#all the other non nurses and nuns next

[nunonabun]

More CtM Textposts - Part 2: Nurses [Part 1: Nuns]

[girlactionfigure]

Righteous Swedish Nun

Canonized as a Saint

Elizabeth Hesselblad was a Swedish nurse and nun who transformed her convent into a sanctuary for persecuted Jews during World War II, saving dozens of lives.

Born to a Lutheran family in Sweden in 1870, Elizabeth Hesselblad was the fifth of thirteen children. As a young woman, she moved to the United States for economic opportunity. Elizabeth trained as a nurse and served a population of poor immigrants, many of whom where Catholic. It was her first introduction to the Catholic faith, and she was deeply inspired. She converted to Catholicism, describing the experience as “In an instant the love of God was poured over me.” Elizabeth returned to her home country and became a nun. Inspired by the life of St. Bridget of Sweden, she established a new religious order known as the Bridgettine Sisters. Dedicated to caring for the sick, Elizabeth opened a Bridgettine convent where patients without money were treated with compassion and dignity.

Charismatic and passionate, Elizabeth inspired many others with her faith and good works. She served as Mother Superior to many other nuns who joined her religious order, and affiliated convents were established in England, Italy and India.

During World War II, Elizabeth was horrified at the persecution of European Jews, and resolved to do whatever she could to save them. All of the convents she’d created became sanctuaries for Jewish refugees.

Elizabeth herself settled in Rome, where she served as Mother Superior at the convent there. She personally hid multiple Jewish families, including twelve members of the Piperno-Sed families whom she hid from Dec 1943 until the city’s liberation on June 4, 1944. Years later 87-year-old Piero Piperno remembered, “She saved our lives, but above all, in those dark times, she recognized the dignity of our religion.” It is estimated that at least sixty Jews, and other refugees from German racial oppression, were saved by Elizabeth and other nuns in the religious order she created.

After the war, Elizabeth continued her work helping the poor and sick. She was also known for promoting  interfaith dialogue and respect between Catholics and Protestants, and between Christians and non-Christians.

Elizabeth’s righteousness was recognized by Pope John Paul II, who proclaimed her to be a Venerable Servant of God in 1999. She was beatified the next year, and in 2015 Pope Francis canonized her as a saint. Elizabeth became the first Swede to be sainted since St. Bridget over 600 years earlier. She is known as St. Maria Elizabeth.

Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem honored as Elizabeth Hesselblad as Righteous Among the Nations in 2004. She was praised for never trying to convert the Jews she rescued but, “rather insisting that they say their Hebrew prayers and fulfill other obligations of their religion.” In 2015 one of Elizabeth’s convents was declared a “House of Life” by the Raoul Wallenberg Foundation.

Elizabeth died in Rome in 1957 at age 87. Her final words to her sister nuns were, “Go to Heaven with hands full of love and virtues.”

For her exceptional righteousness and bravery in saving Jews, we honor St. Maria Elizabeth Hesselblad as this week’s Thursday Hero.

Accidental Talmudist

[law-iess]

❝ fix you ❞

genre: horror, gore, psychological thriller, chanlix-centric, au, non-idol synopsis: chan likes to fix things. tw/cw: major character death, disturbing content, mental illness, implied murder, profanity, implied and semi-explicit gory themes word count: 1.16k

author's note/s: requested by a dear friend of mine (to keep my writing streak up). completely off the top of my head, haven't had the chance to edit this. let me know if i missed anything!

I liked to know how things worked. Knowing how they worked meant knowing how to fix them when they were broken.

I liked fixing things.

There's nothing that gives me so much joy when I bring the kids' old toy back to life— there were only so many to go around in the orphanage—or having the dishwasher start up again after the nuns had complained of it breaking down.

Felix was the guy who lived next door to me after I finally moved out of the orphanage (they'd seen me trying to help fix a kid's broken leg and decided it was better they take care of it and that I left). He was a funny guy, a decent one, except he was too difficult to read. He was a bright fellow, really. I guess I was naturally drawn to him because he saw the world in some light that I didn't. I figured that's what growing up an orphan feels like.

Felix didn't know anything about fixing things though.

"Chan," he'd call me in the middle of the day. "I'm really so sorry to bother but my car broke down this morning and the other neighbors said to take it to you before the shop, said the shop might rip me off or something. Would it be okay if I asked you to come down and take a look? I'll compensate, I swear."

"Nah, it's all good bro," I reassured him. "I'll head there right now."

Sometimes he'd call me for the simplest things like broken door knobs or a stuck sink. I'm happy to help, of course. I'm not really doing much. He treats me to pizza after. Sometimes we go to the movies. He buys me stuff, like the black hoodie I always wear to work. He's a sweet soul like that. I'd say we were close enough to be really good friends.

It was in the middle of the night when he called me up. It'd been raining so hard. At first I thought he was calling for a leak in the roof or something so I had answered with a very clipped tone. I didn't get much sleep.

"Yeah?"

"Chan, I know it's late but can you come over for a bit?"

His request wasn't anything weird, I've heard him say it a lot of times before, but his voice was. It sounded like it had been trembling. I'm pretty sure I heard sniffles through the other end. Of course, I jerked up and the sleep had bolted from my body.

"I'm on my way."

I arrive at his door in five minutes despite the pouring rain and the fact that I had to pull on a completely different set of clothes— I wasn't going to charge out into the storm in my pajamas. He answers the door quietly and motions me in.

He'd broken up with his boyfriend. I watched as he sat back down onto his sofa, nursing a glass of scotch. He motioned me to sit. Handed me a glass of my own.

"I don't know where it went wrong," he said after we drained the bottle and switched to gin. "We were so happy. I wish I knew where it started to go bad. Now I don't know how to fix things."

I stared at him for a good long minute, taking in everything. I noted his red eyes, his runny nose, the blotchiness on his cheeks. I digested every line of dried tears, the way his throat bobbed whenever he down the drink in his hand. He had been shaking so bad, the encore of endless sobbing before he must've come to his right mind and call me over.

He was right too.

He'd manage to fake it for a long time, behind those smiles and hugs. He was an expert, I'll give him that. A lot of things didn't know they needed help until they broke down, like a computer or a loose screw in the ceiling fan. His eyes had dulled, all the laughter burnt out of his lungs. He just sat there, dejected and mournful like the world had collapsed onto him.

Felix was broken, I realized. And there were so many things to fix.

The alcohol certainly made me woozy but not woozy enough for me to bend down in front of him and place a hand on his knee.

"You know..." I could hear the slur in my words. "I think you need something to help you."

He met my gaze with wide, teary eyes. "You think?"

I nodded at him, giving his knee a gentle squeeze. "Yes, Lix. I think you're a little broken inside. But that's okay. I'll get you fixed up in no time. You just need to trust me. Do you trust me?"

He kept his look on me, slowly nodding. I offer him a smile and ruffle the hair on his head.

"That's good," I told him. "I'll fix you up, no problem."

That's when I smash my glass on the side of his head and everything goes black.

—

"I'm not fucking around." The man in front of me slams his papers down on the table. His voice bounces across the cramped room. I flit my eyes from him to the mirror in front of me; to the possible more eyes behind them.

"He was your friend, wasn't he?" He wrenches his folder open and whips it to face me. "Why would you do this?"

I stare at Felix's photo in front of me. I shrug. Nothing's wrong with it. I don't understand why he's getting so worked up.

"For the last time, Chan." The man grits his teeth. "Why. Did. You. Do. It?"

I inhale through my nose and meet his eyes, my eyebrows shooting up in question. "He was broken, officer," I say. "I just fixed him up a bit."

"What the hell did you do to his face?"

I look back down at the photo. Felix is staring back at me, grinning from ear to ear. I can still see the lines that I drew on his face. The knife was a little dull but the jagged edges do become of him. He looks like Jack Skellington. He loved that movie.

I shrug again. "He was crying so bad. I just made him smile."

"And his eyes?" He shudders in front of me. I don't understand why. It's extremely hot in this cramped room.

"Oh those? I told you. He was crying so bad so they were so red. I wanted to clean them out and put them back but the stain wouldn't come off." The officer in front of me is backing away, shaking his head at me. I tilt my head at him. Did he want a simpler answer?

I shoot a glance back down at Felix's photo, at his dark eyes, or at least, the dark places where his eyes used to be... after I sewed the lids open since they always drooped over his face.

"They just didn't really look like eyes anymore so I just got rid of them for him."

[ladyfogg]

Heal My Wounds - Part 1

Heal My Wounds - Part 1 of 3

Fic Summary:  After you meet the infamous Kit Walker, you realize that he cannot possibly be guilty of everything they say he is. Determined to treat him with kindness and compassion, you end up falling hard for the handsome man with gorgeous dark eyes. But you both are playing a dangerous game and you must decide just how far you’re willing to go to save the man you love. Part 2. AHS Masterlist. 

Fic Rating: 18+

Fic Song: War by Poets of the Fall

Pairing: Kit Walker/Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, Slow Burn, tw: mental illness, tw: asylum setting, tw: violence

A/N: I ended up finishing this a lot quicker than I thought I was going to. Enjoy! For @tatestripedsweater​ and @kitwalker02​. 

You’ve seen many things during your time at Briarcliff. Being a nurse, you deal with truly awful alignments, either self-inflicted or acquired under “mysterious” circumstances. This usually means that a guard roughed the patient up or Dr. Arden can’t be bothered to treat them himself. You learn to expect the worst, not in the patient but in what they are afflicted with. In truth, your heart goes out to every one of them. Regardless of what sent them to Briarcliff, it is always your mission to treat them with the respect and dignity they deserve. 

Which is why, when you hear that the infamous Bloody Face, aka Kit Walker, has been transferred to the asylum, you try not to be concerned. You knew all about Bloody Face and what he’s done and when they arrested Kit, you aren’t ashamed to admit that your first thought was, “Good riddance!” However, you force yourself to change your tune once you learn you’ll be treating him at some point. Plenty of dangerous people had come and gone through Briarcliff’s doors. You aren’t going to treat him any differently than you would the other patients.

No matter how dangerous he is. 

It isn’t long before you find yourself face-to-face with him. He is there less than a day before he’s brought in to see you, his lip and his nose a bloody mess, the red a stark contrast to his pale skin. His appearance surprises you even though it shouldn’t. You read the papers; you’ve seen his face. Yet, in person, he’s so handsome it takes your breath away and you need a moment to compose yourself.

“What happened?” you ask Kit as the guard forces him to sit on the bed. He is bound with cuffs and chains, an overkill if you ever saw one. 

“He got into a scrape with another inmate,” the guard says in a gruff voice. “Bloody Face here got the worst of it.”

“They’re called patients, not inmates,” you correct him with a glare. “And I wasn’t asking you, I was asking Mr. Walker. That is his name, that's what he will be called while he’s under my care.”

The guard, whose name you think is Hardy, looks taken aback by your words. He is a new one who hasn’t had to deal with you yet. While many of the female staff are nuns, you are not. You are there purely for medical purposes, not religious ones. Therefore, you have no reason to force politeness to the guards. After all, why should you? They never show you any. The sooner Hardy learns you will not tolerate his bullshit, the better. 

You have been talked to by Sister Jude several times regarding your attitude but since you are appointed by the state, there is nothing more she can do. Eventually, the both of you came to a mutual understanding. In fact, you suspect she admires your non-nonsense attitude as it most often gets results. If there is a patient in your infirmary, you can call the shots. Of course, the male guards don’t like that, but they can get fucked. 

When you turn back at Kit, he has a surprised look on his face. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” you ask. 

“Just my face,” he answers. “And my hands.”

You glance down and see his bruises and bloody knuckles. Clearly, he defended himself but given the fact that the other patient hasn’t been brought it, you assume Kit got the worst of it. You go about collecting what you need to disinfect his wounds. 

To Hardy, you say, “Remove his chains.”

“No can do. Not for this one.”

“His knuckles are bleeding, and I need to examine his hands to make sure nothing is broken or fractured. Remove his chains.”

There is an intense stare-off between you and the guard before he relents and unbinds Kit. Once his restraints are gone, you wave Hardy off. “You may step outside.”

“Now hold on a minute! This man—”

“Has rights. He deserves the same privacy as every other patient. Besides, I won’t have you getting in my way while I patch him up. You can step outside and wait. I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

Hardy snorts, annoyed and done with arguing. “Fine by me. Don’t complain if you get killed.”

“I won’t, considering if that happens, I won’t be able to. Or are you not aware how death works?”

With a sneer, he stalks away, and you heard him mutter, “Stupid bitch.�� under his breath.

“Smart bitch actually,” you call after him. “And shut the door on your way out, please.” It slams behind him and you return your attention to your patient. 

Kit looks at you with awe. “Forgive me for saying so, doc. But you’re one tough broad.”

You laugh, pulling a chair over so you can sit in front of Kit. “I’m not a doctor, I’m a nurse. And you have to be though, especially in this place. The gentle don’t last long. Now, let’s take a look at those hands.”

Kit extends his hands, and you take them in your own, examining his wounded knuckles. After moving each finger and his wrists, you determine there was nothing broken or fractured so you set about cleaning the scrapes. Kit watches you the entire time. Even though you don’t look up from your work, you can feel his eyes on you. 

“I think you’re the only person in this place who’s not afraid of me,” he says after a stretch of silence. “This is the first time I’ve been treated like a person since this whole thing started.”

“Should I be afraid of you, Mr. Walker?” you glance up and are immediately taken in by the soft expression on his face. 

“Call me Kit,” he says. “And I never hurt anybody. All the things they say I did are lies. I have no idea what happened to those girls and I have no idea what happened to Alma other than they took her.”

You consider his words for a moment and pull away, letting his hands fall to his lap. The bloody towel you hold is tossed onto your tray of supplies before you sit back and cross your arms. “Alright then, Kit. Tell me why I should believe you.”

Kit doesn’t seem to know what to say at first. You’ve dealt with numerous patients who swear up and down they didn’t do what they were accused of. Most of them had. Because of that, you are pretty damn good at reading people because even the best liar has a tell. An eye twitch, a knee bounce, a lip bite…anything. You trained yourself to look for these things because, in your line of work, it means the difference between life or death. 

The man in front of you doesn’t look like he’s hiding anything. More to the point, you don’t feel scared of him. You aren’t made of stone; you feel fear just like everyone else. You are simply better at masking it. However, that violent vibe you’ve learned to sense doesn’t radiate from Kit and as you look into his deep brown eyes, all you see is fear, frustration, anger, and sadness. They all pass one after another on a loop. 

“I don’t have a reason,” Kit finally says after a long pause. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t believe me either. But you showed me kindness no one else has and I’m grateful. Really.”

“I think this place wouldn’t be half as bad as those colleagues of mine showed a little kindness too.” You go back to work, cleaning his hands. “This is going to sting a bit.”

Kit flinches as you pour alcohol over his cuts. Carefully, you clean them some more before you are sure they won’t get infected. Once that’s done, you wrap them in bandages. 

“There, good as new. Just try to keep those bandages dry for a bit. You can take them off tomorrow to let the cuts breathe. Let me make sure your nose isn't broken.”

Kit remain still as you gently cup his face, turning his head left to right in order to take stock of his injuries. Being so close, you realize how handsome he truly is. That jawline is to die for, and his dark curls looks so soft, you want to run your fingers through them. Once that thought entered your brain, you scold yourself. He is your patient and is in the asylum to see if he is fit to stand trial for murder. Thinking about him in any way other than professional is a dangerous game. And very stupid.

“That bad huh?” Kit asks with a slight smirk. 

It isn’t a malicious one by any means. In fact, it’s almost hesitant. Like he is afraid to be so comfortable joking with you. You don’t blame him considering what he has gone through. You offer him a smile in return. 

“Just a split lip and it doesn’t look like your nose is broken. It’s not even swollen. There shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”

You grab a fresh towel and dip it in warm water before gingerly cleaning the blood from his face. But before you can get far, Kit reaches up to stop you. Instinctively you freeze, worried that you may have hurt him. Maybe his nose is worse off than you originally thought?

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

Kit shakes his head. “No, I’m just…” He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say next. “I’m sorry but I just...why aren’t you scared of me?"

“You really want me to be, don’t you?”

“What? No! Of course not. I’m just…” He stops when he sees you holding back a smile. “You’re messing with me.”

You shrug and go back to your work. “A little,” you admit. “But to answer your question, I’m not scared of you because I believe you. I don’t think you killed or even hurt anyone. I just don’t sense that sort of evil in you. As for what you claim to have witnessed, that I don’t know about. But I do know crazy, Kit Walker. And you’re not it.”

It is like the remaining tension leaves his body and Kit slumps against you, a few tears running down his cheeks. Without thinking, you pull him into a tight hug, letting him rest his weary head on your shoulder. The warmth of him is invigorating and you savor the feeling. It’s been a long time since you’ve been touched in any way. Long work hours make your social life non-existent and you carefully keep your distance with your patients.

Except Kit, it seems. You don’t know why your well-constructed walls are crumbling under the weight of one interaction with one man.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” he says, his voice muffled by your uniform. “No one will listen. No one believes…”

“I’m listening. But first, sit back before you get blood all over me.”

With a weak laugh, Kit pulls away.  He wipes the tears with the back of his hand which you’re grateful for because you were about two seconds away from gently brushing them away. Pulling yourself together, you continue to clean his face while he tells you his story. It’s definitely strange. The idea of being abducted and probed was one you’d rather not think about.

But you don’t just listen to his words, you watch his expression, pay attention to the tone of his voice and his body language. Even though you’ve heard some of it through the papers, it’s different hearing it from him directly. Once he’s done, you’re even more certain he didn’t kill anyone. No one who talks about their missing wife that softly and heart felt could possibly be a vicious serial killer.

It’s his eyes that give him away. There’s so much emotion and depth, you can’t help but believe him. You wish you can explain it, but some things are beyond explanation.

“You sure I’m not crazy?” Kit asks when you don’t respond to him right away.

“After that story, you’re absolutely batshit.”

He chuckles when he realizes you aren’t serious. You pull your hand away, finally done getting rid of all the blood, but he stops you with a gentle touch to your wrist. “Thank you for listening. I could tell you weren’t judging when I spoke, and I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

“It’s not my place to judge. Only heal.” You sit back, breaking all contact with him, hoping it’ll clear your spinning head.  “There. Now you’re just as handsome as you were before. Do me a favor and at least try not to get majorly hurt again for the rest of the day?”

“He started it.”

“Everyone always starts things here. And given your current situation, it’s best to keep your head down as much as possible.”

“What’s the point? They’ve already made up their minds about me being guilty,” Kit says bitterly as you roll your tray over to the sink. He sees a pack of cigarettes on your desk and nods towards them. “Mind if I have one?”

You wave for him to go ahead as you clean up. “I wish I had words of encouragement for you. I wish I could say it will all work out. But unless they catch the real Bloody Face, your choices are either here or the electric chair.”

Kit pops a cigarette in his mouth and lights the end. “I have to see the state-appointed shrink. My last hope is to convince some head doctor that I’m not crazy.”

Your heart goes out to him. His situation really is a double-edged sword. If he proves he isn’t crazy, then they are sure to send him to trial and his death. If he keeps spouting off about strangers abducting him and his wife, then they will keep him at Briarcliff. Either way, he loses. It isn’t fair. 

