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flamehairedwritings · 4 years

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The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Four

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

The Underrated Joys of Escapism

Conversation had flowed more easily after that. The girls informed her of the lack of feminine products at the general store in the nearby town of Rhodes and she learned that she should indeed stay on Miss Grimshaw’s good side. In fact, they delighted in filling her in on exactly what everyone was like in the camp.

“... Do not give Bill a compliment, he’ll think you’re in love with him...”

“... Make Charles laugh and I’ll give you fifty dollars, I swear...”

“... You’ll probably be woken up every mornin’ by Abigail yellin’ at John, who probably deserves it...”

“... Oh, Lenny’s just so sweet, I just don’t quite know what I want to do with him—”

“Karen...”

“... Arthur’s a little gruff, but a sweetheart, really.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s a real sweetheart,” Mary-Beth enthused, her smile widening. “I mean, he rescued you, didn’t he? That’s how sweet he is.”

“Yes, that was very kind of him,” Ada agreed, keeping her smile easy.

Please don’t ask me, please don’t—

“So, how’d he do it, what happened?”

Oh, Christ.

She’d hoped the personal questions would have waited at least another day or so, but, with her wide smile and big eyes, Mary-Beth was obviously sweet on Arthur, and eager to hear of his heroic deeds, a fact further proven by Karen and Tilly sharing a glance, their lips twitching.

Noted.

“Uh, he found me in a cabin. I’d escaped from my home and hidden in there. We were then pinned down by gunfire but he threw dynamite out of the window to give us a chance to escape.”

“I love a man who just happens to carry ‘round dynamite,” Karen drawled.

“Oh, is that so, darlin’?”

Ada’s head whipped up at the Irish accent, her back stiffening.

A man with shoulder-length ginger hair grinned at them, his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I guess I better start carryin’ ‘round some dynamite in me pocket. Though, that could be dangerous.”

“What would it blow off, exactly,” Karen retorted as she lifted a bottle of whisky to her lips, an eyebrow arched.

“Your favourite past-time, darlin’.”

The man laughed as she rolled her eyes and winked at her before his blue eyes settled on Ada’s own.

“Hello, we haven’t been introduced.”

“Sean, this is Annie Sawyer. Arthur rescued her from Strawberry,” Mary-Beth beamed.

“Is that right? The grumpy bastard does have a heart, then,” Sean chuckled, holding his hand out to her. “It’s nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

“You, too,” Ada smiled warmly as she accepted his hand, though her heart pounded in her chest.

What in the hell is an Irish man doing here? A former O’Driscoll? Oh, calm down, not every Irish man is an O’Driscoll.

With a flourish, Sean took her hand in a gentle grip and bent at the waist, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

“Jesus...” Karen muttered beside her as Ada made her smile widen a little more. “Trust me, darlin’, he’s no gentleman.”

“Oh, love, I’ll be a gentleman if you want me t’ be.” Releasing Ada’s hand, his eyes had already darted to Karen. “You know I can be.”

“Mmh, I’m sure I don’t.” Karen pressed her lips together.

“We’ll see, won’t we.” Winking at her again, his attention then returned to Ada, her eyes still fixed on him. “Welcome to the camp, darlin’. Let us know if you need anythin’. And may I say, what lovely fire-y hair you have, almost as lovely as mine.”

“Oh, thank you.” She involuntarily tucked a few curls behind her ear, her stomach twisting slightly.

“Well, ladies, I shall leave ye to ye’re evenin’.”

Bowing low, the girls snorted as he backed away before straightening and turning on his heel, whistling a tune to himself.

“Well, that’s Sean,” Karen muttered, shaking her head as she took a sip of whisky. “The bane of my life.”

“Ain’t they perfect for each other,” Tilly stage-whispered to Ada, making Karen shoot a glare at her as Mary-Beth broke into laughter again.

Twenty four hours earlier, she’d been in the same position. With a couple of changes.

Lying on her back on a blanket instead of a bed, she was staring at cloth instead of a canopy.

What had remained the same, though, was that she was unable to sleep.

Rather relieved at feeling tired, she had excused herself shortly after Sean had introduced himself and found Miss Grimshaw by the girl’s wagon to politely ask her where she may be able to sleep. The older woman had gestured behind her, whereupon Ada realised she would be sharing a patch of barely covered ground with some of the other girls.

She’d done as directed, lying on her side beside Tilly who was also settling down. Karen and Mary-Beth had lain on the blanket shortly after, and they’d both soon fallen asleep.

Ada hadn’t even closed her eyes. The day had seemed endless, as if fate had been forcing her to stay locked forever in the worst day of her life. She should have fallen asleep instantaneously, gratefully fallen into an unconscious slumber from grief and exhaustion. The sounds of trees and insects and people were all too unsettling, though, too unfamiliar. The camp was quiet, a few members of the group having a murmured conversation a little way off around the fire they’d eaten at. She didn’t know who the voices belonged to, not having been introduced to anyone else.

Her mind wouldn’t quieten, either. It kept chanting at her to make a plan, but how could she when she had no control or choice?

It needled at her, making her spine prickle so she’d have to turn every few minutes. She might have dozed here and there, but it was very light, bodies and blood filling her mind, every sound making her eyes snap open, and when the sun had started to rise she’d given up completely and found herself once more sat on the fallen tree, staring out at the lake.

Maybe at noon I’ll collapse and finally get some rest. That would be nice.

“You okay?”

Good God, there are people everywhere.

Looking up, a woman she hadn’t seen before approached from down the bank, a tin cup in her hand. Her blonde hair, darker than Karen’s, was braided and twisted over her shoulder, and she had a bright mustard blouse on, tucked into brown trousers.

Ada smiled instantly, inhaling a long breath as she straightened her back. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you. Just woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

The woman hummed as she sipped from the cup, and took a seat beside Ada.

“I’m Sadie.”

“Annie.”

Sadie nodded, holding the cup between both hands. “I’m sure people have been offering their condolences, and I would but... Well, I know it don’t help that much.”

Sadie gave a faint smile as Ada looked at her, not having caught her surprise in time for it not to show.

“I lost my husband recently. The O’Driscolls killed him. These guys rescued me, too. I was a mess. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. Didn’t feel much like livin’ for a little while, actually, but... you just have to keep goin’, don’t you. Find somethin’ worth livin’ for.”

A corner of Ada’s mouth lifted. “I guess that’s why I’ve not been able to sleep.”

“You just need time. You’ll figure it out.” Sadie gently nudged her with her elbow. “You seem to be doing okay though, it’s good that you’re talkin’ to people, I saw you chattin’ with the girls.”

She smiled lightly. “Well, it’s a nice distraction.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. You’ll be fine, though. From what Arthur said, it sounds like you can really handle yourself with a gun.”

Ada exhaled a laugh as her eyebrows rose. “Well, I’m no Black Belle but, yeah, I’m not too bad.”

Sadie chuckled, a husky, rich sound, and arched an eyebrow. “Maybe we can do some shootin’ together sometime. Show these boys how it’s done.”

“I’d like that.”

And Ada found that she meant it. The other women were lovely and kind to her, of course, but it was a welcome relief to be able to talk candidly with someone who understood.

“All right, then, I look forward to it.” Sadie tapped a nail against her cup and stood, rolling her shoulders back. “Hey, maybe we can do some practise shootin’ on some O’Driscolls.”

Ada watched her head up towards the camp, and the manners her mother had tried to drum into her made her feel a twinge of guilt at not offering her condolences about Sadie’s husband but, as the other woman had said, how would it help? No, it was enough that they understood one another.

Shared trauma was a strangely comforting occurrence.

Sadie passed Miss Grimshaw and they nodded at each other, that tight, sugar sweet smile on Susan’s lips.

“Mornin’, Mrs Adler.”

“Good morning, Susan.” Sadie’s overly bright tone made Ada’s lips twitch; she was very much warming to her.

She swiftly softened her expression, however, when Miss Grimshaw caught sight of her, her smile widening as she approached.

“There you are. Oh, honey, you look beat!”

Wonderful. Thank you, Susan.

“Did you get any sleep at all?”

Ada stood, unsure as to whether the older woman’s concern was genuine or she was worried about her new worker already being down for the count, and shrugged lightly.

“Oh, yes, I got a couple of hours. It’s just, I’m getting used to it, I suppose, being here.”

Susan gave what she probably thought was a sympathetic expression. “Yes, new places can be a little unsettlin’ at first. But we move a lot so you’ll have to get used to it.”

Ada’s chest tightened. Of course they’d have to move a lot, they were on the run from the law, she knew that, but there it was, the suppressed panic that she had no choice, that the routine would change before she could adapt.

“Oh, I’m sure I will. I’m sure I’ll sleep well tonight, too.”

“Mhm. Well, follow me, honey,” Susan gestured for her to follow with her hand, “We got piles of washin’ to do to keep you occupied in the meantime. And I found you some boots!”

Wonderful.

Days passed without incident, and Ada settled in, much to her relief, more easily than she had anticipated, swiftly establishing a routine. She would wake early, talk with Sadie or Abigail over breakfast as they were usually awake at sunrise, too, then carry out whatever tasks Miss Grimshaw deemed important for that day. She heard snatches of information, or Karen just told her outright; currently there was something going on in the local town with two large families that despised each other.

“We’re playin’ ‘em both like a fiddle,” Karen had grinned.

Her intuition to not tell them her real name was correct, then.

She kept mainly to talking to the group of women, the men seemingly either always out on ‘business’ as they called it or sat around the camp halfheartedly carrying out various tasks, but she was gradually introduced to everyone.

Ada swiftly discovered Sean had never had any association with the O’Driscolls; there was completely and utterly no way he could have. Colm would never allow a man who talked as much as he did to be in the gang. He made her laugh, though, and gifted her, with enough flourish to make Karen sigh wearily, a small knife which she kept tucked into her belt. She apologised to Lenny the second evening she had been there and thanked him for being so generous. He’d shaken his head dismissively with a warm smile and said not to worry about it. She’d warmed to him completely as they’d eaten their stew, talking about inane things like the weather or what bread they liked best.

Charles, John, Bill, Pearson, Strauss and Javier had greeted her quietly and kept to themselves, the Reverend Swanson had stumbled past her the next morning, and Uncle had sat next to her at her third dinner and started singing loudly, to which everyone joined in. Hosea had talked with her that same evening, offering his condolences and asking her non-invasive questions about herself that she answered truthfully. After discovering she enjoyed reading and she missed her books, they had discussed their favourite novels, and then the next morning he gave her a book, a gesture so touching from the old con man that she had nearly wanted to embrace him.

As for Dutch and Arthur, she hadn’t spoken to either of them since they’d talked in Dutch’s tent and that suited her fine. Dutch kept to his tent, reading or talking with the men, and Arthur left early every morning and returned in the late evening.

She was, surprisingly yet mercifully, finding that she liked this band of outlaws and, with their seeming acceptance, felt she could breathe a little easier now.

It took Micah, the man who’d watched her as he’d leaned against the tree, to bring her back to reality.

It was the morning of her fifth day of being in the camp and she was repairing an old blouse Susan had given her to have. She was using strips of material she’d found and was trying to do her best with what was turning into quite an unusual assortment of colours and patterns, needing a new blouse to wear as dust and sweat was starting to make wearing her current one unpleasant.

This damn heat. I miss rain.

A shadow suddenly fell across her.

Blinking, Ada glanced up.

“Hello, Mr Bell.”

He smiled at her, in that vaguely unnerving way, his eyes fixed on her, and nodded.

“Good morning, Miss Sawyer. What are you up to?”

“Oh, I’m just fixing a blouse. I’m in need of a new one.” She smiled politely as he sat beside her, suppressing her lack of delight.

He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning into her space to inspect her stitching. Her jaw moved slightly as she sat back to create some distance and he huffed out a laugh of amazement as he too sat back.

“That’s fine work, Miss Sawyer, you can barely notice the stitches. You’ve got a talent for it.”

“Thank you, Mr Bell.”

His smile, having lingered, widened now as he tilted his head “Please, call me Micah.”

Her polite smile lingered too, restrained. “All right, then.”

“I hope you’ll accept my apologies for not having talked with you sooner. I didn’t want to intrude upon you at such a difficult time.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Micah.”

Now please leave.

He fell silent, just looking at her, and she resented herself for doing so but she couldn’t stop her smile from widening as she searched for something to say. Just as she was about to open her mouth to ask him about his day, his hand went to her knee, and squeezed it so lightly.

“If you need anything, Miss Sawyer, anything at all, you can come and ask me.”

She stiffened, her mind going blank for a moment or two. She could feel the heaviness of his touch on her, of his eyes on her, and she couldn’t think what to do.

There was no doubt in what he was implying.

“Take your hand off me, Micah.”

Something flashed behind his eyes at her calm, low words. She held his gaze, her body still.

Then, he laughed, dropping his hand from her as he leaned back.

“Miss Sawyer, you are a surprise, ain’t you. Not quite the pretty little meek flower I was hoping for. That’s a shame.” He smiled. “More... entertainin’, though.”

He stood then, much to her masked relief, but just as she thought he was going to turn away, he looked to her again, his tongue running along his teeth.

“You know, Arthur and I were in your pretty little town not too long ago. Gave you all quite the show. I’m very grateful you didn’t get in the middle of it.”

He then nodded at her, and walked away, whistling to himself. She stared at his back, her lips parting as a held breath rushed out of her. She felt cold sweat sliding down her back, her hands frozen.

A man had been broken out of jail only a few weeks ago by another man and they shot all who’d been in their path. Skinny and Maddy had been killed in their cabin. She used to talk with them in the store and used to help Maddy braid her hair. Maddy got excited about the spring and liked to watch out for flowers every day, she was going—

“Good mornin’, sweetheart.”

She snapped back to attention, her eyes darting up to watch Sean walk towards her, that wide, lopsided grin on his face.

It fell slightly at her expression.

“You all righ’, darlin’?”

She nodded swiftly as she dropped the blouse to the floor, wiping her damp hands on her skirt. “Yes, sorry, you just startled me.”

“Uh-huh.” He eyed her, his gaze darting over to Micah who was seating himself at a table a little way off, unsheathing a knife from his belt. “You were talkin’ wi’ Micah just now, weren’t ye?”

“Yes, he was just introducing himself.” Clearing her throat, she smiled. “What business are you getting up to today?”

Ignoring her deviation, he sat beside her, an unusually serious expression taking over his features.

“You know,” he started, lowering his voice. “If he gives you any kind o’ trouble you let me know, all righ’?”

She arched an eyebrow, her smile widening as she ignored the faint tightening in her chest. “You? And what will you be able to do about it, Sean MacGuire?”

He laughed, the easy demeanour returning. “Oh, sweetheart, there’s a reason there’s a bounty on me head.”

“Didn’t you just happen to be there as the gang robbed places?”

“Oh, you wound me, ye really do. Here I was about to invite ye on a day out.” He shook his head mock-sadly as she perked up, her mouth opening a little wider.

“A day out?”

“Aye.” He side-eyed her, sighing faux-dejectedly. “I thought ye might like to come into town wi’ me, be reminded there’s an actual world out there.”

She almost laughed at the excitement that roused within her. Yes, she felt safe and confident with her routine, but... Lord, she was growing restless. There was only so far she could wander in this camp and this invitation felt like a strange sort of permission that she did indeed have some freedom. And freedom overrode any sort of need for security.

Why, though?

Her eyes then narrowed slightly as some of the excitement ebbed away.

“... What’s the catch?”

He held his hands up, his eyebrows raising. “No catch, darlin’. Just don’t want ya goin’ crazy... ‘nd maybe ye could get a new shirt instead of... whatever the hell that is you’re makin’.”

She pressed her lips together as she weighed the pros and cons, thought about everything that could go wrong, thought about if she could take Sean in a fight, if it came to it...

No, everything was surface level with Sean. This had to be genuine and thank God for it.

“I would be delighted to join you, Sean.”

He grinned, practically nearly jumping to his feet as he held a hand out to her. Undeterred as she batted his hand aside and stood unaided, he began to stride towards the scout camp up on a small hill to the north of the main camp. Following after him, she kept her gaze straight ahead as they passed Micah, though he was too focused in his game of five finger fillet to notice them.

Striding up the hill, he gestured at the small pack of horses, flinging his arm out.

“Pick yourself a horse.”

Her eyebrows rose as she looked to him. “Any one?”

“Yep. Any one without a saddle.”

She blew out a breath as she looked back to the horses, taking a few steps closer to them. They didn’t lift their heads from their grazing, used to people moving about amongst them. She studied each one in turn, assessing their build and matching them against each and every scenario she could think of in her head.

“Jesus, get a move on will ye or you’ll be sharin’ wi’ me.”

“Oh, Lord...”

Hearing him laugh behind her, Ada’s lips twitched and she moved towards a bay horse at the back of the group, it’s head lifting, hay hanging out of it’s mouth. It watched her, it’s ears twitching as it chewed.

“Hello,” she murmured, reaching a hand out slowly and settling it on it’s neck.

The horse turned it’s head a little closer towards her, sniffing at her. She held her hand out, allowing it to sniff.

“He’s a real nice one.”

A dark haired man stood on the other side of the horse, smiling somewhat nervously at her as he stroked down the horse’s back. He spoke quickly but earnestly.

“He’s quiet and calm and ain’t too much trouble, I think you’ll like—”

“Jesus Christ, Kieran, what are ye doin’ lurkin’ amongst the horses? You been shaggin’ ‘em again?”

“I don’t shag, sleep,” Kieran corrected himself swiftly, glancing at Ada, “with the horses, Sean, you know I don’t.”

“I don’t know what the hell you do, O’Driscoll, and I don’t dare ask. Toddle off and get her a bloody saddle, would ye.”

O’Driscoll?

Ada stared at Kieran as he muttered under his breath and moved between the horses, her hand frozen on the horse. He seemed to sense her sudden agitation, his ears twitching again as he shifted slightly, his head turning towards her once more.

Sean chuckled behind her as he approached, stroking his fingers down the horse’s forehead as his muzzle nudged against her forearm.

“That’s our camp freak, he...” He trailed off as he glanced at her, noting her tight features. “You all righ’, sweetheart?”

Get a hold of yourself.

“Yeah, fine.” She smiled as she stepped back from the horse as Kieran returned, watching him settle a faded blanket over his back before placing a saddle on it.

Sean watched her watch him, and she heard him curse under his breath.

“Oh, shit, I wasn’t thinkin’,” he murmured, standing beside her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, he was with the O’Driscolls but he saved Arthur’s life and is with us now. We give him a hard time but he’s fine.”

She just nodded, watching as Kieran tightened the straps and adjusted the stirrups. Then, she turned to Sean and smiled widely.

“Shall we get out of here?”

He grinned, tugging on a curl of her hair as he passed her. “Aye, let’s get away from these degenerates.”

After securing a bridle to the head of the horse, Kieran handed the reins to her with the same nervous smile.

“Thank you,” she said automatically, meeting his gaze for a moment, before she turned away, murmuring gently to the horse, “Come on.”

Leading him away from the group, Ada followed after Sean, very much ready to be distracted.

“What’re ye gonna call him?” he asked as he mounted his buckskin horse, gathering the reins into his hands.

“I don’t know.” Also mounting, Ada patted the horse’s neck, allowing him a moment or two to get used to the weight of her. “I don’t know his character yet.”

“Well, we’ll see what he’s like in the kind of trouble we get up to.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I’m not looking for trouble today, Sean.”

He grinned as he urged his horse into a walk, Ada doing the same. “All righ’, all righ’, just some light tomfoolery, then. Who should we be?”

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t like to use our real names often in places for obvious reasons, so who shall we be?” He nodded at Lenny, the scout for the east entrance to the camp, as they passed him, who frowned slightly and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Sean continued, raising his voice a little as he pressed his horse into a trot. “I say we could pass as brother and sister, twins even, with our gorgeous red hair ‘nd blue eyes.”

Ada laughed as her horse drew level with his, her brows raising. “You’ll have to copy my accent, then.”

Sean mock-gasped in horror. “How dare you suggest such a thing. We’re plainly Irish. Let’s hear you do the accent.”

“Sean.”

“Come on.”

“Sean—”

“Either that or you’re a mute and have to let me say what I like—”

“Oh, fer fuck’s sake, that’s the last thing we need.”

He threw his head back with a laugh as they emerged from the trees and turned onto a larger path. “Jesus Christ, a brilliant accent and a curse, are ye tryin’ to make me fall in love wi’ ye woman?”

