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masterofd1saster · 2 years ago

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CJ current events 20apr23

In Nine Black Robes, the new book by CNN Supreme Court reporter Joan Biskupic, I am never mentioned by name. I am referred to only as “another boy.” Biskupic suggests, as many others on the Left have over the past few years, that I was “the boy” in the room when a teenage Brett Kavanaugh allegedly sexually assaulted a girl named Christine Blasey Ford in the summer of 1982.

The Ford accusation exploded in the fall of 2018, when Kavanaugh was a nominee for the Supreme Court. I had no recollection of the alleged assault and describe the nightmare of the accusations against me and my teenage friend in my book The Devil’s Triangle: Mark Judge vs. the New American Stasi , which was published last November.***

I reveal extortion attempts, media manipulation, witness tampering, and even a sexual honey trap, all to destroy me and Brett Kavanaugh. I talk about Leland Keyser, Ford’s friend who denied the alleged assault ever happened and went on to say that she was pressured to change her story.***https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/restoring-america/fairness-justice/a-new-anti-kavanaugh-book-doesnt-mention-me-by-name-heres-why

***

Once again, you don’t own the CLAS material you see at work. Not yours.

WaPo has some details about the gamer who has leaked U.S. secrets. https://www.washingtonpost.com/national-security/2023/04/12/discord-leaked-documents/ Including:

The man behind a massive leak of U.S. government secrets that has exposed spying on allies, revealed the grim prospects for Ukraine’s war with Russia and ignited diplomatic fires for the White House is a young, charismatic gun enthusiast who shared highly classified documents with a group of far-flung acquaintances searching for companionship amid the isolation of the pandemic.

United by their mutual love of guns, military gear and God, the group of roughly two dozen — mostly men and boys — formed an invitation-only clubhouse in 2020 on Discord, an online platform popular with gamers. But they paid little attention last year when the man some call “OG” posted a message laden with strange acronyms and jargon. The words were unfamiliar, and few people read the long note, one of the members explained. But he revered OG, the elder leader of their tiny tribe, who claimed to know secrets that the government withheld from ordinary people.***

OG told his online companions that the government hid horrible truths from the public. He claimed, according to the members, that the government knew in advance that a white supremacist intended to go on a shooting rampage at a Buffalo supermarket in May 2022. The attack left 10 dead, all of them Black, and wounded three more. OG said federal law enforcement officials let the killings proceed so they could argue for increased funding, a baseless notion that the member said he believes and considers an example of OG’s penetrating insights about the depth of government corruption. [emphasis added]

OG’s group itself had a dark side. The Discord server’s eventual name, Thug Shaker Central, was a racist allusion, and signaled to members that they were free to hurl epithets and crude jokes. The young member expressed some regret for their behavior but seemed to shrug off the offensive remarks as a clumsy attempt at humor.***

All winter, OG uploaded documents to the server. No one talked about sharing them elsewhere. Then, unbeknown to the group, on Feb. 28, another teenage user from the Thug Shaker Central server began posting several dozen photographs showing classified documents on another Discord server affiliated with the YouTuber “wow_mao.” Some of the documents offered detailed assessments of Ukraine’s defense capabilities and showed how far U.S. intelligence could see into Russia’s military command.

On March 4, 10 documents appeared on “Minecraft Earth Map,” a Discord server focused on the popular video game. A user operating the account that posted the smaller tranche of images told The Post they obtained them on wow_mao.***

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Massachusetts Air National Guardsman Jack Teixeira was arrested at his mother’s house Thursday after being implicated in the disclosure of dozens of sensitive US intelligence documents to an online community devoted to video games and guns — the biggest national security breach in at least 10 years.

Law enforcement officers swarmed the home in North Dighton, Mass. about 20 miles east of Providence, RI, hours after multiple reports sketched out Teixeira’s key role in a Discord channel called “Thug Shaker Central,” where the files first popped up earlier this year.

News helicopter footage showed Teixeira, clad in red basketball shorts and a gray t-shirt, surrendering to camo-clad FBI agents. He was scheduled to make an initial appearance in Boston federal court Friday, where Attorney General Merrick Garland said the airman would face charges connected to “alleged unauthorized removal, retention, and transmission of classified national defense information.”

Air Force records listed Teixeira’s occupation as a Cyber Transport Systems Journeyman, responsible for the upkeep of hardware for military communications networks, including cabling and hubs.*** https://nypost.com/2023/04/13/national-guardsman-jack-teixeira-arrested-in-us-intel-leaks/

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https://babylonbee.com/news/pentagon-leaker-kicking-himself-for-not-just-leaving-classified-documents-strewn-around-his-garage

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unsure whom to credit

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In other stupid Air Guard news

https://storage.courtlistener.com/recap/gov.uscourts.tnmd.94152/gov.uscourts.tnmd.94152.1.0.pdf United States v. Josiah Ernesto Garcia, 23-mj-2033 (M.D. Tenn.)

A1C Garcia applied at a parody website for a job as a hitman.

When asked if GARCIA was comfortable with taking fingers or ears as trophies or performing torture at a client’s request, his response was “if it’s possible and in my means to do so, I’m more than capable.”

see also https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2023/04/fbi-rent-a-hitman-site-nabbed-air-national-guardsman-who-was-excited-to-kill/

***

It’s not a toy

Frederick County Sheriff Charles "Chuck" Jenkins announced a leave of absence Wednesday after being indicted by a grand jury for an alleged machine gun operation last week.*** Jenkins will not be held in prison before his trial, but he was required to surrender his firearms. Jenkins and 36-year-old Robert Justin Krop, who was also indicted, allegedly engaged in a fraudulent operation for seven years. Krop, who owns a gun range, allegedly falsified documents under the sheriff's letterhead, saying the machine guns would be used for demonstrations at Jenkins's office. Jenkins then signed the documents, even though he knew there would be no demonstration, according to the indictment. Investigators said the guns were actually rented to Krop's customers instead.*** https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/policy/courts/frederick-county-sheriff-leave-of-absence-indictment

***

The Babylon Bee is suing California's attorney general

In 2022, California passed an unconstitutional censorship law called AB 587. We're suing to stop its enforcement. I’ve tried to anticipate your questions below. If you have more, just drop them in the comments where they’ll be easily ignored.

What’s AB 587?

AB 587 is a new law in California that regulates social media companies. It requires Big Tech platforms to provide periodic reporting to the California Attorney General on several categories of speech, including misinformation, disinformation, extremism, radicalization, and hate speech. If the platforms don’t provide adequate reporting, the state will impose fines to compel compliance.***

AB 587 is online at https://leginfo.legislature.ca.gov/faces/billNavClient.xhtml?bill_id=202120220AB587

AB 587 is codified at Cal Business and Professions Code, Division 8, Chapter 22.8. https://leginfo.legislature.ca.gov/faces/codes_displayText.xhtml?lawCode=BPC&division=8.&title=&part=&chapter=22.8.&article=

***

Sometimes, mandatory minimums are wonderful

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE Wednesday, April 12, 2023

Man Pleads Guilty to Coercing Children to Engage in Sexual Activity

A District of Columbia man pleaded guilty today to coercing multiple children to engage in unlawful sexual activity, including through online sextortion.

According to court documents, Glenn Matthews, 33, used his Instagram account to communicate with multiple minors over several months in 2020. During that time, Matthews sent sexually explicit images and videos of himself to at least 10 different minors, who were between the ages of 9 and 16. He enticed at least one of the minors to create images of themselves engaged in sexual activity. Matthews also sought to meet up with the minors to engage in sexual activity. In some instances, Matthews took screenshots of his conversations with the minor victims and threatened to expose the minors to their friends if they did not comply with his demands. [emphasis added]

Matthews pleaded guilty to coercion and enticement of a minor and second‑degree child sexual abuse in violation of D.C. law. He is scheduled to be sentenced on Sept. 6 and faces a mandatory minimum penalty of 10 years in prison. A federal district court judge will determine any sentence after considering the U.S. Sentencing Guidelines and other statutory factors.*** https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/man-pleads-guilty-coercing-children-engage-sexual-activity

J. Humungous would say “the bailiff may fire when ready.”

***

70 years?

A Texas man was reportedly sentenced to 70 years in prison for spitting at Lubbock police officers during an arrest last May.

Cops picked up Larry Pearson, 36, on domestic violence charges after he allegedly hit a woman several times in the face, leaving her with “multiple visible injuries,” according to EverythingLubbock.com.

Pearson allegedly got angry when officers didn’t arrest the victim, and started kicking the door of the police cruiser. When two cops opened the door to demand he stop, Pearson spat at them and kept doing so even after he got to the Lubbock County Detention Center, the website said.*** https://nypost.com/2023/04/13/texas-man-sentenced-to-70-years-in-prison-for-spitting-at-cops/

I get you’re mad, but don’t set up an appeal.

***

Statistically, it will be someone you know who murders you

California police have arrested a self-described tech entrepreneur in connection with the stabbing death of Silicon Valley mogul Bob Lee, the founder of Cash App and an executive at Square and MobileCoin who was killed last week.

San Francisco jail records show that Nima Momeni, 38, was booked around 9:20 a.m. Thursday on a charge of first-degree murder. District Attorney Brooke Jenkins said she had also filed a special circumstance allegation that the crime had been committed with a knife.

A LinkedIn profile in Momeni's name identifies the IT professional as the owner of an outsourcing firm called Expand-IT.***

"We can confirm that Mr. Lee and Mr. Momeni knew each other; however, we will not be able to provide further details at this time regarding the evidence," San Francisco Police Chief Bill Scott said during a Thursday afternoon news briefing.

He said police served two search warrants in San Francisco and another in Emeryville, where they arrested Momeni at his home, across the bay from where Lee was seen on shocking surveillance video stumbling and cradling his wounded side before police arrived last week.*** https://www.foxnews.com/us/who-is-nima-momeni-suspect-bob-lee-stabbing-san-francisco

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Khazar Momeni with her husband Dino Elyassnia Twitter

During the previous afternoon, Lee spent time with Momeni's sister [Khazar] and a witness, who identified him or herself as a close friend of Lee, prosecutors said.

Later in the day, at Lee's hotel room, he had a conversation with Momeni in which he asked Lee about whether his sister was "doing drugs or anything inappropriate," the witness told the police, according to the document. [emphasis added]

Lee reassured Momeni that nothing inappropriate had taken place, the witness said to police.

Early the following morning, at about 2 a.m., camera footage showed Lee and Momeni leaving Lee's hotel and getting into Momeni's car, a BMW Z4, prosecutors said.

Video shows the BMW drive to a secluded and dark area where the two men got out of the car. Momeni "moved toward" Lee and the BMW drove away from the scene at high speed, according to the court document.

Police later found a roughly 4-inch blade at the scene that appeared to have blood on it, the document said.

The doctor who conducted the autopsy found that Lee had been stabbed three times, including one strike that penetrated his heart, the document said.*** https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/crime/suspect-allegedly-drove-bob-lee-to-dark-area-stabbed-him-3-times-with-kitchen-knife/ar-AA19Pi80

***

God bless Nellie Bowles -

***→ Dalai Lama put on my watch list: The Dalai Lama was caught on camera this week asking a prepubescent boy to “suck my tongue.” (He’s since apologized.) Now, at first I thought: maybe this is cultural? But I am learning that it is indeed not cultural. So a dark alternative explanation: maybe he’s been doing this in private a lot but now is 87 years old and just accidentally did it publicly this week. Lotta pedos out there, guys. When I shared this theory with my beloved wife, she called me “literally Pizzagate,” which seems a little déclassé. All I’m saying is the Dalai Lama seemed really comfortable asking that kid to suck his tongue and that we need the Free Press budget to include armed guards who immediately shoot anyone who talks to our daughter. And the vapor that comes out of the back of planes does seem to evaporate a little too quickly. And. . . ***

→ A golden age for doing crimes: This I saw thanks to Zaid Jalani. With a one percent arrest rate for thefts over $500, are we all fools for not going to Chicago and stealing some watches? If you’re paying for earrings in Chicago, you’re a mark.

→ Professor cooked his data to make it seem like America is more racist than it is: A prominent professor has lost his job after apparently faking the results in at least six studies about race in America. A fellow of the American Society of Criminology, Eric Stewart made a name for himself with research showing just how racist Americans are. One study “showed” that as black and Hispanic communities grew, the white people around them wanted more discriminatory sentencing. But it turns out his data was all fake. And then everyone around Stewart worked to hide that fact.

The revelation came from one of his own coauthors, Professor Justin Pickett, who published a deep-dive skeptical review of Stewart’s work in 2020, writing: “The findings suggest that the five articles were likely fraudulent” and “several coauthors acted with negligence bordering on complicity after learning about the data irregularities.” ... https://www.thefp.com/p/tgif-they-cant-handle-the-truth

***

Dangerous speech is worse when it’s polite

We love to be creatures of logic. Somewhere in middle school, and increasingly more as we climbed through high school and into college, we started to embrace logical discussion as the best way to solve conflicts. Debate, Model UN and Mock Trial come to mind when I think about how eager we are to be logical, to debate our ideas and exercise our minds. And that’s how it’s done in the adult world too; politicians debate policy, lawyers argue back and forth in court and news channels invite experts to discuss contemporary issues. Especially in the United States, where we tout our freedom of speech so loudly, we’ve made it a point of pride to always make space for listening to ideas, no matter how different they might be from our own. We invite the opportunity to pick apart each other’s line of thinking in a reciprocal, respectful exchange. We call it respectful, logical conversation and we think ourselves quite civilized for it. Sometimes, though, the debate can be the problem itself. Some arguments aren’t worth engaging with, and quite frankly are dangerous for even existing.***

“Would you like to discuss this? Let’s talk about it respectfully,” they insisted. “We can debate about this.” Their smug civility was infuriating; their invitations for debate, inflammatory. I could barely seethe out my opinion about the misogyny of holding such a debate at all; simpering, the male students gestured to the only female student with them. Their wide, innocent eyes asked the unspoken question: how could they possibly be misogynist when one of their club members was a woman?*** https://yaledailynews.com/blog/2023/04/11/nam-abort-the-conversation/

***

BJS just published Arrest History of Persons Admitted to State Prison in 2009 and 2014

https://bjs.ojp.gov/document/ahpasp0914.pdf

***

California being California-crazy

In case you wonder how deeply pro-criminal sentiments have permeated the California Democratic Party , the state is now seriously considering letting its worst murderers out of prison after serving just 20 years.

A bill introduced in the California legislature invalidates the death sentences or life without parole sentences for criminals convicted of murder with special circumstances before June 5, 1990. This means that murderers who “killed multiple victims or killed in concert with a rape, robbery, kidnapping or torture” would be eligible for release after serving just 20 years behind bars.

Bills introduced in state legislatures are not themselves newsworthy, as any single loon can introduce absurd proposals that have no chance of passing. But this bill has six co-authors in the legislature, including the state’s most destructive legislator, state Sen. Scott Wiener. The bill was referred to the state Senate’s Appropriations Committee on Tuesday and is supported by a who’s who of California identity advocacy organizations and criminal justice “reform” groups.*** https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/restoring-america/fairness-justice/california-considers-letting-its-worst-murderers-serve-just-20-years-in-prison

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Prolly don’t want to say you’d shoot people

The bond for Lilly Whitworth, a former student charged with two counts of criminal attempt to commit murder in connection to threats targeting Colorado Springs schools, has been increased tenfold.

On Thursday Whitworth’s bond was increased to $750,000, according to the Elbert County District Attorney’s Office.

The substantial increase came about after an Elbert County Jail staffer reported on Monday that Whitworth “indicated if able to bond out, the defendant would still try to carry out the original plans of a mass shooting,” the DA’s office said in a news release.*** https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/crime/bond-increased-tenfold-for-ex-student-charged-in-alleged-colorado-springs-school-shooting-plot/ar-AA19QbBF

***

Capitol Police officer who sought to protect Jan. 6 rioter sentenced to home incarceration

A Capitol Police officer who tried to help a Jan. 6 rioter avoid detection from law enforcement was sentenced Thursday to 120 days of home incarceration for obstructing justice.

Michael Riley, a decorated 25-year veteran of the Capitol Police who was one of the first officers to respond to pipe bombs found at the RNC and DNC on Jan. 6, delivered a tearful apology in the courtroom, describing “awful judgment” in the days following the attack that led him to attempt to aid a member of the mob.*** https://www.politico.com/news/2023/04/13/capitol-police-officer-who-sought-to-protect-jan-6-rioter-sentenced-00091900

***

I came to the U.S. prizing its freedoms. But I found that this nation’s most powerful people value something else entirely.

By Yeonmi Park

March 22, 2023

*** I was sure that they would help spread the word about the modern-day holocaust taking place in North Korea, about the fact that it is being aided and abetted by the Chinese Communist Party, and that tens and even hundreds of thousands of mostly female North Korean defectors are being sold, raped, and otherwise harmed in China.

In a word, that isn’t what happened. It turned out that the purpose of a conference like Women in the World was not to mobilize financial capital and political power among people who are fortunate enough to possess it in order to help people suffering in places like China and North Korea; it was—if there was any point at all—to passionately discuss the suffering of women in America.

The word oppression here was defined to mean things like making ninety cents on the dollar compared with men, or being only the vice president of a Fortune 500 company rather than the CEO, or how male-dominated office culture doesn’t make it safe for women to cry. As much as I tried to have compassion, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ***

I boarded the plane with famous actors and writers whose names I don’t recall, but I do remember one guest, who introduced himself as Harvey Weinstein. I had no clue who he was, but my fiancé told me that he was a very famous film producer. It was, naturally enough, my first time on a private jet, and I’d never seen such a beautiful plane in my life. At the private airport we departed from, there was no security or baggage check. It was a sunny but chilly day, and I came straight from a morning class at Columbia.

By this time I’d learned more about Bezos, who was evidently not just the CEO of Amazon but one of the wealthiest and most powerful people on the face of the earth. I boarded his plane with the same hope I harbored taking the stage at the Women in the World conference: I was confident that with his help, I was going to find a way to improve the lot of North Koreans—if not the ones trapped in the country itself then at least some of the 300,000 defectors in China, where I’d heard Bezos did a lot of his business. In my view, it wouldn’t take much; the mere acknowledgment of what was happening to my people in China by someone like Bezos might have a ripple effect, convincing other American investors to put pressure on Beijing to reduce its support for Pyongyang.

