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you can make fun of felix for sounding dumb when he speaks, he does say some very funny and questionable, somewhat bizarre things at times, but there's a certain point where I am going to judge you for it a little bit <3
#he reminds me of my brother#are either of them particularly graceful in their use of the english language? no. Regardless.#god this is why i can never deal with smartie pants people on this website bc you'll be So omg i support everyone#im so progressive 😌 and then you'll just go and mock someone for struggling with words lmao#youre really not and i know you and your 'I was a gifted student' ass was probably nasty to the kids who had to get extra help at school#like laughing at foon or him saying does chicken have meat in it is legit fine- he has some great stoner lines for a sober guy#but when he uses a slightly awkward turn of phrase but you can still easily understand what he meant and yet youre calling him an idiot?#Uh. I will judge you for that :)#like maybe im sensitive after getting called dumb more than once by literal adults as a child- adults who missed my very obvious and#apparent dsylexia and adhd has made me sensitive but i dont care. some of you are just mean for the sake of being mean#felix might never see your posts but other people who relate to him in that way very well might
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The "Happy Birthday Gang": HBG's birthday scheme exposed
By Nerdi
------
A birthday scheme? What's that? I hear you ask.
Well… I've previously been sworn to secrecy, but now I'm finally able to tell you all about HBG's greatest scheme yet.
And why 'scheme'? It's just a nicer word than scam.
Let's start from the beginning.
Nearly a month ago, a Class 9B student interrupted a particularly boring assembly by announcing that it was his birthday.
Mustard (not 21), the student in question, recounted: "You and I both know how much the teachers love birthdays; they stopped to wish me happy birthday, sing the song, blah blah blah…"
Sources tell me it was not, in fact, his birthday that day.
"No, it was!" Feinberg, who's leaning over my shoulder to check what I'm writing (and make sure I don't call him bitcjslfglg–), says. Well, it's usually Fulham who proofreads my things, but I guess today I'm getting the help of Fein instead.
So, you know, if the quality suddenly becomes drastically worse, that's what happened. Getting someone who (still) doesn't know what an adjective is to proofread your work almost never ends well.
"Geo let him pick his birthday," Fein explains. If anything embarrassing about me gets posted on his Twitter today, it's fake and you should block him. "He changes it every day."
Of course, making an entire school sing Happy Birthday was a complete, deafening mess, but it took a little over five minutes and completely derailed the assembly, so mission accomplished, I guess?
Now, the other siblings couldn't let a discovery with so much potential go to waste.
The next day, two other siblings celebrated their (totally real) birthdays: Zylenox from 10A, who managed to use up an impressive seventeen minutes by convincing his Physics teacher he didn't speak English and wanted the class to sing the song in increasingly obscure languages; and Punz, who pulled the birthday card in all of his classes, wasting more than 30 minutes combined.
From then on, every day marked another sibling's "birthday", sometimes multiple in different classes.
Lesson times were reduced by up to 60% in the first week, with an average of 2 in 3 students witnessing a birthday celebration in at least one of their classes per day.
Said Switch, student of Class 10B: "So I'm not gonna name any names, alright, but there's someone in this class that either has a ridiculous number of birthdays or lied their ass off, because I've had to sing Happy Birthday to them eleven times in the past month."
I'm not naming any names either, so all I'll say on that matter is that I'm surprised the teachers didn't notice.
In unprecedented news, K4yfour (not 4) has finally decided to grace the rest of the Debate team with their presence– only to announce that it's their birthday and immediately leave 'to celebrate' once more. K4yfour, please. Come back. Couri, Crookst, and Feinberg can't entertain us with their three-way rivalry forever.
As the month progressed, various students started claiming their birthdays, most more than once, wasting time and causing chaos.
I don't have the time or paper to list out everyone's contribution to this birthday scheme, but there are two more memorable ones I'd like to highlight:
Firstly, poor Illumina actually had his birthday last week, but nobody believed him. He nearly doxxed himself trying to convince people it was his birthday; it didn't help that his mother was listed as 'The Universe' on his birth certificate.
Of course, he still got a celebration, as did everyone else regardless of the legitimacy of their birthday claims.
Secondly, I have to commend Matthew Bolan, who came back to school after what feels like a hundred years and told the principal it was his birthday. The dedication to the joke is admirable.
That concludes this report on HBG's birthday scheme. I've been Nerdi, and– what do you mean, I don't have to do an outro?
#hbGoToSchool#nerdi#feinberg#mustard#switch#hae wrote#dash cleansing except its like three hours late
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001. MEET LORENA
FULL NAME: lorena ayana torres. PREFERRED NAME: lorena. NICKNAME/S: lora and loren. DATE OF BIRTH: september 29th, 1998. GENDER & PRONOUNS: cis female & she/her. ORIENTATION: hetero. RELIGION: non-practicing christian. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: in a relationship with romeo mathers. OCCUPATION: full time university student and intern at a law firm. RESIDENCE: gramercy park, new york city.
002. CHECK LORENA’S BACKGROUND
HOMETOWN: ibiza, spain. NATIONALITY: spanish. ETHNIC BACKGROUND: spanish. LINGUISTICS: spanish which is her native language and english, french, portuguese, italian and latin in a fluent level. EDUCATION: she attended the university of oxford where she got a BA in history and, currently, she’s attending columbia’s university law school. CRIMINAL RECORD: clean. BIRTH ORDER: second. FATHER: iker arturo torres, born on april 26th, 1970 in valencia, spain where he still resides and works as an architect in his own architecture firm. MOTHER: clara maria torres, née gonzález, born on june 29th, 1970 in barcelona, spain, currently residing in valencia, spain and working as a marketing manager in her own management firm. SISTER/S: none. BROTHER/S: xabier alfonso torres, born on october 31st, 1993 in valencia, spain, currently residing in sagaponack, suffolk county and working as a neurologist. andres rodrigo torres, born on november 22nd, 2000 in valencia, spain where he still resides and studies. SIGNIFICANT OTHER: romeo mathers. CHILDREN: none so far. OTHER RELEVANT FAMILY: alexa marie torres, née bennett, xabier’s wife thus sister-in-law. diego rafael torres, xabier and alexa’s son, nephew. EX/ES: jordi martínez and lewis stewart. PETS: none so far.
003. GET UP CLOSE & PERSONAL
HEIGHT: 5′6″ or 168 cm. WEIGHT: between 123 lbs or 55 kg and 129 lbs or 58.5 kg. BODY BUILD: two or three years ago, lorena was a rather slim girl with no accentuated curves and, pretty much, your classical supermodel shape. she has, since, put on some weight, not because she wished to do so but because her body seems to have gone through some changes. she’s still slim, she doesn’t have a particularly big bust - 32B - and she still has her toned tummy but her waist is now more accentuated and her thighs and bum have definitely grown considerably ever since. EYE COLOR: brown, sometimes appearing to be deep brown, others appearing to be hazel, almost a green shade. EYESIGHT: she has myopia so she wears contacts on a daily basis. when she’s trying to rest her eyes and give it some away time from the contacts, she wears her glasses. HAIR COLOR & STYLE: she has dark brown, nearly black hair and she has never really bothered changing colors or messing with dyes of sorts because she’s scared to damage her hair. she doesn’t get wild with the styles either - generally, she wears her hair down and allows its natural wavy texture to shine through. if she’s meeting with clients, she’ll either straighten it or throw it in a sleek bun or updo. at home, when she’s just chilling, she sometimes throws it in a ponytail or wears it half up, half down. DOMINANT HAND: right. NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: her eyes, particularly their shape and specific shade of brown that sometimes can trick you into thinking they’re green. her pouty lips that she hated when she was a child but has since grown to love. her dark hair and her skin tone, how tan she naturally is which always ends up being brought up to attention. SCARS AND MARKS: besides the occasional scar and mark that we all get, there’s nothing in particular. TATTOOS: she has a wunjo tattoo behind her right ear, a greek symbol, the rune, meant to symbolize joy and happiness. she has a micro, minimalistic lotus flower with watercolor — reference — tattooed on the inside of her left wrist, meant to represent that regardless of the toxicity and negativity that might surround her at times, she will always stay graceful and be as kind as she can be. along the outer side of her right foot, she has gotten the quote a menos que los dejes, something her older brother, xabier, used to tell her whenever she went to him, crying about the people putting her down and trying to demean her ; essentially, it’s a reminder that no one can bring her down unless she lets them. along the side, extending from her right hipbone to her bum, she has the quote those who fan your flames in cursive and white ink. lastly, on the back of her neck, she has the word headstrong in bold, uppercase font. PIERCINGS: she has her regular lobes pierced. VOICECLAIM: cindy kimberly. ACCENT & INTENSITY: between the years in england and the time in new york, lorena has almost completely lost her accent. when she’s speaking spanish, you can tell she’s a native, but when she switches to english, that fades away and you can’t decipher whether english is or isn’t her primary language. ALLERGIES: none that she’s aware of. PHOBIAS & FEARS: though she would never admit it and would say she has no fears, solitude. MENTAL & PHYSICAL ILLNESSES: none so far. ALCOHOL USE: sometimes. SMOKING: no, she doesn’t smoke. NARCOTICS USE: she used to do weed when she needed to unwind but she hasn’t done it for a while. INDULGENT FOOD: sometimes, when she’s stressed out mainly. SPLURGE SPENDING: it doesn’t happen, she’s very careful with her money. GAMBLING: no, never.
004. DIG DEEPER
CAN THEY DRIVE? yes, she can drive. CAN THEY COOK & BAKE? yes and yes. CAN THEY CHANGE A FLAT TIRE? yes. CAN THEY TIE A TIE? yes. CAN THEY SWIM? yes. CAN THEY RIDE A BICYCLE? yes. CAN THEY JUMP START A CAR? no. CAN THEY BRAID HAIR? yes. CAN THEY PICK A LOCK? yes. EXTROVERTED OR INTROVERTED? extroverted. DISORGANIZED OR ORGANIZED? organized. CLOSE OR OPEN MINDED? open minded. CALM OR ANXIOUS? calm. PATIENT OR IMPATIENT? depends on the situation. OUTSPOKEN OR RESERVED? outspoken. LEADER OR FOLLOWER? leader. OPTIMISTIC OR PESSIMISTIC? optimistic. TRADITIONAL OR MODERN? modern. HARD-WORKING OR LAZY? hard-working. CULTURED OR UNCULTURED? cultured. LOYAL OR DISLOYAL? loyal. FAITHFUL OR UNFAITHFUL? faithful. NIGHT OWL OR EARLY BIRD? night owl. HEAVY OR LIGHT SLEEPER? light sleeper. COFFEE OR TEA? coffee. DAY OR NIGHT? night. TAKING BATHS OR SHOWERS? baths. COCA COLA OR PEPSI? coca cola. CATS OR DOGS? dogs. NETFLIX OR CINEMA? netflix. SHOWS OR MOVIES? movies. LAPTOP OR GAMING CONSOLE? laptop. HEALTHY OR JUNK FOOD? healthy food. ICE CREAM OR FROZEN YOGURT? ice cream. PIZZA OR HAMBURGER? hamburger. LOLLIPOPS OR GUMMY WORMS? lollipops. BEACH OR POOL? both. SNOWBALLS FIGHTING OR ICESKATING? iceskating. LITERATURE OR SCIENCE? literature. HISTORY OR ART? history. CHOCOLATE BARS OR COTTON CANDY? cotton candy. XBOX OR PLAYSTATION? playstation. FACE-TO-FACE OR PHONE INTERACTIONS? face-to-face interactions. DRAMA OR SCI-FI? drama. HORROR OR COMEDY? horror.
005. LORENA’S FAVORITES
FAVORITE ACTIVITY: reading. FAVORITE ANIMAL: butterfly. FAVORITE BOOK: rising strong by brené brown as nonfiction and, perhaps, a little life by hanya yanigihara as fiction. FAVORITE COLOR/S: deep red. FAVORITE CUISINE: spanish. FAVORITE DISH/ES: fideuà, gazpacho, spanish tortilla and churros. FAVORITE DRINK/S: sangria, rosé wine, limeade and orxata. FAVORITE FLOWER/S: red roses, red carnation and white daisies. FAVORITE GEM: moonstone. FAVORITE MOVIE: pulp fiction by quentin tarantino. FAVORITE SONG: truth is ( the spanish version ) by sabrina claudio. FAVORITE SCENT/S: the scent of nail polish, lime and strawberries. FAVORITE SHOW/S: vis a vis, how to get away with murder, suits, scandal and élite. FAVORITE SPORT/S & TEAM THEY SUPPORT: soccer, she supports valencia cf and tottenham hotspur fc. FAVORITE SEASON OF THE YEAR: summer. VACATION DESTINATION: tokyo, japan or kauai, hawaii.