“That would be incest, dear brother,” she grinned, maintaining the accent.

“Aye, but I think they like that down here.”

She laughed as he urged his horse into a canter, prompting her to do the same.

“How’d ye get so good at the accent anyway?”

She snorted. “Oh, you’ll just laugh.”

“Oh, now you have to tell me.”

Ada slid her gaze over to him, trying not to smile as he grinned.

“I used to practice accents I heard as a child, to entertain myself.”

Sean laughed, thoroughly delighted. “Ye didn’t have many friends, did ye.”

“What gave it away?”

It was only a short ride to the town of Rhodes and Sean talked the whole way, informing her of what little there was to do in the town, but she revelled in every moment. She felt she could breathe a little easier away from the eyes of the camp, and passing workers in a field, seeing other people, made the world feel wide and full of possibilities once more. Perhaps she could leave at some point. Perhaps she could think of a plan sometime soon. Perhaps. It was a short ride of freedom but she grasped it with both hands.

They slowed their horses as they passed a sign that read ‘Welcome to Rhodes’, and Sean led them towards a hitching post infront of the general store. Sliding down from the saddle, Ada pulled the reins over her horses’s head and tied them securely to the post before she surveyed the main street. It wasn’t long but there was the usual necessities, the general store, the Sheriff’s Office and jail, the gunsmith, an undertaker’s and a bank. People bustled about, carrying packages or buckets, wagons and horses came up and down the street and people sat and talked on porches, their voices carrying.

“Right.”

Sean’s cheerful voice pulled her from her observations and she turned to him, finding him also observing the street, a certain glint in his eye.

“Why don’ you go into the store and get yerself somethin’.”

Ada arched an eyebrow as she stroked her horses’s neck. “I don’t have any money, Sean, and I don’t fancy lookin’ at things I can’t afford.”

Shaking his head, Sean shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, holding them out to her.

“Here, get yerself somethin’ nice.”

Staring down at his hand like he was pointing a gun to her, Ada noted they were all dollar coins.

“Sean, I can’t accept that.”

He tutted and pushed his hand closer towards her. “Ah, shut up and buy yerself somethin’ pretty.” When she didn’t move, still staring, he tutted again and took her hand with his other one, carefully dropping the coins into her palm and making her fingers close over them. “I’ve got some business to attend to, when you’re done just sit out here, I won’t be long.” He started to turn away then paused, looking back at her and lowering his voice. “Oh, and steal somethin’.”

That pulled her out of her daze.

“Excuse me?”

He smiled, holding his hands out slightly. “Ye with thieves now, darlin’. Ye’ve got to fit in.”

She placed her free hand on her hip, arching an eyebrow. “I’m not going to steal something, Sean.”

“Why?”

“Why?” she scoffed. “Because it’s not right.”

“And?”

Oh, dear Lord.

“And the shopkeeper needs to make a living.”

He laughed. Actually laughed at her. “It’s nothin’ personal, Annie. We’ve all gotta make our way in this world.”

Christ...

She’d heard that before.

He took her long, exhaled breath as a, resigned, agreement, and patted her arm. “Good. Now, don’t forget, you’re as Irish as good whisky, dear sister. Enjoy!”

She watched him stride away in the direction of the gunsmith and exhaled another breath. The weight of the coins in her hand made her look down at it again and she uncurled her fingers a little to count the coins.

Twenty dollars. Twenty.

“Jesus...” she breathed, suddenly very much aware she was just holding twenty dollars in her hand. Turning to her horse, she rooted around in the saddlebag with her free hand, hoping to find something to hold the coins in. Feeling cloth brush against her fingers, she pulled out a bandanna and clumsily fashioned a make-shift purse, carefully pouring the coins into it and tying all the corners together.

Glancing around the street, Ada then made her way up the steps and into the store. A bell tinkled as she pushed the door open, prompting the shopkeeper to lift his head, his gaze sweeping over her. After assessing her, he smiled warmly, straightening his back.

“Good afternoon, miss.”

“Good afternoon, sir,” she answered, returning his smile as she approached the counter, her accent perfect.

“Is there anythin’ in particular you’re looking for?”

“Yes, I was wonderin’ if you had any blouses?”

“We got plenty of men’s blouses, miss, but no women’s, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” she waved her hand dismissively, widening her smile. “Anythin’ will do fer me, I’m not picky.”

“Just over in that corner there, then, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Moving to the shelves he’d indicated, she smiled to herself as she slid her fingers over a shirt, feeling the material.

If Mama could see me now.

─

Ada watched the people and horses passing by, her hands folded on her lap, covering her coin purse, her thumb idly pushing her ring around her finger, a parcel at her side. A light breeze blew and she inhaled a long breath. She kept her mind clear, just focusing on what was around her.

It was so wonderful, to be so calm. To be so free.

She could be anyone she wanted right now, an Irish woman waiting for her brother, a nameless woman enjoying the afternoon, a person waiting for their friend or lover. She understood Sean’s joy for it now. It was intoxicating to present whatever version of yourself you wanted to to the world, to have no expectations placed upon you.

“My darlin’ sister!”

Realising she’d closed her eyes, Ada opened them to find Sean beside his horse, beaming at her.

“Come on, Ma will be expectin’ us home.”

One corner of her mouth lifting higher than the other, she gathered the coin purse and parcel into her hands and moved down the steps to her horse. Lifting the flap of the saddlebag, she placed the coins inside along with the parcel and secured it tightly. Climbing up into the saddle, Sean already atop his horse, they turned their horses onto the road, heading out of the town.

“So, what’d ye steal?”

Her eyes widening at his jovial tone, she glanced over her shoulder. “Keep your voice down, you...”

“Curse at me again, go on.”

“No.”

“Fine. What did you get?”

Tossing her curls over her shoulder, she gestured at her saddlebag. “I bought a new blouse... and stole an apple.”

The widest grin she’d seen on him yet spread across his features as his head whipped to the side to look at her. “You bloody did it?! Ha! That’s my girl! It’s not gold or jewellery but it’s a start, I s’ppose. Where is it?”

She resisted the urge to be pleased with herself, keeping control of her smile. “I didn’t think it would make you this happy. I gave it to Faithful.”

“Who the bloody hell’s Faithful?”

She patted Faithful’s neck, her lips twitching.

“The bloody horse is Faithful? Oh, Jesus...” He shook his head as he sighed. “Right, and why Faithful?”

She, unsuccessfully, tried to hide a grin. “To remind me to be faithful to my morals.”

“Jesus Christ, right, let’s get you back to bloody camp so we can make a real thief of ye.”

Her laugh carried across the fields as they kicked their horses into a canter, dust rising in their wake.

As they reentered camp, Ada found she was still smiling. She felt lighter, her situation not so impossible now. It was incredible what less than an hour of normality could do. Well, near normality.

Dismounting at the nearest posts they came to, she pulled the reins over Faithful’s head, loosely wrapping them around the pole.

“Good boy, thank you,” she murmured as he snorted, tossing his head a little.

“You are most welcome.”

“Not you, Sean.”

“I don’t get a little thank you for takin’ ye out on the town?”

A smile pulling at her lips, she turned to him. “Thank you, Sean. I mean it.”

Grinning, he inclined his head. “You’re welcome, darlin’ Annie. Oh, and, hey, I got ye this...”

Reaching into his saddlebag, he pulled out some sort of crumpled emerald green material.

“The colour of our homeland, dear sister.”

Taking it from his offered hand, it unfurled to reveal a blouse.

Beaming, her mouth dropped open as her gaze darted up to him.

“Oh, Sean, it’s beautiful. Where did you get it? I didn’t see a tailor’s.”

He just looked at her, having the good grace to look the barest amount of sheepish.

“You stole it?!”

“Why anyone would leave a pretty thing like that out to dry I’ve no clue.”

“Sean.”

“What, it’s their fault!” He held his hands out innocently, all sheepishness gone as he grinned roguishly.

Exhaling a short breath, she fought hard to not imitate his infectious smile. “There’s no point in telling you to take it back is there?”

“Absolutely no point at all.”

“Lord...” Still keeping a grip on the blouse, Ada shook her head and reached into her saddlebag, retrieving the coin purse and parcel. “Fine, I’ll keep it.”

“There’s hope! We’ll make a proper thief of ye yet, sweetheart, you just wait.” He nudged his shoulder against hers as they moved around the horses.

“I didn’t steal it.”

“Whatever makes you sleep tonight, darlin’.”

“Well, here, this will.” She held the bandanna-wrapped coins out to him.

Sean made a dismissive sound as his brow furrowed. “Ah, no, Annie, you keep it. A little ‘welcome to camp’ gift from me.”

“The blouse can be that gift. And this certainly isn’t little.” She pushed it further towards him.

“Nah, that was a ‘welcome to town’ gift.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as they came to a stop before the path. “Well, then, how about you look after it for me.”

Raising his eyebrows, he looked down at the purse, then back up at her.

“I think I can do that,” he smiled, his fingers closing around the material, and in a flash he had it in his pocket.

“Yes, I thought you might...”

Ada trailed off as the sound of hooves suddenly thundered down from the north path. Both of them taking an automatic step back, they watched as Charles and Arthur stormed into camp, pulling their horses into an abrupt halt that had them skidding in the dirt slightly.

“Miss Grimshaw, Mr Pearson, your assistance, please!” Arthur called as he swiftly dismounted before striding around his horse to Charles’s.

Ada then saw the man sat behind Charles, his head lolling to one side. Arthur helped him down as Charles supported him from his position, gripping his shoulder, and as his head rolled back she saw the bruises and blood that covered him.

“One of yours?” she murmured to Sean, continuing to watch as Miss Grimshaw and Charles took over, helping the stranger over to the table nearby.

“Aye, one of ours,” he answered, sliding his hands into his pockets. “A rather interestin’ fellow.”

“I'm learning that’s not a compliment in this camp.”

Sean laughed as her lips twitched before he quickly shushed himself as Arthur looked over to them, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Quiet now, lass, we’re about to be bored to death,” Sean whispered to her as Arthur approached.

“So, Lenny told me you two went out of camp.”

Ada couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of betrayal from the young man she’d started to rather warm to. Surely it wasn’t that bad, was it—

“Aye, I took the lovely lady out into town to—”

“You went into Rhodes?”

His abruptness seemed to catch Sean off guard, but he swiftly recovered.

“Aye, it’s not good for anyone to be cooped up in this mad place fer too long—”

“Do I have to remind you, MacGuire,” Arthur cut him off again as he stepped closer, prompting the other man to rise to his full height, “We’re wanted men involved in two mad as hell families. We got bounty hunters lookin’ for us up and down the God damn country who ain’t afraid to take us dead or alive. We can’t afford to just go dancin’ into town like God damn idiots.”

“All righ’, Morgan, it was jus’ a bit of fun—”

“Yeah, well, people have died over ‘a bit of fun’, haven’t they?”

Sean’s mouth opened then closed as he stared at him. Ada glanced between them, but before she could speak Sean exhaled a harsh laugh and turned on his heel, striding away. Pressing her lips together, she turned on Arthur, lifting her chin to look at him.

“I don’t know what you were referring to but I gather that was incredibly unfair of you.”

“Excuse me?” He gazed down at her with more of an air of exasperation than incredulity at her challenging him and that just incensed her more.

“He was just being kind, Mr Morgan, I needed new clothing and a breath—”

“You need anythin’ like that you speak to Miss Grimshaw.” He was already looking away from her, dismissing her as his eyes searched the camp.

Pressing her lips together, she adjusted her stance, standing directly in front of him and forcing him to look at her once more. “I don’t want to take any more charity—”

“It ain’t about that.” Now his full attention was on her as he wrestled to keep his voice low. “I don’t think you quite realise the danger we’re in—”

“If there is any danger I can handle myself and you know that—”

“As far as I know you can hold a gun and point it without shakin’. Beyond that I don’t know what you can do.”

His words stung but she clenched her jaw, begrudgingly accepting he was right, and that wouldn’t do.

"Perhaps I just need the opportunity.”

He arched an eyebrow as he exhaled a humourless laugh. “Is that what you want is it? An opportunity? Oh, what, you want to go out there seekin’ danger now? Think you’re invincible now you’re runnin’ with outlaws?”

God, she wanted to wipe that patronising look off his face.

“Need I remind you it was you who brought me here, Mr Morgan.”

“Yeah, but I might need remindin’ of the reason why.”

That stung, too.

“Some horseshit about saving people who need saving, and you obviously thought I could handle myself here.”

She didn’t know whether it was her coarse language that stunned him into silence, the truth of her words or he was just holding his tongue but he didn’t answer her, his jaw moving. She didn’t look away as they stared at one another, neither wanting to back down.

He’s not agreeing.

Don’t do it─

“Give me your gun.”

“Excuse me?” Now he looked incredulous as he glanced down at her extended hand.

Arching an eyebrow, she raised her chin. “It appears I’m going to have to prove myself, Mr Morgan, to ease your apparent distress at my safety.”

Now that certainly stunned him.

“No, I ain’t givin’ you my gun.”

“Fine.” Looking to the side, she moved her hand in the same direction. “Lenny?”

Lenny, having been sat reading under a tree nearby and trying very hard to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping, raised his eyebrows in slight alarm.

“Yes, Miss Sawyer?”

“May I borrow your gun, please?”

“Uh...” He glanced at Arthur, though only briefly, as he stood, closing his book. His curiosity won out. “Sure.”

Stepping closer, he pulled his gun from its holster and held it out to her, the corners of his mouth lifting. “You’re not gonna kill anyone, are you, Annie?”

“I hope not.” Taking the gun, she lowered her arm and offered him the parcel and blouse, which he took swiftly, before she turned, glancing at Arthur as she strode away.

Lenny followed quickly behind her, not overly fond of the idea of being left with Arthur to be chastised. The older man exhaled a long breath as he watched them for a moment, before he, too, slowly followed after the woman.

Ada moved behind Arthur’s wagon and down to the bank, gripping the revolver in her hand and familiarising herself with the feel of it. It was a standard Cattleman with a black steel frame and an ebony grip.

Perfect.

Four empty bottles lay strewn across the sand, most likely from Reverend Swanson, and she came to a halt, wetting her lips.

“Lenny, please can you set those bottles on that rock?”

“Sure thing.”

Lenny apparently hadn’t been the only one listening in on their arguing as she could hear the rest of the camp forming an unsubtle audience a little way behind her, unashamedly gathering to watch as they murmured to each other.

She kept her eyes on Lenny, though, studying the angle at which he placed the bottles.

“All right, Annie, there you go.” He grinned at her as he ran past, joining the group.

Arthur stood towards the back of the audience, a little higher up on the bank, his mouth set in a thin line. He was hesitant to underestimate her due to her confidence, but then again he’d known many a confident person to make a fool of themselves. Would she really embarrass herself that way, though? Especially in front of everybody? Nah, Miss Sawyer didn’t seem that kind of fool. She was headstrong and damn stubborn, but not a fool.

He watched her closely as she stood straighter and raised her arm, drawing the hammer of the revolver back.

“Ten dollars says she does it,” Karen whispered to Tilly, who smiled.

“No deal ‘cause I think she’s gonna do it, too.”

Somewhere behind them, Micah snorted.

Ada exhaled a slow breath as she stared at the bottles, blocking out the sound of the group. Then, she squeezed the trigger.

She moved quickly.

In quick succession, the bottles blew apart one after the other, glass falling onto the sand.

“Holy shit!”

“God damn!”

The group spoke over each other as Ada lowered her arm and allowed herself a small moment of pride, a smile pulling at her lips.

“Someone get this girl a drink!”

Her smile widened as she finally turned to the group, finding most of the men drifting away back to their duties as the women grinned at her.

“I don’t drink, Uncle.”

“Well, someone get one for me, then!”

Wanting any excuse to open the whisky, the women followed after Uncle, talking over one another. Sadie, who Ada hadn’t noticed before, stood further beyond them, down on the south side of the bank. She smiled proudly and nodded at Ada before turning away and heading along the shore, returning to her post.

“Wow, that was somethin’,” Lenny beamed as he stepped closer, holding his hand out.

“Oh, thank you. And thank you for letting me borrow it.” She returned his infectious smile as they swapped, she giving him the gun, he her blouse and parcel.

He shook his head as he holstered it. “Don’t mention it. I wouldn’t mind seein’ that again.”

She watched him as he wandered away, smiling to himself as Karen could be faintly heard trying to get a rousing song going.

Ada’s smile lingered, too, as she smoothed her skirt down, before she realised that just left... Arthur.

Her smile vanished as she looked to him.

He stood only a few feet away, his arms folded, his features expressionless.

“You enjoy bein’ a child, do you?”

She sighed, her teeth grazing over her lower lip as she raised her eyebrows. “No, I don’t.”

Dropping his arms, he stepped closer, gesturing behind her. “Well, you’ve proven you can hit unmovin’ targets. You ain’t proven you can hit somethin’ that’s shootin’ back at you.”

“No, I just haven’t proven that to you.”

“Well, you obviously wanted to prove somethin’ here.”

“Yes, that I’m skilled with a gun, Arthur, and that if I feel like taking a break from camp and going out for less than an hour then I can handle myself if something comes up. I understand your concern for this camp but I believe this time it was misplaced.”

“Oh, you’ve done more than target practice, have you? You killed, have you?”

“I killed an O’Driscoll back in Strawberry before you found me, I told you that.”

“And what has that done to your conscience?”

That made her pause, and he took full advantage of it, refusing to break their gaze.

“You been thinkin’ about it at all? Sure, he deserved it but it’s a hard thing to take a life. Could you do it again?”

She didn’t respond.

He shook his head. “Well, I hope we don’t get the opportunity to find out, Miss Sawyer. It could be your life that’s taken while you’re decidin’.”

A cold smile settled on her lips “What an unburdening that would be to your conscience, Mr Morgan.”

He watched her as she walked away, his jaw set firmly.

He should’ve disagreed with that, protested vehemently, but he had the feeling only more angry words would have been exchanged. He knew he’d been hard on them, and, yeah, perhaps unfair to Sean, but the amount of bounty hunters that had taken Trelawney and how close they’d been to the camp had rattled him.

He could admit she was a good shot, could probably handle herself and was maybe as good as Sadie, but that didn’t mean she had to be put in a position to prove it. It wasn’t just her, too, they should all keep their heads down for a while, or, hell, even move on, maybe.

Arthur sighed heavily, pushing the brim of his hat up.

There’s never a quiet day.

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cienie-isengardu · 5 years

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Noob Saibot: Death, Darkness and Shadows

Generally speaking, Noob's main theme is darkness, shadows and death. He talks a lot about those in character banters, what only adds to the sinister impression of him. Yet despite the Wraith's way to describe himself (e.g. Angel of Death, Face of Death, Death's Hand ), his ambitions to form the deadliest clan and bitter disappointment in Kuai Liang, Bi-Han's relationship with death and shadows is not one dimensional.

Death is a constant part of Mortal Kombat. Characters were killed during fights, some were betrayed, others died – or would die in case of failure - as punishment. Add to that gruesome ways to end one's life, the fact that the Netherrealm (hell) is real place and souls of good people can be enslaved and twisted by evil magic, it's no wonder why death in Mortal Kombat is tied with pain, cruelty and fear. Even if some characters aren't afraid of death itself, there is plenty creatures that can consume and enslave souls and I think the fear of what gonna happen “in afterlife” may be very real concern albeit not spoken aloud.

Bi-Han was warned by Raiden that his soul was tainted with evil, but he didn't want – or couldn't – turn away from Lin Kuei. Soon after his adventure with Shinnok's amulet, he joined Mortal Kombat Tournament and here was killed by Scorpion. Quan Chi captured and changed Bi-Han's soul into Wraith, Noob Saibot. At core, it's still Bi-Han albeit his ability to feel (positive?) emotions – and maybe feeling pain too - is cut away or at least numbed.

Bi-Han's own death was cruel fate. Burning alive is an awful experience and even worse for cryomancer who by nature prefer ice over fire. Since Bi-Han died for a crime he did not commit in the first place and his soul was enslaved by Quan Chi (whose magic does not bid him anymore apparently) he has a lot reasons to be angry about and to seek revenge. Surprising, in contrast to Scorpion, there is little rage or grief in Bi-Han's character banters.