This was, of course, before I’d learned that the power dynamic goes the other way around: that American investors and businesspeople are far more dependent on the Chinese market than the Chinese government is on them. Even Jeff Bezos, the world’s wealthiest man, made his billions by building a company that—whatever its other merits and considerable achievements—essentially serves as a storefront for Chinese sellers and products. Bezos, it turned out, also owned the Washington Post. Go figure. https://www.thefp.com/p/from-slavery-in-north-korea-to-jeff

***

Blood i-phones

*** the far east of the Democratic Republic of Congo is a disaster.

No paved roads, no electricity, no functioning government. It was broken. But rich. Fertile land and the rare earth minerals that probably power the device you’re reading this story on.

Congo has three-quarters of the world’s cobalt, as well as monopolies on coltan and tungsten—which are vital for batteries and circuits, and enable devices to vibrate. Without all three, there wouldn’t be electric vehicles or smartphones. Big customers include, no surprise, Tesla and Apple. The open secret, I learned, is that mining relies on child labor. You don’t need to buy a blood diamond to exploit some of the world’s poorest and most vulnerable children—just an iPhone.*** https://www.thefp.com/p/your-iphone-was-built-with-child

***

Women’s prisons

James O’Keefe released a video Thursday evening in which two female inmates at the Washington State Correctional Center for Women (WCCW) discuss male inmates allegedly abusing the system by claiming to be transgender.

O’Keefe said that WCCW has been “the tip of the spear with inclusivity in the prison system” as he went on to explain that OMG News went to great lengths to protect the identities of the two women by significantly altering their voices and blurring out their faces.

The video identified the inmates as “Inmate #1” and “Inmate #2,” and it was not clear how or when the interview was conducted.*** https://www.dailywire.com/news/james-okeefe-releases-video-of-female-inmates-revealing-what-transgender-inmates-do

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OBFobuNLMoM&t - O’Keefe video.

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Protesters are demanding that transgender women be removed from New Jersey’s only all-female prison — where 10 transgender women, including one who says she has a “taste for blood,” are held out of a total of 356 prisoners.

#GetMenOut activists held a protest at the state Capitol in Trenton on Friday, reading letters from four biologically female inmates at the Edna Mahan Correctional Facility, where one transgender inmate impregnated two women last year.

The women described from behind bars their fears at being housed with biological men who identify as women.

“I was repeatedly raped as a child until I was in my teens,” wrote Dawn Jackson, 51, who stabbed her adoptive stepfather in 1999 after what she said were years of sexual abuse.

Jackson was featured on Kim Kardashian’s “The Justice Project” on the Oxygen network last year.*** https://nypost.com/2023/04/14/protesters-call-for-transgender-women-to-be-removed-from-all-female-nj-prison/

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thanx, Blue_Fez

***

Sen. Dianne Feinstein is no longer able to perform her duties as a U.S. senator. That is, at least, the reality according to her staff, who asked the Senate majority leader to temporarily replace her on the Judiciary Committee as she approaches two months of absence over health issues.

This isn’t surprising, of course: Dianne Feinstein is 89 years old. While Americans used to joke about the fossils who ran the Soviet Union in the 1980s, Feinstein was already a full decade older than the oldest Soviet premier to ever die in office when she ran for re-election — a full five years ago.

Her mental decline has been known on Capitol Hill for years, with staff guiding her around the halls, and yet still just this year Sen. Chuck Schumer decided to let her remain on the Senate committee responsible for accomplishing the president’s judicial agenda.

She served on that committee until early March. Then finally, after six weeks away recovering from shingles, her California colleague, Rep. Ro Khanna, publicly called for her resignation. Democrats like Khanna had grown weary — between Feinstein and Pennsylvania Sen. John Fetterman, the party’s judicial agenda had been stalled since the top of March.

Hours after Khanna’s tweet, she asked to be temporarily replaced in her duties on the essential committee. Democrats are eager to comply.

But are Republicans so eager? They shouldn’t be. There’s zero reason — zero — that Republicans should cooperate with Schumer and the president on their judicial agenda, either tactically, politically, or even morally.

Republicans have the power, too: Committee assignments are decided at the beginning of the session, either by unanimous consent or, if contested, by the vote of at least 60 senators. Democrats certainly hope they can just brush this through under the former, but what reason does Sen. Josh Hawley, or maybe Sen. Mike Lee, or Sen. J.D. Vance have to let that one pass them by?*** https://thefederalist.com/2023/04/14/there-is-zero-reason-for-republicans-to-cooperate-with-dianne-feinsteins-request/

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Ensure you kick the right door

A 35-year-old East Street resident [Tim Yergeau] suspected of involvement in child pornography was found dead in his apartment Tuesday five days after police surprise-searched his apartment — as part of a raid that began with cops busting down the wrong door and handcuffing an innocent neighbor.

Police Chief Karl Jacobson said the man was found unresponsive in his second floor apartment in East Rock Tuesday after a person called the department to report his death around 8 a.m.

“It appears to be a suicide, but police are still investigating,” Jacobson said.

Cops executed a search warrant of the man’s home on East Street last Thursday in order to examine his electronic devices as part of a child pornography investigation. Jacobson did not provide additional details about any alleged offenses. The man was not arrested or taken into custody on Thursday. “It was an open investigation, so he knew he was going to be arrested,” Jacobson commented.

The raid itself took a wrong turn early Thursday morning when members of the city’s special victims unit invaded the wrong apartment before entering the intended location.

Stacey Wezenter, who lived on the floor above the now deceased man, said that she was woken up at 6 a.m. on Thursday by a crew of cops breaking down her door, pointing guns and flashlights in her direction and handcuffing her — before they realized they had, in fact, gone to the wrong apartment. They had intended to take down the door of Wezenter’s downstairs neighbor instead.*** https://www.newhavenindependent.org/article/search_warrant

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I’d like a large pepperoni with some excellent agility

https://www.reddit.com/r/Unexpected/comments/12ox63a/casual_pizza_delivery/

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Dadeville, ‘bama makes the news the wrong way

*** “There were four lives tragically lost in this incident and we can confirm it was tied to a birthday party,” he said. “We are going to continue to go through this scene, to look at the facts and ensure justice is brought to bare for these families.”

According to Burkett, the four confirmed fatalities and multiple injuries stem as a result of a shooting that occurred at Mahogany’s Masterpiece in Dadeville around 10:30 p.m. Saturday in the 200 block of Broadnax Street.

Police presence swarmed the scene and blocked off the crime scene, which ran from in front of PNC Bank to Mahogany’s Masterpiece. Police have not confirmed at this time the number of victims, their conditions, or anything about the shooter.

Police from Dadeville, Tallapoosa County, Jacksons Gap, Alexander City, New Site, Auburn, Opelika, Lee County and more.

According to witnesses on scene, the shooting occurred at a 16th birthday party. Investigators worked through the night.

According to Russell Medical marketing director Susan Foy, staff received notification at approximately midnight that the hospital would need to provide care for several victims relating to the incident.

Read more at: https://www.lagrangenews.com/2023/04/16/updated-four-shot-multiple-others-injured-at-dadeville-birthday-party

***

After she’s sentenced to three months of probation, tell me that the law is sexist

A Pennsylvania high school track and field coach allegedly had a sexual relationship with a teenage student for over a year, prosecutors said.

Hannah Marth, 26, was a sports coach at the Northampton Areas High School while she was with a 17-year-old male student-athlete from May 2021 to October 2022, Northhampton District Attorney Terence Houck said.***

The alleged relationship started when Marth was a javelin coach and texted the 17-year-old student at 2 a.m. on May 22, 2021, to come to her house to have sex, the District Attorney's Office said.*** https://www.foxnews.com/us/pennsylvania-high-school-track-coach-allegedly-sex-student-year-cops

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don’t hug counsel

Florida judge Elizabeth Scherer has been disqualified from a death row inmate's case for showing sympathy to the state during the sentencing hearing of Parkland school shooter Nikolas Cruz — including hugging the prosecutor.

The Florida Supreme Court unanimously agreed to remove the Broward County judge from overseeing any post-conviction proceedings for Randy Tundidor, who was sentenced to death for the 2019 slaying of his landlord.

Cruz pleaded guilty to slaughtering 17 people at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland on Feb. 14, 2018, in one of the deadliest mass school shootings in U.S. history.*** https://www.foxnews.com/us/florida-judge-parkland-shooter-trial-removed-death-penalty-case-hugging-prosecutor

Probably wouldn’t have been a problem, but she hugged Assistant State Attorney Steven Klinger prosecuted Cruz & prosecutes Tunidor.

***

Going to the right address helps

Police in New Mexico have released body camera footage after officers shot and killed a homeowner and shot at the man's wife earlier this month while responding to the wrong address.

On April 5, at about 11:30 p.m., the Farmington Police Department's dispatch sent officers to 5308 Valley View Avenue due to a domestic violence call. However, officers walked past the correct house, which was illuminated by an outside light, up to the front door of 5305 Valley View Avenue, knocked on the door, and announced themselves. It was only minutes later that shots were fired.

In the body camera footage, officers can be heard repeatedly announcing who they are, but they receive no response. They then ask a dispatcher to confirm the address. The dispatcher tells them the correct address, "5308," which was diagonal from the house where they were knocking.

Shortly after, the homeowner, Robert Dotson, 52, opened the door with a handgun, and the officers immediately began shooting as they backed away. After the officers' shots, Dotson dropped to the ground.*** https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/news/police-body-camera-footage-shooting-homeowner-wrong-address

https://twitter.com/davenewworld_2/status/1647544821840588801

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about freakin’ time!

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE Monday, April 17, 2023

Two Arrested for Operating Illegal Overseas Police Station of the Chinese Government

Defendants Are New York City Residents Who Allegedly Operated the Police Station in Lower Manhattan and Destroyed Evidence When Confronted by the FBI

A complaint was unsealed today in federal court in Brooklyn, New York, charging two defendants in connection with opening and operating an illegal overseas police station, located in lower Manhattan, New York, for a provincial branch of the Ministry of Public Security (MPS) of the People’s Republic of China (PRC). “Harry” Lu Jianwang, 61, of the Bronx, and Chen Jinping, 59, of Manhattan, were arrested earlier this morning at their homes in New York City. Their initial appearances are scheduled this afternoon in Brooklyn before U.S. Magistrate Judge Ramon E. Reyes Jr.

As alleged in the complaint, Lu and Chen are charged with conspiring to act as agents of the PRC government as well as obstructing justice by destroying evidence of their communications with an MPS official. The defendants worked together to establish the first overseas police station in the United States on behalf of the Fuzhou branch of the MPS. The police station – which closed in the fall of 2022 after those operating it became aware of the FBI’s investigation – occupied a floor in an office building in Manhattan’s Chinatown. While acting under the direction and control of an MPS Official, Lu and Chen helped open and operate the clandestine police station. None of the participants in the scheme informed the U.S. government that they were helping the PRC government surreptitiously open and operate an illegal MPS police station on U.S. soil.*** https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/two-arrested-operating-illegal-overseas-police-station-chinese-government

***

selling your location data to the popo

***According to a recent investigation from Electronic Frontier Foundation and The Associated Press, a company called Fog Data Science has been gathering Americans' location data and selling it exclusively to local law enforcement agencies in the United States. Fog Data Science's tool—a subscription-based platform that charges clients for queries of the company's database—is called Fog Reveal. And according to Bennett Cyphers, one of the investigators who uncovered Fog Reveal through a series of public record requests, it's rather powerful.

"What [Fog Data Science] sells is, I would say, like a God view mode for the world... It's a map and you draw a shape on the map and it will show you every device that was in that area during a specified timeframe."

Today, on the Lock and Code podcast with host David Ruiz, we speak to Cyphers about how he and his organization uncovered a massive data location broker that seemingly works only with local law enforcement, how that data broker collected Americans' data in the first place, where this data comes from, and why it is so easy to sell.

Tune in now.*** https://www.malwarebytes.com/blog/podcast/2023/04/how-the-cops-buy-your-location-data-with-bennett-cyphers

podcast link

***

https://babylonbee.com/news/scholars-now-believe-bible-verse-they-were-naked-and-felt-no-shame-written-about-walmart

***

https://www.gocomics.com/nonsequitur/2023/04/17

***

Well, one of my principles is shooting pedophiles

New legal principles launched on International Women’s Day to advance decriminalization efforts

08 MARCH 2023

The International Committee of Jurists (ICJ) along with UNAIDS and the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) officially launched a new set of expert jurist legal principles to guide the application of international human rights law to criminal law.

The ‘8 March principles’ as they are called lay out a human rights-based approach to laws criminalising conduct in relation to sex, drug use, HIV, sexual and reproductive health, homelessness and poverty.*** https://www.unaids.org/en/resources/presscentre/featurestories/2023/march/20230308_new-legal-principles-decriminalization >>>

PRINCIPLE 16 – CONSENSUAL SEXUAL CONDUCT Consensual sexual conduct, irrespective of the type of sexual activity, the sex/ gender, sexual orientation, gender identity or gender expression of the people involved or their marital status, may not be criminalized in any circumstances.***

With respect to the enforcement of criminal law, any prescribed minimum age of consent to sex must be applied in a non-discriminatory manner. Enforcement may not be linked to the sex/gender of participants or age of consent to marriage. Moreover, sexual conduct involving persons below the domestically prescribed minimum age of consent to sex may be consensual in fact, if not in law. In this context, the enforcement of criminal law should reflect the rights and capacity of persons under 18 years of age to make decisions about engaging in consensual sexual conduct and their right to be heard in matters concerning them. Pursuant to their evolving capacities and progressive autonomy, persons under 18 years of age should participate in decisions affecting them, with due regard to their age, maturity and best interests, and with specific attention to non-discrimination guarantees. https://icj2.wpenginepowered.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/03/8-MARCH-Principles-FINAL-printer-version-1-MARCH-2023.pdf

***

good article about censorship

https://www.thefp.com/p/an-illustrated-guide-to-self-censorship

***

Why on earth would you think such a thing?

Gov. Kevin Stitt (R-OK) called for the resignation of multiple McCurtain County officials, including the sheriff, after leaked audio revealed troubling comments about lynching black people and killing two journalists.

Stitt said he was "appalled" at the conversation and called for the immediate resignations of Sheriff Kevin Clardy, investigator Alicia Manning, Commissioner Mark Jennings, and jail administrator Larry Hendrix.

“There is simply no place for such hateful rhetoric in the state of Oklahoma, especially by those that serve to represent the community through their respective office,” Stitt said in a statement on Sunday. “I will not stand idly by while this takes place." *** https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/news/justice/stitt-calls-for-resignation-county-officials

He has order Oklahoma’s Bureau of Investigation to investigate them.

***Wed

https://www.gocomics.com/speedbump/2023/04/18

***

By The Free Press April 18, 2023

On Monday, a Moscow court sentenced the journalist and activist Vladimir Kara-Murza to 25 years in prison for criticizing Russia’s ongoing war in Ukraine.***

After two decades spent in Russian politics, after all that I have seen and experienced, I was sure that nothing could surprise me any more. I must admit that I was wrong.

I’ve been surprised by how far my trial, in its secrecy and contempt for legal norms, has surpassed even the “trials” of Soviet dissidents in the 1960s and 1970s. And that’s not even to mention the harsh sentence requested by the prosecution, or the talk of “enemies of the state.” In this respect, we’ve gone beyond the 1970s—all the way back to the 1930s.***

At one point during my testimony, the presiding judge reminded me that one of the extenuating circumstances in my case was “remorse for what [the accused] has done.” And although there is little that’s funny about my current situation, I couldn’t help but smile: a criminal, of course, must repent of his deeds. I’m in jail for my political views. For speaking out against the war in Ukraine. For many years of struggle against Vladimir Putin’s dictatorship. For facilitating the adoption of personal international sanctions under the Magnitsky Act against human rights violators.

Not only do I not repent of any of this, I am proud of it. I am proud that [assassinated opposition politician] Boris Nemtsov brought me into politics. And I hope that he is not ashamed of me. I support every word that I have spoken and every word of which I have been accused by this court. I blame myself for only one thing: that over the years of my political activity I have not managed to convince enough of my compatriots and enough politicians in democratic countries of the danger that the current regime in the Kremlin poses for Russia and for the world. Today this is obvious to everyone, but at a terrible price—the price of war.

In their last statements to the court, defendants usually ask for an acquittal. For a person who has not committed any crimes, acquittal would be the only fair verdict. But I do not ask this court for anything. I know the verdict. I knew it a year ago when I saw people in black uniforms and black masks running after my car in the rearview mirror. Such is the price for speaking up in Russia today. *** https://www.thefp.com/p/the-last-words-of-a-putin-critic

***

When the ship runs aground, do we fire the XO or the CO?

The Fulton County Jail in Georgia is transferring more than 600 inmates and releasing an emergency $500,000 expenditure to address overcrowding issues after a man with schizophrenia was allegedly eaten alive by bugs in his cell.

The move comes days after deceased inmate Lashawn Thompson's family filed a lawsuit against the jail after the 35-year-old, who had schizophrenia, was apparently eaten alive by bedbugs and other insects.

"It's no secret that the dilapidated and rapidly eroding conditions of the current facility make it incredibly difficult to meet the goal of providing a safe, clean, well-maintained and healthy environment for all inmates and staff," Fulton County Sheriff Pat Labat said in a Sunday statement. "Without making explicit statements about Mr. Thompson's health, it's fair to say that this is one of many cases that illustrate the desperate need for expanded and better mental health services."

On Monday, Labat "asked for, received, and accepted the resignations of the Chief Jailer, Assistant Chief Jailer and Assistant Chief Jailer, Criminal Investigative Division," according to a press release.*** https://www.foxnews.com/us/georgia-jail-transfers-600-inmates-man-allegedly-eaten-alive-insects

***

charged w/ murder

FORT WORTH, Texas - The Tarrant County Sheriff’s Office says an inmate getting treated at the hospital punched a pregnant staff member, killing her unborn child.

It happened last Wednesday at JPS Hospital in Fort Worth.

The inmate, 39-year-old Cheri Akil, was being treated and restrained because she was potentially suicidal.

While the pregnant hospital staff member was standing next to Akil, authorities say she punched her in the stomach.*** https://www.fox4news.com/news/tarrant-county-inmate-charged-with-murder-after-punching-pregnant-hospital-staff-member

***

Law enforcement? What’s that?

Police in southern California have again arrested a man they believe is responsible for over 70 commercial burglaries who is referred to as the "snake burglar" due to the way he crawls around properties.