“Stick to your story,” you tell him. “If it’s really the truth and that’s really what you know happened, then stick to it. I mean, it’ll probably get you confined here for life. But at least you’ll be alive.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

You don’t get to respond. The door bursts open and Sister Jude strolls in with Hardy right behind her. You wonder how long he waited outside before running to tattle on you.

“Why is this patient not restrained?” she asks in that stern voice of hers. 

“I needed to clean his hands and couldn’t very well do that when they were bound,” you say. “He’s all set now.”

“In the future, I would appreciate it if you would leave the door open. No young woman should be alone with this one,” Sister Jude says, motioning to Kit. “Not until he’s been properly medicated.”

“He deserves just as much privacy as any of us do when being medically treated.”

“Not here. Not under my roof,” Sister Jude counters. “I like you, girl, but don’t push me on this. Kit Walker may have the looks of an angel but he’s far from it.”

“She didn’t do nothing wrong,” Kit says angrily.

Sister Jude motions for Hardy to grab Kit. Anger courses through your veins when you see how he is manhandled. “Hey, be careful! I don’t want to have to treat a dislocated shoulder,” you say.

Kit sends you a grateful smile which Sister Jude unfortunately notices. She steps up to him and in a low voice says, “Quit your leering! You don’t fool me, Kit Walker. You can keep spouting that innocent act all you’d like but I know there’s darkness in your soul.”

Kit’s body tenses and you see him clench his fists in anger. The nun yanks his cigarette out of his mouth and puts it out on your desk. 

What a bitch.

As he is led away, Kit dares to look back at you and you see the glimmer of another smile before he is gone. The empty room suddenly seems more so without him there. It’s strange how comfortable you feel around him, especially considering the circumstances. After cleaning up the remnants of his cigarette, you sit back at your desk. But focusing is not in the cards for you. The rest of the day, you find yourself constantly sidetracked by the handsome brown-haired man with the deep brown eyes. So much so that you get angry with yourself.

You are hardly ever swayed by just a pretty face. Then again, there’s more to Kit than that. Although, it certainly helps. The way he stood up for you even when he was in trouble spoke volumes about who he is a person. You don’t think there is a selfish bone in that man’s body.

The next day during meds, you don’t see him in the Day Room with the others. It suddenly occurs to you that after the fight the day before, he probably was thrown in solitary. You hate solitary being used for any of your patients but the thought of Kit in a small dark room, bound and alone makes your heart break in your chest. All you can do is hope he’ll be out of there soon. 

At least three days pass before you see him again, mostly because you spend most of that time in the infirmary rather than in the common areas. It’s early morning and you are enjoying a rare moment of silence when the door opens, and Kit is led in. He’s bleeding from a cut on his forehead, which has already begun to bruise and swell. 

“What happened?” you demand as you leap to your feet. 

The guard, a brute named Dixon who you can’t stand, forces Kit onto one of the beds. “He slipped and fell.”

You doubt it. Your eyes slide over to look at Kit, who gives you a subtle shake of his head. “Oh really?” you ask Dixon, narrowing your eyes in distrust. “This seems like a pretty big bump just to happen from a slip.”

“Just treat him so I can get him back with the others,” Dixon orders. 

“He hit his head. I’m going to have to keep him here for a few hours to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”

“Fine.” Dixon shoves Kit until he was laying on the bed. When he reaches for the restraints, Kit fights back. 

“No! Let me go!” Kit struggles against him.

“Those aren’t necessary,” you declare, crossing the room to try to stop Dixon. 

But the guard isn’t having any of it. The next thing you know, he pushes you away, hard enough that you trip over your feet and fall right on your ass.

“You son of a bitch!” Kit exclaims. He leaps up and punches Dixon square in the jaw.  

What happens next is a flurry of blows and swears as the men fight each other. Knowing this can only end poorly for Kit, you manage to get back up before prying the two apart. “Enough!” you snap. “No fighting in my infirmary!”

Dixon is practically snarling as he wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t scare me, Bloody Face. If I had my way, you’d be in the furnace by now.”

Kit makes a move to go at him, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. “Mr. Walker, lay down so Dixon can bind you. If you don’t, I know the right injection that’ll make you so tired, you’ll wake up next week.”

Kit’s eyebrows knit together as he looks at you with concern. You throw him a subtle wink. Breathing heavily, he sits back on the bed and allows Dixon to restrain him. Even though it pains you to do so, you help to keep up appearances. But you don’t tighten them as much as you should. Kit’s jaw is clenched as he watches Dixon’s movements, as if he’s waiting for him to attack again.

Once Kit is secured, you reach into your pocket. Unbeknownst to the guards, you carry around a sharpened scalpel for your own protection and the second Dixon lets his guard down, you press it to his neck, making him halt his movements.

“Listen here, you sick fuck,” you growl. “If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll shove this so far into your neck you’ll have to take your meals through a tube. Are we clear?”

Dixon sneers and takes a step back. “Whatever you say, woman. Call us when this psycho is ready to go back to his cell. And I’d be careful who you threaten. You wouldn’t want to end up like one of your patients, now would you?”

His threats send a chill down your spine, but you keep your hand steady, the scalpel still pointed at him as he backs away. It’s not until he’s out the door that you cross the room so you can lock it behind him.

“Are you alright?” Kit asks the moment it’s clear the two of you are alone.

You cross the room, pocketing the sharp instrument as you go. “I’m fine, Kit. Don’t worry about me.” As quick as you can, you undo his bindings. “Sorry about this. I fucking hate using bindings, but it was the only way to get Dixon to leave. He’s got a nasty streak in him; I’d stay clear if I were you. Are you okay? What happened to your head?”

“That asshole smashed my face into the wall,” he says as he sits up, rubbing his wrists. “He caught me wandering out of the Day Room.”

“Now why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” you ask, hands on your hips. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your head down?”

“I just needed some peace and quiet. On my own terms and not in a dark dirty cell. Besides, others wander. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because the others aren’t wanted for murder. They mean to make an example out of you, Kit.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You sigh and head to the icebox in the corner of the room. As you put together an icepack for him, you say, “These guards will look for any excuse to get rough. And they especially have it out for you. You have to be careful.”

“I hate this. I hate all of it. I feel like I’m going crazy. My head is so cloudy, and I can barely feel anything.”

“Those are the meds. Meant to keep you docile.” You carry the ice pack over to him along with supplies to fix up his head wound. “And suppress other impulses.”

“It’s inhumane, that’s what it is.” Kit barely makes a face as you clean the cut and dress it. “How am I supposed to defend myself if I don’t even feel like me? I think I’m slipping, doc.”

“I told you, I’m not a doctor.”

“Well, what should I call you then? You never gave me your name.”

You tell him your name and press the icepack to the bump on his head, “Here, hold this. Your nose is bleeding…again.”

Kit does as he’s told. After a moment, he says your name. It’s soft and beautiful coming from his lips and you can barely focus long enough to hear his question. “Can I confess something to you?”

“I’m no priest or nun.” You start to dab at his nose with a damp towel.

“It’s not that kind of confession. I wasn’t just wandering for the sake of wandering. I was trying to come see you.”

You pause, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes flickering up to meet his. “Why?”

“I feel safe here.”

You go back to your work. “I’m glad you do, but I don’t want you to get yourself hurt just to see me.”

“I didn’t know that asshole was gonna beat the shit out of me just for wandering.”

“Say you have cramps.”

Kit raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“If you want to see me…I mean, come to the infirmary, tell a guard or one of my assistants that you have cramps or a stomachache. It’s something most people don’t question since stomach stuff is really common, ‘specially around here. It usually comes with vomiting or diarrhea and no one wants to deal with that.”

Kit smiles. “Good to know.”

You finish cleaning him up and add, “But don’t overuse the excuse. Otherwise, if something is really bothering you, they won’t listen.”

“Understood. Do you really think I have a concussion?”

“No. Your eyes are clear and you’re not slurring your words. I figured it would at least give you a little reprieve from everything out there.”

Kit’s smile widens. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Although, I will have to at least keep your feet bound. That way if the guard comes back, I can quickly bind your hands before they enter. The lock will only temporarily slow them down since they have keys.”

“Hey, if it means spending time here with you instead of out there with everyone else who thinks I’m a vicious murderer, I’ll take it.”

Once you have him settled in the bed, you give him a cigarette before going about your daily routine. It is nice having Kit there. Occasionally, you talk as he smokes, but for the most part, the both of you enjoy each other’s company. He asks you about yourself, minor things, nothing too personal or probing, which you appreciate. You feel like he’s also trying to keep some distance between you, understanding your position and what a friendship with him could mean.

A few hours later, when you hear footsteps coming your way, you quickly bind Kit’s hands.

It takes a second for the door to be unlocked but then it opens and Dixon enters just as you’re pretending to check Kit’s bandages. “Walker here needs to see the shrink,” he says gruffly, crossing the room towards you.

“I was just about to call you.” Your lie is so effortless it even impresses you. “He doesn’t have a concussion. You can take him.”

Dixon is rough as he unbinds Kit and yanks him off the bed. To his credit, Kit doesn’t fight back or resist, understanding the stupid rules he needs to follow if he’s going to get anywhere in this place. Once he’s gone, you start to wrap up for the day, finishing any last minute tasks before getting ready to go home. As you’re straightening up your desk, your eyes catch the medication logbook, and an idea strikes you.

Sitting down, you flip through the pages, taking a look at the medications that are prescribed to each patient. At the bottom of the list is Kit’s name and, with a quick flick of your pencil, you manage to subtly cut his doses in half. It’s not much. You wish you can outright stop giving him the meds but that’s impossible. Hopefully, this way he’ll start to feel like himself.

You expect to be worried or guilty for what you’ve done. But honestly, you don’t. It feels right. Far too many patients have lost themselves in Briarcliff and you’re determined not to let Kit be one of them.

---

Kit’s world is not even recognizable anymore. One day he’s home with his beautiful wife, the next, she’s gone, and the police are accusing him of murder. He sees those damn creatures every time he closes his eyes, hears that loud noise echoing in his ears. If it’s not that he’s hearing, it’s the screams of the other patients.

When he saw you for the first time, heard you snap at the guard for mistreating him, he thought he was still dreaming. You have to be a dream. Nothing that good or sweet can possibly exist in this place. The way you look at him makes him feel seen for the first time in months.

He can’t get you out of his mind. After that initial visit, all he could think about was your warm embrace and the concern in your eyes.

To have someone care enough to worry about him meant everything. Especially during such a dark time. Trying to sneak away to see you had been a stupid idea but one he thought was worth the risk. He needed to know if he would have the same feelings each time, the same security and comfort. Do you really believe him or are you just a great actress?

The second time, you’re just as kind and generous as the first, and Kit knows that he is in trouble. A different kind of trouble than he already is in. This one is emotionally based and has the potential to end very badly.

Kit knew himself well enough to recognize the signs that he is falling for someone. You have only known each other a short while but already he can’t get you out of his mind.

The day following his first appointment with Dr. Thredson, he sees you in the Day Room and has to stop himself from immediately going over. It’s clear you’re busy, making the rounds and checking in on the other patients. Kit watches from a distance, smoking a cigarette as he leans against the back wall. Your kindness extends to everyone you come in contact with. He watches with admiration as you sit patiently with Pepper, checking on the small scrapes and abrasions she has.

You smile and his breath gets caught in his throat. Fuck you’re gorgeous.

Curiously, Kit watches as you slip something into Pepper’s hands before moving on to someone else. It turns out to be a small chocolate, which Pepper immediately devours before going back to her book. Kit smiles.

You catch each other’s eyes across the room just then. It’s a charged moment, like nothing in the world matters but the two of you. He makes a move to walk towards you, unable to help himself anymore. But then meds are called, and the moment is lost. Kit stubs out his cigarette and gets behind Lana as everyone lines up for their medications.

“This is bullshit,” Lana mutters under her breath. “Not all of us need medication. I don’t like that they force it on us. Makes my head all foggy.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Kit asks, echoing your sentiment from the day before. “Keep us under control.”

“I have a point. One I’d like to shove right up their asses.”

Kit snorts at Lana’s blunt phrasing. At first, she had been weary of him but now the two have developed a mutual understanding. Neither one of them belongs there and it’s better to support each other than fight. The line moves and Kit watches you join your assistant to make the medication process go faster.

When it’s his turn, you hand him his cup and briefly, his hands touches yours. It’s like a bolt of electricity shoots through your fingertips and into his, coursing through his veins at such a speed it makes his head spin. On the outside however, he remains calm, bringing the cup up to his lips to knock back his meds. Except, he notices they look slightly different than the days before. His eyes briefly dart to yours and there’s a subtle change in your expression. Your eye closes just enough to seem like a wink without fully being one.

Kit downs the meds with less hesitation than before.

Sadly, he can’t talk to you after that. Once meds are distributed, you go back to the infirmary and he’s left alone once more. Briefly he considers faking a stomachache to see you again, but your warning is still ringing in his ears. The fact that you offered him the excuse was risky on your part. He doesn’t want to get you in trouble by overstaying his welcome in the infirmary. Even though he is curious about the medication change, he lets it go.

It’s not until he’s in his room that night that he realizes he’s feeling clear-headed. Usually, once lights out comes around, the meds have him so loopy he rolls over and goes to sleep. Or at least tries. This time, however, he feels more like himself. Of course, that also means he’s more aware of the dark and the loud screams, but once they subside, he’s left with silence and his own thoughts.

She must have lowered my meds or something. She’s fucking amazing.

Kit smiles, curling onto his side as he allows himself to think about you without worry or fear. Again and again your meetings replay in his mind and when he closes his eyes, he can almost smell the scent of your laundry detergent and perfume. The way your soft hands gently held his made him flex his fingers instinctively. Those lips of yours…he’d given anything to kiss them.

Kit’s eyes fly open when he feels his cock swell. It’s been so long since he’s felt any kind of sexual desire even before being medication. It’s a wonderful change of pace, however now he has a slight problem. Kit feels ashamed of himself for thinking of you sexually. All you’ve done is show him kindness and he’s thinking about doing all sorts of things to you. With a frustrated sigh, he rolls onto his stomach and tries to ignore it.

This turns out to be a bad idea. The pressure of his body against the hard mattress causes wonderful friction and Kit finds himself pressing his hips down for some semblance of relief.

Fuck it, he thinks, shoving his hand in his pants. I need this right now. I need her.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this himself. It takes a second to find the right angle and rhythm. He stays on his stomach, arching his back just enough to give his hand room as he jerks himself off. Burying his face in his pillow, he bites down to stifle his moans as he pictures you in your nurse’s uniform. The way it hugs your frame suddenly assaults his vision. When you had leaned over him to check his head, he had caught just the barest hint of cleavage. Then, he had purposefully closed his eyes to be respectful.

Now, it’s all he focuses on, thinking about how he’d love to run his tongue across your salty flesh while his hands cupped your tits. He’d bury his nose in your skin and inhale your scent before kissing and sucking every bit of you he could reach.

Would you moan his name? He bets you would, and he bets it would sound fucking fantastic.

Kit grips himself tighter, speeding up his movements as he keeps the fantasy going in his mind. Suddenly, the angle is too constricting, and he rolls onto his back, biting his bottom lip as he hand brings him closer to coming.

He pictures it being your hand. Pictures him laying in that hospital bed, you leaning over him and jerking him off as you watch his face. He thinks of you telling him to come for you and as soon as that thought crosses his mind, he explodes, coming all over his own hand as he quietly moans your name.

Sweating and panting, Kit lays there in his bed, heart racing and head spinning. He uses his blanket to clean himself up, tossing it onto the floor before curling into a ball. He expects the shame or guilt to hit him any moment, but he can’t find it in himself to feel either. All he feels is aching in his heart for the real thing.

The next morning, when they open the cells, he remains in bed. Once he hears the guard come closer, Kit begins to moan in agony, clutching his stomach.

Thankfully, Hardy is the one who check on him. Ever since you told him off, he’s been mostly tolerable to Kit. At least to his face.

“What’s wrong?” the guard asks.

“My stomach,” Kit moans. “I think…I think I ate something bad.” When Hardy kicks Kit’s soiled blanket aside, he adds, “Wouldn’t touch that if I were you. I felt real sick last night.”

Hardy wrinkles his nose and gestures for Kit to get up. “Come on. I’m taking you to the nurse.”

Laying on the theatrics, Kit forces himself up, still hunched over with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

You’re sitting at your desk when he enters. The morning light is filtering in through the barred windows and it catches you ever so slightly. Enough to almost make Kit forget he’s supposed to be in great pain. When you see him, your face grows concerned.

“This one is moaning about a stomachache,” Hardy says. “Where do you want him?”

To his dismay, Kit notices you’re not alone today. There’s a patient asleep in one of the other beds. You’re out of your chair in a second, pressing one of those soft hands to his forehead.

“He’s burning up.” Your ability to lie so smoothly makes Kit admire you even more. “Here, let’s get him on this bed right here.”

Hardy and you help Kit onto one of the beds in the corner of the room, one that’s hidden behind a divider. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” you say, tucking Kit in. “It’s probably just food poisoning. I’ve told the cook a million times they need to store the food better.”

“Think he needs to be tied down?” Hardy asks.

“No, of course not. Have you ever dealt with a patient who’s tied down and soiling themselves? My job is hard enough as it is. I won’t be dealing with that today.”

Kit makes retching noises if for no other reason than to see Hardy grow pale and uncomfortable.

“Oh, you better go before he starts up,” you urge, shooing the guard away.

Kit keeps up the act until he hears the door close and you turn to him, giving him a wide smile. “Wow, bravo. Great work, Kit.”

He smiles, sitting up. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll have a shot as an actor when this is all over.”

You chuckle and glance over at your other patient to make sure he’s still sleeping before sitting on the chair by Kit’s bed. “How are you really feeling this morning?”

“Better, actually. Do I have you to thank for that?”

“Well…it did seem overkill to have you on such high doses of medication when you aren’t mentally unstable. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you off them completely.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Kit says, reaching out to lay his hand over yours. “If anything, I’m sorry for you having to take that risk. I don’t want you to get in trouble, or worse, because of me.”

You look down at his hand and he immediately draws it back, worrying he may have crossed a line. There’s something in your expression that puts him on edge. He can see that you’re struggling, which only makes him feel worse. He berates himself for foolishly giving into his desires. Already things are tough, and the future is scarily uncertain. He’s on the hook for murder for fuck’s sake.

Before Kit can continue the self-deprecating spiral, you surprise him by carefully getting out of your seat and sitting next to him on the bed.

“Kit…” you say. “This friendship between us…I don’t know if it can continue.”

Kit’s heart sinks and he looks away from you, his gaze now fixated on the floor. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “It’s not safe being near me in any way. Honestly, it was stupid of me to come here like that. As much as I like spending time with you, I never want to put you in a compromising position. I’ve seen these guards and I know how they treat women. You’re in just as much danger here as I am.”

Your hand takes his, and he snaps his head up to look at you.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” you say. For the first time since you met a few days ago, he hears the slightest crack in your voice. “I’m worried because, if we continue this friendship, I know that for me, one day, it might not be enough.”

His heart speeds up at your confession. Kit can’t believe his ears. The fact that you are feeling even the slightest bit of the attraction to him that he’s been feeling for you is enough to give him the sliver of hope that’s been severely lacking over the last few weeks.