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Unfortunate Mistletoe, Cont. || Bronwyn, Leslie, Cam, Vindrik, & Charleson
Vincent: "Food will never lose appeal." The bird smiled between a mouthful of whatever he had grabbed. He'd yet to figure that out.
Perhaps he should swallow. "I like parties. I like this party." He smoothed his untucked shirt and felt his bowtie. Those were also fun. "I don't smell demon. Where is the demon?"
Charles: Charles bit down on a chuckle. "Slow down. Don't choke yourself, Vincent."
He'd polished off his own snack and reached for a cup to fill with punch. "I'm glad. Mason is... somewhere." Hiding, more than likely. "Possibly outside with the children. Bobby froze the lake, so some people are skating."
Vincent/Mason/Leslie: Bobby was a good egg. He liked him.
"Oh! I don't have stakes but I'm going!" He would ride along on someone's shoulder if he had to.
Mason was indeed hiding. Specifically, he was hiding away the children from a certain witch, fresh from a tree. A kind soul he may be, but he was foreign. Mason needed time.
Leslie was busy taking new photos of the newest decorations, followed around by Ester and Ruby like a tiny flock.
Charles: Laughing, Charles grabbed a cookie from the tower and gestured toward the doors. "Don't worry. We have spare skates. I'll take you out. Did you bring a coat?"
Vincent: "Yes! ... No. But no, I don't need one." Well, if Charles was grabbing, he would grab a cookie as well. No wait, two! Both stuffed in his mouth.
Charles: "If you asphyxiate yourself with baked goods, Bronwyn will have my head. Slow down." Charles led his way toward the front doors, pulling his own coat from the hall closet as they went. "We have spare jackets, as well. It's quite cold."
Vincent: "Are you so concerned about my skin?" If Charles could manage to decipher any of that cookie-stuffed language resembling English.
Charles: A snort. "Yes. Your skin is very important to me. As it should be to you."
Vincent: "Kay." He didn't want to be weighed down by a jacket, and his werebear was absent, so the man before Charles melted from human form to that of a raven. One which would begin hopping around in a figure eight.
"Pick me up!" the bird squawked.
Charles: "I don't know how you plan to skate without human feet, but very well." He bent down to offer the bird a hand, carefully setting him on one shoulder.
The grounds were vast and brightly lit, but the lake wasn't too far of a walk. Cheerful music filtered through speakers mounted around the area, and a good two dozen people enjoyed the biting air. Stopping at a table nearby, he traded his punch for a cup of cocoa. "Warm enough?"
Vincent/Leslie: Vincent settled in with a small shake of his tail feathers. Charles' shoulder was perfectly warm and his clothes the right amount of soft and sturdy.
Leslie was busy trying to figure out what he'd just seen, but Ester was tugging his sleeve for attention. He'd hardly spent a full two minutes with his host and his pang of guilt was short-lived as Ruby joined in demands.
"I'm perfect and you're perfect," said the bird. "Now, to skate! Go!"
Charles: His lips twitched faintly with amusement as he watched the girls pester the witch. He could step in, but he wouldn't. It was Christmas, and scolding could be done another day. "I wouldn't say perfect."
A soft laugh. "Oh, I see. You're expecting me to be your legs. It's been a while. Ruby, Ester, do either of you know how to skate?" He figured he'd take pity, after all.
Vincent/Leslie: "Of course you're my legs." Vincent began to play with Charles' hair. He could make an excellent nest of this.
Both girls craned to look over their shoulders, quite busy with their interview of the witch. Today, they could be mistaken for the twins.
"No," they said in unison.
"But I can make a wicked snowman," said Ester.
"Let's do that," Leslie smiled.
Charles: "Have fun."
Smoothing down his hair, Charles crossed to the box of skates waiting to be claimed, selecting a pair in his size. He had his own, somewhere, but couldn't be bothered to go inside to hunt for them. It had been years since he'd so much as touched them. The things one did for friends. "All right. We'll skate for a bit. Not all of us are immune to the cold. Hold on."
Vincent/Mason: "How many witches do you know?" Vincent asked. A question given in full scratchy voice. Neither of the girls had kept Leslie a secret, but neither had they flaunted his name around the castle-like school. Regardless, the word witches had begun circulating after his visit. A word which made Mason scowl in the raven's direction.
Charles: "Mm. Two. At least to my knowledge. There's a very real possibility that I've met a which without knowing."
He shrugged and crossed to the lake proper on wobbly, doe legs. He was much more graceful on the ice, pushing off swiftly into a gentle glide. "Why do you ask?"
Vincent: Vincent strained his neck to watch Charles' feet during the brief journey towards the ice. Once he proved they would not come crashing down in a heap, he began to resettle.
"I like witches. Obviously."
Charles: "Oh, obviously. Silly me." His lips quirked into the slightest smile before he dropped it.
There was no flourish to his skating. The most he had was an ability remain upright as he glided smoothly around the perimeter of the lake, skirting around couples as he went. "How many witches do you know? I've been learning a bit of magic, myself. When I have the time."
Vincent: "Then you're a witch! I'm acquainted with many! It's my job to be!"
The raven held out his wing, playing signaler for where Charles intended to turn.
"Do you like bears?"
Charles: "I don't know if I'd go so far," he laughed, pausing for just a moment to help a fallen boy to his feet.
"Bears? I suppose." What an odd question. "They're... big. I've never encountered one in the wild, but they're great. Polar bears are quite lovely."
Vincent: Vincent was helpless of the vivacious tone of his voice as he said, "Well, you have one in your house."
Charles: "I'm sorry, what?"
Vincent: "My bear. My Adrik. You said I could bring a plus one."
Charles: "I did. So, he's... a familiar, like yourself? Or a shapeshifter?" He could admit to some curiosity.
Vincent: "He's a Fera. Do you know what that is?"
Charles: "I do not."
Vincent: "Werewolves?"
Charles: "Yes, of course. He's a... werebear?"
Vincent: "Yes. Fera is simpler, isn't it?"
Charles: "I suppose, if less specific. That's fascinating. I look forward to meeting him."
Vincent: "Are you bothered?"
Charles: "Bothered by what, Vincent?"
Vincent: "By a bear being in the house."
Charles: "By a man, capable of shifting into a bear? Of course not. That'd be rather hypocritical of me, don't you think? I trust you wouldn't bring anyone here who would try to hurt anyone."
Vincent: "He was probably a bear first. He's a teddy."
Charles: "If he's sentient, he's a person first."
Vincent: "I was hatched out of an egg. I am bird first."
Charles: "I'm not going to argue with you about your identity, Vincent. But, I don't generally hold full conversations with birds. People, sure."
Vincent: "Because you don't speak their language."
Charles: "Fair enough. It might be an interesting ability."
Vincent: "I knew a witch. Speaking to everything was her only desire in life. She could even speak with inanimate objects."
Charles: "I only speak to inanimate objects when they refuse to cooperate. I'm perfectly fine, provided they don't speak back."
Vincent: "They probably have some things to say about you, too."
Charles: He laughed, brightly. "Well, they can just keep those to themselves. I shudder to think what my computer would say after all the abuse I've put it through. Bloody thing is quite temperamental. Particularly when I have something pressing to finish."
Vincent/Leslie: "I'm sure some expletives would be thrown around between the both of you," said Vincent with mirth.
Leslie was doing what he did best. Their snowman had become something grotesque, with rocks for teeth and stubs for arms. He'd been given a personality, that which had Ruby, Ester, and a handful of other children on the ground and against a tree with laughter.
"'What have you done to me?! My arms are useless!'" Leslie protested in his best Gollum voice.
Bronwyn: Finally having freed herself from impromptu phone call that had taken up more of her time than she would've liked, Bronwyn rejoined the festivities and went in search of her loved ones who were...nowhere to be found. Probably outside.
She grabbed her coat and stepped out, immediately spotting Charles and her familiar.
"I'm back!" she called once she was close enough. "I'm so sorry, that awful man wouldn't get off the phone."
Charles: "Me? I would never!" A lie, if he'd ever told one. His laptop was an 'ill-behaved bastard', more often than not. He scraped to a stop at the druid's approach, ice flying, just at the edge of the lake. "Bronwyn! I'm glad you're back! Are you going to join us?" His cheeks were rosy with cold, but his smile was wide and sunshine-bright.
Vincent: His favorite shoulder above all shoulders! At least metaphorically. Vincent swooped from his perch for his mistress, nearly falling from the ledge of her fuzzy jacket.
"Charles is a witch now! And he's collected more witches!"
Bronwyn: "Point me toward the skates and I will. Easy!" she chuckled when Vincent came to her, greeting him with a scritch to his head. "Is he indeed? Have you been holdin' out on me, Charles?"
Charles: Aww. His shoulder was so lonely, now. "I'm not a witch. But I have met one, recently. He's over there playing with the children. The skates are just there." He gestured with the hand still holding his empty cocoa cup. "I can introduce you first, if you'd like."
Bronwyn: "That'd be lovely. We can get some o' that cocoa while we're at it." With extra marshmallows for Vincent.
Charles: Back to wobbling across the snow. He sat on a nearby bench to change shoes. "So, what was the call about? If you don't mind my asking. " He didn't know what sort of person called on Christmas Eve, short of family or very dear friends.
Bronwyn: "One of my suppliers. He thought now was a good time to tell me that I wasn't goin' to get my order of essential oils until after New Year's."
Charles: "Calling on Christmas Eve with disappointing news. He sounds lovely." When his laces were re-tied, he stood and nodded in the direction of the silly game, raising a hand to the witch as they made their approach. "Leslie! Leslie, can I steal you for a bit? I have someone I'd like you to meet."
Leslie: An exceptionally tall witch. One to rival her revenant. Dirty blond hair was sticking to his face where a snowball had caught his forehead. He was breathless and so were the children. The Gollum voice never failed.
"'Oh, yes! Steals us!'" Ruby covered her mouth with both hands. Leslie cleared his throat.
"Sorry," he coughed, voice raspy, "I've made mistakes."
Bronwyn: "Oh, he's a peach," said Bronwyn, laughing and shaking her head. She would save her anger and annoyance for after the holidays.
Leslie couldn't have made a better first impression, even with the stuck hair and sore voice. It was hard not to immediately like a handsome man playing in the snow with children.
Bronwyn chuckled. "Ye're fine. I have two boys, I can relate." She offered a hand. "Bronwyn MacAllister. It's nice to meet you."
Charles: Charles had to physically turn away from the sight. He dragged a numb hand down his equally numb face and breathed slowly. In. Out. In. Out. Thankfully, Bronwyn had the presence of mind to introduce herself. The telepath was absolutely helpless. And useless.
Leslie: "Bronwyn. What a beautiful name. Leslie Issott."
Oh no. He looked towards Charles' turned back and grinned.
"'What's the matter, precious? Doeses not like my voice?'" His throat was going to be destroyed by tomorrow regardless of meditation.
Bronwyn: Oh yes, she definitely liked this man. "Why thank you, Leslie. My mama chose it on the fly."
She couldn't help but laugh at Charles' brave attempt to maintain his composure. "You all right, darlin'?" she asked him.
Charles: Charles held up a silent hand. God damn it all. It took everything in his power to control his breathing. He knew that if he let the tiniest giggle slip, he was done for. That was always the case, with Leslie Issott. His face had gone from pink to beet-red with the strain, but he managed a tight smile as he turned around. "Perfectly well, thanks." The effort was audible. "The two of you... you should. Magic." Eloquent. A breath. "Bronwyn here is a Druid. Leslie's been teaching me a few spells here and there. He's a fine. Fine teacher."
Leslie: Now it was Leslie covering his mouth. "Oh Trinity," he mumbled, eyes bright from Charles' tomato face. Call it many things, but to the witch it was beautiful.
"Yes, that, but not really. I'm pretty chaotic in teaching."
Bronwyn: Poor Charles. Bronwyn almost felt bad for getting such amusement out of his predicament. Almost.
"Well magic is a chaotic beast, so yer teachin' style works perfectly. I'll bet Charles is an excellent student."