In a press release, the Riverside Police Department said 32-year-old Christopher Michael Jackson was arrested on April 12 after a security system at a business alerted officers to a break-in. Police quickly arrived at the scene and found Jackson, who they "instantly recognized" as a "known serial burglar."***

Police believe that Jackson, who they say is a transient, is responsible for over 70 commercial burglaries since July 2021 and has been arrested on "numerous occasions" and was "recently ordered to serve six sentences of 16 months in jail after pleading guilty to 23 felonies."

However, the Facebook post says that laws related to jail overcrowding meant that Jackson served less than 10 days in jail. "Legislative changes over the past decade, including AB109, Prop 47 and Prop 57, have made it increasingly difficult to ensure the safety of our citizens, but that does not stop our tireless efforts to do so," Riverside Police Chief Larry Gonzalez said. *** https://www.foxnews.com/us/california-snake-burglar-set-free-after-10-days-in-jail-arrested-again-after-feasting-on-justice-system

***

Just another day in LA

A convicted Los Angeles felon is accused of murdering a 60-year-old man who volunteered to remove gang graffiti from a wall.

Jamal Jackson, 24, was out on probation when the Sunday shooting occurred, according to local sources.

Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) investigators are looking for additional victims to come forward after surveillance video footage showed Jackson exiting his white Toyota Camry near the 19100 block of Parthenia Street, where three other victims were helping paint over the gang graffiti on an ice cream shop.***

Jackson is a known gang member, according to FOX 11 Los Angeles, with a lengthy arrest history. He is currently being held without bail.*** https://www.foxnews.com/us/los-angeles-convicted-felon-accused-gunning-down-60-year-old-man-removing-gang-graffiti

***thurs

The general rule is “that which is not prohibited is permitted;” Feds turn it on its head

LAS VEGAS—Today, a customer and a small business owner filed a federal First Amendment lawsuit against the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) and the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) over a policy that prevents businesses from truthfully labeling their food products. Customer Michelle Przybocki and Gourmend Foods Founder Ketan Vakil teamed up with the Institute for Justice (IJ) to challenge the regulation that prevents businesses from truthfully labeling their products as low-FODMAP, an acronym for foods that are made with easily digestible ingredients.

The government does not contend that these statements are false. The truthful information that Ketan and other business owners want to provide to customers like Michelle is banned only because it does not appear on the government’s outdated list of allowable “nutrient content claims.” Any nutrient content claims that are not on the list are forbidden.

“The government does not get to decide which facts consumers are allowed to learn,” said IJ Senior Attorney Justin Pearson. “Businesses have the right to tell the truth, and customers have a right to hear that truthful information. Banning factual information isn’t just harmful, it’s unconstitutional.”

In recent years, the low-FODMAP diet has become a popular option for people with sensitive stomachs. Easy to digest, low-FODMAP foods include eggs, meat, almond milk, oats, and quinoa. On the other hand, those on the low-FODMAP diet are encouraged to avoid dairy, onion, garlic, and other foods that can cause digestive discomfort. *** https://ij.org/press-release/customer-small-business-owner-sue-usda-and-fda-over-policy-that-outlaws-truthfully-labeling-food-as-easy-to-digest/

***

In Colorado?

State and federal agents have dismantled an illegal marijuana trafficking operation based in Fort Collins and are preparing to make arrests, officials announced Wednesday in a news release.

The agents comprising the Northern Colorado Drug Task Force investigated for a year and obtained warrants to search five sites in Fort Collins. They recovered about 1,000 live marijuana plants, 200 pounds of processed marijuana products and byproducts, tens of thousands of dollars in cash and precious metals, multiple firearms, and evidence of tax evasion, the officials said.

“Arrests are pending,” officials said.*** https://www.denverpost.com/2023/04/19/fort-collins-marijuana-trafficking-operation/

***

DHS Official Has Office Raided, Covered in Crime Scene Tape

The head of the office that tracks cross-border threats — including fentanyl and cartel activity — was walked out by security and questioned on Monday, sources tell Rolling Stone

THE DEPARTMENT OF Homeland Security intelligence official in charge of tracking cross-border threats was escorted from his office on Monday by federal police and security after an afternoon search that left his office sealed with crime tape, according to four sources with direct knowledge of the events.

The official in question is Brian Sulc, executive director of the Transnational Organized Crime Mission Center at DHS’s Office of Intelligence and Analysis in Washington. Sulc has been placed on administrative leave. He is under investigation for an alleged security violation, bringing a personal electronic device inside the secure office, where phones and electronic devices are prohibited. He has not been arrested nor charged with a crime.

At about 4:15 p.m. on Monday, three squad cars from the Federal Protective Service — a DHS law-enforcement body tasked with protecting the department and federal buildings — drove into DHS’s northwest Washington complex with flashing lights. The FPS officers joined security on the third floor of the secure building to search Sulc’s office. While they were doing the search, Sulc was escorted out of the building flanked by security and FPS and taken to a different location on the DHS campus for questioning, two sources said.

The office has been sealed shut with crime tape, and evidence seals were placed around the door and across the keyhole so no one can enter.*** https://www.rollingstone.com/politics/politics-features/dhs-official-office-searched-crime-tape-border-threats-1234717657/

***

Good

Francisco Carrillo, who spent nearly two decades in prison before his wrongful conviction was overturned in 2011, announced his campaign for a congressional seat in California on Wednesday.

Carillo, who was featured on the Netflix documentary series The Innocence Files, is running to represent the 27th Congressional District in the U.S. House of Representatives as a Democrat.

“I know what it feels like to be ignored, marginalized, forgotten about,” Carrillo said in his announcement video. “There are people who abuse their power and benefit from the system. Then there’s the rest of us. We play by the rules and get screwed by the same exact system. This is why I’m running for Congress against Rep. Mike Garcia [R-CA].”*** https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/news/campaigns/man-two-decades-prison-runs-for-california-house-seat

***

0 notes

wednesdaywrites · 4 years ago

Text

leon questions ryan’s odd nature. ryan gets her shotgun.

leon s. kennedy x oc

warning: canon typical violence

lowercase is an aesthetic choice

masterlist

“i think i saw a room upstairs in the east wing, wanna check it out?”

leon looked up from his gun, sliding the clip back into place. “you’re the boss.”

she wanted to ask what made her the boss, but she grinned cheekily instead.

“say that again.”

“wow.” leon rolled his eyes. “just lead the way, creep.”

“you said it,” she said, heading for the stairs. “put the opportunity right in my hands.”

upstairs in the waiting room, she paused at the spade door.

“get ready, officer friendly.”

knock knock knockknockknock, knock knock.

a moment of silence, then — ragh!

“now!”

she ripped the door open and ducked instantly; leon shot the walker in the head. another one swung around the corner and she whacked its knee out with the bolt cutter, opening it and jabbing it hard into its eyes when it was at her level.

“let’s go. . .”

they went across the hall to the door slightly to their left. she stopped to knock, listening for movement inside.

“coast's clear,” she said, pushing the door open. “looks like a storage room.”

leon scrunched his nose. “dusty as hell.”

“this shit probably hasn’t been touched since this place was turned into the police station. it was a museum before, right?”

leon nodded.

“how much fucking room does the police need—sorry.” she picked up a magazine sitting on a chair, flipping it open.

the ruby that captivated edward the black prince, the pearl that the queen of the nile milked dry, the diamond that lead a queen to the guillotine-there is no end to the number of tales related to the appeal of jewels.

this mysterious red stone is simply the latest to sparkle among them.

like those other jewels, this one's origin is unknown. it's said that it once adorned a noblewoman's jeweled box and was even dedicated to a wise king.

this fall, this stone that's long been shrouded in legend will be on display during auction. there are sure to be many eager enthusiasts there.

but, dear reader, one would do well to approach with care, for devilry lies in beauty's shadow. this jewel has turned caring nobles who love their subjects into despots more terrible than caligula, and we have the tales to prove it. seriously, it's precisely because these jewels are bathed in blood that their luster stirs something in the hearts of people everywhere.

“huh.”

“what?” leon came to read over her shoulder.

she looked at the king statue on the other side of the room—specifically, the scepter in its hand.

“this isn’t here for nothing,” she said. “if there's a higher power, its playing with us.”

she tossed the magazine down, approaching the statue. she picked up the arm piece sitting on the table nearby.

“looks like it holds something,” leon commented.

“yeah. . . but what. . . ?”

“we'll find it later,” he said. “check this out.”

she looked back to see him holding up a card—the weapon locker keycard! she gasped happily, snatching it from his hand.

“it’s fucking over for these walkers!”

leon raised a brow, amused at her excitement but confused by her term. “walkers?”

“yeah. . . ?” she said. “what do you call them?”

“zombies. . . ?”

“like from voodoo? that’s stupid.”

“haven’t you ever seen a george a romero movie?” he asked.

“who the hell is that?”

he stared blankly at her, and she stared blankly back.

“did you hit your head on something?”

“maybe?” she said, confused. “why?”

he shook his head. “you seem to know everything, but nothing at the same time. . .”

“gee, thanks.”

“i didn’t—” he sighed. “let’s just go find the other medallions.”

as she followed him back the way they came, she pondered what he had said. it was weird that she knew how to deal with the walkers, but not who this george a romero guy was. it seemed like a name she should have known based off the way leon said it. she tried to think hard—what had happened before she woke up here?

a sharp pain sparked in her head.

there was a man. . . half his face was burned, like that batman villain but less cartoonish. he hit her in the head because she fought back, then she woke up here.

who was he? who was she?

“you alright?”

she lowered her hand from her face. “yeah. . . rainy weather gives me a headache, that’s all. . .”

he didn’t seem to buy her response, but everything else about her was odd, so he accepted it without further question. she wanted desperately to hug him. they had only known each other for maybe an hour, but in that moment he was all she knew for sure.

“hey. . .” he said softly, “maybe we should take a breather. . .”

“no!” she snapped, without meaning to. “i want to get the hell out of here. . . meet up with ellie and claire. . .”

“alright, alright. . .” he put his hands on her shoulders, guiding her along. “let’s keep moving, then. . .”

they went back downstairs to the main hall, stopping to check on marvin again.

she had a bad feeling he wasn’t going to make it.

“short way or long way?”

she snapped her attention back to leon. “long way. i want to see what’s behind that chained door.”

“lead the way,” he said, motioning her ahead.

they walked back to the shutter door that had almost killed her, over the mound of bodies, into the reception room, and through the door into the hall. they went down the hall slowly, leon with his gun raised and ready and ryan with a tight grip on the bolt cutters.

after losing her knife, it was a pretty good weapon.

down the hall, around the corner a walker shambled to the open window and flopped through.

“shit!”

“just jump over him,” leon said.

they picked up the pace, jumping over the walker before he could start to get up and hurrying along.

the body hanging from the ceiling fell, landing right on ryan and knocking her down. it was larger than her and, despite what movies may have one believe, much heavier than it looked.

she looked to see the walker coming right for her. “leon!”

“i got you!” he shot the walker, using its stagger as an opportunity to help her push the body off. he grabbed her arms, pulling her up. “come on!”

through the bar doorway to the next hall, another walker laid in wait around the corner. as soon as leon passed through, it lunged at him, clawing at his shoulders in an attempt to bring him closer. ryan kicked its knee out, jabbing the bolt cutters hard into its head.

“leon, there’s another one at the end of the hall. . .” she said.

“i’m on it!”

he aimed and shot, twice for good measure, and they pushed forward.

another walker crawled through the window where leon had just shot the one; ryan dove and stabbed the bolt cutters into its head before it could get up.

leon got his arm around her waist, pulling her along. “the door’s right here!”

he released her and threw the right door open; she hurried in behind him, turning and slamming the door shut. for good measure, she grabbed one of the folding chairs and forced the back over the knobs. both doors shuddered violently under the force of an unknown number of walkers, sending her backwards with a gasp of shock, but the chair held. . . for now.

she stopped to catch her breath, looking at leon to find him reading something on the desk.

“what is it?” she asked, going to his side.

“details of the outbreak. . .” he said, pushing the papers over so she could read.

september 25th

we're turning the station into a temporary shelter due to the massive sudden outbreak. all police personnel have been instructed to make the safety of the citizens their top priority as we try to accommodate as many of them as possible.

september 25th (addendum)

one of the refugees attacked us in the middle of the night, resulting in the death of 1 officer and injuring 3 others. the person in question was quickly restrained. we believe this was simply a case of someone snapping under intense stress.

september 26th

a mob attacked the station today, resulting in a number of casualties. a few survivors were able to make it safely behind the emergency shutters, but surrounded as we are, it'll be hard for any of us to escape this place. we're not sure we can fix any of our comm equipment, so we remain cut off from the outside world.

september 27th

there was another clash on the west side of the station around 1pm. twelve people died, and there is only a handful of survivors left. everything is falling disarray in here.

david ford

she scanned the pages quickly, but one date stood out to her.

september 25th.

“this whole thing started on my birthday,” she mumbled. “happy fucking birthday to me, huh?”

“happy fucking birthday,” leon echoed, flipping the pages over so she couldn’t look at them anymore. “come on. we don’t know how long that chair will hold.”

she jumped back into action, going to the chained door and cutting the chain.

right as they entered the room, they were greeted by some kind of electronic device sitting on the desk.

“i don’t know what this is,” she said, “but it looks important, right?”

leon picked it up to inspect it. “looks like a detonator of some kind. . . but to what?”

“i have a feeling we're gonna find out. bring it.”

turning around, she saw a whiteboard with locker room cap written on it.

“i have a feeling we should remember that."

“the locker room is on the second floor,” leon said. “we'll head up there after we get you your shotgun.”

she perked at “shotgun,” patting her pockets frantically for the keycard. whew, still in my pocket.

“hey, bob the builder, boards.”

ryan turned to leon with an impressed smile. “look at you bringing out the nicknames!”

“you’re not the only one that knows how to make a joke,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.

“don’t tempt my competitive nature, little boy,” she warned teasingly. “you will lose.”

he scoffed at her halfheartedly. “this door here needs a heart key, but this one. . . looks like it's locked from this side. lucky us.”

she grabbed the boards as he unlocked the door, cracking it to check for walkers.

“clear,” he said, pushing the door open the rest of the way.

ryan pushed past him, hurrying to the safety deposit room and practically slamming herself through the door. she rushed to the back, fishing the keycard out of her pocket and jamming it into the reader. with a beep, the door swung open and the shotgun was hers at last. she set the boards and bolt cutters down so she could take the shotgun and load it.

“you know how to use that thing?” leon asked behind her.

she turned to him with a really? look. “you want to find out firsthand?”

he raised his hands in defeat, and she nodded in satisfaction.

she looked down at the rest of her load. “i really wish i had my backpack.”

“hey, we never checked these lockers,” leon said. “maybe there's a backpack in one of them"

“gang, split up and look for clues,” she said in her best fred voice.

leon went down one side and she went down the other, checking the opened lockers.

“hey macgyver, we’ve got a positive on the backpack,” leon called.

she cheered, rushing around to meet him. he handed her the backpack and she went to put the boards and bolt cutters in it. “hey, i can put that handle and the detonator in here if you want.”

he took the handle off his belt and handed it to her with the detonator. she put them in her backpack and then zipped it and slipped it on.

“ready to head upstairs?” leon asked.

“ready.”

#resident evil #resident evil fanfic #resident evil 2 remake #resident evil 2 remake fanfic #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x oc #leon s kennedy fanfic #you’ll be fine

9 notes · View notes

afraschatz · 4 years ago

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Leverage: The 12 Steps Job

It‘s been a while since I‘ve done one of these, but I‘m rewatching Leverage yet again (SHOW, I MISSED YOU) and here are plenty of things I love about ‚The 12 Step Job‘: I love…

… The montage of Hurley in the car and how he walks into his office. Man, that is one NEAT character introduction because when you first watch this, of course he could pass as an absolute jerk and the baddie of the week – despite the client‘s description of him as enthusiastic and sweet. But at the same time this is just how he is later on in this ep and when he returns in The Boys‘ Night Out Job: An absolute slob and a complete mess but also very congenial (how much he knows about all his co-workers? Sweet) and with his heart in the right place.

… Nate being a complete dick and so fucking in denial about his alcohol problem here. I haven‘t watched season one in a while and it‘s so interesting how his and Sophie‘s relationship is so different here (the biggest shift of course being between s2 and s3 where Nate decides to take a vacation in prison and Sophie runs the crew in the meantime – this changes things forever). But it‘s so cool how Gina‘s acting walks the thin line between being the one who is absolutely in the right here and being just that bit annoying that allows Nate to justify implying that she‘s overly dramatic

… Eliot‘s hair is ON FIRE in that episode, wow and that blue shirt *chef‘s kiss*

… how the team works together in figuring out where Hurley might be. Yes, it‘s season one and Nate is very much calling the shots – and he is the one narrowing it down here – but Eliot and Hardison specifically absolutely pitch in.

… Sophie‘s and Eliot‘s little eyeroll at Hardison‘s dropping strip club knowledge

… ‘if Billy was a drunken sex fiend’ – hahaha, Parker, spot on as always – and Eliot‘s and Hardison‘s responding expressions. Come on, boys, don‘t deny it, you‘re in love with her already.

… that look on Nate‘s face when he figures out how to find Hurley. His whole expression changes, his gaze focusses, he leans forward and that drunken haze is gone for the moment

… how Eliot and Hardison constantly share the same frame <3

… Eliot‘s little DELIGHTED smile. Okay, his and Hardison‘s delight in strip joints doesn‘t quite fit later seasons, so we all can just agree that Hardison asking for change for 100 in singles is just because they really want to tip generously for the chicken wings there or something :)

… Eliot‘s and Hardison‘s synchronized walk off

… ‘Don‘t get mad, Eliot, I may have spilled slushie in your car’ and his badly acted expression of contrition hahaha, no one is buying that, Hardison

… Eliot and Hardison being extremely sexy in sitting in Eliot’s car (and as so often, look at the perfect way that shot is lit! Hardison’s and Eliot’s faces both fricking glow)

… very smartly dressed random thugs

… the messy way the fight scene is shot – close ups and very wobbly camera moves, and how you can still tell how efficiently Eliot fights and how… well not all that efficiently Hardison is. And yes, again, it’s season one, so Hardison grabs the gun and shoots it, too, instead of just sitting back and chilling while he watches Eliot beat people up (which is way better than the strip joint idea anyway)

… Eliot being annoyed with Hardison

… ‘Is he sleeping?’ LOL, yes, Sophie, that’s why Hurley is using the air bag as a pillow

… Nate looking progressively more like the absolute mess he is as the episode progresses

… - how confusing is it that Sterling’s Theme is used and Sterling isn’t immediately around the next corner? That is SO cool because yes, he shows up later, or rather: withdrawal!Nate hallucinates him; and so his theme music this early in the episode is almost like foreshadowing

… everyone in group therapy apparently understanding Sam perfectly well aside from Nate

… Parker having to read from the cheat sheet she wrote onto her lower arm to get her three-sentence-character-intro right

… Hurley’s massive list of addiction, with the climax of “Tacos”

… “Uh-huh” - and Sophie and Nate having another fight while everyone else in the group is already tired of it. Especially Parker, if one were to judge by her VERY subtle expressions.

