#but on this one i was clearly expected to have the unit circle memorized which i absolutely did NOT

[pallases]

I PASSED W A 53 HOOOLY SHIT

[wearejapanese]

By David Shimomura

As far back as 2018, the writer Kyle Bradford was skeptical about “Ghost of Tsushima.” When the game was shown at that year’s E3 conference, he vented on Twitter, wondering aloud about how the game’s developer, Bellevue, Washington-based Sucker Punch Productions, might handle the story. Historically informed by the 1274 Mongol invasion of the Japanese island of Tsushima, “Ghost of Tsushima” is the tale of a lone warrior’s quest to expel invaders from the warrior’s ancestral homeland. Bradford’s tweets went largely unnoticed.

Two years later, shortly after “Tsushima’s” global release, reviews of the game were published in Japan. Excerpts of these reviews were then translated and published in Kotaku. This time, new tweets from Bradford critiquing the discourse surrounding the game attracted far more attention — and most of it expressly negative.

“Immediately I saw folks flooding in my DMs,” said Bradford.

The excerpts shared by Kotaku were overwhelmingly positive — and this positivity was being leveraged against those who had expressed misgivings about the game. The logic was simple: If the game is about Japan, and reviewers in Japan like the game and don’t see any harm in its representations, then that perspective is the most authoritative. Views and opinions from outside of Japan are invalid, even if they’re coming from someone of Japanese descent.

“People have rallied around those reviews as sort of a ‘f--- you, we don’t have to listen to [your] criticism, you’re probably not even Japanese, you’re probably Korean, you’re probably white,” said Kazuma Hashimoto, a translator and critic who wrote about “Tsushima” for the gaming website Polygon. “Because of [those reviews,] a Japanese person criticizing the game in English must not, therefore, be Japanese.”

The world of video games is one of fierce brand loyalty. The simplest, best-known example of this is the “Console Wars” of the early ‘90s, between Sega of America and Nintendo. Egged on by marketing material published by these two companies — in one memorable ad, Sega called out their rival, claiming that the Genesis, “does what Nintendon’t” — consumers dug themselves into warring camps, pitting one piece of consumer tech against the other.

Since then, this tribalism has evolved. Crucially, people who play games no longer need to be encouraged by publishers or developers. In fact, in sharp contrast with prior years, the biggest players in the console market have either ignored each other or expressed an interest in partnership in the run-up to the coming console generation.

But “Tsushima,” the last real AAA title of the outgoing console generation, is a pointed reminder that although publishers may want to move on from “console wars” and fandom-centric marketing, those dynamics are still alive and well. And even if game companies have chosen a more detached, “staying in our own lane” marketing posture, players will still seek to police critical discourse surrounding their favorite products. This open hostility to anyone with an alternative view is ultimately detrimental to intelligent discourse or criticism.

“There’s a silencing effect on the broader conversation, which is the worst part,” said writer and editor Yussef Cole, who recently co-edited a collection of criticism on “Ghost of Tsushima” for Bullet Points Monthly. “Games are a cultural object, and there’s a lot of value in talking about them and exposing their impact on culture… [But] marginalized people who aren’t stable in the industry aren’t going to want to wade into what is a pretty toxic place.”

“Tsushima” is a unique game. Most games that take place in pre-modern Japan focus on the “Sengoku” or “Warring States” period from 1467 to 1615, an extended civil war that saw a range of colorful warlords jockeying for control of Japan. By contrast, the Mongol invasion of 1274 that is “Tsushima’s” focus was mostly a series of defensive campaigns that further affirmed the strength of the Japanese military and the nation’s identity. Since before World War II, this pre-industrial mythic past was a ready source of overt and covert messaging to evoke strength and vitality.

As reviews were first published — before the game was available to the general public — conversation in critical circles revolved around how the game treated topics such as nationalism and whether it was too deferential to the mythic past of Japan. In response to these questions, many on Twitter began to pester critics and reviewers whose views did not align with their own during this pre-release window

Hashimoto pointed to the Kotaku excerpts from Dengecki Online and Famitsu Weekly, Japanese videogame-centric websites akin to IGN or GameSpot in the United States, as the nucleus around which antagonistic rhetoric was forming.

