a suspect who they have identified as James Buchanan Bares, the Winter Soldier. The infamous HYDRA agent, linked to numerous acts of terrorism and political assassinations.”

Carefully removing Michelle’s arm from around your waist, you stand up and move to the corner of the room. You press the contact and hold the phone up to your ear.

“Nat what the fuck is going on?”

You hear the woman sigh on the other side of the phone. “Look, just… stay wherever you are.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. I want answers, Nat.”

“(Y/n),” she says firmly. “Calm down and go back to whatever you were doing. Right now, this does not concern you and I would like it to stay that way. Do you understand me?”

There was some silence, before you let out a forced chuckle.

“Okay, whatever. Bye.”

“(Y/n) c’mo--”

You disconnected the call and gently tossed the phone onto MJ’s desk. “You sound stressed.”

Turning around to face the bed, you see Michelle sat up and leaning against the headboard. You nod slowly and crawl your way up towards her.

“I am.”

You feel her hand take hold of your clenched ones and she rubs them, causing you to relax slightly.

“There was a um, bombing at the--the um… signing thing. And no one wants to tell me what’s going on, so,” you end the sentence, shrugging.

MJ’s head drops onto your shoulder and you let her cuddle close.

“They told me to stay where I was. So hopefully we can get something good out of that.”

There was no response and you thought she had fallen back asleep, but you were proven wrong when your girlfriend started getting up.

“C’mon,” she instructed, holding her hand out when she saw the look of confusion on your face.

Taking her hand, the two of you made your way to the kitchen.

She turned around and grabbed your shoulders.

“We are going to make some breakfast… or lunch whatever. And then we are going to binge watch until we can binge watch no longer. Alright?”

You nod your head, chuckling and then got to work.

It had been days since you last heard from anyone. No updates from Natasha. M.I.A even told you there hasn’t even been a great deal of movement in the compound. Today you decided you would head back.

When you arrived it was quiet. As you walked down the halls you heard distant chatter and followed it.

Turning the corner, you were surprised at what you saw.

“What the hell happened?”

The two men turned to look your way, but you were given no answers.

Tony had bruises on his face and he looked more tense than usual. Rhodey had some sort of tech on his legs.

“You fought them. You fought them all, didn’t you?”

Both men looked away and avoided your gaze.

“You didn’t even listen to what I said. This is what the government does. I tried to tell you, but you didn’t even fucking listen,” you ranted, your voice slightly raising.

“Us breaking apart wasn’t the government. Most of this is on some guy th--”

“Well the government allowed it to happen so I’d say it is their fault!”

You turned to your father with pleading eyes.

“Where are they, Tony?”

“Kid, they’re criminals now, I don’t--”

“Stop calling me that! I’m--I’m not some kid. I’m not your kid,” you let out a frustrated breath. “You--you couldn’t talk it out? Like mature adults? You just had to go assert your dominance somewhere--in what? An--an airport? Some vacant lot? You just had to fight. Do you not know how to communicate?”

You looked at the two men, shook your head, and brushed past them.

Just when things were alright.

“(Y/n)?”

“What M.I.A?”

You were currently laying in your bed trying to control the tears that were begging to fall from your eyes due to the amount of overwhelming shit you had been hit with. You talked with MJ for a little while and while it helped a bit, you honestly were still feeling like… well shit.

“There’s a package for you.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you head down to where the mail is usually placed, get the package with your name on it, and head back to your room.

Grabbing a pair of scissors, you cut the tape and open the box. Inside was a letter and a phone.

Hey sweetheart.

It was Natasha’s handwriting.

I’m sorry. I really am. We all are. I wish things wouldn’t have ended this way, but they did and we can’t really do anything about it now.

I listened to what you said. I listened and I tried my best to understand. I don’t think I ever wanted to sign the accords in the first place. The only reason I did so was so that we could stay together. So that I could stay with you. This team is the only family I’ve had in a long time. The fact that that stack of papers could end that scared me.

I just kept trying to convince myself that signing the Accords was the right thing to do; anything to keep this team together. Anything to keep everything from falling apart.

But the more I thought about it, I realized. You were right. Everything you said. This government doesn’t care. And if the government doesn’t care like they’re supposed to then we need to. People need the government, but they don’t have it. They do have us though. And they always will.

I love you. I didn’t say it enough and I don’t know when or if I’ll ever get to tell you that again. You are so precious to me and I’m sorry I couldn’t stay. If you ever need anything, you can always give me a call.

You wiped your eyes and gently picked up the phone. You held it in your hands for a moment before setting it down. You folded the letter back up neatly and placed both items in the top drawer of your nightstand.

You laid back down on your bed with less tears on your face.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Permanent Taglist

@stillmanicc, @annestine, @ymzki-haruki

Nothing For Me Taglist

@littlegasps, @leahnicole1219, @thebadassass, @legendarymcnuggies, @big-galaxy-chaos, @believinghurts, @play-morezeppelin, @vavilip, @coollemonsaresour, @ximaginx, @xx-narcissa

Marvel Taglist

@hateinthemorning, @mylove4life, @badbitchyonjii, @blueposthings

#avengers #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #avengers x teen!reader #avengers x black!reader #tony stark #tony stark x daughter!reader #michelle jones x reader #michelle jones x fem!reader #nothing for me miniseries

177 notes · View notes

qqueenofhades · 5 years ago

Note

Re: the post you reblogged about Bush. I'm 21 and tbh feel like I can only vote for Bernie, can you explain if/why I shouldn't? Thanks and sorry if this is dumb or anything.

Oh boy. Okay, I’ll do my best here. Note that a) this will get long, and b) I’m old, Tired, and I‘m pretty sure my brain tried to kill me last night. Since by nature I am sure I will say something Controversial ™, if anyone reads this and feels a deep urge to inform me that I am Wrong, just… mark it down as me being Wrong and move on with your life. But also, really, you should read this and hopefully think about it. Because while I’m glad you asked this question, it feels like there’s a lot in your cohort who won’t, and that worries me. A lot.

First, not to sound utterly old-woman-in-a-rocking-chair ancient, people who came of age/are only old enough to have Obama be the first president that they really remember have no idea how good they had it. The world was falling the fuck apart in 2008 (not coincidentally, after 8 years of Bush). We came within a flicker of the permanent collapse of the global economy. The War on Terror was in full roar, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were at their height, we had Dick Cheney as the cartoon supervillain before we had any of Trump’s cohort, and this was before Chelsea Manning or Edward Snowden had exposed the extent of NSA/CIA intelligence-gathering/American excesses or there was any kind of public debate around the fact that we were all surveilled all the time. And the fact that a brown guy named Barack Hussein Obama was elected in this climate seems, and still seems tbh, kind of amazing. And Obama was certainly not a Perfect President ™. He had to scale back a lot of planned initiatives, he is notorious for expanding the drone strike/extrajudicial assassination program, he still subscribed to the overall principles of neoliberalism and American exceptionalism, etc etc. There is valid criticism to be made as to how the hopey-changey optimistic rhetoric stacked up against the hard realities of political office. And yet…. at this point, given what we’re seeing from the White House on a daily basis, the depth of the parallel universe/double standards is absurd.

Because here’s the thing. Obama, his entire family, and his entire administration had to be personally/ethically flawless the whole time (and they managed that – not one scandal or arrest in eight years, against the legions of Trumpistas now being convicted) because of the absolute frothing depths of Republican hatred, racial conspiracy theories, and obstruction against him. (Remember Merrick Garland and how Mitch McConnell got away with that, and now we have Gorsuch and Kavanaugh on the Supreme Court? Because I remember that). If Obama had pulled one-tenth of the shit, one-twentieth of the shit that the Trump administration does every day, he would be gone. It also meant that people who only remember Obama think he was typical for an American president, and he wasn’t. Since about… Jimmy Carter, and definitely since Ronald Reagan, the American people have gone for the Trump model a lot more than the Obama model. Whatever your opinion on his politics or character, Obama was a constitutional law professor, a community activist, a neighborhood organizer and brilliant Ivy League intellectual who used to randomly lie awake at night thinking about income inequality. Americans don’t value intellectualism in their politicians; they just don’t. They don’t like thinking that “the elites” are smarter than them. They like the folksy populist who seems fun to have a beer with, and Reagan/Bush Senior/Clinton/Bush Junior sold this persona as hard as they possibly could. As noted in said post, Bush Junior (or Shrub as the late, great Molly Ivins memorably dubbed him) was Trump Lite but from a long-established political family who could operate like an outwardly civilized human.

The point is: when you think Obama was relatively normal (which, again, he wasn’t, for any number of reasons) and not the outlier in a much larger pattern of catastrophic damage that has been accelerated since, again, the 1980s (oh Ronnie Raygun, how you lastingly fucked us!), you miss the overall context in which this, and which Trump, happened. Like most left-wingers, I don’t agree with Obama’s recent and baffling decision to insert himself into the 2020 race and warn the Democratic candidates against being too progressive or whatever he was on about. I think he was giving into the same fear that appears to be motivating the remaining chunk of Joe Biden’s support: that middle/working-class white America won’t go for anything too wild or that might sniff of Socialism, and that Uncle Joe, recalled fondly as said folksy populist and the internet’s favorite meme grandfather from his time as VP, could pick up the votes that went to Trump last time. And that by nature, no one else can.

The underlying belief is that these white voters just can’t support anything too “un-American,” and that by pushing too hard left, Democratic candidates risk handing Trump a second term. Again: I don’t agree and I think he was mistaken in saying it. But I also can’t say that Obama of all people doesn’t know exactly the strength of the political machine operating against the Democratic Party and the progressive agenda as a whole, because he ran headfirst into it for eight years. The fact that he managed to pass any of his legislative agenda, usually before the Tea Party became a thing in 2010, is because Democrats controlled the House and Senate for the first two years of his first term. He was not perfect, but it was clear that he really did care (just look up the pictures of him with kids). He installed smart, efficient, and scandal-free people to do jobs they were qualified for. He gave us Elena Kagan and Sonia Sotomayor to join RBG on the Supreme Court. All of this seems… like a dream.

That said: here we are in a place where Biden, Bernie Sanders, and Elizabeth Warren are the front-runners for the Democratic nomination (and apparently Pete Buttigieg is getting some airplay as a dark horse candidate, which… whatever). The appeal of Biden is discussed above, and he sure as hell is not my favored candidate (frankly, I wish he’d just quit). But Sanders and Warren are 85% - 95% similar in their policy platforms. The fact that Michael “50 Billion Dollar Fortune” Bloomberg started rattling his chains about running for president is because either a Sanders or Warren presidency terrifies the outrageously exploitative billionaire capitalist oligarchy that runs this country and has been allowed to proceed essentially however the fuck they like since… you guessed it, the 1980s, the era of voodoo economics, deregulation, and the free market above all. Warren just happens to be ten years younger than Sanders and female, and Sanders’ age is not insignificant. He’s 80 years old and just had a heart attack, and there’s still a year to go to the election. It’s also more than a little eye-rolling to describe him as the only progressive candidate in the race, when he’s an old white man (however much we like and approve of his policy positions). And here’s the thing, which I think is a big part of the reason why this polarized ideological purity internet leftist culture mistrusts Warren:

She may have changed her mind on things in the past.

Scary, right? I sound like I’m being facetious, but I’m not. An argument I had to read with my own two eyes on this godforsaken hellsite was that since Warren became a Democrat around the time Clinton signed Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, she sekritly hated gay people and might still be a corporate sellout, so on and etcetera. (And don’t even get me STARTED on the fact that DADT, coming a few years after the height of the AIDS crisis which was considered God’s Judgment of the Icky Gays, was the best Clinton could realistically hope to achieve, but this smacks of White Gay Syndrome anyway and that is a whole other kettle of fish.) Bernie has always demonstrably been a democratic socialist, and: good for him. I’m serious. But because there’s the chance that Warren might not have thought exactly as she does now at any point in her life, the hysterical and paranoid left-wing elements don’t trust that she might not still secretly do so. (Zomgz!) It’s the same element that’s feeding cancel culture and “wokeness.” Nobody can be allowed to have shifted or grown in their opinions or, like a functional, thoughtful, non-insane adult, changed their beliefs when presented with compelling evidence to the contrary. To the ideological hordes, any hint of uncertainty or past failure to completely toe the line is tantamount to heresy. Any evidence of any other belief except The Correct One means that this person is functionally as bad as Trump. And frankly, it’s only the Sanders supporters who, just as in 2016, are threatening to withhold their vote in the general election if their preferred candidate doesn’t win the primary, and indeed seem weirdly proud about it.

OK, boomer Bernie or Buster.

Here’s the thing, the thing, the thing: there is never going to be an American president free of the deeply toxic elements of American ideology. There just won’t be. This country has been built how it has for 250 years, and it’s not gonna change. You are never going to have, at least not in the current system, some dream candidate who gets up there and parrots the left-wing talking points and attacks American imperialism, exceptionalism, ravaging global capitalism, military and oil addiction, etc. They want to be elected as leader of a country that has deeply internalized and taken these things to heart for its entire existence, and most of them believe it to some degree themselves. So this groupthink white liberal mentality where the only acceptable candidate is this Perfect Non-Problematic robot who has only ever had one belief their entire lives and has never ever wavered in their devotion to doctrine has really gotten bad. The Democratic Party would be considered… maybe center/mild left in most other developed countries. It’s not even really left-wing by general standards, and Sanders and Warren are the only two candidates for the nomination who are even willing to go there and explicitly put out policy proposals that challenge the systematic structure of power, oppression, and exploitation of the late-stage capitalist 21st century. Warren has the billionaires fussed, and instead of backing down, she’s doubling down. That’s part of why they’re so scared of her. (And also misogyny, because the world is depressing like that.) She is going head-on after picking a fight with some of the worst people on the planet, who are actively killing the rest of us, and I don’t know about you, but I like that.

Of course: none of this will mean squat if she (or the eventual Democratic winner, who I will vote for regardless of who it is, but as you can probably tell, she’s my ride or die) don’t a) win the White House and then do as they promised on the campaign trail, and b) don’t have a Democratic House and Senate willing to have a backbone and pass the laws. Even Nancy Pelosi, much as she’s otherwise a badass, held off on opening a formal impeachment inquiry into Trump for months out of fear it would benefit him, until the Ukraine thing fell into everyone’s laps. The Democrats are really horrible at sticking together and voting the party line the way Republicans do consistently, because Democrats are big-tent people who like to think of themselves as accepting and tolerant of other views and unwilling to force their members’ hands. The Republicans have no such qualms (and indeed, judging by their enabling of Trump, have no qualms at all).

The modern American Republican party has become a vehicle for no-holds-barred power for rich white men at the expense of absolutely everything and everyone else, and if your rationale is that you can’t vote for the person opposing Donald Goddamn Trump is that you’re just not vibing with them on the language of that one policy proposal… well, I’m glad that you, White Middle Class Liberal, feel relatively safe that the consequences of that decision won’t affect you personally. Even if we’re due to be out of the Paris Climate Accords one day after the 2020 election, and the issue of climate change now has the most visibility it’s ever had after years of big-business, Republican-led efforts to deny and discredit the science, hey, Secret Corporate Shill, am I right? Can’t trust ‘er. Let’s go have a craft beer.

As has been said before: vote as far left as you want in the primary. Vote your ideology, vote whatever candidate you want, because the only way to make actual, real-world change is to do that. The huge, embedded, all-consuming and horrible system in which we operate is not just going to suddenly be run by fairy dust and happy thoughts overnight. Select candidates that reflect your values exactly, be as picky and ideologically militant as you want. That’s the time to do that! Then when it comes to the general election:

America is a two-party system. It sucks, but that’s the case. Third-party votes, or refraining from voting because “it doesn’t matter” are functionally useless at best and actively harmful at worst.

Either the Democratic candidate or Donald Trump will win the 2020 election.

There is absolutely no length that the Republican/GOP machine, and its malevolent allies elsewhere, will not go to in order to secure a Trump victory. None.

Any talk whatsoever about “progressive values” or any kind of liberal activism, coupled with a course of action that increases the possibility of a Trump victory, is hypocritical at best and actively malicious at worst.

This is why I found the Democratic response to Obama’s “don’t go too wild” comments interesting. Bernie doubled down on the fact that his plans have widespread public support, and he’s right. (Frankly, the fact that Sanders and Warren are polling at the top, and the fact that they’re politicians and would not be crafting these campaign messages if they didn’t know that they were being positively received, says plenty on its own). Warren cleverly highlighted and praised Obama’s accomplishments in office (i.e. the Affordable Care Act) and didn’t say squat about whether she agreed or disagreed with him, then went right back to campaigning about why billionaires suck. And some guy named Julian Castro basically blew Obama off and claimed that “any Democrat” could beat Trump in 2020, just by nature of existing and being non-insane.

This is very dangerous! Do not be Julian Castro!

As I said in my tags on the Bush post: everyone assumed that sensible people would vote for Kerry in 2004. Guess what happened? Yeah, he got Swift Boated. The race between Obama and McCain in 2008, even after those said nightmare years of Bush, was very close until the global crash broke it open in Obama’s favor, and Sarah Palin was an actual disqualifier for a politician being brazenly incompetent and unprepared. (Then again, she was a woman from a remote backwater state, not a billionaire businessman.) In 2012, we thought Corporate MormonBot Mitt Fuggin’ Romney was somehow the worst and most dangerous candidate the Republicans could offer. In 2016, up until Election Day itself, everyone assumed that HRC was a badly flawed candidate but would win anyway. And… we saw how that worked out. Complacency is literally deadly.

I was born when Reagan was still president. I’m just old enough to remember the efforts to impeach Clinton over forcing an intern to give him a BJ in the Oval Office (This led by the same Republicans making Donald Trump into a darling of the evangelical Christian right wing.) I’m definitely old enough to remember 9/11 and how America lost its mind after that, and I remember the Bush years. And, obviously, the contrast with Obama, the swing back toward Trump, and everything that has happened since. We can’t afford to do this again. We’re hanging by a thread as it is, and not just America, but the entire planet.

So yes. By all means, vote for Sanders in the primary. Then when November 3, 2020 rolls around, if you care about literally any of this at all, hold your nose if necessary and vote straight-ticket Democrat, from the president, to the House and Senate, to the state and local offices. I cannot put it more strongly than that.

#politics for ts #long post #anonymous #ask

20K notes · View notes

beyondthetemples-ooc · 3 years ago

Note

1, 27, 40

Ooh, thank you for the ask! It's gonna get heavy though, because that first one is a Very loaded question, whew. ;; I'm actually gonna put this under a cut.

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents?

Hahaha ha haaaa.... about that. It depends entirely on which parent.

I was raised in a split-custody situation, and grew up mainly living with my father and stepmother (often called "stepmonster"). I only got to see my mother every other weekend, on certain holidays, and for a few weeks in the summer. I wish I could've seen her more, but now we go to lunch/dinner at least once a month and we'll just talk for hours.

My stepmother.... well, I'm in a decent mood and don't want to ruin it by going into Deep Details, but she was viciously and relentlessly emotionally abusive from the day we started living together, and the older I got and the more I started realizing that she was hurting me, the more I started asking her to stop and tell her she was hurting me, the worse she treated me. It wasn't always, but it became physical often enough that I'd flinch when she raised her hands. So needless to say, I don't have any warm, fuzzy feelings towards her.

I acknowledge that she "tried to be a good parent" (or at least, I acknowledge that she SAYS that's what she wanted), but she has never once apologized for hurting or screaming at me. She has never once taken steps to stop it. No matter how many times I asked her to stop, or take a moment and breathe, or think about how what she's saying is making me feel. Hell, she VERY recently told me "I don't have any regrets" (about how she raised us). And even when I pressed, hesitantly, tentatively, "Nothing? Not one thing?" and she said "Nope." I just. What. How do you claim to love someone and then say you don't regret screaming at them, calling them names, pinning them in corners, smacking them, making them cry on a weekly basis?