… Parker aggressively chewing on the meds the doctor gave her. I absolutely LOVE the way she constantly gives other people this uncensored WTF-look in season one

… Eliot being smart in the parking lot. I have so much love and respect for how that’s played here again – Eliot is the one who has to have 360 vision, it’s his job to anticipate problems in all forms and sizes

… Hardison’s bricks-on-the-seat plan. That’s so great because he might be the smartest guy Eliot knows TM, but he is fucking afraid here and panicking and that’s not conducive to coming up with super clever plans, is it?

… Hardison and Eliot working together while bitching at one another - “Yes, there are a lot of wires! It’s a Com-Pu-Ter!!”

… Hardison’s brain rebooting as he figures out that it’s a computer bomb and the system needs to be re-booted

… Eliot trusting Hardison’s knowledge, and Christian’s acting here – knowing Hardison is right, being low key annoyed by it, being just a bit unsettled (that lip quiver!) “Run that sack of bricks by me again...” - “Are you ready?” - “NO!” and his trembling hand - he is so good at rapidly changing expressions and tones

… “I’m gonna go and freshen up a little bit. Maybe cry a little”

… Hardison thinking on his feet and that sweet Jamaican accent – Eliot thinking that is sexy, and backing him up with a bomb

… and again, Kane’s acting – that beat and that look before he says “Sure” when Hardison asks whether he’d have saved him as well

… Nate’s withdrawal. So well done. Over all, the show is SO good at showing that alcoholism is a sickness and a serious problem, even if (especially if!) Nate doesn’t acknowledge it

… HARDISON AND ELIOT’S DATE AT THE RECEPTION DESK. - So, while in the scene before, Hardison takes the lead in acting their way out of the situation, here it’s Eliot by shamelessly flirting with the receptionist. And Hardison’s FACE throughout this. Like, bro, do we have time for this? DO WE? - And then “I’m with him”. And Eliot trying so hard not to burst into laughter, especially when Hardison is doing that thing he is famous for which is shamelessly over-acting just to piss Eliot off. - The ringing of the reception bell and “Bring yo ass”. And none of that even being mentioned in the next scene. - So much quality content in this episode.

… Sophie taking over for Nate when Nate very obviously can’t, and her tone of voice changing to what we’ll get to know from season three Sophie

… Parker coming up with a believable story and selling it. Up to the point where her make believe parents found gold under their trailer…

… Nate’s withdrawal getting worse, Tim’s acting is brilliant here.

… Sophie talking differently to Nate than before. Yes, she still seems to focus on Nate and how Nate is being a dick to them and particularly her, but her voice is different and she uses the real emotion between her and Nate’s exchange to get what they need from Hurley; the list of people he wronged. Brilliant little twist here, because of course Sophie is focused on the con and on helping their client, especially now that Nate is threatening to lose his focus entirely

… that Genesis? Veeeeery subtle product placement, Leverage hahaha

… “I checked your notes - he seems like a deeply troubled man” - Thank you, doctor, yeah. Nate IS a deeply troubled man. And again: Nate’s withdrawal getting much worse, and the con threatening to get out of hand. I said it before, and I’ll say it again: It’s really great how they used this episode to focus so much on Nate’s alcoholism. It’s something so important not only for later seasons but also for the upcoming s1 finale, and we’ve watched enough episodes at this point that we understand WHY this happened to him. And this episode doesn’t offer an easy fix, nor do the following seasons. “Just give me something to do” is what Nate says here, and Sophie has to decide whether or not this is really the right thing to do

… “He is an addict, he knows how to manipulate people, my father was an addict, my grandfather was an addict, I know how these people operate” - yes, Nate, we know who you’re talking about. And so does Sophie

… Sterling as the one Nate hallucinates. Because Sterling knows him, because they used to be friends, because Sterling is as ruthless as Nate is (well, nearly), because Nate is still projecting and in denial that he is in fact talking about himself. So what does he do? He imagines his former friend who is now on the other side, chasing him. - I’m not too big a fan of Sterling in later seasons but this is such a STELLAR use of his character, and Mark’s acting is brilliant here, and so is, of course, Tim’s.

… “Knocking on heaven’s door” - ouch

… Nate’s aggression towards Hurley, first in a physical form and that is scary but also less dangerous because it’s unfocused; and then when his mind has something to focus on, that sharp sharp focus – fuck, he’s one scary dude indeed, it’s rather disconcerting that one is looking at Hurley for emotional reassurance in this scene…

… Parker’s strange walk because of her meds and the return on her focus when her thief-self kicks back in

… “If you’re doing it to help someone, doesn’t that make it okay?” Good question, Hurley. Your answer, Nate?

… Nate shoving Hurley in the hallway rather than explaining what’s going on. Funny, and sliiiightly sloppy, Mr Ford

...Tacos :)

… Eliot and Hardison sharing the same level of annoyance and then acceptance. So in tune in this episode, these two

… re-using that bomb. Everyone does their part in sustainability and careful usage of resources ;)

… the thugs thinking the bomb thing was done by the Jamaicans, aka Hardison and Eliot

… Eliot’s and Hardison’s reservations in the flashback. “Uh---why?” from Hardison and Eliot’s emphatic headshake

… the cash in the tire. Very practical choice, Hurley

… HURLEY JUST WANTS A HUG

… Hardison going the extra mile with Hurley’s new identity by getting him a gym membership

… Parker’s brilliant drawing!!!

… Parker smelling the Sharpie

… Parker running, PARKER HUGGING ELIOT AND HARDISON!!!! OT3!!!

… and that song, that is a variation of “What shall we do with the drunken sailor”, right?

Seriously, this is such a dark episode for Leverage standards because of that focus on Nate’s addiction, and yet, it’s counterbalanced by so much Hardison/Eliot fun and competence porn, by Sophie’s strength and by the fact that the villain of the week has a redemption arc. I love this show so much and this mix shows why again; such a delicate balance, so beautifully handled

#leverage #nate ford #sophie deveraux #eliot spencer #alec hardison #parker #Things I Love About #The Twelve Steps Job

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thesouthernpansy · 4 years ago

Text

sacred geometry (5/?)

stanford pines/bill cipher

ford arrived at backupsmore university ready to put his head down and get lost in his classwork. his new roommate seemed to have come prepared to haul him back out, again.

that, and eat uncooked blocks of ramen.

somehow, that isn’t even the weirdest thing happening on campus, and the prospect of strange new mysteries and stranger new friends has ford feeling almost glad to be here.

it’s a college au, let’s crack some books

(here on ao3)

Observable time seems to contract around Ford through the course of his cursory morning routine, the necessary human inanities stretching out dim and red and slow like light on the lip of a black hole. Ford's thoughts spaghettify desperately around it, spinning away into stringy, unrecognizable particulate. He scratches shampoo into his scalp and tries to let that speak louder than the event horizon of the buzzing in his ears.

In the end, somehow, Ford still makes it to his first class of the day with seconds to spare. Fiddleford has a seat saved for him, but there isn't time to give him more than a grateful nod before the professor arrives.

“Late night?” Fiddleford asks under his breath, brows raised. There's a very specific innocence to his tone that gets Ford's hackles up immediately.

“I overslept,” he snaps in response, neither confirming nor denying Fiddleford's insinuations, which goes unnoticed by neither of them.

Fiddleford makes a little noise of assent, like he understands, and lets the matter drop.

Thankfully, even afterwards he has no opportunity to grill Ford on his assumptions. His next class is one clear across campus that he always rather literally needs to run to, some elective he's been cagey about since the beginning of the semester, and it isn't that Ford doesn't want to know what it is, but every time it comes up he gets the impression that Fiddleford wouldn't actually tell him even if he did ask, which puts a cold unexpected damper on his curiosity. The weight of the mutual unspoken hangs over their parting like guilt.

Ford doesn't have time for that; he has Intermediate Newtonian Mechanics in twenty minutes. It's Obscure Linear Algebra after that, then a meeting with Professor Neilson, then a sprint back to his dorm room to retrieve supplies for the tutoring session he'd forgotten about promising to one of last semester's TAs. All the while Ford feels out-of-focus, like he's watching himself through a pair of cloudy poorly-cut lenses. Professor Neilson suggests he cut back a little on his independent studies and get some more sleep; the TA asks if he's “hungover or something”. Ford tries and fails and tries again not to think about the circumstances of his morning, his patience and concentration hapless casualties in the fruitless mental crossfire that ensues.

By the time he makes it to Warbleheim, Ford is nursing an oppressive headache and half a dozen very credible reasons why he has to bow out of the evening's plans. Bill is already out front, mid-conversation with two figures that Ford doesn't recognize. He looks over as Ford approaches, the flat line of his mouth deepening for just a flash before it breaks open into a grin.

“Well, well, well, speak of what the cat dragged in! That punctuality of yours is no joke, huh, Fordsy?”

“Did I come at a bad time?” Ford notes now the tension he's walked into, the hunched, scolded postures of Bill's friends.

“You came exactly when you were supposed to,” says Bill tightly. “We're the ones running long here, right, guys?”

Bill's friends nod sheepishly, glancing between themselves and back to Bill again.

“Sorry,” says one of them finally, knuckling the side of what sounds like a very congested nose. He's bowlegged and stocky and somehow gives off the impression of having an underbite and overbite at the same time. The other stoops over him anxiously with his hands pressed together, broad boney face marred by a grimace and a large port-wine birthmark on an even larger forehead.

“Sorry doesn't help us, does it, Teeth?” asks Bill pleasantly. Not waiting for an answer, he turns to take Ford's arm and pull him closer. “Fordsy, these party animals are Teeth and Keyhole; boys, say hi to my good friend Stanford Pines.”

The two muster a meek “Hi” in obedient response.

“It's, uh, a pleasure to meet you,” says Ford, feeling awkward.

“We've heard a lot about you,” says Teeth gamely.

“Oh? I, uh,” says Ford lamely, because what comes immediately to mind is “I haven't heard anything about you,” and even he can tell that sounds hostile, gloating and jealous and by all accounts wholly uncalled for. The urge is still there, though, worsening as Keyhole looks him up and down like he's a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

“I still think you should take one of us with you.” Keyhole jabs his chin in Bill's direction, stuffs his fists down into the front pockets of his hooded sweatshirt.

Bill leans forward to pat Keyhole firmly on the cheek, teeth bared. “Buck up, there, buddy! Jealousy's ugly, and you don't need any help on that front.”

From this angle all Ford can see of Bill's face is the taut set of his jaw. Keyhole looks up at him miserably, for all their being at a relative height with one another. Bill cocks his head to one side, holds out his hand, and waits.

Reluctantly, Keyhole pulls one fist out of his pocket and opens it. A soft clink, and a cluttered ring of keys plunks into Bill's waiting palm.

“Ha! That wasn't so hard, now, was it? You'd think I was asking for your bones or something, jeez.” Bill gives the keys an enthusiastic jingle in his friends' direction. “All right, boys, you scamper on home, now, Fordsy and I will take it from here.”

Teeth sticks an elbow in Keyhole's side, and the two exchange a glance. After a beat, Keyhole shrugs and shakes his head.

“Sure, see you later, Bill.”

“Good luck,” Teeth adds.

“Luck is for suckers!” replies Bill brightly.

“It was nice to meet you,” says Ford.

Before either of them can respond, Bill leans into the space between them, tugs at Ford's tie. “You'll meet again, IQ, time's a ticking!”

Ford gives a final wave and follows where Bill leads.

They end up at the back entrance by the concert hall's loading dock. Humming, Bill flips through his newly acquired keys to one that's been marked with a piece of gaffer's tape; the lock clicks in compliance, and the door opens into the dark maze of Warbleheim's backstage. Stacked risers and scrap plywood rest along the far wall by the stage manager's desk, itself cluttered with the nubs of old pencils and playbills weighted down by a bulky black plastic headset. Around them loom the ceiling-high cages protecting the valuable AV and recording equipment the hall lends out across campus, microphones and reel-to-reels and plastic-wrapped wheels of tape, video cameras and thick snakes of cable and the treacherous, loose-wheeled carts meant to transport the lot, somehow, safe and whole to its destination.

For how alien it seems in the quiet dark, Ford isn't unfamiliar with the space; Fiddleford puts a little extra in his pockets every now and then on the back of Backupsmore's collection of outdated tech, and Warbleheim's lighting systems in particular are reliable only in their schedulistic breakdowns. Ford has tagged along on a few of Fiddleford's trips to repair the deteriorating rigs, and even come out here in his friend's stead, once or twice. Last time it had been during a piano major's midterm presentation, which had been cut short by an implosion in the balcony speaker system. No one had bothered questioning his identity when he showed up, and Ford had spent the afternoon crouched overhead while the performance resumed. Even if the music hadn't been terribly memorable, Ford had found himself impressed by the instrument itself, an unexpectedly beautiful black baby grand that Warbleheim's bored-looking techs had swaddled in a padded covering and wheeled away immediately afterwards.

Is that why they're here? Why Bill had wanted to make sure they came alone? Maybe if you're good I'll play for you sometime, he remembers with a rush of heat. Ford thinks of the two of them out on the stage or tucked into a cramped storage room, shoulder to shoulder on a single piano bench, Bill's fingers on the keys, on Ford's wrist, under the sleeve—

“I know what you're thinking,” Bill says, and Ford's throat clamps shut.

“You do?”

“Mm-hmm!” Bill stoops to rustle though a battered cardboard box, pulling out a single light-bulb, which he waves in Ford's direction. It tinkles lightly, clearly blown out. “And you're right, Fordsy, why would I bring you all this way just for a game of chess?”

“Atmosphere?” suggests Ford, trying not to think about it.

Bill smirks, glancing sideways at Ford in a way that...doesn't help.

“'Atmosphere', he says. Joke away, you're gonna need that sense of humor in a second cos oh boy, do I have some devastating news for you. You ready?”

“What are you talking about?” Dread and curiosity rise in equal measure at the back of Ford's throat.

By now their route has brought them to another locked door, heavy-looking metal with a faded plaque bolted to it.

No Admittance Beyond This Point – Authorized Employees Only

Bill grins. “We,” he says, swiftly unlocking the door and pushing it open to an unlit stairwell. “aren't here to play chess.”

Ford hesitates. “What are we here to do?”

Bill tugs his jacket sleeve, reeling him onward. “C'mon, trust me!”

The stairs go down into a series of dim concrete tunnels below the concert hall. Thin rusted pipes run the length of the walls, hissing steam at their joints. Every now and then they pass rooms that appear to be intended for maintenance or long-term storage; the massive grey cylinders and copper pipes of Warbleheim's boiler system, thick stonelike slabs of block insulation, tangled heaps of music stands, the gutted carcass of an old spotlight. Eventually the rooms become rarer, their contents stranger; huge panes of leaded stained glass, shelves lined with jars of murky yellowish liquid, torn slips of paper that upon closer inspection turn out to be playing cards, just the joker, taken from hundreds of different decks of various shapes, colors, and languages. Before them the tunnels stretch on, but Ford is convinced he and Bill must be well past the footprint of the building they'd started in by now.

“What is all this?” he asks finally. “How far do these tunnels go?”

“Farther than you'd think,” replies Bill.

“Do they go across campus? Is this, do they connect to other buildings?”

“Two other buildings,” confirms Bill meaningfully, jangling the light-bulb he's still carrying for emphasis.

Understanding hits Ford square in the chest. “Beta Delta Theta and the financial aid office.”

“And that's a bingo for the man in the front row!”

“You found, I, this is incredible, do the tunnels follow the exact trajectory of the ley lines?” The confirmation sings through his veins, he has to—he needs his journal, where's his map? “Does this mean the founders of Backupsmore knew about them when this place was built? Or, the walls changed from concrete to stone three turns back, did you see that? Were parts of the tunnels were already here? Were the founders somehow influenced by the energy in the area to build here?” He shakes out the map, scrawls several quick notes in his journal's key.

Bill laughs. “Slow down, IQ, you're gonna pull something in that big brain of yours.”

The momentum of Ford's joyful excitement all but deafens him to the statement. “How many times have you been down here? How much have you explored? Would you describe anything you've seen as 'illustratively unusual'?”

“You really are a force of nature, huh, Fordsy. Let's see!” Bill ticks off on his fingers, “Twice, not including today, as much as I could get into, and I'm trying to show you.”

“As much as you could get to, are there parts of the tunnels that are inaccessible? Are they blocked off, or collapsed? Have you, wait.” Bill's words finally sink in, and Ford pauses. “Trying to show me what?”

“What we're here to do.” The duh is unspoken. “And we're close, now.”

Ford stands slowly, gathering his papers, unable to take his eyes off Bill. He thinks, with an abrupt, exhilarated sort of acceptance, that he wants nothing more right now than to hold Bill's hand and run.

“Okay,” he says.

They go.

#gravity falls #billford #bill cipher #stanford pines #my fic

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vulpinmusings · 4 years ago

Text

Ski’tar and Friends part 20: Show Stoppers of Songbird

This week, Ski’tar, Vemir, and 6 attend the biggest concert event of the year.

Part one Previously Archive

Following our mission to Apostae, we took a couple of days to rest and restock. Vemir decided to get a prosthetic arm to replace the one he’d been missing since before we first met. As he was showing it off to us, we received a rare surprise: actual physical mail. There was an envelope of each of us, and inside were invitations to join Zigvigix in attending a Strawberry Machine-cake concert, one of the biggest entertainment events of the Pact-year. Since it would be a nice change of pace, and because Vemir is a massive closeted fan of the band (he was trying too hard not to look interested through the whole event), we decided to accept the offer.

Our hopes for a relaxing day of no trouble were dashed the morning of the concert, when Historia-7 commed us for a last-minute mission. By happenstance, Historia had tracked one of the mystery people hiding behind Arch-energy Consortium to a private villa attached to Songbird Station, the very venue where SMC was performing. Since Vemir, 6, and I were going to be in the area anyway, Hisroria wanted us to hunt down the man and grill him for everything he knows, and to do so without letting Ziggy know about it. It seems our Shirren friend’s depression over the Scored Stars incident has interacted poorly with some augments he has and put him at a high risk for a stroke if he were to get too stressed by, say, his favorite band’s concert being ruined by shenanigans.