Noob claims that “Death is the coldest ice” and it may explain why he adapted into it so well – he was, after all a cryomancer and the colder temperature the better for his state of mind. What also may be relate to another statement, how “in death I'm even more deadly”. Of course, if Bi-Han meant his growing powers or just the fact that as dead person he is much harder to destroy is not specified. Most likely both, since Noob on another occasion said also that “[Death] gave me unspeakable power” and “soulnado did not kill me” or “What is dead cannot die”, what refer to new and/or growing skills and benefits of being dead.

Adding to the mix information from older source like Mythologies: Sub-Zero that:

Sub-Zero learned of his ability as a young adult. It was passed on to him by his father, a fourth generation Lin Kuei warrior himself. The ability to harness the element of cold is one that takes years of practice. It's full potential realized only by those who've mastered it at the latest stages of life. Sub-Zero's skills have the ability to develop much faster than those of the other Lin Kuei. This was realized by the Lin Kuei Grandmasters who picked the young warrior to take his deceased father's place as the next Sub-Zero.

And this may be another reason why Noob considers his resurrection as a improvement.

To master ice ability one needs years of practice and the full potential is realized usually by those at the latest stage of life. So, the older cryomancers became, the better their ice skills are. Even though Bi-Han's skills developed much faster than of the other Lin Kuei, he was still in his 30s at best (old source claimed he was 32 around MK Tournament). What could means he never had a chance to reach the fullness of his potential. Death took away the chance, yes, but at the same time Quan Chi's magic bonded him with darkness of the world of dead. Thus in cold embrace of death, Bi-Han has endless time and means to satisfy his personal strive for perfection and/or ambitions.

That view of death, as a way to increase one's power and/or reaching the full potential, can be seen also in:

Sub-Zero: Time has revealed your true character.

Noob: My true power, Kuai Liang.

Sub-Zero: Which corrupts you, Bi-Han.

Noob: Death will increase your power.

Skarlet: My power comes from life's essence.

Noob: You are still mortal, Skarlet.

What may be another part of explaination why Noob Saibot does not regret his own death and being Wraith the way Scorpion does. Death extended Bi-Han's natural abilities while Hanzo is fueled by hellish (unnatural for man) fire.

Talking about Scorpion, it's worth to look closer at the dichtomy of darkness and fire of Netherrealm. As far as the Hell was usually shown, this realm is made mainly of a fiery landscape thus rather barren land in general. Despite the harsh environment, local residents (demons, damned souls, wraiths) adapted into living there. Fire has a lot meanings, but in general symbolizes strong emotions, either good (love) or bad (rage). There is also important duality of fire – it may be a symbol of light (Liu Kang's Eternal Fire that banish darkness/shadows) but it may be destructive as well. In contrast, shadows and endless night usually refers to coldness.

Hanzo's hellfire is related to his emotional state – it represents rage and suffering. The man himself said on many occassion that he cannot escape his rage. As it was pointed out in game(s), because of such strong feelings, Hanzo is person easy to manipulate. Quan Chi manipulated his anger and grief, Kronnika used past!Hanzo in similar way ("Do not trust Kronika! She uses your anger to enslave you, as Quan Chi did both of us." ).

There is interesting connection between Hanzo and other (main) revenants like Liu Kang, Kitana or Jade. They all are driven by strong hate and/or resentment for what happened to them. Revenant!Jade talked to her younger self how being loyal to Kitana brought her to the doom (“Blame your loyalty to Kitana. It led directly to our death.”). Liu Kang was motivated by hate toward Raiden and seek a way to avenge his unjustly death ("I have mastered Shinnok’s sorcery. I will add your soul’s strength to mine, and finally avenge myself upon Raiden."), while MKX!Kitana refused to listen Sareena & Jax's pleas to change because, like she said herself “I am a victim no longer."

But it's not just hate and rage that drive those characters, but also the suffering. They resent their persecutor(s) and/or people guilty of their deaths – to some degree, they also blame those who are dear to them; a feeling of hate and resentment most likely strengthened by Quan Chi's magic and Netherrealm place but not without base in reality. To some extent Hanzo and revenants are all driven by the feeling of injustice done to them. They aren't reconciled with death. They lash out in pain and anger and I think most characters can see it; the suffering under their harsh words and act of violence. What may be a reason why our heroes, after so many years, still hope to save (heal) revenants. Even if the hope seems to be foolish at times and slowly dying with passing time, there are still characters wishing to find a way to help or at least to open dialogue with former champions.

Frankly, Bi-Han is the only one(?) Quan Chi's creation that is not motivated by anger (as a reaction to his own suffering and dying). In contrast to Scorpion, Liu Kang or Kitana, Noob is truly cold-hearted character, who accepted his new form without much complain. Who, in contrast to others, adapted into offered darkness and moved on.

(And maybe that is why Noob is called Quan Chi's masterpiece both by characters (Kitana x2) and in additional kosmetic (skins) while Hanzo is referred to be sorcerer's slave (D'Vorah) or puppet (Kitana) or servant (skins). Bi-Han is unique in the way his sense of pain and emotional connection is numbed. It is much harder to manipulate someone who does not feel. Maybe this is also why Noob is the only Quan Chi's creation that has bond with additional intelligent(?) creature like Saibot... who may or may not be sorcerer's way to control reborn Bi-Han.)

I like to think Hanzo's inability to escape his own rage is fueled by hellfire; an element of Netherrealm used by Quan Chi to bent Shirai Ryu ninja to his will. Him, and the rest (of main) revenants are tighly connected to strong but negative feelings like anger, suffering and desire for revenge. From Hanzo's words we know, Netherrealm is wealthy in pain and suffering what only adds to the idea of dependence between emotional state of revenant/wraith and helplessness to escape their fate. Netherrealm most likely feed their endless rage and pain. MKX hinted in Kung Lao and Jin endings and Sareena's words to evil!Kitana that there is hope for damned champions – positive emotions and aid/support of close people is the best cure (ironically, Kitana accused Sareena she get “corrupted” by emotions but the Empress of Netherrealm is corrupted by her own rage). The support and I guess, coming to terms with their own brutal death or death of people very dear to them is key to heal damned souls. Older Hanzo still griefs the loss of wife and kid, but he is slowly healing knowing now Quan Chi's was architect of their pain and paid for that, while past!Scorpion is driven by his emotions and clearly is not mentally okay.

In contrast, the death / darkness to which Bi-Han's soul was bonded numbed his sense of feeling – to the point heroes (Hanzo, Kung Lao) claim death made Noob even more vile... even though in game he barely did anything that outstanding evil.

>> Working with Sektor & Cyber Lin Kuei? He did so in MK9 already and game(s) implies he was on better terms with Sektor than Kuai ever(?) was in the past. So, if anything, he simply renew his already existing bond with clan member of Lin Kuei. Blaming Bi-Han for embrancing old traditions of assassins clan that shaped him from young age is kinda hypocritical, because Scorpion did the same and yet I don't hear people claim it made past!Hanzo more vile or anything else like that. And Hanzo has a bad habit to look down on anyone who is mercenery, thief and killer even though he himself is/was not a saint. Of course, one may say Scorpion decided to change for better while Bi-Han does not show any implication of that. But seriously, good or bad guys, in Mortal Kombat universe, all fighters have blood on their hand. Cassie killed dozen of Black Dragon thugs without second thoughs, Kotal wanted to murder Tarkatan people and yet many heroes still see him as honorable man. Morality in this universe really depend on one's point of view. Bi-Han is simply loyal to the teaching that shaped him as Sub-Zero the same as Kung Lao or Liu Kang are loyal to their White Locus teaching.

>> Bi-Han's lack of reconciliation with brother? Well, Kuai Liang is the one openly aggressive and be like “Netherrealm can have you” and “I disown you in every way” and claiming his brother does not deserve forgivness, even though MK11 highly imply that for two decades he did not have an idea his brother actually survived Soulnado. Just look at Frost's wish to destroy Lin Kuei and her former master, she has more rage in her than Noob showed at any point. Two things Noob really wanted was A) to form/have the deadliest clan and B) Kuai Liang stop using Bi-Han's old codename he took without permission and by that breaking the existing tradition. The whole ruling the world and/or being Death was not intended plan of Noob and happened mainly in his own ending. Twisted ambiton and stubborn dispute over title is hardly that big deal when one look at the all big bad guys like Shao Kahn (to conquer all realms) or Shinnok (destroy Earthrealm and Elder Gods) or Kronika (to restore her fallen son by making timeline to her liking). Also, as much as the dialouges between brothers are far from the nicest, they are hardly the most hateful either. Let's just agree Noob and Kuai Liang relationship is complicated.

>> Serving Kronika? Older Jax and past!Erron did that too and I don't see people jump and claim them being pure evilness. Bi-Han's motivation was selfish, true, but so was Jax's (keeping family safe and not dealing with trauma well), Scorpion's (restoring assassin clan and his family), Erron's (money) or revenants (revenge and destroying Earthrealm). Noob does not show much evil intentions beside having his new (dead) clan and maybe reclaim lost title.

Hell, I wouldn't say Bi-Han was that vile to begin with in MK9. He saved Earthrealm once (though that was more like fixing his mistake, but to do so, he risked his soul on trip to Hell) and at some point most likely changed sides in MK Tournament (otherwise his fight with Scorpion would not have any sense in-universe). Was Bi-Han the nicest person to deal with? No. He was sarcastic and harsh, but he hardly did anything truly evil in the previous game and all what happened after his death, happened under Quan Chi's control. Actually, I would say Bi-Han, the cold, uncaring assassin had an interesting parallel with Raiden that of course will depend on personal interpretation. Still, if game put focus on such small detail, it may be a hint that elder Sub-Zero is much complex character than first impression would suggest.

So, why Noob is seen as the one that death made more vile while revenants (rulers of Hell) are more pited than really hated and only those who think there is no chance to “save” corrupted souls (Raiden, Hanzo(?)) claim them to be true evil? Well, I think it all comes down to simple thing – showing emotions. Liu Kang, Kitana, Jade, even past!Scorpion. They all lash out in anger, they are all deeply wounded. They are victims of lies and manipulations. Twisted poor souls of champions that were killed in brutal way yet can't rest in peace.

But not Bi-Han. There is so little anger or hate, like he truly does not care. That indifference – the impassivity – is hard to relate for characters. This is not really about how much evil being Noob is because compared to other villains, he is hardly the most important or cruel one in storyline. This is rather about his lack of human emotions; lack of visible trauma, lack of reaction to physical and emotional pain.

That reminds me MKX intro between Sonya and Kuai Liang:

Sub-Zero: You think me a Revenant still? Sonya Blade: You sure seem un-traumatized. Sub-Zero: You know not my pain!

In which Sonya “accused” Kuai Liang to be still revenant just because he did not show any visible signs of PTSD. Even though she knew his personal story of losing brother, saw him killed in brutal attack and helped bring him back to life and had evidence he did changed assassin clan into trustworthy ally, the lack of, well, human response to trauma was too suspicious. And if Kuai Liang, who was more socially adapted (polite) than Bi-Han did not show much struggle with past trauma(s), how much more Noob is terryfing in such lack of emotions?

In contrast, Hanzo (and Jax to some degree) is fueled by rage and regrets, even decades after coming back to life. Such contrast seems once again imply Bi-Han adapted into his new form much better than other damned souls. Noob stated in MK9 and 11 that Quan Chi perfected him. Most likely in the sense of cutting or shutting down his human feeling. No loyalty nor love for brother or Lin Kuei or former allies, no emotional dilemma whom Noob should serve. Himself, of course, but Quan Chi may not think through the whole matter and its consequences... or maybe he did, which is why revenants are tied closely to their negative feelings the way first Wraith (Scorpion) is, rather than cold and uncaring like Noob.

There is also one more thing to consider. Death as a relief (escape) from pain.

Burning alive was painful and did not kill outright Bi-Han. But pain of dying itself is still a part of life. Death ended Bi-Han's pain and brought cold comfort. In contrast, Hanzo is filled by flames – the pain, grief, anger, all the emotions that drives him all the time. Scorpion said his “The pain [of losing family] burns” what may not be metaphor but reality. What add to the dichtomy of darkness (cold, not feeling) and fire (strongly emotion, being in pain).

Remember the little bargain attempt between Noob and Raiden?

Noob: Offer me a new life and clan.

Raiden: I offer only freedom from darkness.

Noob: Kronika's deal is better.

When Raiden offers freedom from darkness, he usually means the evilness. For Bi-Han rejection of darkness could be getting back his sense of feeling. Not only emotions but also pain he does not need or want. Asking for new life is not the same as asking to be bring to life (pain) again, which is no wonder he stick to Kronika's deal. Because as far as I remember, she did not promise making him alive in New Era, did she?

So far, death benefits Noob with powers and durability, perfection (by Lin Kuei standards) and most likely, a comfort (being cut away from pain and emotions).

So is all nice for Bi-Han and it's no wonder why he does not act around in a violent and uncontrollable manner and blame everyone for his poor fate (like Hanzo & revenants do at times). Death is all good and fine, except... the first impression of Noob is build on so many lies.

For one, Bi-Han did mention that the change into Wraith (losing Sub-Zero's mantle) was not his choice:

Noob: Still trading on my name?

Sub-Zero: A name you forsook long ago.

Noob: Not willingly.

That he was killed injustly and there is no (real) punishment for the killer:

Noob: I was killed unjustly.

Raiden: For that, Scorpion lost my trust.

Noob: That is no justice.

(And yet, his banters with Raiden aren't nasty, I-blame-you-for-my-death sort of, even though Thunder God is somehow responsible for Bi-Han's fate. He is the one accusing him of being Lin Kuei assassin yet using him on two occassions. Accusing Lin Kuei of being evil, yet doing nothing to stop process of forcing children into clan and training to made them killers. And Bi-Han wasn't the first nor the last Sub-Zero that helped champions and Raiden. Yet there is no anger at Raiden, nor for his lack of punishment for Hanzo who promised to spare Bi-Han but broke the promise. Nor for fact that Raiden keeps Hanzo & Shirai Ryu under his protection. Nor for decapitation of Shinnok, the supposed god Noob is working for.)

For someone who is supposed to benefit from his own death, Bi-Han also made bitter statement about death:

Noob: Give in to death.

Kabal: How much does he pay?

Noob: Death only takes.

So, if death only takes but not give anything in return, how this relate to Noob Saibot? The increasing power & comfort of not feeling are a consolation prize, a side-effect of Bi-Han's natural adaptation to new situation and his cryomancer genes?

Interesting is the fact that Bi-Han share his “complaint” about being dead only with few people – his brother and Raiden while at the same does not lash out in heated anger at Scorpion, the murderer and even in one intro by asking about their former partnership shows will to work with Hanzo again.

Another lie about Noob is him being “perfected” by Quan Chi, as in: freed from ties to other people. Like I said already, Noob has complicated relationship with Kuai; he does not deny their family bonds (unless situation calls for that) while at the same time he claims time after time dead are his only clan and kin. Which means he is bond to other people (including current rulers of Netherrealm?), thus has obligations to someone else than himself. Also, the whole idea of forming / having the deadliest clan ever – clan must be protected and ruled, clan means emotional investing, being in touch with others. For a loner like Bi-Han/Noob, this sound like big thing. And mind you, he rarely (if ever) stated he wants to rule. Bi-Han wanted form the deadlier clan than (Kuai Liang's) Lin Kuei, true, but forming alone and leading is not the same thing.

There is also interesting character banter between Noob and Liu Kang:

Liu Kang: I'm not your leader, Bi-Han.

Noob: You will govern the Netherrealm.

Liu Kang: By my ancestors, I will not.

And with Kitana:

Noob: You will be Queen of the Damned.

Kitana: The honor is Mileena's.

Noob: There is a dark mark upon you.

Which suggests that Noob is tied somehow to rulers of Hell and at least to some degree accept Netherrealm hierarchy of power and revenant!Liu Kang's leadership. Dead are his clan and even family but Noob is one of few characters to mention (or maybe even spoken to) deads that have little in common with Netherrealm (Vera, Kung Lao's ancestors, ice bros' mother). If one takes Noob's words at face value, that is.

There is also the loyalty to shadows (darkness). Partially, this may comes from Lin Kuei upbringing itself. As assassin and master thief, Bi-Han operated in shadows all his life (“We are the Lin Kuei, more stealthful than the night, more deadly than the dawn!”).

I joked how “darkness is my friend” could be interpreted as Bi-Han talking about Saibot, but looking how bitter he is about trusting anyone – this is really amazing there is something (someone) he claims to be his friend. What may means that despite Quan Chi's best effort, some sense (or need) of loyalty stays strong in Bi-Han after two decades of being dead.

(And hey, maybe Noob's mirror match when shadow defies him 'cause he is not “original Bi-Han” is a hint that Saibot is truly loyal only to elder Sub-Zero? What makes the dynamic of Noob Saibot duo even more intriguing).

Like I said, Bi-Han's relationship with death and shadows is not really one dimensional. He adapted into darkness, yes and maybe even found some comfort in it, especially now when Quan Chi's magic does not bond him anymore. No emotional pain to push him into rampage (like it happen with Scorpion and revenants at times) but at the same time he is not completely numbed to feelings. He sees dead as his clan and kin, thus still belong to something bigger than his own self. Characters claim Bi-Han became more vile, that he is pure evilness, yet his character intros rarely gave the truly I-come-kill-you-in-painful-way vibe. He is passive-agressive at times, sarcastic or looking down on some characters, yes, but he also shows amazing (for an evil Wraith) level of... consideration.

Like, take Shao Kahn:

Noob: Quan Chi no longer binds me.

Shao: Now what will you do, specter?

Noob: Kill you.

Or Kano:

Noob: Time to die, Kano.

Kano: Come on, Bi-Han! Our bizzo's been good.

Noob: Good for you alone.

Noob worked for Shao Kahn and by proxity, with Kano twice. Once, as Quan Chi's Wraith (when the evil sorcerer's magic bind him) and second, as Kronika's servant. Yet, the intros suggest Bi-Han - freed from control of others - would kill the former emperor and leader of Black Dragons for whatever (personal?) reason. There is not much emotions; no much explanation why. Just desire to kill both Shao Kahn and Kano even though they are the guys that damned souls decided to work with. Except Noob, apparently who wouldn't mind kill them.

Compare it to the way Noob is talking to Sonya

Noob: You have lost so many.

Sonya: No soldier think's she'll live forever.

Noob: Join your comrades in Hell.

Or Jax

Noob: Join me again in death.

Jax: That'd be a hell no.

Noob: You have no choice, Jax.

Or Jacqui:

Noob: Return to your mother's arms.

Jacqui: She's dead, asshole.

Noob: And her soul is mine.

and

Noob: Vera's soul calls you.

Jacqui: Keep mama's name out your mouth, Revenant!

Noob: Revenant? I am Wraith!

Noob still is willing to kill his opponents, true, but there is twisted as hell yet still an offer to reconciliation. To join him or lost comrades/family in death. Sonya and Jax make sense; they are his former allies from MK Tournament (if he switched sides, that is) but Jacqueline? He never met her nor Vera, as far as games are concerned, yet he still offers (ask) Jacqui to reunite her dead mother. And is offended not at her angry outburst but that she called him revenant (though I think Bi-Han is the only one person who cares about the technical difference between terms).

There is also something ironic how Bi-Han and Kuai Liang share similar “taste” when it comes to respecting people. Both brothers are respecful (as much as Wraith can be) for Sonya and Jax and Jade, while despiting Kano and having rather unfavorable view of Frost and not liking (trusting) D'Vorah. It's hard not to wonder how much Kuai Liang's feelings toward people affect Noob's opinion of them (is Noob even aware of that?) and how much brothers are simply similar to each other in that regard.

Bi-Han's relationships with other characters in not one dimensional. There are people he offer to join death (and by that become part of his clan / kin?) rather than wish to kill and/or enslave soul. The same can be said about death, darkness and shadows. Does he adapted into those? Yes, mainly because coldness was always his natural environment thus finding comfort in cold embrance of death comes much easier to him than to rest damned souls. But that does not mean there is no resentment for what happened to him or no strong feeling of personal lost (the stolen title of Sub-Zero). Noob is either better at controling (hiding) his emotions or, as assassin, he was for years already mentally prepared for his own death than, let's say Edenian princess or Raiden's sons/pupils could ever be.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 11 #noob saibot #bi han #kuai liang #sub zero #jax briggs #sonya blade #revenants #my analysis #my meta #noob saibot is much more complex character than people think #it is just lack of character development in games that made him look boring

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fortunatelylori · 5 years

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This episode is more convoluted than the crypts of Winterfell

Disclaimer: Proceed with caution! There is snark ahead! I repeat: There is snark ahead! It had to be done, people. If I had to sit down and actually take this episode seriously, I would have lost my freaking mind!