So, honestly, fuck her with a saguaro cactus.

My father is... really complicated. We were very close when I was little, but he was always away working and we were lucky if we got to give him a hug before bedtime, so we rarely got to Actually Do Bonding Things. I tried going to him about the way stepmonster was hurting me three times, and each time he yelled at me for being ungrateful and selfish and whatever else he could come up with to make it my fault I was being abused. Yeah.

And just... The older I've gotten, the more I've realized that his actions are a result of his choices. He has a temper that is frankly terrifying, he has roared at me to "shut the hell up" more than once, when I was very little he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out of bed, trying to force me to stand when I was crying because I had a vasogaval syncope episode (read: I was about to pass out and told them I couldn't stand up to get ready for school), and he makes little-to-no attempt to control it. The older I get, the less I can tolerate the things he does, or did.

It would be different if he apologized, or acknowledged that he hurt me, or frankly even ever listened to me when I went to the parent that prided himself on being my ~protector~ and did a single damn thing to ACT on it, but he refused to even acknowledge that I was hurting. But he never has tried even talking to me about these things, and frankly I can't forgive someone who never apologizes. I miss when we were close, but now I don't have any desire to try rekindling that relationship, because whenever I try to address my pain or fears, he turns that anger on me and it's just not worth getting verbally abused.

My mother is the only parental figure I'm close to. She also had a temper when I was super little, but at least she would address it with us and try to talk it through, and she has gone to greater and greater lengths to control it and understand why we argue and communicate with me and mend the parts of us that were broken by those things. She has pointed me to resources and family history and therapy and she was the very first person who ever told me, at age fucking 19 (after having been diagnosed since I was SEVEN YEARS OLD) what ADHD actually MEANS and how it impacts my life and that it might be why I struggle so much with simple chores and memory.

Even though she's homophobic and transphobic, at least she's not cruel about it. I would hesitate to even call her judgemental, because she thinks it's "maladaptive", but doesn't think it makes someone a bad person. (Hell, stepmonster and father and at least two of my siblings know I'm nonbinary too, but they won't use the right pronouns or non-gendered language for me either.) She's also of the "monotheistic triumphalism" mindset in her Christianity and used to try very hard to convert me away from paganism until, ironically, I moved in with her for that year. So I can't really talk about those things with her.

But other than that, I can talk to her about ANYTHING. I can ask her questions on anything from a vulnerable personal place in my heart to a vulnerable place in my body to relationship advice, she has a great wealth of knowledge on health and financial things and resources provided by the state and county, she has also had to heal from parental abuse and has had a ton of therapy for depression and PTSD so she helps me with mine too, and she's a genuinely kind and witty person who cares about ME enough to address when something she said or did hurts me, and she genuinely tries to help and be a comforting presence.

Like, my bar for "good parenting" isn't very high honestly, but she really is a wonderful parent and I wish I'd had more of her influence in my life.

27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

Not that I'm aware of. Not really, anyways. I've had at least 3 people over the age of 40 tell me "I think I'm falling in love with you" just because I talked to them, but like. I'm still in my 20's? Why even?? A lot of people have asked me for my number, and I've turned them down. (I'm taken, first of all. I don't want to be anybody's side-squeeze. And I'm frankly not interested in somebody who only wants my number because my butt is cute. Whatever.)

But the relationship I'm in now is the first serious one I've ever been in, and maybe it's because I'm demi, but I can't imagine anyone's heart being broken if they're not in a truly serious relationship.

40:Have you ever walked outside completely naked?

Oh man, this is a fun one! In chronological order:

- When I was about... 14? I performed my first Wiccan ritual "skyclad" in the backyard. (It's a full moon thing, so I figured I should be under the light of the full moon. And also nude because, you know. Wiccan.) There was a privacy fence, but it WAS outside, and I WAS naked.

- I didn't properly "walk" outside for this one, but I did once open the door to a pizza delivery guy, take the food, and pay completely naked. It was basically a dare. Easiest $100 I've ever made.

- I did once walk several blocks through downtown Canton with absolutely nothing on but a cloak. That one was because I heard the shopkeep saying "Anyone who comes in on a Sunday in their pajamas gets a surprise." And I'm deathly curious, okay. I wanted to know what this surprise was. But I utterly lack pajamas. So I asked her, "What if you sleep naked?" And she said "Then I dare you to come in naked!" So I came in one Sunday wrapped in a cloak, asked her if she remembered the conversation, and when she asked "Are you naked under there?" I essentially flashed her.

- I went to an outdoor nudist resort in Bath, Ohio. We didn't stay long though, maybe two hours tops, because it was almost autumn and the other two I was with were too chilly to enjoy it. I was fine though? It has to be like 50 degrees or cooler for me to be chilled. But because they were too cold to be nude, we left.

Nudity has never fazed me, and if it was socially acceptable, I'm walk around EVERYWHERE naked.

#rhs answered an ask

1 note · View note

flannelpunkcalum · 6 years ago

Text

The Devil Wears Kevlar - Part 1

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

hiiiiiii i feel bad for making all these empty promises so here’s something i know i can update - I’m gonna publish a very long slow burn ceo!batman!cal AU that is so self indulgent and sexy and yes Liam is in it and yes I know Summer already has an Aspen who dates Calum and no I’m not changing it!!!! love you all very much hope you enjoy this first taste!!! I’m gonna be updating about every week so stay tuned!

This is how it starts, all of it; Aspen gets a job at Hood Enterprises on a team that is trying to use molecular mechanisms based on fish skins as a burn treatment, someday making it available in hospitals, and maybe even commercially. It was big in Brazil when supplies were in short supply, and if they can make it available for the military, well- it would be low cost, biodegradable, and more effective.

It’s almost boring, looking back on it, but back then she was thrilled. She was in a new city, with roommates she loved, with her dream job lined up. She makes work friends, like real adults do - Beth from advertising, Michael from sales, Liam the administrative coordinator on the top floor, Ashton on her research and development team. They sit together at lunch. She learns the ropes.

It felt too perfect. And it was.

After her first week, Liam doesn’t come down to lunch for three days. After a few days, he shows up so she finally asks why; apparently he’s been finding a new assistant for the CEO. It’s “the second toughest job in the place, second to mine because I have to keep finding the damn things. You’ve been through our interview process, right? You know how stupid extensive it is? Ugh. Please let’s talk about something else.”

They talk about the CEO of Sionis Investments, instead, until Liam complains about that, too. Nasty business; CEO was kidnapped, blackmailed, and the police are saying they have no leads. Aspen isn’t sure she believes that. She tells that to Ashton later over the centrifuge. She hopes she gets a hunky bodyguard out of it, though. “I’m an asset, Ashton.”

She falls into a routine while they research the new bandage. She’s taken to calling it Nurse Shark, while Ashton is calling it BAMF (Bandage And Medicine Fish). Beth says there’s a reason they’re kept in the lab and not in advertising; her money’s on Pisciform, from the Latin. Aspen says that she minored in English and she knows a good idea when she hears one. Liam says that Calum Hood’s new assistant is finally working out; maybe he’ll be able to go a month without having to fire him and take over. Michael wants to know if that’s the only thing he thinks about, Liam? Liam tells Michael to shut up or he’ll make Mikey a secretary. Michael throws a french fry at him, even though they’re all way too old for it.

Those are the good days.

She’s researching alternative biodegradable fibers to base the bandage on (partly just because they’re waiting for the shareholders meeting to pass and give them a direction) when she meets Calum Hood for the first time. She didn’t expect to see him until the Christmas party but he comes into her - well, Ashton’s - lab in a gust of expensive cologne. Liam is with him. They talk in hushed tones to Ashton while she pretends to read through the Canadian Journal of Botany. Liam sneaks peeks at her the whole time, but she doesn’t let herself guess why until the boys wave her over.

Calum Hood is tall and broad and he doesn’t smile very much. Ashton’s voice is warm when he talks about Aspen, the work she does, her history of project management, her research abilities. She’s up for the position as personal assistant, she realizes, and she doesn’t know how she feels about that. She loves Nurse Shark or BAMF or whatever you want to call it. She didn’t get two degrees in molecular biology to pick up dry cleaning. Liam is nervous, too, like nothing she’s ever seen. Aspen wants to take risks, though, and she agrees to be interviewed for the position later that afternoon.

It is casual Friday. She doesn’t even have a good cardigan. This is a bad idea.

Ha. Like that’s ever stopped her.

Calum Hood - Mr. Hood - had been quiet in the lab, and he was quiet at the interview. Liam asked her most of the questions. It’s weird to have her friend ask her about her experience in administrative duties. He doesn’t even flash her a reassuring smile when she says she doesn’t know how many words she can type a minute.

It’s the first time she wonders if something is wrong.

It’s not the only time, either, not even in the interview. Near the end Mr. Hood cuts in and asks her about her family, where she worked in the past, her plans for the future. He has a look in his eye that makes her feel like a specimen. Like he’d give anything to dissect her.

There’s only so much of it she can take. “I’m sorry, I don’t feel comfortable talking about that right now,” she says when he asks about her medical history. “I don’t think you’re allowed to ask me that,” she says when he asks her if she had a boyfriend or husband. She didn’t, but that’s not any of his fucking business and it shouldn’t affect his decisions in hiring her - she doesn’t want to be hired, anyway, she likes the lab. Doesn’t need some wunderkind in a fancy suit to invade her professional and private life. Doesn’t need overtime pay. Well, she does, but not that badly. She can always find some work on the weekends. It’ll figure itself out.

It’s only two hours before Liam pokes his head back in the lab. Aspen crosses her fingers behind her back, but it doesn’t change anything; Mr. Hood wants to talk to her. Liam’s face is like stone as he leads her to the elevator and takes her to the top floor, and she’s still trying to unbutton her lab coat as he leads her to the CEO’s office. She feels like she’s in trouble, but he can’t fire her for protecting her rights, can he? She moved to Gotham for this job, she can’t lose it now.

Calum Hood asks her to sit down.

Liam leaves and closes the door behind him.

“Before anything else, I’d like to apologize for the way I treated you in the interview.” He starts off, making Aspen struggle to hide her surprise. “It was disrespectful and invasive. I needed to make sure- the nature of this position is that you would be privy to a good amount of confidential information and I need a personal assistant who knows the boundaries. That is, if you want the job.”

He’s actually- she’s got the job? That’s- Aspen could have the job, if she wanted. She could work with a brilliant CEO on top of the heap. She could have that.

But.

Aspen takes a deep breath to steady herself and properly look at her boss. She’d been too scared to before, just barely brave enough to hold his gaze, but now she picks her head up and tries to analyze him. He’s big, even for a young man. He looks solid enough to carry a company, even if he also looks a little young for it. He’s handsome. He’s well-dressed. He’s… frankly, he’s terrifying. He looks tired. She doesn’t trust him, she realizes.

“I don’t know, Mr. Hood. With all due respect, I heard about when Cathy Potolsky got fired. It seems like a very high-stress position, and I don’t know if I’m qualified to meet your exacting standards.” Aspen says. She tries to be sweet about it, but she’s still a little mad about the questions he asked her. She hasn’t been able to focus on plant fibers all afternoon, either, and it was all his fault. Should she care if he can tell? Eh, probably.

That business with Cathy had been nasty, too. Liam had told them in low voices how Mr. Hood had thrown a vase across the room when Cathy left too many voicemails go unheard. Aspen didn’t know if she could put up with that. She was terrible at replying to texts.

Mr. Hood has eyes like a rifle’s scope. “You are if I say you are. You seem very capable, and Dr. Irwin showed me some of your writings.”

He wasn’t going to let this go easily. “I’m flattered.” She says, but it’s an attempt to get him to stop trying to persuade her. “To be perfectly frank, Mr. Hood, I really do like my work in the lab, and if it’s all the same to you I’d rather not put that position in jeopardy to work as your assistant.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and for a second she thinks she’s out of the woods.

“How about this, then; if we find that you working as my assistant isn’t working out, I’ll send you back down to work in the labs. I’ll guarantee you a position with your project, or, hell, any project you want.” His eyes search her. “The position comes with a promotion and a better holiday bonus. We both know Dr. Irwin can’t pay you the overtime you deserve.”

It stings, but he’s right. She sighs. “Can I think it over?”

“Of course.” Mr. Hood stands, shows her to the door. “Why don’t you take fifteen minutes to enjoy the top floor? I assure you it’s a far cry from the basement.”

“Fifteen-”

“I don’t think you understand how urgently I need this position filled.” Mr. Hood’s voice leaves no room for argument. Aspen swallows a scowl as she exits the office, where Liam’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Well?” He asks as soon as the door closes behind her. Aspen doesn’t think she’s ever seen his brows creased like that.

“He offered me the job.”

Liam snorts. “Of course he did. You’re not taking it, though.”

It’s very clearly not a question, and all of Aspen’s anger makes her lightheaded for a second. How can Liam talk to her like that after her scumbag of a boss tries to manipulate her in a job interview she didn’t even want? He’s supposed to be her friend. She takes a deep breath before she answers, just to be safe. “I don’t know. I could really use the money, and - I mean, if I can look after a lab, I should be able to look after one man, right?”

Liam looks uncomfortable. “Aspen, you have to be kidding yourself.”

“Wow, thanks for the support.” Aspen says, but she can’t keep the sarcasm from steeping through.

“I’m serious. You’re not qualified, I’ve seen your people skills, and Calum Hood eats girls like you for breakfast. Take a look at yourself. You don’t belong up here.”

Aspen doesn’t break Liam’s gaze, but she does a mental check. She’s in her stained polyester lab coat and jeans from the Gap, while Liam - he’s in a shirt that probably cost more than her weekly food budget. The people humming quietly through reception are poised, polished, like chrome, and she’s suddenly all the more aware of her split ends and chipped nails. He’s not wrong.

But this isn’t right.

“What’s wrong with you? How can you - Liam.” She says, and it sounds like pleading. At least she’s not yelling yet, though. She’s tired and frustrated and it’s almost 4:30 and if she was back in the lab Ashton would be telling her to sneak out by now but she’s in this shitty situation instead. What the hell?

Liam’s sweet face looks mean, now, malice in the curve of his brows. Aspen might be going crazy. “I’m trying to protect you, Aspen, you wouldn’t last a day. You look like you’re going to cry, honestly. Save yourself the humiliation. I’ll tell Calum you refuse.” He reaches for the doorknob before she can say anything.

Aspen’s not even remotely close to tears, and she’s not about to let some jealous secretary fuck this up for her, either. As Liam turns the knob she grabs his wrist, trying to keep him from fucking with her career any more, but he grabs her arm to pull her back - is he trying to fight her, right here, right now? Is he actually- Aspen jerks in his grip, and when Liam pushes back he pushes her into the door and it swings open and -

In an instant they separate. Mr. Hood takes his sweet time looking up from his papers, where Aspen’s nervously pushing hair out of her eyes. “That was quick.” He says, all mild.

Liam acts first. “Aspen wants to say that she can’t-”

“-can’t turn down your offer.”

Was that her who just spoke? Aspen tries to keep herself calm, rock-steady as Calum Hood looks her over slowly. Liam is silent beside her, but the tension feels sharp and painful between them. They’re two ends of a capacitor, building up charge.

Mr. Hood’s voice breaks the silence. “Excellent. Everything Cathy left behind is in the office, that’s everything you’ll need. I arrive at the office at 8:30 every morning; I expect you to meet me Monday with my coffee and daily schedule ready.”

Aspen blinks. “I- great. Excellent. I’ll have that.”

Her new boss stands up and comes around the desk to shake her hand, and Aspen swears she catches the first real smile she’s seen from him. “I’m so glad to have you.” He says. He’s warm, is what he is, for the very first time. When he draws away, Aspen can see why he’s a leader and CEO, just for a second.

The second passes. “Liam will show you to your new office and make sure you’re set up. I’m sure he can help you with any questions you may have.” Calum nods to Liam and gives her another tiny, tiny smile, effectively dismissing them. Aspen says thank you one last time until the door closes behind them, and then it’s just her and Liam again.

He speaks first, after a very long second. “What the fuck did you do?”

“You tried to ruin my chances here, and you grabbed me -”

“You grabbed me first!”

“Yeah, because you were going to tell the CEO that I didn’t want the job. Which - what the hell is wrong with you?” Aspen hisses. She hopes Mr. Hood’s door is thick and soundproof.

“Me? You should have just listened to me. Fuck.” Liam swears again.

“You shouldn’t have treated me like that.” Aspen snaps, and then she makes herself take another deep breath. He looks… genuinely distressed. Aspen, against her better instincts, feels bad for the asshole. “That’s the second time I’ve ever heard you swear. You’re really wound up, huh?” She teases very gently. It’s mostly out of hope.

Liam doesn’t answer right away, just points to an office by a secretary. “That one’s yours. Good luck.” This man, who Aspen thought was her friend, has never sounded colder.

The office is dark when she steps in, and she has to fumble for the lightswitch. It takes longer than it should. Once she finds the lights she sees the planner lying open on the desk, weighed down with post-it notes. There’s a fancy computer monitor and a sad-looking African Violet on the corner of the desk. The space is nice, though; it’s airy. There are proper windows and everything, and there’s just glass dividing it from the main entryway so it feels secluded but still close enough to be useful. It is nicer than the basement labs, she’s not going to lie to herself. She’s seen Devil Wears Prada, she knows what this is supposed to do to her life and soul and all, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t some perks.

That reminds her.

“Liam?” She asks, poking her head out of the doorway. His office is just across from hers, and his door is open, she knows he can hear her. He doesn’t answer, though, just keeps clicking at his computer. “Liam?”

“Mr. Payne?” She jokes, but his head turns and her heart sinks. That’s how he wants it, then?

He doesn’t answer her, just looks at her with this blank fucking look in his eyes all expectant. He’s got this look in his eyes like she’s already let him down. “How does Mr. Hood take his coffee?” Aspen asks. It sounds a bit like pleading, even to her, but she’s confused, and it’s Liam - he feels bad eating sushi because of the little baby fish eggs, for chrissakes, she doesn’t know why he’s acting this way.

He looks angry already. “God, it hasn’t been five minutes and you’re floundering.”

“I’m not- we’re on the same team-”

“Thought this was an opportunity you couldn’t pass up, hm? Act like it.” He turns away after that.

Aspen feels cold all fucking over. “Fine. Thank you.” She says, feeling too sad to spit back venom. She’s confused. She thought - nevermind.

It takes her exactly eighteen minutes to clear out her desk, stealing a box from Ashton so he’ll have to visit her to get it back. “It’s lonely at the top,” she jokes, although she already knows that it really fuckin’ is. At least Ashton hasn’t turned on her; he gives her a hug and a warm smile, and says he’ll keep her updated on the project “until Mr. Hood gets tired of you and you come back home”. For a moment, she wonders if it’s too late to back out.

Aspen bundles her lab coats into the box and doesn’t let herself turn back.

Once she gets back to her lofty prison, she starts typing up a template for Calum Hood’s day to day. This time, she notices that she’s got her very own printer, and she gets a little too excited about that but she doesn’t think anyone outside the glass walls notices. She takes a call from the Daily Gotham and manages to put the reporter on hold all by herself, and gets the secretary to teach her how to transfer calls. Janice also tells her Mr. Hood takes his coffee decaf with one cream and he’s partial to The Coffee Lab but also Cafe Reznikoff if she doesn’t want to go four blocks out of her way. Aspen could kiss Janice, she’s so thankful.

Aspen feels a little goofy but she prints out her brand new template and starts transcribing Mr. Hood’s plans in her neatest writing. It’s past 5:30 when she finishes, and she starts to pack up her things when she remembers that she’s not a researcher right now and she’s has to ask Mr. Hood if she can go home. Her hand hovers over the phone before she makes the decision to stand up and go talk to him face to face, like a grown up. Liam is still at his desk when she walks by, but she doesn’t pause to look at him as she knocks on the CEO’s door.