Charles: At least he wasn't alone in this. Biting down hard on his cheek, Charles shook his head. "I enjoy our lessons. Less structure. More... allowing the magic to take us where it will." Had they gotten any real work done at their last meeting? No. But at least he'd done his homework. "He's incredible, Bron. Don't let him fool you."
Leslie: "Am I be - Feels like you're trying to sell me," he chuckled. "So, he said druid? Must be my lucky year. I just introduced myself to a druid in October. More than I've meet in almost a decade."
Cam/Adrik: Per the usual, Cam was always a little late to the party. He mostly did it to avoid being the first person there and that awkward period of small talk before other people arrived. Today he had two large duffle bags slung over his shoulder, and he adjusted them over his jacket as he rang the doorbell. It wasn't like he didn't basically live there on occasion and really had no reason to ring the bell, but today he felt oddly formal, and like he should.
As he waited for someone to answer he heard a crunch of footsteps through the snow behind him, and a glance behind brought the frame of a giant into startling view. The man, at a height of 6'7" and body built to look unmovable, stepped up behind cam. His actual size was hidden beneath a long, burly black coat lined with appeared to be fur, and under his arm was one long present above a small bag of his own.
He had a greying, finely trimmed beard (much nicer than when Vincent last saw him) beard, and for 2 seconds Cam wondered if Charles had ordered some sort of sexy Santa Claus to the party and Cam had misunderstood the invite.
The man looked down at Cam and Cam up at the man, and Cam's brow knit with slight confusion.
"Do I know you?" he asked suddenly, the question burst from his lips like compulsion he couldn't control. The man stared back, and Cam saw the tiniest crease form in his stoic brow.
"I... do not know."
Bronwyn: "Aye, I'm a Druid. We tend to be as rare as unicorns." Bronwyn's brow furrowed. October... Wasn't that when...? "You wouldn't happen to live in North Carolina, would you? In a town called Edenton?"
Charles: "Not selling." He shook his head. "Merely explaining."
No one would hear the doorbell ring. The music was loud, the guests louder. Cameron and his newfound friend would have to enter of their own accord, or circle around back, where more cheerful sounds could be heard. Perhaps, a student or two would breeze right past them, wanting a reprieve from the frosty air by the roaring fire in the den.
Cam/Adrik: After an awkward beat of silence where Cam felt oddly foolish for not just entering of his own accord, opened the door and lead the stranger inside. Cam didn't even bother explaining to his quiet companion where he was going, he simply stepped in, shrugged off his coat, and then picked up his duffle bags to head down the hall.
Adrik followed quietly behind as they followed the sounds of a party further into the mansion.
Charles: Closer, certainly. Inside, the pair would find food, music and general merrymaking. Cam, of course, would recognize a slew of familiar faces. Students, staff, and close friends of the mansion's residents. Young children chasing each other down the halls. Not his host, however. Charles was busy making friendly conversation and freezing his ass off by the lake. If asked, anyone might be able to point the newcomers in his direction.
Vincent/Leslie: "And... this is where I begin to wonder if all druids somehow know one another like some kind of intricate network." Leslie glanced over the woman's shoulder to Charles, question written on his face before returning to her attention. "Yes, actually."
Vincent perked and turned towards the house. Wings stretched excitedly. He had said his bear was here, but now he could feel his presence, and his excitement was almost too much to contain.
And off he went towards the opening door.
Bronwyn: Oop, and off Vincent went.
"That's the benefit o' bein' as rare as unicorns," Bronwyn chuckled. "But no, I just remembered that my sister Deirdre had taken a trip in October to see our cousin and I wondered if just maybe she was the one you'd met. Blonde, around my height?"
Cam/Adrik: Cam mingled with the staff he knew and handed out a couple presents from one of his duffle bags to some that he'd gotten close to. He seemed to do the same for each student he'd ever crossed paths with, or who had been in any of his gym classes, each personalized to something he knew about them. They were all fairly simple gifts, some even homemade, but with thought and care put into each one.
Adrik stood awkwardly amongst strangers, shoulders tensed as he sniffed the air in search of a familiar scent. The mix of people and food made it hard to pinpoint, but eventually Adrik found himself at the back door to the lake, at about the same time Cam set his bags to the side and was preparing to head back out into the cold. With a small nod to Cam they both stepped out into the cold, and the tight line of Adrik's shoulders seemed to relax as soon as he caught sight of a familiar bird flying in his direction.
Cam started to approach his own familiar faces, when a smirk flashed over his lips. A green light flashed and snowballs, one for each familiar face, rose into the air beside him.
"Merry Christmas!" He called to them all before a snowball each sailed in the direction of Charles, Leslie, and Bronwyn.
Charles: He didn't know the question, and could not offer an answer, what he could do was listen on politely as Leslie and Bronwyn became acquainted.
When the snowball flew his way, Charles was quick to step behind Leslie. What good were giants if not for use as human shields? Take one for the team, Issott.
Vincent/Leslie: Vincent didn't take to a shoulder as he had with the others. For Adrik, the bird planted beak first against that impossible chest, as though the raven had splat itself onto a wall. This wall just happened to be made of muscle.
"Teddy!" Ink black wings regrew into pastel long sleeve covered arms winding their way around shoulders and neck. hanging talons into jeans, legs wrapping around hips. He was attached, quite literally.
What was Charles behind him? Oh, that's why.
"I like your sister! I think she's dating my best friend!" The higher volume quite involuntary as he turned his body to the side in defense of not one but two snowballs.
"Cam!" he laughed. "Don't make me retaliate!"
Bronwyn: "Oh yeah, she mentioned that she--ahh, Cameron!" Bronwyn laughed and tried to dodge a snowball but didn't quite make it in time. It had gotten her square in the back.
"I'm goin' to tell Santa on you!"
Cam/Adrik: Adrik chuckled and wrapped his arms around Vincent as he changed.
"Where is your coat? You will catch cold," Adrik rumbled and leaned into the smaller man as if to try and envelope him with his own body.
"I mean, I DID just declare a snowball fight, unless you all are chicken..." Cam called, and this time he crouched down to pack an actual snowball. He tossed it tauntingly in the air beside him as he grinned at the others.
Charles: Chicken? Yes. Definitely. Oh, he was going for cover. There was a massive tree nearby for him to duck behind. Trading one shelter for another, Charles took off at a sprint. "Cameron! I will call for backup!"
Vincent/Leslie: Vincent just smiled. "I told the professor witch I'm not cold." His skin would disagree, but Adrik's body heat was already righting his wrong.
Leslie bit into one of the fingers of his leather gloves, tugging away the material. If this was going to well and truly be a snowball fight, then he needed to feel, especially if magic were a factor.
"I want a nice clean fight from all of you."
Ruby and Ester peeked around the corner of the same tree Charles hid behind.
Bronwyn: "Cam, I'm no' wearing the right outfit for a snowball fight! Charles, scooch over!" Bronwyn quickly hid behind the same tree he'd gone behind. The fuzzy jacket and dress she'd chosen--while festive--would not survive the chaos.
Cam/Adrik: "That's not my fault, Mama B!" Cam called, but of the snowballs that floated into the air beside him, none were aimed at her, or the children. Instead one zoomed towards Leslie (as Cam ALSO threw his packed snowball at Leslie), and the other curled around the tree to nail Charles in the shoulder. Two separate ones rose and hovered over Ruby and Ester, only to poof into gentle puffs of snow and sprinkle snowflakes over the two.
"Better call for back up Charles or I'm gonna win~!"
Adrik chuckled and gently pried his little bird free. A short shrug later and Adrik's heavy coat was off and around Vincent's shoulders. "I only wear it for show, I am a bear after all," and then Vincent was back in his arms.
Charles: "Hey!" He was laughing, as his hiding spot was taken over. "The lot of you! Find your own barrier! I--"
Whatever he'd been about to say was interrupted by the impact. He had no gloves. No hat. But he'd be damned if he took a direct hit without retaliation. Already numb fingers packed a solid ball of snow, and Charles peeked around the tree to fling it. "Les, get out of the way!"
Vincent/Leslie: Vincent groaned dramatically under the mighty weight of Adrik's great coat.
"It's too much! How do you wear this?!" The dramatic fall he had planned was interrupted by a great bear paw scooping him back up. This was also fine.
What even constituted as a clean fight when magic was involved? Magic Ruby and Ester did not (yet) possess? The girls were delighted either way. Absolutely thrilled with Cameron's power. Despite being gentle, the Gollum snowman was being gutted for ammunition.
Leslie sidestepped the shouts, packing one of his own snowballs as he laughed. This was meant for Cameron, but Charles...his back was right there. How could he resist?
Cam/Adrik: "It is not too much," Adrik rumbled in disapproval, but the added weight of his coat did nothing to hinder scooping up his little bird bridal style and holding him tight to his chest. He wore a nice pair of black dress shoes and slacks, a dark maroon button up rolled up to the elbows. All of the clothes were tight and pulled in all the right places, and he seemed not to notice the bite of the cold air around them as his eyes turned to the fight unfolding.
Another snowball at Leslie, then another that smashed over the tree hiding Bronwyn and the girls.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn would only peek out of her hiding spot to take pictures or to dodge any stray snowballs that came a little too close for comfort.
Although Cam's magical little snowfall did give her an idea.
She looked up at the sky and smiled. It was mostly clear save for a couple of clouds, but a couple was all she would need.
A deep breath and a few moments later, the clouds had gathered just a little bit closer and big, beautiful movie snowflakes were gently floating down from the sky. Nothing big enough to drive anyone inside. Just a pretty little flurry to delight and enchant.
Charles: "Et tu, Brute?" This treachery was more than he could stand. The snowball intended for Cameron would fly directly at Leslie. Not to worry, though. He was quick to bend down and scoop up another to throw at Cam, as well. Only Bronwyn was safe.
He glanced up as the clouds drew closer, his eyes widening as the snow began to fall softly about them. Oh. Oh, how lovely. "Bron, is this your doing?" She'd won, as far as the telepath was concerned.
Vincent/Leslie: Vincent laughed at the lot of them. That is, until his attention turned skyward and his eyes full of reverence. So proud of her.
His mouth opened, widening his tongue to catch a few flakes.
Leslie looked up as well, body covered in snow, and smiled.
"Beautiful magic."
Cam/Adrik: Cam looked up just as the snow started to fall, giving a snowball the perfect opportunity to collide with his face. He made a noise of surprise and laughed, wiping the cold substance from his skin before he looked up to admire the sky and the scene unfolding like something from a movie. It was beautiful, and he glanced at Bronwyn as if to ask if she were the culprit.
Adrik chuckled and leaned down to steal a kiss from that open mouth, once there wasn't a tongue sticking out of it.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled at her handiwork and then at the lot of them, unbelievably pleased with herself. "Aye, it's me. It's been a while since I've made it snow. I have more practice just makin' it cold but Mother Nature is already doin' that for me."
Charles: "That she is." His fingers had gone from red to white, still damp with melted snow. He shoved them into his pockets. "It's beautiful, darling. Shall we grab that hot chocolate? It's freezing. And I can't feel my fingers, Cameron." Why, yes, that was an accusatory glance at the green-haired mutant, followed by a twitch of a smile.
Vincent/Leslie: "Can we make a fire?" asked Vincent from the werebear's arms. "Oh! I can make a fire!"
Leslie was utterly fascinated by that man, whatever he was. But he would rather the old-fashioned method.
"Gimmie those." He gestured to Charles' hands. He would warm them himself, sandwiching them between his own and brought to his lips for a long exhale.
Cam/Adrik: Cam grinned at Charles and shrugged innocently.
"I don't know why I'm responsible for that Charles," he lobbed another, poorly aimed, snowball at the professor before starting to walk backwards towards the house.
"Is there a fireplace?" Adrik asked the man in his arms. He knew nothing of this place and was reluctant to let go of Vincent to let him start a flame.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave a small gasp. "Yes, please! I also need a gingerbread cookie." And to make sure Cam ate, but she'd be more subtle about that.
"Care to join us, Leslie?"
Charles: "You know precisely why you're responsible for that." He neatly sidestepped the projectile.
His lips titled into the slightest smile. Leslie had been flinging snowballs, same as Charles, but he offered over his chilled hands anyway. "I'm certainly not opposed to a bonfire, Vincent, but you know there are several fireplaces inside. A few of them already lit."
He glanced up at the witch. "You should. There's coffee, tea, cider. I made sure to have a few sugar-free treats on the menu." Not a first, certainly, but it would taste a lie to say that Leslie hadn't been on his mind when he'd finalized the list.