Kit hesitantly links his fingers with yours, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. When he says your name, his throat is dry, and he has to clear it before he can go on. “I have no right liking you as much as I do. I don’t believe in God, but I can’t help but think that you’re my damn guardian angel. Because of you, I’m actually starting to think that maybe there’s a way out of this. Or at the very least, staying here won’t be so bad so long as you’re here.”

Your gaze softens and you look away, trying to hide the tear leaking out of the corner of your eye. With his free hand, Kit reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb. He can’t stop himself from cupping your cheek, needing to feel the warmth and softness against his palm. You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch, a shaky exhale escaping through your parted lips.

Your lips.

Kit’s eyes can’t look anywhere else. They look so inviting. He bets they’re just as soft as the rest of you, maybe even more so. Without even stopping to think what he’s doing, he starts to lean in, so slowly that you don’t seem to notice until you open your eyes to meet his. You pull your head back. Not abruptly or angrily, but enough where he gets the message to stop. Kit sighs with disappointment at the refusal. But a second later, you’re leaning in this time, at the same achingly slow pace he had been before.

Your lips brush and there’s a heated charge that soars between you, making you pause before you even properly get a kiss. Your eyes are wide as they meet his, searching for the same thing he’s looking for in yours: permission, acceptance, desire.

Kit closes the distance.

With one hand still cradling your face, he kisses you deeply, drawing your body as close to his as he dares. He feels you melt under his touch and it urges him to keep going, to keep kissing you, to deepen the kiss so he can savor the intense waves of desire washing over him.

You let him, opening your mouth so that his tongue can glide along yours.

It all becomes too intense for the both of you and you have to break the kiss, panting as your foreheads rest against one another’s.

“This is such a bad idea,” you say, the breathlessness of your voice making Kit’s cock twitch. “We have to be smart and we have to be careful. If we really can’t stay apart, then you have to listen to what I say and follow my instructions. Okay?”

“I can do that,” Kit says. He’d honestly agree to anything you say at that point. “Trust me, baby. I know the stakes.”

“Me too.” You take a deep breath and pull away, breaking all contact with him. It immediately leaves him cold and wanting more. “My assistants will be coming to collect the meds any moment. I need to go prepare.”

You reach out to cup his cheek and Kit holds your wrist, keeping your hand there for another moment so he could savor the contact. The way your eyes soften at him only makes him want to kiss you again. Instead, he settles for a peck on your palm before letting you fully pull away.

As you stand and collect yourself, you take a step towards the divider before you pause and look back at him. “No one can know, Kit. Not if you want to stay under my care. If anyone finds out there’s something between us, they’ll transfer me somewhere else and I won’t be able to protect you.”

The fact that you’re scared for him in this scenario and not yourself makes Kit want to throw you on the bed and ravish you. “I promise, I will find a way to clear my name,” he says. “Then once I’m out of here, I’ll take you away. Far away where this place can’t reach us.”

You smile and reach out to stroke his cheek again. “Easy there, Mr. Walker,” you tease, stroking his bottom lip with your thumb. “Keep talking like that and I may think you’re already falling for me.”

He watches you walk away, only one thought on his mind. Too late for that.

[anamarialujan]

The Winner

I don't know why we never saw this and we only have these photos, the truth is that from the day I saw them, I thought Shelagh looks at everyone very proud of herself and her husband. This silly thing I wrote is inspired by that.

The Winner.

She clenches her teeth, forcing her ears not to listen, but it is impossible not to. Women speak quite loudly, and she, whenever she hears the doctor's name, she cannot help but turn her head or pay too much attention.

“It is a total lack of respect,” she mutters indignantly, shaking her head as she puts supplies in a cardboard box.

She hears how those women talk about him, with laughter and jokes that she does not find funny. She also sees how they look at him, with bright and lascivious eyes, gestures too affectionate, biting a lip, smiling cheekily.

“It is a total lack of respect, his wife died very recently!” she mutters again, but falls silent when a nurse walks into the kitchen.

Soon, too soon, Sister Bernadette realizes that it is not just the lack of respect for the doctor and his grief at the loss that makes her outraged. Nor is it the fact that some of those women have husbands, children and are pregnant, or are also recent widows, or single women with long lists of known boyfriends. She should not think about him, she is a nun, and what bothers her is that:  she cannot do anything, and those women can do everything.

The day Dr. Turner comes out of his pain, he will look at one of these women and they will be willing and ready. And she will be left with nothing.

What she feels is unknown and scares her with its intensity and ferocity. It is love, but it is also jealousy, jealousy that gnaws at her inside like the disease that attacks her.

But things change in a very short time and suddenly the doctor looks at her, kisses her, and she leaves her habit and is standing in front of him, starting a new life. It is hard for her to believe it. He, handsome, tall, with that charming smile, his kind eyes, his melodious voice and all the virtues that she finds in him at every moment, he takes her hand and places a ring.

Shelagh feels happy, but soon discovers that this happiness is not complete.

Now, tongues are not waved to praise the doctor, but are arrows against her. These women and many others make her unstable security wobble every time she steps on the street.

And Shelagh thinks they are quite right. Wherever they are voluptuous, she is petite and fragile, and if they are completely healthy, she has just recovered from tuberculosis, and if they know how to dress and do hairdos and make up, she still does not learn what to do with her newly discovered hair, and she also wears glasses, and her experience in love is non-existent.

That torments her, because she hears that Patrick will immediately get bored with someone dull like her, and that he will seek in other arms everything that she does not know.

After months between the agony of being insufficient, the sadness of feeling that she let many people down, and the illness of her beloved Tim, things finally change.

Now he wears her ring, and she wears his and his last name. They are married and these women can no longer speak, at least they cannot do so as happily as before. She knows there are still whispers, that the gossip will run longer until another scandal shakes Poplar.

She strives to be the best version of herself. The best wife, the best mother, and the best housewife, and when she thinks she is succeeding, everything falls apart, and reality screams at her that she is nothing more than a bit of barren land.

If she ever dreamed of starting a family and giving children to the person she loves the most, now she must get used to the idea that this will never happen. As much as she repeats to herself that it is not important what others think of her, she cannot help but think that she will always be at a disadvantage, that she will never be a woman.

And she trusts him, knows he loves her, but then she doubts, because there are too many secrets and too many words left unsaid and everything becomes dark and murky between them. Shelagh knows that the voices return, that any woman with the minimum of experience in marriage can easily see that things changed between the doctor and his wife and that the happiness lasted a few months.

She tries again, puts all her soul there because she loves him, and she knows that he loves her too but she is afraid, afraid of herself, of not being who she expected to be, and that Patrick will one day look at her differently, and go with the first woman who snap her fingers.

But he confirms his love, over and over again, kiss by kiss, and then a bright little sun comes into their lives, with small hands and insistent crying, an angel without wings who sleeps in a cot next to her.

And then they have more problems, but she stands firm, determined to save the man she loves, and she wears a uniform with the courage of a soldier walking into battle.

And that is how she knows it was a matter of finding the right road, of finding herself, and of trusting what her heart feels.

So, one cold night she lets her hair down, the way Patrick likes it, dresses in her coat, and warms her hands with her new stylish gloves. She puts on only a little makeup,  and goes with her family to the event in front of Nonnatus that brings together the entire community. Her family enjoys it, her friends and colleagues are with her. Shelagh breathes in the cold air, fills her now strong lungs.

Later, she smiles at the feeling of being happy when in front of her, with their children, husbands, or alone, she sees those women who have tortured her thoughts so much. They observe her, they analyze her, they envy her, but they cannot say anything else against her.

Shelagh is no longer a nun, so sometimes she can indulge in the sins of pride, selfishness, and lust, and even though she wants to shout her joy at these women, she knows there are only two things she should do: kiss her husband, and look at them.

And when she does and Patrick is surprised but smiles and kisses her, Shelagh laughs a little, because all those women from Poplar who wanted to take her love and her life, they can know that under his shirt, he is marked with her teeth, that his hands only touch her, and that his lips can kiss her mouth or any part of her body that he wants.

Shelagh looks at them, smiles, and knows she shines with the confidence that others do not have.

“He's mine, bitches,” she thinks, “I won.”

[gstqaobc]

CBC THE ROYAL FASCINATOR

Friday, April 09, 2021

Hello, royal watchers and all those intrigued by what’s going on inside the House of Windsor. This is your biweekly dose of royal news and analysis. Reading this online? Sign up here to get this delivered to your inbox.

Janet DavisonRoyal Expert

Prince Philip’s life of duty

(Adrian Dennis/Getty Images)

For so many years, Prince Philip was at Queen Elizabeth’s side — or walking just behind — deeply devoted in his duty as consort to the woman who is now the longest-reigning monarch in British history.

But the Duke of Edinburgh, who died this morning aged 99 at Windsor Castle, was seen by many as having his own role in helping an institution steeped in tradition try to find its way toward the future.

Much of that began nearly 70 years ago, after the former sailor who gave up a successful naval career saw his wife ascend the throne.

“What Prince Philip did was help modernize the monarchy in the 1950s,” Michael Jackson, president of the Institute for the Study of the Crown in Canada, said in an interview this morning.

“It was still a very tradition-bound institution…. We can credit Prince Philip, with the Queen’s full support, of course, with modernizing [its] finances, protocols, how Buckingham Palace was run … its outreach to the Commonwealth.”

Philip pushed to have Elizabeth’s coronation televised in 1953, an idea she did not wholeheartedly welcome at first.

“He was the modern person,” John Fraser, author of The Secret of the Crown: Canada’s Affair with Royalty, said in an interview this morning. “He was in touch with real people, non-royal people, and so he always had the instinct to reach out. He understood both the dark side of the media presence as well as the necessity of it.”

Fraser credits Philip’s profoundly unsettled early years, after he was “born in poverty and insecurity,” with how he looked toward the future of the Royal Family, and the monarchy.

“I do think those early years were the single biggest factor in his life and how he approached life,” said Fraser. “I think he never assumed things would last forever because he didn’t make any assumptions like that, and I think he certainly assumed the monarchy wouldn’t survive if it didn’t reach out more to the constituency that it had to serve.”

Fraser met Philip, and recalled him as a man who would revel in asking questions and challenging others.

“He was — charming is not the word I would use — but he was an invigorating person to speak to.”

Jackson, who was Saskatchewan’s chief of protocol from 1980 until 2005, met Philip during four visits to the province — three with the Queen and one on his own — and remembered a man with “a great sense of humour.”

“Sometimes people found him a bit abrasive, a bit abrupt, but that’s the way he was,” said Jackson.

“He was a straight shooter and he complemented the Queen beautifully because the Queen is a very soft-spoken, more laid-back person. Prince Philip really spoke his mind and occasionally made jokes and … put everyone at ease. I found him very refreshing, good to work with.”

With Philip’s death, there is an inevitable sadness for the Queen, and inevitable concern for how she will cope with the passing of her husband of more than 73 years.

Both Fraser and Jackson say the Queen will carry on, with Jackson noting “That’s the way she is. She’s a very strong person” with a deep religious faith that will sustain her.

“She’ll do her duty,” said Fraser. “And I think that’s the big lesson of him. He did his duty.”

For a full obituary of Prince Philip, click here.

For photos from Prince Philip's royal career, click here.

Family dysfunction

When Philip Mountbatten married Princess Elizabeth in 1947, the family he was joining was in marked contrast to the fractured one he had known in his youth. His parents' marriage broke down and offered him nothing like the nuclear family arrangement (mom, dad and two kids) that Elizabeth had known throughout her childhood. "In marrying the Queen, [Philip] gained that sort of stable home life that he didn't have when he was younger," royal author and historian Carolyn Harris has said in an interview. Philip's parents were Prince Andrew of Greece and Princess Alice of Battenberg, a great-granddaughter of Queen Victoria. Philip was born a prince of both Greece and Denmark on June 10, 1921, on the dining room table at Mon Repos, a villa that was the summer home for the Greek royals on the island of Corfu. He was the last of five children — his four older siblings were all girls. At the time, he was sixth in line to the Greek throne. But life in Greece didn't last long. His father, a professional soldier, was exiled from Greece in 1922 as his uncle, King Constantine I, was forced to abdicate. Philip's family fled, with the story being that Philip was nestled into an orange box as the family was evacuated from Greece on a Royal Navy ship. They eventually made their way to Paris. Philip's childhood took a "dysfunctional turn," author Sally Bedell Smith wrote in her book, Elizabeth The Queen, when he was sent by his parents at the age of eight to England for boarding school. The family eventually broke down. Philip's mother, who was born deaf, was ill periodically, diagnosed with schizophrenia and spent time in a sanitarium in Switzerland. His father went off with his mistress to Monte Carlo, where he died in 1944. Philip was left to be brought up in the U.K. by his mother's family, shuffled among various relatives and boarding schools throughout his youth. He didn't see or have any word from his mother between the summer of 1932 and the spring of 1937. "It's simply what happened," Philip said matter-of-factly in an excerpt from a book by Philip Eade, Young Prince Philip, Turbulent Early Years, published in the Telegraph. "The family broke up. My mother was ill, my sisters were married, my father was in the south of France. I just had to get on with it. You do. One does." As life went on, there really was no father to guide, consult or do anything else a father can do for his child. Several other close relatives died in his early years, including his favourite sister, Cecile, and her family in a plane crash in 1937. The following year, the 2nd Marquess of Milford Haven, his uncle and guardian, died of bone cancer. That left the marquess's younger brother, Louis Mountbatten, to bring up Philip. His family ties also extended into Germany. Three of his sisters were married to German princes involved in the Nazi party. Cecile and her husband, Don, had just joined the Nazi party before they died. Those family alliances had a visible repercussion when Philip and Elizabeth were married in 1947. "His sisters were not invited to the wedding as they were married to German princes who had been involved in the Nazi party during World War Two," Harris said. Philip's mother, Princess Alice, however, was at the wedding, and in her later years, came to live at Buckingham Palace. Alice had her own moment in the cultural conscience in 2019, as an episode during the third season of the Netflix drama, The Crown, focused on her. "She's just the most extraordinary character," Crown creator Peter Morgan told Vanity Fair. She set up charities for Greek refugees and later established a nursing order of Greek Orthodox nuns. During the Second World War, while her son was serving with the Royal Navy and her German sons-in-law fought for the Nazis, she was hiding Jews in Athens. As much as there was the distance between Philip and his mother in his younger years, there was a closeness later. Alice came to live at Buckingham Palace in 1967. Alice died at the palace in 1969 and was interred in the royal crypt at Windsor Castle. In 1988, her remains were transferred, as she had wished, to the church of St. Mary Magdalene in east Jerusalem. In a 1994 visit to the Yad Vashem Holocaust memorial in Jerusalem, Philip planted a tree in his mother's honour and visited her gravesite. "I suspect that it never occurred to her that her action was in any way special," Philip said during his visit. "She was a person with deep religious faith and she would have considered it to be a totally human action to fellow human beings in distress."

No stranger to Canada

(Frank Gunn/The Canadian Press)

Prince Philip's last visit to Canada was a short one in 2013 — on his own, without the Queen — to present a ceremonial flag to the Royal Canadian Regiment's 3rd Battalion. It came as something of a surprise. Philip had experienced a few health scares in the 18 months prior. So overseas travel was not necessarily a given for the Duke of Edinburgh at the time. But given Philip's feisty personality, dedication to his role and some of the interests he showed over the years, his return to Canada — he made more than 70 visits or stopovers between 1950 and 2013 — may not really have been a complete surprise. The 2013 trip was billed as a private working visit and was only a few days long. But while he was here, he was finally able to pick up the insignias he had been awarded as companion of the Order of Canada and commander of the Order of Military Merit from David Johnston, then Canada's governor general.

To read more about Philip’s time in Canada, click here.

Royally quotable

“He is someone who doesn't take easily to compliments but he has, quite simply, been my strength and stay all these years, and I, and his whole family, and this and many other countries, owe him a debt greater than he would ever claim, or we shall ever know.”

— Queen Elizabeth, publicly acknowledging Prince Philip’s importance to her during a speech on the occasion of their 50th wedding anniversary in 1997.

To read more on what Philip meant to the Queen, click here.

Remembering Prince Philip

Royal Fascinator readers are welcome to share their thoughts on the passing of Prince Philip, and any memories they may have of meeting him over the years. We’ll include some in the next edition of the newsletter.

I’m always happy to hear from you. Send your ideas, comments, feedback and notes to

royalfascinator@cbc.ca

. Problems with the newsletter? Please let me know about any typos, errors or glitches.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

[mahou-furbies]

Magical Girl Raising Project: Restart character design ranking

Pechka

Starting with a great magical girl chef design. The outfit is recognisable as a chef’s uniform but is still strange enough to be a magical girl outfit, and the silly red thingies on the hem resembling stovetops keep it from being just a chef’s coat with frills. And the red stove things also repeat in her boots. The multicoloured hair is a little odd choice here, but at least the colours look good together. Add an overall pleasant colour scheme and a cute hat and you’re done, though the tail feathers kind of bother me. The one in the hat is an okay decoration, but the showy tail doesn’t really have anything to do with the rest of the outfit theme. 8/10.

Clantail

I really like Clantail but the design is kinda meh. There is something that fascinates me about deer-taurs and in general they are always charming and pretty to me so that is a big plus for Clantail, but since that’s not really a permanent part of her design when she can use any animal for her lower body I can’t give her too many points for that. And if you ignore the animal part of her design there’s not much to talk about. I mean, what is the theme here? She has sort of kimono-esque clothes, and a frilly apron, feathers (?), triangle tattoos on her neck, and floating flowers, one of which makes me think of a halo? And also horns (?), which I guess at least go with the deer theme, but overall I find Clantail kind of a mess and none of the individual design elements are particularly interesting details either. Nice hanging tassels and eye makeup, but sorry Clantail, this just doesn’t work for me. 2/10.

Rionetta

What I find a missed opportunity here is how you can barely see that she’s a doll. Shouldn’t a short-sleeved dress be a better choice here to show her elbow joints, or even a sleeveless dress altogether? The dress itself is a pretty basic frilly lolita dress without much in the magical department so in order for the design to stand out you should play up the doll body. But at quick glance she looks just like an ordinary anime girl, and even her eyes don’t really sell it properly that her sclera are black (at least in Marui-no’s style). But at least the dress design is cute with all the ribbons and layers, the colours and patterns are nice, and blue and beige (?) wouldn’t be the first option to come to my mind when thinking of a lolita style doll so there’s something non-standard there. The one unique detail she has is the... thing behind her, which bothers me a lot since I can’t quite make out what it is, which makes drawing her difficult. It’s like she has a paper fan glued to her butt, which is probably an inaccurate interpretation but it’s the best I can manage. 6/10.

Miyokata Nonako

I like the webbing and ribbons on the sleeves, but other than that this is quite a basic miko outfit (as in anime miko). Still looks alright tho since miko outfits are already aesthetically pleasing so it’s a good basis for a design, and the sleeves are nice enough that the look is not completely boring. But there’s not much I can say about this one 6/10.

Magical Daisy

I really like Daisy’s look; it doesn’t have a specific theme (like detective, chef, etc) and instead is just a basic magical girl outfit, as in a frilly dress with lots of layers and ribbons. But even though it is a basic magical girl look it still isn’t a boring and unimaginative one, since the cut of the dress is unique enough. Also the pale green and brown colour palette is a nice change from the usual pink you’d expect from a character who in-universe is the star of her own magical girl tv anime, and I like the logo on her (admittedly strange) headpiece and... bag? Apron?. Plus some bonus points for unique eyes. What I don’t like however are the dumb floating flowers behind her. 9/10.