Mr. Hood sounds stressed when he says “come in,” but Aspen’s spent her whole afternoon in the belly of the beast so it barely phases her. When she enters he’s got a cell phone in his hand and a look on his face so she doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Is there anything else you need me for today, or…”

God, she feels underdressed standing near him. “There’s - no, there’s nothing. Go home, Aspen, I’ll see you on Monday.” He says, with a wave of his hand he’s perfected through countless assistants before her.

“Eight thirty, decaf, one cream.” She says, smiling. She finds she wants him to smile back.

She gets something stiff-lipped, but his lips curve in the right direction and really, that’s enough. It’s technically her first day. She’s content. She steps out of the office and closes the door, and breezes through her packing up. “Night, Janice. Goodnight, Mr. Payne.” She hums on her way past, so he knows at least she can conduct herself civilly.

The Aspen who steps out of the building doesn’t feel like the one who walked in for work a few hours ago. She knows this.

Anyway. That's how it starts.

#calum hood series #calum hood blurb #ch blurb #my writing #ch series #tdwk1 #the devil wears kevlar #ceo!cal #batman!cal #i mean not yet #but he is #no spoilers or anything but

254 notes · View notes

dangermousie · 6 years ago

Text

This is epically long

One of the things I love about this drama is that everyone has shades of grey. Oldest brother is a monster of a sibling, but he is a loving husband and father. Honestly, a lot of the fault for his behavior lies with the awful father who, instead of ensuring the half-brothers got along and deal with the complexities of the half sibling relationship instead treated one as an angel and one as the devil and did nothing to stop those who kept pouring poison into the ears of the eldest about how Tingye and his mother were super evil (remember little eldest? He actually liked his stepmom.) Not to mention that the old Marquis himself shared the view that Tingye and his mom were satan so that probably entrenched eldest’ views. This show is magic - somehow I still felt sad when eldest died.

So the old monster had a deathbed repentance? That’s something at least, though still wholly inadequate. (But how unsurprising, the rest of the family stole it from Tingye.) But I think the old marquess always knew he was wrong and that probably made him even more angry and awful and only when he was dying was he able to admit it to himself.

Oh God, Tingye. If this was modern times, I’d recommend so much therapy. And the fct that he always longed for his father’s love - so sad.

Good Lord, that is the most shameless thing I have heard in a long time.

And that is why he is different from the rest of his awful family. (Also, compare him with old marquess - the old man made Tingye’s life hell, because he hated his mom. But Tingye treats Ronghie as precious despite her horror of a mother.)

And that is why living back then sucks! In modern society, he could walk out and never see all the bloodsuckers and gaslighters and abusers ever again and never deal with them. But here he has to deal with them forever and be a part of them forever and to me that is horrible.

Awwww and he so needed to hear that.

How does literally everyone else in the family, including the dim Third, understand Tingye better than the stepmother, who is cunning and raised him? I think she is just blinded by her loathing and her inability to imagine people can be different from her.

oh my GOD!!!!!

I am not sure what I love more - her utter shock at getting a title or how he listens to the usual flowery praises of her awesomeness from the official and just swoons because he totally agrees with that for real.

Look at how adorably smug he is!

Ahahahahahahahaha I love you, Tingye. He is often straightforward, which is so refreshing in the world of hints and untruths.

OMG can Third actually have brains despite his crazy mom?

That was the most adorable thing, him coaxing her to call him “darling Second” instead of the more formal wife. Whenever there are cracks in her propriety, I am almost as delighted as he is. And honestly, Minglan needs someone who would do it now and then.

OK OMG MANNIANG IS BACK WTF!!!!

Hahahaha Minglan spiking evil stepmother and Manniang, using all the patriarchal structures and restrictions. And you can tell Tingye is so proud of his wifey.

Oh Good God, Minglan! What sane woman, even back then, is all “it’s super easy for you to sleep with a woman you loathe” and mean it, even back then? Sure, she doesn’t realize he wants her to want him to be monogamous and not want him with other women. The society’s values are too ingrained in her. Despite him doing everything but waving a flag. But even back then, any woman who cares for her husband would normally be “I don’t love this and I don’t want you to do it, but I know you should for your kid.” But I can’t even blame Minglan because she is trying to be an ideal wife, precisely because he is so good to her and she cares for him, so she is trying to suppress her jealousy (you can tell she is filling it) because she thinks that is what he would want. Talk about crossed signals.

Oh my God. I audibly gasped at this - not even as much at her murder attempt but at the relish she took in telling him his son is dead. My God. Can my favorite characters ever get a break? In modern world, they’d need to be in therap therapy forever.

This scene! This scene! Her freaking out he is hurt, his denial that his son is dead etc etc. My heart!

OK, this scene just gave me the creeps and shivers We have never seen Tingye losing it to this degree and Manniang is both terrifying and repulsive and pitiable. Also, her blaming him for their son’s death is very her - nobody made her take the kid, he wanted the boy left with him. She left and stole the child away and refused to be found.

Awwwww. I love that her understated manner is such an ingrained part of her that even in insane situations she calms everything down by her mere presence. And that he is able to calm down and adore her even in the middle of all this insanity. It basically shows their relationship is the basic bedrock in their lives.

Oh, Tingye. The thing with his son hits him extra hard because of his own issues though frankly, his father was right there and so it was worse.

One of the things I love the most about Tingye is how fundamentally decent he is, despite his upbringing. Because here he is with Manniang trying to kill him, taunting him, just a monster of a person who took his son away from him, and he still says not one bad word about her to their daughter. He grew up in a monstrous environment and instead of imitating it in his own life, it just made him more conscious of how damaging parents can be and how fragile a child is and look how well he has taken that lesson to heart - making up white lies about a woman who shortly before he was so insane with rage about he wanted to torture and murder on the spot. Because he has learned a lesson most characters on this drama have not - putting someone else above yourself.

And what a contrast to her mother, who throws all that love and devotion in her face and is only fixated on herself and hurting people she hates and views her daughter as nothing in light of that. Only a tool. And then even less than that, as she tries to kill her.

Congratulations if you made it through this beast of a post!

#the story of minglan #cdrama #feng shao feng #Zhao liying #monster long post and pic heavy you have been warned

31 notes · View notes

thetravellingvagrant · 6 years ago

Text

Day(s) 5/6 - Iquitos-San Rafael- Iquitos again - In Which I Live Out My Genuine Nightmares

This is going to be a very special (and very long) double entry, because a) the following two days were largely spent doing the same thing b) I am so far behind with this blog that cramming two entries into one seems like perhaps the only way I will ever be able to catch up and c) I didn't really sleep enough to properly separate the two days, anyway, so functionally, they really do count as one for me.

I remember being in no more than primary six or seven, when a man came to speak to our class about the Amazon rainforest. I don't remember who he was or why having a guest speaker tell us about the jungle was particularly necessary, but I do remember in vivid detail the things he told me. More specifically, I remember the things he told me about all the things that could - and most likely would - kill, maim or otherwise damage me, should I ever be fool enough go. Poison tree frogs that can kill you with a single touch, spiders as big as dinner plates that'll snatch your toes right off you, jaguars, scorpions, snakes, wasps, venomous ants, millipedes and even trees; the list went on seemingly forever and I distinctly remember, even at that young age thinking, very firmly to myself “fuuuuuck that.” - except probably a bit higher pitched. More recently, I remember being in Budapest zoo (an excursion featured in this very blog) and there being a very big sign at the entrance to their Amazonia exhibit, describing the area as simply “the green hell”, for much the same reasons. Both of these things have stuck with me for more than twenty and more than five years respectively and, to be honest, did combine mentally to rather put me off ever going to such a horrible, godless locale. It seemed almost unreal, almost like a fever dream, then (Not least of all, because I actually was running a fever, still being fucked into a paste as I was, by my jungle flu.), as I loaded my bags into the back of a tiny little tuktuk motor-taxi, to be whisked away to this nightmarish place, which I swore I would never visit, for actuals and reals.

Before that though, I had a tuktuk to ride. These little things are basically the only way to get around Iquitos, other than a truly abysmal bus service, or just owning a bike; cars are essentially a non-entity here, being very difficult to actually transport over from other citites as they are, as Iquitos is entirely inaccessible by road. They're also quite fun – the tuktuk taxis, that is- I have to be honest, however not-in-keeping with the tone of this blog that statement is. Riding one is sort of like being the terrified non-player-character passenger in a Grand Theft Auto taxi driving side-mission, as your driver weaves carelessly through a sea of other motorcabs, paying no heed whatsoever to the rules of the road or the safety of pedestrians, hoping against hope that they don't lose interest in the task at hand and drive you off the edge of a cliff, or into a deserted field at night, to shoot you in the head with an AR-15 and take all your money.

All too soon though, we were ejected from our mental little death-wagon and ushered into a sort of garage, that appeared to be serving as the headquarters of Maniti Expeditions; the company that was due to take us jungle-side.

We took a seat and waited while the other members of our tour filed in. As it turned out, we were rather a small group. We were joined by a family of Pakistani-Americans from New Jersey, a Portuguese man, who I think was called Pedro, who was nice, though verging dangerously on the pretentious, and, of course – because apparently there is a God, but unfortunately he's just a bastard – the Indian couple from the night before. Of course they were there. Of course they were. Also, it turned out they were actually American, so that made my accidental racism one degree worse than it had even been before. Whizzer.

After a brief interlude wherein a man, whom I did not realise had just wandered in off the street, handed me a torch - which I assumed was just an extra they gave you as part of the tour, but after some time and a lot of him refusing to let me hand it back to him, realised he was trying to sell me, for a frankly ludicrous price, resulting in me having to physically force the thing back into his hands while shouting “no gracias” as politely, yet firmly as I could - we were loaded on to a shitty, rickety old bus and sent towards Bellavista Naney port with our new guide. His name was Alfredo.

Alfredo was, as you might expect a jungle tour guide to be, an interesting chap. He was a short, sturdy, sixty-five year old man, sporting a Peruvian national football shirt, a pair of quite small shorts with sailboats printed on them, a camouflage backpack with a Cannibal Corpse patch poorly sewed onto it and one hell of a coke-nail. He told us, also, not long after we had met that he had been doing Ayahuasca, that traditional Peruvian mind-fuck broth for the last fifty years or so of his life. This was our expert. This was the only barrier between ourselves and definitely dying at the hands of a cruel and dangerous jungle. A junkie death-metal-head. Great. (though, to be totally fair to Alfredo, he was only about 20% as fucking weird and unreliable as this description makes him out to be. In reality, he was very knowledgeable, friendly and really, clearly cared a lot about making sure we were all safe and happy. He was both a top lad and a ruddy good bloke)

We were rushed through Bellavista port by Alfredo, stopping only briefly to marvel at the culinary delights the small port had to offer

Like these buckets full of fucking grubs, for some reason. Apparently they taste just like butter

and before we knew it, we were boarding a small, rickety boat bound for jungletown in the least official looking dock I had ever been to.

Pictured: Not a dock

Just as I was going to take my seat, something pale darted across the corner of my eye. I quickly spun to face the movement and there it was, sitting, bold as brass, right next to where I was about to park my – frankly 10/10 – arse was a massive, white spider, about the size of the palm of my hand, staring up at me, human blood dripping from its fangs, hissing threats in some esoteric spider-language. Fortunately, I was too fucked with the flu to have any energy left to make a fool of myself by panicking and so, instead, quietly just moved down the boat, screaming myself hoarse inside. Alfredo, then noticing the spider himself, then scooped the horrible thing into his hands and very softly deposited it off the side of the boat as if it was nothing, thereby tacitly making a total bitch of me for being so scared of it. Thanks Alfredo. Prick. Fortunately, though that seemed to be the only spider that had snuck on board, as I remained unbothered by any of its kin for the duration of our (very long) boat-ride up the Amazon river.

The boat ride was, despite my malady and my intrinsic fear of ever being submerged in the Amazon river, for any amount of time and for any purpose, fairly incredible. The river is bizarrely fascinating to be on, even when nothing of any interest is happening, and once I had gotten over my terrible, terrible fear of the boat capsizing, or a piranha flying out of the water and biting my face, I settled in to really quite enjoying myself. Alfredo's talk about the river, much like the thing itself, remained interesting, even at points when he was pretty much just babbling a load of shit about nothing, and a conversation with the father of the Pakistani-American family (who was every inch the spitting image of a brown Todd, from The Last Man On Earth) revealed that he, too, was something of an absolute delight. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad, after all.

We eventually pulled in to San Rafael, the little community adjacent to our lodge and, after veeeeery fucking carefully removing myself from the boat, we walked for about ten minutes through very nearly actual proper jungle

Aaaaaah!

seeing some wild tamarins on the way and everything (which are apparently very rare to spot in the wild, so that was neat). By this point though, the heat was almost unbearable and lugging around my heavy backpack with a swirling vortex of fluey malaise sucking me ever deeper into its terrible maw was really starting to wipe me out. Before long, though, we arrived at the lodge, which was really quite nice, though perhaps a little too similar to the Others' village in Lost, for me to be totally comfortable in.

Delightful, yet sinister, like if Ted Bundy could make balloon animals

I quickly scooted off to dump my bag in our... fairly modest room

Hey, cool, I’m definitely going to die here.

before, with little to no chance for me to rest, being dragged straight back out for a short taster walk, into the actual and for reals jungle.

The walk was definitely an interesting, if very tiring excursion, especially for a gross, snotty flu-man, which I very much was. I think, though that it was largely the novelty of being in a new biome that really did the bulk of holding my attention, as, presumably due to the lovely, but very loud and panicky American family's constant hoots of fear, we didn't see a huge amount in the way of wildlife. Especially not anything that might bite, poison or constrict you. Still, though, it was quietly quite comforting to not be the most scared person there. Grow up, Americans. God.

Around half an hour later and fifteen pounds heavier in mud caked to the bottom of my shoe and trousers, we returned to the lodge for a surprisingly nice lunch of mashed potato and beef. I couldn't really enjoy it, however, as my sinuses were full beyond bursting and the room was spinning horribly around me, as I ate. We were given, mercifully, around an hour to relax before the next part of our tour, which I spent soundly asleep, not even caring that spiders could and probably would be crawling over my exhausted, broken body as I did.

The nap turned out to be a good choice. I awoke feeling slightly more human, albeit by the scantiest margin possible. It wouldn't have mattered if I was literally dying though- I'd still have gone on the next bit of the tour; was I fuck missing a trip to Monkey Island, under any circumstances.

We boarded the boat once more; one tour member lighter - in the form of Pedro who had decided to go off with another, different guide to camp in the jungle for a night, though with the new addition of Karl, another American man and weird lookalike of his namesake Karl Pilkington, arriving late - and were away to Monkey Island. Fuck yes we were away to Monkey Island.

Monkey Island, as its name suggests is a rehabilitation centre for monkeys who were rescued from the black market's pet trade, and that's all brilliant and everything, but jesus christ, it was just a little patch of jungle with all friendly woolly monkeys running around and, jumping through trees and tumbling around and playing and coming up to you to hold your hand or climb onto your shoulders and it was everything I have ever wanted and I don't expect I will feel joy like I did while being there, ever again. Or any sort of joy at all, to be honest.

L O O K A T T H E M

It was so good that for around the hour and a half we were there, I basically forgot I had the flu. That's how good it was; it was good enough to override my body slowly shutting down through fatigue and illness, like a lemsip for the soul. It was genuinely fantastic; the only thing that marred the experience, even slightly was the American family being a bit too loud and overbearing, pushing to the front of every experience, and so taking all of the monkeys' precious attentions for themselves, for the vast majority of the time. I suppose it can be forgiven of people for being a little over-excited about a god damned island full of monkeys though, so for once, I will bare no grudge against them. But let it me known, if anyone physically comes between me and a monkey, ever again, I will cut a bitch.

Way, way too fucking soon, though, we were pulled away from Monkey Island, in much the way its inhabitants were pulled away from the still-warm corpses of their mothers by poachers (...too dark?) and loaded back onto the boat.

We returned to San Rafael and, by this point, a combination of the heat, the flu and not being allowed to spend literally forever on Monkey Island in a perpetual state of utter bliss had ruined me. I badly needed a nap, again, for fear that if I did not take one, I might actually die, but alas, I was not to be afforded such a simple pleasure. Alfredo informed us, once we were back on land, that we'd be heading out into the jungle again, for an hour long night-walk to look for spiders and shit. I couldn't think of a more terrifying sentence for him to say, to be honest, but I decided that was probably actually quite unlikely that I was actually going to die and it would be quite an experience to miss out on if I just spent the time asleep in the relative comfort of my room, and so, like the solider I am, I nutted up and just did it.

I've genuinely had nightmares about being stuck in the jungle at night. If you'd have asked me a week ago to describe my top most terrifying real-world scenarios I'd never want to be in, that probably would have ranked in the top three. Actually experiencing it, however, really wasn't all that bad. I don't know if my mind and body were just too mangled to process exactly what was happening to me (I do remember spending a lot of the time, almost asleep on my feet, not fully knowing where I was, but being quite convinced that I was in a forest in Scotland), or if the lovely, but loud American family had just spooked all the dangerous animals in a fifty mile radius away with their unforgivably loud hollers and yelps, but I didn't find myself feeling at all anxious, or frightened, or...anything, really. It was just something that was happening to me before I could sleep.

youtube

Although in retrospect, it looks fucking terrifying

The walk progressed slowly, with little of interest being spotted, other than a couple of (admittedly pretty sick) stick insects and apparently an opossum (although I didn't see it, myself) and seemed to be winding down without incident. Then, ten minutes or so from camp, Sam's left leg stated burning. Panicking, she told Alfredo what was happening, who traipsed back to her, lifted her trouser-leg and saw, to Sam's horror, but his own light amusement that a not insignificant amount of fire-ants were swarming around her calf. Apparently she had stomped her little stompy feet through their nest and was now paying the price for her murderous hubris. Alfredo swatted the ants away as best he could and we continued walking (or in Sam's case, badly limping) back to the camp.

Once back, we ducked back into our bungalow to make sure neither of us had any more of the nasty little fuckers on us, which thankfully, we did not, and everything was great,forever. The End.

Nah, just kidding; we had an entire fucking colony milling around our socks and lower trousers. We very quickly and with very very little dignity, stripped our khakis off in a bit more of a girlish panic than I'd honestly like to admit, shook the ants free from the trousers, outside and just straight up binned the socks like the unwearable garbage they now were. When we were absolutely sure that we now ant-free (which took so much more time and energy than my body could realistically spare), we headed to dinner; another fairly nice affair full of chicken legs and mashed potato, so I'm told, at least. Genuinely, I don't know, I was so far beyond physically okay that the entire thing really was a bit of a blur for me. I do remember being given a pill by the Indian couple, which they claimed was a combination of painkillers and muscle relaxant and which knocked me out almost as soon as I returned to our room. At least I was too sick to care about spending a night in the jungle- the part of the trip I was most worried about, previously – so uh. Every cloud and all that, I guess. Also, the muscle relaxant didn't even one, as I had worried it might, make me piss the bed. So that's two silver linings, which honestly, is pretty good going, as far as silver linings are concerned.

I was up several times in the night. The jungle is (shockingly) pitch black during the evening and, much like the night before, I found myself awaking with a jolt every two hours or so, to empty my bladder and perform a full and thorough inspection of my bed, using the torch on my phone, to make sure no errant tarantulas had decided to become my erstwhile bedfellows. They hadn't, to be fair, but that doesn't make me hate them any less. Furry, spindly little pricks.

Despite this, I did sleep better than I had the previous night (albeit again, only by the slimmest of margins) and actually found myself, for once, being woken up by my alarm, rather than just being awake several hours before it was due to go off, anyway. Take that, alarm.

