#also her relationship with chang is like. unsavoury. that's what made her story all the more sad | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

orsuliya · 4 years ago

Text

Song Huaien is a good boy!

Book spoilers did me dirty. That’s a fact. Ever since I peeked at the last chapters of the novel, I’ve been convinced that Song Huaien was going to go rogue sooner or later. And so I looked upon him as one does upon a ticking bomb, watching him closely for any signs of rot and obvious mwahahahaing.

And that… might have been wrong of me. It’s not like The Rebel Princess ever treated any character’s novel journey as sacrosanct (see: Su Jin’er, Wanru, even Zitan). So what gives? Well, just look at the ever-precious Liu Duanduan. Wouldn’t you want to steel your heart in advance…?

And then the supremely astute @dangermousie came along and made me reconsider what could be done in the scant remaining number of episodes in order to deliver a satisfying ending. I trust The Rebel Princess, so it will be a satisfying ending, 12 cut episodes notwithstanding, and I’m choosing to ignore any contrary opinions! So what could be done? Well, getting rid of Song Huaien’s rebellion and conflict with Xiao Qi seems to be one of the most viable solutions, whether by design or by leaving it on the cutting-room floor. Okay, I’m sold, I thought at once, jumping without thinking as I’m wont to do. But does the drama itself support that?

Why, yes, I believe it does!

What are the actual visible signs of Song Huaien’s potential villainy? There’s the corruption/negligence thing, a pronounced liking for finer things in life and an unrequited love for Awu. That’s it.

The corruption scandal, if it can even be called such, what with Potato suppressing any further investigation attempts, is the biggest strike against Song Huaien. It’s clear that he’s somehow embroiled into unsavoury dealings, but the extent of his guilt is never shown. While I don’t fully believe his story about the birthday gifts being delivered during his absence and accepted without his express permission and/or knowledge, there is also nothing to suggest he’s been explicitly on Xie payroll, secret documents non-withstanding. The record book alone is no proof of guilt – why, the Xie might have simply noted that gifts of certain value had been given and received, not in exchange for a specific service, but rather as a start of a beautiful relationship. You get the drill. I believe if there was a solid proof of Song Huaien doing explicit harm to his own in exchange for Xie money, Xiao Qi’s reaction would have been much harsher.

As it stands, Song Huaien’s guilt is a matter of conjecture. There’s the birthday gift, which Xiao Qi cottons onto really quickly, which confirms that it may have been noted in the Xie secret books. There’s the fact that he may or may not have known about it and may or may not have chosen to keep it. I’d say he did know, if only after the fact, and that he originally meant to keep it. There’s also the damning fact that Song Huaien was the man taking care of logistics from the Ningshuo side. And he did his job really poorly, since multiple deliveries of substandard grain and clothing somehow made it through. But was it out of maliciousness? Was there ever a conscious decision on his part to let things slip? Not necessarily. It looks bad, sure. But let’s not forget that dealing with the capital sharks may be a first for Song Huaien, regardless of his previous experience as a procurement officer. Whatever his experience, it was either at the very end of the supply chain or it was mainly related to supplies coming from the area closest to Ningshuo. The former wouldn’t have prepared him for his present duties. And as for the latter, I think that the Ningshuo province has its own rules and ways, which are in no way comparable to the shark pond that the capital undoubtedly is. What’s more, Huaien really seems to buy into the illustrious capital life; it would not surprise me if he delegated a few things that should not be delegated simply because he was busy taking it all in!

So, intentional crime or crime of negligence? I’d be inclined to vote for negligence. It just fits what we know about Song Huaien up to that point, it fits his current circumstances and it makes Xiao Qi’s reaction quite reasonable.

The second strike against Huaien’s integrity is his love for the finer things in life. But then, is it really such a damning thing? Many of the Ningshuo soldiers must have experienced the same thing upon their arrival into the capital. Here they are, heroes and patriots all, having spent their whole life either on various battlefields or in decidedly non-luxurious circumstances. Why, they must be quite happy if they get enough to eat, which they do only because they have an honest general who cares about them very much. Other armies are not as lucky! And then they are shown all those useless noble scions, some of whom might nominally be officers despite barely knowing how to hold a sword (and even those swords would be ceremonial ones, so mostly useless). I don’t know about you, but I’d be bitter. Some of Xiao Qi’s closest clearly are, although he tends to shut that down very quickly. Also, covetousness is not a crime as long as Song Huaien is not actively taking bribes or jockeying for profit. And there is no proof of that. His manor and his title are both given to him without him ever asking for them. If he appreciates that… well, that is also not a crime and he doesn’t even gloat openly! As it later turns out, he took both as his due, believing that his talents were seen and duly appreciated outside the Ningshuo army.

Sooo… Nothing out of ordinary on that count. And seeing that at one point Song Huaien offers to use his savings to repair the ailing military budget – whether from guilt or from sense of duty – speaks to his advantage.

Now, let’s take a look at his unrequited love for Awu. I mean, is it any wonder he falls for her? I am half in love with her myself, so I totally get it! What matters is what he does with this love. Quite surprisingly, there is no attempt at coming between her and Xiao Qi. Why, Song Huaien actively tries to help their marriage by convincing Awu to return home from the temple. No hesitation there! And while he might realize he’s actually in love very late in the story (by this point it’s obvious to everybody), the realization itself changes very little. He gets very determined to go through with marrying Yuxiu, that’s it. Still no attempts to make a move on Awu. Even that flower he brought back from the Imperial Mausoleum was not an overly romantic gesture – she asked and he did as she asked in order to make her happy, nothing more. There’s also a genuine attempt to get over her. He goes to Yuxiu on their wedding night and despite the initial haziness on the matter, he seems to know quite well she’s not Awu and does his best. Although that bro slap in the morning… Let’s believe he did his best there too, the poor awkward thing. He gives her an actual hug when he comes back from Jiangnan! Progress!

What finally buried the theory that Song Huaien might rebel in order to take Awu away from Xiao Qi was his convo with Wang Su in episode 55. I was so afraid (just as I was afraid on his wedding night) that he might do something stupid. Like asking for Awu’s hand or betraying his romantic intentions towards her. But no. While Song Huaien tells Wang Su that he wants/needs to find Awu, there’s no romantic intent there, only duty towards Xiao Qi’s wife and respect towards a woman who has earned it many times over. If there is anything else, I just can’t see it! Why, during this whole conversation Song Huaien is more broken up about Xiao Qi than about Awu!

Whether Song Huaien manages to get over his love or not, there is no sign he was ever going to do anything about it, not while Xiao Qi lived and perhaps not even now that he’s supposed to be dead. Moreover, he made every possible effort to suppress his emotions out of sheer guilt and feeling of brotherhood towards Xiao Qi. Marrying Yuxiu might have been a bad, bad choice (although I still hope for the best), but it was a choice made for the best of reasons.

So that’s it, right? Well, wrong. Even with all of the above there was still a possibility for him to go the villain route. Except… he actually seems to be redeeming himself in leaps and bounds. Once away from the capital, Song Huaien seems to throw off the capital’s thrall and becomes the best version of himself. Jumping into stormy waters in clear disregard of any danger? Working tirelessly towards a common goal and for the good of the people? That’s pure Ningshuo stock, no moral rot in sight! Now, why would the narrative have him getting back to his old self only to make him regress again?

There’s also no real reason for him to ever go against Xiao Qi. If that was going to happen, I’d have expected at least some signs of bitterness and jealousy to have shown up by now. And yet there’s nothing, at least not towards Xiao Qi. Who, might I add, really does his best to mitigate any potential bitterness in the bud. Just look at the way they resolve the corruption scandal! And I’m not talking about Xiao Qi burning (or not burning?) the incriminating page. What got my attention is what their conversations over the matter boil to. Which is: Listen, brother, I get that you’ve been having some issues, but get your shit together. And please, take care of yourself. I don’t want you to get in trouble, so please remember that there are people watching your every step. No overt accusations, no anger in sight, maybe the slightest bit of sternness, but heavily undercut with roughly expressed care. And it’s the same with their confrontation over Awu. I know what’s going on with you and my wife, but I 100% get it, mate, so take a moment and decide how to proceed from here. Even if Song Huaien was actively seeking a reason to hold a grudge, it would take a truly rotten seed to find one. And a rotten seed Song Huaien is not.

Now, let’s wrap it up by going over Wang Su’s suborning of Song Huaien in episode 55. It’s really something special, as well as the main reason I’m choosing to reject any possibility of SHE/XQ showdown.

Wang Su waylays Song Huaien on his way out of camp. Song Huaien is clearly very emotional at this moment and not really inclined to stop for anybody. Why, I think that he was fully prepared to go through Wang Su if needed. It is also quite probable that his decision to leave for the capital was made on the spot, once he heard about what happened to Xiao Qi, Awu and his comrades. Yet he stops and listens, if only because Wang Su – Awu’s brother and Xiao Qi’s brother-in-law - should be his natural ally in his quest to clear Xiao Qi’s name. As he proclaims to be by announcing his willingness to join Song Huaien on his journey to the capital.

Wang Su (or rather Daddy Wang possessing Wang Su’s body) takes full advantage of Song Huaien’s state. First he breaks out a prop, Awu’s favourite wine. It does not work as well as it could have and I’d say that at this point Song Huaien remains quite astute as to Wang Su’s weird behaviour. His first outburst shows he’s got little patience for games. Awu is your sister and Xiao Qi your brother in law, he reminds Wang Su, who seems very controlled for a man with much more obvious ties to this whole situation than Song Huaien. Wang Su skips around the issue by taking out his ace card, the Empress Dowager’s order. Predictably, it takes Song Huaien off-balance and incites a sense of debt, if not gratitude. An excellent opening from the shapeshifting Daddy Wang! Then Wang Su makes an attempt at aiming Song Huaien at the Empress Dowager… and it doesn’t work. Song Huaien doesn’t care about his own life half as much as he cares about Xiao Qi. Cue a mournful soliloquy! There is no way a man this broken about his brother’s death is going to try to kill said brother in the 13 episodes remaining (less, in fact, since they will not meet until 59 or 60 at the earliest). There would be no build-up! The only way I can see this happening is if Xiao Qi went against Song Huaien first and in a deeply personal way. Which we know he would never, so...

Wang Su makes a brave attempt at corralling Song Huaien’s grief and turning it to anger, for all that he may say that anger will not help anyone; it doesn’t work and self-blame enters the picture. If only I was with him leads to a startling realization: all those honors and the brand new posting were just a ploy. Now, this realization could lead to two different results. Song Huaien could plausibly become bitter towards Xiao Qi – because of whose very existence his own talents weren’t truly recognized and he himself became a pawn. But there’s nothing to suggest that’s true. It’s more likely for Song Huaien to turn his bitterness over his wounded pride towards the Empress Dowager in particular and scheming nobles in general. Which is what I think he does. There is also a possibility of guilt: he bought into this whole noble life fairytale… and this is what partially facilitated him being turned into a pawn. It may be just wishful thinking, but I expect that in the future Song Huaien will be more wary of unexpected meat pies falling from the sky, however tasty they may be.

Just a moment later Wang Su offers him a meat pie. He’s going to help him take revenge! And Song Huaien swallows it whole – at least for now. This is where a truly interesting thing happens. Song Huaien, a general in his own right, a true hero and a man who’s been acting as Wang Su’s equal while in Jiangnan… folds and takes to a subordinate position like a duck to the water. Tell me what to do, he seems to be screaming with his eyes. And when Wang Su starts to use the word we, there’s a palpable sense of relief in Song Huaien’s whole demeanor. What’s more, he’s not reacting to the idea that he still needs to jump through some hoops in order to become a Wang minion. I’m not sure you’re ready to become my ally, lies Wang Su, knowing very well Song Huaien’s is already in his palm. Where’s the ambition? Where’s the slightest sign that this man may be capable of going for the throne for his own sake and against his brother? I don’t see it!

The Wang family is used to needing to pay their allies in hard coin (or titles, or favours), that much is clear, because that’s what Wang Su tries next. The title of a count is too lowly, he says and then dangles a princely one in front of his victim. If Song Huaien was really as hungry for honours and wealth as some of us were expecting him to be, he’d be all over that. But he’s not. He gives it due consideration, but, if anything, this proposition seems to bring him back to reality. There are no free meat pies to be had and he’s just remembered that. But since this is the best – and likely the only – proposition/offer of help he’s going to get, he seals the deal anyway.

There’s still some reluctance, though. Why, Song Huaien needs to rationalize this decision by reminding himself that Wang Su saved his life and that there’s revenge to be taken since he’s alive (as Xiao Qi is not). Not very eager to take part in a coup, is he? And then he actually makes getting justice for Xiao Qi a condition of this alliance! Finding Awu is the second one, but as I’ve already said, there seems to be no romantic intentions there.

And that’s it, the deal is done. So now, can anybody tell me how is this Song Huaien supposed to go against Xiao Qi? He’s more likely to go for a hug once he sees him alive!

There is no reasonable way to leave in Song Huaien’s conflict with Xiao Qi. There’s just no time and no real build-up to that! The only way to have him go rogue is to have a timeskip with Song Huaien doing a 180 in the meantime. And somehow I just can’t see it happening. But I guess we’ll have to see about that!