So it happened. The first episode of season 8 aired. The leaks were true and I am now officially dead inside. Let’s get started.

General Impressions

Trying to review this episode is an extremely challenging exercise. There is no cohesiveness to it, no narrative strand to tie it all together. In an ideal world, an episode should be linked by a common theme. It should have a structure that pushes you towards the end from the very first scene onward.

Here the writers have completely given up on even pretending they care about structure and plot progression. They’re essentially jumping from scene to scene like a freaking gymnast on crack.

Surprised that Euron managed to travel to Essos and back and Cersei still hasn’t grown her hair? Seems dubious to you that the Wall gang not only survived the Wall falling but managed to get to Last Hearth through zombie infested territory? How about Ned Umber traveling all the way to Winterfell and back to Last Hearth just in time to die a pointlessly shocking and gratuitous death?

Well, I’m here to tell you to knock it off! GOT does not give a shit. This show has its priorities straight. And those priorities are:

Pretty pictures of people being dismembered, burned alive or generally dying painful deaths.

Porn ... we got to get that porn quota up, you guys! Just you ladies, of course! Who the hell wants to see naked men on this show?!?! Not the Ds certainly. That would be yikey.

For the sake of my own sanity, I’m going to try and bring some order to the chaos by splitting the episode into 3 main story lines. I’m extremely generous here because 2 of those story lines are barely there at all, and the other one is not linked together by anything other than location:

Story A

Winterfell is turned into a Big Brother type house where everyone that ever hated each other is now forced to coexist. If I were to pick a main character in this story line it would probably be Jon.

The problem is Jon is confused and confusing so watching him work his way through this meandering plot is painfully strange and frustrating. And that’s because his POV continues to be, at least, partly hidden, meaning that I never get any idea of what the hell he’s doing or what is actually driving him in this episode.

Generally this would allow for some sort of character reveal at the end of the episode when all these loose ends would be brought together and we’d finally know what Jon is up to but these are the Ds. They’re going to milk the ambiguity for all its worth and in true Ds fashion run it into the ground from sheer exhaustion.

If I were to summarize Jon’s story line in this episode it’s: Jon arrives at Winterfell and proceeds to be flabbergasted that the people he knew would be upset that he bent the knee, are actually upset that he bent the knee. He rides a dragon and gets down to some PDA in the middle of nowhere because he needs to amuse the royal bush. He reunites with his long lost family members and spends most of the episode sulking because Sansa is giving him the cold shoulder.

I feel like I’ll be saying this a lot but this is not a story line. This is a character aimlessly drifting from scene to scene whose reactions don’t make much sense.

Then there’s the parentage reveal:

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This goes just about as bad as you’d expect. The dialogue is slightly sophomoric with John Bradley being forced to deliver this line straight:

Your mother was Lyanna Stark. And your father, your real father, was Rhaegar Targareyen. You’ve never been a bastard. You’re Aegon Targareyen, true heir to the Iron Throne.

This little bit of exposition here just sounds off and strange, despite Bradley’s best efforts to soldier through it. Not to mention that the writers are ripping themselves off by having Sam parrot basically the same thing Bran said in season 7.

But the real problem with this scene is ... and I’m very sorry to say it ... Kit Harrington. He just doesn’t deliver. He doesn’t find the right tone and reactions to the monumental reveal and the whole scene falls flat on its stupid, exposition face.

It’s made even worse that this scene is following the Tarlys burning reveal in which John Bradley does, without a doubt, the best bit of acting in the whole episode.

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The Tarlys reveal is a strange and off kilter scene as well but Bradley sells you on Sam’s grief and horror so you’re instantly in his corner, which in turn helps ground the entire piece.

Harington doesn’t manage to do that so the scene ends up not amounting to much of anything other than setting up the future plot point of Jon and D*ny as rivals to the Iron Throne. We’ve known the truth of Jon’s parentage since season 6. What’s interesting to us in this scene is how Jon reacts to the news and we want to be given the opportunity to commiserate with him. Alas, we never get the chance.

Story B

The King’s Landing plot. This is not really a plot. More like an amalgamation of scenes that are sporadically thrown at you in haphazard fashion, with the only goal of setting up plot points for future episodes.

In quick succession we get Euron and Cersei having sex (off screen). Lena gets about 10 seconds to act some sort of emotion once the business is concluded and we’re off to the next plot point.

Theon and Yara reunite and separate within the span of 5 minutes and Bronn is off to kill the Lannister brothers - one man sent into hostile territory, in the freezing winter, with a crossbow. What could go wrong here? ... WHO CARES?!?! PORRRRRN!

The funniest thing about this plot is that the White Walkers are treated as an after thought at best.

Cersei is more upset she didn’t get her elephants. How much do you want to bet that the Ds blew their CGI elephant budget on the dragons? Speaking of which, should we start putting up flyers for Ghost? Lassie has been MIA for a while now, guys. I don’t think she’s coming back this time.

Bronn is trying to get it on with the 3 prostitutes in what is easily one of the least sexy scenes I’ve ever seen in my life. The 3 ladies of the night, however, seem determined to kill his buzz with talks of dragons disfiguring people. I guess everyone in Westeros is a fan of D*ny’s children, right? You know what they say: no press is bad press and all that.

Story C

The Wall gang meet up at Last Hearth and, in true redneck style, get down to some barbecue!

Again this isn’t a story line. It’s just two scenes hobbled together for the purposes of:

Exposition: we know that they’re going to ride to Winterfell and arrive in the next episode so we’ll have all of our main characters in place for the big battle in episode three.

Gratuitous child murder:

Complete with a strange parallel to this:

I take no credit for this connection. It was pointed out to me by @and-holly-goes-lightly. At this point they’re just hitting us over the head with the clues that once the Night King is dead, D*ny is the next, big bad.

And putting the fear of God into the audience when they realize they’ll have at least 1 episode of night scenes:

Do you see anything? Yeah ... hope you enjoy darkness for a full hour because that’s exactly what you’re going to get.

Favorite scenes

The opening sequence:

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The writers swore up and down that the first episode of season 8 would be filled with callbacks to the pilot. The only one that lands, in my opinion, and makes a good counterpoint is this scene. Visually, it looks amazing. We have a little Bran stand in to act as the POV and we have Arya watching her beloved brother finally arrive home.

It’s poignant and unsettling at the same time. When I watched it the first time, I wasn’t really sure why it felt so unsettling to me. I knew that D*ny wasn’t going to receive a warm welcome in Winterfell and I knew she’d be angry about it so that wasn’t the reason for my misgivings.

Later on I realized, the most unsettling thing to me in this scene is Jon. He left Winterfell as the character that I most relate to and came back as a distant, off putting figure. Jon, who has never been elevated above those around him, is now marching into Winterfell in the midst of a foreign army and he’s so dead eyed and distant, that he doesn’t even notice his sister in the crowd:

Who are they now? What are they to each other? There’s something deeply sad and mournful about these shots and seeing these two people that were so close at the end of a very long journey of being torn apart. And Maisie Williams does a fantastic job of conveying all of these emotions.

To me this scene was better than Jon and Arya’s reunion. The reunion is pretty by the numbers, with the two of them comparing swords and not truly ever communicating. It was heartwarming but it didn’t have the emotional punch this scene did.

The Tarlys burning reveal:

I’ve already talked about this scene in the Winterfell plot section but, while I felt the scene was awkward and choppy, John Bradley completely sold me on Sam’s tragedy and I can’t help but love the scene because of it.

There is something else that caught my eye, though:

From this scene, it seems pretty obvious to me that Jorah knew about the Tarlys’ execution. Which makes it all the more interesting that Jon, on the other hand, doesn’t know. I guess he’s not the only one keeping secrets.

The Gendrya reunion:

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Initially, I really disliked this scene because it feels stilted and it doesn’t flow properly. I still think it’s poorly constructed. However when watching the behind the scenes video, Maisie gave me some much needed context. Her saying that Arya was in love with Gendry and would have followed him to the ends of the Earth finally made the Gendrya relationship click for me.

While I’ve always liked the idea of them together, I never really understood how we were going to get there. But this is, actually, about a girl reuniting with her childhood crush and him being able to see her as a young woman, instead of a little girl.

It also plays in really nicely with Arya’s standoffish-ness in the scene, since Gendry abandoning her to go off with the Red Woman gets a romantic connotation as well as explains Gendry’s awkwardness around her. She’s not a little girl anymore and, dare I say it? He likes her.

It’s all very cute.

And these lines?

Gendry: It’s Valyrian steel. I always knew you were just another rich girl.

Arya: You don’t know any other rich girls.

Legitimately adorable banter.

The scene is also setting up something with the weapon Arya is commissioning. It looks like a spear or an arrow of some kind. It reminds me a bit of that flash back Bran has in the books of one of the Starks making an arrow from a weirwood branch. It’s been theorized that those arrows were meant to kill Aegon’s dragons. I wonder if they’ll tackle that plot point with Arya?

The opening credits:

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Yeah ... I’m really scraping the bottom of the barrel on this ...

I assume everyone noticed that the title sequence has been changed. What I found really intriguing is that they focus a lot on the underground tunnels of both Winterfell and King’s Landing.

The Winterfell sequence doesn’t feel like such a novelty since they’ve been pushing the crypts pretty hard in their promotion so far. The crypts represent the parentage reveal as well as possible danger for whoever hides down there once the dead attack the castle.

But King’d Landing is intriguing because the thing that I most associate with the tunnels underneath the Red Keep is wild fire. I guess we should get ready to see King’s Landing go up in flames.

Episode MVPs:

Lord “I think you’ll find you’re wrong” Varys

Varys would have been on this list for this alone:

Tyrion: You should consider yourself lucky. At least your balls won’t freeze off.

Varys: You take great offence at dwarf jokes but love making eunuch jokes. Why is that?

Thank you, Varys! Thank you! I’ve been saying that Tyrion is a mean spirited hypocrite since season 1. Glad I’m not the only one that noticed.

But then, Varys goes on to shoot down the idea of a Jon/D*ny marriage alliance with this:

Varys: Nothing lasts.

Lolz ... you, my friend, are a STAR! Keep doing what you’re doing!

Sansa “No time for your bullshit” Stark

If looks could kill ... Sansa was so on point this episode that I relished every second of it. Not only did she look stunningly beautiful but she decided to give some much needed reality checks to everyone she came into contact with.

Apparently everyone that arrives in Winterfell is delusional because Sansa’s actions of merely pointing out the obvious, like:

Armies and dragons eat a lot. How are we going to feed them?

You really took your sister at her word? Am I supposed to keep thinking you’re smart, Tyrion?

Is met with shock, horror and confusion. Everyone and their mother is wondering what Sansa is doing and what she’s up to. Jon is sulking because Sansa is not jumping at the bit to see him. D*ny is upset Sansa doesn’t like her. Tyrion is shocked that Sansa doesn’t think he’s as brilliant as he thinks he is.

Meanwhile, Sansa is just standing there, not breaking a sweat while everyone around her is twisting themselves into pretezles trying to figure her out. Now that’s a Boss Bitch right there! (yeah, yeah, too much Good Girls. I know).

Bran “King of the Clap back” Stark

Talking of Boss Bitches, here comes Bran to ruin D*ny’s day. He ain’t having whatever lame attempt at human emotion D*ny is trying to convey and decides to spread some reality checks of his own:

Bran: The Night King has your dragon. He’s one of them now. The Wall has fallen. The dead march South.

Also:

Your hair looks stupid. That coat is lame and I don’t like you very much.

(this was the subtext, right?)

But Boss Bran doesn’t stop there. He decides to out creep even himself by waiting in the freezing cold of night in order to spook Jaime Lannister upon arrival in Winterfell, like a ghost in a gothic novel:

Since I apparently have a lot more to say, I’m going to make a little series out of this. In the next two installments I will tackle the J0nereys and Jonsa relationships. Stay tuned!

* none of the gifs or pictures are mine. Thank you to the content creators!

#got 8x01 #got meta #house stark #house lannister #sansa stark #jon snow #arya stark #gendry waters #arya x gendry #gendrya #episode review #anti-daenerys

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a-wlw-reads · 6 years

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Theme: Small towns

Some people are itching to get out as soon as they can and some know it’d take nothing short of Armageddon to make them leave, but either way small towns leave a mark unlike anything else. So here’s four books set in small towns, with all the gossipy old biddies and local traditions that entails.

Run by Kody Keplinger : Agnes has felt her parents hovering her entire life. She may be legally blind, but that doesn’t make her wholly incapable. She gets to rebel a bit for the first time when she befriends Bo Dickinson, a girl who can’t wait to flee their small Kentucky town and leave the rumors and her drug addicted mother behind. Agnes is the only one willing to learn about the real Bo behind the stories, and they become the kind of friends that distance won’t really separate. I’ll start off by saying that Bo is a crucial character but doesn’t have a POV and Agnes, while a fantastic character and also some much needed disability representation, isn’t LGBT. Nonetheless this is a book I loved for showing friendship between two characters who archetypically are isolated in a lot of other media.

Idaho Code by Joan Opyr : What every small town needs is a dead body. Bil is only recently returned to her hometown college when Burt Wood is found dead in a jail cell with her brother. If that’s not enough, the last time Burt was seen was when he was skipping town with another man and $250,000 of the county’s money. While on the hunt to exonerate her brother (whose many priors for petty crimes have about exhausted his “get out of jail for having cancer” card) she uncovers a whole lot of secrets this town would probably have rather hidden. Bonus points for having a ridiculously extravagant town festival, complete with a dramatic rendition of its founding, and a sweet romance that grows against all odds. This book is funny, and it’s as much a family drama as it is a murder mystery with classic characters such as the grandma who’s up in everybody’s business and the mother who seems physically incapable of being anything other than crude and embarrassing in public scenarios.

Dress Codes for Small Towns by Courtney Stevens : Here we have more local eccentricities; Otters Holt, KY is known for its massive corn dolly statue, Molly the Corn Dolly, and the annual Harvest Festival that awards the dolly to one deserving woman. With the death of town benefactor Big T the festival seems to be in its last running. Enter Billie McCaffrey, preacher’s daughter who recently set the church on fire. Literally. She and her five closest friends, the Hexagon, are hell-bent on saving this piece of their town, although her father might not appreciate my language there. Billie’s also trying to work out her feelings for her friends, and what exactly that means for her sexuality. I will always have a soft spot for character(s) who everyone expects to be intolerant but are surprisingly supportive. Billie is devoted to her town, and her fears of rejection from it are heart-breaking and ultimately unfounded. It’s nice to see a book that celebrates rather than mocks some of unique cultures of small towns.

Far From Xanadu by Julie Anne Peters : Like Billie, Mike is a tomboy who loves her small town, even as it might seem to doubt her. All she wants is to take over her father’s plumbing company, and feels betrayed to watch her older brother run it into the ground after their father’s suicide a year prior. Each family member is handling grief their own way, and part of Mike’s process is falling in love with glamorous new girl Xanadu, even though she knows her feelings won’t be returned. This book is a sweet one about grieving and finding who you are independent of the people you surround yourself with.

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heyheyitsstillgay · 5 years

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Respect the Dead

Phandom Phic Phight Entry #2 based on a prompt from @whosvladagain

#TeamGhost team leader @ibelieveinahappilyeverafter

Previous Entry ; Also available on FFN ; Next Entry

Words: 3,635; Status: Complete

TW: Panic, Vomit mention, themes of death.

Okay, he looks significantly less friendly than Wulf. Though, perhaps a tad nicer than Cujo's angry form. Maybe Danny can calm him down, slowly lead him somewhere safer. Coax him away from Casper High, without getting into a fight that promises to be filled with sharp teeth and claw marks. Clockwork forbid the school bell goes off when a ghost wolf who clearly has a lot of pent up anger is stalking the halls not far from the gym.

"Easy, boy." Phantom mutters, hand stretched in front of him in what he hopes is a non-threatening manner. When he first tried to aim the thermos at him the ghost-wolf lashed out. Danny's unsure if the animal knows what the thermos can do, or is aware it's a threat, or perhaps is confusing the metallic contraption for a gun. Either way the ghost boy is too close to the animal right now to try anything like that again without getting his glove bitten off. Sure, his Hazmat got ruined all the time, he's slightly more concerned about the hand residing in the glove though. It would be nice to return to class in one piece rather than partially digested by a wolf or exposed to some kind of spectral rabies. Maybe? Do ghosts have rabies? Okay, we'll be wondering if bacteria has the possibility for an ecto afterlife when we're in a slightly less half-life threatening situation, perhaps.

Danny keeps his knees bent and his stance wide to improve his balance and increase his reaction time whilst still making himself smaller in hopes of appearing less threatening. He moves around the spirit in a circle, not wanting to risk getting any closer. Maybe if he can find a blind spot he can shoot the thermos from there. He's hesitant to put distance between them. Surely the last thing to do when faced with a growling wild animal, is give chase. Would the animal freak if he floated or phased? Was hiding in the air vents a really idiotic plan?

Given the direction he was walking he was about to hit a wall, or rather go through it and into the boys locker room. If he left the wolf's line of sight he had no doubt it would bolt after him. After all, Phantom's the only person the wolf has seen here, if he's going to try to hunt anyone down then it's him. Class is still in session so there's no humans nearby enough for the wolf to go after.

There is a door to the boys locker room which would make entry less hazardous than phasing, he thinks. Going through that entrance however would require moving closer to the beast, which isn't going to happen.

Side hitting the wall, he phases through. From within the plasterboard he kicks upwards into the ceiling as he hears the crash of the animal splintering the wooden door open. Great. More property damage. He floats into the air ducts and regains his solidity. For some reason the crashing sound hasn't stopped. The wolf is yelping, growling, whimpering, the clattering going on sounds almost metallic as it echoes through the vents. Danny tentatively places his fingers onto the walls around him. Tail rippling as he meanders forward, slowly, towards the light leaking in from below, the grates of the vent. If he can aim the thermos through it unnoticed, then that's this confrontation solved.

"Damn it! Pesky mutt!" Danny freezes as a deep voice reverberates from below. "Where did he go?!" It growls as a sickening splat cuts through all other sounds of chaos. Danny's habit of breathing stops as he remains as still as he can. That sound… that wasn't good.

The smell of copper and formaldehyde bites at his nose hairs and he almost chokes. He can taste it at the back of his throat against the rising acid. Ectoplasm.

That wasn't all, Skulker is down there. Quiet settling over them that yelled louder in his ears than anything previously from that room.

The wolf was gone. Must have been. Scent alone told him that much. Smoky as though it's very ectoplasm had been grilled. He knew the smell of destabilisation. Skulker swore. Why could Danny smell pine needles now? And fresh grass? Why did that make the urge to vomit even harder to suppress?

He doesn't want to see, doesn't want to know. Unbidden, his body floats forward without him telling it to. He reaches the grate, can finally see the state of the locker room below him. Pupils shrinking to the size of pinpricks, his throat closes at the sight.

Skulker isn't looking at him, fortunately, though it's clear the hunter can sense his prey is still nearby. The wolf, the bait, Danny realises, is barely recognisable. It's clear where it happened, a glowing blue net loose against the wall next to the door. With his enhanced hearing, Phantom can hear the net humming faintly. Was it, supposed to do this? The halfa wonders to himself.

Chunks of green lie below the net, barely touching it. Ectoplasm was usually viscous, think cornstarch in water, able to change between thin liquid and liquid thick enough to stand on its own. The chunks down there looked more like raw lime jello. With lines of black from where it had clearly made contact with the net. Dark smoke continued to rise from it in wisps. None of the discernibly wolf features remained. A light in the pile, a natural forest green compared to the now dark rotting green of the rest, it glowed like a flickering light. Something was oozing from it, but it wasn't ectoplasm, it was something deeper, more important, vital. It evaporated into mist immediately after contact with the air. The wolf's core had ruptured, cracked, shattering, it was bleeding out right in front of them and neither of the ghosts were trying to do anything about it. There wasn't anything they could do. An involuntary shiver wracks Danny's body as another wave of tree bark and pine passes over him.