Vincent/Leslie: "It's not the same as starting the fire yourself. Don't you know?"
Vincent pointed towards the house, where Cameron was making his escape. "To the fire, Teddy. Have you ever met a demon? There's one somewhere here."
Leslie just smiled before offering a final long exhale to those hands. The effort warming his as well.
"Thank you, dear. Be delighted." They would be tailed by Ruby and Ester, of course. He'd never had followers quite like these before.
Cam/Adrik: "I have not," Adrik rumbled and followed Cam back into the building without letting go of Vincent. Once inside he let Vincent down so he could help remove Adrik's coat. He'd surely roast alive if he left it on.
Cam dipped inside and went off to find where he'd put his duffel bags.
Bronwyn: The girls would both get a hot chocolate with plenty of marshmallows and a gingerbread cookie before Bronwyn treated herself. Fluffy snowflakes continued to fall, lighter now but still going strong. They'd cease once the cloud was depleted.
"So ye're teachin' Charles magic?" she asked Leslie. "Do you have a particular area of expertise?"
Charles: "Thanks," he smiled, sliding his warmed hands back into his pockets. He'd quietly wait for everyone to help themselves.
Vincent/Leslie: Vincent shook his arms and took a breath once inside. A habit mirrored in bird form, as Bronwyn had seen many times before. He could still feel his feathers regardless of their absence.
"You might meet one today. He's playing with his children. The boy changed my colors once! I made him fly. Charles didn't like that."
Leslie turned to the professor, about to ask what he would like when Bronwyn spoke. Instead, he gestured to the table. What would you like?
"I do. How much does a druid know about mages?" He was curious how knowledgeable Deirdre was as well, and if she'd ever slip with Oliver.
Cam/Adrik: Cam returned with a few packages in hand. A large square one that was fairly hefty in weight was handed to Charles. Inside was a metal chess set with a glass box containing the pieces. the box doubled as the board itself, and inside all of the pieces were moving and shifting slightly, as if alive. "Figured of all the chest sets you have, you don't have one that moves on its own," he grinned.
To Bronwyn he handed a bag, and inside was a gorgeous set of heels, lavender in shade, with a strap around the ankle that looked were embroidered lavender flowers.
Leslie received a small parcel with a little shrimp stuffed animal inside, complete with an adorably embroidered smile, to commemorate their first meeting (the good start of it anyway, a model of a burning car felt a little in bad taste.
Mason's gift remained tucked into his pocket until he saw the demon himself, and both small girls were given small, little gifts of their own, each chosen to suit them, as he had for each one of the kids stashed away in his second duffel bag.
Adrik raised a brow. "I have never heard of a demon with children. Is that a common occurrence?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn would have a cookie as well, and whipped cream instead of marshmallows in her hot chocolate.
"Bein' what I am and havin' the experiences I have, I have a workin' knowledge. Baseline, mind you." Still, Druids in general liked to be aware of others with magic and others who only pretended to have magic.
Cam would be met with a smile and a confused look upon his return, at least until Bronwyn realized that what he was carrying were gifts.
"Aw, thank you, darlin'," she said as she accepted her gift, squealing in delight once she'd peaked inside.
Charles: Charles shook his head with a small smile. He was the host. He'd serve himself last.
When Cameron appeared with his burden, the professor lifted an eyebrow at him. The package was solid and heavy, his curiosity piqued. He had to find a flat surface on which to open it, eyes widening with shock and pleasure as he realized just what it was.
"Oh. Oh, Cam. They move? On their own?" He was positively beaming. "How fascinating! It's incredible, Cameron. Thank you." It took every ounce of his willpower to resist running off to find someone to play with. Where was that bloody magnet when you needed him?
Vincent/Leslie: Leslie turned to the sound of Cameron and smiled. He just managed to resist a dirty joke at his full sack. Completely distasteful!
Perhaps later.
"Hahaha!" He'd never had a stuffed animal like this growing up. Were shrimp stuffed animals even a thing back in the 90s? He turned to the girls to show them.
"Why?" said Ester.
"I work on a food truck," he explained.
"But you're a wizard, Harry."
Both arms dropped to his sides, face deadpan. The girls giggled, and Leslie had to fight a smile.
Vincent shrugged. "I don't think so. I think the Atlas brothers are exceptions because of...something."
Cam/Adrik: "I figured you'd look bangin' in them!" Cam grinned as Bronwyn squealed. He'd hoped she would like them, and the added ankle strap sealed the deal when he saw them.
Then he turned to Charles and nodded, his smile warm. "Yeah, you can also pick them up and move them if you want, or alternatively you can tell them the space to move to! They do like- idle movements while they wait to be moved, and then will walk- or have their own little thing they do when you tell them to move! I had to animate each set of the pieces separately, so it took a while because of how much energy permanent changes take- but if you want sometime- you should teach me how to play."
Adrik hummed and moved so he was standing behind Vincent, and wrapped his arms loosely around Vincent's shoulders as he watched the room. "Who is the host?"
Bronwyn: "They're beautiful, Cam, I love them." Her unofficial son was pulled in for a hug and kissed soundly on the cheek. She would have to find a chance to try them on.
"Are you hungry? Want a cookie?"
Charles: So much effort had gone into the beautiful gift. He was deeply touched, and more than a little excited. Charles was next to pull the mutant into a bone-crushing hug. "I'd love to. I need a fresh opponent."
For now, he'd release Cam from his hold and pick up his gift. The food was completely forgotten as he went to find a corner to sit in and examine each piece thoroughly.
Vincent: Vincent pointed towards the man wandering off. "That one. The short one," he grinned. In all his 5'6" glory, he had no room to speak.
Cam/Adrik: Cam returned the hug to Charles, and watched with a smile as he ran off to look at his gift. "Dunno if I'll be any real competition, but I definitely want to learn." Then he turned to Bronwyn and returned her hug as well. "I would love one!" then he paused and glanced at his gift to Bronwyn. "let me know if they don't fit, I can use my powers to adjust the size, I just took my best guess when I found them."
Adrik's eyes followed the host, and reluctantly he left his little bird to approach Charles. with a stop at his coat he pulled out a long cardboard box, and he gently tapped on Charles' shoulder to get his attention.
"I am Adrik," he said simply and offered Charles the box. "Vincent explained that there were little ones who live here," and that was the only explanation he gave for the box’s contents. Inside were a series of little wooden animal toys, roughly carved but with just enough detail to be clearly be an adorable rendition of the intended animal.
Bronwyn: "Well now ye've gone and opened Pandora's Box," Bronwyn chuckled. "Watch me call you ev'ry time I find a pair of shoes I love that doesn't come in my size."
She got him a cookie and a hot chocolate and took another minute to gush over her gift.
Now to find Leslie for more magic related conversation. It wasn't often she came across a true witch.
Charles: Charles glanced up. And up. And up. How lovely. Another giant. This must be Vincent's bear. He was certainly bear-sized. The professor smiled warmly and stood to take Adrik's hand and the offered box at once.
"Charles. It's a pleasure to meet you, Adrik." Careful fingers opened the lid of the box and his smile widened at the contents. Gifts for his kids always went far with the professor. "Thank you. How very thoughtful. I'm sure the children will love them. Did you carve these yourself?"
Mason/Leslie: Leslie was sitting near the fire with Ruby, Ester, and others he had yet learned the names of. Ruby and Ester were making demands of him, of more voices and to check on their flowers. Could he make the Christmas tree last forever? Would he? Would Charles allow it?
Was this what being a parent was like? No parent could (or should) half-ass this.
Mason watched from the entryway. A sleepy Rory resting on his shoulders, little arms wrapped around his forehead for balance and warmth.
Cam/Adrik: Cam laughed and settled into a cheeky grin. "Well, you feed me every time I'm in your house so even though you're gonna do it anyway, we'll just call it payment if you do want me to fix a pair of shoes for you." He took the offered snacks and tried not to look like he was enjoying her gushing too much.
Adrik nodded. "I am a tattoo artist," he lifts both of his hands, showing Charles the bear paw prints tattooed onto the back of his hands, leading into the forests that disappeared under his button-up. "But I do woodwork as well. I built my home," these were a lot of words for a normally silent bear, so with a small nod to Charles he turned and returned to Vincent's side.
Then Cam spotted Mason, and he grinned as he gave Bronwyn a small hug and promised to return. He approached Mason with a small parcel, and offered it to the demon along with smaller gift for the sleepy child on his head. Inside of Mason's was a dagger made of a black metal, with intricate carvings etched into the black hilt and pommel, as well as a single ruby set into the center of the hilt.
"If you press the ruby, it extends into a sword- or back into the dagger if it's in the sword form," Cam grinned. The blade was seamless, so it was obviously an extension of his powers. "You gave me a sword last year, I thought maybe you'd like something similar, but a little more versatile."
Bronwyn: "It would be lovely if the tree could last forever, wouldn't it?" Bronwyn said as she joined Leslie and the children. "It would be like Christmas ev'ry day."
Charles: "How fascinating." His smile brightened, curiosity piqued. Meeting interesting people was one of his greatest joys. He didn't know many tattoo artists, and he knew fewer individuals who'd built a home from the ground up with their own hands. More besides, he'd never (to his knowledge) met a werebear. But apparently this particular Fera wasn't much for conversation. With a small smile and nod in return, Charles reclaimed his seat and picked up a new chess piece to examine.
Mason/Leslie: Mason studied the piece, posture absolutely perfect for Rory's sake.
"Weavin' your mutation into items now? How are ya doing that? Someone teach ya?" He pressed the ruby, causing his son to squeak in surprise as the blade suddenly lengthened. Much more awake now. The jewel was pressed again and the weapon stuffed in his pocket. "Thanks, kitten."
Leslie turned to the sound of Bronwyn's voice and smiled. Druids were so ethereal and earthly.
"I think, if we ask the tree nicely, we can make it happen. Don't you?"
Cam/Adrik: "I've always been able to do it- or something like it. This is just the first few times I've tried making them do stuff with a purpose- like stay active for specific reasons, and not just be permanent changes, like the nursery- or have minds of their own, like I did to a teddy bear for a friend's kid," Cam shrugged. "I just... decided to try making it have a singular purpose- likes Charles' chess pieces- and your sword." Cam made sure to point out the sheath, a small leather piece with similar markings to it as what was etched into the hilt. "You're welcome."
Then Cam smiled and handed a small package up to Rory, who now seemed awake enough for his gift. Inside was a little metallic fish with iridescent scales, and as soon as Rory went to touch it, it sprang to life, leaping from its bright wrapping paper to zip around through the air around Rory's head. Then it paused in front of the little boy's face, and zipped forward to give his nose a playful smooch.
Adrik stepped up behind Vincent and wrapped his arms around the smaller man, and he leaned down to nuzzle into Vincent's ear.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn returned the smile. Leslie radiated good energy. Nurturing energy. They would get along very well indeed.
"You know, I think we can. But if you ask me," her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper, "We should ask the professor if it's okay for the tree to live here. The tree should feel welcome if this is goin' to be his home."
Charles: Charles was busy introducing himself to his chess set, studying each of the pieces before placing them in their rightful places on the board.
Vincent/Mason/Leslie: Mason caught a glimpse of Rory's gift and smirked. There was more to Cameron than just genetic mutation. Of that he was almost certain. Unlike the less wholesome (in his opinion) magic of witches, such as the one in the corner smiling oh-so-charmingly with his druid, Cameron's magic did not bastardize living things.
Hearing his son giggle turned his smirk into a full-fledged grin. "I think that won ya 'uncle of the year'."
Leslie played along, nodding sagely.
"Why not go ask him, Ester?" Both girls got to their feet, moving with purpose to grab Charles from whatever that was he was going, tugging him towards their guests, both trying to talk over each other. Something about living trees and can the Christmas tree stay. They promise to feed it and read to it as they did their lilies.
Vincent brought his hands to Adrik's forearm, giving a squeeze to that mighty muscle.
"It's warm here, isn't it?" he whispered to the bear. He hadn't meant the temperature, though it was of course that as well.
Cam/Adrik: "Well he'd be right, I am obviously the best uncle," Cam flashed a grin up at Mason, "and I shall relinquish my title to no one."
Adrik tilted his head, and his arms gave Vincent's shoulders a gentle squeeze.
"Is it?" He asked with another nuzzle. "Is there somewhere we may go to... Cool off?"