#SONG HUAIEN IS A GOOD BOY #it's not just because his hair looks nice I swear #I'm not that shallow or am I #the rebel princess #monarch industry #rebel princess meta #this is kinda long

30 notes · View notes

fairytale-endinganyone · 5 years ago

Text

my parents are celebrating 41 years of marriage this year. yes 41.

when I arrived, my siblings were teenagers and my parents were financially stable, they had just moved into a new home where we stayed for 20 + years (we recently moved to our current home).

I wanted to share some ‘take aways’ that I have noted from my parent’s marriage - i’ve tried my best to make this as real as possible.

my parents have never actually celebrated their anniversary. like most men my dad doesn’t remember the date of their marriage and yes at times mom has gotten annoyed at him for this but she also has never been big on ‘going all out’ and ‘celebrating’. my parents are old school (well they are boomers), their worlds don’t include Facebook or any social media. emails, youtube and news apps – yes.

my dad is a CA, him owning his own company means that he’s always had freedom over his working hours. he'd go to work around 11am & come back at around 5/6pm because that’s what suited him. even now, his morning includes two huge cups of tea, warming up my mom’s car while she’s getting ready for work and opening the gate, if its still dark or the weather is unsavoury he’ll tell her to on her lights and to drive slowly. my dad having the extra time in the morning also meant that he’d make sure I had a proper breakfast and was ready for school.

one time, me and mom were both home as it was term break (my mom is a vice principal) and dad spent more time than usual getting ready, he eventually came into the lounge looking sharp. I was at the table reading and saw my parents hugging - its not that I never saw them having tender moments, its just as a young & impressionable child, this moment has stuck with me.

there was an instance when we were at a function & an individual was being an asshole towards my mom – my dad told him to back off. the individual got the message and to this day doesn’t talk to my parents. yes, women are more than capable of defending themselves, but this instance gave me a realization of what a man should do if someone disrespects their woman.

a few years ago, my mom’s brother passed away, my mom was naturally broken and upset. during that time my dad took over the responsibilities that mom would usually do and he didn’t expect anything in return – there were no jabs of ‘I’ve done this and that’, he just simply did it to make sure mom had the time and space to grieve.

recently, one of my uncle's passed away (my dad’s brother). mom came home early from work and simply just sat with him and made sure he had the time and space to grieve. in both instances, the other partner knew what the other needed.

their evenings are usually spent discussing current events or well, just being on their phones together. we're Muslim and these days my mom plays this game on her phone that helps her with her Arabic & she's gotten my dad hooked on it. they bring each other closer to God.

these instances may not seem ‘romantic’ to you, but to me they signify what a real relationship is. over the years they have had their misgivings, but their marriage is the foundation that I can always fall back on.

there’ve been times when i've talked about my parents marriage & what it means to me but I’ve almost always gotten shut down by people saying that ‘in the South Asian culture/community couples are never truly happy’.

I understand there are too many couples in our culture/community that are together because one person in the r/ship (usually the woman) doesn’t have anywhere else to go, or they don’t go their different ways because ‘what will people say’. I am by no means putting anyone down. this is just my parents’ story/life. they weren't forced to stay together, there was never an instance of my mom not having anywhere else to go – yes this comes from a place of privilege as my mom has always been a financially independent woman. I know that not all women are in the position that my mom is in & don’t have a choice but to stay in a relationship that may not be ideal & its hard to explain the hollow feeling this gives me.

i am immensely grateful that marriage ended up being a blessing for my parents. yes there are things I'd do differently with my (future) partner as times have changed and I as an individual (& a millennial) think differently about a lot of things.

also please dont come @ me with the: 'ur brainwashed and naive’. my parent's marriage is by no means perfect. it was arranged (surprise surprise) but its a blessing that it worked out. i just want to appreciate it.

#marriage #wedding #shaadi #south asian #south asian culture #india #indian #relationships #love #the real thing #fiji indian #fiji #fijian #muslim #islam #arabic #desi couples #brown #desi

173 notes · View notes

unpeumacabre · 5 years ago

Text

my kingdom for a horse: chapter 1

the year is 1601, a messenger has been sent to dongnae, and he has not returned. lord cho-hak-ju advises the joseon king to send crown prince lee chang to dongnae to investigate, but the plot he unravels there threatens the safety of the entire kingdom, and the stability of the dynasty.

a rewriting of kingdom, and lee chang finds love.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Lee Chang/Yeong-shin

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting)

Count: 7k

next -->

A/N: ummmmm so basically i wanted to rewrite kingdom... with a yeong-shin/lee chang twist... and it turned out as a massive lee chang character study lol. the plot borrows elements from the drama but is quite different - i wanted to bring out certain aspects of the characters and tone down on some of them a little more. the story is mostly complete, i'm just in the midst of editing, so updates will be weekly. enjoy~

Survive.

Lee Chang gathers the reins of his horse in his hands, and looks out towards the horizon. The sun is waning, and Mu-yeong is complaining about the flies, and Lee Chang still feels the heat of anger and injustice scorching his skin.

He had been there when the King had sent the messenger to Dongnae – a routine check it had been, nothing more. Apparently, Cho Hak-ju and his spies had heard murmurs of a rebellion in the South, and he had whispered his foul poison into the King’s ear, convincing him to send a messenger to Dongnae to put the magistrate on his guard.

Lee Chang had also been there when the messenger’s horse had returned, bereft of its rider, and bereft of its message.

“Why not send the Prince to investigate?” had been Cho Hak-ju’s answer. “We must send someone reliable this time, someone who will not shirk his mission. And the Prince must have been so bored of late. There is little to occupy his scholarly mind in recent days, what with everyone being occupied preparing for the new prince’s birth.”

“Why not send Beom-il? Surely your son is more experienced than I am at these matters,” Lee Chang had answered, and he had felt the strain of his smile stretch tight against his cheekbones.

“Of course, but Beom-il is indisposed at the moment. He has been sent to oversee the setting up of the new regiment at Haeju, and will not return for a few days more.”

He was an odious snake, he was, Lee Chang thought bitterly, but still the King had acquiesced.

His only modicum of hope lay in the words the King had said to him that night, as they took their private dinner together – a rarity, now that most of his time was occupied with the queen and her increasingly-rounded belly.

“It pains me to say this, but…” the King had picked at his food. “There is something brewing in the south, although I do not believe it to be the rebellion that Lord Cho is suggesting.”

Lee Chang personally thought there was nothing in it, but then again, he didn’t have the extensive network of spies the King and Cho Hak-ju seemed to have. He could not – and probably never will – understand how one can trust men who live in the shadows and trade secrets – and lives – for their livelihood. Perhaps it would not make him a good king, but Lee Chang wanted to believe that it would make him a better one instead.

“I want you to investigate what the Haewon Cho clan is up to in the south,” the King had then said, and Lee Chang had almost fallen from his seat.

“Father, why?” he had asked, a perfectly reasonable question. He well remembered the times in his youth when Cho Hak-ju had said something insulting to him or done something to side-line him, something so serious that he had felt the need to go to the King for recompense. Every single time, he could recall being brushed off and told “Lord Cho thinks only of the good of the nation” and “you would do well to heed his teachings”. Never had the King shown even a hint of resentment or suspicion of the Haewon Cho clan’s leader, and Lee Chang had always thought his trust in Cho Hak-ju unshakeable.

Not so unshakeable, it seemed. A shadow had crossed the King's face then, and he had turned away as if to hide his face.

“I did not believe it when first the Head of the Royal Commandery brought it to my attention,” the King had said then, “but Cho Beom-il has been implicated in several – well, shall we say, unsavoury deals, and Lord Min’s investigations point to Lord Cho at their head. But he has been very careful to cover his tracks, and the evidence is, while convincing, mostly circumstantial.”

Lee Chang had taken a sip of his wine, his throat suddenly dry. “And of my role in all this?” he had managed. “Why send me? Surely by doing so we are playing precisely into Lord Cho’s hands.”

“I do not yet know what he plans,” the King had replied, shaking his head. “All I have are ominous tidings from my spies in Sangju and Dongnae that there is something nefarious being planned, but Lord Cho – if it is indeed he behind it – is an intelligent man. He has not yet let anything slip. If we must play into his hands, at least for now, just know that you go as my envoy, my emissary, and not the messenger boy of the Haewon Cho clan. I trust only my son to carry this through for me.”

“I wish to see my son, and I miss my wife,” Mu-yeong complains, and it snaps Lee Chang back to reality. He huffs out an exasperated laugh at the familiar refrain.

“At least she will be well-taken care of while you are gone,” he says, letting the amusement thread through his voice. “Where did you say she was staying while you are with me?”

“With her aunt, in Naesonjae. Her brother has found work in the queen’s palace, so they have enough money to put her up at least until I return,” Mu-yeong answers, and punctuates his answer with an enormous, put-upon sigh.

“That is good,” Lee Chang says absently. “At least you need not steal desserts from my table any longer to feed her.”

“Your Highness – you said you wouldn’t - ” splutters Mu-yeong, his face turning beet red, as he spins around in his horse to check on the entourage of three guards following them. Thankfully for him, they are bickering among themselves about something inconsequential, and Lee Chang dismisses them as not having heard anything.

“We must find somewhere to make camp soon,” he decides, looking back towards the horizon, and the sun’s fading rays colouring it red.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mu-yeong replies, and he slows his horse to tell the guards.

Very quickly, they find a clearing in which to make camp, and Lee Chang grooms his horse while the guards and Mu-yeong start the fire. When the fire is sufficiently large, he sits by it and unwraps the jangguk mandu prepared for him that morning by his chefs. The smell of pork and kimchi wafts like sweet perfume from the wrappings, and he catches the guards looking at him enviously from the corner of their eyes, as they dig into their mieum. The gruel splatters over the grass as they eat.

One of the guards’ voices drifts over to him on the wind. “Royals are lucky,” he says, a thread of envy in his voice. “Jangguk mandu and tteokguk for dinner. What I would do for some meat.”

“Hush,” Mu-yeong says, glancing over at Lee Chang, but he pretends not to hear their conversation, and Mu-yeong returns his attention to the guards, reassured. “You know meat is a luxury us peasants cannot afford, especially in these trying times.”

“Yeah? You’d think the royals and the lords don’t know of the ongoing famine. The other day, I was on guard for Lord Park, and he left a whole dish of goldongban untouched. Untouched!” There is a collective groan from the group.

“What I wouldn’t do for some beef and eggs,” agrees one of the others, fervently.

“My mother died of illness last month. She wasted away,” comes the quiet voice of the last guard. “And when you think of all the food that’s left on the royals’ tables…” He shakes his head, and fumbles in his pockets. “I only have my daughter and my dear wife left, and the little girl’s so much like her grandmother. Worries about me all the time. She made me this talisman to keep me safe.” He displays the charm, and Lee Chang can vaguely see the childish drawings on the blue fabric, accompanied by words he is too far away to read.

He looks down at his mandu. Suddenly, the dumplings no longer seem as inviting.

Lee Chang thinks of offering them his food, then. Thinks of unwrapping the rest of the packages tethered to his horse, and sharing the food among the guards, because, if he’s honest, there was far too much food packed for him alone.

But something holds him back. Pride, perhaps, or irrational fear, that they will hate him even more for what they might construe as his pity.

And now it is too late. Before he could come to a a decision, the guards had finished their food, and now they are standing up, stretching, and sorting out the watch schedule. Mu-yeong comes over to him and notices his untouched meal.

“You must eat, Your Highness,” he urges, his tone teasing.

But when Lee Chang turns his face up to face him, Mu-yeong must see something in his face, for he squats down, his eyes turning liquid and understanding.

“Your Highness is different from the rest of the nobles,” he murmurs, under his breath so the other guards do not hear. “You did not execute my family when you caught me stealing from your table to provide for my wife. You did not execute the maid when she ruined your second-best coat with her shoddy washing skills. You did not execute the chef when he cooked you kongguksu for dinner, forgetting soy beans give you sleepless nights. That mercy is far above what any other noble is capable of – ah, now, don’t blush, Your Highness – you know it to be true! Don’t be embarrassed.”

Lee Chang scoffs and turns away. “Be quiet, or I shall execute your whole family,” he mutters under his breath.

“Isn’t it about time you stopped joking about that?” Mu-yeong cries, aghast. “Such a threat from the Crown Prince holds more weight than you think!”

Lee Chang glares at him out of the corner of his eye, then sighs, and turns his attention away. He begins unpacking the linens with which he is to make his bed, and tries not to smile; but he is sure the way his lips twitch, gives him away.

Satisfied that he has restored his prince’s spirits, Mu-yeong returns to the rest of the guards, who have been watching their exchange with some curiosity. Lee Chang strains to hear their conversation as they welcome his guard back to their side with a comradely clap to the back, but it is late, and the hard riding of the morning has driven all the energy from his bones.

The ground is hard against his back, and it is with the unhappy feeling of rocks digging pinpricks of pain into his skin, that he finally drifts into a restless slumber.

***

He is in the King’s study, staring at the irworobongdo behind the King’s desk and thinking to himself, “I will never be king.”

The King’s great-grandfather, his great-great-grandfather, had had the folding screens installed behind his desk in his room in Gyeongbokgung Palace during his reign, to emulate the irworobongdo behind the royal throne where he held court. Lee Chang had been told by his nurse as a boy that the former King, his great-great-grandfather, had used the paintings to intimidate whoever was unlucky enough to be called to his study for an audience. After the Second War of Jeong-yu, three years ago, Gyeongbokgung had been razed to ashes, they had moved here into Changdeokgung as the main palace, and the current King had decided to adopt the same practice as his great-grandfather.