They shouldn't be so close, this is so incredibly personal. No one should be looking at this, no one should be smelling this. But the animal died with them. It shouldn't be alone for this. It's too much, a new level of suffering and death that no spirit should ever have to go through. It's essence and soul is clinging to the scents in the air around them. Phantom and Skulker are the only people who can accept it, so they must.

It takes another fourteen minutes for the glow to leave the core and the smell around them to disperse. After which time, Skulker lowers his head. Placing a hand against his chest plate, the hunter mumbles an apology in ghost speak before he turns tail and leaves the room through the wall. This was hardly a situation to continue the hunt, so he doesn't.

Danny didn't like toast already, why the hell would Skulker have a ghost toaster? It was barbaric. Intentional core damage was very taboo, by everyone's standards, not just Walker's. The ghost boy moves through the vent and descends until he drops onto the floor by his toes. Neither of them have moved the net or disturbed the remains. Regular ectoplasm would evaporate naturally over time, he hopes that's able to happen now. He feels a slight territorial growl at the thought of any humans interfering with the animal husk. Glaring at the splintered door, he drags a bench in front of it. Stepping back with his head at a tilt, he uses his ghostly strength to stack another bench on top of it, in hopes that the humans would get the message. Stay Out. Sighing to himself, he mumbles a "good luck" in ghost speak before turning and leaving via the wall.

"Oh good grief." Ms Tetslaff grumbles as she passes the boys locker room on her way to the gym. She doesn't care who did it but if she does find out who then they're in for one hell of a kickboxing match. She slams her fist into her other palm and cracks her knuckles. How could someone cause chaos like this on tonight of all nights!? They needed to have the gym looking it's best! If she discovers even a hint of disturbance in that room too, she just might lose it.

The gym is fine, thankfully. Principal Ishiyama is in there with Mr Falluca, discussing the layout for the room. Tonight was supposed to be prom night, they had around 5 hours to decorate before students were meant to be arriving. Laraine calms herself and marches over to the folded tables to set them up along the wall.

"An Inspector Calls! Laraine!" Edward Lancer poked his head through the doors to the gym, exasperated. "Could you lend us a hand please? It seems that door has been barricaded from the inside, as well as broken into pieces!" Mrs Tetslaff nods and sets down the table she was carrying.

Ghosts then? She huffs. At least that means the students will live to see another day, unless the culprit is still inside. In which case they won't be having anything to do with tonight's celebrations if she gets a say in it. She punches her arm through the wide crack in the wood and grasps tightly onto the edge of whatever's blocking it beneath. Bracing her shoulders against the door, she flicks her wrist and shoves against it. They all hear the clatter of the barrier as she steps back and slams against the door again. This time it gives, they force through into the room.

Mrs Tetslaff's eyes dart around the mess. Yep, definitely ghosts. Wheeling his cleaning cart next to her, the long suffering janitor heaves a huge sigh and grumbles to himself. She shoots him a sympathising look before returning to the gym with Edward.

In the past, proms at Casper had always had themes; Medieval times, Fantasy, 70's night. Some genius on the PTA decided this year's should have a supernatural theme. Oh the hilarity. Some adults were in one corner blowing up black balloons and preparing to decorate the walls with the Halloween supplies, while the librarian and Mr Falluca seemed to have had the idea of putting an orange feather boa on the skeleton from the biology department. As if that could only ever end well. Mrs Tetslaff finished setting the tables up, lined with black plastic table cloths, ready for punch, nibbles and candy.

"Oh for- The Legend of Sleepy Hollow!" Laraine marches over to the exasperated English teacher.

"Whatever is it now, Edward?" The man was reaching the end of his tether and responds only by shoving the Halloween bunting into her hands.

"Ah." Or rather, the remains of the Halloween bunting. Disintegration appears to have occurred while it was in the box. Although, upon closer inspection, the plastic maintains an unnatural cold and there are faint scorch marks at the edge of the ribbons. Ghosts, again. So they were going to have a prom in a room with a skeleton and a lot of black balloons, seems more like a particularly gothic funeral than a celebration for teenagers.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Mr Lancer sighed, picking through the box and watching it all turn to dust at his fingertips.

"Quit mopin'," she began, "I'm sure we'll think of something. I'll head to the shops and see if there's anything I can find."

"But it's the middle of May?!" He exclaimed, she simply levelled him a glare and stepped towards the gym doors with heavy feet.

On her way out when she crossed paths with the janitor, something in particular catches her eye. She does a double take, taps the elderly man on the shoulder and points towards the object in question.

"Can I borrow this?" She asks, "I might just have had a really good idea." She remembers the art teacher is stood just a room away, he is going to love this.

The trio had left for prom a tad early, expecting to be caught up in ghost attacks and ending up fashionably late. None of them want to inconvenience any dates so they've decided to go together as friends, just in case. If somehow no ghosts attack and Tucker ends up meeting someone he likes while they're there, then good for him. Danny and Sam will just have to despair at his absence. As if they don't have the pleasure of seeing him everyday.

For once in their lives, however, Amity was actually being pretty quiet tonight. The trio are left to their own excitement for the upcoming party. Tucker is smiling gleefully, pride rolling from his shoulders over his hand-made costume.

"I say we have a contest tonight, see how many girls Danny Phantom can get, versus how many girls the far superior, younger, fresher, finer, Tucker Phantom can get?" He brushes his fingers through his white anime wig and glances over to his friend.

While said friend is undeniably Danny Phantom, at this time he's just Danny Fenton, black hair, red trainers and blue jeans. The only difference being his shirt, while still white, this shirt has black text that reads 'Nobody knows I'm dead.'

"Or you can spend tonight enjoying yourself in ways that don't involve pressuring someone into showing you affection." Sam rolls her eyes playfully at her friend.

"You're just jealous that you couldn't put together a cool ghost cosplay in time!"

"Um- you think I'm a cool ghost?" Danny cracked a smile.

"Hell yeah man, you're friends with me aren't you? That alone makes you the coolest, never mind the awesome super powers and the teen idolisation." The halfa just shakes his head and feels his cheeks heat in response.

"For the record," Sam spoke up "I don't feel the need to dress up as a ghost, not to infringe on or appropriate the culture of spirits or anything, but I'm dead inside all the time anyway. I can be a creature of the night any old day of the week." she stated with pride. It's not like she isn't making an effort, this year she has a black gothic dress with green and gold detailing, no one questions how she is able to speak so clearly with those fangs in her mouth again.

"Speaking of effort," Tucker redirects his attention, "Hey Danny, what happened to cutting some holes in a bed sheet and layering them over that outfit? You know no one's going to get that t-shirt, right?"

"Firstly, you've met my dad. In what universe is it safe to walk within 9 yards of him with a bed sheet over your head, regardless of species. Secondly, you guys get the t-shirt and I'm not wearing it for any one else, I'm wearing it for me because it is hecking hilarious. I paid good money for this online okay? You can't take this away from me, I won't let you." He pouted exaggeratedly at Tucker while the teen giggled at the imagery of Jack Fenton single handedly destroying a whole bed section of a store.

Turning into Casper High, Sam's heels click against the concrete as they walk towards the back entrance to the gym. An aged looking banner adorns the entryway, the double doors are closed. Nearby stood the ticket stand, the line for which is considerably short, though it makes sense considering how early in the night it is.

The trio slow their pace as they near the queue. A slight chill is in the air, Sam folds her arms into her torso, Tucker's jaw clenches, something like liquid nitrogen tries to crawl up Danny's throat. It's not too unusual, it's early evening but more notably - they live in a ghost town. Usually there's plenty of cold spots dotted around the place, even more so when the halfas are around, which is why he's not particularly off put. That is, until the couple at the front of the queue head inside, the moment the door cracks open.

A sense of foreboding increases tenfold. The first thing that hits him is the smell. It's odd but his head still snaps up and his breathing slows instinctively. He's not sure why it has his attention. It reminds of cheap watered down bleach, or the stuff he uses to clean his parents lab when there's been a particularly bad explosion that demands his attention. It looks fairly dark inside, but there's an unpromising quality to it, a light glow that resonates within him. Eyebrows creasing, Danny remains silent as the three teens take a few steps forwards in line.

Eye contact is maintained with the door the whole wait. If Sam and Tucker notice his examining gaze then they don't comment on it. Next time the door opens it has his full attention. The room, it almost has an aura of its own. His core doesn't poke towards it in curiosity like it would a ghost and obviously his ghost sense hasn't gone off, so what's going on? Maybe there's some kind of giant ghostly relic that's somehow found its way into his school gym. Okay, that sounds stupid. They're almost in anyway, he'll see what's happening for himself then.

When they reach the table the ghost boy doesn't spare a glance for whoever's manning the stall. He simply slams his money down and marches over to the door, arms outstretched. With a tug of the handle he drags the door wide open.

The lights are off, but it's not pitch black. The walls are covered with something that he's certain everyone else here is under the delusion of being glow in the dark paint. It forms shapes that dance across the walls, little characters whose faces are mock attempts of scary, but it's not the smiles that are sinister. His friends are at his side as the realisation settles further. That is not glow in the dark paint.

Yes, it smelt like his parents basement. Ectoplasm mixed with disinfectant. He recognises the smell now there isn't a barrier in the way. His pupils faded from his eyes as realisation dawned, exactly where this ectoplasm was from, who this ectoplasm was from. Green is all he can see, it's swarming his senses, filling his oesophagus, thrashing against his sides.

No, that wasn't the ectoplasm. People had their hands on him, grabbing him, holding him, trying to drag him one way or another. It feels like he's drowning but his mouth is dry, his chest is constricting. Faintly, a part of him is surprised that his soul hasn't left his body yet. His core is flaring, trying to reach out.

He wants to hunt down whoever is responsible, wants to hurt them. Wants to rip the building down by shaping the ectoplasm in his fingers into claws, wants to chase everyone away and carefully peel the remains from the walls and find somewhere safer to put them. Idiot. Leaving someone's final remains in a public school. What were Skulker and himself expecting from humans?

Woah, back up. Stop. He could calm down from this. Blinking, his eyes burn with un-shed tears. He grips the grass between his fingers until his knuckles turned white. He releases a shaky breath and takes another one. Regaining his bearings, it registers that he's sat in the grass a little away from the building but still on school grounds. His head feels too heavy for his neck to hold, so he drops it. Facing down towards his knees, he clasps his eyes shut and focuses on evening his breathing to that of a regular human being. He shoves down the panic that rises as his vision is clouded by eyelids that carry a faint green tinge. His throat feels red raw now that the numbness is leaving his body, like someone had forced him to swallow acid. He hadn't vomited had he? He cracks his eyes open to check his surroundings. Tucker is sat next to him, hovering a hand over Danny's shoulder but hesitant to actually touch him. The techno-geek looks startled, the thumb of his left hand moving swiftly across his PDA as his eyes scan the text. Sam isn't nearby. She's a distance away, closer to the gym than she is to him, waving her hands frantically in the face of one of the chaperones.

Danny rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes and fully raises his head. The movement draws a flinch out of his best friend whose head snaps up to check over him with wide eyes.

"You okay, man?" The boy asks, voice soft and steady, "Blood Blossoms gone?" "Blood Blossoms?" the halfa croaks, hand clutching at his throat in a vain attempt to fix the cracks. "Yeah, it looked pretty bad. I couldn't see the red lightning like last time though. I was trying to check if there was some other subspecies with slightly different properties, we couldn't see the circle anywhere either. You seemed kind of… mad when we tried to get you away but you started to calm down after a minute or so, so like…" He trails off and smiles reassuringly, Danny pretends not to notice the dark circle beginning to blossom on his friend's jaw or the feeling of drying red blood cracking beneath his own fingernails. The trembling across his form is dying down as he shakes his head slowly. "That wasn't-" His voice creaks and he tries again "wasn't Blood Blossoms. Th-they, um…" biting his cheek to centre himself, he swears, it comes out as a shaky whisper.

"What kind of awful, terrifying creature, lines their walls with the blood and broken soul of the dead and gone?"

Based on WhosVladAgain’s Prompt: They're doing prom decorations and ran out of glow in the dark paint; luckily ectoplasm does too…

#panic //#emetophobia //#death //#its like a minor ghost character its fine #i just saw this prompt and was like 'im sorry how is that not ominous as hell??'#phic phight #phic phight 19 #phic phight 2019 #own post #owly writes #teamghost #danny phantom #danny fenton #((the net was supposed to get hot enough to make a halfa transform back into human form))#ficlet

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jmsebastian · 6 years

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Middle Child Syndrome: Fatal Frame III

Fatal Frame III: The Tormented sits in a weird place among the entries in the classic horror series. After the novelty of the first game and the refinements of the second, The Tormented starts to retread some very familiar territory. There are more old, abandoned and haunted mansions, more hostile ghosts that need exorcizing, and the same Camera Obscura with which you take pictures to solve puzzles and rid said haunted mansions of the undead. The general idea of the game is identical to its predecessors. If you’ve played through the entire series, you know that there is a familiar sense of core elements and a consistent quality that invites comparisons to the NES line of Mega Man games. As such it’s easy to overlook the game as just another sequel that does more of the same. Done and done.

That would really be selling the game short, though. While not nearly as celebrated as Fatal Frame II: Crimson Butterfly, or as controversial a release as The Maiden of Black Water, The Tormented veers off the beaten path in surprising ways. Sure, you spend the majority of your time doing the exact same things you do in every Fatal Frame game, but the story has a more personal side to it. It also isn’t all haunted house all the time. There are things to do outside of playing paparazzi to the angry spirits of people who met untimely and gruesome ends. There are characters that you can interact with, and loads of quiet time.

I haven’t talked at great length about the story of the other Fatal Frame games for a couple of reasons. First, they are all set up as mysteries. Going into a lot of detail about them would diminish the rewarding sense of discovery you get when you uncover more journal entries or newspaper clippings that allow you to fit the timeline of the story’s events together. Second, the stories being told were never all that satisfying to me. Learning exactly how the ancient ritual that keeps the spirits of hell away got botched for the third or fourth time loses a bit of its luster. There’s nothing wrong with that framework, and you have to expect it to some degree with a series that is self-referential and takes place in some semblance of a timeline. Still, the possibilities to go beyond the failed ritual scenario have been surprisingly unexplored. Fatal Frame III makes a valiant attempt.

In The Tormented, you follow Rei Kurosawa in the aftermath of the loss of her fiance, Yuu Asou. Rei bears the responsibility of Yuu’s death, as she feels it was her inattentive driving that caused the accident he was killed in. Having survived the accident, Rei suffers from tremendous guilt. That is a heavy stage to set and contrasts wildly with the previous setups of “my brother is lost and I think he might be in this creepy mansion” as seen in the original game, and “we were running through the woods and now we’re in some creepy, abandoned village that appeared out of nowhere”. The themes in the series have always leaned very hard into dark and disturbing territory. Who could forget the slightly hinted at taboo relationship between twins Mio and Mayu from Crimson Butterfly, or the horrifically unethical medical experiments performed on mental patients in Mask of the Lunar Eclipse? Where the series had previously begun its games with big, open-ended mysteries, III was the first to begin its story with such a specific focus on the details that ground both the lead into the plot and the character whose the lens the player will be experiencing the plot through.

Rei’s grief and guilt are the emotional frameworks upon which The Tormented is built. That subtitle essentially gives the theme of the game (and the entire series, for that matter) away right off the bat. It’s one thing to have an interesting story framework, though. It’s another to elevate that story through the integration of its themes into something the player can take part in. To that end, Fatal Frame III is comprised of two distinct phases. There’s the dream phase, where Rei (and occasionally other characters) explores The Manor of Sleep and uncovers information about various ghosts she encounters while there. This is also where the player does all of their ghost hunting with the Camera Obscura.

There’s also the waking phase. This phase is set in Rei’s home, which she shares with Miku Hinasaki. Miku is the protagonist of the first Fatal Frame and she works for Rei as an assistant. While awake, the player can develop certain pictures taken while in the dream state in her home’s dark room. Those photos can then be given to Miku to investigate the characters or events revealed in the film. The other main component of waking up is simply to take a breather from the harrowing experiences of investigating the mansion while eluding the tattooed woman hell-bent on tracking Rei down. Having structured quiet time makes the difference between the emotional highs and lows of the game more pronounced and even. The house, taking the role of refuge, completely recontextualizes the nature of the mansion exploration as set forth in the previous entries in the series. Where before the game’s protagonists were forced deeper and deeper into exploration in an effort to find what they were looking for or free themselves, Rei gets to act more like a spelunker. She explores the same horrifying locations and situations as the characters in the other games, but she does so with a rope (somewhat) firmly tied back to reality.

The cyclical nature of sleeping and waking is then twisted over time. The safe haven of Rei’s home, which included having Rei’s health restored and her film replenished, begins to feel less safe over time, especially as night falls. Apparitions tucked away in corners can be seen flickering in and out of existence, the constant rainfall outside acts as somewhat of a psychological barrier to leaving the house. It’s as though Rei’s dreams are forcing their way into her consciousness slowly over the course of the game, which is a more oppressively sinister emotional path to walk for both Rei and the player. What was once a welcomed relief erodes into more uncertainty, cementing the effects of the trauma that Rei undergoes.

The subtlety of Rei’s descent into the trappings of guilt is propped up in some unexpected ways. There are the aforementioned hauntings in Rei’s home introduced over time, but there are more subtle touches that magnify the effects of her emotional deterioration. Elements as omnipresent as the UI seem oddly understated compared to the games it’s sandwiched between. Compare how busy the viewfinder is of a mildly upgraded camera is in Fatal Frame II and a similarly upgraded camera in III.

Fatal Frame II: Crimson Butterfly

Fatal Frame III: The Tormented

The highlighting around the reticle, which indicates the charge of your spirit power, is so subtle that upon picking this game back up again, I completely missed it for the better part of my first fight. I’m not exactly sure why the Camera Obscura has such a minimalist representation when the trend in the rest of the series was to amplify its feedback to 11. It’s not even like it fits in with the rest of the UI features, which saw more shortcut buttons and menu options than previously provided. It certainly seems that breaking immersion wasn’t particularly on the list of worries, so the only options left seem to be that the developers just wanted to give the player more screen real estate with which to frame the ghosts they would be taking pictures of, or they felt that toning down the flashing lights and alarm bells would keep the mood somber, preventing it from clashing horribly with the tone of the narrative. It could be both at the same time. Whether intentional or accidental, Tecmo completely nailed it.

Being the third installment of a series means there were plenty of opportunities to adjust and fine tune features that might have been underdeveloped in previous games. There is still some redundancy in how the player takes pictures, for example, being able to use either the R1 or X buttons, but that’s much better than the three possible buttons used in the previous title. A big improvement was getting rid of having two camera viewfinder control options active at the same time. Fatal Frame and Fatal Frame II allowed for movement of the Camera Obscura’s viewfinder with both the analog stick and directional pad, an odd choice considering the PlayStation 2 had integrated analog control built in from the beginning. The Tormented fixes that, leaving control simply with the left analog stick. By doing this, they freed up the D-pad to be used for swapping film types during combat without forcing the player into a series of menus, which would take them out of the action and ruin the pacing.

Fatal Frame III is full of these small improvements. The system menu options were moved from the Start button to Select, which allowed for the game menu options to be moved from Triangle to Start, which then allowed the Camera Obscura to be raised or lowered with Triangle instead of Circle, putting it much closer to R1, which is used as the shutter button. The map, a huge time saving and confusion busting tool, was moved to the L2 button, which went completely unused in previous entries. One of the best improvements involved implementing an older constraint from the first game that had been “corrected” for the sequel.

Film in Fatal Frame is finite. If the player does a poor job managing their film either in combat or when taking pictures of wandering ghosts or other things of interest, they can either run out completely (admittedly difficult to do as there is more than enough scattered around the mansion), or more worryingly, run low or out of the most rare and powerful film types because their damage capacities weren’t maximized. The team at Tecmo realized that there was a real possibility that players could put themselves into an unwinnable situation, and to make sure that couldn’t happen in the sequel, they introduced a type of film that was infinite. Its capture power was very weak to compensate for having an unending supply, but it was a nice safeguard against both running out of film completely and also against being forced to use more powerful film when it wasn’t really necessary.