Our morning plan was to take the boat out once more, to watch the sun rise over the Amazon and then around to go river-dolphin spotting, which, to be fair, did sound appallingly lovely. The sunrise was mostly obscured by clouds, so wasn't perhaps as impressive as it could have been, though still managed to remain fairly bloody impressive

Neat, I guess.

and what the clouds took away from the gravity of the experience, Alfredo more than added back in by uttering the cryptic, slightly frightening and just very, very metal line of “...His eye opens” as the sun just began to peek over the horizon

BEHOLD!

By the time we had begun dolphin spotting, I had once again grown weary and while I was definitely thoroughly enjoying the experience, and managed, at points, to get incredibly close and take some pretty okayish videos of the ugly, pink little jerks

youtube

I have no way of editing videos out here, but if you wait until around the 30 second mark, you should see a big splashy boy

I was definitely not enjoying my nostrils turning into a snot-faucet and my head being slowly crushed into a singularity from the inside, so by the time we packed it all in and returned home, I was super glad to be doing so, despite feeling a little guilty for thinking like this. To be honest though, as amazing as this experience was (and indeed all the experiences the rainforest had to offer thus far – save for fire-ants, which can go fuck themselves), it was hard for me to really, properly enjoy them, as each time I got close to feeling like I was, the realisation that I am a comparatively rich, white tourist who paid for this experience set in, hard, and, in what has to be the most first-world-problemy way possible, did rather make the entire thing seem a bit...plastic. Not the monkeys though; they were legit.

Once home, we took a quick break; not long enough for a recovery nap, but just about long enough to relax in a hammock for a while

So relaxed...

before being ushered out onto the river by Alfredo once more. This time to go and meet some members of a local tribe. I wasn't particularly thrilled about this part of the tour, feeling that it was perhaps a little ...colonial and exploitative; parading us around this relatively primative tribe, oohing and ahhing at their grass skirts and shitty little home-made crafts and rudimentary hunting techniques and all that, but I did pay...quite a lot for this tour and didn't really want miss any part of it; especially a bit so awkward and unwanted that it was almost guaranteed to generate some dynamite blog-content, so I bundled myself back into the boat and headed off to tribesville.

We arrived at the small village and were directed to sit down inside, what I assumed was the main hut. We had been joined by another, different tour-group for what was about to ensue, which I was uncharacteristically thankful for, as it, at the very least, would dilute some of the attention that our group would get. After a brief talk on the tribe from Alfredo, which didn't exactly blow me away with any fascinating insight into their way of life (they're farmers who grow rice and bananas, they hunt for their food and use blowdarts), we then got another small talk in the tribe's native tongue from the chieftain; short, stern and stocky man, wearing a grass skirt and a large ornamental headdress, who was, hilariously, just called Richard, who essentially just went over the same things as Alfredo, but in a language that seemed to only consist of three independent syllables.

The tribe then demonstrated two of their traditional songs, both of which were accompanied by a dance, with which we were invited to join in (an offer which every single member of our group declined)

Not this guy, though. He was fucking loving it.

and both of which, with the best will in the world, were a bit shit. After a gruelling and genuinely awkward few minutes, the music abated and we were led to a different area to try our hand at blow-gunning, which, I'll be honest, I did rather enjoy, despite myself.

P-tew!

with no time to enjoy my definitely 10/10 blowgun prowess, we were directed immediately to the tribe's market stall, in which we were expected to spend our money on various bits of, to be totally honest, absolute garbage, which the tribe had made. Sam had brought very little money with her and I hadn't thought to bring any, at all, so we had a quick look around to see what we could buy with fifteen soles that was something either one of us would actually like and we weren't just buying because it felt awkward not to. It was then that li'l chief Richard approached us, his hand outstretched, rubbing his thumb against his middle and fore-finger – the international symbol for “give me money”

“Para la musica” he told us. For the music.

Great. Now apparently we had to pay for enduring their shit music which wasn't good and which I didn't enjoy listening to. Perfect. We (Sam) handed him five of our soles and he looked disgusted with us. We (Sam) apologised for not giving more and Richard walked away, unspeaking. I don't care if you are in some jungle tribe with all different culture and everything, rudeness is rudeness. Fuck you, Richard. Prick.

Now feeling a little like what little shine the experience had possessed, previously had very much worn out, we continued being made to browse the tribe's wares, until we finally succumbed to pressure and bought ourselves some tat.

Glad I spend money on this sweet little number

With everyone's pockets now entirely emptied and the lines on who was exploiting who blurred beyond all recognition, we loaded ourselves back onto the boat. Also, a little side-note here, but it was at this point that I watched a portly lady who was on the other tour, lean out of the window of her boat to take one final picture of the tribe, though instead managed to let her phone slip out of her hands and straight to the bottom of the river; an act which I singularly enjoyed infinitely more than I had the last hour or so of tribal interaction and having my money guilted off me. They should genuinely employ someone to do that on every tour, because, honestly, I nearly enjoyed it as much as Monkey Island.

Our next stop was one I could be fucked with almost as much as the previous; piranha fishing. I'm not a huge fan of fishing, to be honest, because I don't really like killing things (although, being in the Amazon does generally make you a little kill-happier. There was no way in hell I was going to scoop up each individual fire-ant on a bit of cardboard and pop them outside on the bungalow's windowsill. It was the boot for them), but we were told by Alfredo that the lodge's chefs would cook up what we caught and we could have them for lunch, which did remove some of the grey morality which which I was struggling.

Turns out I needn't have worried about any of that, though, because I was fucking terrible at Piranha fishing and didn't land a single catch. I couldn't get them to stay on the hook, no matter what I tried and more than likely emptied our group's reserves of spare bait, single-handedly in the process, like the saint I am. Sam, however, being a salty Geordie fish woman, was great at it and caught, as she kept boastfully reminding me of, as if ending the lives of innocent little snappy-boys was something to be proud of, no fewer than four fish. Five, actually, but one wasn't a piranha and was therefore too small to bother cooking (it was, however, too badly damaged to go back in the water and so had to be stomped to death, anyway. What a monster she is.)

After a while, even Sam's bloodlust was sated and we unanimously decided to pack in this whole fishing lark and go back for lunch. I got back on board the boat, over the piranha infested waters as carefully as I have ever done anything in my life and we returned to the lodge for what would be the final time.

We were afforded enough time, once back, for me to have another nap, which, at this point were the only things making me feel even vaguely alive or human, in any sense, before being served our last lodge supper. More mashed potatoes, jungle-beans, the piranhas Sam caught and a big chunky fillet of another, different (and anyone with tastebuds would say) better fish called Pacu and which looks like this

...yummy

I am told that this all tasted quite nice, but by this point, the flu had cruelly taken away my senses of both smell and taste, so I had no idea. I could just about make out that it was very salty, though, so that was something. Small victories.

With that, our jungle experience came to a close and after a strangely intimate hug goodbye with Alfredo, we and the Indian couple (who were the only other guests not booked to stay any longer than a single night) were plopped back on our boat and ferried upstream back to Belavista. A trip which I spent nearly the entirety of asleep, which I like to think was because I had grown so comfortable with being in the jungle, at that point, that I could relax fully in it, but more likely was because I had just been crumpled into a ball of misery and fatigue by my flu over the previous three days. Overall though, being in the jungle was a surprisingly good experience and one that I might even consider doing again at some point, should the opportunity arise. A solid 9/10, except for, as I've said, the fire-ants which can go fuck themselves.

Back on terra firma, we were wizzed via tuktuk first back to the company's headquarters, where we finally parted ways with the Indian couple – hopefully actually to never see them again this time, and then to our new AirBnb, in which we would spend out final few days in Iquitos.

Our new AirBnb, as it happens, was actually a collection of luxury riverfront apartments, in which, we had unknowingly booked the nicest room. We were checked in by the receptionist, Diego, who looked the spitting image of a brown Zach Woods and who was incredibly welcoming and helpful to an almost snivelling degree (not entirely unlike every character Zach Woods plays, now I think of it.) Diego explained everything there was to explain about the apartment in frankly laborious detail and, after dropping this info-dump on us and bidding us welcome, asked us point blanc

“what's my name?”

I suppose this was as some kind of test to see if we had retained the information he had just said, rather than a test of politeness, or some weird ego-trip. Regardless, I did not remember what it was. I was hard-humped with flu and generally disregard someone's name the first three times they tell me it, even when it is someone I know I'll actually see again.

“...What's. My. Name?” he repeated.

I laughed and told him I'd just be in the jungle for two days, so I'd forgotten. This seemed to be an acceptable enough answer for him and he immediately flicked back to his friendly, helpful self, creepily seamlessly. The entire interlude was really quite odd, totally out of keeping what the rest of what I'd seen of his personality and I'm almost certain, a preamble to my own murder.

Doing our best to put whatever psychosis we had just witnessed behind us, we settled in to our new digs. This apartment, a penthouse suite overlooking the Naney river, was about as different from living in the jungle as it was possible to get, and let me tell you, the change was one hundred percent welcomed by me.

The view is spectacular

...I mean if you’re into things like that.

The bed was comfy, the fridge loaded with pre-cooled water bottles, the kitchen fully stocked and the entire apartment almost entirely bug-free, due in no small part to its remarkably effective AC system, which really did turn the flat into a little icy paradise of excess, amidst a sea of poverty and sweat.

We couldn't quite settle in fully just yet, though. Sam insisted that we make a quick outing to the supermarket, because apparently she needed shampoo and apparently wasn't willing to go alone, for fear of being “mugged” or “abducted and killed” by a “crime man”, which to be honest, I felt was very selfish of her.

For the final time that day, then, I dragged what was left of my body out through the streets of Iquitos, to the supermarket and back, before finally being able to collapse onto our exceptionally soft airbnb couch, to eat a modest dinner of a single sausage and a couple of minty biscuits, while watching the Peru episode of an Idiot Abroad - because watching someone else suffer through what I just had was really the only thing that had the capability of making me feel any better at that point – and then heading directly to our comfy, comfy bed, which I believe I must have fallen asleep in, before my head had even touched the pillow. I have never been more done.

3 notes · View notes

adolphuslongestaffe · 8 years ago

Text

Defiant

Chapter 7: The Master

Jesse, Hanzo, and Genji crossed the compound at a steady pace governed by Jesse, who flatly refused to be hurried along. The young archer glanced up at him several times, as if he were trying to read the American’s thoughts, but he kept his eyes fixed resolutely ahead. His strong, square jaw was set firmly and his bright brown eyes betrayed no hint of what was in his mind. Jesse hadn’t survived this long by showing fear in the face of danger and he wasn’t about to start now.

They entered the main hall of Shimada castle through a massive double door, carved with a mural depicting roaring dragons, and held open by silent sentries. They strode through the vast main hall to another set of double doors, smaller, but just as ornately carved and with the addition of being either plated or painted gold. Another pair of guards opened the doors and closed them behind the boys as they passed inside. As they stepped into the richly adorned drawing room, Jesse took note of six more armed guards and their positions. They were stationed to the left and right of a little raised dais, on which was a large chair carved of white stone. Before the chair stood the master of the Shimada clan.

The three boys stopped about five feet from the dais and stood facing the master. The man himself was a surprisingly handsome older gentleman dressed in a black European-cut business suit. His long black hair was knotted neatly at the back of his head, and his short beard was salted with grey. He stood looking directly at Jesse while Hanzo bowed and said something in Japanese, which Jesse took to be an introduction.

“Jesse McCree,” the man said, looking him up and down.

Jesse bowed to a 45 degree angle, holding that position for two full seconds, as he’d been instructed by the commander. Then he raised his eyes to meet the man’s gaze, standing to his full six feet and squaring his shoulders.

“Shimada Sama,” he said properly. “I am honored to make your acquaintance.”

“Jesse McCree,” the man repeated, “what is your business in Hanamura?”

Jesse’s instinct for traps was far too quick to let him be caught in one this obvious.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” he said, “but it seems you know my business already.”

“Indulge me,” the man said, spreading out his hands, palm upward.

“The Imagawa clan has made a hostile advance on me and my organization,” Jesse said. “I’m here to see what I can do about makin’ ‘em think twice before they try it again, sir.”

Both brothers stared at him in undisguised amazement.

“You are aware of the enmity between my family and the Imagawa Clan?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“Is this the reason you have befriended my sons? To gain some advantage over your enemies?”

“No, sir, I met your younger son after I arrived here. I didn’t know him from Adam, and the meeting was pure chance. He very generously offered to show me ‘round the city. My intention was to take special care not to offend you or your people, so I thought it’d be unwise to refuse an offer of hospitality.”

“Is that the truth, Mr. McCree?” the man said severely.

Jesse’s unwavering eye glinted.

“If you don’t mind me speakin’ frankly, sir, I take you to be the kind of man who knows a liar when he sees one,” he said evenly. “Do I strike you as a dishonest man?”

“But you have deceived my sons, Mr. McCree. That is dishonest, is it not?”

“You must understand why I’d have to keep my particular business to myself, sir. Otherwise, I told your sons the naked truth about who I am. I told ‘em my real name and all about my life, just as far as I was able to without violating a direct order from my commander.”

“And where is your commander?”

“Here in the city,” Jesse said. “But you knew that, too, sir.”

“I did,” the master said.

He seated himself in the stone chair and sat gazing keenly at Jesse. A slight suggestion of a smile played across his lips.

“I would like to meet your commander, Mr. McCree. Are you able to contact him?”

“Yes sir, I am. I could raise him by sat-radio, or use the plain old telephone. But I ain’t about to feed him to the lions to save my own skin.”

“I suppose,” the man said slowly, “that I could dispose of you now and apprehend him myself.”

“Yes sir, you could,” Jesse said steadily. “But I don’t think you will. Way I see it, if you wanted to kill me, I’d already be dead. But it ain’t in your interest to pick a fight with people whose intentions toward you and your family are friendly for the moment.”

Much to the astonishment of his terrified sons, the man threw his head back and laughed heartily.

“You are a very bold young man, Mr. McCree,” he said. “I see that your reputation is well-earned.”

“That’s mighty kind of you, sir,” Jesse said, bowing slightly. “I do my best.”

“If I give you my word that your commander will not be harmed, will you communicate my invitation to him?”

“I will, sir. If you give me your word not to harm or detain him.”

“Very well, Mr. McCree. I give you my word that neither you nor your commander will be harmed or detained. Unless, of course, you provoke it by your own actions.”

“That’s fair enough, sir. Should I call him now?”

The man appeared to consider for a moment, then said, “No. I would prefer that you relay my invitation to him in person. Please tell him his presence at Shimada Castle is cordially requested for the hour of noon, tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse said.

“You may go. Mr. McCree,” the man said, standing and bowing. “I will expect to see you both tomorrow at noon.”

“Thank you kindly, sir,” Jesse said, returning the bow with interest. “We’ll be here.”

He nodded to the brothers and strode calmly out of the drawing room. The moment he was safely outside, his head whirled and his knees shook so that he almost toppled over. He stopped and leaned against the smooth bole of a cherry tree while he caught his breath, then he hurried to Genji’s room to collect his hat and guitar. He was on his way to the front gate when he met Genji coming down the path to find him.

“Jesse!” Genji said, grabbing his arm. “That was unbelievable!”

“Hey, Genj,” Jesse said. “I’m real sorry I didn’t tell you the whole truth up front. But I really do like you and I wanted to be your friend for real. It wasn’t an act or nothin’.”

Genji waved the apology away.

“I like you, too, Jesse. I am glad we are friends,” he said excitedly. “And my father likes you! I have never heard him speak in that manner to a stranger. I came to tell you, though, he has made you free to enter the castle without an escort and to make use of the grounds at your pleasure. That means you have the same privileges as a clan member! What did you do to impress him so much?”

Jesse pushed the brim of his hat back and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“I can’t rightly say,” he said. “Maybe him and the boss know each other or somethin’.”

“The boss?”

“Commander Reyes,” he said. “I work for him directly, but the two of us work for…someone else. Say, where’s Hanzo? I thought he was gonna have kittens he looked so upset.”

“Have kittens?” Genji blinked, then laughed aloud. “He may be having kittens, yes. My father dismissed me after you left, but he said they still had some business to discuss. But Jesse! I wish I had known that you were a spy! This is very exciting. You are a real life Jesse James and James Bond, too!”

“It ain’t as exciting as all that,” Jesse said modestly. “I never get to wear fancy suits or play poker at casinos or anything.”

“Do you ever meet beautiful women?”

“Not a chance,” Jesse laughed. “I meet a lot of ugly Russians, though.”

Genji looked a little disappointed, but he was not to be deterred.

“I would like to be a spy if I could fly around the world seducing beautiful girls and jumping from planes and shooting bad guys,” he said. “I do not think I would ever be bored then.”

“My kind of work ain’t really like that. And it does get powerful boring sometimes, sittin’ around in the dirt and mud for days at a time waitin’ for my targets.”

Genji’s ears perked up. “Targets?”

“Yeah,” Jesse said reluctantly. “I’m…sort of a sharpshooter. High value military or criminal targets only. No women or kids. We are the good guys, after all.”

“Wow,” Genji breathed. “You are a hero, then. Just as I thought.”

Jesse rejected the term out of hand, but Genji ignored him and chattered on enthusiastically as they walked.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked as they arrived at the gate.

“Well, I’m gonna tell the boss we’re wanted tomorrow and then I suppose I’ll have some dinner and go to bed. That meeting with your father took it out of me somethin’ fierce. I never been so scared in my life.”

“Really? Were you scared? You looked very cool and calm to me. Like Clint Eastwood in the western movies.”

“Did I? I’m glad to hear it, then. I thought I was quakin’ so’s the building would fall in on me.”

“Not a bit,” Genji said, grinning broadly. “I will see you tomorrow. Good evening, Jesse!”

The two waved goodbye and the cowboy walked away from the castle toward his hotel. He got out his radio and attached the pieces, then signaled the commander.

“What’s up, Jesse? Everything alright?” Reyes came back promptly.

“Yeah, it’s alright, boss,” Jesse said. “I’m on my way in right now. You at home?”

“Yep.”

“Good. I’ve got somethin’ to tell you. I’ll see you in ten.”

He spent his walk to the hotel sick with anxiety regarding the older brother. Was he angry that Jesse had kept this from him? Would he forgive him? Would he ever kiss him again? He found he was almost in tears at the prospect of losing such a precious thing. He didn’t care about he mission anymore. Not the Imagawa clan, not the investigation, not even the danger to his own life. All he wanted was to see that beautiful face smiling at him, letting him know it was alright. He ached desperately to take that boy in his arms again. Kiss him. Tell him how he loved him more than his own life and would do anything to be with him. What had his father detained him for anyway? What was the business they were discussing? A knot of terror tightened in his stomach. What if someone had observed them together and told the father? But no, the man wouldn’t have been so agreeable and complimentary if he suspected Jesse of unseemly behavior with his eldest son. He hoped it was something else. He smoothed the care from his face as he took the elevator up to his room, and entered with no trace of it remaining.

The commander looked up expectantly from his seat in front of his computer display.

“Boss,” Jesse said, setting down his guitar case. “I’m glad you’re already sittin’ down. Cause the master of the Shimada clan has cordially requested our presence at Shimada Castle tomorrow at noon.”

The commander stared at him.

“What the fuck are you telling me, Jesse?” he said. “Sojiro Shimada wants to see us? Myself included?”

“Face to face, boss. He knew you was here and everything already.”

Jesse recounted his meeting with the old master in scrupulous detail, leaving out only his personal distress over the elder son.

“What made you tell him about our mission?” the commander said.

“I didn’t tell him a thing about it he didn’t know already, boss,” Jesse said, more than a little offended. “My gut told me he knew all about who we was, why we was here, the whole shebang, and I better not risk pissin' him off by lying. I judged he was a man of his word, so I decided to throw the dice and tell the truth.”