It makes a majestic sight for sure, the five peaks rising above the head of the King, flanked by the two moons, conifers, and streams running down from the mountains. Lee Chang had often been called here in his youth, and one of his earliest – and most vivid – memories is of standing before the King, only nine years old, on his knees and crying. He remembers having been summoned for some small prank he had played on one of the guards. He remembers the King’s back, tall and stately, looming above him, his arms crossed behind him, and his voice: “You are the Crown Prince, Lee Chang. Such childish frivolities are beneath you. You must always act with the maturity and dignity required of your station.”

Yet he cannot remember the King’s face.

So now, he fixes his gaze blankly on the third and middle peak of the irworobongdo, as the King strides leisurely across the room, watching him.

“Did you hear me, Chang?” he says, and his voice is quiet.

“Yes,” Lee Chang manages. “That is wonderful news. You have informed the ministers, then? That Her Highness is with child?”

“Yes, yes,” the King replies, waving his hand airily. “They have given their best wishes, of course. I am sure he will be a beautiful baby boy.”

Or a girl, Lee Chang’s mind whispers, but somehow he knows in his bones that it will be a boy. Cho Hak-ju is not known for his errors.

The King is still watching him. Lee Chang does not know what he is expecting to see.

Then he turns his head away, sighs, and gestures imperiously towards Lee Chang, beckoning him forward. Lee Chang steps forward and kneels at the King's feet. He feels like that nine-year-old child all over again; but the difference is that, in the years between then and now, he has learned not to cry.

“Chang,” the King says, and Lee Chang feels a hand in his hair, a gentle touch which catches him by surprise. “You have survived, as I commanded you to. And you are all that a father can ever ask for. All that a nation can ask for in its prince. When this child comes, you will no longer be destined to be king. But you will still be a prince, and that is all that matters.”

“Is it?” Lee Chang whispers. “I have been brought up to be a king, with the expectation that one day, it was to be I who would sit on the Phoenix Throne and command the kingdom of Joseon. And now I realise that all that will have been for nothing.”

The King sighs again. “Not for nothing,” he amends. “Your brother will need you as he grows. You are experienced both in scholarship and military command. Do not dismiss yourself so easily.” The hand in his hair disappears, and Lee Chang finds himself strangely bereft.

When next he looks up again, the King is sitting at his desk, reading. The third peak glimmers in the light of his lamp, directly above his head. Lee Chang takes it as a dismissal.

“Chang,” the King says, as Lee Chang turns to leave. He turns back to face him, and the King’s eyes are molten gold.

“Remember,” he says. “Survive.” And he opens his mouth, and emits a piercing scream.

Lee Chang is jolted from his slumber and scrambles for the handle of his sword. He whips around and the blade points directly at Mu-yeong’s throat.

“Your Highness,” Mu-yeong gasps, his hand still on Lee Chang’s shoulder, where he has clearly been trying to rouse Lee Chang from his sleep. “We are under attack!”

Lee Chang’s mind immediately flies to Cho Hak-ju’s miserable face, but he quickly dismisses the notion. There is hardly any legitimate reason Cho can find to hunt him down, after all – Lee Chang’s plans had not been ready to set in motion before he had left the capital.

“By who?” he roars, instead. “Who dares attack – “ He is cut off by another piercing yell, this time of pain, and he turns in time to see one of the guards fall to the ground, a man covered in bloody rags clinging to his throat.

Immediately he leaps forward and buries his blade in the back of the attacker. The blow is harsh, and carves a deep line to the bone. The man jerks and convulses, falling off the guard and rolling onto the ground. Lee Chang is repulsed to see that his face is covered in blood, and that his teeth had been buried in the guard’s throat.

Quickly he bends down and shakes the guard. “Are you alright?” he asks roughly, scanning the wound. It is a bad bite, it is, and the attacker had torn out a good chunk of flesh when he had fallen off the body. It needs bandaging, and so Lee Chang rips off a piece of cloth from the hem of his coat. He pulls the fabric around the guard’s neck, making sure not to pull it too tight and obstruct his breathing, then he ties it off with a quick bow.

It is only Mu-yeong’s reflexes which save him from certain death, in those next few moments.

The man who had been lying on the ground – who had clearly been dead, no one could survive such a blow and live – had sprung up from his supine position and leapt for Lee Chang’s throat. He is too slow to react, and when he turns, the man’s breath is hot on his neck, in the instant before Mu-yeong’s blade whistles past him and separates the attacker’s head from his body.

Lee Chang falls back in disbelief, his bottom hitting the ground, and stares unseeingly at the head on the ground, its teeth bared in a foul approximation of a smile.

“How?” he asks, blankly. “He was dead. I buried my blade in his back myself. I severed his spinal cord. He should be dead.”

Another scream of pain attracts his attention, and he looks away in time to see the other two guards fall, and descended upon by more raggedy attackers. Lee Chang feels his stomach roil as he realises one of the smaller figures among the pack, is that of a child. His hand flies to the handle of his sword, and he is about to rise to his feet and run to the rescue, when he feels the body under his other hand begin to tremble.

“Your Highness,” Mu-yeong says warningly, but Lee Chang hardly needs his words to recognise the mottled colour spreading across the downed guard’s face, and the milky film descending over his eyes. He recognises that face, for he has seen it just moments before – on the head that is now sitting, eyes unseeing, among the blood-stained blades of grass.

Purely on instinct, his body leaps back from the guard, and he watches in horror as the guard begins to writhe and shake, as if caught in a fit. His neck arches backwards, beyond what is humanely possible, and his mouth falls open, froth drooling from his jowls. It is the most terrible thing Lee Chang has ever seen.

“Are you alright?” he calls, urgently. No answer, as the man continues to fit.

Then, suddenly, eerily, he stops moving.

“We must get medical help for him,” Lee Chang says urgently, glancing up at Mu-yeong. “He is on the brink of death!”

But Mu-yeong is not looking at him. Lee Chang follows his gaze, and although his body is screaming at him to run, he finds he cannot move. The sight before him is so horrific, it is beyond anything in his worst nightmares.

The other two guards, with their throats torn out and blood gushing from numerous wounds all over their body, are also convulsing on the ground. One of them – the one who had been, only just last night, bemoaning his lack of meat and the royals’ frivolity – has had his eye torn out. The eyeball dangles, almost comically, from the empty cavity of his eye socket, except that there is nothing laughable about this situation at all. Lee Chang turns his head to the side and retches.

As he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, he hears Mu-yeong suck in a sharp breath. “Your Highness,” he says, and his voice is small. “Your Highness!” he repeats, this time louder, and with more urgency. Lee Chang lifts his head, and the group of attackers is looking straight at them.

“They see us,” hisses Mu-yeong frantically. “Your Highness, we must run!”

Lee Chang springs to his feet, but something catches his ankle in a vice-like grip, and he almost falls. He turns, and the body of the third guard – who he had thought stone-cold dead, after his fits! – has roused itself. He is leering up at him, teeth bared grotesquely, and its claws digging into the skin of his ankle.

He is no longer human, some primal instinct of his tells him, and so he does not hesitate.

Again, his blade strikes honest and true, and cuts deep into the body’s abdomen – a blow that would fell any normal man. But the body does not falter, and rears upwards, sword still buried in his stomach, intestines spewing out, his jaws gnashing and aiming straight towards Lee Chang’s face.

Lee Chang yanks the blade from its stomach with a motion that jars his shoulder, for how deep it is buried in the other man’s abdomen. The movement hoists the creature up towards him, and Lee Chang feels its fetid breath against his nose for one terrifying moment – makes contact with its sightless eyes for barely a second – before he swings and takes the body’s head off.

He can’t hear the thud of the head as it hits the ground, and belatedly he realises that the ground is shaking.

“Your Highness, we must flee! Now!” Mu-yeong yells, and grabs his shoulder. Lee Chang springs up and grabs his pack from the ground, where it is lying next to him.

And so they fly, the pursuers hot on their heels. Lee Chang has never run so fast in his life. He feels his heart beating a thousand miles an hour, thrumming through his ears, counting out the beat of his steps as they sprint over the dry grass and across the plain.

They are running too fast to stop, however, when they reach the cliff. There is barely a split second as they see the water loom before them, Mu-yeong looks at him, and his mouth forms an ‘o’ – Lee Chang would laugh, at the surrealism of the entire situation, if he weren’t working so hard to keep from breaking down. He says some words his wet nurse would have shook him upside down for.

And then they hit the water. The impact is like hitting a wall, and it drives all the air out of his lungs. He feels himself begin to sink, his heavy silk clothes quickly absorbing the water and lending him the weight of a stone, and the water bites cold frost into his skin.

Desperately, he kicks towards the surface, feeling his head throb with the pain of his lack of air. The moonlight is bright above the water’s surface, so near yet so far, as if the moon itself is taunting him. His limbs are a leaden weight, and he barely feels himself move. He cannot breathe.

Then suddenly he breaks the surface of the water with a gasp, and air – blessed air – rushes into his lungs. The cold air stings his reddened cheeks, and he already feels the ache of bruises beginning to form, from his intimate contact with the hard surface of the water.

“Mu-yeong!” he yells hoarsely, when he does not see the guard’s head. Moments later, the man breaks the surface, gasping and flailing, his sodden hair and clothes clinging miserably to his skin. Lee Chang knows he looks no better.

“They are too afraid to jump!” Mu-yeong calls to him, his voice bright with relief, pointing at the cliff’s edge. Indeed, the attackers are gathered above them, staring sombrely down at the two of them paddling in the water. There is one unlucky man who evidently was unable to slow his run, and is now clinging to the cliff face.

As they watch, he slips and plunges into the water. He does not come back up.

“It is a miracle,” Lee Chang says in disbelief. “They are afraid of the water.”

“Probably afraid of freezing to – well, death, if that’s even an appropriate word for them,” Mu-yeong says grimly. “And so will we, if we stay here much longer. The sun is rising, and I can see lights over there – there must be a village, or a camp of some sort. We must make for it before we freeze to death.”

With a nod of assent on Lee Chang’s part, they paddle dolefully to the opposite shore and haul themselves up. The wind is cruel and relentless, and Lee Chang feels his teeth begin to chatter. They lie prone on the ground, chests heaving in tune, arms spread akimbo, and staring unseeingly up at the beautiful night sky.

“C-c-c-curse this autumn wind,” cries Mu-yeong. “I am only thankful that it is not winter. We w-w-would be dead by now, if t-that were the case.”

Lee Chang laughs. But halfway through, it devolves into a sob, and he somehow finds the energy to sit up.

He barely makes it up before he feels his stomach revolt, and he throws up all over the ground. The remnants of meat in his vomit remind him of the chunks of flesh the creatures had torn off the guards’ bodies, and the memory makes him heave again. This time nothing comes up.

He turns, and Mu-yeong is shaking with quiet sobs, his jaw clenched and his eyes blinking furiously as he tries to hold back tears. It is the first time Lee Chang has ever seen Mu-yeong cry.

“Mu-yeong.” Lee Chang calls his name, and the gentleness of his voice surprises even him. The guard turns to him, eyes glassy with unshed tears, and his fist stuffed in his mouth to block his sobs. Lee Chang tries to find the right things to say.

“They were good, honest men,” he says, at last. “I did not know them very long, but I could tell that they were good men. We will honour their memories and their bravery in the face of unholy evil.”

Mu-yeong chokes out a laugh, and it is an ugly sound. “They were bloody awful at times,” he says, casting his eyes away. “We always quarrelled. They begrudged me my role as your guard, and always teased me for only passing the exam in my forties, when they had done so in their youth.” He pauses to wipe at the sides of his eyes, and when he continues, his voice is quiet.

“But they were good men,” he says, and his voice is full of affection. “You are right, Your Highness. They were honest, and hardworking, and brave. They did not deserve the death they received.”

The sun is rising, and the heat of its rays takes the edge off the cold. Lee Chang tries to ignore the sour stench of his own vomit, and stares off into the horizon. Their attackers are no longer gathered at the cliff’s edge, from what he can make out.

“They were ungodly abominations,” he says lowly, recalling the dark patterns that had been spread across their faces and exposed skin, and the rotting flesh that had been falling off their bodies. “I do not know how it is that they were able to sustain blows that would kill any normal man, nor why they were feeding on human flesh. But they are still on the other side of the river, and I fear for the villages we passed on our way.”

“What will we do, Your Highness?” asks Mu-yeong, and some semblance of normality has been restored to his voice. “Do we still ride – well, walk to Dongnae?”

“Yes,” Lee Chang says decisively. “We must go to Dongnae, and light the signal fires to warn the other cities in the region. We do not know how many of these people are out there, nor what they want. It will be good to prepare everyone for an attack.

“And Mu-yeong?” he says, almost as an afterthought, but as quite an important one. He manages a small smile when the guard turns to face him.

“We will return for your friends’ bodies,” he murmurs softly. “Their bodies will not be left to rot, alone and with only the crows for company. We will return them to Hanyang, for an honourable burial, and for the peace of mind of their family.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Mu-yeong says quietly, and he is about to say something else, when they are interrupted by a loud cacophony of clattering.

“Who are you, and what have you come for?” comes a voice from their right, and when Lee Chang turns, he comes face to face with the barrel of a musket.