I was very close to refusing to work on a “vacation,” but my friends just agreed to the task and I wasn’t about to leave them hanging.

Songbird Station is built out of an asteroid and probably had a past life as some sort of temple, given the slap-dash way the technology was set up behind the scenes. But I’m getting ahead of myself. As our shuttle was making its final approach, Ziggy showed us a hologram of the friends he’d lost at Scored Stars and revealed his desire to ask Strawberry Machine-cake to put on a public tribute of sorts for them after the show.

The lobby was packed with beings of all descriptions, creating a living sea of pink and red, loud music, and spontaneous dance parties. After making sure Ziggy was properly distracted by the fan activities, 6, Vemir, and I held a quick conference to decide how to go about locating our target, Lansio. I hacked a computer to see if he was on some sort of guest list, but came up empty, so we tried to find someone official-looking to ask. We chose a harried-looking security guard who was posted by the door to the maintenance and station power area, but as we tried to make our way over we got caught up in a dance mob. Well, 6 and I got caught in it. In the name of maintaining cover, we bowed to the mob’s pressure and danced for a bit. Well, 6 danced and won himself a t-shirt. I tripped over myself.

You’d think an Ysoki would be more naturally agile than an android…

There was another momentary detour as I bumped into a tele-view done with a misaligned balance gyro and felt compelled to fix it for the sake of the Ysoki using it to attend the concert remotely. He transferred me some credits for my trouble, so that was a nice bonus.

We reached the security guard as he was arguing with a couple of lashunta about needing to apply pacification mods to their weapons. When the lashunta left, Vemir went up and offered up his sniper rifle for pacification, and 6 and I followed suit with Sixer’s sword and my laspistol. Having thus charmed our way into the guard’s good graces, we asked him if he knew Lansio. He told us Lansio had a villa in the residential section, but didn’t know if he was home.

Right then, the power went out for a couple seconds. When asked, the guard told us that had been happening intermittently in the last few hours and no technicians had gone to check on it yet. Concerned about Ziggy’s health and remembering a similar problem from Elytrio, I convinced the guard to let us into the maintenance area to check the station’s power generator.

After heading through a hallway thick with wires that had been strung onto the walls and ceiling, we entered the reactor room to find three strange, pale figures that were glowing and seemed to have only a passing familiarity with the concept of materiality. For lack of a better identifier, I termed them “Gremlins” for their child-like but innately destructive nature. They were clustered around the reactor, chattering among themselves, until 6 got their attention. They spoke of the reactor as if it were an egg about to hatch, and then one of them came up and poked me. Its finger phased into my chest and I felt something in me change in a most unpleasant way.

I flipped out and shot the gremlin. While my laspistol had been pacified, it still somehow set the thing on fire. It laughed as if being tickled, and its two buddies started to advance on Sixer and Vemir, curious what would happen if they got touched.

We weren’t going to have any of that, of course, but defending ourselves proved difficult because the gremlins kept phasing through things and easily reforming from being sliced or shot through. Toosie managed to hold the first Gremlin’s attention away from me and whatever had changed in me decided to pop out and off me, but Vemir got mutated twice – first with some kind of external and very stinky gland and later with a second set of eyes – and Sixer’s hand was changed into a bio-mechanical claw. The scuffle only ended when one of the Gremlins got the idea of jumping into the reactor and 6 seized the controls to keep the power stable. That gremlin wound up evaporating, and the other two quickly surrendered when I told Toosie to try dragging one of them to the reactor.

The gremlins promised to stop playing around, but said the reactor had already been messed with by someone else and was building up to something. I took over the controls from 6 and took a look at the code. I found a foreign algorithm, but I couldn’t make much sense of it because it involved a lot of magic. What I did manage to decipher revealed a process to vent the atmosphere out of the villa owned by Lansio.

Vemir cut the stinky gland off of himself, but couldn’t do anything about his new eyes despite them being so light-sensitive that he was effectively blind. We guided him back out to the lobby and over to the gift-shop area to buy a bandanna to cover the eyes. We then forded the sea of fans to reach the entrance to the private villa section. Vemir had to shove off an over-enthusiastic collector of SMC merch and I was waylaid by another dance mob and, rather make a further fool of myself, I had Toosie bull through the crowd so I could continue walking. Somebody found that to be a crime worthy of throwing a full can of soda at my head, but I shrugged it off. Vemir then wound up playing taxi for three little snake-like girls for a bit and earned a crystal headdress for his trouble.

The door to the villa area was only blocked by a simple rope and nobody that we passed inside gave us more than a brief glance, so we had no trouble getting to Lansio’s address. Nobody answered my polite knock, but Vemir heard frantic movement inside, so we invited ourselves in.

Lansio was working hurriedly at a laptop, so 6 rushed up and threw him against the wall. I moved up in the android’s wake and checked the computer, quickly determining that it had been rigged to explode. As Toosie and Vemir came in and took up positions, an attack drone like the ones we’d fought and obtained from the bad weapons deal emerged from a hidden spot in the wall.

Lansio drew a cane-sword and tried to attack me, but I blocked the blow with my prosthetic arm and decided to take the laptop to a less busy part of the villa to disarm it. Toosie and 6 busied themselves trying to subdue Lansio and get the wrist-watch I would need to finish my work, while Vemir tore the attack drone apart with his retractable wrist-spike. In short order, Toosie got the watch for me, the drone was disabled, and 6 had thrown Lansio out the back door. I disarmed the laptop’s explosive countermeasures, but the data it held had already been wiped.

6 started to drag Lansio back inside for questioning, until I reminded him that the place might still lose atmosphere at any moment. Vemir handled most of the interrogation. Lansio didn’t know anything about the malicious code and the only name he had for his boss was “the Benefactor,” but it was at least something.

We debated a bit about what to do with Lansio, weighing the risks of leaving him to alert his compatriots to what had occurred against the difficulty of getting him back to the Society without tipping Ziggy off to our mission. Finally, we decided to kick the problem upstairs into Historia’s lap. After we filled her in, she said she had some strings she could pull to have station security handle Lansio for us. She also told us that the malcious magic-code had a degree of artificial intelligence and was trying to escape into the info-sphere. It was currently contained inside the holographic projectors being used for Strawberry Machine-cake’s show, and so long as it was there we would be able to “kill” it by destroying the hologram that it would inhabit.

We rushed back to the theater area and used out Starfinder credentials to get backstage in the hopes of being able to deal with the evil hologram before the show began. Unfortunately, according the band manager, there simply wasn’t time for that and the show simply could not be delayed. Our only option was to battle the hologram on-stage as a pre-show performance, with SMC providing a musical back-drop.

It was the coliseum of Brilliance Station all over again, but there was no other option, so I accepted the holo-costume projectors given to me and walked out with Vemir and 6 to hopefully not make a complete fool of myself.

The malicious code decided to take the form of a giant pink robot armed with a plasma sword and large rifle. When the music started up, the thing struck a pose before engaging us, which was a nice touch.

I opened with a couple of grenades that bounced off and exploded harmlessly, while 6 landed a good shot with his frostbite rifle and Vemir sniped it in the head. The hologram-bot reeled to the beat before momentarily shifting into a tank-like form and unleashing a shockwave of electricity that knocked Toosie over.

As my drone picked itself, up, Vemir and I moved to flank the bot while 6 hacked at it with his sword and got smacked by the large plasma sword in response. Toosie and 6 then hacked at the bot’s feet until it fell to its knees, and Vemir blasted it with his arc pistol, to great effect.

In a desperate position, the hologram raised its rifle and fired in an arc that hit everyone but me, and the Vemir took it out with another arc pistol shot to the head. The hologram exploded in a shower of sparks and a wave of electricity, and the lights went down as the music stopped.

After a moment to raise the audience’s tension, the lights came back up to reveal a large holographic image of Zigvigix’s lost friends, and Strawberry Machine-cake’s lead, Captain Carmine, came out to deliver a moving tribute to those Starfinders lost to Scored Stars. At this point, I figured that Historia had pulled a few more strings than she’d implied to us, for the sake of Ziggy.

Vemir, 6, and I were given an unprompted moment to say something, which we muddled through, and then we quickly got off the stage so the actual show could go on.

We made our way into the audience to join Zigvigix, gave him some vague explanations, and finally got to enjoy the show.

Afterward, the band gave us some of their merchandise along with some actually useful gifts. We had to fend off some reporters looking for details of what had happened before we could get onto out shuttle and return to Absalom Station.

I complained a lot throughout this adventure, but looking back on it now, it wasn’t really that much of a headache. At least, after putting aside the mutations caused by those gremlins.

#ski'tar #Starfinder #Vulpin plays

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 8 years ago

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The one with all the sass

Summary: You want to learn how to drive a manual vehicle, and Bucky offers to teach. Things don’t go smoothly.

Characters: Bucky x Reader Word count: 1,620 Warnings: Language (reader is a potty-mouth)

A/N: Much of this is done conversation style, hopefully it’s easy to follow along.

MASTERLIST

Number 3: Learn how to drive a manual vehicle.

It was on your resolutions list, one of those goals that stubbornly remained in the top three, year after year after year. Every January, you dutifully copied it onto the fresh handwritten note you posted on the mirror in your bedroom, underlining it three times because dammit, this was it, this was the year you would finally succeed.

Six years later, you were once again within sight of the year’s end, having made no progress, except for drawing angry little stick-figures on the offending post-it note (you swore it was mocking you). After overhearing you complain about your inability to tackle this particular task, Bucky had surprisingly volunteered to teach you the basics. Admittedly, you questioned whether this was a good idea. The two of you were well known among…well, everyone…for a disturbing lack of patience with each other. However, if he was willing to lend a hand, who were you to say no.

So here you were, on a bright, cold November morning, sitting in a faded blue ‘68 Ford pick-up Bucky had nostalgically purchased from an estate sale. A massive (and blessedly empty) parking lot stretched in front of you, leaving plenty of open room for mistakes.

Bucky had driven you out, and after swapping places, he now he sat in the passenger seat, you in the drivers. Bouncing a little on the dusty cloth seats, the rusted springs squeaking indignantly, you got yourself comfortable and turned expectantly toward him.

“Alright, what do you do first?” he asked, sounding irritatingly similar to the older brother you never actually had, but always felt certain you would throat punch if he existed.

“First, I push in the clutch to start – ” your confident recitation was immediately cut off.

“Wrong. First you put your seatbelt on.” Bucky said flatly, eyebrows raised.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Alright yes, first I put my seat belt on.” You pulled the shoulder belt down, the lap belt across, and snapped both into place with a sharp click. “Okay, now I push in the clutch –“

“Wrong. Next you check all your mirrors.”

You stared at him. Well this was going to be interesting.

“Seriously? Is this how this lesson is going to work?”

“Yes, because the basics are still important. If you don’t follow the rules, you could die.”

“And we don’t think that’s just the teeniest bit dramatic?”

“No. We don’t.”

You sighed. Bucky Barnes was stubborn as hell, so if this was his approach to teaching, clearly it would be simpler to humour him. But really, when did you ever make things simple?

“Alright fine, safety first. I brought my safety glasses along, so hang on and let me grab those, and should I get out my kneepads and helmet too, or…?”

“Your sass is not appreciated. Fix the mirrors.”

With a dramatic flourish, you checked each side mirror four times, and wiggled the rear-view mirror back and forth for a full 30 seconds, until you were happy. Bucky watched patiently from the passenger seat, hands folded in his lap, a smirk twisting his lips.

Finally you were settled. “Okay. My seatbelt is on, and I can see for miles in every direction. No possibility for sneak attacks from a rogue Prius. Now – I push the clutch in all the way, and start the truck.” You turned the key, the truck spluttering to life, as you turned to him with a grin. “By the way, you never told me I’d be learning on a truck born before the invention of electricity.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you. “If you’re gonna mock her, we can stop this lesson right now.”

“Kidding, kidding, she’s remarkable. A beauty. A testament to the ingenuity of the historic American manufacturing machine.”

“I’m sorry, remind me what I said about sass?”

“That you love it and I’m adorable? No? Sorry. Anyway, so now I put it into first.” You grasped the stick and maneuverer from neutral into first gear, Bucky visibly flinching at the grinding squeal the gears make as they catch.

“When you’re done stripping the gears, slowly let out the clutch and gently press the gas at the same time.”

Tossing an annoyed glance in his direction, you gripped the wheel tightly and slowly swapped the pressure, left leg to right, lightly toeing the gas pedal. With an almighty lurch, the truck leapt forward and died.

Christ. You could feel your earlier confidence rapidly leaving the building. Bucky just grinned, shaking his head. “It’s okay, common mistake. Try again.”

Dropping back into neutral, it took another three attempts to get the truck into first gear and actually moving forward.

Whooping excitedly, you gave a little wiggle in the seat as you rolled forward, picking up speed. “Fuck yeah, I’ve totally got this.”

“Alright speed racer, simmer down.” Bucky noted dryly. “You’ve gone 15 feet. Give it a little more gas, so you can switch into second.”

The excitement of momentary success briefly overshadowed perspective, and your foot stomped down on the gas pedal, throwing the truck forward and forcing your seatbelt to bite into your shoulder. Mercifully, you managed to keep it from stalling again, but suddenly you’re going faster. Your heart jumped, hammering in your ears and you felt sweat prickle on your forehead.

“Alright, I can smell the clutch burning, stop riding it.”

“You stop riding it!”

“What? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“You don’t make sense!

“What??”

“Shit, I don’t fucking know, I’m panicking! How do I not ride the clutch?” You took your hands off the wheel briefly, putting air-quotes around the phrase “ride the clutch” and Bucky’s voice rose several octaves as he shot a hand out to take the wheel.

“What the hell are you doing, always keep your hands on the wheel! Ten and two at all times!”

Huffing loudly you slapped his hand away and took back control, his panic causing your nerves to snap, and your voice sharpened in response. “Bucky, it’s an empty parking lot, what the hell do you think will happen?”

Bucky looked nervously around – true, it was huge and empty, although there was a row of parking curbs and a couple shopping carts strewn about, all which suddenly became rather ominous targets. “I don’t know, a fiery crash and a slow burning death maybe?”

You roll your eyes, the sarcasm flooding your voice as the conversation between you both escalated. “Oh look, you’re hilarious. Could you maybe try to be a bigger drama queen?”

“I’m not being dramatic, I’m being realistic. Statistically the odds of dying in a car crash are higher – ”

“For fuck’s sake, please stop speaking, unless you can pull – out of your ass please – the statistics for total number of people who died of boredom waiting for the world’s oldest truck to go faster than a speeding snail.”

Neither of you are paying attention to the landscape at this point, although the truck continued to move along at a decent pace, choosing instead to sling colourful insults at each other, growing more and more childish with each turn of phrase. With an exasperated groan (following your standard ‘that’s what she said’ response), Bucky glanced out the window and in the next moment, threw out a metal hand to your left leg, gripping your knee and yanking it toward him, effectively sweeping both feet away from the pedals. The truck jerked to an immediate stop, shuddering before falling silent.

In the silence you freeze, panting slightly, before whipping around angrily. “What the actual fuck Bucky Barnes?! I had it under control, it was a god damn parking curb, what did you think would –” your rant is just starting to build up steam, but doesn’t get any further.

With a thoroughly frustrated growl, Bucky lunged forward, smashing his lips into yours. A smart way to shut you up, you had to admit. Your response was immediate and enthusiastic, heart racing for a new reason entirely, shivering slightly as Bucky’s beard scrapes along your cheek when he turns toward you. With a tangle of hands and tongues, you fought each other for control, before he pulled back to take a breath, resting his forehead against yours, and leaving you both slightly shocked at the turn of events.

“About fucking time,” you whisper. “I swear to god, you’ve been pushing my buttons for far too long without delivering. If I had known I needed to crash your truck to get a response, I would have tried that sooner,” your fingers twisted in his hair, holding him a breath away. “Did you see your life flash before your eyes?”

Bucky snorts, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “I swear to god woman, your fucking mouth,” he mutters with a grin, his hand still holding tight to your knee. “I can think of fifty better uses for it, beyond the ridiculous amount of sass and swearing you seem to have on autopilot. Maybe we head back and agree a few alternatives.”

You’re inclined to agree, it seems like the only logical solution considering you nearly died today, but there’s one minor issue. “I still can’t drive a manual. What the hell happens if I go somewhere and this is the only thing available? What am I supposed to do then?”

Bucky reaches to release your seat-belt and wraps an arm around you, easily dragging you across his lap (pausing a moment to give you a suggestive look), before depositing you in the passenger seat and sliding himself behind the wheel. Effortlessly, he starts the truck, flicks the stick into first, and smoothly takes off, before throwing you a cheeky grin. “I’ll teach you how to ride a bicycle.”

You glare at him.

“By the way baby – put your seat-belt on.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky #bucky barnes

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raygoodwinbaphotographyjournal3 · 5 years ago

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PHOT301 - Mileage May Vary - Research and Influences

Influence is a funny thing. Looking at other’s work has always seemed odd to me as it comes across as you’re ingesting what they create, and then recreating it. To me, it seems somewhat disingenuous to take someone else’s work and make it your own, as it doesn’t seem entirely conducive to create a body of work. Perhaps there’s a disconnect between looking at work, and being influenced by it. Because of this, I don’t tend to look at other photographers work nowadays. The ways that I ingest photographers is usually online, with social media applications - but sometimes I stumble across words of wisdom with passing visiting practitioners such as Nicholas J.R White or Jack Latham. As for social media, its people such as Vlad Tretiak. And past projects such Chris Dorley-Brown’s “Driver’s in the 1980′s”.

How do I get inspired? This, is the million dollar question. Inspiration has been always a stumbling block when it comes to my work: I don’t like looking at other people’s work and taking it and I rarely find work that truly resonates with me. I have always found it easier to shoot more often and see where my eye takes me. One could say that my eye is influenced by what I have ingested, and that could potentially be the case. The other thing that initially inspires me is the contextuality of my practice, which is usually philosophically based with some political undertones. My previous work played a lot on my own experiences living in a modern capitalist society - PHOT201 featured a lot of my own personal feelings on alienation/estrangement, and PHOT102 used my interests of Brutalism. In terms of PHOT301, this is spearheaded by the intrigue of the system that we live in, the 2008 Financial Crisis and the then Labour Government’s 2009 Scrappage Scheme. As well as this, there is the personal appreciation for the everyday vehicle. Mentioned in the post in the first shoot, I talk about how I grew to appreciate the car that the layman use on a day-to-day basis. Cars of a certain age were purged once the Labour Government unveiled the scheme to rid the roads of ageing vehicles, replacing them with newer, safer and more environmentally friendly options.