“You made the right call, son,” the man said. “I didn’t mean that as a complaint. So I suppose we better go to this meeting, then.”

“I reckon.”

“You think we’re walking into a trap?”

“Naw, it ain’t a trap like that, boss,” Jesse said, trying to frame his impressions in words. “He don’t mean us no immediate harm. But he’s got somethin’ up his sleeve I bet we won’t see comin’. I can’t rightly say what it is, but he spent the whole time we was talkin’ sizin’ me up real close, like he was tryin’ to suss out somethin’ about me. And he had this look like he knew somethin’ I didn’t know, too.”

“Doesn’t look like we have much choice, even if it is a trap.”

“Don’t look that way, no. I can’t imagine we’d get out of the city alive if we tried to bolt.”

“No, and he wanted us to know it. He sent you back to me in person to demonstrate just how in his power we are. If he thought we could get away, we'd be under lock and key.”

The commander shook his head resignedly. He took the cigarette Jesse had just lit out of the boy’s mouth and sat back in his chair smoking it. Jesse lit another for himself without skipping a beat.

“Say boss, you think we oughta show up in the ratty duds we got with us? I mean, the place is mighty fancy and he was dressed up real fine. Maybe we should try to show respect by wearin’ somethin’ less comfortable.”

“Where are we going to get something like that? And my clothes aren’t ratty.”

“They ain’t ratty boss, but you’re wearin’ a knit cap and a hoodie. You look like a burglar. Or a rapper.”

“Listen here, pendejo—”

“Come on, boss,” Jesse said in a cajoling tone. “I bet you look pretty intimidating in a suit, what with them big square shoulders of yours. There’s a men’s clothing shop down the block. Least we can do is get a jacket to wear with our jeans and boots.”

The man reluctantly assented to the proposition, and even sat patiently in the shop while Jesse tried on eleven different jackets. In the end, they purchased two button-front shirts, two jackets, and a couple of silk handkerchiefs, which Jesse insisted they must have, to the endless annoyance of his commander. Endless, that is, until Jesse remarked on how handsome he looked in the grey suit jacket, which he grumbled about and pretended didn’t please him.

After their errand was complete, they returned to the room and ordered supper from the hotel’s room service menu. Jesse laid in bed smoking and flipping through his phrase book while the commander scanned the agency’s online database for more intel on Shimada Sojiro.

“Jesse,” he said, turning to the reclining boy. “I should have mentioned your conduct in that situation. You behaved like a real soldier. It was honorable to refuse to lead me into what could have been a trap. But I don’t want you sacrificing yourself to protect me. Not ever.”

“Well, that’s too fuckin’ bad, ain’t it, boss,” the boy said, not looking up from his book. “Cause I reckon if the situation comes up again, you won’t be no position to stop me.”

“When did I let you start talking to me this way?” the man said, shaking his head dolefully. “And ordering me around so much. Suit jackets! What’s gotten into you?”

The boy looked up at him seriously. “You really want to know, boss?”

“More than anything.”

“Well, you recall how I said in a kinda joking way that one time that maybe I’d meet my true love in Japan?”

“Jesse, no,” the man said, a look of genuine horror on his face. “Jesse tell me you are not in love with Hanzo Shimada. That boy is eighteen years old and the son of a murderous warlord!”

“Don’t be mad.”

“Mad? Boy…”

“Yeah, it’s the, uh, the son of that murderous warlord.”

“Sweet mother of god,” the man said, massaging his brow with one hand. “Jesse what the fuck. You had one job. Don’t piss off the Shimada clan. Does the father know about it?”

“I reckon he don’t, seein’ as he let me go instead of cuttin’ my throat where I stood.”

“But Jesse, you’ve known those boys for three days. How can you already be in love?”

“How long did it take you to know you was in love with Commander Morrison?”

The man gazed at the floor.

“About sixty seconds,” he said, with a defeated sigh. “Alright, I take your point. But you’re playing with fire. Does the boy know?”

“If he don’t, I reckon he will soon.”

The man knew his young friend too well to attempt push the argument further at that moment. He went to bed early and lay awake for a long while, thinking through the possible outcomes of the situation. None ended well. He fell asleep with that thought hanging over him like a black cloud.

At exactly 11:59 am the next day, Jesse and Commander Reyes entered the master’s drawing room. They bowed properly and the master rose to greet them. Jesse glanced up at his commander. The man was standing perfectly still with an expression on his face that Jesse couldn’t quite interpret. The master bowed formally, but his eye appeared to be twinkling with some merriment.

“Gabriel,” he said. “It has been a long time. You look very well for a man of your age.”

“A very long time, Ryuu,” the commander replied. “You look well for a man who has been dead for twenty-five years.”

The master stepped down from the dais, and he and the commander shook hands warmly. It was clear to Jesse that he was witnessing the meeting of old friends, a fact which raised far more questions than it answered.

“I never thought I’d be looking at your ugly mug again,” Reyes said. “What happened to you? What are you doing here?”

“This world is filled with strange chances, Gabriel,” the master said, smiling placidly. He cast an almost admiring gaze on Jesse. “It appears that after all these years, our sons have met by such a chance and have become friends.”

“Jesse is not my son,” the commander said. “He works for me and is my best agent. But yes, they met by chance and it does seem that they’ve become friends. Jesse speaks very highly of your boys.”

“Ah,” the master said, bowing a polite apology. “Please forgive my error.”

“No apology is necessary, Ryuu,” the commander said, returning the bow.

Then the master turned to Jesse. “Why don’t you go and find the boys, Jesse,” he said. “My friend and I have much to speak of.”

Jesse looked to his commander, who nodded his assent, and so Jesse exited the drawing room, feeling very much like a child dismissed to his play while adults spoke of serious matters.

He headed straight for the boys’ quarters, with an eye to catching Hanzo and making an attempt to explain himself. He was nowhere to be found inside, so Jesse tried the archery range. No luck. Then he caught a faint melody floating out from the garden. The koto. Of course. He must be out there playing. Jesse made his way around and saw the object of his desire sitting under the tea house canopy before the koto. He approached softly, but the archer’s keen ear caught the scrape of footsteps and he ceased playing.

“Hey there, darlin’,” Jesse said apprehensively.

The other boy remained seated with his back to him.

“Mr. McCree,” he said. “Please do not disturb my meditation. I am in need of it today.”

“Mr. McCree?” Jesse repeated. “Can your meditation wait? I wanted to talk to you about—”

“Mr. McCree,” the young master said flatly, “you have obtained what you wanted. We can have nothing further to say to each other.”

“What I wanted?” Jesse asked, genuinely perplexed.

“You have gained access to my father. You need not persist in making pretense of—”

“That’s it,” Jesse cut him off abruptly. He’d expected the boy to be angry, but he’d never imagined it would be for this reason. His native pride flared again. “That’s about all of that I’ll listen to. What do you mean by it? You mean to suggest I was usin’ you to get in your pa’s good graces?”

The young man remained stonily silent. Jesse stepped around him and picked up the instrument before Hanzo could stop him. He moved it aside and stood before the young man. Hanzo got to his feet and turned to walk away, but Jesse took him by both wrists and held him fast.

“Let go of me,” the archer said, his black eyes burning with indignation.

“I won’t,” Jesse said. “Not till you hear me out.”

To Jesse’s utter astonishment, the young man freed himself with a fierce wrench and knocked him backward with a swift blow to the chest. Though the blow was only a defensive gesture and didn’t cause him any physical pain, he felt it in his entire body. He’d been struck by the person he loved more than life. Jesse stared at the young man, stunned and heartbroken.

“Han—Hanzo,” he stammered. “Please.”

The other boy turned on his heel and strode rapidly away, disappearing into the garden. Jesse collapsed into a sitting position on the ground. He was utterly wretched. His stomach turned and his head spun, and he found he could do nothing to stop the hot flood of tears that ran down his face and splashed onto the front of his shirt and jacket. Had he known that, at that moment, the other young man was weeping much in the same way, he would have rushed to him, taken him in his arms despite any protest, and kissed away every one of those precious tears. But he did not know. So, as is customary in such situations, he wept alone in the garden and despaired of his life.

#mchanzo #young mchanzo #young jesse mccree #young hanzo shimada #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada #sojiro shimada #gabriel reyes #genji shimada #young genji #mature

23 notes · View notes

homoregalis · 8 years ago

Text

Little Mass Effect Canon Problems - Part One

OG Mass Effect:

It’s always bugged me that a bigger deal isn’t made of the size of humanity’s fleet at first contact. Like, the Turians had stellar empire, and the Asari and Salarians were both fairly advanced stellar races when they bumped into each other. The Quarians seemed to have a small number of worlds, mostly behind the Perseus Veil. But Humanity had a single major planet and a few outposts, but were able to force the Turians to full mobilization with that fleet. Why doesn’t anyone seemingly ask “Why?” Why don’t we have canon fluff explaining the disquiet other races felt at Humanity’s default stance, particularly given what were not a militaristic society like the Turians. There is a great scene in Star Trek: DS9 where the Ferengi bartender from the station is stuck with mostly human federation forces in a planetary siege, pinned down by the Dominion. Quark points out that humans, deprived of their niceties, are as dangerous as the fiercest Klingon. I feel like the Mass Effect universe has the opportunity for that. For someone, over the three core games, to say “Frankly, you Humans terrify the rest of the Galaxy. You’ve got all the fighting tenacity of a Krogan, with half as many organs, and twice as much self restraint. You guys could probably steam role any one of the council races on their own given reason enough and a handful of years to build your fleets. We’re all worried that, if we push you too hard, too fast, that the Krogan rebellions and the Rachni wars will look quaint, and with your genetic diversity, your capacity for science, your tactical and strategic knack, frankly, there is no armada we could array or bio-weapon we could concoct that your couldn’t counter, either by neutralizing it, or building a bigger, deadlier version to point at us.

Particularly if Wrex becomes the leader of the steadily uniting Krogan, I wish there was more examination of the Krogan-Human relationship. Humans, not being on the galactic stage during the Rebellions, and having a rocky-first contact, as well as being the most morally encumbered species by default (the Turians, Asari, and Salarians all respected the Batarian right to practice slavery when the Batarians had relations with the council, and other elements point to broader trends of humanity being more morally sensitive) I feel like Humans would have been quick to see Wrex, especially after having served with Shepard, as an individual worth interacting with. And I feel like the Krogan would have been more relaxed towards Humans, against who they couldn’t reasonably hold a grudge (their main racism seems focused against the Turians for deploying the genophage, and the Salarians for designing it.) and it feels like we’re cheated out of Humanity being a potential place for more level-headed Krogan to interact with and touch base with. Combined with Humanity’s tremendous history of war, and some other elements, I feel like there would logically be a degree of respect for the plucky new-comers among the Krogan, even if tempered by a resentment that Humanity isn’t being constrained in the way the Krogan were in their own minds. This failure to acknowledge the timeline is really obvious in Andromeda, where the Krogan treat humans as an extension of the Salarians, Turians, and also where humans like Ryder never call the Krogan on their bullshit and point out that, if they wanted to, the Krogan could be ground into dust under the Human heel, and that it was a Human project, not a citadel project that saw some of the most aspirational Krogan given a chance in an entirely new galaxy, and that the Human ark can’t help the fuck-ups of the Nexus, or of it’s very non-human command team. Seriously, Ryder should have straight punched Drack and told him she saved the Salarian Pathfinder, the only surviving pathfinder, and not one random group of hostages over another, and that it wasn’t humanity that sterilized his people, so perhaps he should get over it, grow up, and try making something of his people, because they responsible for their own futures, regardless of the actions of others.

It would be interesting to finally get a read on what a Krogan lifespan looks like. Drack is portrayed as being an old man, as a veteran of the Krogan rebellions, where as Wrex, also a veteran of the same-said, seems to be old, but no-where near his last legs, still being by far and away one of the fiercest warriors in Andromeda or the Milky Way. Drack has extensive prosthetic as a result of combat injuries (I reckon he’s old and bad-ass, but no-where near Wrex or Grunt’s level, which might explain the missteps leading to injury) It feels like Wrex probably has another 300-400 years in the tank before he’d really be in old age, where as it is suggested that Drack is well with-in “pushing it” territory. Additionally, with 600 years to work, the Milky Way races (who, as far as I’m concerned survived, and did so via a paragon method - Control or Synthesis. I prefer control - as the general tenor of Garrus’s dad when talking to Ryder’s dad suggests that Shepard isn’t reviled, and so is likely not renegade, and no mention is made of the old council dying, suggesting that the 5th fleet was indeed sacrificed) must have developed significant technological changes, including much more advanced drives mimicking, at least, the Reapers, who can move from intergalactic darkspace into the galaxy in less than a year, so where are they, and what are they doing about the folks who left 600 years ago to explore a new, and presumably much easier to now reach, galaxy?

Mass Effect: Bae

Why didn’t the initiative take QECs with connections alive back in the Milky Way? Like, as far as anyone knows (and the science points) Quantum Entanglement has no maximum range. While, notionally, you need to send some kind of instruction to decode the message sent via entanglement (instructions whose transmission is notionally limited to light-speed, although evidently no in the ME universe) the ME universe has established that QECs communicate over distances not communicable over via sub-space or such. So why didn’t they take a high-bandwidth life line? Why did the Quarians invest in an Arc? They already live in the Migrant Fleet, surely, given their means, it would be a profligate waste (never mind that the size of the Arcs is ridiculously huge for the 20,000 or so individuals they supposedly carry if the Quarian fleet is any reference.) for them to build an arc, instead of retro-fitting a ship for the purpose.

What idiot let Sloane Kelly into the Initiative, or for the matter, Dr. Kennedy, both of whom exhibit severely problematic behaviour patterns. Kelly had a history of violent insubordination, and Dr. Kennedy had professed libertarian views, which are kind of at odds with the basic premise of the Initiative, which would require a very controlling and interventionist government for quite a while as they set things up. Why the hell didn’t the Initiative take any kind of warship, and why wasn’t a significant portion of the Nexus designed to work like a ship-yard. Very few of the races involved had easy introductions to the galactic stage. the Krogans were uplifted to defeat the Rachni, the Turians were given significant powers for defeating the Krogan, the Salarians and the Asari had no particular problems, but both had to deal with the Rachni and the Krogan, and Humanity got into a war with the Turians on day-freaking-one, and no-one said “hey, lets take a few big, ugly freaking ships in case there is life in the Heleus cluster of Andromeda and it turns out not to be friendly.”

Why did they think that the Galactic equivalent of a bull in a China shop was a good place to set up the ming-vases that are fledgling colonies. The Heleus cluster exists around a massive freaking black hole, by all account being such a concentration of planets due to the black hole. Black holes are Bad! They spew radiation! They’re practically gamma-ray factories! Gamma-rays are bad!

Why the hell doesn’t !PlayerRyder tell the Initiative that “Hey, there are really those reaper things, and they’re fucking up the Milky Way, so not only will we have to fight a galactic war against the Kett, we’ll also have to make sure we’re ready if the eldritch space-computers come to eat us. Just FYI.”

Why doesn’t anyone point out the the Angarans who are being stroppy that the Initiative arrived in Heleus less than a year ago, and already they’re more trouble for the Kett than the Angara have been after DECADES of fighting. And that’s while they’re busy feuding amongst their selves, and without any of the serious military capability from back home. Like, if the initiative wanted to destroy the Angara, it would be child’s play, because we can do everything the Angara do as warfighters, better. Also, why the hell don’t the Angara have any kind of war-fleet? They’ve been fighting the Kett for decades, and they’re FTL space capable, but the idea of a warship is too big for them, so they only have little shuttles?

Also, something really important: There are several Angaran (the mayor/governor of Aya, in particular) who say to Ryder “I thought you were all like the exiles” while ignoring entirely the fact that the Roekarr and Resistance are fundamentally at odds. Why doesn’t anyone call them on their bullshit? Guess that’s it for now. Some serious complaining about things that, to me, make no sense in the Canon.

#Mass Effect #mass effect: andromeda #Mass Effect canon #Mass Effect Headcanon #?

10 notes · View notes

tillerman1 · 6 years ago

Text

THE RESERVE by Ingmar Bergman

THE RESERVE (translated to the sentence by Thomas Jester)

MONOLOGUES:

ANNA: I named Anna Fromm 34 year lecturer in Slavic language and happy married then eleven years. I have two children, one boy and one girl. My husband's name is Andreas. There is no glimpse of something worrying in my daily life. My closest is nice, nice men, completely normal all but my eldest brother Albert, who is soaring to die.

ANDREAS: My name is Andreas Fromm is forty years old and is an architect of a state-owned work. My wife's name is Anna. I do not think there are many men who feel as good as me. Sometimes I almost feel that it feels a bit anxious with an existence, as is so to the degree protected for discomfort and real concern.

ANNA: It is clear that I worry about what's happening around me in the world. It's coming to me in a short moment. I can feel a breathtaking nausea, as the news itself affects me. But then the day ends.

ANDREAS: It's happening sometime that you think: when will the storm change direction. When will it cross this protected island. But it's not just the thoughts that keep you awake at night.

FIRST ACT

Anna wakes up early, but she stays immobile in the big comfortable bed. The body is itself still in one pleasant numbness; the room is dark and cool, The clock can not be more than six, it's still in the house. The big clock in the dining room strikes something (but always wrong). Henrik coughs in there in the children's room. The birds are heard in the trees outside the open window. She stretches out her hand and turns on the little white radio: it gives off a weak but penetrating voice: "Be merciful, Lord, for in my heart I am terrified. Yes, my soul is terribly frightened. Ah, Lord, how long? Return, O Lord, save my soul, save me for your mercy." She turns off the radio and sighs a bit unhappy. Then she hears trembling steps and it cracks on the door, a slight whining voice: May I come in. He gets it. Henrik, eight years old, now with coryza cum cough, comes across the floor and creeps up to Anna in bed. Are you awake already? It's hard to sleep, do you understand, because I cough all the time. I have been coughing all night. Anna pours some mineral water and gives the son a drink. Can not I stay with you? No, you're going to come in to you now, Henrik. If you take a book and read for a while so it's almost morning. Henrik descends from the bed and is gloomy. Mom, Martin Luther King has been shot. What do you say, has he been shot? Yes, no, they said in the news, says Henrik and Gäspar. Andreas Fromm thinks in principle that the morning is a bit of a big deal. He wakes up a few minutes before the alarm clock rings. Then he lies a little and enjoys being awake, being healthy and in all modesty of being Andreas Fromm. Then he stands up: counts one seated in bed, counts two puts feet on the floor, counting three stands on the floor. The window is open, it is pale, the small snow in the garden and spring has become unconscious. This generates not Andrew; he makes his small trainings program, since he has removed the pajamas jacket. Then he looks smoothly (and dancing) his bathroom, where he shaves, washes, spruces himself and cuts his toenails. He has great pleasure in all this. At eight past eight he comes down to the dining room, where Berta already presented his breakfast: squeezed orange, an egg, toast, cheese, boiled ham and tea with lemon. He looks in the newspaper. The headlines are blacks of Vietnam. Just before eight he walks into the nursery and greets Veronica, which is his love and five years. She is already eagerly engaged in the morning for her dolls and receives the father's tribute with friendly but excited eyesight. Berta tells him that Henrik is asleep and that he has been worried during the night. Andreas says he does not come for dinner today, takes the stairs in two shots and knocks on the bedside door. Anna cries in and greets him good morning. She sits in bed with her breakfast tray. Their conversation is short, polite and neutral. Anna says she will have Dad for dinner today, if he still does not come home, it's fine. He asks her to greet the old man. Anna wishes him a good day. Andreas recalls that there comes a man, like that should repair boiler today, and to heat probably comes to be off a few hours. Anna says that is not so good because Henrik is cold, but Andreas makes her feel that it's probably not going to be particularly cold in the rooms and that it's hard to get people and they come when it suits them, the devils. Anna asks if he or she is going to buy tickets for the concert. He says that his secretary arranges that matter. She asks him really not forget this. Andreas assures that he really should not forget this. They smile kindly (mornings are not clear) and Andreas does hastily farewell. Did you hear the news, Anna asks suddenly. No, why, asks Andreas. Martin Luther King is murdered, says Anna. What are you saying, is it true? Well, Henrik came in and told me he had heard it on the radio, I did not think it was true. Damn, says Andreas. They say fast farewell. Andreas takes pileus and coat, Berta vacuums in the stairs. He takes his little car from the double garage down the road and slopes gently on the wet slippery asphalt. In the car radio he hears about the murder. The queue in to the city is longer than usual due to the bad roadmap, but he will still arrive in good time to the Workshop. He takes the elevator up to his department and then the corridor to the left. His secretary, Mrs Prakt (a big girl with hanging shoulders and small intelligent eyes) is already there. She presents the entry and current visits list on his desk. She says that the Director-general calls for a call.