“This is the first time [I’ve seen] Western speaking people using the same talking points as Japanese nationalists,” said Hashimoto. “[Kotaku] basically picked the best things these reviews had to say about the game. [Meanwhile,] there’s an entire portion of the Famitsu piece that says, ‘it’s not accurate but it looks nice.’”

This selection had the expected impact on an audience already primed to enforce a positive view of the game.

“In ‘Ghost of Tsushima’ there are good Asians and bad Asians and it clearly defines that line,” said Bradford. Outside of the game, similar lines were being drawn.

Read more...

https://www.washingtonpost.com/video-games/2020/10/01/ghost-of-tsushima-reviews-discourse/

[idreamofignoct]

Stay Alive

In which Jack struggles to deal with Gabe’s MIA status and has to teach a racist soldier a harsh lesson in being respectful. Based on events in the RP with @onlywhenwedream :)

***

Friday, the mess hall. Soldiers lined up in droves, for today the cafeteria served its famous tacos. In times past, Jack Morrison stood among them, smiling helplessly as Gabriel Reyes, impatience defined, grumbled about the carnitas and how he’d, as he put it, ‘Wreck this fucking place if they’re out again. Only damn thing worth eating here.’ Jack would then secure said carnitas, if only to see Gabe smile- and to keep the mess safe from Gabe’s wrath.

Not today, though. Today, Jack sat alone, the food on his tray cooling as he read over reports of his unit’s latest exercise. At least, he should have been reading over it. The single piece of paper resting beside the pile, its message brief but carrying the impact of a gut punch, took precedence. Jack picked it up again with a shaking hand. He stared at the words, breathing hard, foolishly wishing the message would change.

Units dispatched for recon mission departed on time. 72 hours since last communication with Reyes’ team.

Missing. Gabe was missing. The message didn’t specify this directly, but Jack knew it was true. He felt it in his gut.

Jack gripped the tags at his throat. Gabe’s tags, given to him their first night in Mexico. The first of two promises they’d exchanged while there. The second circled the finger of his left hand, overhead lighting giving it a sharp, golden glow. It felt cold despite the warmth of his skin, cold from the fear now clawing at his heart. In all the weeks he’d been following Gabe’s activities, there’d always been that dread of losing him, quickly alleviated by the next report. Now there was no follow up to ease his mind. Gabe, his best friend, his rock, his inspiration, his husband of less than two months, gone. Just...gone.

He thought about their last night together, the desperate promise to stay alive echoing in his ears. Gabe’s grim determination to keep that promise. But even as he said the words, the part of Jack not reeling over their separation understood Gabe was realistic enough to know this might not be a promise he could keep. The regret in his eyes had been plain as day. Still, he had gone out of his way to make that night damn memorable.

Jack choked back a painful sound.

Oh, God- Gabe was missing.

His right hand clenched into a fist. Guilt and anger swelled within him. He was a goddamn fool. The oath to serve had lost its hold on him now that a stronger one took its place, yet he still did not consider leaving, even after Gabe asked it of him.

What was all the pain and suffering worth, the potential for good work here, when Jack’s anchor, the reason behind his struggles, might be gone for good? He’d have no one to blame but himself.

Jack’s body shook. He dug his fingernails into his palms until they bled. One of the nice little side effects of the injections manifested in extreme physical responses to emotional distress. Jack knew if he didn’t do something about this soon, he’d explode. Fortunately, he had options. SEP might be testing human endurance, but they made sure their subjects had outlets.

Decided, Jack swept the papers up in one swift motion, stopped by his room to change, then headed for the gym. Once he’d purged this energy from his body, he expected- hoped- the exhaustion would send him into a dead sleep. Allow him to be rational, reasonable, when making queries into the status of Gabe’s unit tomorrow. For now, he had no thought beyond taxing his physical limits.

Jack took to his routine with almost reckless abandon. When he paused to slurp down some water and catch his breath, he realized he’d unconsciously chosen the machines he and Gabe always used. The dent in the wall was Gabe’s fault. When he’d completed an intense rep of squats, he’d slammed the dumbbell onto the floor so hard, one of the weights popped off and struck the wall. Yet when the officer in charge of the gym questioned it, Jack was quick to take the blame. Disciplinary action included a gruff, ‘Watch the equipment, Morrison,’ and a strict policy regarding personal celebrations. They still laughed about it to this day, though it was Gabe’s smile immediately afterward that stayed with Jack. That conspirator’s smile, edged with affection and gratitude. A smile he’d do anything to see again.