This scheme was set after the 2008 financial crisis, where banks were allowed to trade through a deregulated system, demanding mortgage schemes which they couldn’t necessarily pay back. This lead to banks like Northern Rock collapsing, which returned to private ownership, but dissolved in 2012. The global financial crisis of 2008 led to a mass recession across the western world, causing the most significant financial crisis since the great depression. In the 2009 budget, the Labour government unveiled the VSS as an incentive for motorists to trade their old car, get a discount, and get a brand new car which offers greater safety, reliability and environmentalism. Governmental information regarding the scheme is easily accessible on the internet, and can be see - https://www.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/357672/bis-foi-2014-20775-scrapped-vehicles-supporting-data.csv/preview .

With this link, one is able to download an Excel file which details all of the vehicles scrapped in 2009. This covers everyday cars of the day like the Rover 214 (of which 2045 were scrapped), as well as odd manufacturers such as Lada’s Riva, where 7 were scrapped. In total, 392227 cars were scrapped in total, according to the spreadsheet in 2009. The document can be seen here - https://drive.google.com/open?id=1azLGX99mmsL79kbA8qnUuV_C8_k3fI--

Meaning, the Government managed to get rid of a number not too far off of half a million undesirable vehicles from the scheme alone. That being said, there are some discrepancies within the document, such as potential duplicates and spelling errors which could hamper the end result.

Thankfully, the ever helpful Government have released a document with the results which states that there is some variability, as the information was collected by the manufactures instead of the Government itself for the VSS (Vehicle Scrappage Scheme). These numbers are fascinating to me - browsing the document also brought up some interesting results. A lot of the manufacturers that are/were stationed in the U.K, such as Ford, Nissan, Peugeot and Vauxhall recorded higher numbers compared to manufacturers such as Mercedes or Volvo for example. This means, there is some potential correlation between vehicle manufacturer location and scrappage numbers, as well as the type of manufacturer that’s marketed. Higher market vehicles, such as Mercedes again saw lower numbers in general, compared to a more consumer based manufacturer such as Toyota. Obviously, this would make sense are Toyota is more of an accessible option compared to Mercedes.

Top 5 Scrapped cars from 2009/2010

Ford Fiesta - 13622

Nissan Micra - 11808

Vauxhall Corsa - 10453

Volkswagen Polo - 8432

Vauxhall Astra - 8066

(info provided with the VSS Spreadsheet linked above)

This is intrinsically fascinating to me, as it puts into perspective the number of vehicles that were rid within the period of the scheme. Despite the high number of scrapped cars, many of these models still roam our streets. There is a great website titled ‘https://www.howmanyleft.co.uk/’, which collates Governmental data on cars that are left on our roads. The website can be used to search models of cars that are still being used today, which details cars that are being used on the road, as well as cars that have been SORN. For example, we saw that 2045 Rover 214s were scrapped in 2009. Today, there are only 155 left on the road, with 189 SORN (not on the road). The graph the website offers shows the rapid decline in 2009, correlating with the VSS. This can also be used to see the gradual decline of the vehicle’s usability, whether that’s due to owners discarding it or replacing it.

This information spearheads the project, mostly in it’s entirety. This projects sets to document what’s left behind from the VSS, as well as the vehicles themselves. Each one is different despite it being made identical in the factory with robots and humans. Each and every car has been used differently by different people, and this shows different ways in which it has been worn and battle torn. These can take the form of scrapes, dents and missing pieces of trim - which can sometimes be enough for one to scrap their car. Despite the scheme being scrapped in itself in 2010, VSSs are still being employed by manufacturers and website on the internet. This means that these cars aren’t all that safe after all. They might have missed the initial barrage of time, and the Government’s scheme, but at any moment they could be still given into the dealership and discarded, being recycled into a fancy washing machine or a bean tin. Manufacturers such as Citroen and Vauxhall still offer such schemes, with money-off incentives on new models, as well as a scheme in London set by Sadiq Khan, with vehicles such as mini vans and mopeds to be scrapped to reduce carbon emissions in London, with an ultra low emission zone in London by October 2021 (TfL, 2019).

There is also a somewhat philosophical aspect to this body of work, also. Hauntology has risen in popularity within the last decade, with Mark Fisher potentially reviving it into the focus of conversation with his easily accessible writing. At first, I found Derrida’s original explanations absolutely horrid to understand. His writing (to me, at least) was often confusing and convoluted. Thankfully, Fisher’s writing in Ghosts of my Life and What is Hauntology offer realistic and easily understandable explanations on what Hauntology really is, and how it’s applicable to our contemporary zeitgeist. It can really be distilled into ‘a time out of joint’ (p.21. Fisher. M. Ghosts of My Life). Hauntology is really the philosophy of the past haunting the present. Derrida links Communism being a spectre on western Capitalism. This, can be applied to almost anything within popular culture, in addition our world now. Fisher also mentions our futures, due to our mixture of past melding with our current times. Things have been increasing harder to see what the future really is, as our times become more anachronistic. This all plays into my work, in terms of subject and what it has been taken on. The cars themselves are inherently anachronistic, as they belong from a different time period. And, the images themselves have been taken on cameras that should, in essence, be extinct - hence digital photography has taken the spotlight in contemporary image making.

Although, film photography certainly is a spectre hanging over digital photographer, and offers up a form of spectral nature of itself. Yet, there is still a place and a market for analogue photography, despite companies either discontinuing their stock or raising prices. The rationale of shooting film is purely a personal choice. It isn’t because I think it’s better than digital, it’s because I enjoy the tactility of the equipment, and the process of scanning in a physical photograph. There are so many more nuances and variables that can’t be corrected once it has been taken, and can only really be corrected once it has been digitised with a scanner. It may even defeat the point when an analogue image is digitised, as the scanner is interpreting the tones and colours of the film with its processing and software - scanning with different scanners can vary everything about the film. I found this out when I bought my own Canoscan 9000F MKii in first year, and there is a massive quality difference between the Canoscan and my favourite scanner: the Epson V850 Pro. This, of course is due to the large price difference and aim towards the demographic. The Canoscan is aimed purely at the enthusiast who needs a scanner, and might potentially need to scan the odd roll of film. The Epson is of course aimed more towards the professional, with the increase in scan quality and scanning options. With this, there are quality differences, with the Epson scanning a lot flatter, with increased dynamic range, compared to the Canoscan’s odd colour cast and contrast increase.

Visual Inspiration

Vlad Tretiak - A Small Town in Siberia II

As mentioned before, I find visual inspiration often hard to come across, with a feeling of nihilism towards looking at photographers of the past. Many copy established photographers which to me, renders the image useless as you’re just recycling someone else’s project or aesthetic. I do feel that it’s good to look at photographers and take notes from what they create, but not totally rip off what they have already done. The biggest inspiration for my work at the moment is a little known photographer based in Russia, called Vlad Tretiak. He is a Russian based photographer and graphic designer. His work centres around parked cars in the dusk hours, with Tretiak often utilising street lights to enhance the aesthetic of the image. The cars he documents aren't brand new offerings from the automotive conglomerates; they're often bruised Ladas and Japanese obscurities, as well as documenting the spaces that these cars occupy.

The project doesn't just focus on the cars, but also the small town in Siberia, which is Kemerovo - a town closer to China than Moscow. The landscape is often ridden with Siberian snow and the town's neon lights creates an almost vaporwave feel to his work. They're also incredibly cinematic, with an almost tangible look and feel. Tretiak shoots mainly on a Pentacon Six or a Mamiya C33, often with expired film, such as using Kodak Aerocolour III; which has long since been expired. This gives Tretiak's work a hauntological aspect, as he is shooting scenes with film that shouldn't exist in this time (theoretically). With this, it creates a haunted present, as it's presented on a format that is from another time period - unlike shooting fresh film which has been produced in the contemporary sense, but uses the same formula.

All of these aspects makes Tretiak a key piece of research for Mileage May Vary, as it shares a lot of the same themes and aspects as mine. The biggest thing I can learn from A Small Town in Siberia II, is the use of lighting. My previous analogue night photography attempt was lacklustre purely due to the light, as well as not exposing the film for long enough to get some of the shadow detail. I do plan on shooting on some expired film for my project, and as older film usually needs longer to expose, this will lengthen the night exposures exponentially. Yet, Tretiak manages to keep these images looking crisp, clean and clinical. The images are incredibly sharp and features such a deep tonality. There aren’t many practitioners that when I look upon their work, I think to myself that this is what I want to be striving for. a lot of the time, I blankly gaze at work and nothing works for me, but there is something about how Tretiak manages to capture the scene, isolate the subject and use natural, and artificial light to his advantage. The scenes are also so mundane to the layman, as they are just Ladas being photographed in their natural environment in Russia.

This also has another link to Hauntology, as these cars are haunted by the spectre of Communism itself. They were born from the CCCP, lived through the state and now survive in a Capitalist Russia, and then they are documented on a process which has been superseded by a digital process. They’re scenes haunted by Communism, taken by a haunted process. It makes one think how omnipresent Hauntology really is, and this is the reality that we live in. It also makes me think that I have always had links to the CCCP and Hauntology without me really knowing. I have managed to document Brutalist structures and things of the past, but in the present; but its only now that I am able to see what I have been doing and it’s contexts.

Below, is a number of Tretiak’s images from that project which I really enjoy.

Chris Dorley - Brown - Drivers in the 1980′s

I came across Dorley-Brown’s work due to Jack Latham recommending his project to me to look at for MMV. The project in question is Drivers in the 1980′s; a documentation of drivers stuck in East London traffic jams in the summer months during the 80′s. Dorley-Brown initially wanted to document the privatisation of Rolls Royce, but instead chose to photograph the faces of the traffic jams of Thatcher’s Britain. For me, its a very humanising project to look upon, and feels slightly odd enjoying a body of work which features actual people. I often feel slightly alienated to look at work with people in them, as I don’t really have any or no connection to the subject. Yet, a lot of the images within this project feel very candid and Cartier-Bresson-esque in terms of their decisive moment feel. That being said, some of the subjects have noticed Dorley-Brown and posed for the camera, knowing they will be photographed and changed their pose ala-Barthes.

Speaking of Barthes, Dorley-Brown’s work feature both studium and punctum. The studium is the subject, and something about it that has jumped out to Dorley-Brown, and the punctum is the end result of that studium. And the end result is rather aesthetically pleasing for what is essentially a portrait of the urban environment.

There is an immediate aesthetic to these images that just shout out 1980′s, purely because of the tones and colours. There is something about these aspects of which I enjoy, and I am not entirely sure why that is. Perhaps its linked to nostalgia, as these was only taken 10 years before I was a small child, and I can remember seeing photographs in a similar style to these. Either that, or its the cars included in the photographs, which I used to see when I was younger and feel nostalgic about seeing; or that I have fallen for the Capitalist ploy to sell me nostalgia of the 1980′s despite never actually experiencing it first hand. There must be something with the emulsions used at the times, causing these bold, yet washed out colours. All of these photographs were taken with either a Rolleiflex 3.5 or a Mamiya C33 (as did Tretiak in ASTiSii). In addition, eight rolls of film were shot in a space of six hours, with a total of 162 photographs. Dorley-Brown is noted in saying about shooting the project:

“They are both waist-level finders so that put me at driver level and helped me be a bit more invisible,” he wrote via email. “People are never sure with those viewfinders whether you are looking at them or not so it gives you some space to work without appearing too obtrusive.”

This gives one insight in the creation of the work, and the use of a TLR camera. They are something that I really want to love, but hate using. Looking down at the viewfinder always feels very unnatural to me, and the inverted movements always throw me off. However, this hasn’t stopped me looking at purchasing a Mamiya C33 or equivalent down the line. Perhaps I will learn to love TLRs, just like I learned to love square format images, and seeing as the C33 is 6x6, its another hurdle to overcome.

Franck Bohbot - Parked Cars

Bohbot is a French born photographer and film maker based in New York. His images offer a cinematic and meticulous approach to image making. They also offer a certain atmosphere that juxtaposes the reality of the day to day. I will be focusing on Bohbot’s ‘Parked Cars’ project. I used Bohbot during the Economy Exhibition, as he used a very similar composition style to what I was already doing. I found the typography of his images very Becher-esque and visually intriguing, as its interesting to see a lot of cars presented like this.

Parked car, Parkslope #1 Brooklyn, NY, 2013

Parked car, Gowanus #5, Brooklyn, NY, 2014

Parked Car, Gowanus #6, Brooklyn

Untitled

Bohbot offers an interesting take on a typographic style of automotive photography. It manages to capture the vehicle, as well as the surrounding space around it. They often tell us things about the area as well, just like the state of the economy and the grade of social status of the occupants. The photographs also tell us what kind of life the vehicles have lead. Just like the Camaro Iroc-Z above, it has discoloured/faded panels. This could mean they have been replaced because its had a collision, or they have just faded over time. Red paint has a habit of doing that as the wavelengths absorb more light compared to other colours, and the UV light degrades the paint faster (oh my previous life as a mechanic and body repairer). This can also be seen on the Caprice Classic at the top, as that has heavily faded and also started to rust around the wheel arches. These elements especially reflect on what I am doing, and focusing on the cars that have aged and seen some years of use. These scrapes and scars can tell a story of what the vehicle has gone through, and shows that its just a mode of transport that someone uses.

Since looking at Bohbot’s work in first year, it has been updated with more detailed and less typographic images. An example is of the Pontiac GTO’s rear lights/badge. Just like my current work, it incorporates a more detailed look at the wear and tear of the vehicle, in addition to using a shallow DOF to isolate the subject.

A Coda

Being inspired and influenced by practitioners is something I find that’s hot anc cold. Quite often, I rarely find photographers that I really get and understand. It seems all too often I blankly stare at ones work and it doesn’t do a thing for me, and I tend to find it easier to just go out and shoot, without any prior research to see where my creative mind is at. Although, I do find that sometimes, one does need to ingest other’s work and get some insight into how they create that work - whether that is due to the camera or film they have used, or the way that they have composed and taken the photograph. Of course, this can be a valuable asset to the photographer to gain insight into how to make a photograph just that little bit better, or something to avoid if they haven’t executed it properly. With Tretiak, Dorley-Brown and Bohbot, they have certainly informed and influenced how I make my work. I enjoy all of their images, and find it fascinating how they actually make their work, as well as the context within them. Yet, these projects seem different, and oh so similar at the same time. Tretiak is documenting the vehicles that lay dormant where he resides, and Dorley-Brown documents similarly dormant cars, but in the hustle and bustle of the nation’s capital. Finally, Bohbot documents the dormant and parked cars in Brooklyn, where the social and economic background is vastly different to the Manhattan setting that most people think of when New York is mentioned. All of these play a key roll in my work, and are useful to further my practice.

I also find its key to have some contextual backing to the work. All the way back in PHOT202, I ditched anything contextual and focused on the aesthetic of the photograph. This wasn’t a great idea, as it totally sabotaged my grades and was harshly scrutinised - deservedly so. Just like a broken record, I repeat to say that I hated PHOT202 and it’s outcome. Now, I am creating work that I am proud to be attributed to and willing to progress with. MMV is a project that feels that it will last me a long time, as previous projects felt as if they died as soon as they were handed in and never felt as personal as they were portrayed to be. But somehow, MMV feels as if I can keep this project going, even past university is over for me. Perhaps this is because its something that I want to be creating, rather than interpreting a brief and making something fit with brute force.

Bibliography

Behance, (2019). A Small Town in Siberia II. Behance. [Online]. Available at https://www.behance.net/gallery/81633539/A-Small-Town-in-Siberia-II. [Accessed on 01/12/2019]

Franck Bohbot’s Portfolio. (2019). Franck Bohbot’s Portfolio - Parked cars | 2013-2015. [online] Available at: http://www.franckbohbot.com/parked-cars [Accessed 1 Dec. 2019].

Franck Bohbot’s Portfolio. (2019). Franck Bohbot’s Portfolio - Parked cars | 2013-2015. [online] Available at: http://www.franckbohbot.com/parked-cars#e-5 [Accessed 1 Dec. 2019].

Franck Bohbot’s Portfolio. (2019). Franck Bohbot’s Portfolio - Parked cars | 2013-2015. [online] Available at: http://www.franckbohbot.com/parked-cars#e-35 [Accessed 1 Dec. 2019].

Franck Bohbot’s Portfolio. (2019). Franck Bohbot’s Portfolio - Parked cars | 2013-2015. [online] Available at: http://www.franckbohbot.com/parked-cars#e-8 [Accessed 1 Dec. 2019].

Franck Bohbot’s Portfolio. (2019). Franck Bohbot’s Portfolio - Parked cars | 2013-2015. [online] Available at: https://www.franckbohbot.com/6914744-parked-cars#e-24 [Accessed 1 Dec. 2019]

Rosenberg, D., (2015). Being Stuck in Traffic Never Looked So Good. Slate. [Online]. Available at https://slate.com/culture/2015/06/chris-dorley-brown-drivers-in-the-1980s-is-a-look-back-at-london-car-culture-photos.html. [Accessed on 14/01/2020]

Fisher, M., (2014). Ghosts of My Life: Writings on Depression, Hauntology and Lost Futures. John Hunt Publishing (p.21.)

Jones, M., (2016). Angry drivers stuck in London traffic during the Eighties. British GQ. [Online]. Available at https://www.gq-magazine.co.uk/article/drivers-1980s-book-london-hoxton-press. [Accessed on 14/01/2020]

Transport for London, and Matters, E. J., (no date). ULEZ Car and motorcycle scrappage scheme. [Online]. Available at https://tfl.gov.uk/modes/driving/ultra-low-emission-zone/car-and-motorcycle-scrappage-scheme. [Accessed on 08/01/2020]

#PHOT301

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journalxxx · 7 years ago

Text

Awesome And Emotional Multichapter Fics That I Will Never Write - 1

Stan and Ford learn of this far-off, mysterious cave which is feared by the indigenous population because whoever dares to explore it never comes back. If it smells like trouble, they obviously have to check it out. They take off well equipped, with the proper clothes and weapons and tools and even oxygen supplies. It turns out that was a smart choice, because at some point the atmosphere in the cave suddenly turns almost unbreathable, with oxygen level barely sufficient to stay conscious, and they have to put masks on to keep going. Other than that, the cave is pretty much unremarkable, until suddenly a sneaky face-hugger-like monster thingy downs on Ford from the ceiling and almost eats his face off, destroying his mask.