ANDREAS: Well, now I'm busy at four past nine, it's not possible. Did not you say that?

MISS PRAKT: Yes, I said you were busy. But the Director General said it was important and wondered if you can not postpone the meeting.

ANDREAS: Yes, I can do that. If you want to call Ray and ask him to come tomorrow instead, if he can. Would thou be able to arrange tickets to Concert Hall on Sunday also, then you are terribly sweet.

MISS PRAKT: I'll do that. Do you go for lunch?

ANDREAS: No, I do not think so. Why?

MISS PRAKT: I would to the dentist understand you and I wonder if you could dispense with me one hour after lunch. It may happen, I still have time, but I'm not sure. One must wait.

ANDREAS: Go you. I only have those sad guys from the social welfare office at one o'clock. And it will be long and obscene, you can come whenever you want. Hi.

Miss Prakt also says hello, but a bit weaker. She has respect cum toothache. Andreas walks through the corridors, takes the stairs and is soon at the head of the Director General. He is immediately admitted. Generaldirektör Ek är en storvuxen man med något bondskt över sin uppenbarelse. He is generally regarded as a "good man", an opinion he shares. They greet warmly, most kindly, and settle down in the comfortable couch, far away from the desk's services.

EK: It was fine that you could come right away. How are you?

ANDREAS: I'm fine, thank you. How are you doing yourself?

EK: Thank you. We have an infection going home. Alice is crazy and the girl is crazy and the kids are crazy. I have managed so far, but today I feel overblown, but it may be the weather of course.

ANDREAS: Yes, spring it's difficult it.

EK: Listen, Andreas, I have a boring thing to talk to you about.

ANDREAS: Oh, that was boring.

EK: I was in touch with the department last afternoon and then I met Rosén. He let me understand that they will not take your suggestion. They will relay it to us for new investigation and new proposals.

ANDREAS: So. It was boring.

EK: I wanted to tell you right away, so you do not get it through the newspapers. When the official decision was due, Rosén could not say definitely, but probably after Easter. As I said, I wanted to talk about it for you.

ANDREAS: It was nice of you.

EK: Something foolish was in the mood, I knew that. Because it took so long with the decision.

ANDREAS: Did Rosén have any motivation?

EK: Yes, you know, Rosén is a pot. He has nothing to say. He suggested that your proposal seemed a bit academic. A little on the side of development. Frankly, I did not listen so carefully. He speaks like a mill and then he has bad breath.

ANDREAS: Who will take over then?

EK: Rosén thought we would use Feldt and Bauer. There are two talented youngsters.

ANDREAS: They have no experience at all.

EK: I think they are pretty forward. And so they have a huge advantage in front of you because they are untested.

ANDREAS: (laughing) I'm 40 years, Georg!

EK: (laughing) Being 40 is almost like having a shameful illness.

ANDREAS: (laughing) What am I supposed to do now then? We'd put me away for the next year.

EK: We will talk more about it after Easter. I'll think a bit.

ANDREAS: Then I will not bother you anymore.

EK: Yes, by all means.

ANDREAS: I am grateful that you spoke so quickly. Salute your wife so much and have a nice Easter if we don't meet. Bye. Thank you.

EK: Bye. Thanks. And greet Anna so warmly.

When Andreas returns to his room, Mrs. Prakt tells that lawyer Järnberg is already waiting. Andreas says that he must first make a call. He walks into his room and closes the door. Sets himself at some desk and feels after. He knows nothing. Then he calls home. Asking for Anna. Berta announces that the wife had just left that she would first go to her brother at the hospital and then to town and that she would not come back until dinner. She would be at the Humanist Library at two o'clock she had said. Andreas puts on the handset and still does not know anything. Possibly a little headache. (It may be the weather.) Possibly a strange answering of the eyelids. Anna visits the same day, his brother Albert, who is admitted to a mental clinic. (He has an individual room, which is not very big but bright and modern.) Albert is short and coarsely built. The face is round and bright. He is at 45. He has knitted up the jacket sleeves, the wrists are worn with bracelets. Cheeks and mouth are painted. Anna takes her brother in arms and kisses him, handing out some foreign magazines and a pack of cigarettes. This employs them for a while.

ALBERT: Anna little, how it was fun to see you. I've missed you terribly.

ANNA: There has been so much to do lately.

ALBERT: Do not take it! I know how much you have to stand in. So yes set you. How are the children doing?

ANNA: Henrik is a little cold, but Veronica feels good as usual. She is with Mom over Easter. We also planned to go to the country over Easter. We'll see if the weather is going well.

ALBERT: I have nothing to offer just. Would you like a banana? A cigarette? A piece of chocolate perhaps?

ANNA: No thanks, I do not want anything.

ALBERT: Bla bla bla bla bla. (Smiling.)

ANNA: Just that.

ALBERT: Can you answer me honestly on one thing?

ANNA: I'll try.

ALBERT: Am I injured or is it myself that wants to sit here. I've forgotten the real relationship.

ANNA: There is no one who keeps you locked.

ALBERT: How do you think I look?

ANNA: I think you look much healthier, but I do not understand why you make up and dress yourself.

ALBERT: (crying) I'm over, Anna.

ANNA: But your new book.

ALBERT: It's nothing.

ANNA: What do you mean?

ALBERT: I have told everyone that I have written a new book. But it is not true.

ANNA: Your publisher said –

ALBERT: That I had read for him (smiling). I took a piece of Baudelaire, which I wrote before he came. He is not so formed.

ANNA: It's just a decline, Albert. You've been here before and you've suddenly come across something.

ALBERT: (laughing) It may be enough now. Enough of all this nonsense. I'm pulling in my contacts. There is a great silence, which is unthinkable for those who do not hear it. Do not you think I'll see how the dusk expands.

ANNA: You should not say that.

ALBERT: Destruction has taken power, that's the truth. The lie has taken power. That's the truth. Hate has dressed in righteousness's clothing, that's the truth. Remember, when you relate our meeting to Andreas and our friends. (He starts to cry.) The worst thing is that I was hoping. (Turns himself on his mouth.) I am the way, the truth and the life. I am the truth, I!

ANNA: You have to calm yourself.

ALBERT: Yes, I'll calm down. It is only hysteria, do you understand, my sweetheart.

None of the siblings come round to say something, but both express a delayed soreness.

ANNA: You make me so unresolved. Not for what you say, but because you are so afraid. It's like when I was little and you came in and sat on the floor in a corner of the nursery. I was only six years old and you were eighteen. And then you sat there in the corner and just watched me until I started crying because I knew you wanted me to understand something that I did not understand. I've never been able to comfort you.

ALBERT: You're just talking to me.

ANNA: Is not it enough, that I'm sitting here and holding your hand?

ALBERT: Well, that's fine.

They are silent and holding hands for a while.

Despite that Andreas said to Ms. Prakt that he intends jump over lunch goes he to canteen just after Twelve. He takes the macaroni pudding with a glass of milk, goes with his tray away one corner, where he glimpses a plot table only changes in and beats in down with Feldt and Bauer, as seated together with a third for Andreas unknown young man. The boys greet their older colleague with kindness. The comrade, who turns out to be a Norwegian, is presenting from Bergen for consultations. One jokes a part about canteens food in general and if the macaroni pudding in particular. Suddenly Feldt asks if Andreas has received a message from the ministry - if they have been taken out of the wagon. The question comes inadvertently and in passing, but Andreas looks at Bauers reaction, that they already know most, Bauer and Feldt are neither malicious nor cruel. They are not even particularly tactless. They are both in 28 age with pale intelligent faces boxed in neat beards. They are elegantly dressed with colored polo shirts and narrow well-cut jackets. Bauer has colored glasses. Feldt has no glasses only heel-ring. They are polite and utterly effortless. Both regard Andreas attentively and there gets some fleeting silence with question to hanging over some table. Then Andreas laughs and says that the ministry will give backlash on the proposal. He had just learned this from Ek, who in turn had received the notification of Rosén at the ministry. Will you change a lot, asks Bauer. No, it's sadly not, says Andreas, laughing. I will no longer have the project to do. It will be given to someone else. I thought maybe you had heard something about that matter. Feldt shakes his head and says, that they had wondered, since the announcement was delayed. Bauer says regret that it was sad for Andreas, who worked so long for the project. They obviously think I'm a bit old-fashioned, Andreas says, laughing. So, it was like hell, says Bauer. It was also a motivation for substantive reasons, said Feldt ironically. You said you met that Rosén a few days ago, the Norwegians innocently say to Feldt, who gets a little red in the forehead. It was a completely different business. He said nothing about this, replies Feldt. Andreas looks down into the plate, deeply embarrassed. A plot thus, he says, hilariously distracting. Now you're kidding anyway, Bauer says surprised. Yes, what do you think, Andreas answers. I think much about the new generation, but not to lick like Rosén at the end. Bauer and Feldt laugh. Anna opens with her own key. The big dark rooms in the library are filled with books. The dry little black smell. The non-smoking room. Here and there at the work tables behind the shelves and next to the windows a dark shadow, someone forgotten over the Easter promise. Otherwise empty and quiet. Anna leaves some books and searches the catalog. Down in one corner sits a contemporary woman. Her face is dissolved, weak colourless. She has her coat and long pants, not very neat, chews on a caramel, asks Anna if she wants. She wants not Anna.

ANNA: What are you doing here over Easter?

KARIN: I'm getting lost. At home there is a damn noise from morning to evening, yes, you know. Mom is visiting. And so is …

ANNA: I understand.

KARIN: Congratulations to the scholarship by the way!

ANNA: Thanks! Thank you.

KARIN: Are you going to continue the seminars this fall?

ANNA: No, I do not think so. I have requested a leave of absence. It actually gets too hard. Andreas should ...

KARIN: Yes of course.

ANNA: Why, what's up?

KARIN: No, sorry, nothing. Nothing at all.

ANNA: (surprised) I just wanted to say that ...

KARIN: No, you do not need to explain.

ANNA: Nor did I think so.

KARIN: (after break): Nice Easter time.

ANNA: Thank you the same.

Anna just wants to go when Karin shouts at her. Anna rectifies herself and Karin comes towards her with a lit cigarette. They are adhered to the smoking room. Karin sets herself on a table and says that she actually wants say about something for Anna, It should not take long.

KARIN: You may think that I have seemed quite unpleasant at the last time - no, do not interrupt me - that's why. Not as you think this is the scholarship. I am not jealous, believe for fan none to me is jealous. But I finally have a need to tell you what I think. I have always wondered what it is - but I think it is, I do not know. I think you're lying in some damn fine way. Sometimes I get an unpleasant desire to beat you. Yes, do not misunderstand, it's nothing personal, you've never hurt me. Your face is so beautiful and you are always so well dressed and you always say the right things.

ANNA: Do not know what you are talking about.

KARIN: I have not figured that either. At some point people of your variety cease to exist. You turn into impersonal surprise. Or at its height to a well-expressed disapproval.

ANNA: Is not it just that you are very tired and shabby?

KARIN: Not true? This winter has been difficult, and the children have been sick and you know my mom! Huh?

ANNA: I must go now.

Karin laughs, pushes the cigarette into the overflowing ashtray. She has got a dust on her hands, wipes herself on her coat, goes to the door with Anna, takes her hard in her arm.

ANNA: It hurts.

KARIN: Have you seen that I lack one tooth here on side? Does not it look freaking out? It's not for economic reasons I do not go to the dentist. It is lethargy. Do you understand what I mean?

ANNA: No. Frankly, no.

KARIN: (smiles) But I can afford myself to dislike about you and what you represent.

ANNA: Let go of my arm, please.

KARIN: Bye. Happy Easter. Health Andreas.

Anna does not answer, gets up the door and gets into the rain. When Andreas returns to his workroom, he calls Berta and asks if Anna has heard. She has not. If she would call, Berta would be so kind to ask her to call. Say it's not important, but he just wants to talk to her. It promises Berta. Is everything good otherwise? Well, everything is fine.

SECOND ACT

That afternoon, Anna meets her lover. At their meetings they use a small dark apartment on a quiet and secluded street. When she unlocks the front door, is he in kitchenette and prepares tea. The toaster, which works badly, delivers two half black discs. Anna saves them before she takes off her coat.

ANNA: You're already here. I thought I would come first for once today, and have the tea ready when you arrived. Too bad! You're so good. Hello honey, have you been here for a long time?

ELIS: I came ten minutes ago.

ANNA: We should get a new toaster. This one is really sad. It is just to toss. Should we try again?

ELIS: No, no, that's enough with the biscuits, I think.

ANNA: At least I'm not hungry. And yet I skipped lunch today. Did not have time. By the way, I need to go downstairs.

ELIS: No.

ANNA: I have to go down, I apologize for counting calories. The strange thing is that Andreas is so fond of desserts. But he goes not up one pound. I'll start playing golf again. Have you walked here? I did not see your car.

ELIS: It is on the cross street. I bought a newspaper. Did not think you were coming soon.

ANNA: Everyone greeted Albert, would have stayed longer, but I did not manage. - ELIS: Is it equally bad still?

ANNA: I do not know. I think it's worse.

Anna has removed the outerwear and loosened her hair. Stands and looks in the bathroom mirror.

ELIS: What are you doing?

ANNA: Looking me in the mirror.

ELIS: Why?

ANNA: I do not know. It is nice.

ELIS: In a few years you do not think it's nice anymore.

ANNA: It does not matter as long as you promise to like me.

ELIS: I promise.

De kysser varandra. Anna looks at him for a long time.

ANNA: You look tired.

ELIS: (smiling) I'm tired.

ANNA: Has it happened a bit boring?

ELIS: Not more than usual.

ANNA: Is everything good at home?

ELIS: Eva came home yesterday. Yes, you know that.

ANNA: And it went well? No frustration?

ELIS: The only thing is that she worries so much. And the pain is not better.

ANNA: How, then on the way she worries?

ELIS: Always when she's gone for some time, she comes home with a bad conscience and believe that something has happened. God knows what she's imagining. Then she is all nervous about her questions and starts to rule and set. It is clear that Miss Alma gets pissed off.

They have set themselves on the small couch on screen. Anna serves.

ANNA: Is it strong enough?

ELIS: Nay thanks. Have you added sugar?

ANNA: No. Can I show you a dress that I bought this morning?

ELIS: Yes, but then you put it on you.

ANNA: It will change a bit, you understand. But I did not want to buy it until you had seen it. Mrs. Arnold said it was amazing to me. I have to prepare for one thing. It is red. I've never had red before. I thought it would make me paler, but I do not think it does. I have a lot of prejudices when it comes to colors.

While Anna is talking, she slips out of the suit and puts on the red dress. She holds her hair up.

ANNA: Now you should think about it with a pair of other shoes and put the hair up. Then it's a bit too tall and does not sit well in the back and these buttons can be replaced. – What do you think?

ELIS: Well, that's nice.

ANNA: Do you really think that?

ELIS: It is tremendously attractive.

ANNA: Do you mean it. That makes me happy. I liked it immediately. Sometimes you just have to buy a red dress. Are you sure you like it?

ELIS: I think it's extremely nice.

ANNA: Then I'll go and get it changed right away tomorrow. This is almost my first red dress.

She takes off the dress and the other clothes, creeps into a white bathrobe, which hangs in the bathroom, comes back and sets herself and the drinking tea.

ELIS: How does Henrik feel?

ANNA: He's better, but he had to stay in bed today too.

ELIS: How are you going to have Easter tonight? Are you traveling anywhere?

ANNA: We travel well to the country, I believe. We have not decided yet. We have to go for a dinner on Mother's Day. You know them by the way.

ELIS: Yes, I know. The advocate Sernelius. We will also be there.

ANNA: That was fun.

ELIS: Devil strange. Invite people on Christmas eve when everyone wants to leave town as soon as possible.

ANNA: Um. We get good food.

ELIS: I have no pleasure in that.

ANNA: No, poor thing, how are you with the ulcer?

ELIS: Up and down. Right now nothing further.

ANNA: How are you having night sleep?

ELIS: Not at all if I'm to be sincere.

ANNA: Do you have any good sleep remedies?

ELIS: I took two strong rackers last night and lay awake all night. It's pure torture.

ANNA: Do not you sleep at all?

ELIS: No. I'm walking around. And playing gramophone.

ANNA: What does Eva say?

ELIS: Eva poor has probably of her own concern. By the way, there is no danger of insomnia, says my doctor. Just do not worry.

ANNA: What are you worried about?

ELIS: For everything between heaven and earth. But mostly because we have to dismiss a lot of people again. There are men in fifty years and more. They have been in business for twenty, thirty years. You should see their faces, when one informs them. And that's good men, you understand. Good professionals. Nice, caring, decent people. And so it quietly outlined the question: "You yourself? Why do you stay?"

ANNA: (smiling) You are getting old.

ELIS: (laughing) Just that. I'm getting old.

ANNA: (looks at him for a long time) If I knew…

ELIS: Knew what?

ANNA: Nothing. You tell me everything, do not you?

ELIS: Yes, I do.

ANNA: No, but it's something you hide from me.

ELIS: No, what would it be?

ANNA: Yes, I do not know. That's why I ask.

ELIS: (smiling) So grave ourselves became suddenly.

ANNA: Imagine we've lived together for eight years and not a poor week for ourselves, it's no wonder.

Anna takes over the bed and draws the curtains. It will be a mild half-moon. She throws off the swimsuit and creeps down in bed, looks and looks at Elis, who's getting dressed. When he is naked, he drinks a sip of tea. Anna is listening to this. The vague fear of night dreams and today's experiences comes back. Elis wakes slowly and reluctantly.

ELIS: I slept so deeply.

ANNA: Must go now. It's late. My old dad is going to dinner, you understand. And he would be very upset if I were late.

ELIS: No, do not go straight away.

ANNA: Yes, honey. I must.

She bows over the man and kisses him in love. He answers her kiss with tenderness and begins to chill her. They look smiling at each other.

ELIS: What still is sweet and soft and good.

ANNA: (laughing) It does not help. I do not have time. No.

Then she gives up and they sink into a warm, smiling security, not very passionate. Then she gets in a hurry, out of the bathroom, washing and blowing, talking to Elis, who stays in bed and smokes a cigarette.

ANNA: Andreas and I were going to buy some shares. Do you know what's best? We have our usual old man, of course, but he is so terribly careful and conventional.

ELIS: I can call Andreas and talk about the matter.

ANNA: We sold a plot, you understand. Andreas's father bought it shortly after the First World War for five thousand. Today it is worth astronomical money, you can imagine, twenty crowns the square meter. It's not wise. For a while there was a risk that the town would buy the area, but it was a private construction company that came before. That way, we got much better paid.

She stands at the little couch and dresses. The daylight shines through the curtains. It is a low-key contact-making issue without significance. She wears the suit, puts her hair and paints gently in the grayish light.

ELIS: I will call you tomorrow.