Bronwyn: "Looks like I'm goin' to need to make more elemental crystals," Bronwyn chuckled once the girls were out of earshot. "This strappin' lad will need some help if he's goin' to stay up." Provided Charles allowed it, of course.
Charles: Laughing softly, Charles allowed the girls to haul him away from his present engagement, a bishop still clutched in one hand. Though it was all but impossible to hear either of the girls when they were trying to out-speak one another, he gathered the gist of the conversation from all present.
"Hm. Well. I don't know about leaving a living tree inside forever." The thing was massive. Charles loved Christmas more than most, but he was charged with thinking long-term. "Why don't we leave it up for a while, then move it outdoors?" So it didn't have to die. He turned to Bronwyn with an eyebrow raised. "Would it be possible to re-plant? We certainly have the space for it. "
Vincent/Mason/Leslie: Leslie's smile widened with Charles' approach. Mason glanced in their direction before returning his attention to Cameron. He wanted to know how being here, all but living here made the mutant feel. Comfortable? Yearning? He brushed his fingers over Cameron's mind. Asking permission his new shtick.
"I can do it," said Leslie. The jewel cousins' eyes lit up. Perhaps a little more skepticism from Ruby. "I can," he insisted to her, laughing.
"Does cool off mean cool off, or something else?" Vincent asked, craning his head around enough to give Adrik a look.
Cam/Adrik: Cam let Mason into his mind with ease, but he appreciated the request. He liked it here. The kids are all great, and being something of a gym teacher and coach was not a career choice he could have predicted. He did miss the action. The rush. The distractions.
Adrik chuckled and leaned down to kiss Vincent's cheek when he turned his head. "Whatever you wish."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded in agreement. "Aye, it's possible. He'll just need a wee bit of extra care so he can take root." Namely, keeping the tree alive so it could take root.
"It's just like replantin' a branch. With enough time and patience it can be done."
Charles: "Splendid." He smiled between the both of them, never doubting their abilities. "In that case, by all means. Our tree is your tree."
Vincent/Mason/Leslie: Leslie's smile widened. "So long as old boy is held steady, and the soil beneath is soft enough to accept him, I can give him roots again."
Now the girls were chattering amongst themselves, trying to think of something else these two witches could root. As far as they were concerned, Bronwyn and Leslie were one and the same.
"Let's sneak away, then," Vincent whispered. "I'll show you around." Adrik was gently tugged towards the nearest hallway. Just an excuse for privacy. About 80% privacy, 20% tour guide.
Mason clasped his hand to Cameron's shoulder.
"As do I," he whispered. "I don't have nearly enough collections."
Cam/Adrik: "I believe I am a bit too large to sneak," Adrik chuckled, but he followed his little bird, as directed.
Cam smiled up at Mason and placed a hand on his arm to give it a squeeze. "Sounds like you and I could both use a little... fun." He grinned.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn beamed at the pair of them. "You wee lassies should think of a spot for him to go so we can start preparin' the soil. Do you think he needs some friends? We can plant flowers for him so he won't be lonely."
Charles: About to mention the hardening winter ground, Charles nodded instead. "That sounds lovely. There's plenty of free space for you girls to choose from. Just remember to dress warmly, please. No running off without your coats."
Vincent/Mason/Leslie: Shouted yeses were thrown back at Charles as the girls ran towards the foyer. Leslie exchanged looks with Bronwyn. He was already tired and he'd only been here a few hours.
"A bear can be quiet. You're quieter than me!" Vincent was whisper-yelling, which really wasn't much better than his full voice.
"What, wanna go on'a collection with me? Again?" Those were a bloody good time. The red blended well coated over Cameron's green hair and eyes.
Cam/Adrik: Adrik chuckled at that and continued to follow.
Cam hesitated for a moment, but a beat later he smirked and nodded. "You know what, yeah," he'd killed enough already, what was a few whose time was up anyway?
Bronwyn: Bronwyn just laughed. There was no denying or containing the excitement and energy of children around Christmas.
"Look at the bright side. We won't have to go diggin' until the springtime."
Charles: "I should probably go with them," Charles sighed, pocketing the chess piece. "They'll stay out there searching for hours, if I let them."
He paused on his way to the door to eye Cameron and Mason with a raised brow. "Are you planning on joining the party, properly? Or at least letting Rory down so that he can?"
Mason/Leslie: Mason smirked, glancing to the side at a foot. "He's gonna be put down early. Look at him." Barely with his eyes open, despite Cameron's gift. Probably had bought him another five minutes of wakefulness.
Leslie stretched and groaned. He turned back to Bronwyn and smiled. "Should we go with him?"
Cam: Cam smiled up at the sleepy boy, and his new toy nestled comfortably against his cheek. "Understandable, he looked ready to pass out before I even walked over here. He chuckled.
Bronwyn: "Aye, we should," she said with a nod. "We're goin' to have to approve the site of our new project if it's goin' to succeed without too much of our energy bein' spent."
Charles: Charles smiled warmly, and reached up to stroke the child's cheek. His boy. So quiet, when he was exhausted. "And not a moment too soon. You'll have plenty of excitement tomorrow, won't you? Where's Cee?" This last question was directed at the demon.
Mason/Leslie: "I'll be back, then." And a true sign of domestication, Charles was given a quick kiss before turning away.
"Come on, Uncle Cam." We have collections to discuss.
Leslie watched the seemingly happy couple and sighed.
"We should be fine. Not my first tree by any means."
Once more turning back to Bronwyn. "So, Montana? Is that where all of you live? Your family, I mean." He'd gathered much intel from Oliver.
Cam: Cam followed Mason with a smile and a nod.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn couldn't help but smile at the lovely scene, grateful that her beloved Mason finally had the family he deserved.
"Deirdre does, aye. I moved down to New Orleans a few years ago and she came over from Scotland to oversee our family ranch."
Charles: Charles shook his head, chuckling fondly at Mason's back before starting down the hall after the girls.
Mason/Leslie: Leslie gestured after the professor, waiting on Bronwyn to fall into step by her side. "Your sister is definitely magic; she turned a grown man to putty." A flood of laughter spilled from the witch. "For the better."
Mason remained verbally silent while preparing his son for bed. A glance given over his shoulder to Cameron while Rory brushed his teeth.
'You're serious about joinin' me? I have one in the next few days.'
Cam: Cam watched the two with a small smile as he leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom. It was a cute picture.
'Yeah' he replied after a pause. He glanced at Rory, a little uncertain about meeting Mason's gaze. 'Do you... think less of me for wanting to go with you?'
Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed and shook her head. "She usually has that effect, for better and for worse. I think she would have it even if we weren't what we are. And for what it's worth, she hasn't stopped talkin' about him. She got his dog a Christmas present."
Charles: Charles had dressed for the cold, again, this time donning gloves. The girls could be anywhere, so he blanketed his awareness out to find them.
Mason/Leslie: I hope she can help him. "He needs something good in his life." Leslie continued to smile, holding the door for Bronwyn while rezipping his jacket.
'Why would I think less of you? Did ya forget what I am?' Mason scoffed, a sound which went unnoticed by the little boy as he walked past to his bedroom.
'You're not slaughterin' the fuckin' innocent. You're dealin' with the bottom barrel of fuckin' humanity. Do with em what ya want.'
Cam: "G'night Rory, Merry Christmas," he smiled at the boy as he passed, who was quickly followed by Cam's gift as it nestled into Rory's shoulder to 'rest'.
Then he turned to Mason.
'I dunno... I guess it just... You know if I told Bron or Charles or- anyone else they'd probably say I shouldn't, and a part of me feels like I should feel the same way. I did once- you remember how I struggled the first time I helped... and I just... don't care like I did- in this situation. It's... weird looking at myself like that.... I've changed.' And something about it terrified him. He only shared a sliver of that fear with Mason, followed quickly with a strange surge of determination not to run from it.
Bronwyn: "Well, even if it doesn't work out for some reason, she'll turn his life upside down. In a good way," she added as she stepped outside.
"Speakin' of turnin' someone's life upside down in a good way, how did you meet Charles?"
Charles: Ah. There they were, examining an empty area not too far from the building. Rather than call to the girls, he stopped and waited for Bronwyn and Leslie to catch up.
Mason/Leslie: Alone once more, Mason returned to voice.
"They aren't cut from the same cloth. I call em angels, but they're not. Angels slaughter every fuckin' day. Don't feel pity for the damned. They did it t'themselves."
Leslie shook his head. "Ha! Is that what I did?" The biting cold forced a self-hug. "I met him on the metro in NYC. I don't think it was random chance."
Cam: Cam nodded and smiled slightly. "I'll try to keep that in mind."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn shook her head. "I don't think so either. And aye, you kind of turned his life upside down. Magic tends to do that for people who don't grow up with it or grow up believin' it isn't real. He always seems fascinated by what I can do, I imagine he's the same with you."
Charles: Charles would stare up at the dark winter sky as he waited for their approach, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet in a fairly fruitless effort to ward off the cold. When they did, he'd offer his brightest smile. "Glad the two of you are getting on. I thought you might."
Mason/Leslie: "I mean it, kitten. Not even me."
A hand roughly found Cameron's head, giving an affectionate ruffle.
Leslie smiled at their host.
"Have you ever been afraid of us, Charles?"
Cam: "I don't pity you, Mason. I love you and care about you, there's a big difference," he scowled as Mason ruffled his hair and he swatted away Mason's hand with a laugh. "Hey! I took time to style that today!"
Bronwyn: "Of course we are," Bronwyn said to Charles. "Leslie is lovely and I enjoy the company of lovely people." Especially if those lovely people cared about people she loved.
Charles: "That he is," Charles agreed, before looking up at Leslie with a raised eyebrow. "Afraid of you and Bronwyn? Of course not. Not for an instant."
Mason/Leslie: "And nothin' pleases me more than fuckin' it all up." Mason grinned. In fact, he was going to mussy up that green fauxhawk with both goddamn hands.
Leslie looked between the two of them and laughed. There might have been some modest embarrassment in his smile.
"Did the jewels find a spot?"
Cam: "Hey- hey!" Cam laughed and dodged the hands to the best of his ability, and he tried to duck around Mason in an attempt to escape.
Bronwyn: "Aww, thank you, darlin'." Bronwyn tugged Charles down to kiss his cheek. "Yes, did they? The soil will need some attention before the spring."
Charles: Charles laughed softly, both at Bronwyn's affection and Leslie's little nickname for the girls. He offered the druid his arm and gestured toward the two little figures kneeling side-by-side in the snow, a ways off. "Looks like it. We should head over there before one of them gets frostbite." Ruby was already missing a finger. "How does one magically prepare soil for tree planting?"
Mason/Leslie: "Where ya goin'? Huh? M'not done." This would be a slow chase if ever there was one.
Leslie followed on Charles' other side.
"I'm not sure what a druid would do, but I just need another plant or some worms I can place in the ground, something I can offer as... tribute, I guess you can say, to enrich it."
Cam: "Listen- hey! Nooooo- No touching the hair!" Cam laughed as he tried to escape, although his attempt was half-hearted and he was easily caught once again. "Be nice to my meticulously groomed head!"
Bronwyn: "The soil is probably pretty decent, it just needs some enrichin' as Leslie says. More than normal since it's goin' to support a magical tree. More...potency."
Charles: He nodded, thoughtful. "Well, I'm fresh out of worms. I'm sure the grounds have enough organic matter about, to be useful. Even if we have to do a bit of digging to get at any of it. Erik promised to build a greenhouse, before he left. Pity he never got around to it."
He slowed and then stopped as they reached the girls. "Is this the place, then? Looks sound to me, but then I'm only a humble geneticist."
Mason/Leslie: "But it's beggin' t'be fucked with. It's too dapper." Coming from a man with not one but two closets overfilled with suits, blazers, and vests. Not to mention the array of shoes and wristwatches. This was a matter of preferences. He preferred a disheveled Cameron.
"This is a good spot, jewels," Leslie praised. "Just have to move the snow out of the way and he'll be ready. Does he have a name?" All trees needed a name.
Cam: "Says the man constantly wearing formal clothes!" Cam laughed but eventually gave in to Mason, letting him ruffle Cam's hair with a small scowl on his brow. "Happy?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn turned to Charles with a thoughtful look. "Are ye still interested in a greenhouse? There's this landscapin' company near my house that builds them. They do good work, I have them mow my lawn when I can't be bothered."