Nokko-chan

When you really think about it, this is a basic maid dress and there’s nothing that stands out about her from neck down, and the headpiece only really has the cat ears that differentiate it from a generic maid hat. But still I find Nokko-chan super appealing to look at. Must be the hairstyle then; the way her braids are stuffed into those poofy cloth “bags” is just so cute and gives her a soft and friendly look. Add a good amount of ribbons and the aforementioned cat ears to add to the cuteness, and finish with a simple but appealing colour scheme. 8/10.

Meow-Meow

At first I thought this was a pretty basic anime China dress girl, but upon closer inspection I find that I actually quite like this design. The way the dress is cut obviously lends itself to fanservice that I don’t really care for, but without it there would be nothing of notice about this. And the overalls-like cut gives her a nice sporty vibe. The puffy arm things and the long ribbons add the much-needed details for this to have anything to do with a magical girl look. I do question the need for the tail though. 6/10.

Yumenoshima Genopsycho

Not into this kind of superhero suit things, sorry. The cat ear helmet and the tail give the suit some personality but I can’t think of anything to talk about this one, like there is enough detail for the design not to be completely boring but there’s nothing that stands out either. Next! 3/10.

Detec Bell

I like detectives and the generic Sherlock Holmes look, so this design is right up my alley. I think the key here is all the fluff; without that the design would be more of just girl detective, but the fluff with the ribbons pushes it to magical girl territory. Even the bunny tail like thingy works since now it doesn’t feel so random and out of place visually since there’s similar fluff elsewhere. Having the cape double as an utility belt is a fun idea and the asymmetric haircut adds some extra flavour to an otherwise (comparatively) down to earth look. 10/10.

Lapis Lazuline

One of my least favourite MagiPro girls but at least she has a great design. The dark palette and fur give her a classy and mature look, and even the tail doesn’t look as out of place as with many other Marui-no designs since she hast the same fur on her cape, earrings and socks too. The design is also recognisable enough as a magical girl design (must be the mini-dress and poofy detached sleeves?) and not just any fantasy anime outfit. And there’s just the correct amount of detail so the result is in the ideal spot between boring and overdesigned, like there’s a lot going on with the dress, but the hair and legwear are nice and basic to balance it out. Can’t really think of anything to dislike about this one. 10/10. 

Melville

I like the idea for the outfit more than the actual design. I’m a big fan of concept designs, redesigns, adapted costumes and such, so a look that’s in-universe based on some other design is already an interesting idea. And I guess the actual result isn’t too bad either, though I have trouble figuring out how the pants work and it greatly bothers me. And I don’t like the huge roses at the edge of her cape, they make it look heavy and not very flowy. But at least the roses and thorns look good otherwise and the cape has a more unique look around her shoulders so that’s good. 6/10.

Cherna Mouse

I love everything a bout the hamster headgear, the ‘no cats!’ signs tell so much about the character, the single strand of hair poking out adds a playful detail and most importantly the hanging paw thingies are just so cute. Especially in the picture where she uses them as hands! The x eyes and band-aid also give the impression of a childlike character who tumbles around a lot. However while it may fit the character’s personality I’m not a huge fan of the babylike elements since I’m not a baby person in general, but apart from that I can’t really think of anything I’d dislike about this one. 8/10.

Pfle

Not sure about the theme of her outfit. I mean, I suppose we’re going for some kind of “sickly girl” look here, with the eye patch, wheelchair and nightgown-like dress, but that sounds like such a strange theme for me when the rest of the characters have more understandable themes like “cowboy” “nun” “doll” “maid”. And then there’s the fact that the bandages aren’t actually even a part of her look and are instead added later. But if this is what we’re going with, uh, I guess it’s not that bad. The hairstyle certainly adds to the upper class lady’s cozy homely bedtime look, and I like that the bird theme is consistent through the whole design. 6/10.

Shadow Gale

Shadow Gale is alright and a dark ‘evil’ nurse image is a less generic take than just a regular one, like I’d expect a nurse to have a white colourscheme, or at least pink or pale blue or green. Though at first I thought that without a more recognisable colour scheme you wouldn’t know this was a nurse design in the first place if you removed the hat, but then again she does have the medical crosses and a name tag. And the name being scribbled out adds to the shady look created by the dark colour scheme. Not a huge fan of the tacked on tail, but at least it is somehow related to her name and there are also feathers on the collar, which look a lot better (and black feathers also work with the eerie feel of the rest of the outfit). The tight dress and a wide outerskirt thingy also look good together. 8/10.

Masked Wonder

The tail is just unacceptable and pointless, there’s nothing cat-like about the rest of her design or personality and there are plenty of other MagiPro characters with animal features so that could have been left out here. But apart from that I think this is an alright design even if it’s a little too basic; solid black and some cool details. I like the sparkles on her cape and the rose theme ties everything together so it’s not just a bunch of random elements in the same design. 8/10.

Akane

Not enough magical girl here, she could easily be just another anime samurai. I do like the giant flower headpiece thingy and there are enough details so that the design isn’t exactly boring, but nothing about this excites me as a magical girl design, nor does it do enough to differentiate itself from other anime samurai looks I’ve seen. It does convey the character’s personality and role in the story well though. 3/10.

Keek

Okay this one isn’t even trying to be a magical girl. It’s just a generic anime nerd girl in a generic bikini and generic oversized lab coat. Like can’t you give the coat an interesting cut at least? Can’t the pockets be heart shaped, or maybe there could be frills on the hem or something? Or if you’re not into the frills-and-ribbons cutesy look, that’s okay, not everyone has to, but surely there are other ways to incorporate interesting details. Unique rims on her glasses perhaps? A bytecode tattoo? Some cool pattern on her socks? At least do something with the Rubik’s cubes, I mean we’re magical girls here and the best you can do is flat colours, can’t the thing at least glow?

I do like the poofy hair and the pale and muted and kind of sickly colour scheme which fits her shady and antagonistic character, and the hairclip is alright, but as a magical girl design there is nothing that interests me about this one. 1/10.

Restart average: 6,4.

[elegantmoonchild]

WIP Game

The Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

I was tagged by the wonderful @jimalim a while back. It took me a bit to compile all the projects I’m working on, but here they are! Fingers crossed that some actually get finished 😂

Bughead:

For All Time — World traveler and photographer Betty Cooper knew her entire life that Jughead Jones was meant to be the love of her life. When they finally meet, somewhere in the shops of an old Brooklyn borough, he is taken aback by her sudden insistence that they belong, however he is subjected to her theories as they continue on their assignment together, backpacking across Europe collecting tales for his travel blog. When he begins to have visions of her death, however, he begins to question whether what she says is true, and as their relationship deepens, he starts to give in to the emotions she claims they’ll share together. When signs point to her impending demise, can he work to stop the clock in time or will he lose the one person he never knew he needed until he had her? And should she perish, can he fight to get her back or will he learn that sometimes love may not be enough to transcend time? 

Snapshots — What’s a story only half-told?An afternoon of reading old diaries and manuscripts turns into a lifetime of memories played before Betty and Jughead as they dig through the past. What were the moments leading up to the romance of sophomore year that stood out to Betty in her diaries, Jughead in the manuscript he wrote about his story with the girl-next-door? How did their epic love story play out for the couple beyond the events of Jason Blossom’s murder that shook the bedrock of Riverdale? -- Currently on AO3

INSIDE -- Stepping into her father’s shoes was always the plan for ambitious detective Betty Cooper, her endless dream of taking down the bad guy imprinted on every step of her path from childhood to adult. She had worked hard to gain the respect of her superiors, and suddenly she lands the opportunity of a lifetime – going undercover to investigate the shocking murder of Jason Blossom, the son of a well-known businessman in Riverdale, NY. The job was simple: get beneath the surface, lie low, and pay attention. However, when Betty is assigned to infiltrate the Serpents, a notorious gang in the Southside part of town, she finds it harder than expected to blend in, catching the eye of nefarious leader Jughead Jones. Will she make it out alive with the answers she craves, or will she find herself stepping in the path of a very dangerous man, locked in the snake pit that she can’t escape?

In Her Own Words -- At the young age of 19, Elizabeth Cooper, daughter of the Earl of Cooper, found herself courted and wooed by the famous heir to the House of Andrews, the crowned prince who she was to wed. After a hasty engagement, a whirlwind of press and protocol, Betty found herself surrounded by people but still felt so alone, her mental health taking a dive as her marriage began to crumble around her feet. Her husband’s secret affair with long-term friend Veronica and the spotlight of the world upon her both lead to years of self-harm and isolation, and soon the only joy she feels is the sparkle of laughter she shares with the Prince’s personal secretary, Forsythe “Jughead” Jones. She puts on a brave face beneath the scrutinizing gaze of the public eye, but inside she’s falling apart, and it isn’t long before she learns she has to push back and fight for herself or else she won’t survive. Will the reaffirmed belief in true, albeit forbidden love with her close friend and confidante claim her downfall or will it give her the strength to stand on her own two feet and become the Queen she was always meant to be?Or the retelling of Princess Diana’s tragic, yet inspiring life based off the documentary “Diana: In Her Own Words”. This story will be interview style in the first person with Princess Elizabeth “Betty” Cooper with memories and flashbacks retelling her ill-fated romance and involvement with the House of Andrews, and her future beyond the weight of the crown.

But Now I See -- Ever since she was a child, Betty Cooper felt she was meant for something greater, meant to make the world shine brighter. As she grew older, and life became too difficult, she sought comfort in the church, soothing her emotional scars with the words of God and Christ. Devoted to her cause and her faith, she sets forth on a course to take a vow of postulancy. For most of his life, renowned pianist Jughead Jones always kept his head down, choosing to create his own masterpieces in the shadows, free without the confinements of society. His life is forever changed, however, when he gets into a horrific car accident, the end result being a crippling blindness that makes him question everything he thought he knew.When the two meet in the hospital ward and strike up a friendship, they begin to doubt their beliefs in both faith and purpose. Will Betty complete her journey to become a nun or will she realize her purpose lies in the heart of another, and will Jughead finally learn to believe in the good of fate or will he succumb to the demons that haunt him forever?

That’s Why I’m Here -- oneshot where Betty and Jughead meet at an AA meeting, bonding over their broken parents

Title still undecided -- Betty is a sex talk show host who is, in reality, fairly inexperienced with good sex. Jughead is a journalist who tries to uncover the truth about the sensationalized, famous show host. She ends up getting him to break down his walls while he teaches her a thing or two about good lovemaking. Basically an excuse to write porn with good plot.

SweetVee:

Title still undecided -- serial killer AU where Veronica and Sweet Pea try to track down a killer obsessed with Veronica 

Title still undecided -- Veronica takes her daughter with her to live at Alice Cooper’s ranch after her messy separation from her husband where she meets ranch hand Sweet Pea.

Relatively Stable -- For the first time since medical school, Veronica Lodge, MD was on top of her game. One of the youngest and most sought after doctors at Riverdale General, she exuded both sophistication and grace as she fought to save life after life in the Intensive Care Unit. But when an ambitious new nurse named Sweet Pea challenges her authority, she takes it personally, and the two butt heads by the bedside, patient after patient.When a young man comes through the Emergency Room one night, bleeding out from a massive car wreck, Veronica and Sweet Pea have to put aside their differences to save his life. Fighting to keep their patient stable starts to bring them closer, their feelings becoming far more carnal than clinical, and despite their numerous differences Veronica may learn that Sweet Pea is just what the doctor ordered.Will both their relationship and their patient survive the night? Find out in Relatively Stable, a medical narrative that asks the question – is love the best medicine or can the heart only take so much before it arrests and dies?

On The Run -- Veronica Lodge was on the verge of seventeen, and all she wanted to do was forget about the responsibilities her parents expected of her and revel in the passion she shared with secret boyfriend, bad boy biker Sweet Pea, who had a reputation that made her rich father’s blue blood boil. Defying her parents’ wishes, she sneaks out of her penthouse bedroom one evening for a twilight filled with freedom, experimental sex, and cocaine-fueled excitement. However, what starts as an act of teenage rebellion quickly turns into a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, a run-in with the Ghoulies leading to an all-out brawl that spells trouble for the ill-fated lovebirds. As Sweet Pea and Veronica flee for their lives, on the run from violent gangs, vigilant law enforcement, and her family’s disappointment, Veronica has to make a choice — give up the rush to enter adulthood with a safe, respectable reputation or throw it all away for the bad boy with a cold sneer and a heart of gold.

My Favorite Piece of You -- Cakes, tarts, and pies -- all delectable treats served up at the Serpentine Bakery, the lunch time haunt that ambitious businesswoman Veronica Lodge frequents every single day. For the past year, she’s been coming to the cafe, indulging in its simple pleasures, until one day she unknowingly insults the attractive yet surly owner, motorcycle enthusiast Sweet Pea. After a sour meet cute, the two begin to form a connection over the concoctions that he creates behind the counter of the bakery, an appetizing alliance that takes them both by surprise. However, over time they begin to wonder if the chemistry between them can withstand a dose of sugar or if their relationship has too much spice to be a good thing. They’ll have to knead out the kinks in their peppery personalities if they want their love to rise, but one thing’s for sure -- Veronica Lodge has got one Hell of a sweet tooth.

Multiship:

To Riverdale, with love -- What is Christmas to the stranger next to you? Is it a time to sing joyous carols door to door in the freezing cold? Is it a time to curl up next to a fire with a cup of hot cocoa while surrounded by loved ones? Is it a time to bury beneath blankets to hide from the sorrow of what a Christmas without that special someone feels like? Follow along in this seasonal treat as nine stories weave in and out like holiday tinsel in this Love Actually inspired fanfic, including the romance and friendships of nine different pairings in Riverdale, the town where one might just find that love truly is all around. -- COMING CHRISTMAS SEASON 2018

There’s also a whole host of one shot ideas and other multi-chapter fics I have saved, but haven’t quite touched yet. 

If you’d like to know more about any of these projects, please feel free to reach out to me!!!

[uneasylisteningradio]

Audio & Playlist for March 16, 2019: Non Male Musicians

Gee Vaucher, Joy de Vivre and Eve Libertine of Crass, photo from the collection of Gee Vaucher

This week on Uneasy Listening, it was the annual show featuring women musicians of all sorts! I just went ahead and did the full 3 hours on theme this time around although there’s a bit of a climax at the end of the 2nd hour for the purposes of syndication. 

A lot of the time in the popular consciousness women musicians translates into bands with women singing (and maybe women playing other instruments, maybe not) and next year I’m going to make a concerted effort to play more bands that have women playing instruments but not necessarily singing. But at the same time, it’s nice to hear nothing but women’s voices for a solid stretch of time, especially when the music I like tends to be so male-dominated. And of course, the voice is an instrument and there is no less value to being a singer than to being any other kind of musician. Anyway! Thoughts! Here’s the show!

link to audio

Playlist:

Poison Girls - Statement

DJ speaks over X-Ray Spex - Warrior in Woolworths (demo)

Toxic Waste - Plastic Bullets Plastix - Konsumier Mich Sleater Kinney - Dig Me Out

Collate - Selective Memory F-Systems - People The Carter Family - These Boots Were Made for Walking Mother's Ruin - Can't Wait Chumbawamba - Heaven/Hell Frankie's Crew - Somebody

G.L.O.S.S. - Outcast Stomp Götterflies - Marbles Ronnie Spector - She Talks to Rainbows Liliput - Eisiger Wind Red Delicious - Luta Fraca

Crass - Darling Fluid - I Hate the News Ethel Waters - Kiss Your Baby Pretty Nice Penetration - Don't Dictate Cheap 'n Nasty - Covergirl Yoko Ono - Kiss, Kiss, Kiss Sheila - Hello Petite Fille The Delinquents - Do You Have a Job for a Girl Like Me

Ruth Brown - Shake a Hand The Jellies - Jive Baby on a Saturday Night The Honeys - Shoot the Curl UXA - Tragedies Scorched Earth Policy - Green Cigar Lost Kids - Cola Freaks

The Big Combo - 21 Girls Arctic Flowers - Rose in Bend Dishrags - I Don't Love You The World - Loser

Poison Girls - Persons Unknown

X-Ray Spex - Oh Bondage, Up Yours! Cherry Glazerr - Wasted Nun Sister Rosetta Tharpe - Oh, the Joy That Came to Me Hissyfit - Scrunchie Sleez Sisters - Sick on You Nikki and the Corvettes - You're the One Kitchen and the Plastic Spoons - Blätta

Nurse - またたび (Again) TNT - Züri Brännt Trash Kit - Tattoo Pykahoulu - Painajainen Dark Thoughts - I Won't Say Nothin' Sea Slug - In Heaven Unit 4 - Rules Life in the Fridge Exists - Have You Checked the Children?

The Cramps - All Women Are Bad Ludus - Sightseeing Ethel Merman - You're the Top

Poison Girls - Piano Lessons

[alexandrawilbraham]

Best of BBC First 2018 with a cheeky look at 2019

By Alexandra Wilbraham

First published in Dutch translation: https://www.bbcbenelux.com/blog/?article=bbc-first-benelux-best-of-18-19

Joy to the world and welcome to our round-up of BBC First’s best of 2018. Prepare to get festive as we celebrate a fantastic year of BBC series. Stick around to the end to find out what amazing new content you can look forward to in 2019.

So, pull on your Christmas jumper, the one you keep stashed away at the back of your wardrobe and pop on a Santa hat. Make yourself hot cocoa, go the whole hog and decorate your beverage with whipped cream, marshmallows and chocolate shavings. Light some cinnamon candles and snuggle up on the sofa as we dive into the pile of presents this year had to give.

In the first month of 2018, the BBC gave to me! Well, it kind of works. January started with fireworks and a new series of Silent Witness. First broadcast in 1996, the series has seen many cast changes over the years. Series 21, however, saw the return of the amazing Emilia Fox as forensic pathologist Dr Nikki Alexander. She and her dedicated team (Liz Carr, Richard Lintern, David Caves) work closely with the London police to solve a slew of mystifying murders. Sometimes the best witness is a dead one.

Travelling back in time, if I can remember where I parked the T.A.R.D.I.S., to London in the early 1960s, we were again joined by the nuns and nurses of Nonnatus House convent. As they provide care to the expectant mothers of London’s East End, they find themselves tested both personally and professionally. Series 7 of Call the Midwife puts a bit of a downer on the festivities as we said goodbye to the beautiful Barbara (Charlotte Ritchie) whose grave, decorated with a red rose and toy carousel, we lingered on in the poignant final moments. However, with sadness comes joy and we saw both new and familiar faces appear at the convent. Leonie Elliot (Black Mirror) joined the cast as Caribbean midwife Lucille Anderson and a return of Nurse Trixie (Helen George) was heavily hinted at.

Guess what, we’re still in January! But we’re off on our first holiday of the year as we join Detective Jack Mooney (Ardal O'Hanlon) on the sun-soaked island of Saint-Marie. Peaceful isn’t it? Sadly not. Because, even in the beautiful Caribbean, crime will always spoil your day. Series 7 of Death in Paradise has Jack rise to the challenge in a bid to impress the commissioner and make his mark on the island. Luckily, he has his team to support him as he has some almost impossible mysteries to uncover.