ANNA: I'm at the library from nine o'clock, but I'm done at half past one I would think. You can call me home at two o'clock if it suits you - I'll be alone.

ELIS: Do you still love me?

She looks up, smiling, shaking her head.

ANNA: You hide something for me and I do not know what it is and it hurts me.

ELIS: I do not know that I have any secrets for you.

ANNA: Is there anything about Eva?

ELIS: You are not jealous?

She comes up to him and sets herself on the bedside. Looks at him, smiling but seriously.

ANNA: I'm jealous, but we're not talking about that. We are not talking about something that is bothersome or that hurts. It's a secret agreement, right?

ELIS: (laughing) It was colossal, what made you deep.

ANNA: Not true? But now I have to leave. Dad will be furious. Do not lie and fall asleep now.

ELIS: I'll just smoke out this cigarette. Drive carefully!

ANNA: Yes, honey. Give me a kiss.

She leans his face against him and blows. They kiss each other. She opens her eyes and laughs at him. So caressing her his cheek.

Andreas has a meeting: The men from the National Board of Social Affairs are generally gray. One of them suddenly finds that now you have been sitting for four hours and have not come anywhere, but the case looked pretty simple from the outset. One other regrets in the context to Schmidt from project's insertion office none had could attend at some together tree. It had simplified quite a bit. A third assures that one can say with certainty that any startup will not be talked about until late autumn, no matter how much is the case in all instances. Of course, the best of course, says the fourth, that the whole thing was speeded up in the highest place, because nobody really knows who will take responsibility. Andreas says, then, that the money is there, it has been told. Who knows if they are after the election, says the first gloomy. Yes, anyway, I have to go now, says number three bored. I would pick up my car at two o'clock and now she is already half past five and you never know when such a crooked workshop closes. This becomes a general burst signal. Should we not get a new meeting as soon as possible, says Andreas. Four serious men nod and nets front their almanacs and look and murmur. Everyone agrees that before Easter there is no idea. The week after Easter, two of the men are available and one in England. Finally, you agree on a Tuesday in the future. Everyone is satisfied and believes that archetypes have advanced to that and that Schmidt in the design office can also be involved, only one says in time. Stimulated of this new thought takes you hearty farewell and vacate room. Ms Prakt comes in and cleans and opens the window. She confronts the bad smell and all tobacco smoke and says that most men are pigs. We have to write letters, says Andreas, as sitting to at some desk. Where do you have the letter from MIRAGET ET CONSEILLE? I have not received that, says Ms. Prakt a little accusation while she is spraying in the air with some kind of fresh air spray. You have known that, replies Andreas irritated. You got it yesterday, we would have answered yesterday, but I was prevented. You kept it, because you would think about it, says Ms. Prakt. Please, stop spraying and go out and get the letter, I know you have it, it's not here at all. Ms. Pratt becomes even heavier than usual and her round shoulders become even more round, but she immediately puts out the spray bottle, goes front to Andreas and looking one moment in one of paper boxes, which is on the right and fishes up the letter, puts it on pad front Andreas and disappears off room. Well, we'll write the letter now then, or should we not, says Andreas with sore voice. I should only retrieve paper and pen, responds Ms. Prakt with one submissive tone. She immediately comes back and sits down on the other side of the desk, round the back and gazing intently in the block. Andreas dictates an address - letter is half-private understand you. We send it to his home, you check the address, please. Ms. Prakt nods silently. Do not be mad now, Britt, says Andreas tired. I am not acid, responds Ms. Prakt. By all means I apologize, says Andreas. You're always right, you know, so there's nothing to bother about. Right? Ms. Prakt is still looking down. The back is curved and the round shoulders hang out hopelessly. I know how careful you are, please Britt, says Andreas. You, there is no human that I appreciate more. I have apologized. It is not that, says Ms. Prakt very low and shaking of head. What is that then, asks Andreas. Nothing, nothing, of any significance. No little old woman, I do not feel sorry for that, says Andreas with one last patience. Now you can either tell me where it's pinching or we'll get back to work. It's not me who has started talking, says Ms. Prakt stubbornly.

ANNA: What do you say about the murder of Luther King, daddy, is not it terrible? Do you think it will be civil war? I met Sidney this morning and he said that now you can expect anything. People learn to be desperate of horror.

FATHER: Do you hear Anna, I would not say anything, but I can not help you. You invite me to dinner, and it is by all means good of you, but it suits you to come an hour late.

ANNA: Twenty minutes, Dad. And I have explained.

FATHER: Why fits you never the time? Is it hereditary? Your mother was the same. I was going to go my way. Precisely when you came in by door figured I trip me and go. I thought you had forgotten my existence. I got the damned madam, but what she's calling your husband and ask him if he knew where you were. If you could possibly have told him something. Of course you did not. And at the library expedition they did not know anything either. Do not you understand that I'm getting pissed off? Huh?

ANNA: Sure, please poppa, but now is it great. Can not we talk about anything else. I have asked forgiveness. Moreover.

FATHER: You just reels out a few phrases. It's easy to say I'll say. I heard Henrik is cold.

ANNA: It's no big deal. Should I ask him to come down?

FATHER: No thanks. I do not want his bacilli. Unless he is not school sick, of course. You spoil him. Where is Veronica by the way? It is the only human in this house that you can meet with. Where have you hidden the kid? Get her out and I'll be in a good mood. I promise.

ANNA: She's actually with Mom. I have said that.

The father gives her a furious eye. But silent. The head dares a bit. He draws heavily after his breath.

ANNA: Should not dad to calm down now.

FATHER: Why should Gertrud always take care of Veronica? Why can she not get be with me sometimes? The kid is feeling well at home with me, I will talk.

ANNA: (patiently) Your housekeeper says she is not able to cope with any children and now she has pain in her back.

FATHER: Esther is an old fool. She will always make it. I'm thinking of getting me a younger person. One that is a little cheerful. You become disgusted to hear of all the bloody ailments and everything creaking. I think the woman has had a small stroke, by the way.

The idea makes managing Egerman on better humor. He bowls with Anna, who has taken a sherry for company. The old man regards her willingly.

FATHER: I read in the magazine that you received a scholarship. I congratulate. What are you going to do with the money?

ANNA: I'm going to travel, I guess.

FATHER: Is it tax-free?

ANNA: Yes, I think so.

There is silence. The old gentleman sinks in own thoughts. Anna sits and looks at him, seized with a sudden tenderness.

ANNA: How are you, Dad?

The father looks up, listening to the unusual tone. Looking first suspicious, then he becomes even in the face, takes a sip.

FADERN: It's worst in the mornings. I can not say that I'm afraid to die. It's not that. I'm soon afraid of the day. As long as I had a lot of work, it went well. But now the last month, when I stopped - it does the same. I'm doing fine. I'm just sad I would think.

He is silent. The head dares, he gives Anna a shadow of sight, the glass holds him between his hands.

FATHER: I'll tell you, old age is a hell.

When Andreas comes out of the work it rains. Ms. Prakt is standing on the stairs and watching the cloud out. She has no umbrella and wears something, which is probably a new spring cap. Andreas offers to drive her because they have the same route. She laughs graciously but says that this is too much trouble. Andreas försäkrar motsatsen och hämtar sin bil på parkeringsplatsen. He asks if she wants possess a cigarette and that wants her gladly. They smoke and travel under silence. Pardon you if I stop here one moment. I'm just going to buy the newspapers, says Andreas, and parks a little carelessly in front of a tobacco shop. He squats for the rain, gets his newspapers. He throws them in the back seat and starts. A blue Volkswagen stands in front of him. He takes out the turn a bit too tight and strikes the front of the car with a loud and scary sheet noise. Oops! says Ms. Prakt. It was certainly not so dangerous, says Andreas annoyed and passes the empty cart. Soon after, he had to stay in the street corner to drop a truck. At the same moment, the car door is pulled up and a furious, fat man sticks his head in and screams: Are you going to sneak! Take it easy, strains Andreas completely blocked. Get out instantly, roars man, dressed in leather jacket, blue pants and cap. Was it your car I ran against, asks Andreas silly and rises. Was it your car, imitates man contemptuously. Would it make any difference, huh! They go the few steps back to Volkswagen. On the left wing there are two barely noticeable scratches and the bumper has become slightly curved. So you thought about it, it is neat. I was not going to sneak, Andreas defends himself. I was just going to park my car on the cross street over there and then go back. Oh, are you lying, at least not for it makes you damn bad. The man takes out paper and pen. What's your number? I have forgotten that, Andreas desperately answers. What's your name, then, have you forgotten that too? Could we not make up this here in benefit, asks Andreas. In benefit what is it? This is going to be fucking unpleasant for you. Miss Prakt has come and set herself at Andreas's side. Her new spring coat darkens of rain. You can at least be polite, she says angrily. I testify that you were rude and practically started fighting. I'm going to testify about that. Be sure and tune the tone before you continue to argue about this bauble. A small crowd of interested spectators has gathered. Now listen, don't try to talk like a nice lady because you are just whore to that gangster, the man says. You hear how he speaks, says Miss Prakt furiously. There is no police nearby, who can take care of this. Everyone stands. It rains. The man walks around with paper and pencil, notes the car number. Such as you should be fixed, he says. Andreas tries to ask if he is not ready now, so he can go. You stay as long as I want, the man answers. Then comes the car's owner. It is a younger person, can be in his twenties. He has glasses and is barbed, dressed in an old shabby raincoat. He stares in astonishment at the assemblies. Forgive me, I happened to encounter your car when I turned out, I took the turn too tight, so I have made two scratches and bent to your bumper. It was not so dangerous, says the young man. He was thinking of throwing it, says the fat, but I stopped that. Actually, I didn't think so, says Andreas. I would stay around the corner and then go back and see what happened to your car. Yes, anyway, there is no harm done, says the young person surprised. I actually have a hurry, so if you'll excuse me. If you want compensation, says Andreas, you can call me. My name is - The young man shakes his head on his head and sticks out with a tear start. The curious assembly is dissolved. What are you going to do now, says Andreas plagued. Fucking upper class walkers, says the man and goes to his own car, where there is a lean and uninterrupted woman with resentful looking eyes. Andreas and Miss Prakt return to their car. Andreas doorbell to Dr. Farmans practice. It takes a while. Then sounds rapid footsteps and the door opening. It's sister Ester, doctor's assistant and helper for many years. (She is thirty-five, has a beautiful, slightly angular face with very bright eyes and a large well-shaped mouth. She is tall and wide-shouldered, dressed in white coat and manageshappenhat, her hair is thick, blond and set in a big knot.) When she knows again Andreas smiles her smooth and releases in him.

ESTER: Hello, architect Fromm. The doctor just walked out a few minutes. Han är tillbaka på ögonblicket. We have just completed our last patient. So be it and sit down here for so long.

Andreas takes off his coat and settles in the large, airy and modernly decorated waiting room. Opposite him, he has a considerable aquarium. Sister Ester walks in and out of the expedition to the treatment rooms, cleans, picks up, sorts paper. This was our last patient of fourteen days, she says and packs down some x-rays in a brown envelope. Well, you shut that long. We take a little vacation. The doctor takes the family with him and goes to the mountains. I think he does the right thing because he has certainly been working this winter. I never think people have been as sick as this year. How then in a way? Well, I don't really know, Sister Ester thinks. But it's as if people didn't have the strength anymore. The winters are getting longer and longer and all infections become more agitated and last longer. People are so tired so they don't know where to go. She laughs. The phone rings. She answers Dr. Farman's reception, Sister Ester. Well, what do you say, yes, but it was difficult. Architect Fromm is here. No, I don't know what he wants. You can talk to him yourself. Sister Ester hands over the handset. Hi, says Andreas. So terribly annoying, Ernst says sincerely worried. Farewell. Cheerio then, says Andreas. See you! Yes, then I have to thank you, says Andreas. You have two dead fish in the aquarium, he adds on the way to the hall. It's some disease, they die in a chorus. It is not precisely anyone advertising for our internship, says Ester and looking out on a small landing net and begins fish after the small bodies. We have changed both water and sand and plants, but it does not seem to help. One must probably scour the entire aquarium with some disinfectant. She turns around and looks a little surprised at Andreas. He has sat on a chair inside the door, has got on his coat and has his hat in his hand. How are you? asks Ester professionally. Andreas shakes his head. She stands center at room with the small snare with one hand. It has begun to obscure. The sun has suddenly gone out of the thick cloud of snow. How is it? Nothing, says Andreas. I do not know. But I don't want to go home. Ester looks at him and suddenly smiles. Well, don't go home then, she says objectively. Here you can stay for as long as you want. Call and say you've been busy. There is canned food in refrigerator. You can watch TV and read books and newspapers. Then you go home tonight, or in the night or tomorrow morning. Stay with me then, says Andreas. I don't think I can, Ester replies. I have those who are waiting for me and, unlike you, I find it fun to come home. So you are happily married, asks Andreas. Yes, you can say that. I feel good in every way, says Ester. She goes to Andreas and puts her big dry hand against his cheek. I do not know what it is, says Andreas, but I feel it as if I was being choked. It sounds so damn melodramatic. But that is the only adequate expression. I'm about to - He stops. Sister Ester goes in in doctor closet and retrieves up a bottle brandy, turns up a glass and hands him. He drinks in silence. It's ridiculous, he says. I certainly have no reason to complain. You don't do that either, replies Sister Ester immediately. Can't sister sit down for five minutes, asks Andreas. Well, I really can. She smiles again. I suddenly came to think of something. Esther asks what then, because it was silent. It's something ridiculous and maybe I'm unfair. Say it anyway. We never touch each other. We show each other tenderness only when we lie with each other and then in passing. We caress and kiss each other never to time where. And the kids get very little physical tenderness. They get all the damn vitamins they should have but no bodily closeness. They rarely touch each other, except when they fight. Isn't it remarkable? It's probably different with that, Ester says quietly. They sit quietly for a few minutes. Andreas drinks out, and puts the glass next to him on the table. The aquarium lights mysteriously at dusk and the sick fish moving in solemn dance. He gets up and walks toward the door. Sister Ester sits there over at dusk. Now you can no longer see her face. He goes into a bar around the corner and orders paper and envelopes and a brandy, settles down in a corner of the shady inspired room and listens for a few minutes to an inexhaustible pianist. Two young people are sitting at the counter and are joking: The girl is very young and bare-armed, she occasionally turns her little makeup face towards Andreas. The boy (a few years older) tries to explain something to her. Andreas puts the pen on the paper: Dearest Anna. It is so strange to sit here and write letters to you, but I have to try to express something that I must never say when we are together. He pauses and ponders. Then he writes with determined letters. I think we're wrong somewhere. It is perhaps so that we are simply wrong. Isolate us in a small clan of people, all of whom enjoy a privileged life far on the side and above the reality of the majority. He stops again. Then writes it with fierce movements and bigger letters. Isn't it so that our marriage is a damned parody of what it should be, what it was originally intended to be. Isn't everything a miserable lie? Can we change this? Can we? Or are we stuck. Trapped in our reserve. In our comfortable… He stares in amazement at what he has written and tears the letter. The barbarian, eye-made young girl looking curiously.

THIRD ACT

Thursday morning's evening at seven, attorney Sernelius and his wife Inger give dinner for some of the closest friends. The large, old-fashioned villa is situated on a promontory in the lake and you have lit small lanterns at the gate and along the way up to the house. Anna and Andreas are slightly delayed. The other guests have already arrived. Drinking champagne and advocates lively. Anna and Andreas go round and greet. Everyone is more or less familiar and fairly equal in both income and age. It is thus host Fredrik Sernelius, a somewhat furrowed youthful lord of 50 years age with sounding voice and vigorous tennis hand. His wife Inger is warm, cordial and superficial. After fifth baby has she given her natural laziness and indulgence free play. She is with other words quite fat. There are booker Elis Andresen and his wife Eva. Elis we have already met and his wife Eva is a very beautiful woman in her thirty-five years, but with the sickly's at-open, vulnerable face. There is also Ernst and Magda Farman. He is a prominent physician private practice. A friendly, somewhat mannered fifty-year-old with calm, happy eyes. Magda is a painter, heavy, female, somewhat closed of intelligent face and one suddenly erupting laugh. Then is it engineer Stone Ahlman and his other wife Petra. Mr. Ahlman is tall and casual with strikingly large nose and very strong glasses. His wife is the youngest of the ladies and new in the company. She is a child psychologist and a little uncertain in an environment unfamiliar to her. She has a quiet but somewhat empty face with beautiful features. Finally, it is Count Edward Albrekt and his Countess Karin. He is successful despite his youth, CEO and general influence. It is a friendly, unassuming person with rather pale traits. He is short and has started to lose hair seriously. His wife is tall, dark and beautiful with big brown eyes and black hair. She is lively or rather nervous. It is thus 10 guests, host and hostess, 12 people all that all. Well-behaved people with incomes. Decent people. Liability-conscious.

FREDRIK: <But hi> {sic}. Nice to meet you.

INGER: I'm sorry you had to wait.

PETRA: And how does little Kristina feel? It was so long ago.

MAGDA: She had been very difficult the last weeks. But she should have two new teeth.

STEN: Marie Mayer, you say. Yes, she received the Nobel Prize. That's right.

ANNA: (smiling) You see, I don't know how to wear myself. Still, does the theater have to be part of today's society?

MAGDA: I don't know, I never go to the theater.

ANNA: You just go to art exhibitions.

MAGDA: No, but I think the theater has become so sad.

KARIN: What you make me nervous when you talk like that. I don't understand what you're saying, but it scares me.

INGER: Have you seen stuff like the moonlight that is? Pure magic.

ERNST: Imagine what a fantastic view you have in any case.

INGER: Oh, you have no bad view either.

ERNST: How long have you been living here?

INGER: Wait, let me see. I always expect after my birth because I confuse the years in a mess. Yes wait. We came here to Sweden just before Margareta was born and when Elisabeth was newborn we moved in. It's nine years ago.

ERNST: Is it really nine years ago?

INGER: Forgive me, please Ernst. I have to go and make sure everything is ready, so we can go to the table. Bye for now.

ANNA: Are you alone here in the moonlight?

ERNST: Yes, you know everyone is talking to each other in the mouth.

ANNA: Those new pills you prescribed for me is not good at all. I have small bleeding and feel bad.

ERNST: Are you sure it's the pills?

ANNA: I do not know. How are you?

ERNST: I'm doing fine.

ANNA: I have known you for twelve years and always, when you asked yourself, you have answered: Well thank you, I feel excellent.

ERNST: I'm sorry, Anna. But I almost always feel excellent. Look at the practice after Easter, so we can talk. If you need to talk I mean. And then we can print out the old pills because they didn't feel bad. Right?

ANNA: No. Presently believe I we should go to table finally.

ERNST: Yes, I'm hungry like a wolf. I haven't eaten anything late this morning except two bananas for lunch.

ANNA: You are a sweet man, Ernst. I like you.

ERNST: I like you too.

The hostess calls to the table. The doors to the dining room have been opened. It is bright and beautifully set. Placement around the round table is made with strategic finesse: The host of the Countess Albrekt and the hostess take care of the count. (It's for their honor dinner is arranged: a farewell before their long journey abroad). Anna has got Elis and Andreas has got Mrs Eva. Sten Ahlman accompanies Magda Farman and the doctor may take care of Mrs Ahlman. The dinner is exceptionally well prepared. It consists of soup, dilammstek (suckling lamb steak) and some refined sweet till dessert. You drink a good vintage wine. The house's two eldest daughters help to suit up.

ANDREAS (till Eva) : Think I imagine that my wife is so beautiful. I can still be amazed, and just sit and look at her. It's abnormal, isn't it? After so many years of marriage.

EVA: Do you never have complications?

ANDREAS: Well, we do. But we have always been able to talk to each other and I think that is the main thing in a marriage.