It is a rough-looking man, smaller in stature but no less fierce for it. His hair is carelessly tossed into a bun, and sweaty strands of it stick to his tan skin. The bags under his eyes speak of countless sleepless nights, but still the hand that is holding the gun is steady and true. A pile of bamboo poles lies by him, the origin of the clattering sound.

“Put down your weapon!” Mu-yeong cries, and hefts his sword. The man spares him a glance out of the corner of his eyes. “Do you know who you dare lift your weapon against? This is the Crown Prince of the Joseon kingdom!”

The stranger’s brows shoot up, but apart from that, he does not move an inch, and the barrel of the musket is still pointed straight at Lee Chang’s face. Lee Chang feels himself begin to sweat.

“You did not answer the question,” he says quietly. “Why have the Crown Prince and his guard emerged from the banks of the Nakdong River, soaking wet and covered in gore?”

“We were attacked,” Lee Chang finds his voice. “By men who ate human flesh and did not balk at our blades in their back. Three of my other guards were felled by the attackers, and we had to flee into the river, which they dared not enter.”

There is a moment of silence, as the man stares at them, his eyes wide, and Lee Chang thinks he does not believe him. Honestly, were he the opposing party, he does not think he would believe his story either, outlandish as it seems – but every word of it is, unfortunately, the cold, hard truth.

“Then they did survive,” the man says abruptly, and his arm drops back to his side. Mu-yeong’s stance relaxes minutely, his blade still drawn, but the man pays him no mind and turns to the river.

“We must return to the other side,” he says urgently. “You must show me where the monsters descended on you.”

“Monsters?” splutters Mu-yeong. “What the hell – beg pardon, Your Highness – what do you mean by that?”

“Those men were dead,” the stranger says ruthlessly. “They frothed at the mouth and fitted to death, but at night they rise again and crave human flesh. They cannot be killed by normal means – only by fire, deep water, or beheading. And if we do not dispose of their bodies by tonight, they will return to kill once more.” He turns to them again, his eyes ablaze. “You must show me where they found you. They will be hiding from the sun, somewhere nearby, as they fear the daylight. We must burn their bodies as soon as possible.”

“We were on our way to Dongnae – “ starts Mu-yeong mulishly, but then he stops as Lee Chang holds up a hand to stop him. If, indeed, these men will rise again tonight to attack more unsuspecting folk… Lee Chang thinks, again, of the villages they had passed on the way, and the playful cries of children that had arisen from those settlements. He cannot let the innocent people in those villages die, not when he can prevent it.

“We will show you the way. Dongnae can wait.”

“Your Highness – “ Mu-yeong says sharply. “What reason do we have to trust this – this stranger? He could be lying. The story he tells – of the dead rising and killing for human flesh? It is a tale that is nigh on impossible.”

“You saw what we saw last night, Mu-yeong,” Lee Chang says quietly. “I do not believe those men were human. Besides,” he says, with a weak smile, “I did promise you we would return to retrieve your friends’ bodies – although I did not expect that we would do it as soon as we are choosing to now. Dongnae can wait. If we find these bodies and destroy them, it will greatly thin the number of monsters out there.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Mu-yeong accedes. Although it is not without a final glare towards the back of the man, who is standing by the riverside a little ways away, glancing restlessly back at them as they make their decision.

He brings them to a bridge further down the road, where they cross to the other side of the river, and they retrace their steps in silence till they reach the remains of the campsite.

The ashes of the fire Mu-yeong had lit are still smoking, and the bodies – even those of the guards – are nowhere to be found.

“They must have carried their bodies off,” Mu-yeong mutters, in disgust. Lee Chang watches as the man squats down and examines the ground.

“Do you see any tracks?” he calls, as the man picks up a piece of dirt off the ground and sniffs at it. He spares Lee Chang a glance, then stands up and brushes his hands off on his trousers.

“They went northward,” he says shortly. “Into the forest. There must be some abandoned homes or buildings among the trees in which they can hide from the sun.”

Lee Chang nods, and gestures forward. “Lead the way then.”

They walk into the woods. The trees have shed their leaves and are bare and stark against the crisp autumn sunlight. Frost crunches under their feet as they walk, and the air is eerily still, undisturbed by the sounds of any animals. Lee Chang gathers his coat tighter around him, and subconsciously tightens his grip on the handle of his sword.

“There,” the man says, stopping suddenly, and he points at a ruined shack that lies a distance from them. They make their way over to it, and Mu-yeong tentatively opens the door. It creaks as it opens, and releases a cloud of dust that makes all of them cough.

Lee Chang steps in first, squinting into the darkness. He draws his sword, and the blade gleams dully. The floorboards groan under his feet as he walks, craning his neck to see further than one chok in front of his face.

There – there is a glimmer of something in the corner of the room, he thinks, and readies his sword for battle – then there is an almighty crash as the complaining floorboards finally give way, and he sinks downwards with a shout of surprise.

The landing is unexpectedly soft, and there is a sinking feeling in his stomach as he turns his head downwards to gaze at what has broken his fall.

Faces upon faces upon faces, bodies upon bodies upon bodies, curled up in grotesque positions under the boards. Their eyes are shut in a gross parody of sleep, but their chests do not move with breath. They are dead.

Mu-yeong hoists him from the ground, and utters a hoarse cry as he sees what Lee Chang has happened upon. The stranger is unfazed, however, and begins pulling up the floorboards.

“We must get all of them out, and make sure their heads are cut off before we bury them, so they do not rise again,” he orders. Lee Chang has a very brief argument with a voice in his head – one that sounds very much like the King’s voice - about the merits of following the orders of someone of a lesser station than himself, before he sternly tells himself off and squats down to help.

They manage to pull out all twenty-one bodies of their attackers, and Lee Chang is horrified to find out that he had been right – one of them had been a child, no older than ten years of age, with the same mottled pattern on his skin, and mouth painted with gore. He almost throws up again, then, but his stomach is protesting the lack of food, and thankfully he manages to push down the urge.

Mu-yeong finds the bodies of the guards, one headless and two others still intact. He drags the bodies and the head out and lays them sombrely in front of the porch, aside from the other bodies.

“I apologise, my friends,” he says, under his breath, so softly that Lee Chang knows the words are not meant for others to hear. “I would give you now a burial worthy of the most honourable of men, but alas, I cannot do so. I promise, I will retrieve your bodies and bring them back to your honourable families, so they can pay their respects to you as you deserve.”

The man comes up to him and stands by his side, looking at the bodies of the guards. Then, in a stern but kind voice, completely at odds with his manner so far, he says, “We must cut off their heads as well. Any man the monsters bite will turn into one of their kind.”

Mu-yeong looks torn, and splutters. “That is absurd. Whoever heard of such a thing? Your Highness,” he turns to Lee Chang, and while his voice is accusatory, his eyes are soft with anguish. “You do not believe him, do you?”

Lee Chang sighs, and inadvertently locks eyes with the man. His eyes are fierce, and hooded, but Lee Chang thinks they hold no lies – at least, with regards to his matter. He shakes his head in answer to Mu-yeong.

“We saw it for ourselves last night, Mu-yeong,” he says patiently. “One of them returned to life and attacked me, and the only way of ensuring he did not rise again, was by taking off his head. Think of this,” and he manages what he hopes is a comforting smile, “it would be the kindest thing to do, to stop them casting a blemish on their honourable record by killing more innocent people. They would have wanted you to do it.”

In answer, Mu-yeong bows his head, and nods. And later, when they are done beheading the rest of the monsters, he takes the heads off the guards himself.

“We must dig a pit to bury the bodies in,” the man says, coming out of the shack with tools in hand. He passes one shovel to Mu-yeong, then he looks at Lee Chang out of the corner of his eye, a question written clearly in his face. Mu-yeong’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth to interject; but Lee Chang silences him with a look, and takes the shovel from the man.

About an hour passes as they dig into the frozen ground to create a large shallow pit – shallow because they can go no deeper with the rudimentary tools they have, and the hardness of the soil. It is backbreaking work, and even in the cold biting air, Lee Chang feels sweat beading on his brow. The numbness in his fingers and the weariness in his bones does not help.

When they are finished, they haul most of the bodies over to the pit and try, as carefully as possible, to arrange them inside. They were once human, after all, and every human, no matter how small in stature or station, deserved an honourable burial.

When it comes to the three guards, however, the stranger squats down by the bodies and rifles through their clothing. In a swift movement, Lee Chang strides over and has his blade at the man’s throat.

The man pauses in his movements, and looks up at Lee Chang. A swallow bobs his throat, but his eyes hold no fear, and the twist of his mouth belies his impatience.

“How dare you attempt to desecrate these men by looting from them,” Lee Chang whispers. “Is it not enough that their bodies have been so profanely defiled? Do you intend to rob them as well?”

“Your Highness,” the man replies, very calmly – too calmly, for all that he had a blade at his throat – “while you have been sitting in your golden palace, eating the food of the gods, we have been starving.” Very slowly, his hand comes up and grips the pommel of the sword, right next to Lee Chang’s hand. His eyes are dark, and full of resolve.

“The sick at Jiyulheon need food, or they will die by morning,” he says quietly. “Our stocks had already been depleted before the monsters appeared, and now, more than ever, we need food. Will you let the sick and injured at Jiyulheon starve to death, for your honour and morality? This is reality, Your Highness – the reality of us peasants’ lives. This is not the first time I have stolen from a dead body to live, and it will not be the last.”

Mu-yeong is oddly silent, Lee Chang thinks, dazedly. He is able to hold the man’s gaze for a moment – just a moment more - then he can bear it no longer, and has to avert his eyes.

The man coolly levers the sword away from his throat, and returns to searching quickly through the guards’ clothes. He finds a few packets of dried meat and other trail foods, and these he packs them away in his bag.

When he is done, he makes to drag the bodies into the pit, and a small blue square of fabric falls from one of the guards’ pockets. As Mu-yeong and the stranger lug the bodies away, Lee Chang bends over and retrieves the item.

The guard’s daughter has written on it, in shaky writing; Papa, it reads, pleas keep your self safe and pleas bring back some mandu for mommy. We love you! There is a doodle of a girl sitting on what appears to be some vaguely-four-legged animal, brandishing a sword, with her father seated behind her. Lee Chang finds he suddenly has to steady himself against the walls of the shack, as a lump finds its way to his throat.

“Your Highness,” Mu-yeong calls, and Lee Chang looks up with a start to realise that the other two have already hurried some way up the slight incline that had led to the shed, and are now looking back at him – Mu-yeong with puzzlement, the stranger with badly-concealed impatience.

“The sun is setting,” says the man. “I must return to Jiyulheon – they will need help with defence against whatever monsters are left from this pack.”

“We will come with you,” calls Lee Chang, on some impulse, as the man turns to leave. Lee Chang’s words makes him spin round, his faint brows riding high in surprise.

“Why?” he says, and the twist of his mouth reads of his suspicion. “I thought you were on your way to Dongnae?”

“Staying in Jiyulheon cannot be your permanent solution against an attack,” Lee Chang argues, walking quickly up to them; and from the way the man’s eyes darken, Lee Chang knows he has hit his mark. He steps closer to the man, and they lock gazes.

“We can help with your defence through the night, and when morning comes, we will find a way to bring the people of Jiyulheon to safety. I swear this upon my crown,” he says, solemnly, for the look in those burning eyes holds him to nothing but the truth.

“Can a prince run as fast as is needed?” says the man at last, tossing his head scornfully. A sudden flock of crows ascends above their heads, bringing with them a cacophony of cawing, and their shadow runs long. The sun is setting, and night is drawing near.

Lee Chang feels his resolve set. He tucks the talisman into his pocket, and gives the man a firm nod.

#changshin #kingdom #kingdom netflix #lee chang #yeong shin #upm works #upm #kingdom fanfiction #changshin fanfiction #cho hak ju

26 notes · View notes

maando-mba-prince-carl-philip · 5 years ago

Photo

Meet Princess Sofia and Prince Carl Philip - Sweden's answer to Meghan and Harry

Caitlin McBride

July 14 2019 8:23 AM

If there's one good thing that's come from Meghan and Harry's aversion to the press, it's the new wealth of royals to whom we can adjust our gaze.

While ‘lesser�� British royals like Lady Gabriella Windsor and Kitty Spencer are enjoying the newfound fame and attention that is a direct knock-on effect from Markle-mania, there are even more interesting personalities further afield in Europe.

Chief among them is Sweden’s Prince Carl Philip and his wife Princess Sofia, the equivalent to Meghan and Harry.

Carl Philip is fourth in line to the Swedish throne as his older sister Crown Princess Victoria will ascend the throne when her parents King Gustaf and Queen Silvia end their reign. As such, he’s been afforded different freedoms than his sister when it comes to royal duties (his younger sister Princess Madeleine even more so).

Until 2015, he was mostly known only within his country, but his wedding to Sofia Hellqvist, that year catapulted them to international prominence thanks to their blindingly attractive looks, heartwarming love story with just a sprinkle of controversy.

Sofia and Carl had been dating for six years before they married at The Royal Chapel in Stockholm Palace, having first met in 2009 at a nightclub in Bastad, Sweden and both described it as love at first sight.

"The first thing I noticed about Carl Philip was that he seemed very humble," Sofia told Swedish channel TV 4 in a joint interview after announcing their engagement in 2014. "When I got to know him, I saw that he was incredibly natural, very intelligent and very humble." She went on to call him her “best friend”.