Fatal Frame III rides the line between these two extremes. All film types have a limited supply, like in the original game. Two of those types, Type-7 and Type-14, refill to a set amount when Rei wakes up from her dream hours. This accomplishes the goal of heightening the tension of each dream by forcing players to be conscious of how much film they’re using and for what, and also provides an extra dose of relief once players reach the end of a dream segment. There’s an additional benefit to aiding players in mentally pacing the game, as they can form a pretty good idea of about how far into a segment they are based on how much film they’ve consumed, assuming they haven’t gone above and beyond in exploration and searched out every possible film drop possible. The mixing of old and new series ideas demonstrates the importance of looking at the games in a franchise holistically, as there can be great ideas tucked away in entries that can easily get overlooked in the rush to keep things fresh.

Unfortunately, refinements don’t really make for huge selling points, which may be part of the reason why the game is underrepresented when it comes to the series as a whole. It looks the best and typically plays the best of the PS2 games, but not because it made any huge design overhauls. It simply examined what it was that players most often spent their time doing in Fatal Frame and made those features more logical and accessible. It’s as if the Camera Obscura viewfinder’s visual design was a representation of the elegance that this game was going for.

For all that it gets right, Fatal Frame III does, of course, have flaws. Those flaws largely derive from the expectation that players of the game are familiar with the series. Aside from relying upon up the stories of previous games, it also borrows much of its level design from them as well. Revisiting levels familiar to seasoned veterans of a series can be a nice surprise. The Tormented takes this idea to its logical conclusion and basically creates a new game using the locations of the previous two games. The Manor of Sleep, for all intents and purposes, is a combination of Crimson Butterfly’s Lost Village, and Fatal Frame’s Himuro Mansion. There’s really nothing wrong with this in principle, but Tecmo’s reliance on familiar architecture allowed them to slip a little with regard to guiding the player along the right path. Far too often it feels as though players need to rely on past experiences with the games in order to figure out where to go because Fatal Frame III doesn’t really bother to give them adequate clues. This is an intermittent problem. The first quarter of the game is fine, and there’s even one section when controlling Miku where the player has to rely on audio cues to figure out where to go which works extremely well. There are other sections, however, such as Hour VI, where guidance is a little less straightforward. You don’t really take any pictures revealing other locations, there aren’t spirits walking about to point your way, you just have to wander around a bit until you stumble upon the place you’re supposed to be. It’s clunky and does a great disservice to the sections that are well planned out.

The difficulty of the game is another issue that normally wouldn’t be worth mentioning except that it’s tied to the lack of context clues seen in previous games. During Hour VII, Miku ventures into a crawl space beneath the house in order to reach a previously inaccessible area. This area of the map is set up beautifully by way of Rei commenting earlier in the game on her inability to pass through it if the player inspects the opening while in control of her. There’s also a later section where a ghost can be seen hanging out, her body contorted in an off-putting way. When it’s time for Miku to crawl through this space, the player is ready for something. With a set up that good, it’s a shame that the payoff is so weak. What the player finds is an incredibly difficult enemy to fight. While crawling, the game forces you into first-person mode, whether you have the camera raised or not. This limited view makes the ghost, who crawls around on all fours with the frantic pace of cockroach, very difficult to locate quickly. Her attacks are swift, as well. She approaches the player abruptly before pausing ever so slightly and ringing the neck of Miku.

Her spider-like ceiling walk is especially frightening.

It’s obvious there is something wrong with this encounter based on how little damage this ghost does to you upon each attack. If you fail to get a shutter chance on her (and you will), she hangs on to you for a long time. During that time, she drains a minuscule amount of life compared to even the weakest of enemies in other parts of the game. With such little health at risk, it suggests that players are not really meant to engage with this ghost at all, which makes one wonder why they bothered putting her in the game in the first place. After getting strangled weakly for the third or fourth time, I figured I’d just keep on crawling so I could get to my destination, which worked out perfectly. My constant movement made it so the ghost could no longer land hits on me, and she was unable to follow me out of the crawl space.

To say this whole section was a disappointment is an understatement. Because the situation is treacherous, it seems that Tecmo just couldn’t resist putting an enemy here, which would be fine if that enemy had animations that the player could deal with more comfortably. It doesn’t. To compensate for how difficult the timing is for landing shots in her, they simply made her incredibly weak, which takes away all tension from the situation. Players can fail time and time again on this fight without real risk of dying, so the overall scare factor drops to nothing. The animations no longer frighten once seen repeated fifty times. A better option would have probably been to have some clue that a ghost is nearby, but never actually reveal her. Having the player go into a confined space was already enough to ramp up the tension, so much so that actually executing on that tension made for the least scary scenario possible.

Another reason why this particular ghost encounter sticks out is that it occurs roughly halfway through the game. The halfway mark is where the game starts to falter a bit. Where it hits the pavement is in the sheer number of ghost hostile ghost encounters. There are tons. On top of the scripted fights, which must be completed to progress, ghosts can randomly pop up all over the place, even in areas once thought safe. There’s an element of surprise here that serves to undermine whatever sense of security a player might have developed when going through certain areas of the Manor of Sleep, but it becomes overkill almost immediately. Sometimes two ghosts can show up back to back, other times you might fight one, move on, then have the same ghost reappear during a backtrack to a different part of the mansion.

Having repeat ghosts already feels unsatisfying because it eliminates any sense of accomplishment the player had when taking them out the first time. The point of the Camera Obscura is to exorcize spirits, and if it isn’t actually accomplishing that, then the integrity of the narrative completely falls apart. The other major side effect of this is fatigue. The Fatal Frame games are not easy. Exploring takes time, the puzzles, though not mind melting, take a bit of thought or planning to complete. Throwing in fights every other room is daunting, reduces the impact of those encounters, and gives the player incentive to avoid them at all costs. This takes away opportunities to get points to level up the camera and additional abilities, crucial elements of the game that must be done in order to combat the spikes in difficulty. It’s a shame when games appear to actively discourage players from participating in the mechanics that make up the core of the experience, and The Tormented is quite guilty of this in several chapters.

The middle section of the game is also where the training wheels come off with regard to figuring out where to go, not something that makes a great deal of sense considering the amount of backtracking the players are required to put up with. Traveling back and forth between the same rooms dozens of times requires some guidance so that players don’t begin to wander about aimlessly. It’s inevitable that a player is going to run into some blocked doors or impassable spaces, but it doesn’t take hitting too many of these in a row before the adventure starts to fall flat and the feeling of frustration dominates the experience. As a general rule, leading the player on is something Fatal Frame III does really well. There’s a night where Miku’s destinations are signaled by the sound of singing. Locating the sound becomes the game, and it’s an interesting way to provide the player with the solution of where to go without simply jotting down the right room on the map. The uneven application of these unique guidance tricks makes the game feel longer than it is, and horror games are particularly damaged by wearing out their welcome.

Having a bit of a slump in the pacing is an issue, but can certainly be overlooked when viewing the game as a whole. What can’t be ignored is how Tecmo treats its main protagonist, Rei. It shouldn’t be a surprise that the developers responsible for the Dead or Alive series would have some issues regarding representations of women. Sadly, the Fatal Frame series is not free of this problem. With the protagonist of The Tormented being an adult woman, Tecmo was able to overtly sexualize her in a way that feels a lot more familiar to fans of Western horror movies (not to mention sexualization of the main antagonist, who goes bare-breasted throughout the game). Sure, you could read incestuous undertones into the relationship between twins Mayu and Mio from Fatal Frame II, but that served to make the characters more enigmatic and eerie, a reasonable thing to do for a horror game. The fanservice content that did exist was reserved for bonus content and was entirely optional. This is not so with Rei. Even jiggle physics make it into the game, if subtle. Rei’s breasts don’t heave or sway like Mai Shiranui when she runs or quick turns, but there is a distinct butt bounce that is noticeable when she runs. It can be hard to see as it requires the camera being placed close to Rei in an area where she would be moving away from the player’s view, but it’s definitely there, and it’s difficult to justify a reason for its existence. It ended up distracting me quite a lot once I’d noticed it. Maybe that doesn’t say something so flattering about me, but one has to wonder what the intent was with including it, as it seems animated too well to be accidental.

To further Re’s unfortunate portrayal, we get a scene of Rei taking a shower in a half-hearted attempt to convey her difficult time coping. It’s a bit difficult to empathize with her situation, though, when the scene is served with a very generous side of boob. It’s jarring because Rei is just an average woman who’s lost the person she loves most and feels immense guilt about it. She isn’t action star Aya Brea from Parasite Eve running around shooting mutated monsters with a shotgun. Trying to mix in a bit of sex appeal here just doesn’t sit well. The shower trope is repeated later on to more mixed results.

This scene is more Nightmare on Elm Street than Fatal Frame.

This mixed messaging doesn’t hurt the narrative to an irreparable degree, but it certainly does the game no favors, and when your main problem as a game is that you are easily overlooked, it’s this kind of objectification of its characters that makes passing the game by not feel like such a bad thing.

The biggest regret of the game is that its most dramatic moment, the showdown with the Tattooed Woman, has a fatal flaw. That flaw is an instant fail state. One hit deaths feel bad in pretty much every game, but for Fatal Frame, they are especially cheap. The series has these littered throughout, and normally they are easy enough to avoid. Maybe you get caught once, but after that, it’s a good lesson learned. Fatal Frame III decided it would make half of the final boss fight subject to them with a healthy dose of randomness to make the medicine go down. The fight begins normally, with the Tattooed Woman becoming hostile while also becoming vulnerable to your camera. Intermittently, however, she will transform the scene so that it takes on the black and white film grain look that’s been peppered throughout other Hours. During this time, the Woman appears in a random location and you must run from her until things go back to normal. The randomness of her appearance and her ceaseless pursuit of your character make avoiding her challenging, and sometimes, literally impossible. If you get touched, you die. Death at this stage is especially punishing because the player must quit out to the game’s main menu in order to reload their last save. If the last possible save point, the trek back to the boss room isn’t especially far, but it’s enough that the time going back for another try after a death caused without fault from the player really adds up. This is a horrible choice for any boss, let alone the final one.

For this fight alone, it’s hard to blame anyone who honestly hates this game. It’s so bad that it is hard to remember anything else about the game as you fight back the tears of frustration. Of the three games, The Tormented easily feels like the most difficult for me, and poor design decisions like this are a big reason why. It would be one thing if the difficulty had some semblance of fairness to it. Maybe the Tattooed Woman’s moveset could be especially varied or challenging. Maybe she would have a fairly simple moveset but hit very hard in order to punish impatient players with jumpy trigger fingers. Taking control away from players is great for instilling fear, but it’s equally good at instilling rage, which is really all this boss fight accomplishes. What’s amazing is that even upgrading my camera as much as possible and using Type Zero film exclusively, which is the most powerful in the game, I still died numerous times simply because I couldn’t turn around fast enough to avoid some grabby hands.

With all games, you have to weigh the good with the bad. Fatal Frame III’s lows are certainly low due to their feeling of cheapness with regard to eliciting thrills or titillation. Those lows, however, far from sink the game to the level that its reputation seems to have sunk it. Maybe the quick development of these games simply led to oversaturation. Half of the entire series was released in about a three year period, which is remarkable. With that, you’re going to see a lot of corners being cut. The Tormented lacked originality in its locations and ghosts, but it more than made up for those shortcomings through its unique use of those existing assets. From a lore perspective, it’s also crucial, as it expands on the original game’s story and incorporates elements from the second to create a cohesive fictional universe for the fans who really crave that kind of thing. Fatal Frame and Fatal Frame II are more complete games because they have the third game to connect all the dots, even if they didn’t really need to be connected in the first place.

The series would change drastically with its next iteration, moving away from the fixed camera, adopting a whole new control scheme, and abandoning the characters that had established it as one of the premier horror titles. Given that it never made it out of Japan, it’s hard to see those radical departures as being completely successful. The Tormented, then, sits in the kind of limbo that the player strives to make their way out of. It’s the point between staying true to what works and reinventing the wheel. What risks it took were overshadowed by where it played it safe, not unlike what happened to Capcom’s Resident Evil 3. There are far worse fates than good, if not spectacular. If you choose to play Fatal Frame III for yourself, you’ll come across plenty of them.

#fatal frame #fatal frame 2 #fatal frame 3 #project zero #mask of the lunar eclipse #koei tecmo #playstation 2

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elizas-writing · 6 years

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How A Single Pale Rose Changes Everything About Steven Universe

I haven’t talked much about Steven Universe in months because I honestly just fell out with the show, and my last year as an undergrad has quite the workload. Hell, I still have “How I Would Fix Steven Universe” drafts collecting dust (and I don’t know when I’ll get to them if ever). But, as many fans know by now, the show finally answered what happened when Pink Diamond was shattered.

She was actually never shattered.

Rose Quartz was Pink Diamond in disguise the entire time and staged her shattering with Pearl to properly continue the rebellion and give the Earth to the Crystal Gems.

This got a lot of mixed reactions, especially as this was an old theory we thought was dashed after the end of season 3. It wasn’t totally out of the realm of possibility, but for where the show was going in revealing the truth, this still seems out of left field just to satisfy the fans who held onto this theory for so long. I was pretty annoyed since the show spent almost two years dragging on “oh, but murder is wrong” garbage, and it feels like we went through all of that for nothing since Pink Diamond was alive the whole time. Now it puts everything we thought of Rose’s motivations and purpose into question which makes the show walk on a super thin line.

To clarify, there is nothing wrong with recontextualizing a story in how we view the heroes and villains. Creating morally complex characters is infinitely more fascinating than leaving them one-dimensional. But when doing so takes a stab in the back with everything we thought a character was fighting for, it muddles up the themes tremendously. It’s like if Avatar: The Last Airbender tried to make Ozai sympathetic and excuse all the abuse he put his children through; some recontextualizing doesn’t fit at all in certain narratives.

And I’m here to break it down, cause dammit, I couldn’t stop thinking about it and had to catch up.

1. Contradictory Personalities

There are a ton of little things which don’t add up to Rose being Pink Diamond like how her changed gem orientation stayed once Steven was born, how she can summon a weapon similar to a Rose Quartz, and how she was able to shape-shift for so long, even all things considered for how all-powerful she is. But the one that bugs the hell out of me the most is their personalities.

Rose Quartz always came across as a mature matron-like figure while Pink Diamond was more like a spoiled child as seen in “Jungle Moon,” and is often described as a terrifying tyrant. It begs the question how she was able to maintain two completely different personas at the same time and successfully fool everyone on both sides. This ain’t Prisoner of Azkaban; you don’t have a fucking Time Turner. Why not lead the rebellion as Pink Diamond? Wouldn’t that send a more powerful message to the other Diamonds? Was she seriously unable to tell them herself that there was life worth protecting on Earth? Did she feel sorry when she realized what she was doing hence why she began a rebellion? Why did she go out of her way to make a complicated deceit which ended with the bubbling of all Rose Quartzs ever?

Yes, Rose was still naive about humanity, but it always felt like it came from genuine love with the capability to listen and grow to be better than who she was before. It’s really hard to work that character development in when it turns out they were supposedly a childish, yet ruthless dictator bent on galactic domination just like the rest of the Diamonds, especially as one of Pink’s major feats was creating the Human Zoo. Maybe it started off to preserve humanity, so they wouldn’t have to get involved with the Gem War, but what the hell happened after the war ended? Did Rose seriously forget about them and never took a chance to go back and save them? What happened to her value in human life then?

It makes the line “I’d really like to play with you” when she first met Greg so much more uncomfortable when that’s coming from a distant past where she had no qualms conquering the Earth and taking humans away for whatever means she desired. There’s no forgiving the Human Zoo with all the currently known context we have about it.

And what really sucks is that I was kinda excited to see Pink Diamond with a stubbornly childish personality, because those character types make really intimidating villains. But that build up was for nothing now that I found out that character was also someone I was supposed to be rooting for; someone who saw Earth had beautiful life worth protecting and wanted to give gems a choice to be something other than what they were created for.

This isn’t a case of Rose making a mistake-- you don’t mistakenly make something like the Human Zoo-- or something was out of her control; everything was in her control from the get-go, both as an oppressor and a rebel.

2. The Crystal Gems Fought for Nothing

There were possibly millions of gems shattered, corrupted, and forcefully fused for Rose’s selfishness. It was never for freedom, love, or preserving life; it was so a Diamond could run and hide from the consequences.

Not only is it confusing how Rose was able to maintain control of two opposing forces, but also with who she thought was best for each side. I can’t tell if she really cared who was on which side or why. And her being a Diamond anyway rips out the fight against oppression the Gem War was supposed to be when an oppressor disguised herself as a rebellion leader. Maybe she wanted to abandon her role as a Diamond to start a new life, free of Homeworld expectations, but that doesn’t automatically absolve the atrocities she did to get there.

What did she have to gain out of faking her death? Nothing but the Diamonds’ wrath, and now most of her allies are gone because of her recklessness. And it makes a lot of scenes from the previous seasons inconsequential. Jasper went through so much fury and grief, never knowing her Diamond was Rose all along. Ruby and Sapphire fled from Homeworld to be together, risking their lives for a leader who was just making complicated secrets and running from her own selfish problems.

But one of the worst of this goes to Bismuth, introducing the biggest plot hole of this twist: Pink Diamond being supposedly shattered by Rose’s sword.

Her faked death went exactly as described in “The Trial,” but according to Bismuth, the sword can only destroy a gem’s form, never the actual gem. If word got out on what went down when Pink was shattered, wouldn’t Bismuth have figured out something was wrong since the sword she designed herself wasn’t supposed to shatter a gem? Is that was led to her creating the Breaking Point? If so, why didn’t she mention anything after she was unbubbled?

Her bubbling was never about morality; it was so Rose could maintain her deceit. She had no problem silencing anyone who could’ve possibly exposed her, and Bismuth, who was so dedicated to fighting for freedom, was wrongfully punished for Rose’s selfishness.

But if silencing Bismuth wasn’t enough...

3. Her Relationship with Pearl

Seeing Pride stuff with these two is... really uncomfortable now since their relationship is kinda abusive.

Now, was Rose intentionally manipulative in silencing Pearl as the only other person with their secrets? Possibly no, as there seems to be genuine intent to abandon their Homeworld roles, but it’s hard to deny Rose being an opportunist to maintain her secrets. And her pushing all that burden on Pearl was horribly unfair.

That’s not love.

I know Pearl hasn’t been the most forgivable character, but it’s no wonder why she never got over Rose. Of course, she freaked out about Lion, thinks Steven is “too important” to be in the battlefield, and feels useless on her own. Pearl was literally the only one in on Rose’s deception, played along hoping they would be something more once the war was over, and was ready to sacrifice herself to maintain a lie.

This twist takes a simple case of unrequited love and grinds it in the dirt with centuries worth of manipulation. It doesn’t matter if they wanted to abandon their Homeworld roles. Rose didn’t even trust Pearl to be quiet, and used her status and powers to ensure the secret never leaked out. Their original relationship as a Diamond and a Pearl never faded away and lingered for many years and took a horrible toll on Pearl’s psyche. And with this new context, it makes Rose seem even more selfish to not acknowledge Pearl’s feelings or how much she was doing for her at the expense of her own autonomy.

Pearl deserved so much better than to be continuously used as a tool. She deserved someone who would treat her as an equal-- Rose is a thousand miles away from that “someone.”

In Conclusion...

I know the show is treading on painting Rose as a complex character, but there’s a fine line between character flaws and irredeemable acts. If you’re going to mix the two, you have to be really careful on how much we’re supposed to feel sorry for a character and/or how their redemption plays out (i.e Zuko from ATLA not fully achieving his redemption until the series finale when he reunites with Iroh, or Azula being as psychotic as her father, but goddamn it, she’s just a fourteen-year-old kid who wants her mom).

Maybe you can give the benefit of the doubt and she acknowledged her mistakes. Maybe future episodes will elaborate on how she ran from the consequences of her actions or maybe she felt guilty for how the war dragged on from her own immaturity and lack of foresight. Maybe the show will play more with perspective, so we see more than just what Steven sees.

But it’s really hard to be patient with this show anymore with how much it pussyfooted around Pink Diamond’s fate for an entire season. And given the preview for the summer episodes, it seems like we’re repeating the Garnet break-up like in the Sardonyx arc where she (and by extension, Ruby and Sapphire) is rushed to forgiveness while her anger feels invalidated.

And really? “I’m seeing my own future now, and it’s nothing but Ruby.” Is this even the same Ruby who was about to throw down with Holly Blue Agate when she was praising Blue Diamond? Why isn’t she angry too?!