And since it would be far too easy to just let them back-track to the exit from there, let's say it happens right next to a deep crevice which is conveniently not high enough for the fall to kill or incapacitate them, but it is steep enough to prevent them from climbing back up. The facehugger makes it rather unsafe for them to just wait there for the locals to get worried about them, so onwards it must be, in the remote hypothesis that there might be a secondary exit somewhere. The problem is obviously the atmosphere, which isn't ideal for heavy physical activity on Ford's part. Stan insists on sharing his supply, which Ford declines because, due to varied atmospheres he's had to adapt to in different dimension, he's kind of used at being short on breath, and he also has those fancy breathing techniques of his that help him recover more quickly and stay more level-headed than Stan would, not to mention the fact that the more time they spend messing the equipment and arguing about this whole thing, the more air they waste, the more they get distracted and expose themselves to further attacks, yada yada, soon enough Stan grumpily accepts to keep his mask and they start moving. It kind of works at first, but obviously, as time goes on, they need to stop more frequently and at length for Ford to catch his breath, even if he begrudgingly accepts to take a few lungfuls of Stan's air a couple of times. At a certain point Ford, one measured sentence after another, suggests that Stan should leave him behind and come back for him later, once he's found help. Their oxygen supply is limited and they have no idea how far the exit may be, if there even is one, and whether the oxygen levels in the atmosphere might drop even lower before they get to it. If he stops and waits there, Ford should be able to remain awake and vigilant enough to defend himself from any potential attacks, but if they both keep going and run out of air in a more dire environment that causes them both to faint, they're both as well as eaten. It's a sensible suggestion and Stan's obvious reply goes along the lines of 'Fuck you, I'm not leaving you here alone' Ford doesn't have the mental and physical strenght to go against Stan's stubborness so fine, they keep going a bit further, until Ford straight up blacks out and Stan needs to hoist him on his shoulders and bodily drag him forwards. Now, since I'm more of a psychological thriller fan than a horror junkie, I'm gonna toss away the face-hugger like the overused cliche plot device it was and decide that, I don't know, it choked on the plastic and died, I don't care, it won't appear again. But I do invite you to think about Stan's massive stress during the next hour or so. Eyes and ears peeled at the tiniest noise, knowing that if the thing attacks, he probably won't even time to drop Ford and reach for the gun before he gets his face eaten. Trying to give his mask to Ford a couple of times, but realizing that, holy fuck, how did Ford even stay awake that long, the air is so suffocating that one minute without the mask is enough to get him black bubbles in his vision. Finding out that indeed, he can't afford to give the mask to Ford for longer than a handful of seconds at a time, because he would probably faint, and that would be it. Keepins the mask for himself for the sake of moving forward, and hating himself for it, for every time he mocked Ford's hippie yoga sessions and every goddamn cigarette he smoked. Keeping Ford's face close enough to his neck so that he would notice, hopefully, if he were to stop breathing at some point, because he can't check every goddamn minute if he's still doing it, or it'll take them forever to reach the exit, which is totally just past the next corner, right? He almost can't believe when finally, finally, a faint glimmer appears somewhere in front of them, and he almost drops Ford on the spot to check on him and slap him awake or something. But no, no, come on, what if the alien thingy attacks them right there and then when they are almost safe, wouldn't that be lame as fuck. Besides, Ford's probably good, if the exit is that close, the atmosphere must have balanced out some time ago, and he's still breathing, so all good right? All good, definitely, absolutely. So he just keeps dragging him for another handful of painstakingly slow minutes, until they can finally tumble in the grass at a reasonable distance from the entrance. For good measure and for Stan's own peace of mind, considering there's still a surprising amount of air in Stan's tank and that they're in some hellishly hot and damp tropical place where even mosquitos sweat, Stan jams the mask on Ford's face while he tries to poke him awake. Which Ford eventually does shortly afterwards, gaping around himself in disbelief looking all like 'holy shit, how deep did we get, don't tell me there really are dinosaurs down here' Then a beautifully heartwarming conversation follows, along the lines of 'wait what, you dragged me all the way out?' 'no, I gave the alien my beefy jerky and he called a taxi for us, turns out they're really nice. Shut the fuck up and breathe, you fuckface' 'jfc that was such a poor idea, you burnt through the oxygen supply much more quickly and advanced much more slowly, if the exit had been further-' 'jfc I should have choked you in your sleep when I had the chance" Eventually Stan manages to glare Ford into silence and. If we assume this is one of those delightful pre-stancest scenarios. This is exactly the moment where silence falls, and they don't really have anything else to do but stare at each other and realize how close they got to disaster and feel in general very awkward and weird. And Stan is just kneeling there, glancing around to make sure nothing is creeping on them, feeling a ridiculous amount of relief just from seeing Ford breathing calmly while laying limply on the ground, and if that doesn't mean that his brother is a goddamn handful of a problem he doesn't know what does. Ultimately, they go back to the ship and Ford immediately starts making plans on how to eradicate the nasty creature safely. Something which Stan isn't exactly enthusiastic about. An argument easily arises, with Ford obviously wanting to do The Right Thing and free the village from the dangerous cave dweller and Stan, yeah, getting that, but also wanting to establish some firm ground rules, first of all no more self-sacrifing bullshit talk, for any reason. Whatever retort Ford might have regarding tactics and smart use of resources gets cut off when Stan bursts out with the classic 'BECAUSE I'D RATHER DIE THAN LOSE YOU FOR THE THIRD TIME, YOU MOTHERFUCKING IDIOT' trump card that. Kind of guts Ford and opens the way to some long-needed heart-to-heart talk that will eventually lead to smooching and. You know the drill. The end.

#stancest

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themastercylinder · 6 years ago

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SUMMARY

In the distant future, at a genetic research station located on the remote desert planet of Xarbia, a research team has created an experimental lifeform they have designated “Subject 20”. This lifeform was built out of the synthetic DNA strain, “Proto B”, and was intended to stave off a galaxy-wide food crisis. However, Subject 20 mutates rapidly and uncontrollably and kills all of the laboratory subject animals before cocooning itself within an examination booth. After Subject 20 hatches from its cocoon, it begins killing the personnel at the station, starting with the lab tech charged with cleansing the subject lab of the dead animal test subjects.

Professional troubleshooter Mike Colby, accompanied by his robot assistant SAM-104, is called in to investigate the problem. After Colby settles in, his decision to terminate Subject 20 to prevent further deaths is met with research-minded secrecy and resistance. The staff of the station includes the head of research, Gordon Hauser, his assistant Barbara Glaser, lab assistant Tracy Baxter, the station head of security and Cal Timbergen, the chief of bacteriology.

As Subject 20 continues to kill most of the station crew, the reason for the deception is revealed. Subject 20’s genetic design incorporates human DNA, and its method of killing is to inject its prey with the Proto B DNA strain which then proceeds to remove all genetic differences within specific cells. The result is that the victim’s living body slowly erodes into gelatinous pile of pure protein which Subject 20 consumes for sustenance. After its final mutation, where the creature evolves into a huge insect-like being with a large mouth full of sharp teeth, the creature is slain when it eats Cal’s cancer-ridden liver, its body genetically self-destructing from within. Mike and Tracy are the only survivors.

DEVELOPMENT

FORBIDDEN WORLD is the proving ground for first-time director Alan Holzman, another in a long line of Corman’s protégés (including Francis Ford Coppola, Peter Bogdanovich and Martin Scorsese). Holzman put together Corman’s theatrical trailers for the last couple of years, and like Joe Dante, another Corman promoted editor, asked for a chance to direct. Sets used in filming GALAXY OF TERROR were still standing and camera equipment was not due back at the rental outlet till the end of the week, so Corman agreed. “Show me what you can do in one day,” he said. Frantically, Holzman convinced character actor Jesse Vint to don a mothballed uniform, came up with a make-shift script overnight, incorporating left-over footage of dog-fight effects from BATTLE BEYOND THE STARS and enthusiastically completed an incredible 94 set-ups in one day. With his trailer experience, Holzman then edited the footage into an action sequence which Corman adjudged so accomplished that he not only gave Holzman his chance to direct. A few months later, using a screenplay by Tim Curnen based loosely on a story by New World marketing whiz Jim Wynorski, Holzman went to work on FORBIDDEN WORLD, using the space battle as the film’s exciting pre-credit sequence. The film was shot on a break-neck 20-day schedule for under $1 million, and it displays every penny of its budget right up on the screen.

Tim Curnen’s screenplay of a constantly evolving mutant on the prowl in a remote scientific outpost on the planet Zarbia is from a story by New World publicist Jim Wynorski and R.J. Robertson. Both acknowledge ALIEN and THE THING as “inspiration.”

The project actually began about 3 years ago when the motion picture ALIEN was making so many bucks at the boxoffice. Jim Wynoroski was approached by a producer who wanted to make another picture just like ALIEN so Wynoroski & his friend Robertson cooked up a 10 page treatment that Wynoroski titled MUTANT.

“My first concern,” said Robertson, “was getting our plot as far away from ALIEN as possible while maintaining the elements which had made it popular in the first place.”

The essential elements, as Robertson saw it, were an isolated group of people who were being murdered by a particularly unappealing monster. Wynoroski & Robertson’s original story was set on a lunar base near the end of the century. A group of scientists are working on an experiment to speed up the evolutionary process with the ultimate goal of allowing humanity to function in alien environments without the need of life support systems. (This proved to be a good idea since in the movie the monster attaches itself to the base’s life support system at one point in the story. That way the humans couldn’t kill the monster without killing themselves.)

A beautiful view of the model showing the outside of the research station.

One of the experimental subjects, a laboratory mouse, succeeds in adapting to various atmospheres. A little too successful for after the little critter consumes all of the other test animals in the lab it not only is able to absorb the minds & memories of its victims but also takes on whatever physical characteristics it needs to survive. After eating a cat the mouse can see in the dark. After digesting a dog it has acquired a keen sense of smell. A monkey gives it agility. The scientists are unable to capture the thing and eventually it consumes one of the technicians. From that point on, the remaining scientists battle the creature for control of the lunar base & their lives.

Unfortunately, the producer who asked for the treatment lost interest in the project, “You get used to that sort of thing.” Robertson said with a wry grin. “I guess producers work on the assumption that you’re so grateful to get a chance to break into the motion picture industry that you’ll put up with treatment that you’d never accept in any other line of endeavor.” So MUTANT met a quick death, or so Robertson & Wynoroski thought.

Building the cocoon for the Mutant in FORBIDDEN WORLD (1982

Two years later Roger Corman, president of New World Pictures, was looking around for another outer space type movie. Jim Wynoroski in the meantime has become the advertising director for New World Pictures. So he dusts off the old MUTANT treatment and hands it to Corman, who appreciates the commercial potential. Another writer was brought in to finish a script.

When Robertson saw the completed motion picture at a sneak preview he was surprised that the ending of the film was neither the one from the original treatment nor the clever ending of the screenplay in which the creature was treated like a bacteria, was given an injection of penicillin and blew up & burst like a balloon. It was completely different and we won’t spoil anything by revealing it here.

The film is now about a group of scientists working on developing a new source of synthetic food on an outpost on planet Xarbia. One of the scientists decides to try a little experiment of his own. He takes a new type of protein that grows wild on the planet and splices it together with human sperm which he then injects into a female volunteer who must have also short-circuited for a few minutes. They don’t have long to wait for the results. In 2 weeks the offspring is born. It immediately kills its mother and then goes into hiding inside a cocoon. Everyone concludes that since the new life form is inside a shell, it is therefore harmless. It is quite obvious that these scientists are completely ignorant of sci-fi literature or motion pictures for no sooner have they ceased to concern themselves with the creature than it emerges from its shell, stronger & more deadly than before. One by one the scientists fall prey to the clever creature.

Draft of the 2nd stage of the MUTANT monster by Jim Shaw

BEHIND THE SCENES

Most of FORBIDDEN WORLD’s live-action filming was done right at the Venice Studio, which meant that as the camera was rolling on one setup, another area of the stage was being struck, repainted and or redressed. Hammering stopped only long enough for rehearsals and takes. Actors and technical crew had to be careful where they stepped and leaned during production-many of the sets still had wet paint even as they were being filmed. Administration offices, hallways and various lab areas were pressed into service. A corrugated metal storage shelter served as a not-so-soundproof soundstage; an entire wall of New World’s main building was dressed and painted to provide a massive two-story space station exterior as a backdrop for one of the mutant’s killings, and a nearby vacant lot was converted into a sandy alien desert.

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The sets for FORBIDDEN WORLD incorporate a lot of ordinary components in unusual ways. A standing joke during production, as volunteers went to pick up fast-food, was the effects men saying, “See if you can grab an extra handful of food trays!” A few thousand trays from McDonald’s can look impressive when spray painted and strapped to walls, augmented by such “high-tech” bricabrac as PVC piping, sheets of plastic “packing bubbles,” cut and formed upholstery foam, and cannibalized radio and TV parts.

In FORBIDDEN WORLD, you were the pilot of the first spaceship constructed entirely out of Big Mac containers and egg cartons.

Vint: Oh yeah. I was pretty amazed when I walked through that set. “These are egg cartons!” They said. “Yup. that’s what they are.”as they were tacking them to the wall and spray-painting them silver. And whenever we turned a comer and went through another portion of the ship, we just walked down the hall again and all the egg cartons would be spray-painted gold. – Jesse Vint

SPECIAL EFFECTS

FORBIDDEN WORLD’s special effects are provided by a talented in house” effects team supervised by Bill Conway and headed by Bob and Dennis Skotak. Effects newcomer Steve Neill was given less than five weeks to come up with four major, fully operational embodiments of the evolving, rampaging life form. Neill and his constantly growing staff (which came to include Michael F. Hoover, Rick Lazzarini, Michael LaValley, Mark Shostrom, Anthony Showe and Gene Barsamian) found themselves saddled with some unworkable concepts from a previous production designer. Subsequently they agonized over several major changes from upstairs” with no easing of deadlines.

Though Neill’s delivered fourth stage design failed to operate properly, it was filmed anyway, over his objections. Since the “monster” proved so difficult to wrangle, it was decided to go heavy on the monster’s wrath. John Carl Buechler, was tapped to whip up some “death scenes” for assorted crew members.

The design and execution of the carnage fell to Buechler and a hastily assembled staff, including Stephan Czerkas, Chris Biggs and Don Olivera (who also played, in his own home-made robot suit, SAM-104, the hero’s robot sidekick). The on-screen result is a series of escalating Mutant murders, the style of which Buechler sardonically calls punk rock horror.”

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POST PRODUCTION

When the hectic shoot was wrapped, Holzman locked himself into the editing room and fashioned a quick first cut. It soon became apparent that, in his time-pressed decision to “Do it anyway” on some of the Mutant effects, Holzman had shorted himself on footage of his title-star. An urgent call went out to Buechler to come back and re-do some of the third-stage Mutant work, of which there was critically insufficient footage. Within a week, Buechler delivered a Mutant head which blinked, snarled and opened wide its ravenous jaws.

Then, it was back to the editing room for Holzman, the place where many New World pictures are eventually saved. That just may be the reason Corman promotes his directors from the ranks of trailer editors. Preliminary word from insiders who have seen Holzman’s final cut of FORBIDDEN WORLD is that despite the production’s hurried pace and budget limitations, the film races.

REFERENCES and SOURCES

Shock Cinema 18 (2001)

Cinefantastique v12 n02

Famous Monsters 185

Promotional and Advertising Material

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Susan Justin on her “Forbidden World” Score

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Forbidden World AKA Mutant (1982) Complete Soundtrack Composed by Susan Justin

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Track listing

Theme From “Forbidden World” (02:35)

Titles (02:36)

Birth And Death (01:27)

Mourning (01:26)

Alone (03:24)

Steam Room (01:23)

Mutation (02:31)

Xarbia (02:29)

The Hole (02:43)

The Doctor Returns (01:27)

Laser Shower (01:16)

Communication (01:43)

The End (03:58)

End Title Theme From “Forbidden World” (02:13)

Total Duration: 00:31:11

Credits

Jesse Vint as Mike Colby

Dawn Dunlap as Tracy Baxter

June Chadwick as Dr. Barbara Glaser

Linden Chiles as Dr. Gordon Hauser

Fox Harris as Dr. Cal Timbergen

Raymond Oliver as Brian Beale

Scott Paulin as Earl Richards

Michael Bowen as Jimmy Swift

Don Olivera as SAM-104

Makeup Department

John Carl Buechler …special makeup effects (as J.C. Buechler)

Sue Dolph … makeup artist

Karen Kubeck …special makeup effects artist: assistant makeup artist

Susan Moray … hair stylist

Steve Neill … prosthetic fabricator

Don Olivera … special makeup effects

Jim Shaw … prosthetic designer

Christopher Biggs …special makeup effects artist (uncredited)

Bart Mixon … special makeup effects artist (uncredited)

Mark Shostrom …special makeup effects artist (uncredited)

Forbidden World (1982) a.k.a Mutant Retrospective SUMMARY In the distant future, at a genetic research station located on the remote desert planet of Xarbia, a research team has created an experimental lifeform they have designated "Subject 20".

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ceslatoil · 8 years ago

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Fiddauthor 6

“Don’t cry, I hate it when you cry.”

Stan had been sick with the flu all week, which, aside from the fever and throwing up every hour or so, was actually the best. He didn’t have to help dad in the pawn shop, nor do any chores; all he needed to do was sit back, drink juice, and read as many violent horror comics as he could.

The only downside was that Ford had to stay away. Ma had loudly reminded them of the time they’d both gotten the chicken pox simultaneously when they were three, and she stated “one sick kid is already bad enough, two is too much!”

So, while Stan sat at home and recovered, Ford was forced to play outside by himself. This wasn’t so bad early in the morning, when he could slip out onto the beach and examine the tidepools or, as he was doing that particular morning, build sand castles, but on summer days like this the beach always seemed to belong to Crampelter and his gang of dim witted cronies. It wouldn’t be long before they showed their ugly faces, and turned their even uglier attentions to Ford, “the six fingered freak!”