Carl Philip returned the praise, saying: Above all, she's beautiful and has beautiful eyes," she said. "But she's also a fantastic person. She's down to earth and has a wonderful personality. There are so many good things to say about her."

"I don't think I knew the magic of love before I met Sofia," added the prince, 36. "But ever since I met her, I've seen how love can change a person."

Their modern day love story was reported around the world and suddenly there was global fascination into Sweden’s Sweethearts. Suddenly, Sofia, a former glamour model who posed topless with a boa constrictor and was named Miss Slitz [magazine] and a contestant on reality tv series Paradise Hotel was going public with her long-term romance and committing to a lifetime bound by royal duty in the name of love.

She found the criticism and interest in her life nine years ago to be suffocating as many, as critics tend to, felt she was not a suitable match as a future princess.

"It was very tough. People had comments on everything possible, on what I do and how I look," she told TV4.

"I was met with an enormous hate storm from people who had opinions about me as a person, about my relationship. I was surprised and it definitely affected me. I didn’t understand that people had such need to express how badly they felt about me. It was very tough."

Now, she no longer reads anything about herself in a bid to protect her mental health. And while some were quick to point out elements of her career they found unsavoury, her work with children well before her wedding went largely ignored.

In 2005, she lived in New York where she studied accounting and business development and work as a waitress to support herself. She then studied at Stockholm University where she studied global ethics, child and youth science, children's communication and the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child.

After that, she established the Sofia Hellqvist Project Playground, which supports underprivileged children in South Africa.

Over the last four years, she and Carl Philip have welcomed two children - Princes Gabriel and Alexander - and she and her sister-in-law are focused on wholesome activities like hiking all 25 provinces of Sweden and spending time with her family. But her flawless fashion choices in the Instagram age have made her a social media icon among royal watchers.

#MAANDO MBA #PRINCE CARL PHILIP 2020 #PRINCE CARL PHILIP

8 notes · View notes

the-desolated-quill · 5 years ago

Text

The Abyss Gazes Also - Watchmen blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. if you haven’t read this comic yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Rorschach is arguably the most beloved character in the graphic novel.

Now anyone reading these reviews who hasn’t read the graphic novel I imagine must be slightly confused by that statement, considering I haven’t exactly been painting a very glowing picture of him. He’s misogynistic, homophobic, bigoted, violent and sociopathic. Not exactly the traits you’d associate with a ‘beloved’ character. And yet that’s exactly what he is. Out of all the characters in Watchmen, Rorschach is by far the most popular. Of course this isn’t exactly a good thing. A big reason for his popularity is because of people either missing or ignoring the satirical subtext of the character (Ted Cruz reportedly is a big Rorschach fan. Let that sink in for a moment). That’s not to say the character isn’t well written or compelling. I’ve said in the past that Rorschach is my personal favourite character simply because of how interesting I find him.

The Abyss Gazes Also explores the origins of Rorschach and I thought this would be a good opportunity to not only analyse the chapter, but to also question where this romanticised view of Rorschach may have come from.

The Abyss Gazes Also is told from the perspective of Dr. Malcolm Long. A psychiatrist assigned to evaluate and counsel Walter Kovacs, aka Rorschach. I absolutely love this setup and how it plays out. Like with Doctor Manhattan’s origin story in Watchmaker, rather than just giving us a big info dump, we get to explore the backstory through the eyes of a certain character.

Malcolm represents everything Rorschach despises. He’s part of the corrupt establishment, thinks of no one but himself and deludes himself into thinking everything will be fine so as not to upset the apple cart. (also, while not overtly stated, considering Rorschach’s extreme right wing views, I imagine the fact that Malcolm is black probably doesn’t help matters either). From the beginning we know that Malcolm doesn’t really care about helping Rorschach in any meaningful way. He just wants the fame attached with studying the mind of this infamous vigilante. And by the end he does get to fully understand Rorschach better than anyone else, but at a horrifying cost.

As Malcolm learns more about Walter’s transformation into Rorschach, we see his otherwise upbeat personality slowly dissolve as he begins to see the world from Rorschach’s point of view. I love how Alan Moore chooses to represent this. In the beginning, Malcolm’s notes are eloquent, detailed and optimistic, but as the issue goes on, the sentences start to become more broken, much darker and disjointed to the point where it actually begins to resemble Rorschach’s speech pattern. It’s a subtle illustration of Malcolm’s changing psyche. We also see him become more and more aware of the situation between America and Russia, whereas before he was very much focused inward on his career and his wife. As his perception of the world around him changes, the things he used to care about fall away. He neglects his wife and by the end his career is virtually in tatters because in the wake of potential Armageddon, none of these things matter to him anymore. Now on the one hand you could see this as some kind of comeuppance. A selfish man getting what he deserves. But it’s also deeply tragic because the point is no one should have to view the world the way Rorschach does.

Which brings us to the man himself.

The life of Walter Kovacs is... a bit of a bummer, to say the least. His mother was a prostitute who regularly abused him and he had to endure a lot of bullying and torment by sexist pricks labelling him as a ‘whoreson.’ It’s this that has contributed to his view of women (more on that later) as well as his own distorted view of sex. In the extra material, we get to read some of Walter’s psychological profile, which includes a diary entry from a younger Walter describing a nightmare he had where his mother was ‘dancing’ with a man and, upon further inspection, realises the two have been morphed together into a grotesque monster that then chases him. A literal beast with two backs, if you will.

It’s also worth mentioning that the most significant moments in Walter’s life that led to him becoming Rorschach were all sex related and involved women. Obviously there’s his mother. There’s also the job he got at a women’s clothing store, which clearly made him feel extremely uncomfortable, the rape and murder of Kitty Genovese, whose uncollected dress was used to make the Rorschach mask, and of course the murder of Blaire Roche. This I think is what led to Rorschach’s reductive view of women and also serves in some ways as a damning critique of how women are presented in comics. Every woman Walter has ever encountered has either been a helpless victim or a sexualised monster. Even Laurie, the Silk Spectre, contributes to this because of the sexualised image her mother forced onto her. In many comics, the assault or death of a woman often serves as the catalyst of a male hero’s journey, and Rorschach is the same, except it’s presented deliberately as being incredibly distorted. His relationship with women is already fraught thanks to his mother, but his encounters with Kitty Genovese and Blaire Roche serve as a way for him to justify his distorted view of reality. I particularly like the inclusion of the real life case of Kitty Genovese and the myth that over forty witnesses saw her being attacked and did nothing to help. Of course Walter seizes on this and uses it to support his worldview. We’re not even sure if the dress he uses to make the mask was actually intended for Kitty as it could just be a delusion that Walter has concocted to fit his narrative. Whereas other comics might use a woman’s pain as motivation for the male hero, here we see the male ‘hero’ use multiple women’s pain as a means to an end. A way of excusing his behaviour and justifying his actions. It’s a great reversal, exploring the sexism of the refrigerated woman trope.

What I find especially interesting is how despite his childhood, despite his right wing views and despite his reductive view of women, in his early days you could accurately describe Rorschach as a proper superhero. During the period that Walter refers to himself as being ‘soft,’ he teams up with Nite Owl and stops many criminal masterminds such as Big Figure, Jimmy the Gimmick and Underboss. You get the feeling that, had he stuck with Nite Owl, he might have grown to be a somewhat more balanced individual. (which is not to say Dan doesn’t have flaws too, but he’s far better adjusted than Rorschach is, that’s for damn sure). It’s what comes later that sends Rorschach past the point of no return. And no I’m not talking about the murder of Blaire Roche, though that was probably the final straw. I’m talking about Rorschach’s first encounter with the Comedian.

See, I don’t think Rorschach would have become a murderer if he hadn’t met the Comedian first. In his interview with Malcolm, Walter speaks of the Comedian in glowing terms, saying he’s the only one that understood how the world works. If it wasn’t for the Comedian planting the seed of nihilism in Rorschach’s head, he might have reacted slightly differently when he discovered the fate of Blaire Roche. I’m not saying he wouldn’t have reacted violently, but I do honestly think it wouldn’t have been quite so extreme.

I’ve said in a previous review how all the characters of Watchmen are technically nihilists. Rorschach and Comedian are a perfect illustration of two contrasting ways of reacting to nihilism. Namely moral absolutism versus amorality. The Comedian believes that the world has no meaning and that morality is a joke, and so uses that as an excuse to commit heinous acts for his own amusement. Rorschach is also a nihilist. After his encounter with Gerald Grice, he learns that morality and meaning doesn’t exist, but unlike the Comedian, Rorschach takes the opportunity to impose his own morality onto the world. Like ink blots on a blank canvas. The problem is with his own warped sense of reality as well as his motivation. Having discovered that Gerald had killed Blaire Roche, dismembered her and fed her to his dogs, Rorschach no longer has any interest in helping people because, in his mind, people are beyond help. He just wants to hurt and punish those that ruined the world. This isn’t justice. This is revenge. Revenge based on faulty logic. Walter says this was the day he became Rorschach, but it’s also the day he stopped being a superhero as far as I’m concerned. While his motivations and worldview was questionable before, he was at least acting for the common good. Now he’s just an angry man lashing out at the world indiscriminately.

So why do some people have this romanticised view of Rorschach? Well one reason I think is because he’s a man who lives by his own code. Whether we admit to it or not, there is a part of us that wants to see the predators of our society get what they deserve, so even though we recognise that Rorschach is going too far and that his views and beliefs are unsavoury, there’s a little voice in the back of our heads that most of us may not want to acknowledge quietly whispering ‘yes.’ Because if these are truly evil people he’s doing these despicable things to, then it must be okay, right? But then we have to ask ourselves the same question we did about the Comedian back in Absent Friends. Are we saying that the moment someone commits a crime, their life becomes forfeit? That they deserve to die? What does that say about us and our own morality? Which leads to another reason why I believe some people romanticise Rorschach. It’s because it’s easier to romanticise Rorschach rather than to acknowledge what he potentially says about us.

I love Rorschach because, as a character, he forces us to ask some very awkward and uncomfortable questions about our own morality. How far is too far? Where do we draw the line? If the misogyny, psychotic behaviour and extreme violence aren’t deal-breakers, what is? Can we really excuse these poisonous views and beliefs if the person in question is acting, supposedly, for the greater good? This is what makes Rorschach such a fascinating character in my opinion. And I’m sorry to say that if you can’t bring yourself to think about these things, then I’m afraid you just don’t understand Rorschach, or indeed Watchmen, at all.

#the abyss gazes also #watchmen #alan moore #dave gibbons #dc comics #review #spoilers

15 notes · View notes

alexdanversfbi · 6 years ago

Text

Supergirl, Sanvers Fandom and LGBTQ - in response to Twitter Posts.

I’m making a post to try & clarify some things since I made a post, & subsequent issues that have arisen from it. Forewarning, this is going to be quite lengthy but I hope you will read it carefully and fully.

Firstly, I’m a transgender man. I’m in my early 50’s. I’m happily married.

My wife (who now ID’s as bi, but for a long time until my transition, was lesbian, as I had lived as well), quite honestly have been involved in the LGBT community & push for representation and law changes longer than many Sanvers fans have been alive.

I say this to make the point, not to say it makes us better at it, or everyone needs to listen only to us - but that to say we’ve seen no representation, to poor & patchy representation, to representation starting to improve.

Both in laws of the land & on screen.

We’ve faced homophobia & seen transphobia up front and personal since childhood. My in-laws were a staunch allies for lgbt people. My mother in law was a beard to a friend of hers, as they went to underground parties simply so he could date another man. Sadly, my own family were less supportive, & while I wasn’t kicked out of my home, I didn’t get unconditional love & support either. While my father is now dead, I’m still facing it today with a mother who is terrible at acknowledging transgender me.

It all has a long way to go - and it might seem glacial to some, but in the decades we’ve seen it going on, there is far more good than there ever was. It’s still mixed in with the bad though. But more on that later.

I got into the SG fandom late.

Really late!

As late as about 3 months ago, because as a surprise for my wife, I bought her tickets for Ultimates specifically to see Flo as an early wedding anniversary present (it’s in May). She had watched the show (although had stopped before the end of S3 after the debacle of Sanvers and the ridiculous storylines being assigned to Alex). I hadn’t even done that.

However, she still talked about it, but because of what happened with Sanvers had said it wasn’t worth me watching it (she had watched it separately from me for a number of different reasons), because of how bad it was.

So I didn’t bother. Why watch something that was going to destroy any good it gave.

My wife though did say how there were (up until the shitstorm of S3) parallels to Maggie’s (& to Alex’s) stories to another program we did watch on UK TV Bad Girls, and Nikki Wade with Helen Stewart. Nikki was kicked out of the family home for being gay at 16. Was an out lesbian. Helen had only been with men, met Nikki, questioned her relationships - and eventually, unlike SG, they gave them the happy ending.

She also remarked how Flo had left for good reasons because of the way Maggie was written beyond the arc of girlfriend to Alex.

Remember, I wasn’t around the fandom, and to be honest, although my wife is a fan of Sanvers & Flo - she wasn’t really around social media either, particularly at the time Flo left. She hadn’t followed any Sanvers fans at that point.

So neither of us had seen the Flo hate. We’ve heard about it - but since neither of us were active at that time, we simply haven’t seen it.

It does not mean for one split second we condone stuff like that, any more than we condone hate sent to any actor or actress, regardless of the circumstances.

So I’m nipping in the bud any accusations of Flo hate from me now. It couldn’t be further from the truth.