Wake up! We’re back from our island vacation and straight into February. Before heading back to city life, we get to spend some time in the English countryside, rolling hills dotted with small villages, rural parish churches and large country houses. There is also a fair bit of murder.

Don’t worry though, as series 6 of Father Brown sees Mark Williams (Harry Potter) return as the charming local priest and amateur detective. Although he is at risk from old foe Katherine Corven, who looks for revenge on Father Brown when she is suddenly released from prison. I think we should move on to March and hopefully, we’ll find ourselves in a safer environment.

To sleep, perchance to dream as March arrives with a series completely new to the BBC – Shakespeare and Hathaway: Private Investigators. No, not William and Anne. Although this comedy-drama mystery is filmed in Shakespeare’s birthplace, Stratford-upon-Avon. Two well-known TV faces, Jo Joyner and Mark Benton, star as chatty ex-hairdresser Luella ‘Lu’ Shakespeare and out-of-shape and short-of-money private inspector Frank Hathaway. The highly unlikely and hugely entertaining detecting duo quickly discover that all is not as peaceful as it seems in their picture-perfect theatre town.

Brace yourself. Our next March series drops us straight to the front line of series 3 of Our Girl. We do get to travel internationally, but this is no holiday. Series 3 takes female army medic Georgie (Michelle Keegan) and the tightknit unit of soldiers in 2 Section from a humanitarian mission in Nepal, across Afghanistan and to a Nigerian refugee camp. With the arrival of old flame Elvis (Luke Pasqualino) and new recruit Maisie (Shalom Brune-Franklin) tugging at her sleeve, Georgie must face the highs and lows of army life while also fighting her own personal battles.   As the soldiers face kidnapping and assassination attempts, they have to confront the ultimate battle: head versus heart.

May the merriness be with you. Or rather the conflict, since this family is already in the divorce court before the relationships start crumbling. New family drama The Split follows Hannah Defoe (Nicola Walker), a member of a family who all work as divorce lawyers in the same firm. Following a bitter argument, Hannah takes a new job at a rival firm where she reconnects with the only other man she ever imagined sharing her life with, and her estranged father returns after 30 years. It sounds exhausting but makes for a smashing series.

Ring the bells everyone! The month of June means we are halfway through our TV year. A perfect time for the first Agatha Christie story to be adapted for the BBC by screenwriter Sarah Phelps, who also penned the script for J.K. Rowlings’s A Casual Vacancy. A wealthy philanthropist is murdered and her son Jack dies in prison, accused of her murder. A year later, a mysterious stranger arrives to prove Jack’s innocence. If his story is true, the murderer is still in the family. In one of Christie’s most satisfying stories, the cast presents a host of well-known faces, including Bill Nighy and Anna Chancellor. Murder, plot twists and a fantastic cast. Can it get any better?

It most definitely can! September brings with it the second instalment of Christie magic. Now, how well do you know the person next to you? It’s the question that made Agatha Christie the best-selling novelist of all time. And Then There Were None sports an all-star cast, including Charles Dance (Game of Thrones) and Aidan Turner (Poldark). Ten strangers, each accused of a terrible crime, are lured to an island mansion and quickly find themselves at the mercy of their unknown host. And Then There Were None has seen many adaptations, but this is the first screen version to include Agatha Christie’s original, less cheery, ending.

It’s time for the home stretch everyone! With October we welcome a third Agatha Christie series. In Sarah Phelps’s second Christie adaptation for the BBC, the cast is headed by Toby Jones and Kim Cattrall. Witness for the Prosecution is the perfect Film Noir for a 1920s London. It’s a thrilling two-part drama about the murder of the rich and glamorous Emily French. All evidence points towards her young lover Leonard, but how will the jury decide?

The cold days and Idris Elba go together like bread and butter, or an attractively greying beard and a warm woollen coat. In Series 4, Luther introduces himself very non-dramatically: ‘There are some things you might have heard about me that could be true.’ If that is how Luther introduces himself to his colleagues, you should take care not to become his enemy. After a leave of absence living a reclusive life on the English coast, Luther is back in London on the trail of a cannibalistic killer, while also attempting to uncover the truth behind Alice's apparent death. With trouble following him wherever he goes, the case is fast becoming a test that will push Luther closer to the edge than he’s ever been before.

There we are. 2018 is all wrapped up, but there are more presents under the tree. 2019 is just around the corner and there is so much BBC content to look forward to. Why don’t you have a peek?

In 2019, fans can look forward to Emilia Fox’s 14th outing as Dr Nikki Alexander. Cast members David Caves, Liz Carr and Richard Lintern are also confirmed to return. Although not much is known about the 22nd series, actor Richard Lintern has said the new series will focus on bringing in London more as a character than has been done before.

New year, new Call the Midwife. Harry Potter star Miriam Margolyes, who will always be Professor Sprout to me, joins the cast for the Christmas special and the first episode of series 8. Fenella Woolgar (Victoria & Abdul) and Ella Bruccoleri (Genius: Picasso) move to Poplar as newcomers Hilda and Frances and (yeah!) Helen George returns as Nurse Trixie Franklin.

In series 8 of Death in Paradise, Shyko Amos joins the cast as officer Ruby Patterson. She has, what shall we say, a unique take on crime fighting. From a local radio DJ murdered while live on air to a zookeeper killed by a poisonous dart, Jack and his team definitely have their work cut out.

Welcome back to the beautiful English countryside. Let’s just take some deep breaths of fresh air and ignore Father Brown trapped outside on what is a dark and stormy night, with a murderer on the loose. Don’t bother yourself with the kidnap of Lady Felicia and Mrs McCarthy. I’m sure everything will be fine.

A new adaptation of Victor Hugo's 19th-century classic Les Misérables is packed full of big-name actors and this time none of them has to sing. A brave choice, considering the success of the long-running musical and Oscar-winning Hollywood film. Dominic West will lead the cast as Jean Valjean, with David Oyelowo as the obsessed and villainous policeman Javert. Olivia Colman takes on the role of the abusive Madame Thénardier, while Lily Collins will play Fantine. Adapted by Andrew Davies (War and Peace, House of Cards), the six-part drama will delve deeply into the story of love, revolution and survival, vividly bringing to life the vibrant and engaging characters.

When you manage to book Richard Geer (Chicago, Pretty Woman) in his first major television role for 30 years, you’d better have a story to match. MotherFatherSon is an eight-part original drama created and written by Tom Rob Smith (The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story). The story revolves around the toxic relationships of a mother, a father and, err, I forget the last one. Anyway, Gere plays Max, the owner of one of the world’s most influential media empires. When his son Caden’s (Billy Howle) self-destructive lifestyle spirals out of control, he and his estranged wife Kathryn (Helen McCrory) have very different ideas about how best to support him.

And finally, he might not be sporting Hercule Poirot’s trademark moustache, but John Malkovich as the iconic detective is already heading the list of 2019 must-watch television. Malkovich is joined by a collage of well-known faces, including Ron Weasley, I mean Rupert Grint, as Inspector Crome. 2019 sees the adaptation of the ABC Murders by the incomparable Sarah Phelps. 

Poirot faces a serial killer known only under the alias ABC. Using the British railway network, the killer strikes methodically, leaving behind nothing but a copy of the ABC railway guide. Poirot must find a way to match his nemesis and, in the process, everything about him will be called into question: his authority, his integrity, his past, his identity.

And finally, that’s 2018 dusted off and stored back in the attic. I hope you enjoyed our little excursion through the best of BBC First. With 2019 almost upon us there is so much more amazing BBC content to come. What were your favourite series and moments of 2018? Are you looking forward to a fabulous 2019 on BBC First? I definitely am.

From me and all of us at the BBC a very merry festive season and a happy new year!

Written for BBC First Benelux 

[snoopctm]

CtM Thursday Thoughts--Relationships

Welcome to Thursday, everyone! This week, I’m going to provide an opinion that I think may be a little bit controversial. I will say that up front, but I also hope it can generate some interesting discussion. That opinion has to do with my current wishes concerning relationships on the show, and particularly romantic ones. More thoughts follow:

So, in this hiatus, looking back to previous series and with a small idea of what’s in store for series 8 (new casting, etc.), as well as reading a few fan opinons on various platforms outside outside of Tumblr, and also with great respect for Heidi and writers and acknowledging that I do not write this show and I have often been pleasantly surprised in the past when the story has gone in a direction that I hadn’t previously wanted it to (Shelagh’s pregnancy arc being a major example there), I have arrived at this wish for series 8:

At this point in my thinking, I would prefer there to be no new romances on the show in series 8.

Yes, I know this show has done romance well in the past and its portrayal of romantic relationships has been, for the most part, excellent and refreshing compared to the general trend in television. I also know that “no new romances” will mean now that there will only be two romantic couples on the show--the Turners and the Buckles--but you know? For now, at least, I’m fine with that! Yes, I fully own my status as a major Turnadette shipper, so the fact that one of the two canon couples currently on the show is my OTP is great for me, but I also think it’s great that *both* of the established couples on the show are happy, healthy, mutually respectful and caring marriages. That’s wonderful, as far as I’m concerned. Still, there are a lot of single characters on the show now, and I know that in general, fans like romances, but I think it would be great if the show took a break from introducing new ones for one series at least. A few reasons for this--

More Nuns--The recent casting news revealed that, of the three new characters and one “recurring guest” character joining the show, three out of the four are nuns. This suggests to me a new emphasis on the nuns on the show, which I welcome because I like the nuns and I would love to see more focus on them again. Also, even though I did mention seeing some kind of spark between Sister W and Tom in episode 7x08, I highly doubt the show will go the “nun falls in love” route again since they’ve already done that so prominently. Instead, it will be great to get to know the new nun characters and see how they interact with the existing characters (nuns,nurses, and otherwise), and to see the friendship dynamics that may develop, which leads me to...

Friendships--One of the highlights of the show over the years has been how wonderfully it has portrayed non-romantic friendships, particularly among the nurses, and I would like to see this continue and develop even more. Now with new characters joining, and also with Trixie returning and Shelagh apparently coming back to work full-time, I’d love to see more emphasis on friendships among the midwives. Also, in terms of the nurses who still single...

No Prospective Suitor Has Seemed Good Enough (Yet)--Poor Trixie. Her romance drama has seemed to dominate her character arc since the second half of series 3, and although I’ve liked elements of both of her major romances, neither seemed to fit ultimately. Tom turned out to be better suited with Barbara, and Christopher just... well, I liked him, but the story just seemed to drag out and he ended up seeming a little too pushy for my tastes. Now that Trixie is coming back and it looks like Christopher isn’t, I think it would be nice to just let Trixie be single for a while and focus on her life as a nurse and midwife and on her relationships with the other Nonnatuns.  Maybe someday an ideal suitor will be found for her, but I hope that can wait until series 9. 

There’s also the issue of Phyllis. She’s had one minor (one episode) romantic plot, but otherwise she’s been shown to be happily single, but now there’s Sgt Grumpy Walrus Woolf and, although the idea of pairing these two isn’t very popular on Tumblr, it *does” seem popular elsewhere online. A lot of people seem to be expecting these two to be paired up, and I still hope it doesn’t happen. I actually grew to like Sgt Woolf a lot more in s7 than I did when he first showed up in the last Christmas special, but still, he seems like an interesting enough character but I still don’t see him as an ideal romantic partner for Phyllis. I’m perfectly fine with these two being friends and occasionally sparring partners, but I’m still not sold on the idea of them as a couple mostly because I don’t see him as a good match for her. 

Also, in terms of Lucille and Valerie, I know lots of people ship them, but I don’t personally ship them romantically and don’t really see signs that the show is heading in the direction of pairing them up (although I do think a strong case could be made for Val’s having an unrequited crush). I love their friendship, though, and now that Trixie is back full-time it will be interesting to see how they interact with her.

So basically, for me, my current wish is that the show continue with the amazing portrayals of the two romantic couples it has (and yes, more mushy Turner scenes are always welcome), but as for the rest of the crew, it would be nice to see more focus on friendships at least for series 8. Of course, I’m always open and happy to be pleasantly surprised so if a new romance does happen and it’s great, then yay! But for the moment, I’m cool with two happy marriages and a lot of non-romantic friendships, at least for now.

That’s all for this week. Responses and discussion are always welcome and encouraged. Next week, more thoughts!

[marginalgloss]

to cleave the sea

Gene Wolfe wrote a story called The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories, which in turn enabled him to put it out in a collection earnestly labelled The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories and Other Stories. As a literary joke this is rather fun. Was it only a joke? The more I read into Wolfe’s fiction the more sure I become that for this author nothing is ever really just a matter of wordplay. Later he wrote stories called The Death of Dr. Island and Death of the Island Doctor, both of which are also featured in this collection. All three are quite different in style and apparently unrelated.  

In The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories, a boy comes upon a paperback novel in a drugstore. The boy has the pleasingly odd name of Tackman Babcock, though he’s mainly referred to in the second person singular — as if he were you, the reader. 

Tackman is fascinated by the book:  

‘The covers are glossy stiff cardboard, and on the front is a picture of a man in rags fighting a thing partly like an ape and partly like a man, but much worse than either.’ 

Jason, the older man he’s with, says: ‘That’s camp. Did you know that?’. Is it camp? Tackman doesn’t really know what this world means, but in this context it would seem to be Jason’s way of dismissing what he sees as meaningless frippery. 

The story unfolds at first in direct quotation from the books: a somewhat butchered version of The Island of Dr Moreau, complete with a sinister vivisectionist and his half-human, half-animal creations. It is not long, however, before those characters become part of Tackman’s world in a very immediate way. Jason is not his father, and there is something strange going on at the costume party that evening.

The story assumes a shape which is somehow comforting, even through the chaos. Adult life is complicated, even incomprehensible, to you; but a white man’s adventures on strange foreign soil somehow make sense of it all. The story has it all — even pleasant moral platitudes, like ‘the evil are always foolish in the final analysis’. It is an appealing balance.

And it ends on a strange note: a sudden tragedy — or a sudden crime — and Doctor Death at the boy’s elbow, reassuring him that when he starts reading the story over again the characters will resume all their old roles. You’re too young to realise, he says, but it’s the same with you. The dominance of these archetypes is eternal, it seems. It’s hard to decipher whether this is a promise or a threat. 

***

The Death of Dr Island works a little differently. It is a science fiction story, though that much takes a while to become apparent: at first it appears to be about a boy on a desert island. His name is Nicholas Kenneth de Vore. Something has happened to Nick. Paragraphs of description are peppered with uncanny details: initially he emerges into the world via a hatch; his body is marked with traces of sutures; he hears voices which seem to come directly from the flora, fauna, and waves. 

Sometimes he screams: 

‘His screaming was high-pitched, and each breath ended in a gibbering, ululant note, after which came the hollow, iron gasp of the next indrawn breath. On one occasion he had screamed in this way, without cessation, for fourteen hours and twenty-two minutes, at the end of which a nursing nun with an exemplary record stretching back seventeen years had administered an injection without the permission of the attending physician.’ 

And he is not alone on the island. There are at least two others there: Ignacio, a violent and unpredictable older boy, and Diane, a strange young woman with whom Nick becomes involved. The island is part of a facility designed to contain the mentally ill. Nick has been through surgery to separate the two sides of his brain. 

What is this story? It’s a wild, strange, linguistic safari. Wolfe’s prose has a tendency to skip lightly along, as if he had written it out then carefully excised every alternate excessive concrete detail. He seems to encourage that feeling of being slightly lost. At its best it is mysterious, but sometimes it is slightly confounding. Writing about this now I find myself slightly at a loss to explain what this story is about, or even approach a satisfactory description of it. 

The story ends with Nick destroying the island — with the literal death of the thing, Dr Island. Is it a metaphor for how fighting against mental illness sometimes entails the destruction of the system of treatment itself? I don’t know. There is an elusiveness here, a resistance to interpretation, that makes me think of Nabokov in its playful textual manipulations; but also writers like Cormac McCarthy in terms of that muscular, allusive, dark, and wholly American style. 

***

Death of the Island Doctor is only a few pages long. It describes a retired professor, a man ‘a little cracked’, who is given the opportunity of running a seminar by his university. His name is Dr Insula and he asks to teach about islands:

‘I may also decide to include isles, atolls, islets, holms, eyots, archipelagoes, and some of the larger reefs…it depends how they come along, you know. But definitely not peninsulas.’

It is not especially clear whether this is intended to be a history class or a literature class. But at first, the question turns out to be irrelevant; the university awards the course no credit, and so of course no students attend. Insula goes on teaching his none-existent class for six years until, by a happy administrative accident, it is awarded a tiny amount of credit, and two students show up. 

They are a young man and a young woman, and since it is only them they go to his house to receive the seminar. He serves them tea, and talks to them:

‘He told them of Lucian’s travels to Antioch, Greece, Italy, and Gaul, and this led him to speak of the ships of that time and the danger of storms and piracy, and the enchantment of the Greek isles. He told them of Apollo’s birth on Delos; of Patmos, where Saint John beheld the Apocalypse; and of Phraxos, where the sorcerer Conchis dwelt. He said, “‘to cleave that sea in the gentle autumnal season, murmuring the name of each islet, is to my mind the joy most apt to transport the heart of man to paradise.’” But because it did not rhyme, the young man and young woman did not know he was quoting a famous tale.’

He gives them homework, too: Dr Insula tells them to take a little boat to an actual island, a specific place in their locality. He instructs them to come to their next meeting prepared to describe what it is they found magical there. And so they go, and nothing at all of note happens. The reader knows, I’m sure, that when the young man and young woman return for their next seminar they will find that old Dr Insula has since died; but how much more mysterious for him to be found sitting in the old boat in his garage, as if to set out to sea again one last time. 

This is one of Wolfe’s more comfortable stories, I think. In some ways it is gently conservative. It has a tone reminiscent of Calvino or Borges: that sense of a bibliophilia beautiful for its own sake which regardless becomes a sort of mental prison, a labyrinth of its own making, in which the protagonist is never quite sure if he is Theseus or the Minotaur. Dr Insula will never do anything again other than teach this non-existent class. He there in perpetuity. I don’t know if there isn’t something horrifying about this. 

Hope is manifest in the young man and young woman. (They are pointedly described as ‘young’ throughout.) The final line implies that they formed a relationship, and that later they came to realise Dr Insula wasn’t wrong about the island at all. It’s an echo of the final lines of The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories — a reminder that life frequently happens in spite of our best intentions, and that the shape of our lives tends towards archetypes which we find reflected in fiction and myth.

[swanslieutenant]

If the Stars Align - Chapter IX

Summary: The Musketeers AU. Danger lurks around every corner in the French court and as a Musketeer in service of the royal family, Killian’s duty is to protect them from any and all threats. As his relationship with Queen Emma develops into something more than just friendship, threats against the queen escalate and put everything they hold dear into jeopardy.

Rating: M

Content warning for the story: violence, mature themes, minor character death.

Art by @hook-and-star-ink​ , @acaptainswaneternity and @seastarved. Follow this to check all the pieces currently published and give them some love!  

Catch Up on tumblr: ch1, ch2, ch3,  ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8

AO3: ch9

As the nuns promised, the convent is secure and unable to be breached. The bandits attempted to break into the convent by scaling the walls and a few of the nuns scared them off by pouring hot water (intended for a bath for Emma) over their heads, sending them shrieking and screaming back down the hill.