Charles: While the girls fell to whispering between themselves, debating the best name for their tree, Charles looked at Bronwyn with a smile. "Oh, yes. Definitely. I thought it'd be a good addition to the school, and a place for the kids to occupy themselves, if they're interested. We'd been discussing it on and off for years. Would they be able to work all the way up here?"
Mason/Leslie: "Fuck right I am," Mason smirked. "Let's join the others." More specifically, he wanted to keep an eye on that witch Charles had taken a shine to. "N'tell me how involved ya wanna be when the time comes."
"It would be another opportunity for them to learn something," said Leslie. "That would be amazing."
Cam: Cam stuck his tongue out at Mason as he started to readjust his hair, and he began to walk back towards the party.
"I'm down for... whatever- I guess. If you want to set up a plan we can, I wouldn't want to be the only one... Finishing it- I guess. If that makes sense? Not like the last time where it was just me."
Bronwyn: "It wouldn't hurt to ask. If they can't for whatever reason, maybe they could recommend someone or give you some guidelines on what to look for. I think they'd be willin' to work up here though." For the right price.
A price she would be paying.
Charles: "I agree," he nodded to the witch, a tiny smirk tugging at his mouth. "We can hire you to be the herbology professor." For Bronwyn, a proper smile. "Well, if you give me their information, I'll definitely contact them. You seem to know all of the right people, darling."
Mason/Leslie: "I'll make the killin' blow if that's what ya want. Don't feel sympathy for the one I got in mind. They'll deserve every ounce."
Leslie gasped. "Can I wear robes?" But then again, "Bronwyn should be the herbologist." Despite being Verbena, the opportunity seemed better suited for a druid.
Cam: "I dunno if that has to happen- but I don't think I'm opposed. We can play it by ear. Why's this person deserve it?" Cam asked and glanced over at Mason as they walked.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "I just spend a lot o' time out and about and stumble across people." She laughed softly. "Ye'd have a whole lot of teenagers learnin' verra obscure poisons if you had me teach them." Among other things she shared with the pair of them while enlisting the help of their girls to inspect the spot they chose for the tree.
Charles: Charles allowed himself to carry on this amusing line of conversation, arguing the merits of each potential professor at their nonexistent school of magic. It was he, however, that ushered everyone along when witch and druid had made whatever preparations were necessary for tree-planting.
"All right. It's freezing." And getting rather late. "We should head inside. I'm sure we'll make time to get him in the ground, once the holidays are over."
Mason/Leslie: "We'll discuss the details when properly alone. Too many telepaths out and about. Besides, ya should get some socializin' in 'fore I steal ya away for bloodlust."
Bronwyn would need watching over as well, no doubt. Sharp eyes on a gentle and seemingly kind Verbena. His duties to his family would not cease over some made up holiday.
Cam: Cam nodded to Mason as they neared the party once more.
"I'll be sure to text you," he winked and slipped off to the side to find the other teachers he had yet to greet.
#Unfortunate Mistletoe chapter#leslieeissott#askprofessorx#masonatlas#vincentcorvidae#changingthelights#camdockstader
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25 means we are 1/4 of the way to 100. Are we 1/4 of the way through the epilogue? I cannot say.
This does not paint Jane in the best light. Again, she continues to come off as self-centered, and now, furthermore, seems to think that she deserves the title of President as some sort of inheritance that is naturally hers to claim-- as if it were an extension of her existence as Heiress. This is certainly not the attitude that a president should have, given the fact that the title, President, naturally implies a representative system and a role invested with the will and trust of those who place you in that role. (This is honestly why I am skeptical of any god taking up the role, honestly: it naturally clashes with their nature as existing beyond the populace, and the obeisance which the individuals they have brought into being on that planet seem to pay to them, to some extent or another.) It would also seem that Jane may not value her “friends” as much as one might hope she does, all things considered, based on the quotes, but maybe this just relates to the trolls, who she didn’t have much of an interaction with before the endgame of her session. This could naturally lead to her not feeling a connection with them later on, which I won’t begrudge her, if that is the case.
Here, while Jane is correct that Karkat did not engineer his campaign, the Crocker heiress makes a crucial mistake in judgment which does not bode well for her capacity to properly estimate the value and capacity of others (which is an essential political skill): Her lack of serious interaction with Karkat (or apparent desire to, in the past, it would seem, based on the fact that she did not pursue it, regardless of their similar positions in the social order-- something which I would have thought would naturally lend itself to her interest) leads her to misunderstand his natural drive to leadership, or the great charisma which he possesses, regardless of his lack of recent desire to indulge in/make use of them. The lack of imagination that any of the other ex-Players might be interested in running in opposition to her does not offer a good impression of her qualification, either. If she had been more aware of/concerned with that possibility, she naturally would have investigated all of them more and/or dug into their pasts for potential strengths, weaknesses, and dirty laundry. What happened to her being an aspiring gumshoe?
True, assuming that there is actually some sort of unified planetary government. Perhaps there actually is, given the Gerrymandering issue related for the Consorts. It is still oddly ambiguous as to when exactly these electoral rules/regulations were established, and I am wary of jumping to conclusions. Regardless: I do wonder if the emphasis, there, is meant to suggest she’s being a bit megalomaniacal? I am not 100% sure what to make about her concerns regarding whether or not she seems to be prejudiced against trolls. Her paranoia about it could suggest that she knows people think she might be. On the other hand, it could be symptomatic of her concern over possible alienation of non-human votes. Politicians have to (or are at least supposed to, theoretically) be very careful about the way they phrase things; thus carefully considering the impressions one leaves as a result of wording is not out of the realm of reason even without an actual bigoted mindset being involved, I should think.
*raises an eyebrow at her underestimation of Dave’s frankly incredibly competent and well-developed mental faculties* (Her analysis of their whole family having a “scheming gene” is interesting, however.) More indication that she is thinking very politically in her mindset, yes, yes~ I am in agreement with her opinion that using the term “stock” might be a bit jarring to the public conscience, considering it seems to border on racist thought, though not necessarily quite reaching that point. Moreso, it reminds me of the archaic mindset regarding nobility being capable of breeding more capable and well-developed individuals than them masses, and thus certain families having natural advantages over others as a pure result of their family lineage. I suppose this is somewhat fitting, insofar as Jane is supposed to have a bit of an “old soul,” as far as her thoughts and language is concerned, just as Jake does. Even so: as I said, she is right to be concerned with regards to potential public backlash, probably, considering how diverse that society is, racially. The term is probably even more loaded in their world than in ours.
This final line of self-reassurance is quite amusing. That said: I wonder why Dave has become so obsessed with such concepts of late. While I am sure he already had a good grasp on them in general, considering his exploits during the Session, I also don’t recall him talking too terribly much about economic matters during the main course of Homestuck’s story. I wonder if this is why Dave thinks that Jane has a poor understanding of economic issues, despite her role as a business woman. The question then becomes: was that one-sidedness a result of Dave’s personality and Jane’s inability to address it properly, or was it a result of her actual lack of knowledge and/or competence in such issues. There’s also the question of whether Dirk Strider could compensate for Jane’s lack of capacity, should the latter option be the case, in a similar way to how Dave intends to compensate for Karkat’s own weaknesses if said crabby troll ascends to the Presidency. Given her personality, there may be some level of difficulty for Dirk to convince her to let him work, in this scenario, especially given she may or may not conflate business-running capacity for wider economic management skill, and thus pride herself in her potential economic manipulation/running prospects. As such, there may be some risk of significant damage, should Jane in fact be incompetent in such matters. Or, as Dave begrudgingly admits, maybe it’s just an issue of retaining the definition of what it means to be rich, or some such nonsense, which is at stake (at least as far as the economy is concerned). (Random thought: Is Dave concerned with economic matters more because of the popularity of Hamilton? Hmm.)
Oh. Well, this analysis of the leanings of the various demographics of the world is interesting. That comment regarding the Consorts is quite concerning, though. I understand that they may have limited mental capacities (hard to be certain), and they may be short-lived (I will have to check on this to be certain [update: can’t seem to find any evidence of their actual lifespan, despite their prolific breeding capacity]), this does not necessarily mean that they should be barred from representation in government. Obviously, there are complex issues at play regarding how political rights should be dealt with when alien species are involved. These have not actually been tackled in real life, and thus there are not easy parallels to be drawn, with regards to how one should deal with the above-mentioned significant deviations this species has from humanity; however, this does not mean that they should be stripped of any sort of representative rights. I thus cannot support her attitude toward them in the slightest. Perhaps a more mild form of concern with how their voting capacities might impact her chances might have been warranted, but the way she reacted overall was not.
I am cast into a similar dilemma here. On the one hand, it is admirable for Jane to be concerned for the balance and well-being of the planet. On the other, the final sentence of this statement is absolutely reprehensible, and considering the fact that there are literal gods remaining on the planet that I am sure could potentially deal with any major danger such as the outbreak of inter-species war, there is absolutely no reason to support such a thought. I cannot support a person with this sort of mindset taking up political office-- especially when such a position is above all the species on the face of an infant planet, which could potentially spread its life to the far reaches of their new little universe. I very much hope that if she loses, it will be a graceful defeat, and if not, that it shall be a victory which can be tempered in its impact upon the populace of the world via the meddling of the others around her.
This is a somewhat irrational fear, I would wager, considering the violent history of the trolls was a result of a rigidly-enforced social structure that came as a direct result of Lord English’s influence on the Trolls’ universe, and that of a tyrant whose intention was to maintain and expand a galactic empire-- causing the social structure of her empire’s citizens to conform to a particularly violent bent as a way of ensuring the necessary military force required for the ends mentioned above. Jane seems to have some major lack of education in matters of political philosophy and sociology, given her incapacity to make such deductions regarding the origins and likely persistence (or lack thereof) of those traits. Oh, and any sort of conversation with the (ex-Player) trolls or Beta Kids should have given her clear indication that before the Scratch of their universe, the trolls had a very peaceful society. Thus, any rational supposition that the trolls which populate Earth C have any sort of inclination to violence had better be backed up by clear evidence relating to the earlier history of said planet (which for 5,000 years, Jane admits has been idyllic) and/or the events that have happened in the few years that the kids+trolls have been back. Where’s the Beef?
#Homestuck Epilogue#Homestuck Analysis#Political Philosophy#Homestuck Spoilers#Homestuck Liveblog#Sociology#homestuck theories#Jane Crocker#Character Analysis
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On the day I meet James Norton the front page story in The Times is about an English police force taking bribes from a crime syndicate. The foreign pages are full of slippery promises from the American president about confronting Russian and Chinese “meddling”. The day before, a report has surfaced about a Saudi prince who, though leading an austerity drive in his country, has been found to be the owner — through a series of shell companies — of the world’s most expensive house, in France.
McMafia, Norton’s new eight-part BBC thriller — filmed in 11 countries, featuring as many languages and based on the journalist Misha Glenny’s non-fiction book about the extraordinary global reach of organised crime — may accidentally be the world’s most relevant bit of TV drama.
“It’s bizarre,” says the 32-year-old, best known for his two most divergent roles, the crime-solving, jazz-loving, smouldering vicar Sidney Chambers in Grantchester and the dangerous psychopath Tommy Lee Royce in Happy Valley, as we sit down in a heroically anonymous room at a London PR agency.
Norton’s McMafia character, Alex Godman, was created by the writer Hossein Amini (Drive) as the focus of the central human drama on which hang versions of the terrifying global machinations described in Glenny’s book. Godman is the son of an exiled Russian mafia boss, raised in Britain and running a hedge fund. He struggles to escape the grip of his family’s murky past while he’s constantly pulled at by the undercurrent of violence and corruption that flows rapidly, dangerously, just beneath the surface of his world. (From one brooding Russian to another — Prince Andrei in the BBC’s War & Peace was good practice, it turns out.)
Flitting between London, Mumbai, the Czech Republic, Russia, Israel, Egypt and elsewhere, the sometimes hard-to-watch series exposes the interconnectivity of international organised crime and how, even lightly, it touches all of us.
“I’ve never been on a job like it,” Norton says. “Usually what happens is that you feel you’re trying to keep up with current affairs and make it as relevant as possible. In the first week, we were filming in London and all the stories about Trump’s [alleged] collusion with Russia during the election were breaking. We have FSB agents in our show who are working for the state but also facilitating the gangsters, and so we suddenly felt like the zeitgeist was chasing us.”