We did see some Flo hate on Instagram as S2 of The punisher started and my wife went in on occasion to defend her.

I could do it - but I have crippling anxiety. Even writing this is because of the support of my wife.

It does mean I find it hard - extremely hard - to go in unannounced to people I don’t know to say anything.

My wife does though stand up if she sees anything. It’s just her online time is often restricted.

Back to SG now - we weren’t watching, even though Nicole Maines was cast, but because I was late to watching SG, it really wasn’t something I was aware of.

I will add, my main social media presence until the last couple of months was Facebook or Instagram. So it did pass me by.

Both of us actually, as my wife - due to disability - isn’t always the most active either. She had heard of it, but we often have other stuff in real life going on (hospital & doctor appointments etc), and that was one of those times, so it was there, but not up front & centre for us.

Now this might not seem like a big deal to some or a good enough reason to watch, but to me this is my Maggie moment when I did realise what was going on fully.

As a Transgender man, to see a transgender superhero finally being cast - that was great news.

What wasn’t so great - it was via SG. A program that had shown demonstratively poor judgement & queer baiting since the loss of Flo.

Were we worried that Nicole’s character would get the same treatment?

Absolutely we were.

However, coupled with having bought my wife tickets for Ultimates to meet Flo, I decided to watch SG, since it meant I had an idea about who we’d be meeting.

Then Nicole was added as a guest and that was it. Tough as it might be, we had two reasons to watch.

My wife warned me what was to come. How Sanvers broke up. How poor the writing became (not just Sanvers, but Alex, Mon-El and far more than I can get into here). Despite being warned, I loved the start. I loved (& still love Sanvers). I get why it became so important for a lot of viewers.

I hate how it was dealt with on screen at the end.

Utterly despise it in fact.

But remember, I only came into this recently, so I have no history of how it played out in real time on social media.

I’d become a huge Chyler fan (but I enjoyed her as Lexie) as I loved Alex, the wife is still a huge Flo fan.

Sanvers even had me drawing again for the 1st time in 15 years (see my pinned Tweet as it’s a Sanvers kiss).

But Ultimates was booked.

Then Nicole came along.

So we both grit our teeth and started watching the rest of S3, and what had already been shown of S4 (to show you how late this was, it was already to episode 13 of S4 when we started it).

Season 3 and the first 10 or 11 episodes of S4 are ….. at best badly written. Poor storylines, plot holes you could drive a bus through … but despite all this, we took what we could because the Nia storyline was being handled fairly well.

Now we could argue why settle for something so poor? Why not push for better representation.

I cannot stress enough (and honestly, the whole thing I was trying to put in a 240 character Tweet that has resulted in all this), that for us the show had now put in representation & produced something we’d not seen until now.

The show has moved on, and goodness me, if you truly think I expect people to move on, then it isn’t the case. I was merely trying to explain, that even previously staunch Sanvers fans might well now watch for completely different reasons.

It doesn’t mean there are other staunch Sanvers fans who should move on. You are just as valid in what you want.

It doesn’t even mean the fight for Sanvers as endgame should stop, and people of differing views can still want that to happen.

It was definitely not to bash Maggie (or Flo), particularly as it was Flo who was the reason we are attending Ultimates.

For me the reason I now watch is because of Nia and Alex.

My wife because of Nia.

As difficult as it is to palate for a lot of you (understandably), there are also going to be those who’ll watch the new LI because it’s another area of representation in having a gay black woman on screen.

We’ve (wife & myself) been around long enough to know what poor & good representation looks like. Heck, good representation is nigh on impossible to find - I can say Helen & Nikki were one of the lucky ones. In the 20 years since that’s happened, I’m struggling to find many others. They are out there, but when it’s only a dozen or so at best, it’s tough.

As my wife remarked the other week; when Jes MacCallan wears a t-shirt at Clexacon that lists wlw and it’s barely enough to be on the front of said t-shirt - that shows how poor it’s been. And then most didn’t have a happily ever after. Sure it’s not a comprehensive list, but it does help prove how poor it’s been.

But also remember as poor as that has been, there are some (like trans or gay men or black women) who’ve had even less. They deserve more, & sometimes that starting point is horribly bad.

We’ve also been around long enough to know it isn’t black & white. It isn’t linear.

Just like coming out, you constantly have to do it. That sometimes means taking what is the worst outcome, but using it to steadily push for the better ones. It sometimes means you might have to take that step backwards to move forwards.

It can also feel unsavoury to do that.

A prime example I can think of here in the UK is we remember when people first started touting same sex marriage - and at that point, they were in process of changing the law on same sex adoption.

For those not aware of the UK law that was - it allowed single gay people to adopt, but not couples .... so stupidly a gay person could adopt if single, and then become involved with someone else, but if you were in a committed relationship no go - anyway, from that law the discussion to get marriage in place started. Gay men were openly likened to those opposing the law change to peodophiles, as sadly still happens to gay men today.

That change in adoption law was a big step forward in getting the laws on marriage here changed.

Then came civil partnership. So many people were angry it wasn’t enough and many said it was in fact a step back. Yet, for us it was a huge step forward. I kept trying to explain then, you often have to take the least favourable option to keep pushing for the best outcome. That marriage could happen, but don’t dismiss what was occurring simply because it wasn’t good enough for you.

It is an exhausting situation, to constantly push for better representation. This is a process. Occasionally that process will force steps back - but as long as the overall push is bigger than that, it will carry on.

For me, I do think that Alex is slowly getting a better deal as a character and I’ve enjoyed the latter part of her story arc in S4.

Does it mean it’s as good as it was or could be?

No, it doesn’t. But it also doesn’t mean - and this is my opinion, and believe it or not I’m okay if people watching don’t agree - pretty much all of S3 (honestly that is a clusterfuck of epic proportions) and the first half of S4 are about as bad as it can be.

Nicole has also had good representation though. There is a lot that resonates for me. A lot I wish I could’ve seen as a child growing up, not in my early 50’s.

Think about that.

I’m finally seeing good representation in my 50’s for the first time.

Albeit in a program that has far from stellar representation for a long time.

This isn’t the 2nd, or 3rd or however many times it has gone on for lesbian couples on TV.

That for me is a huge deal. Huge!

Like a black gay woman is going to be huge for some others.

However, it also means if the LI for Alex gets storylines that Flo deserved I won’t be pissed.

You can bet I will be. As will my wife.

We’ll undoubtedly rip apart the producers for it at home, as we’ve done so many times. Just because people haven’t seen it, doesn’t mean it hasn’t been said.

I guess what I’m trying to say in all this rambling is I truly have no quarrel with people wanting to stay solely as Sanvers fans. I just want to be allowed to go beyond that (and I would love nothing more than Sanvers endgame), even if that seems counterintuitive to some of you.

I’ve never posted anything with ulterior motives to attack any group of fans. It might have appeared that way for some - but truly I simply posted something on my timeline as a general observation. It was not directed at anyone per se.

I’ve realised that it’s been construed as such, but those who do know me also know I will never disparage others intentionally. If it comes across as such, it was - believe it not - unintentionally done. If you don’t want to believe that, I can’t change that, but I do ask you don’t keep saying stuff about it to me.

I’ve not seen much beyond interacting with some mutuals on Twitter.

It appears there is a far greater history going on than I could have ever imagined between some people.

So for now - I’m going to post my usual things but to try to avoid posting directly to followers except family & friends away from the fandom.

To make it absolutely clear I never intend or intended to get pulled into a war of words with anyone.

I just want to enjoy Sanvers - and for me personally, go beyond that.

It’s just I’ve seen so much progress for the LGBT community, even if it could be faster.

I saw lesbian activists disrupting the BBC news in protest to the government of the time and Clause 28.

I saw the news report of the bomb that went off in a gay Soho nightclub.

I watched friends become stigmatised for being gay men at the start of the AIDS crisis.

I saw people fighting HIV & later AIDS & some dying as a result.

I’ve seen this and far more. I’ve actively campaigned on issues ranging from animal rights to LGBT rights, when the T wasn’t even part of the acronym, to nuclear disarmament and far more.

I’ve seen more positives finally coming about in the last 18 years than anything that’s gone before it.

We’ll face steps backwards. Some will be greater than others, but make no mistake, the strides forward are bigger.

Activism for better representation isn’t just something to hinge on one TV storyline or show - it can just be about that of course - but life is messy. It takes steps in many different directions for many different people.

If people were offended, then I am saying sorry.

It has though been difficult to become embroiled in something that is far further reaching than I had any idea about.

One of the perils of being so new to the fandom I guess.

And now I’m off to cuddle one of our cats.

#supergirl #lgbtq #sanvers #maggie sawyer #alex danvers

25 notes · View notes

laurelsofhighever · 8 years ago

Text

The Falcon and the Rose, Ch. 1

The winter of 9:31 Dragon draws to a bitter close. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, hero of the people, has revealed a string of secret letters between King Cailan and Empress Celene of Orlais. The specifics are unclear, but suspicion of Orlesians run deep, and there are always those willing to take advantage of political scandal. Declaring the king unfit to rule, Loghain has retreated to his southern stronghold in Gwaren, with Queen Anora by his side. Fear and greed threaten to tear Ferelden apart. In Denerim, Cailan busies himself with maps and battle plans, hoping to stem the tide of blood before it can start. In the Arling of Edgehall, King Maric’s bastard son fights against the rebels flocking to the traitor’s banner, determined to free himself from the shadow of his royal blood. And in Highever, Rosslyn Cousland, bitter at being left behind, watches as her father and brother ride to war, unaware of the betrayal lurking in the smile of their closest friend.

Words: 1727 Rating: Mature CW: canon-typical violence Chapter summary: On the high plateau of Gherlen’s Pass, Loghain makes his first move. Banner art by me :) Also on AO3

Mid-Haring, 9:31 Dragon

Stretched out on the road behind him, the merchant caravan Reynard de Chernalle had built through years of hard work glittered like the jewels of a duchess in the winter sunshine. He himself was arrayed in travelling clothes of the finest quality, his rather portly frame cushioned against the weather by a quilted wool doublet decorated with a fine embroidery of spring flowers. Two days out from Jader, and the road still curved in easy loops along Gherlen’s Pass through high pastures thickly shadowed with snow. To either side loomed the white-dusted reaches of the Frostbacks, the gateposts of the border between the Orlesian Empire and the little country that had once been its easternmost province. Birds chattered in the mast pines that bordered the road. From his horse Reynard spied the tracks of fennecs eager to return to the warmth of their dens before the next storm. None of the men in the train failed to notice the front of pale, bloated clouds that rolled towards them from the Waking Sea on the back of a chafing north-easterly, and none of them were pleased about it.

Reynard sat straighter in his saddle to better catch a first sight of Ferelden as he capped the brow of the last rise in the road. From there, it was all downhill into lush, unspoiled valleys and thick forests that hunkered down under a grey haze of fog. Unlike the majority of his countrymen, he liked coming to Ferelden, even despite the weather. Its dogs, its stories, and the tenacious nature of its people possessed a welcome authenticity after the delicate pretensions of the minor Orlesian nobility he usually had to deal with. Most of all, he found the opportunities for trade in this former backwater very much to his tastes, and hoped an early arrival before midwinter would help him get the jump on his less adventurous rivals.

After the occupation thirty years previously, any merchant wishing to trade goods in Ferelden had had to make expensive detours through the Free Marches to avoid the prejudice of a population in which resentment traditionally lingered for generations. Clever traders, such as Reynard himself, had learned how to coax profits from these detours, but the gains had been small in the face of the risk to goods crossing the Waking Sea.

The peace treaties signed by good King Cailan four years earlier had changed things, however. Reynard had caught the turning tide, so to speak. He had traded in extortionate handling fees and sailors’ wages for a string of pack mules, wagons, and opportunities for wayside business. He had built good relationships with the merchants in Ridderby and Lakehead and every settlement in between. In less than half a decade his caravan had swollen to three times its original size – and if the rumours in his home city of Val Chevin were to be believed, soon there might be even greater profits to be made in Ferelden. The thought brought a smile to his thin lips.

A gust of wind tugged at the fur mantle of his riding coat, bringing an acrid mixture of smoke and pine balsam to his nose. Beneath him, his usually placid mare shied sideways, tossing her head with a snort. Only once he managed to steady her did he notice the spiked timber barricades that blocked the road ahead, defending a guard post that looked newly built, and which certainly hadn’t been there at the beginning of Hervestmere when he had made his last return trip to Orlais to resupply. He brought one hand to shade his eyes and squinted down the road.

“What do you make of it, Thomas?” he asked as the captain of his private guard trotted up to join him.

The man halted his gelding and scowled in the direction of the garrison of distant, shouting figures. Unlike his employer, the mercenary captain had a gruff appearance. His dark hair and beard were worn long, whether to obscure his features or to terrify opponents in combat, Reynard was unsure, but his weapons were well maintained and the discipline with which he kept his men in line spoke of a military background. While he rarely spoke, when he did it was with sound judgement and complete authority.

“I don’t like it, Ser,” Thomas grunted. “Best hang back and let me handle it. These look like unsavoury sorts.”

Reynard nodded. “I’m inclined to agree. Still, they’re probably just here to improve the road and are weary of being stuck at an out-of-the-way post like this.” He chuckled, imagining what young men might get up to with limited entertainment in the dark winter months. “I’m sure a friendly halloo will put their minds to rest that we’re not bandits.”

“All the same Ser, I advise you to be careful,” Thomas replied, unconvinced.