Like I said before, it’s fine to recontextualize a story where the heroes aren’t entirely good guys, and are sometimes accessories to actions like imperialism. But it needs way more properly constructed build up and characterization than what Steven Universe just offered in “A Single Pale Rose.” It drags the mystery on for too long, tries to psych you out on multiple occasions, and has little understanding on how to create morally gray characters. I love complex heroes with shady pasts, but if you expect me to forgive all their transgressions, you’ve come to the wrong part of town, my dude.

If you enjoyed this analysis and what I do here, consider buying me a coffee! It means a lot to see your support!

#steven universe #rose diamond #pink diamond #rose quartz #a single pale rose #su critical #su criticism #my writing #cartoon network #opinion #editorial

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danmacrae · 7 years

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Silly 90s Intro Blab: A Thing To Skim Through On The Toilet

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Hello! I’m semi-tolerable nuisance Dan MacRae! Why am I shouting at you? Not sure! Sorry, I’ll take it down a notch.

Instead of learning how to pleasure a woman or how to unlock the mysteries of grooming, I have devoted my life to TV nonsense. Blessed YouTube presence RwDt09 has been collecting these amazing compilations of era (and sometimes season) specific TV intros and they are my everything. Imagine having a child that didn’t suck? That’s the feeling RwDt09′s videos put in my heart.

I've been obsessively rewatching this collection of mostly forgotten early '90s TV intros. The bulk of these shows died a quick death and feel like the product of whatever drugs TV execs take. (Probably something snorted from one of those awesome McDonalds coffee straws they ditched in like 2002.) Because I'm a handsome pin-up hunk of the year, I wrote some dumb blurbs about the first few shows and have some stray thoughts on the rest. This appeals to no one but me AND I APOLOGIZE TO NO ONE!

In the immortal words of John Lennon, let’s get biz-zay!

DINOSAURS: I’m at a point in my life where I can acknowledge that Dinosaurs sucked. It’s incredibly freeing. Christ, this is like that stupid-ass Norman Lear show where dogs did social commentary BUT WITH HENSON PUPPETS! I hope Baby Sinclair was stomped to death and eaten as pudding before the extinction series finale. (Yes, that happened.) The intro isn’t bad, mind you. You get the lumbering theme song and Earl gets stuck in a door CUZ LAFFS! TIMES SURE HAVEN’T CHANGED HO HO HO! God I hate these fucking dinosaurs.

Intro MVP: It’s not a stellar pack, but we get a bit of Robbie Sinclair who census data has shown led to a variety of surprising sexual awakenings for youths at the time.

SCORCH: A 1300-year-old dragon named Scorch visits the 1990s on a budget that looks not far removed from Skank on The Ben Stiller Show. The song will make you want to barricade your sex organs from a world where you can bring children into a world with THAT CAWAZZZY SCORCH! The theme song really is a special brand of irritating and Scorch looks like a malformed Deviant Art dildo with a vaguely religious bent.

Intro MVP: Probably John O’Hurley for not actually appearing in the intro. (Even with O’Hurley’s weird résumé.)

FISH POLICE: Not to be confused with the (ARF! ARF! ARF!) Dog Police, Fish Police and Family Dog are shows I know almost exclusively from being mentioned as examples of the crappy post-Simpsons primetime animation gold rush. Fish Police actually looks good animation-wise, but it’s pretty clear you’re gonna be sledgehammered with endless “COULD YOU IMAGINE FISH DOING THESE OLD TROPES? DO WE NEED TO CALL A SEARCH PARTY FOR YOUR SIDES? ARE THEY SPLITTING ALREADY?” jokes. Congrats dipshits, you made a cinema-touched precursor to Frankie & George. You dummies. Also there’s the tone of casual racism UNDER THE SEA so do with that what you will. DID YOU SEE CHINATOWN? WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT SHIT?

Intro MVP: Thank goodness they specified who John Ritter voices so we could all bask in Inspector Gil as a character name. Fuck you, Fish Police.

CAPITOL CRITTERS: Christ, this looks UNWATCHABLE. Like walk into oncoming traffic as an alternative unwatchable. Capitol Critters centers around an animated mouse named Max (voiced by Neil Patrick Harris) witnesses his family being murdered in Nebraska and moves to D.C. and wait what the fuck is going on with those roaches? (Racism, mostly.) Who thought this was a good idea to invest time, money and animator joint damage in? Stephen Bochco, baby! I have a perverse curiosity to see an episode but after 90 seconds I know I'd be dying to eat a fucking gun instead of suffering through any more of Capitol Critters.

Intro MVP: Gotta be Bochco. Also, EAT SHIT BOCHCO!

And now a really tiny blab about the rest. Watch this clip package, ya goofs!

FAMILY DOG: Folks were fucking horny for Spielberg TV shit in the 90s, ditto Tim Burton too and that's how an Amazing Stories, uh, story was morphed into a shitball TV series that Brad Bird wanted no part of. Also, I have no idea how to explain things like the CBS StereoSound chyron to anyone born after Clinton left office.

THE CRITIC: Nice to see you, Jay Sherman! This is a lovely intro and you likely know that already. I've done a few rewatches of The Critic (not the web series season, though) and I say the show definitely holds up and is far from a duketastrophe. That said, some of the parody film clips that got raves at the time are kinda creaky in hindsight.

CHARLIE HOOVER: Can I say something? Fuck Sam Kinison. Hmm... That's a bit harsh. I guess I just don't get him on any level. The only thing he's done that I've ever found all that funny was when he said he wished Andrew Dice Clay die of stomach cancer from the inside out, like Bette Davis. Kinison's not my cup of tea is what I'm getting at. In Charlie Hoover (GET IT HURF HURF), Kinison is a foot high loudmouth in a long coat that's getting 40-year-old square Tim Matheson where he needs to be in life.

A LEAGUE OF THEIR OWN: Or... "Betty Spaghetti's Here Which Is All The Star Power You Need!"

HARDBALL: A League Of Their Own had a fun, feel good intro with all the corny touches of ol' timey baseball. Hardball tries to sell you on Joe Rogan: Baseball Fella and the vague scent of urinal troughs.

GOOD GRIEF: Howie Mandel golfs in a cemetery and it's not particularly clear if he's just fucking around on strangers graves for fun. (Alternate Theory: Those graves belong to the family from Bobby's World. All the Generics!)

THE FANELLI BOYS: If enjoy broad Italian-American stereotypes to the point of falling down laughing at the sight of a pizza box, you'll love The Fanelli Boys! Joe Pantoliano and Christopher Meloni both star.

SOMETHING WILDER: Something Wilder was the sort of show where I wished Gene Wilder well and still kept 5000 miles away from watching it. Also, Wilder's face on that house is CHILLING.

DUDLEY: Embrace the luxury hotel elevator elegance of Dudley! Does it feature Dudley Moore make a series of faces where he seems surprised by everything? You better believe it. This was also where Max Wright got work in-between taking abuse from a cat eating alien and Norm Macdonald.

CAROL & COMPANY: It's a bit Carol Takes On in the intro with Carol Burnett in assorted costumes and that's alright because everyone does the assorted costumes intro thing. Tickets to the show are blown across America and get in the hands of whatever Orphan Black Carol happens to be in the area.

THE CAROL BURNETT SHOW: This is an extremely 90s sort of intro that feels like something more upscale soft rock stations did in TV ads at the time too. Richard Kind directs a bit of paper at someone midway through.

DREXELL'S CLASS: One of more storied entries in the Dabney Coleman being an asshole catalogue. The first intro features Dabney, ol' Drex himself, just hanging around in class being hot shit and occasionally mimicking a flying dinosaur. The second intro is a more traditional clip collection highlighted by a young Brittany Murphy (WHO WAS MURDERED! FACT! REMINDER!) and Coleman in a wild 8 ball jacket. Rembrandt off Sliders also makes an appearance.

TEECH: If this intro looks exactly like a sitcom where a Cool Black Music Instructor™ teaches Prep School bad boys in Bush Sr era America that's because it is exactly that sort of sitcom. Maggie Han deserves better.

THE ROYAL FAMILY: It seems extra cruel to take Redd Foxx's popcorn away considering he'd be dead before the fifth episode even aired. Della Reese is in this, die-hard Della fans.

ROC: This intro works perfectly. We get Charles S. Dutton, Ella Joyce and an easy to digest Jerry Lawson theme song. (En Vogue would do the theme later.) It’d be nice if they could get Edgar Allan Poe wagging a finger at seafood or something else in the background to push that Baltimore thing even more, but I still wish this intro from 25+ year old Fox comedy all the best in its future endeavours.

BREWSTER PLACE: Speaking of good intros, Brewster Place is a first rate brand of TV welcome. Brenda Pressley is the MVP of the intro over Oprah Winfrey which might explain why Brenda Pressley has been missing since 1992. (I know she’s on The Path. Just play along.)

SUNDAY BEST: The intro equivalent of getting someone to throw shit at a wall, we get an early 90s NBC grab bag of fuck it whatever shots of TVs and TV dinners with poor Carl Reiner trotted out partway through.

AMERICAN CHRONICLES: Mark Frost and David Lynch paired for a documentary series in the early ‘90s on Fox because Fox was like fucking UHF at the time. The industrial strength creepy opening doesn’t include any shots of narrator Richard Dreyfuss turning towards the camera and that’s a damn shame.

AMERICAN DETECTIVES: If you get horny for stressed out real-life detectives, this will send your undergarments to Mars! Lots of mustaches here. A whole Safeway bag’s worth. Some real rural gas station rock going on with that theme tune.

FBI: THE UNTOLD STORIES: The tone of this entire intro is: “Hey kid, wanna see a dead body? Or twenty?” Creepy music blasting over Jackie Kennedy on the back of JFK’s death limo and Wayne Williams heading to trial equals primetime party fun!

ENCOUNTERS: THE HIDDEN TRUTH: Suck it, Sightings! Encounters is leading a new dawn for crackpot horseshit to eat Bugles to! I appreciate the shameless X-Files knockoff intro thing Fox is doing (cuz it’s their show) that comes complete with head shop blanket alien head popping up midway through.

STEPHEN KING’S GOLDEN YEARS: Essentially Garth Marenghi's Darkplace with one hell of a music rights win tacked on.

TRIBECA: This opening reminds me an awful lot of terrible movies I was bullied into watching on VHS at a friend’s house.

WIOU: One thing I like in a TV intro is when something fun happens with the title onscreen. It’s a minor thing, but the way those WIOU letters turn into view? HOOCHIE MAMA! Eight is Enough’s Dick Van Patten does a fantastic job of conveying that being a weatherfellow is tough work.

GABRIEL’S FIRE: I will never for the life of me understand how the early ‘90s could not sustain a James Earl Jones fronted program titled Gabriel’s Fire. Those worlds are supposed to meld beautifully.

PROS & CONS: Gabriel’s Fire would morph into the more lighthearted Pros & Cons which symbolized its new form by laying it on thick with the Video Toaster touches. Instead of James Earl Jones peering at you from the darkness, this go-around it’s a lot of smiles and silly moments with Richard Crenna.

BURKE’S LAW: Hearing “it’s Burke’s Law” at the start of that intro is like when “Do you smell what The Rock’s cooking?” would play before Dwayne Johnson would wander down a ramp to kick Triple H in the stomach. In this case, it’s to get you fired up that Gene Barry’s back on television. This particular episode promises Dom DeLuise and Tawny Kitaen together at last!

MAX MONROE: LOOSE CANNON: If you only see one intro for a Shadoe Stevens vehicle that transitions from a Donut Hole shot to an extended leer at a lady’s bum, make it this one!

TEQUILA AND BONETTI: The creators of Tequila and Bonetti know that if you want folks to get on board for an L.A. dramedy about a New York cop and streetwise police partner dog, you should kick things off by trying to make you feel sorry for this asshole who “accidentally” murdered a kid. Seriously, that’s the route Tequila and Bonetti goes with this fucking insane opening that begins with newspaper headlines screaming “COP KILLS 12 YR OLD” while he cradles a black girl in her arms and then BOOM! we’re spun around to JACK SCALIA GRINNING AROUND WACKY LOS ANGELES AND ALL ITS CRAZY CHARACTERS LIKE A DOG THAT JUMPS THROUGH A FUCKING WINDOW WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE? THIS IS LIKE IF SOMEONE STROKED OFF THE HANNITY VIEWING AND KEPT WHAT WAS SPURTED OUT ONSCREEN! It’s just a really, really, really bad intro.

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therealdragonnerdagain · 7 years

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So a couple weeks back I noticed people were still making arguments about why we should all hate the Railroad in Fallout 4. I’ve debunked a fair few arguments on this blog, but today I figured why not debunk one more?

The last argument I saw said the Railroad was a bunch of hypocrites because they send you to “indiscriminately” kill coursers, who are synths, the very people they are trying to save.

That’s actually not true.

Every courser you’re sent to kill has thrown in their lot with the Institute and is glad to be serving the same people who enslave them. Every last one you fight in a RR quest is a cold, cruel killer (I’m assuming you actually talked to them like I did on my first playthrough – I don’t talk to them anymore, just kill them), and it’s not like you can talk them down from what they’ve been sent to do. In fact, they’re pretty hell-bent on doing it.

The same way you can’t talk down Gabriel in Libertalia and why the hell should you bother? Gabriel made the choice to be a raider – evidence enough that he is sentient – and so, just like every other raider in the game, I will kill him for attacking me and other innocent people. Ironically enough, Gabriel is the only raider in the game (minus the Forged leader) who just wants to talk to you.

Or at least I would kill Gabriel if Fallout 4 presented that option. I think a person who’s undercover with the Institute would need to bring Gabriel in alive so as not to rouse suspicion. Because the more important thing is infiltrating the Institute, not coddling synths who are grown-ass people who can make bad decisions like the rest of us.

Glory was a courser. She chose to do the right thing and help her brethren. And we meet yet another ex-courser in Far Harbor. They can make the choice to turn against the Institute because they are self-aware. Unfortunately, we are required to kill a great deal of them before they have an epiphany. But who’s to say they will? Could you seriously see X6-88 suddenly turning on the Institute? (Which is a shame because he’s such a cool follower)

What’s more important here? Freeing synths who actually want to be free or coddling some coursers who have already chosen to help enslave their own kind???

The person went on to make another argument that they hated Desdemona and Z1 because you are asked to kill a bunch of innocent Institute scientists when you finally make the attack on the Institute.

Bethesda did this on purpose to make sure that no one got a perfect, happy ending – for which I am glad.

This is war, people. This is the price you pay to end slavery, to free people from cruelty and oppression. It often means that innocent people die in the crossfire. My SS did not gleefully gun down the scientists there. She felt bad for them, but at the same time, ending the Institute and putting an end to its reign of terror is more important than five people.

This is where pragmatism steps in. An idealist would believe that there was some way to stop the Institute without violence or the death of innocents. A realist knows there isn’t. A realist knows that gunning down those five innocent people will free hundreds. A realist knows that in order to survive the Commonwealth, they are going to have to make difficult, sometimes terrible decisions and live with them.

My SS didn’t do the right thing in killing those scientists. She did the necessary thing.

People who make these arguments sound like Patriot to me, too naive to understand that freedom isn’t free but often comes at a very high price. Did you seriously think no good people died in the Civil War??? Wake up.

And do you really hate the Railroad for asking you to kill a few coursers? The Brotherhood asks you to bully your own settlements. On top of that, they regularly ask you to kill super mutants who haven’t done shit to you, just so they can get their hands on some tech the mutants happen to be sitting on. Super mutants are people too. Yet we-the-player storm into their homes while they’re minding their own business and slaughter them all. Sure, super mutants sometimes attack settlements, but we can’t really judge an entire group of people based on a few.

That would be prejudice.

Bethesda sometimes does things throughout the game to remind us that SMs are people too. You can overhear their dialogue when they’re in their homes, just like raiders. You can sometimes loot teddy bears from them. They scream in horror and rage when you kill their brothers and dogs. They have backstories and scribbled notes, just like the raiders.

SMs have feelings and are people. If Strong isn’t enough to drive this home, I don’t know what is. Maybe that SM in Far Harbor? Eric? Seems like he was added as an afterthought once Bethesda realized they had screwed all the factions up by making them mindlessly, constantly hostile. Your character even says in the game that Gunners are just raiders with better gear – which goes to show that Bethesda either doesn’t grasp the lore or just doesn’t give a flying fuck (probably the latter).

I think people make these arguments mostly because they’re ashamed of the fact that they hate the Railroad and don’t want to look like bigots, so they grasp at straws, trying to justify their disdain. Sorry, but you do look like a bigot every time you sneeringly refer to the RR as SJW lunatics. You look like a real asshole, probably the kind who has that one black “friend” and makes racist jokes about them behind their back. Congratulations! You are part of the problem that is this toxic culture we are stewing in.

I’m not saying there aren’t valid reasons to hate the Railroad. In fact, the more I play the game, the more I dislike them. And I think it was supposed to be this way. There are no easy answers. It was supposed to be hard to blow up the Institute and to pick which path to take.

For me, it was easy to choose the Railroad because I’m not down for slavery. But that path wasn’t perfect and I was still required to do some regretful things in order to make that ending happen.

By the end of the game, my character was weighed down with guilt for having murdered her own son, who she lied to and deceived for the sake of saving the synths. Sometimes she stands at the big hole where the CIT used to be and just thinks of him. And whenever assholes like Carrington give her grief, it just makes her angrier about what she had to do.

The ending is not supposed to be easy or even happy, but – geez – I wish to god there had been no stupid cutscene with SS whining about the Great War.

So you probably wanna know why I dislike the Railroad.

I have one good reason, which I’ve already talked about here.

I really dislike that they wipe the synths’ minds.

I think Glory never gets her memory wiped because she knows it’s stupid too (Glory and I were always on the same page). The Railroad is responsible for Libertalia and everything that happened with Gabriel because they wiped his mind. After the Minutemen fallout, he approached Bunker Hill for food, not realizing he was close to blowing their cover, so they paid him off to keep him at bay. When Bunker Hill refused to help him, he slowly and gradually became a raider as an alternative to starving (could be viewed as an allegory for what people of color have to go through in real life, committing survival crimes because they can’t get jobs and thus becoming “thugs”).

This entire situation is the Railroad’s fault, and yet they never do anything to stop Gabriel simply because they knew him once and feel bad for him. They created this situation and left it to stew (sounds like real life, huh?).

It’s my belief that after everything with Gabriel, the Railroad – rather than realizing mindwipes were bad – started sending synths from the Commonwealth after the mindwipes. Which was dumb. It’s just an unnecessary increase of risk. And what I hate the most is the fact that DiMA blames SS for the mindwipes. Just because you’re part of the Railroad, you’re seen as guilty by association???? Wtfe. Ugh.

On my most recent playthrough as Nose Nora, I started to dislike the RR even more after Patriot’s death, mostly because of the way Desdemona seems to blame you for the kid’s naivety. After Patriot’s funeral and shitty suicide letter, my character began to distance herself more and more from the RR. And now, knowing that Desdemona – and Carrington – both treat you like shit after everything you’ve done to help them, right down to killing your own son, it’s going to be hard to go back to the RR quests on subsequent playthroughs, knowing how many crappy attitudes I’ll have to deal with by the end.

But I’m glad Bethesda did it that way because it’s very realistic. You don’t do the right thing to be praised. You do it because it’s right. Ending the Institute was necessary. Choosing to free the synths was right.

That being said, you can not apply that same logic to Nuka World, and – lol – I can’t believe people are trying to.

Players aren’t angry about Nuka World because we wanted to be rewarded for being good.

Players are angry about Nuka World because we wanted fulfilling content for being good.

Just as the base game presented fulfilling (lofuckingl) content each time you saved settlements and helped people, rather than leaving you bare-assed in the cold, with an empty theme park that could have been the most awesome settlement ever but instead is left useless because Bethesda thought you’d fill it with raiders and didn’t care enough to make the DLC worth buying if you didn’t.

#fallout 4 #bethesda critical #synth rant

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tb5-heavenward · 8 years

Text

artwork by the fantastically talented @birdologist and animation by the lodestar of my heart, the inimitable @awkwardarbor

There’s going to be a transitional chapter in between this one and the one previous that makes the time skip a bit more apparent, but it’s a pain in the butt to write, annoying to format for tumblr, and I’m lazy. And I thought people might be more interested in 4.6k words of Scott and Jeff instead, considering that I’ve kinda shafted the lot of you when it’s come to their interactions so far.