The sound of raucous laughter caught his ear. A trio of soldiers emerged from the training room, towels around their necks and smiles on their faces. Jack secured the cap on his water bottle and started collecting his belongings. He was in no mood to be around others. Especially men he knew had been on training exercises with Gabe. Jack zipped up his well-worn duffel, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the exit. His trek took him past the machines the three soldiers gathered around. He kept his gaze ahead, signaling his wish not to be disturbed. He didn’t have the luxury of Gabe’s reputation to ensure those who saw him would give him a wide berth. He also wasn’t blessed with a default sour expression. And, as one of the soldiers hailed him, Jack regretted this lack even more. Because he didn’t have it in him to be completely dismissive, even in a bad mood, Jack gave the soldier a short nod of acknowledgement and kept going. But the soldier, clearly not taking a hint, called out to him again. 

“Hey, Morrison- have you heard anything about Reyes?”

Jack’s grip tightened on the strap of his duffel. His close bond with Gabe was common knowledge around the base. Newcomers almost always demonstrated surprise at this. Had Jack been feeling anything but irritated, he might show some understanding. Not today.

“And why would I?” he asked.

“We see you hanging around the CO’s office,” the second soldier piped in. “We all know how tight you two are. We’re worried about him, too.”

The third soldier gave a sharp laugh at this. “Speak for yourself,” he said, selecting a pair of weights from the rack and setting them on the floor. “Guy’s an asshole. Chewed me out for the tiniest thing last time we worked together. Not too keen on takin’ orders from guys like him, either. Fucking beaner. Should be mowing someone’s lawn, not trusted with running a unit.”

There was a split second of absolute silence, the kind only brought about when someone said something truly, truly stupid. The next thing Jack knew, he was on the ground, the soldier pinned beneath him, a weight pressed to his throat. He stared up at Jack in absolute shock, no doubt understanding both his mistake and Jack’s intent.

Jack loomed over him. “Call him that again,” he said in gravelly tones. The rage had transformed his voice. He applied pressure to the weight, resulting in the soldier gasping for air.

Hands frantically grabbed at his shoulders. “Whoa! Morrison, calm down, man.”

Jack shook the other soldier off. Glared hard at the man beneath him, taking perverse pleasure in the fear in his eyes. “Go on,” he invited. “Say it. I want to hear you disrespect one of the best damn soldiers here. Say it.”

The man’s lips trembled. His face paled. Jack was almost certain the guy soiled himself. “…f-fucking beaner…”

Jack’s teeth flashed in a snarl. “Louder.”

“Fucking beaner!” Fear edged his words.

A tense silence passed. The other two soldiers circled them, apprehensive, shocked, by the display. At length, Jack took the weight away. He didn’t let the soldier catch his breath, for he grabbed him by the lower face, fingers digging roughly into the skin. His command was a whiplash comprised of pure anger. “If I ever hear you call him that again, I’ll make sure it’ll be the last thing you ever say. Do I make myself clear?”

The man furiously nodded. Disgusted, Jack released him with a curt gesture and stood. His friends were quick to come to his aid. He batted at the proffered arms as he pulled himself to his feet. He did not make eye contact with Jack while he gathered his things and made a hasty retreat. The scent of fear and urine clung to him. One of the soldiers hurried after.

The other soldier looked over at Jack, his expression of incredulity. “Jesus,” he managed, watching as Jack snatched his fallen duffel and arranged it over his shoulder. “I thought Reyes had a temper. Looked like you were gonna crush his throat.”

Jack didn’t admit it was what he wanted to do, more than anything. Instead, he went for a logical answer. “We’re all soldiers here. Can’t have that kind of attitude in our ranks.”

“I get that, but…” The soldier broke off, still in disbelief by what he witnessed. “Shit, Morrison- remind me not to piss you off.”

Jack said nothing. He only nodded and strode off. 