Busy smoothing the rumples in his coat, Reynard gave only a cursory acknowledgement of the warning as the mercenary cantered back to inform his soldiers of the blockage ahead. Knowing his employer’s penchant for striking up bargains along the road, Thomas would wait to order swords drawn, but his men would be prepared in case the meeting devolved into a confrontation. It was what he was paid for.

As Reynard rode closer, he busied himself by listing inventory in his head, running down a list of things bored soldiers might need. Most of his caravan was loaded with items geared more towards the nobility, and he never traded in flesh, but some of the herbs and delicacies in his wagons were difficult to find in Ferelden, and might go down well. He became so absorbed in working out what he would sell he failed to notice the peculiarity of the banner draped against the flagpole.

“Halloo there, my good man!” he called out when he was near enough to offer his most winning smile. “We are in for a blizzard before the day is out, do you think?”

A man with a weathered face and grimy, mismatched armour stomped out of the guard house, the longsword strapped to his belt the only serviceable thing about him. When he approached, Reynard’s hand twitched as he curbed the instinct to reach for the nosegay in his breast pocket.

“Papers!” the man barked through a mouth half-full of yellowed teeth.

Beaming wider, Reynard reached into his saddlebags and handed over the trade permits authorised by the Val Chevin Merchants’ Guild. “There you are, good Ser, I am sure everything is in order.”

The man hocked and spat. “You Orlesian?”

“Out of Jader,” came the reply. “Though I do not –”

“What you got in the train?”

“Well, all sorts of things, really,” Reynard answered, somewhat perturbed by the soldier’s brusque manner. “I trade furs, fabrics, spices, trinkets for the ladies,” he added with a wink. “This is my fifth year on this road. Bann Reginalda and Bann Ferrenly are both firm friends.”

The winning smile faltered as the soldier continued to riffle through the permits, scanning the lines with insolent disinterest, content to let the silence grow strained enough for the foreigner’s cob to shift its weight and whicker. He started when another rider cantered up to join the conversation. This one was practiced handling a horse, and the flint-like chips of his eyes showed no trace of fear as he edged in front of his master.

“Is there a problem here?” Thomas asked, polite enough but with a hint of steel that couldn’t be ignored.

Reading the mood, Reynard glanced back to see his company of guards arrayed in tight formation around the caravan, hands on sword hilts, their faces set with grim determination beneath their helmets. With their trained eyes they saw what he had failed to notice – a single flash of metal from within the forest, shadows of trees roving beyond their roots. They were waiting for the ambush. Dread settled like bad meat in Reynard’s stomach as he turned around and watched the strange battle of wills unfolding before him.

From beneath the leather brow of his cap, the soldier squinted upwards, sucking on one of his few remaining molars like a farmer contemplating the chance of rain on the harvest. Thomas stared back, implacable. Both of them seemed to have forgotten the merchant’s existence.

“I asked if there was a problem,” Thomas repeated.

“These papers are invalid.” The soldier held the permits high and opened his hand, letting them drop into the mud before grinding them into the ground with the heel of his boot. He leered. “’Fraid that means we get to inspect your cargo. Make sure you’re not carrying anything… undesirable, like.”

“Now see here –!” Reynard spluttered.

Thomas cut across him. “What writ do you have to authorise a search?” he demanded. “This caravan is sanctioned by Her Imperial Highness Empress Celene, and is under the protection of King Cailan. You have no authority to do this.”

The smirk spread wider across the soldier’s pockmarked face. Beneath his brows, the pale eyes glinted with malice.

“It’s Cailan has no authority here. On ‘em, lads!”

Before he could even process the words, Reynard heard the breathy swish of loosed arrows and screamed as his back exploded with agony. His mare reared and flung him into the roadside muck, where he rolled and lay gasping for breath like a landed fish. Shouts of fear and rage flashed in the air around him. When he mustered enough strength to look, he saw many of his men already dead, his drivers pinioned to their seats by crudely fletched arrows, and the guards felled by sword strokes from the bandits that had broken from the trees. Only Thomas held his ground, fighting off three at once with Orlesian curses fit to quell demons in their tracks.

Reynard reached out through the haze of his pain to try and warn his captain about the fourth man charging in behind him, but the arrows had pierced his lungs and his cry fell from his lips as a cough. As his vision dimmed, the wind picked up, bringing with it the first flecks of snow from the storm. Above the battle, unnoticed, the banner on the flagpole unfurled to reveal, not the scarlet War Dogs of the king, but a golden Drake on a field of black – the sigil of Loghain Mac Tir.

#dragon age: origins #dragon age fanfic #alistair x cousland #alistair theirin #cousland #king alistair #da:o #rosslyn cousland

21 notes · View notes

sammgreer · 8 years ago

Text

Mass Effect Andromeda - Review

Despite being a huge fan of the original games, I wasn't expecting too much from this. I felt they had concluded nicely and the universe didn't really seem suited for new stories. How could anything compare to Commander Shepard and crew's fight against the Reapers? On top of that Bioware's last game Dragon Age Inquisition, whilst enjoyable, was mired in the tedium of open world fetch quests and busy work. So when Andromeda marketed its massive worlds and seemed to emphasise combat over the kind of storytelling that had made the originals so successful, I was very cautious.

But against all the odds I really enjoyed Mass Effect Andromeda. A lot. It has numerous flaws, it's a bit of a mess but in reaching for new heights it manages to breathe life into a setting I had convinced myself was finished. Make no mistake though, compared with modern RPG heavy weights like The Witcher 3, Mass Effect Andromeda is a rougher, less elegant game. However it is a lot more accomplished than it may seem.

Its relation to the original games is pretty irrelevant, Andromeda wisely adopts a clean break from that trilogy by removing its story completely from that setting and time. We play as Ryder, part of an initiative to establish colonies in the distant Andromeda galaxy. Cryogenically frozen we awake over six hundred years after leaving the milky way.

Andromeda doesn't put its best foot forward. Instead of introducing us to a thrilling new galaxy, it spends the opening hours introducing a host of characters, many of whom won't reappear after this introductory mission. Those who will are your human companions, also the game's flattest or most irritating characters. The mission itself is a closed, linear affair that deprives you of many of the interesting features that define the majority of the game. It is also where we're introduced to the game's antagonists, the Kett. This initial counter devolves too quickly into gunfire and violence. No mysterious first contact, just a perfunctory introduction to the games cannon fodder. Whilst they're fleshed out later, they never really rise to be more than “the baddies”, fanatics with an inherent hostility. Filling the need for foes in an action driven RPG is fine but something more inspired would have gone a long way.

Once this dull setup is complete you're handed a ship, the sleek Tempest and set loose. It takes a while to unlock all the game's expansive worlds but even on the first, there's lots of sights to see and discoveries to make. Whilst there's also a lot of busy work, the stream lined quest structure means few feel like a chore. Most important of all, the mechanics that make up your time are so enjoyable.

Combat is something you'll be doing quite a bit of, though it felt like it made up a lot less of the experience than the action heavy Mass Effect 2/3. Where their combat was fairly bog standard third person shooting with a sprinkling of interesting powers, Andromeda's combat is a genuinely brilliant affair. The large environments have encouraged Bioware to move away from tight linear corridors and instead emphasise movement to go toe to toe with enemies. Using Ryder's jet pack we can leap not just into the air but also horizontally, combining both movements, till you're zipping between cover and enemies with a pace that almost feels like Bloodborne in the form of a third person shooter. It's remarkably inspired for a series where the combat always felt functional rather than exemplary.

A lot of time will be spent behind the wheel of the Nomad, a space rover and slick re-imagining of the original game's clumsy Mako. This coupled with the jet-pack platforming makes navigation simple but very enjoyable. It helps too that the planets you visit, whilst not spectacularly alien, are pretty stunning with some cracking vistas. Views from your ship as you travel between worlds are also frequently spectacular, reflecting your chosen location on the Galaxy Map. There's variety too, not just visually but in the types of terrain and hazards. I was happy to seek out more quests in spite of some so-so design because I like spending time in this world. One memorable moment came about on a planet with a dangerous, scorching heat where I couldn't find a way to get the rover through a canyon. So I crossed a huge desert flat on foot, dashing between boulders and the shade to recover life support. It was a small moment but gave a thrill to exploration that many similar games lack.

The purpose of all this exploring is to establish outposts on worlds. First you have to make each world viable for colonists, by activating ancient alien structures belonging to an absent civilization the “Remnant” and terraforming the world. These ruins are still cared for by automated machines and they were my favourite among the foes, with distinct classes and behaviours in their ranks. Once you've established a colony and raised the viability of the world, new areas open up for you to explore so that this act of terraforming feels like more than just ticking off a box. It helps too that all this busy work is, unlike Inquisition, entirely optional and the player is free to pursue the main quest as they wish. Though doing so will change how the game's finale plays out, with decisions from various side-quests coming to play in the conclusion.

Of course it's here that Andromeda stumbles, drawing as it does on unsavoury colonialism. Whilst there's some acknowledgement throughout of the issues of colonising alien worlds, including an optional rebuttal against colonialist interests near the end, the game never goes far enough in confronting the implications there-in. It's far more interested in being a thrilling space adventure and to that end it succeeds but as a piece of thoughtful science fiction, it's muddled at best.

But what of the things Mass Effect is renowned for? Well the main story isn't up to much. It's mostly fine, enjoyable and kept me engaged to the end but there's nothing remarkable about it. You go up against some baddies, you give them a thrashing, the end. There's some nice conflicts between the cast and various factions as well as some big exciting set-pieces at key points but the narrative's main thrust is fairly tried and tested. It works well but it isn't great.

The companions that make up your ship's crew on the other hand manage to measure up to the iconic members of the Normandy team. Whilst I doubt they'll go on to become as beloved as the cast of the originals, they're nonetheless mostly well written and developed with a care that's much richer than the previous titles. Rather than merely prompting them for exposition until reaching the requisite loyalty missions, you end up much more involved with a series of missions leading to something more substantial .There's also a great implied life to them, you get the feeling the crew exists when Ryder's not around. They chat between themselves on board the Tempest and when on missions, giving hints of their relationships with each other. Peebee and Drack were the stand outs for me and the chatter between them on missions regularly put a smile on my face.

Even most of the core supporting cast are engaging, with some good performances from Natalie Dormer and Kumail Nanjiani, imbuing their roles with welcome nuance. The minor NPCs that litter the world are far less compelling and the further you go from the main cast, the worse and more tiresome the writing becomes. The biggest flaw with the writing is consistency, with plenty of moving scenes and memorable moments but also plenty of clunky exposition, awkward emoting, especially in the game's opening hours. Hindered too by the already much discussed facial animations which are it must be said mostly a step-up for Bioware but are sadly quite behind most of the competition. Though there's nothing quite as lifeless as the likes of Deus Ex Mankind Divided either.

Perhaps the most surprising member of the cast is Ryder. Playing as either sibling, Scott or Sara (as a nice touch you get to customise both and the other plays a part in the story), Ryder comes across as a younger, more flawed and ultimately more human lead than Commander Shepard. Shepard was always an icon, a hero the galaxy could rally behind. People doubt Ryder throughout and they too seem to doubt themselves, able to show vulnerability. Fryda Wolff and Tom Taylorson voice Ryder in a way that more than lives up to the legacy of Jennifer Hale and Mark Meer.

Thankfully the binary paragon and renegade split in dialogue choices is gone so instead we can much more freely move between various tones and options. This allows you to give Ryder a dynamism that wasn't available with Shepard, where instead consistency was much more greatly rewarded. Neither is Ryder swinging between “good” and “evil”. You feel like you can be rude, cheeky and smug yet still able to make the smart, noble call when the moment calls for it. I had a lot of fun as Ryder, I made her brash, cocky but also deeply uncomfortable with her responsibility. In the end I'm much more attached to her than I was Shepard.

In her boots I got to have fun and an optimistic tone is refreshing after Mass Effect 3. The trilogy's final part is still a standout game but I never quite appreciated how wearying the tone of it was till I got to Andromeda. Here your journey isn't a burden, it is an adventure. It lacks the stakes of Shepard's story but it's also freeing. I felt invigorated when the story came to a close and I'm surprised to find myself keen to spend more time with Ryder and company.

Minor complaints that I found myself able to easily overlook might prove more irritating for others. The user interface for instance often feels needlessly convoluted, with important options buried in menus separate to where they could be more readily relevant. Having to run around the ship to check different menus at different locations, all to see how much of one resource a new blueprint requires is bothersome. There's a also still at this point a lot of bugs in the game though none I experienced were game breaking.

My biggest complaint might seem inconsequential to some but for me the lacklustre score is a real sore point given the memorable themes of the original trilogy. The game's main theme is pleasant enough but so much of the score fails to make an impression. It's effective in creating a suitable atmosphere but it's telling that my favourite piece of music in the game is the reworked galaxy map music from the original trilogy. If Bioware intend to follow this up with sequels, they might want to find stronger music to define this new galaxy and give its cast a stronger identity.

Compared against the titans of the last few years Andromeda feels as much an unwelcome underdog as Ryder does, struggling to find a place in a new galaxy. How much fans of the series will enjoy this new entry will largely depend on just what it was about the previous games that they liked best. There is still compelling characters and an enjoyable plot but there's no Virmire or Curing the Genophage to propel it skyward. Yet there is a consistent thrill of exploration, of small scale drama and neat discoveries. If you want to feel like the hero in a battle against godlike machines, then there's nothing so compelling here. But if you want to feel like a scrappy space adventurer, getting lost in a expansive galaxy with some baddies at your heels, Andromeda is frequently thrilling.