So, here’s some Scott. Next up is Virgil. There is a theme.

a_moment_of_dawn

You can find Heavenward on Tumblr // Ao3 // ff.net

a_moment_of_dawn - part 15

The boardroom is adjacent to his father's office, and the meeting starts in half an hour. It's a nice office. It's all leather and wood and glass and it looks like a little piece of the island, transplanted high above the Manhattan skyline. It hasn't changed from the last time Scott was here, only now he's no longer expected to take his father's place, because his father's back where he belongs. This is his father's office again, and this is the sort of detail that Scott keeps catching hold of, the sort that still brings a giddy thrill of gratitude burgeoning up from the heart of him, regardless of the reality outside of the office door.

A glance at his watch tells him that there's still a few more hours before Tracy-1 lands on the island, finally bringing John home, along with the rest of the family. A little less than a week of hospitalization, and he's been deemed well enough to be remanded to private care. A few more weeks of antibiotics. Quiet. Care. Rest. Family to look after him, people to talk to. In short, all the things Scott should've ensured, the first time around.

Scott's in a three piece suit, navy blue. He wears it like it was made for him, which it was, perfectly, expertly tailored to compliment his height, his whip thin frame. A grey silk tie picks up the threads of silver at his temples. He looks more like an adult than ever, but feels, irrepressibly, younger than he has in years. He stands at the window, using the reflection to surreptitiously watch his father, who's just exactly where he's supposed to be, seated comfortably behind his desk. Jeff's just taken a call from Lord Creighton-Ward, and Scott is waiting politely for this to come to a close. There's a meeting due to start in half an hour, not, of course, that it would start without them. And there's a conversation he and his father need to have.

It's going to be a conversation about his brother.

Because his brother's been through hell. His brother's been broken so utterly and completely that Scott sometimes has a hard time thinking about him. Sometimes—and only sometimes, and it hasn't even been a week, so it's not like just sometimes could even amount to very often at all—sometimes Scott tells himself he has more important things to think about than his brother, just to give himself a break.

He'd last seen John on Sunday, four days ago now. Virgil's birthday. It's an unfortunate truth about Virgil's birthday that it tends to get buffered and buffeted aside, swept away from proper celebration by the currents and tides of their family's frenetic day-to-day. It's almost a running joke, although it's rarely funny. Something always comes up on the fifteenth of August, and this year was no different. Virgil turned twenty-six in a hospital room, with his grief-stricken older brother for a birthday present, all wrapped up in pain and anguish.

Scott had entered the room, late in the afternoon, and it had been him in the doorway; Virgil, sat in a chair on the far side of the hospital bed; and their brother, between them. John had been curled on his side with his back to the door, nestled in a tangle of disarrayed hospital blankets, still and silent. At first glance Scott taken him to be asleep—but approaching, it became apparent that Virgil was talking to him, leaning forward in his chair with his elbows resting on the edge of the bed and his head bowed close, speaking gently and carefully and in a softer voice than Scott had been able to hear. He'd stopped when Scott took the chair on the other side of the bed. He'd put a hand protectively on John's shoulder and quietly said something further, and only then had he lifted his gaze to meet his eldest brother's.

And there'd been something new in Virgil, then. Something fierce and ferocious and defiant, a titanic shift in attitude from the moment before, when there'd been only gentleness, compassion. And he'd asked, taut and terse, "Dad with you?"

Even just the mention of their father had been enough to send a bodily shudder through the brother between them, and to draw a low, anguished sound from the heart of him, something like strangled pain. It had been animal and alien and disconcerting, especially from John. And Scott hadn't entirely known what to make of it when Virgil's grip had tightened John's shoulder in response, and his eyes had flashed with something like anger.

The answer was no, that their father was back at the hotel, closeted in a meeting with TI higher-ups, and that Scott had come to let the rest of the family—Virgil and Alan and Grandma, and John, for as much as John was aware of anything—know that Dad was going to be heading to New York, back to the East Coast HQ. There was so much going on. So much needed to be managed; the press, first and foremost, clamouring for information about Jeff Tracy's reappearance. The GDF, intent on finding out just how their father had enacted project Heavenward. Tracy Industries itself, ready to be brought back beneath the helm of its owner and founder.

What he hadn't expected, upon his rather hesitant delivery of this news that their dad would be leaving Zurich for New York, was the way Virgil's jaw had clenched, and the way he'd said, almost snarled, "Good. And he can stay there."

Scott's still not sure what Virgil had meant by that.

Of course, it's not like there was a lot of ambiguity about it, but Scott can be remarkably dense when the mood takes him.

So Virgil's angry at their father.

Virgil's right to be angry at their father.

Their father secretly undertook a massive, almost impossible task in the GDF's stead, for reasons that sound noble and altruistic, but which Scott still has the sense to suspect had more to do with ego and power. Their father refused to accept the impossibility of said task, and instead made the mistake of allying himself with a war criminal in order to accomplish it. Their father had been betrayed. Their faked his death. Their father spent three years in hiding with next to nothing, stubbornly trying to cobble together a workable solution to a billion dollar problem. And, when the game was up, when he'd been caught out in the middle of all of it, when John had finally run him down and cornered him—instead of coming home, Jefferson Tracy had bent Scott's little brother backwards over the altar of his ambitions, and carved the heart right out of him, in sacrifice to his goal.

Scott should probably be angry at his father, too.

He's not sure if it's cowardice or weakness or just plain old pedestrian denial that's the reason he isn't. Even if he can forgive Jeff for everything else, for all the bad choices and bad luck that led up to the end of it; Scott should be furious about what's happened to John. Maybe he is. Maybe it's why he's avoiding even the thought of his brother. He's here on John's behalf, anyway. He's here to help their father put everything right—and there's a lot to put right. John had gone tearing across the world with very little regard to the lawfulness of what he was doing. Their father had had eight years to carefully construct a bunker of legal protection around his actions. John had nothing of the kind.

And so that's why Scott's here. It's on John's behalf that he's plunged back into the corporate half of his family's legacy. Their father's going to take care of it. Scott's going to help.

Behind him, as he watches his father's reflection in the glossy surface of the window, he hears the call come to a close, a series of short, brusque affirmations, and then—"—Right. Thank you. I'll see you in London, Hugh."

Scott glances down from the window, shifting his posture into something casually inattentive, and pretends to be studiously examining his neatly trimmed fingernails, until his father clears his throat to get his attention. Scott makes sure to smile as he turns back into the room, careful not to betray the line of his thoughts.

His father's in dark, ascetic gray, his suit conservatively cut, double-breasted, with a crisp white shirt and a dark tie. He carries the gravitas of his attire with a sense of poise that Scott can't match. He rises behind his desk as Scott takes the seat in front of it, and goes to the liquor cabinet on the other side of the room. The smokey, possessive scent of whiskey fills the air. Ice cracks in crystal glasses. Jeff doesn't say anything as he pours two drinks, and when he returns, he sets a tumbler of Scotch in front of his son, who murmurs his thanks, and then Jeff takes the seat beside him, instead of behind his desk.

Scott wonders if his dad remembers the bottle of thirty-year-old McCallan that had gained three further years of age, sitting in the lower right hand drawer of his desk, back on the island. He wonders if John had known what he was doing, when he broke it open. It's always been hard to tell anything, with John, and that night it had been harder than ever. Jeff can't know how appropriate it is, how it parallels the last time Scott had been forced to really think about John.

His father raises his glass just slightly, just enough to give Scott pause as he catches the movement out of the corner of his eye.

"To your brother," he says, with uncharacteristic softness, when Scott looks over to match the gesture.

Hell. Maybe he does know. That's the thing with Dad, and it's one of the things Scott had missed most about him. His dad just always knows.

"To you, sir," he answers, and means it with the parts of himself that haven't thought too hard about what his father has done.

The parts that have note the shadow of a grimace that pass across Jeff's features. His father nods a brief acknowledgment, and they drink.

And, just as Scott had anticipated—or had guessed, really, because unlike his father, he hadn't known—the conversation starts with, "I do need to talk to you, Scott, about John."

Scott answers with the part of himself that doesn't think too hard about his brother. The part that only wants to hear the good news. "I hear he's doing much better. Starting to turn a corner, Grandma says." He sits a little too close to the edge of his chair, has to make a conscious effort to keep his posture somewhat casual, instead of sitting upright and eager and at attention. He takes another sip of his drink, maybe a little hastily. "John's tough," he adds, as an afterthought.

His father's expression is neutral, unreadable. The hand not holding his drink rests on the arm of his chair, the wedding band he still wears glints on the ring finger of his right hand. Late afternoon sunlight slants through the window of the office, and it catches the amber in his father's glass. "He's made it through a hell of an ordeal," his father says, after what seems like a little too long. He doesn't quite say it as though he's agreeing with Scott's assessment of his brother's resilience. "What I need to know, Scotty, before I can start to talk to people about just what he went through, is just how well he really handled it." There's a meaningful pause, and again with that softness in his father's voice, "Because you know it's true about your brother, that he hates for anyone to know when he's struggling. It's why things got so bad with him after your mother died."

This is going to feel like an indictment. Scott can already feel guilt starting to squirm in the pit of his stomach, and he attempts to douse the feeling with another swallow of Scotch. He has to clear his throat slightly before he can answer. "Well...you mean after the malaria, I guess. And everything else. I never should have let it all happen to him, and I know that, and I—"

His father cuts him off, absolves him with a dismissive flicker of his fingers. "I don't know that you could've done anything, Scott. It's neither here nor there at this point. What's done is done, and I'm mostly concerned with what led him into everything that followed."

Guilt twists like an augur in Scott's stomach. Everything that followed was dependent upon the fact that John had staked out the bounds of a massive blindspot in his family's view of him, and had managed to maintain the illusion of composure—control, cohesion, coherence—when reality had rendered him fractured, frantic and desperate, and delusional on the point that he could find, retrieve, and ultimately save his soulmate from certain demise. Not for the first time, Scott wonders if it might all have gone easier on his brother, if he could've been convinced that EOS was a lost cause, if he could have come to understand that her loss was inevitable.

But then, it's not certain that Scott would be sitting high above Manhattan, drinking Scotch alongside his father, if that had been the case. Sometimes—usually the same sometimes when he carefully avoids thinking about just how deeply his brother must be hurting—he thinks that the cost was worth it, and that John's going to see that, one day.

He knows better than to say that, though.

What he can say is what's true about the last time he'd been here, drinking his father's liquor and thinking hard about his brother and the state he was in. That's what his dad's asking, after all. Scott's had this discussion before, too. Quietly, with Brains, pulled discreetly aside and away from anyone who might've overheard, or misconstrued what was being said. There'd been a particular way Brains had put it. A very careful choice of words, as though he hadn't wanted to make things sound quite as dire as the language he'd couched them in.

Scott has to concentrate to call up the specific memory, and he hopes he manages the same level of tact, as he begins to choose his words, halting, but deliberate, "There were...we were all watching him. Trying not to be obvious about it, but everyone...everyone was more or less aware that he was having a hard time. He'd been so sick—and Dad, I don't know if anyone would've told you, I don't know how well he really remembers, but he was really—just, he was godawful sick. He ran a fever that hit a hundred and five. Had three seizures. He was comatose for three days after that, and almost as soon as he came around, he got fucking kidnapped." He realizes what he's said the instant after he says it and a flush of heat rises in his cheeks immediately. "Sir. Sorry, Dad, pardon my language, it's just—"

"No, I understand. What do you mean by a hard time?"

Scott shifts uncomfortably, and finishes his drink. He notices, more than a little self-consciously, that his father's barely touched his own. But there's nothing for it now. Father knows best, anyway. He'd needed a drink, maybe, as a catalyst for the honesty necessary to talk about his brother. "Well, the words 'post-traumatic' might've been used. Not wrongly, I don't think. He didn't—John didn't want to cop to that. He said that, specifically, that if he admitted to PTSD, then he'd use it to cover up grief. It would've explained a lot, though, about the way he was acting, before he left."

"Hm."

It's nothing much, just a small, considered little sound, and indication that Scott should continue. The ice in his glass has barely had time to melt, and it slides and clinks softly against the side of the tumbler as Scott tilts it slowly back and forward. He looks at this in lieu of looking at his father, as he goes on, "It's hard to sort out what was what, exactly, with everything that had happened to him, between the stress and the trauma and what he had to be planning...he seemed different, maybe, by the time we got home. Forgetful, sometimes. Less focused, I guess. Distant. Cagey."

"Would you say it's possible he wasn't in his right mind?"

Scott can be remarkably dense, when he wants to be.

And so the question drops, sudden, like a stone into the pit of his stomach. He'd expected that his father would want to talk about John. He knows what the meeting in half an hour—twenty minutes, now—is going to be about. Knows it's going to be a meeting with lawyers—but there hasn't been a meeting he's been to, since accompanying his father to New York that hasn't had lawyers present in some capacity. He'd expected to talk about John, because he'd known this meeting was going to be about John, and about what John had done, while he'd been gone. What the repercussions were going to be. The reasons his father would ask a question like that.

Scott's answer comes after a moment short enough that it still seems immediate—and it's instinctive, a flat denial in his brother's defense. "No. I mean...no, sir. Dad. No." He feels it, when his father fixes him with a serious, evaluating stare, and his voice starts to run away from him, as he continues, "I mean, I think...I think that's overstating it. He'd just been through such a hell of a lot, was all it was, really. He just needed time, and he didn't get it. He would've gotten better if he'd just gotten some time. That's...I-I mean, that's my fault." He swallows, hard, and reiterates, "Dad, he's not crazy. He's just—he'd been hurt and he was about to lose something important, and he was scared, and he needed more help than I knew how to give him. And when I thought I could trust him to take care of himself, he bolted. I should've known better. I should've done more for him. I guess maybe I'm trying to make up for it, now."

Beside him, his father shifts in his chair. The ice moves in his glass, chimes softly against the sides, but he continues not to drink. Scott continues to feel embarrassed about how quickly his own glass had emptied, liquor to wash away his nervousness, to dull the sharp edges of his thoughts. It seems almost non-sequitur when his father says, "I appreciate that you're here, Scott. But I'm starting to wonder if it might not be better if you went home."

This is alarming. This has Scott sit bolt upright in his chair, searching for the reasons why his father might want to send him away, trying to work out what transgression he must've committed, that his father wouldn't want him here any longer. "Dad, I—"

"Not because you haven't been valuable to me. And not because I don't want you here." Jeff dismisses his son's fears brusquely, without a great deal of warmth. "But because this is about your brother, and the things he's done. I'll tell you now, Scott, nothing's going to happen to him. What he's been through—he's done so much, and lost so much—it's more than anyone will ever understand. No one's going to take him away, no one's going to punish him. No one's going to do anything to your brother, not the GDF, not the World Council, no one. I won't permit it. But the means to that end—" And now his father pauses, exhales a slow sigh, and drinks. Drains half his glass, while Scott watches, intent. "—it's going to be ugly, Scott. I'm going to leverage money and power and influence, I'm going to pull strings and cut deals and do all of the dubiously ethical things that get done, in situations like this."

"I understand that."

Jeff glances at his watch, and then jerks a thumb over his shoulder, towards the office door, and the boardroom that waits beyond. "In fifteen minutes, I'm going to go through that door, and a dozen highly intelligent—highly paid—attorneys are going to try to convince me of the value of having your little brother declared insane. Legally and mentally incompetent to the repercussions of his actions. None of them know John, but they know the details of who he is and what he's done, probably better than he does, at this point. They will render your brother in terms that make him sound like a madman and a criminal. They will make an excellent case. They may not even actually be wrong. They will propose an easier, gentler alternative to a protracted legal battle, and I will be tempted to take it."

Scott almost scoffs at this, at the audacity of it. The things lawyers will say. "John's not crazy."

"No? I wonder. Crazy's an ugly word for it, and not the legal term. PTSD, you said. That's not hard to believe. Would you swear to it, if it were his sake? Even if you wouldn't, there's more than that. Three days in a coma. Neurological sequelae related to cerebral malaria, actual, physical damage to his brain. I do know a thing or two about malaria, Scott. A demonstrable history of complicated grief and the prospect of terrible loss. When your mother died, he stopped speaking. He was hospitalized because we couldn't get him to eat. There's plenty there to work with. It's not difficult to make the case."

Scott's glad he has a chair, because he's pretty sure the floor's fallen out from under him, and it's a long, long way to the ground. Maybe it's the Scotch that's causing the sudden sense of vertigo, the way his palms have grown warm and his mouth has gone dry. He can't think of anything to do but repeat, less certain now, "John's not crazy."

As though his father could make it true.

"I know."

And maybe he can.

For the first time, with the late afternoon sunlight growing ruddy as sunset approaches, Scott gets a glimpse of the depth of the sadness in his father, the remorse. The office around them is empty and silent, and Scott feels a moment of deep, intense connection to the man sitting beside him, and knows in that instant that they both want the same thing. His father goes on, sober and sorrowful, "I think that might be the worst of it all—just how sane he is; how tightly he held onto the things he knows, and his ability to know them. Your brother is stronger than I can even comprehend, Scotty, and he deserves better than to be maligned and discredited by a plea of insanity. So we'll need to do it another way. It's just going to be a matter of working out what that is."

The way the tension goes out of him, it's like a line's been cut. Scott hadn't realized the way his limbs had all drawn taut, the way his spine had stiffened. Even here, just sitting with his father, talking frankly about the state his brother's in—it's hard. And his dad, in just the way he always does, knows that, and gives him a way out.

"You've never wanted to be part of this side of things, Scott. I've never asked you to be, and I won't ask you now. It's going to be difficult and it's going to be ugly, and you don't need to be a part of it. You can go home. You should go home. Take care of your brother, Scott. He needs you more than I do."

That might be true. Scott had gone to John's hospital room, four days ago now, with a decision as yet unmade. Their father was going to New York, and he'd left it to Scott to deliver that news. He'd also given Scott the option to come along, to take TB1 and follow afterward, across the Atlantic. And maybe if it had been Alan at John's bedside, instead of Virgil, Scott might have decided to stay. Maybe if Virgil had been radiating sorrow, instead of pure, molten fury, Scott would've felt like his presence was wanted—warranted, even. Maybe if his father hadn't asked, he never would've offered, would've known that his place was with his brothers—with John.

But instead he'd made his apologies, and said that he would be joining their father. Just for a little while, he'd said, just to make sure everything was under control. John was out of the woods. Alan and Virgil and Grandma had everything in hand. At the time they'd felt like reasons, but Scott realizes now that he might have been making excuses, at the same time he said his goodbyes.

Because as hard as it is to think about his brother, it's harder still to be around him, and know that their father is the reason for what he's suffering, when all Scott wants is for his father to be the reason he has his brother back. He doesn't want to think about everything else.

So he can pretend that he's here for John's sake. He can pretend that his dad needs him, even if he says otherwise. He can make that same decision again, to be at his father's side, instead of his brother's. John's got Virgil and Alan, Grandma and Gordon, Kayo and Brains. John's got an entire family of people looking after him, and he'll be taken care of. He doesn't need Scott.

His father has to stand in front of a roomful of lawyers, and tell them that—despite all readily available evidence to the contrary—his son is not out of his mind, and that they're going to find a way to clear his name. Scott's been there before. Scott remembers wishing he didn't have to be there alone.

Scott gets to his feet, wanders back over to the window. Makes use of the reflection again, as he pretends to stare out over the Manhattan skyline, and instead watches his father's image, watches to see if his dad changes at all, when he's no longer got his son by his side. Not appreciably. Doesn't matter. Scott's already made his choice. He doesn't turn as he says, "With due respect, sir, I think I can do more for him here than I can at home. If it's all the same to you, Dad, I'd like to stay. I know there's a lot that needs to be done for his sake. I'd like to help you make sure it gets done, however I can. Whatever it takes."

He hears ice chime against crystal again, as his father finishes his drink. He closes his eyes for a moment, against the light of the setting sun, and listens to his father behind him, with a soft little sigh before there's a grunt of effort, and he gets to his feet. He's not entirely expecting it, when there's the warmth of his father's hand on his shoulder, and a gentle, grateful squeeze, and the gratitude in the older man's voice is genuine, sincere, when he says, "Well, then I'll thank you, Scott. I'm glad you're here."

"Thanks, Dad. Me too."

#hw8 #heavenward fanfic #some kind of creative doubt

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