After that, the rest of the bandits retreated, slinking back into the forest like shadows. There’s a thin plume of black smoke rising above the treeline, wafting away from the convent with the wind, and they know the bandits haven’t left yet.

Killian stays downstairs all afternoon, helping out where he can and trying very hard not to think about Emma upstairs; if he does, he knows he’d turn right around and walk back upstairs.

To keep himself busy, he checks on Aurora in the convent’s small nursing quarters. She’s better, unconscious from sleep now instead of the hit to her head, and the nun in charge tells him she will be better in a few days and not to worry.

Though the convent looks secure, he, Robin, and Lancelot explore it further, trying to find any weaknesses. The entire building is sturdy, but the wine cellar appears to be the least secured. An old delivery door, unused for years, is only blocked off by several crates of old, dusty wine. To counteract the weak point, they shove even more crates and heavy wooden benches from the chapel above in front of it and set up a rotation of watching the door through the night.

At dinner, with Tink having volunteered to watch the wine cellar while they have something to eat, the four Musketeers sit down with Emma and Mother Superior at a small table in the dining hall.

No one says anything, picking at their cabbage soup until its lukewarm and lumpy. Everyone is too on edge to have much of an appetite, not when there are dozens of bandits outside the gates, waiting for them.

Killian feels a twinge of guilt as some of the nuns pass by the dining hall, peering in with looks that range between fear and anger. The Musketeers have brought this threat to the door of the convent, and though Killian knows there was no other option, it doesn’t sit right with him. He may not share their religion, but their devotion to their values has offered them shelter and now they could pay for that with their lives.

Reinforcements are at least two days away at the most. If David is riding as hard as he can and if he rides all night, he should be back in Paris by tomorrow night, meaning another whole night for reinforcements to get here by the late afternoon of the second day. 

Two days of sitting here, not knowing what is going to happen next.

His eyes slide to Emma, staring unseeing at her soup and fiddling with her spoon. They haven’t had a chance to speak since the afternoon in her room, and since they noticed the bandits’ fire, the mood in the barracks has darkened. Any earlier lightheartedness has gone up in smoke with the flames.

“I can’t eat,” Emma says after a while of silence, pushing her full bowl away. “Mother Superior, will you take me to see Aurora?” 

Mother Superior pushes away her own uneaten bowl. “Of course.”

Killian starts to rise but Robin stands at the same time. For a moment, they stare at each other, before Robin waves Killian back down.

“Finish your supper, Jones. I’ll go.”

There’s not really a way he can argue, so he sinks back down. Killian catches Emma’s gaze, a flash of disappointment in her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything either as Robin leads the way out of the room.

When the three of them are gone, any pretense of eating the awful soup is over. Killian, Will, and Lancelot split up their duties for the night’s watch. They’ve got two areas they want for surveillance – the wine cellar and Emma’s quarters. The view to the outside gates is best from Emma’s quarters, so whoever guards her will also be watching that wall too.

Killian is, of course, hoping to be assigned upstairs, but to his disappointment, Lancelot sends Will up there, ordering Killian down into the wine cellar instead.

When he trudges downstairs, Tink is seated on a barrel, staring with glazed over eyes at the sealed door, and she jerks in surprise as Killian enters the room. He chuckles at her, and she lets out a sigh of relief and hauls herself to her feet.

“Thank God. I’m starving.”

He snorts, and drops down onto the barrel she just rose from. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”

She’s already headed to the door, her stomach growling, but she pauses, looking back to him, a strange look in her eyes. Killian tenses; he’d hoped she’d forgotten her desire earlier to catch up, but it appears not.

“Tink,” he starts, warningly, but she ignores him.

“You have to tell me how you ended up in this situation, Killian.” She gestures at his fleur-de-lis pauldron, shaking her head in disbelief. “A Musketeer? Really? I thought I’d lost my senses when I saw you earlier.”

Killian sighs, not wanting to get into it right now (or ever), and he stares at the wall instead of her. “It’s a long story.”

Tink snorts, and her growling stomach forgotten, moves across the room and plops back down on the barrel beside him. “I think I can make the time.”

He doesn’t say anything, and Tink rolls her eyes.

“Fine. I’ll start the story, shall I? Last I saw you, you and Liam were going off to London, to join the English Navy. All seemed set in stone, so what happened?”

This is exactly why he didn’t want to talk about it. He stiffens at the mention of his brother’s name, and Tink notices, her brow furrowing.

“What? What’s wrong?”

A lump grows in his throat, and he has to clear it several times before answering. “Liam. He’s ... he’s dead.”

Honest shock crosses her face, and she closes her eyes briefly and Killian wonders if she’s praying for Liam’s soul, long gone already to the depths of Davey Jones.

“I’m so sorry, Killian. What happened?”

He hesitates; he hasn’t talked about Liam for years, mostly to keep his past as an Englishman private, but also because it’s too painful. He lost his brother, his only companion, his mentor, his captain, in the blink of an eye, no time to say goodbye. Talking about it makes his hands shake with anger, his memories dipping down a dark path, and it’s better to just avoid it and pretend he never had a brother.

But he can’t do that here; Tink knew Liam too.

“We did join the Navy,” he says, voice rough. “And, for a while, it was wonderful. Liam excelled to captain, and I to lieutenant. The way we were going, we’d have made the admiralty in no time.”

He thinks of the way he’d once stood, proud as anything with the English crest on his chest, and his chest aches as he tells the next part of the story. “But one day, we were out on a mission, and we were attacked by Spanish privateers. It was awful, and Liam ... Liam didn’t make it.”

Tink sucks in a deep breath. “Killian. I’m so sorry.”

Killian can almost feel the rage he felt then, resurfacing as he remembers why he left the Navy after Liam died, and he clenches his hands into fists.

“Even though they were Spanish, the English king refused to condemn the privateers. He was trying to broker a treaty with the Spanish, and feared this would put it all on hold. The lives of ten Navy soldiers wasn’t worth it to him. So it wasn’t worth it to me to stay with England either.”

“So you returned to France and joined the Musketeers?” She says it incredulously, and he nods.

“It’s more complicated than that, but I didn’t want to join a merchant ship again and the French Navy is almost non-existent. I’d been trained as a solider so ... here I am. Serving the French royalty instead of the English.”

Tink sits up a bit straighter, and narrows her eyes at him. “And they’re okay with you being English?”

Killian doesn’t answer, and Tink shakes her head darkly. “Killian.”

“Emma knows. And the captain of the Musketeers. But no one else does.”

She sighs, and levels him a severe look. “I won’t say anything, but Killian ...”

He knows she’s thinking of the current war with England, the anti-English sentiment he’s sure has made its way out to her convent, and he smiles tightly.

“I’ll be careful, Tink. I’ve been so far. Don’t worry.”

She looks unconvinced, but her stomach growls loudly again. It’s clear she wants to interrogate him further, another loud growl has her getting to her feet with a sigh, and she leaves him alone to his thoughts, still shaking her head in dismay.

The moment she’s gone, Killian pulls out his flask from an inner pocket of his coat. It’s already half drained of rum – the days on the road having done its trick – but he takes a generous swig of the remainder, letting it burn its way down his throat and into his belly.

He tries to focus on anything but his past as the night goes on, the hours dragging and long. But now that it’s been drudged up from the depth, as unforgettable as a hurricane, he has no choice. 

He wonders what Liam would think of him now, sitting in the bottom of an old convent, guarding the French queen against bandits trying to kill her. He probably would laugh and tell Killian to get his head on straight and get the hell out of here. Liam had had no love for the French monarchy, preferring to pledge his loyalty to the monarch of their English roots ... how ironic it was that king who had let his death go unremarked or avenged.

If they’d been apart of the French army and Liam had died in that service in the way he did, Killian knows Emma would never let the treatment he received happen here. With his rank and the way he died, he’d have been honoured as dying for his country, not ignored and swept under the rug as if he never existed.

Killian leans his head against the wall behind him, tucking the flask back away after another swig. He wonders what Liam would think of Emma. She’s good and kind, like him, so he bets they’d have gotten along. Liam would have been honoured to serve a good queen like her instead of a selfish and cruel king.

Speaking of Emma, he wishes he could go upstairs, to talk to her, to see how she’s doing. There’s not much he can do for her in terms of reassuring her worries, but he’d be at least able to offer her some company, and maybe he himself wouldn’t feel as lonely as he does now.

But as if the universe is trying to send him a message, somehow, he doesn’t end up on a rotation standing guard outside Emma’s room, instead spending most of the night watching the cellar door. It’s the opposite of restful, alternating between his thoughts dragging him back to Liam’s death and the creaking and cracking of the old convent making him feel like every nerve he has is on full alert.

It’s exhausting, and hours later, when Will comes to relieve him, he trudges back to the makeshift bedroom set up for them in an old study room, his eyes drooping. He drops onto a cot, asleep before he’s even fully horizontal, drained by the day.  

A hammering sound permeates his dreams, sometimes as galloping horses or the rocking of a ship against heavy waves. When he wakes, warm morning sunlight lighting the room, the sound continues and he realizes it’s not just in his dream.

When he’s dressed, he stumbles into the large antechamber outside the chapel, the room they’ve set up as their makeshift headquarters. Lancelot, Will, Emma, Mother Superior, and Tink are seated around a table, papers scattered all about it, and they look up in unison as Killian enters.

“Finally,” Will mutters, rolling his eyes. “It’s half eleven already.”

Killian ignores him, dropping into the free seat between Lancelot and Tink. “What’s going on? What’s that sound?”

“They’re building something,” Lancelot grits out, glaring out the window.  

Goosebumps raise on the back of Killian’s neck. He can’t see anything but the convent courtyard when he looks out the window, and he frowns.

“What is it?”

“We’re not sure yet. Robin’s upstairs, keeping an eye on it.”

Apprehension growing, Killian looks over to Emma. She’s frowning, a crease of worry between her brows, and Killian knows that whatever these bandits are up to, it’s not going to be good.

As the day goes on, they realize what the bandits are building – a scaffold. Killian joined Robin at the top of the north tower after he had a quick breakfast (or lunch, as Will so sweetly put it), and they’ve been watching the progress of the bandits for hours now.

“They can’t get in through the walls, so they’re gonna try to go over.”

Tink thinks they should drop torches on the half-assembled structure, but Mother Superior is afraid the dry grass outside will ignite and surround the convent with fire. Emma suggests the hot water again, and they do attempt that. Killian and the other Musketeers crawl along the top of the large wall, pushing sloshing buckets ahead of them, but one of the bandits catches sight of them and fires his musket at them, so they’re forced to retreat, full water buckets abandoned on the top of the wall.

After that, they’re unsure of what to do. Robin and Lancelot retreat to keep watch, and Killian, Will, Tink, and Emma assemble the nuns in the chapel. It’s looking like this is going to descend into a fight, and they need all the weapons they can get. 

Its a pretty disappointing haul – there are gardening tools (shovels, stakes, weeding hooks, and hatchets), fire stokers, and kitchen knives. Tink finds three rusty swords and Will finds an old barrel of gun powder hidden away at the back of one of the storerooms, but other than that, they’ve only got the weapons the Musketeers had when they came in.

Emma is quiet the entire search, her eyes darkening each time one of the nuns returns with a new garden tool. When they’ve collected everything, laid out on the kitchen table, it’s more pitiful than Killian could’ve imagined.

He and Will exchange a dark look, but Tink hardens her jaw and takes it upon herself to arm the rest of the nuns. Will follows after her, muttering about cleaning the rust off the swords, but Killian lingers in the kitchen, noticing Emma hasn’t moved.

“Emma?” he asks, moving closer. “Are you coming?”

She looks up from the weapons, her eyes watery. Killian steps forward instantly, hand out to comfort her.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

She steps back, away from his hand, her voice hoarse as she says, “This is all my fault.”

“No, no, it’s not –”

“It is,” she snaps, wiping at her eyes. “They’re after me. Aurora’s injured, all these nuns are in danger, you’re in danger. We have no weapons other than shovels and rusty swords, and those men are out there building a scaffold to storm this convent, and it’s all because I’m the queen.”

“Emma –”

She turns away, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Just give me a minute please.”

He hesitates, hand still outstretched towards her. He doesn’t want to leave her, not when she looks like she’s going to burst into tears, but she’s stiff and tense, angled away from him, and he respects her wishes, turning away and closing the door quietly behind him.

After that, Killian doesn’t get a chance to talk to Emma until dinner. He gets busy helping Robin and Lancelot show some of the nuns basic defensive moves, and though Emma comes out to watch, her eyes ringed in red and mouth dipped in a frown, she doesn’t join in.

Dinner that night is the strangest one Killian’s ever had. The nuns have warmed up to the Musketeers after the afternoon defense lessons, and they join them in the dining hall, sitting interspersed between the Musketeers, soldiers and nuns sitting together as equals.

As well, despite their earlier unfriendliness, most of the nuns have warmed to Emma and are now clustered around her, asking her all about her life in Paris. Some are younger daughters of nobles, eager for news of any shared acquaintances, and others are girls from simple country origins, wide-eyed at the description of the lavish Parisian life. 

Though a lingering unhappiness lurks in Emma’s eyes, some brightness returns to her as she talks about the dances at the Louvre, the swans in her garden, the wedding they were supposed to be attending.

But that only lasts until the end of dinner, when the conversation fades out and is replaced by the incessant hammering of the bandits outside. She pushes away her food, and goes up to her chambers, Lancelot following her for the first shift of guard duty, and the other Musketeers spread out for their own positions.  

Killian starts out in the cellar, and like last night, every creak and crack of the convent settling is as loud and as threatening as a shot. The hammering continues all night, becoming such a constant rhythm that in the moment it does pause, Killian keeps imagining he still hears it.

After a few hours, Lancelot clambers down the stairs, startling Killian half-to-death. Lancelot laughs at him, patting him on the back and shooing him away.

“Get some sleep, Killian. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

Not one to argue with that, he treks off to the makeshift bedroom. Robin is the only one there, sound asleep on a mat on the floor, and Killian settles himself down on his own, trying to get comfortable on the stone floor. The blankets are lumpy and smell vaguely of mothballs and with the danger outside, sleep is a long time coming.

When he does manage to drift off, his dreams are composed of the past few days of sword fighting with Emma, her bright smile and the warm sun glinting off her blonde hair. But they twist into darker nightmares, the bandits are scaling the walls of the convent while everyone’s asleep. The bandits are a mix of the men he saw out on the road and the rogue Bastille guards from last month and they slaughter everyone inside with razor sharp knives, screams reverberating through the stone walls, Emma’s the loudest of all.

Killian jolts awake, not sure if it’s from the screams in his nightmare or something else, but for a moment he lies there in the dark, completely disoriented. As his eyes adjust, he realizes there’s a candle in the room, a silhouetted figure moving through the shadows, and his stomach clenches. He sits up, squinting in the darkness, and as the figure shifts, the candlelight catches his face, illuminating the features of Will Scarlet. Relief floods Killian, and he lets out a hard breath of air, and running a hand over his face, dropping back onto the mat.

Paranoid much, Jones?

“Wake up, mate,” Will hisses, nudging Robin’s sleeping body with his foot, and Robin jerks awake.

“Wha – what’s goin’ on?”

“It’s your shift with the queen.”

Killian, suddenly feeling wide awake, sits up again. They may just be nightmares, but the sound of Emma’s scream is still reverberating in his, and he needs to see her, to reassure himself it was just a dream.

“I’ll go,” he whispers to Robin, who is still trying to unravel himself from a pile of blankets. “Come get me at dawn or so; I’ll sleep in the morning.”

Robin squints at him, but shrugs and drops back into the blankets, rolling over with a snore.

Other than the hammering going on outside, the convent is quiet. His footsteps seem twice as loud as usual, heavy and echoing down the halls and the staircase as he goes up to the eastern tower.

The door to Emma’s bedroom is open, a candle flickering inside. He expects her to be sound asleep by now, but she’s wide awake, seated in the single dining chair, knees up to her chin and staring out the window.

“Emma?” Killian asks quietly as he stops in the doorway, making her jolt in surprise. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t sleep,” she replies, looking back out the window and leaning her head on her knees. “Not when ... not when they’re out there.” She looks away from the window, her eyes finding his. “Will you sit with me?”

He retrieves a chair from the receiving chamber, setting it beside hers and sitting down. She’s returned to staring out the window, hugging her knees tight, and she’s quiet for a long time, the hammering of the bandits the only sound between them.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks quietly after a moment.

“Henry,” Emma whispers, and Killian’s heart clenches at the sorrow in her voice. “He’ll be wondering where we are. We should have arrived at the halfway point by now.” She pauses, clutching her legs tighter. “I’m afraid he’s going to grow up motherless like I did.”

“He won’t,” Killian promises. “You’re going to see him again, Emma.”

She sighs. “I admire your optimism, Killian, but I don’t share it.” She leans her head against the back wall, and closes her eyes. “Henry, Mary Margaret, Ariel, my other ladies. All the people I love ... I don’t know if I’ll ever seem them again.”

“You will, Emma. I promise.”

Emma continues as if she didn’t hear him. “If I’m not around to protect Henry, Gold will corrupt him. He’ll turn him into a puppet like he’s done to Neal. There are some days I don’t even recognize him anymore, and I can’t let him do that to Henry too.”

Killian is quiet, not sure what to say, and Emma opens her eyes. She regards him quietly for a moment, and then says, “Do you remember that little stream I showed you on the hunt, with the little pile of rocks? Where I hurt my hand? That’s where Neal and I used to go to talk about our dreams for France before Gold got his claws in him. We’d put a little rock there every day we went out, a marker of another day spent planning to make the country great. But now ... its just a reminder none of our dreams were achieved.”

Killian frowns, hating the bitter edge to her tone. “What were your dreams?”

Emma drops her feet to the floor with a sigh. “There were so many. The prison sentences would be re-examined, as would when death was a suitable punishment. The nobles would have stricter guidelines on how much grain they could take away from the farmers and how much they could tax them. All the wars we were fighting would be settled, and all those husbands and fathers and brothers could return home to their families.” She pauses, biting her lip, and her voice is soft when she speaks again. “I wanted to open more orphanages, and make sure they were properly regulated, with adequate food and warmth for the children, to make sure they were all safe and well-cared for.”

She smiles then, lost in memory, and it’s easy to imagine her as the younger woman she had been then, much too young to have the weight of the world on her shoulders but trying her hardest to make it a better place for all.

He rests his hand on hers across her thigh, and squeezes it. “I wish you had gotten a chance to build your France. And when we’re out of here, I know you will one day.”

Though sadness lingers in her eyes, she smiles at him, and tilts her head curiously. “Why do you always say things like that?”

He lifts her hand, pressing his lips to it in a gentle kiss. “Because I believe in you.” 

“Because I’m the queen?” she asks wryly. “That’s what’s gotten us into this mess.”

He chuckles. “No, Emma. Because you’re you. If you put your mind to something, whether its telling Cardinal Gold to go to hell or teaching a Musketeer how to dance or learning to fight or living another day to build a better France, one way or another, you’ll get it done.”

The look in her eyes changes, from reminiscent to charged in a moment, and Emma slides forward in her chair so their knees bump.

“There’s one more thing I want to do,” she whispers, and she grabs his collar, pulling him forward and pressing her lips to his.