I loved it far more than I ever expected to and though any recommendation comes with a warning of its numerous flaws, I nonetheless endorse it wholeheartedly. Andromeda's too much fun not to.

#Mass Effect #mass effect trilogy #mass effect andromeda #scifi #science fiction #video games #videogames #review #pc #bioware #ea #Ryder #Shepard #Tempest #Peebee #Adventure #colonialism

47 notes · View notes

londontheatre · 8 years ago

Link

Anne-Marie Duff (Mary) in Common at the National Theatre (c) Johan Persson

Enclosure may be something you haven’t heard of before. Okay, you will have heard the word but if you go back in history, enclosure had a different meaning than today. This was a time when wealthy landowners decided to change the way their property was farmed. Instead of all the locals individually working on a plot, the landowner created a proper farm by putting a fence around his property. He would then employ locals to work the farm for him. Of course, not everyone was required to work on the new farm, so those that couldn’t find work started migrating towards the towns fuelling the industrial revolution. This is the backdrop for DC Moore’s new play Common at the National Theatre

Rural England in 1809 and the peasants are revolting – literally as it happens. The local Lord (Tim McMullan) has decided to enclose all of his land and is getting a group of Irish workers under the command of Graham (Brian Doherty) to put up the fences. Every time they do though, the locals led by King (John Dagleish) take them down again much to the annoyance of the Lord and his henchman Heron (Trevor Fox). The Irish contingent are happy, as they keep getting paid to put fences up, but the peasants and the gentry are virtually at war with each other. Into this powder keg of confrontation comes Mary (Anne-Marie Duff). Mary is an odd woman. A former inhabitant of the village, she was thrown out by King because of her relationship with his sister Laura (Cush Jumbo). Believed dead, Mary made her way to London where, using all of her womanly wiles complete with a total lack of morals, she made her fortune and now returns to her village as a fine Lady out for revenge, or possibly something more.

It’s difficult to sum up my feelings for Common. There was an awful lot going on during the nearly two and a half hour running time. Just taking Mary’s character, she may, or may not have been a con woman and/or some form of psychic. She also may have had an overall plan when she returned to the village or she may have been making it up on the spot. It’s really difficult to know. However, Mary, as played by Anne-Marie Duff, is an intelligent and articulate woman who breaks the fourth wall on many occasions to tell the audience of her thoughts and plans. The thing is, I don’t think she is as smart as she – and by definition, the writer – thinks she is. Her grand plans seemed to come to nothing and by the end, I was left wondering what she had achieved during her time in the village and its environs. And I think this was the overall problem with the show. There is so much going on and there never really seems to be an ending. It’s almost like we, along with Mary, dropped in, watched the havoc then left, not really caring what happens next.

I have to say though, I quite enjoyed the actual production. The main characters move well under Director Jeremy Herrin – though there does seem to be a large ensemble of people whose purpose is to wander on and off the stage at intervals and Richard Hudson’s set works well. I do like the stage at the National. It spins around and odd bits of scenery suddenly come up out of the ground creating a whole new place in a few seconds. My favourite thing – and I suspect quite a few others will agree – was the animatronic crow, designed by Laura Cubitt, that accompanied Eggy Tom (Lois Chimimba) in the first act. It was so lifelike and just a delight to watch in action, especially when it turned up in Act II quite unexpectedly. There is quite a lot of complicated dialogue in the show, and it is pretty important that this can be heard by the audience wherever they sit. Unfortunately, this wasn’t always the case and even though I was sat near the front there were times when I wasn’t sure what had been said.

Having said all of this, I was entertained by Common. I personally think the writer may have lost the way slightly with the story but the production itself was quite enthralling and surprising in places – the end of Act I was completely unexpected and caused many a conversation in the interval. So, to sum up, I’m still not sure how I feel about Common. It was strangely compelling at times – the opening scene particularly held me spellbound – but overall, there was definitely something that left me feeling dissatisfied with what I had just seen.

Review by Terry Eastham

Common An epic tale of England’s lost land. Mary’s the best liar, rogue, thief and faker in this whole septic isle. And now she’s back. As the factory smoke of the industrial revolution belches out from the cities, Mary is swept up in the battle for her former home. The common land, belonging to all, is disappearing. DC Moore’s dark and funny new play is an epic tale of unsavoury action and England’s lost land.

Headlong’s Artistic Director, Jeremy Herrin (People, Places and Things, This House) directs Anne-Marie Duff as Mary and Cush Jumbo as Laura. Please note: Common contains strong language from the start and scenes of a violent nature.

Production team Director Jeremy Herrin Designer Richard Hudson Lighting Designer Paule Constable Music Stephen Warbeck Movement Director Joseph Alford Sound Designer Ian Dickinson Dance Siân Williams Puppetry Laura Cubitt Fight Director Rachel Bown-Williams of RC-ANNIE Ltd Fight Director Ruth Cooper-Brown of RC-ANNIE Ltd Company Voice Work Jeannette Nelson Company Dialect Work Charmian Hoare Staff Director John Haidar

Cast Ian-Lloyd Anderson, Lois Chimimba, Peta Cornish, Anna Crichlow, John Dagleish, Brian Doherty, Amy Downham, Mary Anne-Marie

Common A co-production with Headlong a new play by DC Moore Travelex £15 tickets Running Time: About 2 hours 25 minutes including interval http://ift.tt/1jCfKAV

http://ift.tt/2r301cO LondonTheatre1.com

#IFTTT #LondonTheatre1.com

0 notes

londontheatre · 8 years ago

Link

The Significant Other Festival (c) The Pensive Federation

It never takes that long for a group of British people to find themselves talking about the weather, and so it is almost inevitable that this edition of The Significant Other Festival, in which – to summarise – two’s a party but three’s a crowd, should at some point take ‘Conditions’ as an overarching theme.

Despite ten (very short!) plays and an equally short musical having different writers, different actors and (mostly) different directors, there were some links between the plays. Some links were more explicit than others, with the same props coming up time and again, serving different purposes. As for the subtler links, well, that would be giving too much away.

Humid by Anthony Cozens opens proceedings with a bit of a ‘swearathon’, a point I didn’t personally pick up on at the time but it was commented on by fellow audience members in the interval. There are, of course, people who do tend to swear as naturally as they breathe, but here, when all three characters are at it, there’s little to distinguish one from another. Miles (Michael Shon) is at a fairground with his partner Izzy (Olivia Negrean). He is carrying around a goldfish that he won earlier in the day by putting some hoops through some objects. This being a funfair, the fish has been in a bag for an indeterminate period and has now died, presumably through lack of oxygen. The fish’s fate gives Izzy’s friend Hannah (Katherine Jee) the impetus to hurl insults at Miles (yep, more swearing). The ending is open-ended enough to leave a question in my mind about the fish being a metaphor for Miles and Izzy’s relationship unanswered.

Flurry by Olu Alakija was the darkest of the plays, and not just because it was set in a forest in the middle of the night. It is, to be blunt, gradually revealed that of the three characters, played by Leanne May Bennett, Ashleigh Cheadle and Virginia Lee, one shows no remorse or pity whatsoever for the death of a man who “shattered” their own lives, which understandably horrifies the other two. It is not made entirely clear – perhaps it wasn’t considered important – precisely what the deceased man did, or was alleged to have done, but it’s clear that this isn’t a motiveless murder. The play got me thinking about how I would react to discovering if I were complicit in the taking of another person’s life: I might well have ended up being the character in this play that started panicking and needed calming down.

One more thing: I couldn’t help but scribble down a line in this play about the weather. “The wind is howling like an X-Factor contestant.”

Inclement by Emma Allison sees Mark Bentham (John Rayment) and his second wife Nina (Rekha John-Cheriyan) meet up with his ex-wife Linda (Pat Garrett). Or, rather, Linda meets up with them, in order to join in with the many arrangements required for Simon and Louisa’s wedding. The bride is Mark’s daughter by Linda. Nina has no patience for Linda’s fretful personality, and the play quickly becomes beautifully dramatic and explosive. The fears and insecurities of both Nina and Linda are palpable, though it is Nina’s forthrightness that ends up putting a substantial dent in Mark’s diplomacy, with almost devastating consequences.

Tornado by Lydia Rynne is set at Simon and Louisa’s wedding, or rather, the reception, though the (presumably) happy couple remain off-stage characters. The best man, Adrian (Nick Pearse) and a bridesmaid, Kyla (Kate Tulloch) are lost in a maze at the reception venue. There is, probably, some imagery going on with being lost without a roadmap and only the weakest of mobile phone signals with which to attempt to contact a friend. It wasn’t altogether clear to me what the ‘tornado’ in Tornado was, except to say that this pair initially seemed too different from one another to commence a relationship, even one that, for reasons unfolded within the narrative, would only last a relatively short time. The ‘significant other’ role, a fired waiter (Roberto Landi) is rather underwritten and plays an ultimately negligible part of the play.

Gust by Alexander Williams begins with Gail (Elizabeth Guterbock) taking her friend Steve (Anthony Cozens) out of doors for a badminton match. The standard of play is inconsequential to the dialogue, particularly when Robin (Kamran Vahabi) appears. Robin has, in Gail’s own words, betrayed her trust, and while Robin and Steve are more than reconciled, Gail remains uncompromisingly unresponsive. The play is an intriguing observation into how certain people who busy themselves trying to ‘help’ are often themselves unable to swallow the sort of medicine they insist others must take in order to get over the past.

Overcast by Rob Greens had me in a combination of laughter and deep thought. Becca (Christi Van Clarke) and Angie (Hanna Lucas) are using a pair of binoculars to spy on people. Not just any people, but people they know. There isn’t much difference between this and looking people up on social media and reading about what they have been up to. Warren (Jamie Coleman) enters the scene after an altercation with an off-stage character (one the ladies are spying on) from which he has both physically and psychologically run away from. The implications and applications of this storyline are vast – it seemed to me to be a reminder not to draw conclusions too hastily from what can be seen at face value without being aware of the bigger picture.

Thaw by Reece Connolly sees another dead goldfish as a narrative driver. Colin (Luke Lampard) and his girlfriend Jenny (Evelyn Lockley) are attempting to bury ‘Gary’, the late fish belonging to Colin’s sister Abbie (Flora Ogilvy). Abbie is distraught at the news, and there’s a hilarious moment in which, in desperation, she attempts to use body heat and friction to warm the frozen ground up. This came across as a coming of age story, and in burying the fish, Abbie is also saying goodbye to an age of innocence and, one would hope, able to go onwards and upwards in life.

Haze by Sylvia Arthur begins provocatively. “I’ve just seen Mother in bed with a fascist,” declares Sidney (Laura McGrady), a statement that becomes all the more strange, and macabre, once it is established what has happened to ‘Mother’. Shelley (Laila Alj), the firstborn of these three siblings, has a long-standing secret that can now be revealed to both Sidney and Sonny (Alex Dowding) now their mother has passed away. Why wasn’t anything being done about a corpse being assaulted though, irrespective of the assailant’s political beliefs? Hazy indeed.

Cold Front by Brian Eley considers what happens when loyalties are tested by the practicalities of life. Squidge (Rachael Oliver) is naturally defensive at the change in living arrangements between herself and long-term friend Becks (Rachel Smart) and relative newcomer Jess (Katherine Rodden). The narrative took a while to really get going. A lot of time in the first half was given over to establishing that this trio get on very well with one another through fun, games and singing, and at first sight I couldn’t see the point of it all. On further reflection, it’s an example, par excellence, of how people prepare for awkward conversations by living in the moment and crossing the bridge of confrontation only when it is reached.

Drought by JFW Nutt starts with an apt question: “Why is it called London Luton?” It is indeed in Bedfordshire and well outside both the Oyster public transport travel zone and the M25 motorway. A stream of silliness is quickly established as Tamsin (Jayne Edwards) and her partner Ben (James Lawrence) try to enjoy an afternoon out with Ben’s older sister Annette (Lydia Smart). Annette speaks her mind, and all of her thoughts spill out, however unsavoury, without any filtering or leaving out of even the most trivial of details – Tamsin later points out that Annette must do better to take her “meds”. It isn’t easy for the likes of Ben, trying to care for family members while trying to live out his own life. A good combination of hilarity and poignancy.

Sunny Spells by Frances Bushe (with music composed by Lemon and Franner Otter) skilfully tells a story through song – there is some spoken dialogue, too, and a suitably big finish allows for the rest of the cast throughout the evening to join in a rousing closing number. The lyrics are witty, even if the narrative isn’t, with characters played by Antonia Bourdillon, Clark Alexander and Sydney Aldridge dealing with what to do with an increasingly frail elderly relative who now requires round-the-clock care (and no, a one-way plane ticket to Switzerland is absolutely not on the cards). If a fuller version of Sunny Spells were of the same quality as this short musical, it would be worthy of a West End run – there’s something about looking to the future and carrying on even when one is frightened of messing things up along the way that places this well-devised show firmly within the canon of musical theatre.

Review by Chris Omaweng

The Significant Other Festival 14th to 18th March 2017 http://ift.tt/2kUAXNu

http://ift.tt/2m0r5aj LondonTheatre1.com

#IFTTT #LondonTheatre1.com

0 notes