Since the end of filming, he says, the Paradise and Panama Papers scandals have broken, “and with all the stuff with Trump and Putin and Sessions and Comey, people want to know what high-level corruption looks like. What we hope is that this show is both a great piece of drama, but also that it captures the appetite for people to know why the hell there is such a small minority who are stupidly wealthy.” That seems to extend to the cast: “We had Russian actors on set railing at Putin in Russian and the director was going, ‘What the hell are they saying?’ ”
McMafia may have the most international cast the BBC has assembled. And what a cast. Viewers familiar with Bollywood will be thrilled to see Nawazuddin Siddiqui as a Mumbai fixer (“He had two assistants with mirrors either side of him, checking every angle,” Norton says), while fans of Russian cinema will be elated to find Aleksey Serebryakov (Leviathan) and Mariya Shukshina, often described in the West as the Russian Meryl Streep, playing Alex’s parents, Dimitri and Oksana. If you saw Bridge of Spies, or Deutschland 83, or you happen to be Georgian, you’ll recognise Merab Ninidze, oddly appealing here as Vadim Kalyagin, Dimitri’s old rival. The Brits aren’t shabby either — Juliet Rylance plays Alex’s English girlfriend, Rebecca.
Most of the actors (150 with speaking roles) use their own accents and many their native languages — the show switches seamlessly, and constantly, from English to subtitles, an “encouraging” sign, Norton thinks, that producers and channels are finally wising up to the fact that audiences don’t want to be patronised.
“We had no British actors doing dodgy Russian accents,” Norton begins, then realises that’s not strictly true — “Oh actually, I dug myself a hole there, didn’t I.” Alex, fluent in Russian, occasionally switches languages. “I had to learn it all phonetically. When I was being spoken to in Russian, I had to learn their lines in English so I knew what I was reacting to, and I had to learn my lines in Russian so I could answer them.”
Alex’s father mostly speaks Russian, while Alex battles to answer him in English as a way of asserting this new identity — a scenario lifted from Amini’s experience, Norton says. “Hoss is from Iran, and he said it was the same thing with his parents. They would be like, ‘Speak in your mother language!’ and he’d be like, ‘No! I’m speaking English.’ ”
For Norton, walking on set every day “and having a new brilliant actor from a different part of the world, I felt way out of my depth” in having to be the fulcrum of the story that links them all. But it was also, apparently, a riot, particularly with the Russians.
“They come in and there’s no airs and graces, no polite, English, ‘do you think we could change this line?’ Aleksey is just like, ‘This scene, no drama, it’s shit, we want drama!’ and the director, James Watkins, and I would be like, ‘Um, OK, let’s try it …’ Four out of five times what he offered was just way too big and ridiculous, but then one out of five was extraordinary.” (Norton does Serebryakov in a heavy Russian accent. I can’t tell whether it’s any good, but it is very funny.)
It’s been a glamorous but gruelling few months of filming, so Norton is chuffed to be back in London — he grew up in North Yorkshire, with his parents, Hugh and Lavinia, both teachers, and his sister Jessica, now a GP, but has been based in London for ten years — and performing at the Donmar Warehouse. In the New York writer Amy Herzog’s play Belleville he plays Zack, one half of an American couple in Paris (his wife, Abby, is played by Imogen Poots), battling to keep the lid on a wriggling bag of secrets and lies.
They’re an extreme pair, but, Norton says, “One thing about Belleville is how well observed it is and how much you can recognise yourself and your own relationships in the play. We’re all going, ‘Oh God, which one am I?’ ” Though it’s high drama, it’s a true portrait of the struggles of millennials, he thinks. “It tells the story of two people in their late twenties, who have been fed this narrative that they have to lead this life, have a house at this point, kids by this point and money in the bank, and the truth is there just aren’t enough houses, there aren’t enough jobs, there isn’t enough money — or there is but it’s Alex Godman who’s got it.”
Norton has also recently started doing a bit of work with the charity JDRF, which focuses on research in type 1 diabetes in children. Norton has the condition, as do his mother and sister. He was 22 when he was diagnosed; his mother (like Theresa May) was in her fifties, but his sister was only nine.
“It’s a totally manageable condition, but it’s particularly hard for kids,” he says. “But it’s fine. You lead a normal life. One thing I don’t have in my life is a routine, so I do have to be on it a bit, but no more than anyone else. In Belleville, you don’t know this [when you’re watching] but there are Lucozade bottles everywhere. There’s one in the fridge, there’s one in the bathroom, the bedroom, off stage. If I’m feeling a little bit low, I have a sneaky sip.”
He lives in Peckham, southeast London, alone now because his flatmate, a friend from school, has recently gone to live abroad. He’s local to me, so we briefly discuss our favourite restaurants, but agree not to mention them, not so much because he doesn’t want people coming up to him, but “because otherwise I might not be able to get a table’’.
People will come up to him regardless, which he’s fine with, even though the rumours about him becoming the next James Bond are swirling again. He makes a valiant effort not to roll his eyes when I bring it up. “There isn’t anything to say, it’s very flattering, but … people love to speculate about it and it’s such an important part of our cultural heritage, and so it’s lovely to be in that conversation but beyond that … anyway I selfishly love Daniel Craig as Bond, so I don’t really want him to stop.”
He tells me he’s single: “Jessie Buckley [his War & Peace co-star] and I went our separate ways in the summer, and it was all fine.” As you might expect, it doesn’t last long — shortly after we meet he’s snapped in London snogging his Belleville co-star Poots. “It’s not the easiest job when it comes to a relationship,” he says. “The play finishes on the third of February and I’ve no idea where I’m going to be on the fourth.”
That’s the best and worst part of the job, he admits. “I love that nomadic, unpredictable lifestyle; I get a real thrill from it. I know some people would hate it — I haven’t committed to a holiday with friends for the past six years, I just jump on them at the last minute. I missed seven weddings the year before last. That’s the cost. But it’s so exciting. Right now I’m very happy to be muddling along.”
As Amazon (in a deal with BBC Worldwide) gears up to premiere McMafia in more than 200 countries, I’m not sure that’s what I’d call it. Hurtling might be a better word. McMafia starts on BBC One on New Year’s Day at 9pm. Belleville is at the Donmar Warehouse, London WC2 (020 3282 3808), until February 3. jdrf.org.uk
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NATASHA ROMANOVA HAS BEEN PORTRAYED MANY DIFFERENT WAYS through the years, & has been under both the penmanship & artistic talents of dozens of men & women since her first appearance in 1964. naturally, some have come closer in accuracy to the essence of natasha’s character than others, & no two portrayals are meant to be alike. however, for this blog & my own characterization i’ve taken in as much information as i can from nearly all of her material through the decades, & i’ve established a very specific portrayal that i’m going to explain in physical terms here. of course, some of these things i’ve already established on their own pretty fleetingly, but this meta is going to be a roundup of everything concerning NATASHA’S BODY IN MOTION ( including her voice / manner of speaking ). my natasha, irt physical presence is heavily influenced by the neo / noir era, & is something that i try to make as unique & set apart from other portrayals as possible. without further ado ---------
FIGURE / BODY CLAIM.
in the silver & bronze ages, natasha ---- like most female cbc at the time ---- was drawn with deep & evident curves: most specifically with a small waist, & thick thighs. though the portrayal can in some part be attributed to the era, i think it makes complete sense for natasha to be built in such a way. natasha grew up in russia, in areas where snowfall would reach about a foot on average in the winter, which would require heavy trudging from anyone just to get from one place to another by foot in places without that many roads ( basically, a lot of core / hip / quadriceps exercise ). she was also taken into a soviet orphanage at the age of 9 to study & train, mentally & physically, & was perhaps their best student. this of course would’ve required much exertion on the part of her body, considering how rigorous the training was. by the time she reached her late teens - early twenties, she had strong hips & thighs, and a shapely muscled figure. then came the 1950′s ; though still a heavily socialist society, the soviet state under khrushchev allowed for more western influences in fashion. though much more modest & sophisticated than mainstream western fashion, lithe figures, thin waists, & hourglass shapes were something they had in common. waist trainers / corsets were all the rage in the 50′s, & natasha has always been a very fashionable woman, even while working in the shadows of espionage ( note: natasha did not join the red room until 1956. prior to this, natasha & her adoptive father ivan petrovich worked as hitmen / killers / spies for hire ). following the beauty trends of the time, in addition to an already abundantly shaped lower body, natasha over time also acquired a thin waist. of course, she stopped using these corsets when fashion no longer called for them in the 60′s, but natasha still maintained her waist through her already rigorous exercise. her hips also maintained their strength, muscle, & shape when she came to america as the black widow, both before & after her defection from the KGB. with her widow’s line, she was known for scaling walls & flying through the air with the best of them, which of course would require quite a lot of hip & core strength. aside from musculature & strength, natasha is also very lithe. this comes as no surprise, considering her exceptional skill in ballet, training in gymnastics ( her talents rival that of an olympic gold medalist. in fact, she once qualified for the russian olympic team in her early 20′s, but never went on due to other reasons ) & outstanding fighting skills. this, of course, shows in her figure. she has long toned legs, a long & straight back with a toned & flexible stomach, & lithe arms.
essentially, all evidence of nat’s physical exertion and place in social history points to her having an HOURGLASS FIGURE, albeit taller / lither than the typical buxom stereotype. natasha’s measurements, which have been relatively consistent for the past 60+ years, are 36 - 24 - 38 ( bust, waist, hips ). she stands at 5′7″, & weighs around 140 lbs. a body ref can be seen HERE.
GAIT.
natasha’s gait is very elegant, seamless, & to the onlooker is very effortless. she moves in a way that, though quite magnetizing, is silent & catlike. now, i say it is effortless to the onlooker because it is only then that it is effortless. natasha is nearly always very aware of every move her body makes, which of course means that when she walks, she is conscious & in control of every step, swing of her arms, sway of her hips, & movement of her shoulders. sounds tedious to us, sure, but this is something that natasha has become very accustomed to, after so many decades of being trained in being in control of her body.
her hips portray the most movement when she walks, swaying with a precise elegance in time with the gentle swings of her arms. one foot is always almost nearly directly in front of the other, facing forward. her back & shoulders are straight. her core muscles ( specifically her abs ) are also engaged most of the time, which keeps her so controlled. overall, her gait is very smooth, seamless, & cat - like. a reference for her gait can be seen HERE.
MANNERISMS.
like her gait, natasha’s mannerisms are very graceful, & are perhaps the most golden age / noir feeling of her presence. of course, being the world - class spy that she is, she can be completely unnoticed & blend in at will when need be, but on her own her presence is very magnetizing. she radiates confidence, allure, elegance, & all with an underlying ferocity ( which makes sense, considering how many people who don’t know her personally are .... Actually terrified of her & being around her, partly because of her reputation, partly because of how she carries herself ). her mannerisms also show forth a sense that she isn’t exactly someone who fits into the contemporary times, but in a good way. she occupies her space with a pronounced ownership, her movements can seem solemn yet calculated, & she is very silent in pretty much everything she does. every move she makes, it seems like she puts her all into, & in a sense she does. again, control is a habit to her.
natasha nearly always maintains direct & unwavering eye contact with anyone she’s addressing, unless she’s particularly emotional / upset. as aggressive predators maintain eye contact to occupy & stake claim on whatever they take to be theirs, natasha’s eye contact is very much a part of how she keeps up appearances of being both stoic & constantly aware. her eyes also portray the most emotion in her face, but rarely betray what she’s feeling when she doesn’t want it to be known.
the way that she sits can either be very relaxed or very professional & straight - backed, depending on the situation. however, in both ways, she still maintains a very high level of confidence. when she’s relaxed, she’s more prone to lounging, resting her elbow / arm on something behind her, resting her ankle over her knee, & letting her spine curve. in a more professional setting, her posture is straight, her back is against whatever’s behind her, her legs are crossed, & her hands are folded in her lap. either way, again, she occupies her space, & she makes it obvious.
when she is with friends & those she loves natasha is a very emotional / emotive individual. when she’s happy, she smiles & laughs with her entire upper body: typically, she leans slightly forward, & brings a hand up to rest against her chest / collarbone. when she’s affectionate, she’s very touchy - feely & not at all afraid to come into her counterpart’s space. regardless of whether she shares a romantic or platonic relationship with someone, she likes to touch their face / cup their jaw, tuck hair behind their ear, rest her hands on their shoulders, & run her fingers through their hair. she also does like to sit on her romantic partner’s lap or straddle them when they’re sitting.
some major figures of reference for my nat’s mannerisms include AVA GARDNER in the killers ( here ), RITA HAYWORTH in gilda ( here ), LAUREN BACALL in to have and have not ( here ), & NICOLE KIDMAN AS SATINE in moulin rouge ( i don’t have any specific scenes available but ....... honestly, not to totally plug the movie or anything but you should Absolutely watch it ). other inspirations include:
LANA DEL REY during her born to die era. ( surprise ) RUTH ROMAN in strangers on a train. GRACE KELLY AUDREY HEPBURN.