Once back in his room, he showered and changed, then stretched out not on his bunk, but Gabe’s. He’d taken to sleeping in it since Gabe’s departure. Despite his dutifully changing the sheets every day, he was convinced Gabe’s scent lingered. After that scene in the gym, he needed it more than ever.

Jack lay back on the bed he’d shared with his husband for one night, hand over the tags at his throat, fingers running along the raised letters of his husband’s name. Hot tears filled his eyes.

Outside, the drill sergeant gave the command for lights out. As darkness fell in the room, Jack’s hand tightened around the tags. “Gabe,” he whispered. Weeks’ worth of heartache and worry clung to the name. “Stay alive. Please.”

With that, he sighed and closed his eyes.

Sleep eluded Jack that night, as it had many nights before it.

Elsewhere in the world, another lay in bed, one hand propped behind his head, the other stroking the name embossed on the tags at his throat. Sleep did not come for him, either.

[visiodreams]

So here is my personal top 43 eurovision ranking with comments be below 

Comments 

-- Finland: My country so I won't rank this. There is always tendency to be a bit biased when it comes to your own country. I wasn't big fan of the song at the beginning but the live really made this song grow on me. They were clearly best act on the live shows so they did deserve to win.  I think there is potential to go to the finals so fingers cross. 

  42. Czeck Rebuplic: Sorry but this song is just boring.. I don't even have that much to say about it.. Not the type of music I listen.. I'm afraid that this song isn't that memorable.

41. Slovenia: Oh Omar Naber the man who has made on of my favourite eurovisions of all time (If you don't know what i'm talking about check out esc 2005 slovenia) .. but this.. oh well this is just one very forgettable eurovision ballad.. sorry but it's no for me.

40. Germany: Okey I try to be nice with this. She sings good at live.. yeah that's about it.. I have tried to make myself to like this song but it's just.. I don't know.. lyrics are just bad and over all just meh for me. 

39. Malta: There isn't exactly anything wrong with the song. It's just quite unoriginal eurovision ballad. Nothing new. If you like this part of eurovision then this is probably song for you.. I just don't like it. 

  38. Russia: Haven't checked the latest news if they are taking part or not but don't wanna exclude this either.  This song.. well mm she's a sweet girl and it's a sweet song.. just not what I would listen.

37. Denmark: Oh Denmark I admit I probably dislike this song more cos I watched their national finals  and liked other song way way way more than this (I'm a fan of cheesy euro disco and half naked man.. but hey can you blame me) This just not my cup of tea. I won't listen this more than I have to.

36. United Kingdom: I have started to like this song than I did before but still not my top songs of the year. I just think that UK would have so much potential for more than this. Just not fan of these eurovision ballads if you can already tell.

35. Georgia: I don't hate this song. She is powerful singer with powerful song. It's just not one of the songs I would put to my playlist. I can handle this when it comes to the live shows but that's about it.

34. Ireland: Very irish ballad. Nothing really wrong with the song. But to be honest can't remember nicely how this song goes. Quite forgettable. Sweet ballad nothing more nothing less.

33.  Serbia: It's not bad song. It's just quite  forgettable. There isn't any interesting hook in this song that would make me craving for more.

32.Lithuania: I'm actually surprised that this song got this high on my ranking. But this song has grown on me for a bit. At least it's not boring song. I won't go to refill my wine glass while listening this song. This songs is still quite too much bizarre to get enough votes i'm afraid.

31. Albania: I will complain about the same thing I complain about every year with Albania. Why ooh why you have to translate your songs?  If you want to participate with english song then why not to make the songs in english in the beginning with?? why to first make it in albanian and then try to make it fit in english?  it's just doesn't make any sense. I like this song more in albanian. It's still not that bad song. And she is gorgeous singer and sings amazingly in live. Defiantly not the worst song of the yea.

30.  Croatia: Definitely one of the most interesting songs of the year. It has some Disney feel in it. Also i'm interested to see how he can change his tones in live. Definitely looking forward to see this song and him singing it. Just not my taste of music. 

29. Creece: I'm a fan of cheesy dance songs but sorry this is just too cheap even for me. I can handle this that one night and maybe party a little but it's a no for me. I won't listen this much after esc are over. 

28.  Polan: This reminds me of Bond song for some reason. It's not bad song and I can see why there is people liking this song. It's just not my taste.