Ford wasn’t exactly a push over, but he was eleven and didn’t like physical conflict, no matter how many stupid boxing classes Dad forced him to take. Fighting had always been Stan’s forte. Crampelter was thirteen, obnoxious, and could hit like a wrecking ball. Whenever he made his way to Ford, the boy knew that it was smarter to run instead of fight, perhaps into the nearest library where the smell of literacy and learning would ward off Crampelter.

This is why Ford tensed when a strange boy he’d never seen before began to walk towards him on the beach that morning.

“Howdy,” the boy greeted Ford cheerfully. He had a long nose, a mop of shaggy golden blond hair that fell over his wide, blue eyes.

“… Hi.”

“That’s a great sandcastle,” said the boy with an earnest, charming smile.

“Um, thank you,” said Ford, who couldn’t help but smile back. “It’s supposed to be Neuschwanstein Castle.”

“Newt-Swan what now?”

“Neuschwanstein Castle,” Ford continued, unable to stop himself from explaining about one of his many interests, “it’s a fancy castle in Germany that was commissioned by King Ludwig II of Barvaria. He wasn’t a very good king, but he designed really beautiful castles all over Germany.”

“That’s so neat,” squeaked the boy, who knelt down for a better look at Ford’s handy work. “You know,” said the boy, who began puffing out his chest proudly, “I once built a castle myself.”

Ford raised an eyebrow skeptically at the new boy.

“Oh really,” said Ford.

“Really,” the boy nodded his head enthusiastically, “well, it was only a model, but I got to make a real working drawbridge and everything! I love building things; castles, airplanes, cars, even robots!”

“Wow! I thought I was the only kid who liked robots,” said Ford with growing excitement.

“Folks who don’t like robots are not to be trusted,” said the boy wisely.

“… you know, there’s a model shop on the boardwalk,” Ford grinned at his new friend, “did you want to check it out with me?”

“Do you really mean it?” The boy was grinning ear to ear. “Nobody ever invited me to go anywhere with em before, not counting my aunt and uncle inviting me along on vacation here that is!”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, um–”

“Fiddleford!”

Ford began to chuckle, which made the new boy blush.

“I– I know, it’s a goofy name–”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ford assured him. “My name’s actually Stanford! We’re both Fords!”

This made Fiddleford smile once again, which was something Stanford would grow to love seeing for most of his life.

***************************************

The week Ford spent with Fiddleford was one of the happiest he’d been that entire summer. Every day, after saying goodbye to a still sick Stanley, Ford would meet Fiddleford on the boardwalk and they’d tear through Glass Shard Beach like a hurricane. They would spend hours either looking at all the interesting models at Hobby Hut, or perhaps getting comics from the dingy shop just across the street, or, on a particularly adventurous day, they’d head to the amusement park and ride some of the more dangerous rides together. Between those little adventures, the two would just enjoy each other’s company, just talking for hours about their interests and their own insecurities.

“Everyone at school calls me things like flutesnoot,” sighed Fiddleford miserably one afternoon. “Or noodle nose. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Well that’s stupid,” said Ford, angry at anybody who would dare make fun of such a kindhearted person. “I mean, your nose is cute, at least you don’t have these weird extra fingers like I do.”

“Wait,” said Fiddleford, blushing. “Did you just say I was cute?”

It was now Ford’s turn to blush.

“I– um, that is to say– I mean– HEY LOOK THE ICE CREAM SHOP IS OPEN,” Ford sputtered. Distracted by the promise of sugary treats, the boys linked arms and ran inside.

“One chocolate for me,” said Ford to the cashier, “and one butter pecan for him!”

He clapped Fidds on the shoulder, as if proudly showing off his friend to the entire shop.

“Coming up,” said the cashier with a wink as Ford handed her the money. “Why don’t you boys take a seat?”

Of course, just as the two had gotten comfortable in a booth, disaster struck when Crampelter had walked in with none other than Cindy Crenshaw.

“Oh no,” muttered Ford.

“Lemme guess– one of the bullies at your school,” whispered Fidds as he eyed up the massive Crampelter who demanded the cashier make him a vanilla malt milkshake.

“Two, actually,” sighed Ford miserably. Cindy Crenshaw wore an unpleasant little smirk as she stared at Ford from across the room. Ford explained that he had convinced himself that he was madly in love with Cindy back in February last year, but that had ended in catastrophe when he’d foolishly written her a valentine confessing his undying love. Not only had Cindy not been interested, but she had recited the poem Ford had clumsily written in front of the entire school over and over at lunchtime every day since:

I think you’re real neat,Your smile is so sweet,Your eyes are greener than bullfrogs!Everyone else is dumb just like bulldogs;I love you more than Tesla loved birds,But how can I tell you? There aren’t enough words!

Cindy had absentmindedly began lilting the first few lines of the hated poem as Crampelter paid for their ice cream.

“Ugh… Fidds, remind me to never write poems for mean girls ever again ever,” said Ford, who buried his head in his arms in shame.

“… Hey Ford, maybe once the ice cream’s ready, we take ours to go,” said Fidds, patting Ford’s arm sympathetically. “I don’t wanna eat sugary treats in a place where they serve jerks.”

“I’m fine with that,” Ford nodded.

“One Chocolate and one Butter Pecan ready for pick up,” called the cashier from the counter, holding two paper bowls of fresh ice cream in each hand.

“I’ll get em buddy,” Fiddleford smiled at Ford before bouncing off to grab their order. Ford, however, didn’t like the nasty look Cindy was giving Fiddleford as he approached the counter, and to his horror, she stuck out her foot and tripped Fidds. The boy went flying head first into the counter, which, Ford saw as Fidds tried to pull himself off the floor, left a goose egg sized bruise on his forehead.

“Oh no, my armoire,” cried Cindy, barely concealing her laughter. “He scuffed my shoes on purpose! Teach him a lesson!”

“Nobody messes with Cindy, you long nosed sissy,” Crampelter snarled as he grabbed Fidds by the shirt and began to shake him violently.

Ford didn’t quite remember what happened next, just that in a lightning flash, Ford had jumped up from their booth, his knuckles were sore, and Crampelter was on the floor with a bloody nose.

“That’s enough of that,” cried the cashier, who turned to Cindy and cried, “get your boyfriend outta my store Missy!”

“What? That’s not fair,” Cindy cried, pointing to Ford viciously. “He attacked us!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t think I didn’t see that little stunt you pulled on Pines’ buddy– haul your little behind outta here before I call your parents,” countered the cashier, who waved her arm theatrically at the door.

Sulking, Cindy helped Crampelter to his feet. She glared murderously at Ford, who cooly stated, “By the way Cindy? You meant amour. Armoire is a type of wardrobe. You sound like an idiot.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” said the cashier as Cindy and Crampelter left the store in a huff. “Go take your little friend to the back kid, get some ice for that bump.”

The two sat in the back, tears steady falling down Fidds face as he pressed an ice pack to his swollen forehead.

“No, don’t cry,“ whispered Ford, who began to pat Fidds gently on the back, “I hate it when you cry.”

“S-sorry,” sniffled Fidds, who weakly attempted to smile for Ford again. “It’s just, you know, I’m leaving in a few days, and nobody back home ever stands up for me the way you did to that jerk and his crabby girlfriend. I’m gonna miss you a whole lot Stanford!”

“We don’t have to miss each other yet.” Ford’s voice began to crack, he felt like crying a little bit himself. “Once you’re calmed down, how about we design a robot that can punch out bullies for you when I’m not around.”

“Y'mean it?”

“Definitely.”

Fidds scooped Ford into a tight hug, and, though Ford would later see Fidds many more times in his life, in that moment, he hugged him as if they’d never see each other again if they broke apart.

#fiddauthor

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isitstraightvodka · 8 years ago

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Floral

Once again taking revenge on @dadshirtking! Enjoy, my princess!

The party was in full swing and you were having a great time, sipping a vodka and lime. The place was packed with people, half of which you didn't even know. It became clear to you that your boyfriend had a lot of friends, ones you hadn't been introduced to, but you were fine with that. You weren't a fan of being the centre of attention. It was his birthday party. Tonight was Harry's night.

23 years he had lived and what a wonderful 23 years they had been. This year was a big year for him. His film would be released in July and he was working on his debut solo album. Just being proud of him was a massive understatement. You and Harry had only been dating for about a year but your heart bloomed with so much love for him that sometimes, it was hard for you to contain it. You loved him more than you ever thought you could love anybody but Harry had that handsome charm that made you fall under his spell within seconds.

Just as you helped yourself to some snacks on the table, a unique British accent hit your ears. You had never met her but you were a huge fan of her. How could you not be? She was Adele! She came up to the table and popped an olive in her mouth, holding a glass of bubbly in her hand. She caught you looking at her and smiled sweetly.

"Hello there, love!"

"Hi." You squeaked.

"Aren't you a cutie? What's your name?"

"I'm (Y/N)."

"What a gorgeous name! So, how do you know our lovely Harold?" She asked. You weren't offended that she didn't know who you were. How could Adele know you? You were just about to answer her when you felt a hand place itself on your waist. You knew his touch, you didn't have to look up to know who the hand belonged to.

"Hello, baby. I see you've met Adele." His smooth deep voice never failed to make your heart beat a little faster than normal. Adele's gaze darted from you to Harry then back to you, her eyes widening as her hand went to her mouth in shock.

"Oh, dear, you're Harry's girl, aren't you? I'm so sorry, love, I had no idea!" She reached out and clasped your hand in hers, asking for forgiveness. You told her it was OK, giving her a small smile, because you still couldn't believe you were standing in front of Adele. She wished Harry a happy birthday before taking another olive and going off to chat with some other people.

"Wow." You choked out.

"Wow what?"

"Harry, you know how much I love Adele! I can't believe I actually spoke to her!"

"You are adorable when you're excited." Harry chuckled. You turned your body to face him and smiled up at him. Why on earth did he have sunglasses on his head at night, you had no idea, but you didn't ask. The patterned shirt he wore was a birthday present from you. It was no secret to anyone that Harry had a unique fashion sense so the moment you saw the shirt in the shop window, it was a no-brainer for you to buy it for him.

"Are you enjoying your party?" You asked.

"Of course, baby. Especially because you're here, wearing these pants."

You glanced down at your legs and remembered the look on Harry's face when he first saw you in these pants. Red floral pants, very Harry Styles-like, skin-tight and perfectly hugging your curves. Stealing my ideas of clothes, are you? He had said when you walked out into the living room earlier today. What could you say? His sense in fashion was rubbing off on you.

"I know you like them."

"I love them." Harry corrected you.

"It's a shame the boys couldn't make it." You said, playing with one of the buttons on his shirt. Even though the other lads were in L.A., they were busy with their own lives and working on their solo music. And Harry understood that.

"I know. But they texted me this morning and they'll probably tweet me as well. It's all good. All I need on my birthday is you."

He was such a sap and you loved that about him. He could be sexy but extremely cheesy too. You giggled a little and blushed. His lips touched your cheek and teased your jawline as you squeaked his name. Then, his mouth was on yours, and you couldn't care less if pictures were being taken of you two. Harry was happy with you and he had a right to show it.

"I love you, (Y/N)."

"I love you too, birthday boy." You whispered against his lips, giving him one more kiss and patting his chest. Harry reached behind you and grabbed a glass of vodka and lemon from the table, clinking his glass with yours. You wrapped your arm around his waist as he pressed a kiss to your temple, the stain of alcohol on his tongue. You inhaled your boyfriend's musky scent mixed with his Tom Ford cologne, knowing it would not be the alcoholic drinks that would be the result of your intoxication. It would be Harry.

0*0

"Have a good night, guys." Jeff said, embracing Harry and kissing you on the cheek. You both farewelled him before being escorted into a nearby car. It didn't take long to get back to the house and finally, it was just you and him. As you hung your coat, and Harry's, on the rack by the door, you saw him walk into the living room. You followed him with curiosity and found in front of the sound system, sticking his phone in the dock. He wants to play music now? Why? There was music at his party so you were a little confused. Then, a soft tune started to echo out of the speakers. It was a song that you knew, and loved, and so did Harry. He held out his hand to you and smiled.

"May I have this dance?"

You were pleasantly surprised at his gesture yet you stepped forward and slipped your hand into his, his skin smooth and warm.

"Of course." You smiled back. Harry placed his other hand on your waist while you laid yours on his shoulder. The height difference between you made it slightly difficult to get the position right but it would have to do. Not everything in this world was perfect. Well, maybe apart from Harry.

Both of you swayed to the music as Adele's soothing voice sang lyrics that found their way straight to your heart. It lit up your soul how much of a romantic Harry was. His heart was as priceless as gold and you treasured it beyond belief. You knew that you were the luckiest girl in the world and you didn't take him for granted. His lips touched your ear as he sang softly.

"When evening shadows and the stars appear, And there is no one there to dry your tears. I could hold you for a million years, To make you feel my love."

Your eyes fluttered closed and you rested your cheek on his chest, relaxing to the beat of his heart and the sound of his voice. Moments like these you cherished as if they were dreams. You couldn't believe this was reality. You were in the arms of a man that loved you and you loved him more than you ever thought you could ever love anyone. You were so happy with Harry and you hoped he was just as happy with you.

"I could make you happy, make your dreams come true. Nothing that I wouldn't do. Go to the ends of the Earth for you, To make you feel my love."

When the song ended, it was quiet. Another song didn't start. It was complete silence in the house. But you held onto Harry tightly, waiting for him to speak.

"(Y/N), how much do you love me?"

"I love you more than anybody in the world. Why?" You asked, looking up into his eyes. A flash of anxiousness flew across his face, which baffled you. Your hands rested on his chest, twirling the cross of his necklace around your fingers.

"There's one more thing that would make my birthday the best day of my life." He said. You gulped deeply, wondering what the "one more thing" was. Harry took a deep breath and got something out of his back pocket before dropping down onto one knee. How you were still standing was beyond you. Tears attacked your eyes as you clasped your mouth with your hands, choking back sobs. He's...he's...Oh My God...! You were in shock and you had no words.

"(Y/N), I love you so much, to the moon and back, and you know that I would do anything for you. You have been there for me since the day we met and I realised that you are it for me. I want to spend forever with you, have kids with you, grow old with you. I just want you. So..." Harry spoke and opened the small black box. Inside was the most beautiful diamond ring you had ever seen. It must have cost him a mint but you didn't care right now. All you cared about was that the love of your life was proposing to you.

"Will you marry me?"

You literally couldn't speak. Your eyes were glued to the ring in the box in Harry's hand. Now, you had trouble believing this was real. Your heart was bursting and your insides were flame, all with love and desire. Harry stroked your elbow gently, a little nervous about your reaction.

"Are you OK, baby?" He asked gently. You let out a teary laugh and threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and knocking him to the floor. You lay on top of him and took the opportunity to ravenously kiss his lips. His flavour burned through your body as his fingers clutched your hair, pulling you closer. You broke the kiss with a cry and nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, yes, yes! A million times, yes!"

Harry's smile was the biggest one you had ever seen. You both sat up and he slipped the ring onto your finger. It was stunning, shining in the light. It was no surprise to you that tonight would end in sex but what actually surprised was how desperate your new fiancé was. You thought you were going to have it in the big bed upstairs but no. He wanted you right here, right now.

"I'm going to take you right here, my kitten." He smirked, pressing his lips to your neck. Fire already burned inside you and your sex was getting wet quite quickly. His hand cupped your face and you moaned a little when he swept his tongue along your skin. Your insides shivered as he angled his lips to yours, giving you a warm wet kiss. He practically ripped your white silk shirt from your body, along with your bra. Harry flipped you on your back and made a trail of your kisses down your torso, fondling your breasts, which sent your heart racing. You reached up and pushed his pattern shirt off him, running your hands underneath his T-shirt, also taking that off him. His tattoos were on display now. His gorgeous swallows, his large butterfly, his fluttering ferns. You leaned up and traced the left swallow with the tip of your tongue while he attacked your neck with kisses, bundling all of your hair tightly in one hand. Your lips kissed across his warm chest, feeling his muscles clench underneath your fingertips. In a rage of lust, Harry grabbed both of your hands and pinned your arms above your head, his fingers locking around both of your wrists. His luscious green gaze was on you and your chest heaved up and down, pressing your thighs together when you felt yourself getting extremely wet.

"Let's take these pants off, OK, baby?" He whispered. You nodded and raised your hips off the floor. He told you to keep your arms where they were and being a "good girl", you obeyed him. His hands found the waistband of your pants and slowly began to peel the floral material off your legs, leaving gentle kisses on the insides of your thighs. You arched your back in pleasure as he took your heels off as well, your pants being removed over your feet. It wasn't over yet though. He then took your panties off, eyeing the wetness in between your legs with desire. He crawled on top of you like an animal with a salacious smirk decorating his beautiful face. His hands found their present on your butt, squeezing your cheek tenderly. You could feel his rings on your skin, cold and cool, and you bit down on your bottom lip, waiting for him to take you.

"So beautiful. All wet for me, kitten..."

You smiled when he called you that. The next thing you heard was the clink of a belt buckle and you knew he was taking his jeans off. You watched as finally, his arousal was there. His size never frightened you. You loved the feeling of him inside you and you were aching for him. He opened you up with his slender fingers before sinking into you so effortlessly. You moaned loudly, still keeping your arms above your head as Harry clutched your butt hard.

"That's it, baby, that's it." He slurred his words, drunk on sex. It didn't take you long to reach your peak and you screamed when you let go, Harry grunting with you. The carpet was soft on your back so you knew you wouldn't get a rash from sliding up and down. He pulled your legs up around his waist to gain himself for access, one hand on your butt cheek and the other one keeping your arms where they were.

"You want more, baby?"

"Yes, I do. Please, Harry, more..." You begged, throwing your head back as another orgasm ripped through you. Your future husband filled you up perfectly, as if you two were made for each other. It felt so good. The motion of him pounding in and out was beyond incredible. You could do this forever and since you were going to marry him, it seemed like you would.

The concept of time was lost so you had no idea how long you had been making love for when Harry collapsed on you, sweat clinging to his skin. You breathed deeply, running your fingers through his short curls. No matter how quick or slow you had sex, both of you were always out of breath by the end. Rough or gentle, kinky or tender, it always felt like running a marathon. Yet, you could do it all the time because the sensation was too good to say no to.

"Wow. What's sex going to be like after we get married?" You asked. Harry raised his head and kissed your jawline softly.

"Even better, kitten."

You knew right then that you had chosen the right man to spend forever with.

Any feedback would be appreciated, my loves!! I'm always looking to improve my writing.

All the love

Olivia xx

#harry styles imagine #smut

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