This kiss is different than their others, less rushed and desperate, tender instead. She edges forward again, and Killian pulls her onto his lap. He breaks away from her lips to kiss up her neck and the side of her jaw.

Emma groans, and she fists her hand in his hair, dragging his face back up to hers to kiss him again. Her tongue slides across his lips, sending fire through every nerve in his body, but she’s a tease, moving to kiss his cheeks, his jaw, her panting breaths ghosting across his skin.

“Bed,” she whispers, and he stands, carrying her in his arms to the small bed, and dropping them both down onto the bed. Emma pulls him closer, hands drifting to the belt at his waist, untucking his shirt as she continues to kiss him.

Though he’s already straining to press Emma into the small mattress and feel her body underneath his, moving from the chair has knocked some reason into him and he pauses. Emma was mourning the potential loss of her future not five minutes ago, and he doesn’t want to take advantage of her emotional state.

He leans his head back, breaking free of her kisses, even when she leans further up to try to continue.

“Wait, Emma, stop.”

“Why? What are you doing?”

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. “Emma, you’re upset. We shouldn’t do this. Not when you’re so unhappy –”

She was confused, but there’s a flash of understanding in her eyes, warmth growing in them, and she leans forward to kiss him again, so forcefully Killian forgets what he just said.

“I am upset,” she says when she pauses for breath, leaning back to look into Killian’s eyes. “But I am not doing this because I’m upset. I want this, Killian, I want to be with you before it’s too late. We might not have a tomorrow.”

He searches her eyes for any trace of doubt or uncertainty, but there’s only determination, desire, and a feeling he doesn’t dare put a name to; he’s not sure his heart could survive it.

Emma abruptly pulls back, a shadow crossing her features and a heavy stone wall shuttering over her eyes.

“Unless you don’t want me. I know I’m the queen, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything because I say so –”

“No, Emma, that’s not it. Of course I want you.”

He leans forward, caressing her cheek softly, and draws her back to him, pressing his lips against hers. It’s a slower kiss, both of them taking their time to explore each other, and he wonders if she looked into his eyes, if she’d see the same expression in his he sees in hers.

When they pause for breath, Killian looks at Emma seriously once more. “You’re sure?”

She smiles, tugging him down beside her and pressing her lips against his own wide grin.

[papermoonloveslucy]

LUCY’S BIG BREAK

S5;E1 ~ September 11, 1972

Directed by Coby Ruskin ~ Written by Bob Carroll Jr. and Madelyn Davis

Synopsis

Lucy breaks her leg and is confined to a hospital bed.  A handsome doctor (Lloyd Bridges) catches her eye. Despite her confinement, she does everything she can to get his attention!

Regular Cast

Lucille Ball (Lucy Carter), Gale Gordon (Harrison Otis Carter), Lucie Arnaz (Kim Carter)

Guest Cast

Lloyd Bridgers (Dr. Paul Murray) is probably best remembered for his starring role in TV's “Sea Hunt” (1958-61).  He began his screen acting career in 1936 after acting on the New York stage.  In 1959 he starred in an episode of the “Westinghouse Desilu Playhouse” hosted by Desi Arnaz.  Bridges had his own show on CBS from 1962 to 1963.  His skill at comedy was memorably on display in the films Airplane (1980) and Hot Shots (1991).  He died in 1998 at age 85.

Bob Harks (Stand-in for Lloyd Bridges, uncredited) appeared in his first film in 1968 and was seen in the background of Mame (1974). In 1970 he popped up on his first television show and was seen in more than a dozen episodes of “Here's Lucy.” He died at age 83 in 2010.

Mary Wickes (Nurse Sylvia Ogilvy) was one of Lucille Ball’s closest friends and at one time, a neighbor. She made a memorable appearances on “I Love Lucy” as ballet mistress Madame Lamond in “The Ballet” (ILL S1;E19). In her initial “Lucy Show” appearances her characters name was Frances, but she then made four more as a variety of characters for a total of 8 episodes. This is one of her 9 appearances on “Here’s Lucy.” Their final collaboration on screen was “Lucy Calls the President” in 1977.

Mary Wickes returns as Nurse Ogilvy in the next episode, “Lucy and Eva Gabor are Hospital Roomies” (S5;E2).  

Alan Oppenheimer (Dr. Matt Parker) got his start in screen acting in a 1963 episode of Desilu's “The Untouchables.”  In 1974 he began doing voices on animated shows and has become one of Hollywood's busiest and most versatile voice actors.   Oppenheimer appeared as Lucy's brother, Herb Hinkley, in the final episode of season four “Kim Finally Cuts You-Know-Whose Apron String” (S4;E24).  This is his last appearance with Lucille Ball.  

Oppenheimer provides the DVD introduction to this episode. 

Mary Jane Croft (Mary Jane Lewis) played Betty Ramsey during season six of “I Love Lucy. ” She also played Cynthia Harcourt in “Lucy is Envious” (ILL S3;E23) and Evelyn Bigsby in “Return Home from Europe” (ILL S5;E26). She played Audrey Simmons on “The Lucy Show” but when Lucy Carmichael moved to California, she played Mary Jane Lewis, the actor’s married name and the same one she uses on all 31 of her episodes of “Here’s Lucy. Her final acting credit was playing Midge Bowser on “Lucy Calls the President” (1977). She died in 1999 at the age of 83. 

Vanda Barra (Vanda) makes one of over two dozen appearances on “Here’s Lucy” as well as appearing in Ball’s two 1975 TV movies “Lucy Gets Lucky” (with Dean Martin) and “Three for Two” (with Jackie Gleason). She was seen in half a dozen episodes of “The Lucy Show.” Barra was Lucille Ball’s cousin-in-law by marriage to Sid Gould. 

Although she had played a character named Vanda in two previous episodes, nearly all her remaining appearances on the series will be as Lucy's friend Vanda, including the next episode “Lucy and Eva Gabor are Hospital Roomies” (S5;E2).  

Sid Gould (Sam) made more than 45 appearances on “The Lucy Show” and nearly as many on “Here’s Lucy.” Gould (born Sydney Greenfader) was Lucille Ball’s cousin by marriage to Gary Morton.

On the second episode of “Here's Lucy” Gould's character name was Sam, a tour guide in Palm Springs.  Prior to this episode he twice played a character named Sam who was a waiter. He will play a character named Sam three more times, in addition to his many other minor roles.

June Whitley Taylor (Nurse) had appeared as Sally, one of Lucy and Ethel's bridge-playing friends in both “No Children Allowed” (ILL S2;E22) and “The Camping Trip” (ILL S2;E29).  She will make one more appearance on the next episode of “Here's Lucy.” 

Dorothy Konrad (Mrs. Foster) made a total of six appearances on “The Lucy Show.” She first played Dorothy Boyer, one of the volunteer firefighters, then a variety of other characters. This is her only appearance on “Here's Lucy.”

Mrs. Foster shares a room with Lucy in the hospital.  The surname Foster was previously used by the writers on “I Love Lucy” for the Ricardos' neighbors Bill and Grace.  

After season 4 wrapped, Lucille Ball experienced a run of bad luck.  First, the final episode of the season was designed as a pilot for a spin-off series starring Lucie Arnaz, but CBS declined to pick-up the show for production.  At the same time, Vivian Vance, who was being eyed as a reliable sidekick for Lucy should Lucie get her own show, was diagnosed with breast cancer.  Finally, in January 1972 on a ski trip to her condo in Snowmass, Colorado, Lucille Ball broke her leg. Instead of canceling the series, Ball had the injury written into the scripts, so that Lucy Carter would also have a broken leg. Almost all of this season's scripts had to be quickly rewritten or postponed.  The injury meant that Ball would have to limit her physical comedy and musical numbers and re-think the show's overall dynamics.  It also meant that her plans to start filming the musical film Mame would be put on hold until her injuries healed.

This episode begins the longest story arc (Lucy's broken leg) of the entire series, and the first continued story since Lucy cruised to Hawaii at the end of season 3.

Ironically, the highest rated TV program the week this episode first appeared was also set in a hospital with a handsome gray-haired doctor, “Marcus Welby M.D.” starring Robert Young on ABC.  

For the 1972-73 season, “Here's Lucy” was followed by the premiere of “The New Bill Cosby Show.”  One of the “Cosby” series regulars was Susan Tolsky, who played Kim's neighbor Sue Ann in the previous episode (and pilot) “Kim Finally Cuts You-Know-Whose Apron String” (S4;E24).  Tolsky will also return for one more episode of “Here's Lucy” in season 5.

For season five the opening title theme music (by Wilbur Hatch) has been re-orchestrated and Roy Rowan's announcer voice re-recorded. Some of the visuals involving the spotlight are slightly altered. 

The night before this episode originally aired Lucille Ball appeared on “A Salute to Television’s 25th Anniversary” on ABC.  Former “Lucy” guest stars that also participated include Bob Hope, John Wayne, Milton Berle, Sid Caesar, Jimmy Durante, and Dinah Shore.  

Before donning a habit to play nuns, Mary Wickes was typecast as a nurse due to her breakthrough role as Nurse Preen in the Broadway, film, and television versions of The Man Who Came To Dinner (above). In 1960 she played a nurse in the TV film “The Gambler, The Nun and the Radio,” 1963's “It's Mental Work,” and 1975's “Doc.” On “Here's Lucy” she played Nurse Hurlow in “Lucy and Harry's Tonsils” (S2;E5) and in the following episode “Lucy and Eva Gabor are Hospital Roomies” (S5;E2).  

The episode opens with location film of Lucille Ball on the slopes.  This footage was taken from Lucille Ball's personal home movies. The images then spiral fade into Lucy Carter's foot in a cast in a hospital bed.  Lucy says she was skiing down Fanny Hill (the beginner's slope) at Snowmass. Fanny Hill is also the title of an erotic novel written in 1748 by John Cleland. It was made into a feature film by director Russ Meyer in 1964.

The American Vision, the book Lucy Carter's hospital roommate is reading, was authored by Henry Fonda's character William Russell from the 1964 film The Best Man.

With the exception of a scene in the hospital hallway, the entire episode takes place in Lucy's hospital room.

Ribbing Lucy about her increasingly exaggerated account of the accident, Harry says “I thought you carried an injured Jean-Claude Killy down the slope on your back.” John-Claude Killy was a French Alpine skater who experiences world fame when he competed in the 1964 and 1968 Winter Olympics.  In “Someone's on the Ski Lift with Dinah” (S4;E7), Harry declared himself to be “the Jean-Claude Kily of Borrego Springs.”  Borrego Springs is  a desert community near San Diego and was Gale Gordon's home town.

To pass the time, Lucy is watching “As the World Turns.”  Nurse Ogilvy says that last time she saw it Mary Gorman had appendicitis. “As the World Turns” was the second longest running soap opera in American history after “Guiding Light.” CBS first aired the serial on April 2, 1956. It followed the personal and professional lives of professionals like doctors and attorneys. From 1958 to 1978, the show was the highest rated daytime television program.  The soap opera was canceled in 2010.

During their “gag” examination, the two doctors break into “Dem Bones” (also called “Dry Bones” or “Dem Dry Bones”). The song was composed by James Weldon Johnson (1871–1938) although some sources also credit his brother, J. Rosomond Johnson. It was first recorded in 1928.

Lucy Carmichael broke her leg in “Lucy and Viv Reminisce” (S6;E16), a 1968 clips show from “The Lucy Show” starring Vivian Vance.  Lucy is in a hospital bed (in her living room) for the entire non-flashback portion of the show.

As the star of the nautical series “Sea Hunt,” Lloyd Bridges' name was the punchline of jokes in two 'water-logged' episodes of “The Lucy Show”:  “Lucy and Viv Put in a Shower” (TLS S1;E18) and “Lucy Buys a Boat” (TLS S1;E30).

In “Lucy Goes to Sun Valley,” a 1958 episode of “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour,” Lucille Ball's stunt double Jannette Burr Johnson was scheduled to film the start of Lucy Ricardo and Fernando Lamas’ speedy descent down Mount Baldy, but Johnson fell and broke her leg so she helped Ball prepare to do the stunt herself, with several Sun Valley ski patrol members waiting to catch her 100 feet down slope. 

Lucy Carter went skiing (without breaking anything) in “Someone's on the Ski Lift with Dinah” (S4;E7).  

When the two doctors conspire to teach Lucy a lesson for artificially spiking her temperature, they tell her she has Wolfington's Tibia Pox and Galloping Fibulosis compounded by a sever case of Yo-Yo-itis, a made-up illness.  Ricky Ricardo and his friend Hal March conspired to teach Lucy a lesson by telling her she had the 'gobloots' in “Lucy Fakes Illness” (ILL S1;E16).  It, too, was written by Madelyn Davis and Bob Carroll Jr.  

Lucy Carmichael sang an impromptu chorus of “Dry Bones” during biology class when “Lucy Gets Her High School Diploma” (TLS S6;E5).  

Huh? Sam (Sid Gould) brings hospitalized Lucy a salami with the brand name redacted in blue tape. If the salami is supposed to be anything other than a sight gag, it is unclear.  Is Sam a deli owner?  In previous episodes Gould's Sam was a waiter.  Vanda (Vanda Barra) notes that the salami is without garlic.  Again, there may be a joke here, but it is elusive at best.

Details! Details!  Although “As the World Turns” is a real soap opera, there is no record of a character named Mary Gorman.  

Character Consistency!  Dr. Parker says “I've known Lucy for years” which accounts for him informally calling her by her first name. This is, however, the first the viewing audience has heard of him, making their prior relationship a bit of a surprise.  Audiences with sharp eyes but no memory for names might think the doctor is Lucy's brother, since that is the role he played in Lucy's brother in “Kim Finally Cuts You-Know-Whose Apron String” (S4;E24).    

“Lucy’s Big Break” rates 3 Paper Hearts out of 5

It is a tribute to Lucille Ball’s talent that she can remain confined to a hospital bed and still turn in a funny, entertaining show.  If the script feels a bit rushed, it can be forgiven.  This is a new, more intimate Lucy by necessity and it is refreshing to watch. 

[easyfoodnetwork]

Here’s What Eating Out Might Look Like When Restaurants Reopen

Expats gather outside bars and restaurants on Peel street in Soho

Masks, temperature checks, and awkward bar vibes — one writer’s recent night out in Hong Kong could be a glimpse at America’s future

On a recent Friday night in Hong Kong, two police vans idled outside an upscale Italian restaurant on Wyndham Street. Only a few months earlier, their presence might have been an ominous sign that a unit of anti-protest riot cops was in the area, tear gas and pepper spray at the ready. But as is the case for much of daily life here since January, Hong Kong has moved from a state of protest to pandemic, and that night, instead of an armed “raptor” force wearing dark green fatigues and gas masks, the vans discharged a group of what looked like ordinary patrolmen in simple short-sleeve uniforms and surgical masks.

The officers had mustered in one of the city’s busiest nightlife districts to enforce the local government’s ongoing social distancing measures in response to COVID-19, many of which were first announced in late March. They stood outside on the sidewalk like nuns chaperoning a Catholic school dance, armed with rulers, ready to stalk the floor and push guests apart to “make room for the Holy Spirit.” Except in this case the school gymnasium was a bar full of consenting adults, the rulers were rolls of measuring tape, and the Holy Spirit, I assume, was the distance required for gravity to pull down tiny drops of spittle from the air between us.

As cities and states across the U.S. begin to float possible dates for reopening the closed sectors of their economies, many diners and hospitality industry leaders are asking what that next phase might look like for restaurants. Because Hong Kong — along with other Asian cities like Seoul and Taipei — has largely succeeded in controlling outbreaks, and allowed its restaurants to stay open throughout the pandemic, some are asking if the present state of dining here could be a glimpse at the future for America.

Can diners in Taipei, Hong Kong, Korea, China send me photos of what it looks like in restaurants. How the seating is set up? Are all the servers wearing masks and gloves. What are guests wearing? If anyone works in kitchens how are you dealing w new protocol?

— Dave Chang (@davidchang) April 16, 2020

And so, with the number of newly reported COVID-19 cases in Hong Kong staying firmly in single digits over the preceding few days, I traded house socks for chukka boots, slipped on a surgical mask, and did what many in the U.S. have been longing to do for weeks. I went out for dinner.

I chose Frank’s in part because it makes for a useful case study of the current regulatory climate in Hong Kong. Bars have been ordered closed, but not restaurants; Frank’s is a split-level operation, with more of a bar setup downstairs and a sit-down restaurant upstairs. The mandatory bar closure has meant that almost all of Lan Kwai Fong, Hong Kong’s famous party district, has been shut down; Frank’s sits on the edge of LKF, sandwiched between it and the equally busy but more restaurant-heavy SoHo neighborhood.

Although popular with Cantonese locals for workweek lunch, at night, Frank’s is often filled with expat residents drinking Negronis and ordering the veal. Expats have come under special scrutiny recently, after a wave of travelers rushing home to the city from hot spots abroad brought new cases back with them only a few weeks ago.

Normally, it would cost me less than $1 to take the subway or minibus from my house to Wyndham Street, but to minimize time spent in small, enclosed, crowded spaces, I splurged $6.50 on a cab. At the entrance to Frank’s, I was stopped by a host and was confronted with the first in a series of small obstacles to eating out: the temperature check.

Well before COVID-19, it would’ve been hard to go a day in Hong Kong and not see someone wearing a mask. They’re common enough that if you met a friend on the street and someone asked you later if the friend had worn one, you might not remember. In restaurants, I’d seen staff wearing masks from time to time too, though almost never in more upscale situations. But at Frank’s — as with every other restaurant I checked in on — all staff wore the same thin, blue surgical masks Hong Kongers had been wearing on the street for years.

While Hong Kong’s pre-existing mask culture somewhat prepared me, in the U.S., it might have felt a little like a mass text had gone out on Halloween, where the in-joke was that instead of asking everyone to dress in a sexy costume, every costume would be a surgeon: Surgeon servers. Surgeon cooks. A surgeon DJ. Even having lived with regular mask culture for years now — and among their near-ubiquity for weeks — seeing every single person who handled my food and drink wear the tell-tale sign of medical caution was jarring.

Still, not long into the meal, as the unnerving feeling began to subside, it was quickly replaced by communication issues. I’ve heard a lot of people lament the non-verbal communication lost behind masks, the missed smiles or bitten lips, but more difficult for me were the few times I couldn’t understand what my server was trying to ask me. He was enunciating clearly at a volume well above the ambient noise, but without seeing half his face, he may as well have held his hand behind his back and asked me, “How many fingers?” “Sure,” I replied the first time this happened, and the result was a side of squash I didn’t think I’d ordered. (It was great.)

After dinner, I picked my own mask up off my knee, where it had remained throughout the meal, and headed downstairs for a cocktail. I ordered at the bar, got my drink at the bar, and then immediately had to walk away from the bar and stand against the far wall. The bar itself had no stools, and featured printouts explaining that customers could not hang out at the bar. In a total reverse of the usual crush to buy drinks, the few guests in the quarter-full room were clustered in small groups against the far wall with me. Only they weren’t with me at all.

When you sit at the bar you are part of a continuum, long or short, curved or straight, finite or infinitely looped, that counts everyone seated anywhere along it as also at the bar. Downstairs at Frank’s, we were all standing up while observing social distance. Me trying to join any one group would have been the awkward equivalent of pulling up a seat to a table full of unsuspecting strangers upstairs. Not having the stomach for that, I downed my drink, put my money on the bar and left.