SPEECH & VOICE.
natasha’s voice is perhaps the most ambiguous part about her presence ------ not necessarily in terms of how she actually sounds, but rather in terms of trying to pinpoint where, exactly, she comes from ( that is, when she’s speaking english ). she doesn’t have any semblance of a russian accent, nor is she, say, strictly american - sounding. she’s fluent in the language, which goes without saying, but her personal dialect can be difficult to figure out. upon first hearing her one may gather that she’s simply modern - sounding in her speech, but she has a distinct inflection that catches the ear at some moments & can make one question just what era she comes from. i would say that it is very slightly reminiscent of the accent that golden age actors & actresses would don while performing, a.k.a., the TRANSATLANTIC / MID - ATLANTIC accent. i’d also say that her dialect is not as reflecting of this accent as it used to be. this would make sense, considering her first appearances in the west in the 60′s as a spy for the KGB under the cover of a wealthy socialite. when the upper class / aristocratic peoples of america still had ways to indicate their social status, this meant being trained in a specific way of speaking ----- donning the transatlantic / mid - atlantic accent. the accent is a mix between american and british, which is where it gets its name. natasha was no doubt trained to speak english in this accent to make her cover as authentic as possible.* she also did have the most slight hint of a russian accent in the 60′s to early 70′s, but not enough to the point that anyone could recognize her russian heritage without knowing her name. however, she gradually lost both the transatlantic accent & her russian accent as time went on, & developed her own manner of speaking to adapt to the moving eras. by the mid - late 70′s, her russian accent was gone completely, & she’d adopted the manner of speaking that she still has today. ( * it is worthy of note that after defecting from the KGB, natasha also took up lessons at a berlitz language center to secure her grasp on english )
what makes it all so ambiguous is really what words she infuses into her speech that, though completely sensical & correct, may not be ordinary to the modern american dialect. for example, she tends to say ‘ yes? ’ at the end of suggestive statements, threatening or not, such as in saying “ KEEP TALKING LIKE THAT, YES ? ” ( secret avengers vol. 1, #15 ). she also alternates between using contractions & not. for example, sometimes she’ll use ‘ it’s ‘, & other times she’ll use ‘ it is ‘. this typically depends on her mood or whoever she’s talking to. natasha also speaks with a very slight lisp, which may be the only indicator of her being a native russian speaker.
finally, moving to her actual voice. natasha’s voice is very dynamic, much like her way of speaking. overall, it’s very smooth, soothing, & can be considered sultry / velvety, as well as somewhat lofty. it’s very feminine & womanly, & is perhaps one of the most magnetizing things about her presence ----- this is aided by the fact that overall she tends to speak very sparingly, & when she does, she makes sure that she gets the point across in the best, most precise way possible. her voice claim, angelina jolie specifically in shark tale, can be heard HERE. & though natasha doesn’t sing very often, i think it’s worth giving her a singing voice claim as well ; nicole kidman in moulin rouge, which can be heard HERE. since she doesn’t sing very often, natasha doesn’t have the strongest diaphragmatic singing, nor is she particularly skilled in vibrato, but she does have a very pleasant tone.
anyways ... that’s my spiel, & that’s how my portrayal of nat moves & speaks !! DO NOT REBLOG.
#so yeah ... remember how i started this two months ago well i FINALLY FINISHED#E. ⁽ ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃᶰᵒᶰ ⁾ ❛ REMAIN HIDDEN.#E. ⁽ ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃᶰᵒᶰ ⁾ ❛ MATTER OF MINE ANATOMY.#long post for ts#this is basically just one huge history lesson fdklsj#this is a MESS .#if you have any questions please lmk !!!!!
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Laurus by Eugene Vodolazkin
Medieval Russia was a land trembling with religious fervor. Mystics, pilgrims, prophets, and holy fools wandered the countryside. Their wardrobe and grooming choices earned them names like Maksim the Naked and John the Hairy. Basil the Blessed walked through Moscow in rags, castigated the rich, exposed deceitful merchants, and issued prophecies, many of which proved correct, or close enough. St. Basil’s Cathedral in Red Square is named for him. Nil Sorsky was renowned for his asceticism and devotion, suggesting that, through self-discipline and prayer, you could directly commune with God, making irrelevant the extravagant rituals of Orthodoxy. Many ascetics were deemed “fools for Christ,” whether or not they behaved foolishly. Some were designated saints.
A new novel by the Russian medievalist Eugene Vodolazkin, “Laurus,” recreates this fervent landscape and suggests why the era, its holy men, and the forests and fields of Muscovy retain such a grip on the Russian imagination. Vodolazkin’s hero-mystic Arseny is a protagonist extrapolated from the little that is known about the lives and deeds of the famous holy men. Born in 1440, he’s raised by his herbalist grandfather Christofer near the grounds of the Kirillov Monastery, about three hundred miles north of Moscow. He becomes a renowned medicine man, faith healer, and prophet who “pelted demons with stones and conversed with angels.” He makes a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. He takes on new names, depending on how he will next serve God. The people venerate his humble spirituality. In “Laurus,” Vodolazkin aims directly at the heart of the Russian religious experience and perhaps even at that maddeningly elusive concept that is cherished to the point of cliché: the Russian soul.
So much of that soul seems to be wrapped up in Russia’s relationship with the natural world: intimate but wary, occult but practical. Arseny’s initial renown comes from his success as an herbalist and healer as he employs what he learned from his beloved grandfather. For wart removal, the best treatment is a sprinkling of ground cornflower seeds. For burns, apply linen with ground cabbage and egg white. The white root of a plant called hare’s ear cures erectile dysfunction. (“The drawback to this method was that the white root had to be held in the mouth at the crucial moment.”) At least some of Arseny’s remedies are suspect. (Translator Lisa C. Hayden warns, “Please don’t try these at home.”)
The remedies invoke an idea of nature as essentially friendly, or at least potentially helpful. Folk medicine remains popular in Russia to this day. Whether or not it’s effective, it connects an overwhelmingly urbanized population to the scythed fields and profound, spirit-dwelling forests of its antiquity. And Vodolazkin takes his holy fools seriously, offering a view of medieval Christianity that goes well beyond the appropriation of home remedies for religious purposes. Although Arseny cherishes Christofer’s birch-bark pharmaceutical texts, he doesn’t believe the herbs are responsible when the ill recover. (Often, they don’t.) The keys are prayer and faith. He bows to icons on a shelf. Incense burns. A vitalizing current runs from his hands into the core of the patient’s suffering. In “Laurus,” the depiction of faith is presented entirely without irony—a strategy that has become unusual among literary writers, but which is central to Vodolazkin’s effort to excavate what was meaningful from Russia’s distant past.
The faith of Vodolazkin’s holy fools is neither ecstatic, like many forms of Western Christianity, nor hierarchical, like Eastern Christianity, nor scholarly, like Judaism. Although the Greek-derived word doesn’t appear in “Laurus,” Arseny appears to embrace “Hesychasm,” the Byzantine religious movement in pursuit of inner peace. In his magisterial history of Russian culture, “The Icon and the Axe,” James H. Billington explains that the Hesychasts received “divine illumination” through “ascetic discipline of the flesh and silent prayers of the spirit.” This often required years of isolation and silence. Arseny accepts the challenge after a series of trials, most significantly the death of his beloved Ustina, a young woman who had found refuge in his log house after her family was lost to the plague. His botched attempt to deliver their child tests the limits of prayer and folk medicine: “The blood was flowing from the womb and he could not stanch it. He took some finely grated cinnabar in his fingers and went as deeply into Ustina’s female places as he could.” Arseny acknowledges his malpractice, but not the fact that she’s gone forever. Shattered by her death, he journeys to the town of Pskov, in what was then Lithuania. He spends decades without speaking, and is designated one of the region’s three holy fools. Most of his silent communion is not with God, but with Ustina’s spirit.
The other element of being a Russian holy man was a taste for prophecy—”dominating all other manifestations of eccentric sanctity,” according to Sergei Ivanov, author of “Holy Fools in Byzantium and Beyond,” the most authoritative English-language account of the phenomenon. “For many holy fools the power to predict is virtually the only quality mentioned in the sources.” Arseny looks at the ill and knows, regardless of his ministrations, who will survive and who will die. As a boy fool-in-training, he peers into the fire of the stove and sees the image of an elderly man. The aged Arseny will gaze into another fire at the unlined face of himself as a boy.
With so many of the blessed running around, fifteenth-century Russia, as Vodolazkin depicts it, is the golden age of prophets. Similarly ragged and unkempt, they stand at the entrances of markets. They appear at christenings and weep for the truncated lives they foretell. They sleep in cemeteries. Since there are seven days in the week, they figure that God has ordained seven millennia of human existence. Thus they widely announce that the world will end seven thousand years after its creation in 5508 B.C.—in other words, in A.D. 1492, just around the corner. Beset by plague and pestilence, poverty and hunger, the Russians already sense themselves on the brink of annihilation. They’re receptive. In the West, especially in Spain, other Christians similarly anticipate the apocalypse.
Arseny’s Italian friend Ambrogio, who has come to Russia because of its hospitality to prophets, predicts floods to the day; he can also see within a Soviet linen shop, circa 1951. But his visions of 1492 are confused. “On the one hand, a new continent would be discovered, on the other, the end of the world was expected in Rus’.” Ambrogio joins Arseny for his journey to Jerusalem. Passing through Poland, on their way to the Mediterranean, the two holy men reach the small town of Oświęcim. Ambrogio says, ���Believe me, O Arseny, this place will induce horrors in centuries. But its gravity can be felt, even now.”
The prophets put forward a peculiar explanation for their extraordinary visions. They don’t necessarily attribute it to their spirituality. They see soothsaying as a kind of physical phenomenon, related to either the circularity of time or to its illusoriness. Ambrogio goes as far as to say that there’s really no such thing as time. The sense of its passing “is given to us by the grace of God so we will not get mixed up, because a person’s consciousness cannot take in all events at once. We are locked up in time because of our weakness.”
The semi-rational notions of the two mystics resonate in a particularly contemporary register, as fifteenth-century Russian religious thought grazes against the theories of relativity and quantum mechanics. Some current-day scientists, particularly the heterodox British physicist Julian Barbour, have speculated that the theories imply our universe exists in a kind of frozen space-time, in which everything that has ever happened and everything that will ever happen is occurring right now, in a single gigantic instant. The world has already ended. Kurt Vonnegut’s Tralfamadorians told the holy wanderer Billy Pilgrim something like that, too. If correct, the human experience of time flowing like a river is more a function of our physiology: a singularly intense hallucination. The minutes may indeed pass by the grace of God.
In “Laurus,” Vodolazkin conveys the simultaneity of existence in his use of language, which, as the translator notes, “blends archaic words, comic remarks, quotes from the Bible, bureaucratese [and] chunks of medieval texts.” Hayden has tried to do justice to these stylistic flourishes by mixing Old English locutions and spelling—”yonge,” for young, “wombe” for womb, and “sayde” for said—with contemporary slang. After Arseny gets beat up for exposing the local baker’s transgressions, his fellow holy fool Foma warns, “Your clock will be cleaned again, my friend.” At the Church of the Dormition of the Mother of God, dust motes caught in a ray of sunlight swirl “in a pensive Brownian dance”—a reference to molecular Brownian motion explained by Albert Einstein in 1905.
We live in an age in which the pre-modern frequently comes flush up against the modern and the post-. But Russia and Russian life seem to be especially prone to existing on several planes of time at once. Occasionally, certain Russians cry out that they can see the future. Others dwell in the Byzantine. They may pass you on a Moscow street, robed and bearded. On an autumn walk through the countryside, you may get five bars on your phone while a distant onion dome rises above a stand of birches, a kerchiefed woman on the side of the road sells a kilo of pickles, other women scout for mushrooms in the woods, and in the fields there is a humming swish!, accompanied by the quick gray blur of a long, curving blade on a stick.
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