EVA: So you are dear in your wife completely easy?

ANDREAS: Yes. That am I. (sic)

FREDRIK: You Edward, will you meet them on travels?

EDWARD: No for high Faro. It is not worth to nag. In addition, it may be a matter of time before it becomes public. And then the lords are sitting there.

FREDRIK: But the factories are not put down.

EDWARD: They change into another property. From one day to another. So that detail is already prepared. In any case, with us.

ELIS: So nice to sit here next to you.

ANNA: It was an unexpected surprise. I sometimes wonder if there is someone who knows.

ELIS: Think you Inger knows till example?

INGER: (shouting) I heard enough that you said something about me!

ELIS: ( artigt) Vi sa bara att du alltid ser till, att gästerna föräter sig!

ELIS: (polite) We just said that you always make sure that your guests get lost!

ANNA: Do you still have your good Miss Johansson? INGER: Yes only now will she stop, can you imagine!

ANNA: What are you saying ?! It was sad.

INGER: Nobody is more distressed than I am. But she has something wrong on one knee and now she will be operated and then she wants to travel to her sister in the archipelago and stay there. Yes, you know how it sounds!

ANNA: How old is she really?

INGER: She's over seventy. Charlotta little. It's probably time to invite. Do not you think my daughters are nimble little maids?

ERNST: Charlotta has grown enormously.

INGER: Dear, it's a young lady now.

ELIS: You have such a beautiful neck... Beware, so I don't kiss you.

ANNA: (Smooth) Andreas!

ANDREAS: Yes, my darling.

ANNA: Elis is sitting here saying that he wants to kiss me in the neck. Well, don't he get that?

ANDREAS: (laughs) Because you ask so kindly, it may well pass. But I don't want any scandal.

EVA: Imagine your marriage is almost the only happy marriages I know of. Well, it's strange.

ANDREAS: Your and Elis are fine.

EVA: I'm gone so much. I have pain all the time, do you understand and then I have to take pills and then I become a little stunned. It makes that Elis and I comes in from each other. But now we have found something.

ANDREAS: Well, you've found something.

EVA: Yes, actually, it is Elis, who has found it. And I think that is so touching. He goes with me to Bad Gottheim and stays there for two months. He takes his entire vacation and three weeks leave, for that we should be able to be together incessantly. He will write an investigation and take all material with him and a secretary, you know our excellent Mrs. Wettstein and so has he rented one villa with view of Lugano lake, so we don't have to stay in the spa hotel. I can take the car every morning to the treatment, doesn't it get amazing? Do you know when Elis came home and told me this and said he had already arranged everything, I was so happy that I started crying. It's typically Elis, to come up with such sudden surprises. Cheers Elis!

ELIS: Cheers my wife! How you look cheerful outward.

EVA: Yes, we have our secrets Andreas and I.

ANNA: That is always what I have suspected. (Laughing) Cheers Eva. We'll talk to you later, right?

ANDREAS: Eva told just about your fine idea. That's what you should do.

ELIS: Yes, just that. Toast Andreas.

ANNA: (smiling) What is that great idea, Elis?

ELIS: It's just that I follow Eva to the health center, so she doesn't have to be alone there.

ANNA: (smiling) How long will you be away?

ELIS: I would think five, six weeks.

ANNA: (smile) When do you travel?

ELIS: Today a week.

ANNA: Can you be away so long from your work?

ELIS: I have an investigation in progress. I'll take it with me.

ANNA: (smiling) It was a great surprise, Elis.

ELIS: (blushes) I understand you think so.

The dinner finally ends. Anna follows Elis into the salon and speaks a few minutes with Inger Sernelius. She stands with a coffee cup in her hand and the smile remains. Slowly, the feeling of unreality comes, a slight poisoning. Elis turns to her and asks her if she doesn't feel good. She shakes her head, but says she feels great, that she should just go and powder herself. Inger takes her under her arm and says quickly that they can go to her room together. There is quiet and cool and (a) primed (condition) for the night. The bedside lamp burns, it smells good and clean. Anna asks Inger not to light the ceiling light. She is sitting on the bed and breathing deeply again and again. She strokes her palm over the blanket, which she wanted to smooth out an invisible fold. Inger asks if she is pregnant. Anna smiles and says sorry, she is not. Inger asks her if she wants a tablet. She doesn't want that. Inger asks if Anna simply wants to be alone for a little while. Anna nods gratefully to the round, friendly woman. Inger pats her a little on arm and rustles out completely tranquil in her fine evening dress, sitting too closely over the bottom and bosom.

They travel home through quiet, dark front streets. Anna runs. Andreas sits comfortably reclined, has taken off his glasses, is a little drunk. They do not care to drive the car into the garage, even though it is cold and snowy. In the living room the TV is on, it roars and crackles. In a large chair, Henrik sits and sleeps wrapped in a blanket and with a Coca-Cola next to him on the floor. Anna accompanies him quickly to bed, he whines a little and gets water to drink. Before he falls asleep, he complains that the TV was so scary. He gives the mother a sleepy kiss. Veronica sleeps with an array of dolls and bears and favorite books in bed. Anna picks up most things and sneaks from there. On the way to bathroom pull her off the it long dress. The man comes from the other room and embraces her from behind. She turns to him and starts kissing him with sudden vigor, yet smiling and playful.

When Andreas left her, she has trouble falling asleep. The body resists, she is scared and tense. The thoughts wander, she lies in the dark and listens. She wakes up violently in her husband standing in the room, she glances at him in the floating night light, becomes very scared.

ANNA: What is it, Andreas? Are you sick?

ANDREAS: Sorry if I scared you.

ANNA: What is it?

ANDREAS: I want to talk to you.

ANNA: Now!

ANDREAS: Yes, right now.

Anna sits up and lights the lamp. Andreas is very upset.

ANNA: What time is it anyway? Half past three. Lord God, what is it?

ANDREAS: I've been deceiving you.

ANNA: Have you deceived me?

There will be a few moments of deep confusion. The two spouses consider each other. Anna knows how her cheeks begin to heat. Andreas sits down on the chair away at the dressing table. He arranges the objects on the line and on the stage.

ANDREAS: I don't understand how it went. I was up with Ernst to talk a little with him about my health. I felt so miserable, but he had just gone and his nurse remained, you know Sister Ester. And so - yes, nothing happened. But then called me to her in going in the morning and asked if she had lust of a drive and it had she for her man was out with the children. At the cinema or whatever it was. And then I picked her up and so we went out the country for a while. Then we went to Ernst's reception and there we were with each other. It has never happened before on honor's words, I have never deceived you in the years we have been married, there has been no reason.

ANNA: Has there been reason now?

ANDREAS: No, I don't understand.

ANNA: Are you in love with her?

ANDREAS: She is beautiful and kind and warm and yes kind and warm. But I'm not in love.

ANNA: Do you think it will happen again?

ANDREAS: How should I know?

ANNA: So you can't answer! Do you or don't you want it to happen again?

ANDREAS: I don't want it to happen again. I'm in love with you. I don't want to be with anyone else. The whole situation is completely unreal. What scares me is that it could happen at all. And that I don't know why.

ANNA: Why do you sound so submissive? Do you have a bad conscience? Have you that?

ANDREAS: I have a bad conscience. That's why I'm talking about everything.

ANNA: Are you sure it wouldn't have been better that you had kept quiet?

ANDREAS: (amazed) But we have agreed to...

ANNA: Isn't it just something you say. (turns over) No, I didn't mean anything. Everything is so hopelessly tangled.

ANDREAS: (confused) How do you mean now?

ANNA: Nothing.

ANDREAS: Yes, I ask you. Say what you think.

ANNA: I do not want your sincerity.

ANDREAS: Yes, but I have deceived you.

ANNA: You say you love me and you're not going to do it again. Well then. It is enough. We never talk about the matter again. It's forgotten.

Anna cannot look at her husband without fingers on the nightstand lamp screen. There will be a long, uncertain silence.

An hour later. Andreas has picked up a glass of cognac. The bottle stands next to him on the floor.

ANDREAS: Andreas Fromm and his wife Anna. There were no more successful people. We were talented, we were young and we had money and so we were really in love with each other, right? And we had agreed that we would do something magnificent, never before seen by our marriage. And so suddenly or slowly without noticing how it has happened.

ANNA: It is not like that.

ANDREAS: A comfortable failure. All the same, right? But the failure is a fact.

ANNA: (Refrigerated) What do you do about it?

ANDREAS: What you sound indifferent.

ANNA: How do you want me to sound then?

ANDREAS: I want you to understand what I'm talking about.

ANNA: I understand what you're talking about, but I think not as you. I think you whine, what do you want? Should I feel sorry for you? Is it pardon you want have? I forgive you. Here you are. Then you can go in and lie down and sleep for a few hours, then you see that life fiasco feels much less onerous in the morning.

ANDREAS: Wouldn't we be able to talk to you and me. Listen to each other, take us to a marital consensus. Didn't we say that before? Everything could solve itself, only one talked to each other.

ANNA: If you no longer know each other, you cannot speak.

ANDREAS: So you mean we don't know each other.

ANNA: I don't know you and I know you don't know me.

ANDREAS: But can we not get to know each other?

ANNA: Would you want that?

ANDREAS: A thousand times more than this.

ANNA: Is not it better that we try to live each one's life in parallel without penetrating each other's territory. Each behaves as well as he understands. So we take shared responsibility for one another. Isn't it much wiser in any case?

ANDREAS: I do not think so.

ANNA: You don't think so?

ANDREAS: I think you and I have the conditions for another life.

ANNA: You don't know what you're talking about.

ANDREAS: Don't say things all the time. It's just humiliating. I'm trying to reach you. The words may not be the right ones, but I want to reach you!

ANNA: It's like you've read everything in a quiz for ladies.

ANDREAS: So it must be then. I'm going to bed now.

Pause. He gets up and walks toward the door.

ANNA: No, stop. (pause) If I could trust you really mean what you say.

ANDREAS: I know anyway that I love you.

ANNA: (with deep spiritual shaking) If I could believe it.

ANDREAS: You could try.

ANNA: (after a long break) I have lived with another man for eight years. I'm not in love with him, but I'm addicted to him. He satisfies me or how to say. We usually meet a few times a week. It has been going on for eight years. I have lied to you all the time, when I have said that I am well with you. It has never been good. Now you know everything. Now you know how I got it.

Andreas sits a few moments and fingers on his nails, he looks at his hands, on the carpet and the wall. Long silence.

ANDREAS: Who is he?

ANNA: Do I have to say that?

ANDREAS: I do not know. It depends on what we intend to do with this truth outbreak.

ANNA: It's Elis.

ANDREAS: So. Elis would not go away in a few months with his wife? Did you know that he was traveling or was it a surprise to you?

ANNA: He was too cowardly to talk about it. Or maybe he thought it didn't matter. But I had never intended to tell you about Elis. You yourself asked me.

ANDREAS: I understand exactly. It suited perfectly, right now to start a marriage based on the truth. Now it was worth the effort. Now that your lover has given up for good. That you do not see the pattern.

ANNA: (furiously) If so. Does it matter? If the motives are bad and low and morally questionable, what does it do. Is it you who decides what is good or bad? Do you have any kind of moral advantage?

She's silent. Andreas knocks on the cognac glass with his index finger so that a sounding sound arises.

ANNA: I can handle myself on my own. I do not need you. The children I am capable of taking care of alone. Don't you think I wanted to live with you after all. I didn't want to break our marriage. I belonged to you. Don't you understand that?

ANDREAS: (screaming) I have trusted you. There has never been anyone else but you. Try to get it into your fucking high-fat thick skull.

Suddenly he embraces her and kisses her. She gets scared first, but lets herself be jerked. They tumble down on the bed and kiss each other. Caress each other clumsy. Then gets she of one cold, lies first still, then begins to fight against to come up. He gets furious and starts to beat her. She scratches him in the face and screams. She comes loose and rises. He sits left on the bed puffing and broken-clawed. They stare at each other with frightened surprise. Then goes him in till himself. When, after a while, she hears him coming through the hall, she locks the door. He takes the lock knob and asks her to open. She is not responding. He asks her again to open. She says no, I don't open. Then he shouts: Open for hell otherwise it goes bad. I'm not going to open, she screams back. It will be quiet for a few moments. He moves away, but right back. Then sees her the axe edge in the door's middle, then one time more. She immediately turns the key and opens: you are not wise, what are you? I do not want to hurt you, he says, out of breath and trembling. I don't want to hurt you, but you can't lock yourself in. She grips of a hatred, that almost detonates her. Should you not beat me now then, or should you beat to death me. Forgive me that I hit you, it wasn't the point, he answers confused. I don't know what took me, it was short-circuited. Forgive me, please. Should I forgive? she says calmly and with a foreign voice. You can go to hell with your pardon. They are staring at each other without power. He releases the ax into the floor, takes her in the shoulders and pushes her up against the wall, striking her face. She gets more and more dizzy in her head, her nose bleeds and she tries to protect herself with her hands. She shuffles back against the wall to the floor. Then she begins to vomit. He has sat himself on the bed. The rage has gone out of him, he's just scared. He tries to take her shoulders, but she shouts violently. Do not touch me. Don't take me. Lie down, he says, then will I wipe up. If I don't have to see you, I feel better, she answers and gets up on her knees. Despite her rejection, he gently takes her under her arms and leads her to the bed. She is bloody on her face, on her hands, in her hair. I have to wash myself, she says and wavering in the bathroom, locks in herself and begins flush and splash. He goes out into the kitchen and picks up a scrubber and bucket. She comes in again, when he is on all fours and wiping up. She settles deep in the bed. He takes the bucket out, comes back with a blanket, which he spreads over her.

A few hours later. It has begun to brighten, and it rains heavily. Anna looks up Andreas in his room.

ANNA: I have thought a little forward, if you are interested.

ANDREAS: Yes.

ANNA: We let everything be as usual these months, which are left. In mid-June, I travel to Poland on my scholarship. Then I can stay away for half a year. Under the time can we think after on where one's direction, how we want it.

ANDREAS: I don't need two months to know how I want it. I can say that right now.

ANNA: Can you?

ANDREAS: I do not want to live with a human being who has lied to me continuously throughout our marriage.

ANNA: So you don't even want to try?

ANDREAS: It is totally unthinkable.

ANNA: Yes, then there is nothing to talk about.

ANDREAS: It is remarkable what it shows up a lot. I do not get it, how I should clear it. Every thought, every memory, every situation is poisoned. Everything falls apart, every time we have been with each other and you have said that it has been fine. It is so disgusting that I can hardly touch it with my thoughts. All of our talks about fidelity, that one would be sincere. I do not even know if I am the father of the children. I wish you had never said anything.

ANNA: I wish that.

ANDREAS: I think you have to lie and deceive in order to live together. How the hell is otherwise possible?

ANNA: We are the ones who have come crazy from the beginning.

ANDREAS: Everyone comes crazy. It's all crazy. It is crazy basically and therefore it goes to hell. It's crazy from start to finish.

ANNA: (suddenly) Dearest, dearest Andreas.

ANDREAS: No, damn it, don't talk to me in that tone. Then I don't know where to go. Please stay on your own floor. Immerse yourself not your boundless generosity and cheerful outlook on life.

ANNA: Now you play such a bad theater that I almost have to laugh.

ANDREAS: The truth Anna, the truth is that there have been holes in me. There was nothing left.

ANNA: You. I have an idea. We make a good sandwich. It's sad to admit, but I'm hungry. Aren't you? A little hungry?

ANDREAS: By all means.

ANNA: Food always helps.

ANDREAS: Once, I asked you, if you didn't think I was dry and boring, remember that? If you didn't think it was sad with a man who was so conventional, you always argued that I was so conventional. Do you remember what you said that time? For me, you are the best man in the world. You said that. Was it just a lie? Or comfort?

ANNA: Not that too!

ANDREAS: Was it a lie?

ANNA: You're hopeless.

ANDREAS: So.

ANNA: You're hopeless.

ANDREAS: Yes. Perhaps.

She looks at her husband with cold eyes. He meets her gaze with gray shadows, touching her fingertips at the wound on her cheek.

ANNA: Should we make that sandwich now?

ANDREAS: (tired) As you like.

But she doesn't move. He asks her low, what she thinks about, but she doesn't answer.

ANNA: I can take responsibility for my children, that's what it should be. And I have to take responsibility for myself, that is also obvious.

Andreas trying mediate after what he should say at this specific moment. But he can't formulate himself. His fingertips touch the wounds of the cheek. It will be a long silence. In the end he finds something to say. He knows himself that this is not the right word in the current situation. But he hears himself say: I do not know how it will be without you. She shakes her head as if to ask him to be quiet, not to humiliate himself.

ANDREAS: What is it, Anna?

ANNA: It hurts.

ANDREAS: Are you not feeling well?

ANNA: I do not want to. No, I do not want to.

ANDREAS: What do you want?

She does not respond, but always looks at him. He intends to answer something, but stops.

Fårö in May 1969

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

Afterword by Jan Holmberg

Ingmar Bergman has often been accused (or hailed, depending on who you ask) to be untimely. It is hardly fair either criticism or praise, because Bergman is much more than what is usually acknowledged has been quite anxious to follow his time. Ibland rentav ängslig. For example, in the late sixties, he took quite a big impression of the new wave of film aesthetics, its VERFREMDUNG [Alienation] effects and community engagement. It is noticeable in THE LIE, which already in the beginning breaks the illusion that has not even begun by letting its characters turn directly to the reader/spectator. The fact that THE RESERVE has rarely been noticed in Bergman literature is because it never became a film in his own direction (it was Jan Molander who made a television film of the manuscript 1970). But the film story is undoubtedly Bergmanesque, and was also published as such together with THE RITE, THE TOUCH and CRIES AND WHISPERS in the book Movie Stories 3 (1973). The text originated in the workbook's notes in 1968 around the planned project "Annandreas", which immediately became two different stories of two different couples named Anna and Andreas: the PASSION OF ANNA (1968) and THE RESERVE, which was completed in May 1969. In retrospect, it is almost at hand to consider THE RESERVE as a preliminary study of the much-known SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE with which it has great similarities. But it is much more than a sketch. Targets are indeed common for the two pieces, and it's not just the marriage institution itself, but the bourgeois indifference and narrow-mindedness in general. But the differences between the two works are interesting. Of SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE is it spouse Johan that deceives his wife Marianne; in THE RESERVE it is Anna who has a lover. Over home time is it as that Bergman from the one marriage portrayal till the other has cast about the traditional sexual roles, switched between active and passive, between subject and object. "Is not it better," says Anna to Andreas in THE RESERVE, "that we try to live each one's life in parallel without penetrating each other's territory. Each behaves as well as HE understands." The emphasis, which is mine, wants to emphasize how Anna's choice of pronoun suggests that Bergman is fully aware of gender as a social construction. "She" can be "he", "Anna" can be "Andreas", like me or you could be another. The fact that Bergman abandoned the work name "Annandreas" was probably wise (it sounds a little clever), but the figure of thought remains. Of SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE is the relationship Johan-Marianne hermetic. The outside world affects them, but is only suggested: their respective work as a researcher and a lawyer, the two daughters, Johan's mistress Paula and so on are mentioned, but no more. In THE RESERVE, on the other hand, the profession, children, lover Elis etc. gestalt, agent and function. It is hardly a coincidence that other impressions of the outside world in SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE consist of fiction, as when the couple have been to the theater and seen Ibsen's A DOLL'S HOUSE. THE RESERVE refers contrariwise to a day's current world event. Annas and Andreas's reaction to the news is also significant: Martin Luther King is murdered, says Anna. What are you saying, is it true? Well, Henrik came in and told me he had heard it on the radio, I did not think it was true." As all Bergman figures are, they are fully occupied with themselves and horrible messages from the great world are barely feasible, as would be the scenes in a nasty theater play. Is that true?

0 notes