Police on Wyndham Street prepare to enforce social distancing rules on Friday night

Pens used to fill out health declaration forms at Yardbird HK are individually sterilized after each use

Outside, I walked back past the cops and did a quick loop through an eerily empty Lan Kwai Fong, before wandering back up towards Soho to see how restaurants were doing there. Turning up Peel Street, I was only half-surprised to see several large gaggles of maskless expats drinking out in front of restaurants on the dead-end road. You know that particular genre of sports bloopers where an athlete begins celebrating right on the verge of winning, only to have victory snatched away by someone actually digging for those last few inches? I’ve gotten some good schadenfreude out of those scenes, but with only one new case of COVID reported in Hong Kong the day before my night out, these people felt like the last link on our whole city’s relay team, and their confidence made me nervous.

I moved on, and tried to stop in a wine bar that sells enough charcuterie, cheese, and other no-cook food to maybe pass as a restaurant, but the man at the front desk of its building told me that the entire floor was closed. I stopped into the lobby of a high rise on Wellington Street, hoping to finally try the “martini 3-ways” at VEA Lounge, the cocktail bar one flight down from Vicky Cheng’s French-Chinese tasting menu restaurant, VEA, but the button for the 29th floor didn’t work at all.

Then I remembered that Yardbird Hong Kong had reopened. It closed for 14 days starting March 23, after word of infected diners at another restaurant group got out. But it was back in business now, albeit under a new regime of health and safety measures. There was a wait, as usual, but nowhere to do the waiting. The front room, where I’ve spent several past pre-dinner hours nursing a cocktail or two while my name moved up the host’s list, had been converted from a mostly standing-room bar area into a second sit-down-only dining room. Anyone not yet seated would have to wait outside. I gave my phone number and went for a walk around the block.

When I did finally get in, the host took my temperature and asked me to sign a form declaring that in the last 14 days I had not been outside of Hong Kong, hung out with anyone outside of Hong Kong, and/or had COVID-19 or symptoms of COVID-19. I also gave my name, phone number, and email address, so that should anyone present that night later test positive, they could contact me. I’d had to give the same personal information at Frank’s as well, so that now, despite paying cash at both venues, there was a point-by-point record of my night just floating out there in the ether, my American right-to-privacy preferences be damned.

Diners at Yardbird sit four to a table max, in a dining room at 50 percent capacity by law

The host told me she had never had problems from anyone about the health form, but there had been larger groups who got annoyed at having to separate into tables of four or fewer. On my own, I was led to a two-top in the middle of the back dining room, ordered a cocktail, and read on my phone.

At 50 percent capacity, the place was still lively, but even if the kinetic feeling of the restaurant was still there, some of the potential energy for a solo diner had been stripped away. I’m usually fairly confident being out on my own, but something about sitting so far from another table — even an empty one in one of my favorite Hong Kong restaurants — was uncomfortable.

Steam rose in the open kitchen, swirling past a flurry of masked chefs shuffling around their stations. What felt like more servers than I can ever remember seeing on that floor swarmed about the dining room. And everywhere there were people eating. Everywhere, except of course within about six feet on all sides of me. If my distant neighbors and I had shared a brief conversation before I finished my drink, decided there was no point in trying to stay out anymore, and headed home, it most likely would’ve consisted of an exaggerated wave and a pantomimed shout, as if we each occupied either side of an enormous cavern, and could never get much closer than we were already. It would’ve been mildly funny. And mostly true.

Andrew Genung is a writer based in Hong Kong and the creator of the Family Meal newsletter about the restaurant industry.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3eHzabl https://ift.tt/3apyZyk

Expats gather outside bars and restaurants on Peel street in Soho

Masks, temperature checks, and awkward bar vibes — one writer’s recent night out in Hong Kong could be a glimpse at America’s future

On a recent Friday night in Hong Kong, two police vans idled outside an upscale Italian restaurant on Wyndham Street. Only a few months earlier, their presence might have been an ominous sign that a unit of anti-protest riot cops was in the area, tear gas and pepper spray at the ready. But as is the case for much of daily life here since January, Hong Kong has moved from a state of protest to pandemic, and that night, instead of an armed “raptor” force wearing dark green fatigues and gas masks, the vans discharged a group of what looked like ordinary patrolmen in simple short-sleeve uniforms and surgical masks.

The officers had mustered in one of the city’s busiest nightlife districts to enforce the local government’s ongoing social distancing measures in response to COVID-19, many of which were first announced in late March. They stood outside on the sidewalk like nuns chaperoning a Catholic school dance, armed with rulers, ready to stalk the floor and push guests apart to “make room for the Holy Spirit.” Except in this case the school gymnasium was a bar full of consenting adults, the rulers were rolls of measuring tape, and the Holy Spirit, I assume, was the distance required for gravity to pull down tiny drops of spittle from the air between us.

As cities and states across the U.S. begin to float possible dates for reopening the closed sectors of their economies, many diners and hospitality industry leaders are asking what that next phase might look like for restaurants. Because Hong Kong — along with other Asian cities like Seoul and Taipei — has largely succeeded in controlling outbreaks, and allowed its restaurants to stay open throughout the pandemic, some are asking if the present state of dining here could be a glimpse at the future for America.

Can diners in Taipei, Hong Kong, Korea, China send me photos of what it looks like in restaurants. How the seating is set up? Are all the servers wearing masks and gloves. What are guests wearing? If anyone works in kitchens how are you dealing w new protocol?

— Dave Chang (@davidchang) April 16, 2020

And so, with the number of newly reported COVID-19 cases in Hong Kong staying firmly in single digits over the preceding few days, I traded house socks for chukka boots, slipped on a surgical mask, and did what many in the U.S. have been longing to do for weeks. I went out for dinner.

I chose Frank’s in part because it makes for a useful case study of the current regulatory climate in Hong Kong. Bars have been ordered closed, but not restaurants; Frank’s is a split-level operation, with more of a bar setup downstairs and a sit-down restaurant upstairs. The mandatory bar closure has meant that almost all of Lan Kwai Fong, Hong Kong’s famous party district, has been shut down; Frank’s sits on the edge of LKF, sandwiched between it and the equally busy but more restaurant-heavy SoHo neighborhood.

Although popular with Cantonese locals for workweek lunch, at night, Frank’s is often filled with expat residents drinking Negronis and ordering the veal. Expats have come under special scrutiny recently, after a wave of travelers rushing home to the city from hot spots abroad brought new cases back with them only a few weeks ago.

Normally, it would cost me less than $1 to take the subway or minibus from my house to Wyndham Street, but to minimize time spent in small, enclosed, crowded spaces, I splurged $6.50 on a cab. At the entrance to Frank’s, I was stopped by a host and was confronted with the first in a series of small obstacles to eating out: the temperature check.

Well before COVID-19, it would’ve been hard to go a day in Hong Kong and not see someone wearing a mask. They’re common enough that if you met a friend on the street and someone asked you later if the friend had worn one, you might not remember. In restaurants, I’d seen staff wearing masks from time to time too, though almost never in more upscale situations. But at Frank’s — as with every other restaurant I checked in on — all staff wore the same thin, blue surgical masks Hong Kongers had been wearing on the street for years.

While Hong Kong’s pre-existing mask culture somewhat prepared me, in the U.S., it might have felt a little like a mass text had gone out on Halloween, where the in-joke was that instead of asking everyone to dress in a sexy costume, every costume would be a surgeon: Surgeon servers. Surgeon cooks. A surgeon DJ. Even having lived with regular mask culture for years now — and among their near-ubiquity for weeks — seeing every single person who handled my food and drink wear the tell-tale sign of medical caution was jarring.

Still, not long into the meal, as the unnerving feeling began to subside, it was quickly replaced by communication issues. I’ve heard a lot of people lament the non-verbal communication lost behind masks, the missed smiles or bitten lips, but more difficult for me were the few times I couldn’t understand what my server was trying to ask me. He was enunciating clearly at a volume well above the ambient noise, but without seeing half his face, he may as well have held his hand behind his back and asked me, “How many fingers?” “Sure,” I replied the first time this happened, and the result was a side of squash I didn’t think I’d ordered. (It was great.)

After dinner, I picked my own mask up off my knee, where it had remained throughout the meal, and headed downstairs for a cocktail. I ordered at the bar, got my drink at the bar, and then immediately had to walk away from the bar and stand against the far wall. The bar itself had no stools, and featured printouts explaining that customers could not hang out at the bar. In a total reverse of the usual crush to buy drinks, the few guests in the quarter-full room were clustered in small groups against the far wall with me. Only they weren’t with me at all.

When you sit at the bar you are part of a continuum, long or short, curved or straight, finite or infinitely looped, that counts everyone seated anywhere along it as also at the bar. Downstairs at Frank’s, we were all standing up while observing social distance. Me trying to join any one group would have been the awkward equivalent of pulling up a seat to a table full of unsuspecting strangers upstairs. Not having the stomach for that, I downed my drink, put my money on the bar and left.

Police on Wyndham Street prepare to enforce social distancing rules on Friday night

Pens used to fill out health declaration forms at Yardbird HK are individually sterilized after each use

Outside, I walked back past the cops and did a quick loop through an eerily empty Lan Kwai Fong, before wandering back up towards Soho to see how restaurants were doing there. Turning up Peel Street, I was only half-surprised to see several large gaggles of maskless expats drinking out in front of restaurants on the dead-end road. You know that particular genre of sports bloopers where an athlete begins celebrating right on the verge of winning, only to have victory snatched away by someone actually digging for those last few inches? I’ve gotten some good schadenfreude out of those scenes, but with only one new case of COVID reported in Hong Kong the day before my night out, these people felt like the last link on our whole city’s relay team, and their confidence made me nervous.

I moved on, and tried to stop in a wine bar that sells enough charcuterie, cheese, and other no-cook food to maybe pass as a restaurant, but the man at the front desk of its building told me that the entire floor was closed. I stopped into the lobby of a high rise on Wellington Street, hoping to finally try the “martini 3-ways” at VEA Lounge, the cocktail bar one flight down from Vicky Cheng’s French-Chinese tasting menu restaurant, VEA, but the button for the 29th floor didn’t work at all.

Then I remembered that Yardbird Hong Kong had reopened. It closed for 14 days starting March 23, after word of infected diners at another restaurant group got out. But it was back in business now, albeit under a new regime of health and safety measures. There was a wait, as usual, but nowhere to do the waiting. The front room, where I’ve spent several past pre-dinner hours nursing a cocktail or two while my name moved up the host’s list, had been converted from a mostly standing-room bar area into a second sit-down-only dining room. Anyone not yet seated would have to wait outside. I gave my phone number and went for a walk around the block.

When I did finally get in, the host took my temperature and asked me to sign a form declaring that in the last 14 days I had not been outside of Hong Kong, hung out with anyone outside of Hong Kong, and/or had COVID-19 or symptoms of COVID-19. I also gave my name, phone number, and email address, so that should anyone present that night later test positive, they could contact me. I’d had to give the same personal information at Frank’s as well, so that now, despite paying cash at both venues, there was a point-by-point record of my night just floating out there in the ether, my American right-to-privacy preferences be damned.

Diners at Yardbird sit four to a table max, in a dining room at 50 percent capacity by law

The host told me she had never had problems from anyone about the health form, but there had been larger groups who got annoyed at having to separate into tables of four or fewer. On my own, I was led to a two-top in the middle of the back dining room, ordered a cocktail, and read on my phone.

At 50 percent capacity, the place was still lively, but even if the kinetic feeling of the restaurant was still there, some of the potential energy for a solo diner had been stripped away. I’m usually fairly confident being out on my own, but something about sitting so far from another table — even an empty one in one of my favorite Hong Kong restaurants — was uncomfortable.

Steam rose in the open kitchen, swirling past a flurry of masked chefs shuffling around their stations. What felt like more servers than I can ever remember seeing on that floor swarmed about the dining room. And everywhere there were people eating. Everywhere, except of course within about six feet on all sides of me. If my distant neighbors and I had shared a brief conversation before I finished my drink, decided there was no point in trying to stay out anymore, and headed home, it most likely would’ve consisted of an exaggerated wave and a pantomimed shout, as if we each occupied either side of an enormous cavern, and could never get much closer than we were already. It would’ve been mildly funny. And mostly true.

Andrew Genung is a writer based in Hong Kong and the creator of the Family Meal newsletter about the restaurant industry.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3eHzabl via Blogger https://ift.tt/3eDUheN

[thegreatallanquatermain]

Sechs, Drugs, and Rock ‘n Roll, Chapter 3 - Pile onto the Party Bus

With the end of week two, came an end of my lessons with Selini. To commemorate all of our lessons where she would generally yell near us, while simultaneously telling me to stop asking so many goddamn questions, she gave everyone personalised postcards. While Princess got a card saying something like “Celebrate being unique,” I got “Stars can’t shine without darkness.” What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Was I really so bad I made others look good? I feel like this was payback for going out drinking with her, only to sit awkwardly in a corner all night. At least she also gave everyone a paperclip. I shall cherish it dearly.

The weekend promised to be epic. A three-day trip to Strasbourg, in France. To get there, the entire ISU was going to share two busses, and travel several hours into another foreign nation. While piling into the massive vehicles, someone in our group mentioned that we should get on the bus furthest away from us, because the rest of the plebs were going to get on the first bus they saw. They weren’t wrong, and the next thing we knew, we were on a bus with almost no people. This, my friends, was the birth of The Party Bus.

In this newly formed adventure mobile, we had our beloved driver, Klaus, as well as a few of other staff members in the front. Also in the front, we have Jan, the tech enthusiast who helped most of the students of the ISU connect to the internet. When we first met, Jan and I discussed how hard it was for most non-Europeans to pronounce Jan as “Yaan”, but rather as Jan. Apparently, he has often had to resort to going by Ian to not confuse anyone. Well, dear readers, I don’t want to confuse you. Ian sat near the front, but even though he was a student, also played a second role as our baby-sitter, making sure we always on the right track. In the middle of the bus we had our band of usual suspects, the core of the party bus, as well as our friend Mother Noor. Noor is a beautiful Palestinian woman, who is always looking after everyone. I selfishly excluded her from my previous posts, even though she has cooked for me on many occasions. In the very back of the bus there was a group of American students having their own good time. The party bus was ready, and off we embarked. Boy Virgin was especially enthused to start the party. That is until she immediately fell asleep. I can’t really complain, because I did the same thing. PARTY BUS!

Most of our time in Strasbourg was spent either in our rooms, or while wondering around the city. Shortly after arriving, we all headed off on a walking tour of Strasbourg where we had the opportunity see such amazing sights such as a river, a bridge, a different part of the same river, and a gigantic chapel, touted as the tallest medieval building in the world. For some reason, it was decided that after spending over an hour walking around the streets, it was now the perfect time to climb up the chapel to the viewing platform to see the majesty of the city. We were expecting a short climb, having heard it would be a mere 32 steps to our destination. There seemed to have been a slight mistranslation, because we failed to hear about the three hundred in front of the smaller number of steps, each one moving sharply upwards in a seemingly never-ending spiral. Finally, we reached the end of the stairs, leading through a short alley way. Here, then, at the end of the alley we were greeted to yet another hell-spiral of murder-stairs. When we did eventually reach the top, there really was an amazing panoramic view of the entire city. We didn’t see any of it, obviously, because we were too busy wheezing and crying about our mild discomfort. How medieval monks were able to climb the stairs every day for hundreds of years boggles the mind. They must have had some pretty toned glutes.

In the evening, we all came back on the bus, dropping us off at our home for the rest of the weekend, Château de Pourtalès. I was sharing a room on the top floor with Slim Shady and our new Chinese friend, Yang. On the other end of our corridor was the room with Mother Noor and Boy Virgin. This made it the ideal location for our continued parties for the rest of the weekend. That was, until Yang decided he was going to be hygienic, and bathe in the shower in our room. He noticed the shower was not draining, and called Ian for help. Ian accepted the challenge, and charged into the bathroom, plunger in tow. After a few minutes of sloshing noises, and a constant string of “Oh god, what is that!?” and “Jesus, the smell!” accompanied by guttural gagging noises, the door was sealed, and we were advised to keep it closed. We were moved the next morning to a smaller room in a different building. So much for the Party Floor.

The next day involved everyone piling into the Party Bus, and driving into the mountains. Here we were confronted by the horrors of Natzweiler-Struthof, a Nazi concentration camp. Next, we continued to Mont Sainte-Odile, which was described as a monastery full of nuns. I don’t think the individual describing our new location fully understands the difference between a nunnery and a monastery, but I think I could just be vocally getting into the semantics to further distance this paragraph from the previously mentioned concentration camp. Most of the grounds of the monastery (there were no nuns, and seemingly only one very grumpy monk), were covered in signs requesting silence. Unfortunately for them, they were being visited by Boy Virgin, one of the loudest women any human will ever encounter. Even her whispers could be heard throughout the mountains. We abruptly retreated to a bar, where we decided to pre-game for the upcoming winery. This winery was supposedly going to involve a wine tasting, which I learnt means something a little different in France and Australia. In Australia, you get a small sip of wine and spittoon facilities in case you need to drive home. In France, you get six full glasses of wine, a slice of cake, and an hour time limit. Everyone left quite merry, and utterly blasted.

Back at the Château, we prepared for our final evening in France. The Party Bus crew, or Party Bus for prosperity, piled into our newly acquired room, much to Yang’s dismay. Saskatoon Pirate supplied a bottle of vodka, Princess provided video games, Mother Noor was teaching everyone to belly dance, and Yang was going to quickly pop out to grab some orange juice to mix with the spirits. He did not return for many hours, choosing his four girlfriends over us, and when he did there was no orange juice. No problem, because the rest of just partied without him. At one point, I had five girls in my bed. Yeah, I know, that’s pretty Alpha of me. That is until you realised that they kicked me out of my own bed, and I had to sit on a small chair, slowly nursing my vodka.

The next day, it was time for us to go home. After checking out, and taking our first group photo, we made our way to the European Parliament building. We took another group photo, entered the building, lined up for yet another group photo, and started our tour. I don’t have too much to say about the parliament building, because I can say without hyperbole that I was asleep for most of my visit there. The only time I definitely remember being awake, was when we were taking more group photos. Or when Boy Virgin, Awesome, and I were playing “Smash or Pass” with the images of European Parliamentarians.

Back on the bus, we returned for a final time to the city centre. We had a short time to find some lunch, before we were going to go walk across a bridge. Ian lead us to a French restaurant, where we could have a traditional French lunch. Then we ate at a kebab shop instead. On the way back to the Bus, Dynamo and I stopped to stock up on party related supplies (booze), to prepare to Party Bus our way back home. However, after thirty minutes of waiting on the bus, we weren’t leaving. It turns out, Yang and his girl friends had gone shopping, and they decided to only return when it suited them. Our extended delay meant we would not have time for the bridge, unfortunately, so we just continued back home. Ian and the teachers in the front were pulling beers out of a hidden ice-box, we were mixing spirits with some orange juice, and the Americans in the back were indulging in some wine. The only time we stopped on the trip back, every group restocked on their dwindling supplies. Awesome and I thought we were being cool buying one litre cans of Danish beer (which turned out be near undrinkable), but we were put to shame by the Americans, who purchased and demolished an entire bottle of vodka in just over an hour. PARTY BUS!