27. Ukraine: It's always refreshing to see other genres than cheesy pop and ballads. So I'm glad Ukraine chose this song. Is it my all time favourite rock song? Mmh not really. I do like rock music but this isn't really the song I like to listen all the time. It has grown on me tho' quite  a bit.

26.Iceland: I think this sounds very nordic. I could imagine this kind of song coming from Norway or Sweden also. It's not bad song but not the top cast either. I do like it quite much and it's pretty catchy.

25. Israel: well I think this and Creece are pretty similar. Cheap pop songs that are okey to party on when esc party is on but there isn't much to tell to next generation eurovision fans about this song. Some other year could have been higher but this year there is just so much better dance songs. Okey okey I might have given some cute boy extra points to this song.

24. Romania: Oh Yodel it! It's definitely eurovision material. I'm glad they chose this song cos well comm’on it wouldn't be eurovision without acts like this. I'm glad that eurovision is getting it's weird factor back on. And I mean weird in good way. You have to admit that you can’t hear yodeling in everyday radio pop song. Btw both of them are good singers. 

23. Australia: Very quality eurovision ballad. Pretty safe choice. Not the most memorable song of the night but it's not bad either. One of the best in category of eurovision ballads.

22.Latvia: This song will bring the burst of energy to the stage for sure. This song itself isn't just that kind of song I like personally that much.. It's okey song. It will be nice to watch in show but I'm not gonna listen it that much.

21.Netherlands: Is it throwback Thursday? Hello is it year '99 calling? Am I watching Charmed marathon on Netflix and still waiting for the episode where Leo first show up and scream like a fan girl cos piper x leo is the one and only otp.. oh sorry I got lost in track. I quite like this song. It's very old fashioned on it's on way but it's not bad thing. It gives you feels and things that give you feels can't be that bad.

20. Austria: Oh Nathan Nathan.. I have to admit I have a thing for him. I have thing for red heads I can’t deny it. Yeh this song got quite a few cute boy bonuses. It's a chill song. Not really the type I like that much but if Nathan sing it I can listen to it.

19. Belarus: This is just one very adorable song. It makes you feel good and makes you wonder if there actually is that small three hugging hippie living inside you. Who just want to sit next to bonfire holding hand in circle and singing songs. BTW love that it's sang in Belorussian.

18. San Marino: Okey remember the part when I said I love cheesy eurovision disco songs? Well like I said I love them and I love this song. Just want to get up clap my hands and move my hips like a John Travolta.

17. Switzerland: I follow you Apollo.. very catchy chorus.. very good live and man that woman is gor-ge-us.. definitely some hot woman extra points here. Not quite my top 10 material but definitely a good song that goes right to my playlist.

16. Spain: Yeah I know I'm cheap.. I dunno everyone seem to hate this song and i'm just here in my tropical printed shirt sipping pina colada from coconut and wondering what is it exactly that I'm gonna do for my lover.. Overall this Manel boy's surfer charisma has affected me and I'm quite enjoying the song.

15.Estonia: i'm quite digging this song. It also have some vibe from the past but it seems to be a thing this year.. Maybe i'm getting old cos it doesn't bother me at all. This Koit Tooma has very nice voice I specially like it. Not bad Estonia not bad at all.

14.Armenia: Uuuh I love the vibe this song has. A bit mystical and this woman has nice voice. I haven’t listen it as much I have other songs since it was the last to be released. But I'm liking it.. waiting to see how is the live show.

13. Azerbaijan: I admit it I was expecting again one very swedish sounding ballad sang by one gorgeous woman in glittery gown. So yes you surprised me positively Azerbaijan. Still a gorgeous woman singing but a bit more with an attitude that I like. Looking forward to see live.

12.Macedonia: Oh I like this song a lot a lot a lot. It reminds me of some other song can't quite catch which one.. but it's a type of music my big sis used to listen a lot and has affected me also .. very nice.

11.Bulgaria: On of my favourite ballads of the year.. more modern than others.. very quality song-- I can see this doing well.

10.France: Would have been better without forced english in the middle but still very nice song. This has been on my top 10 from the beginning. I'm glad France sending top songs every year.

9. Moldova: Well common it's a epic sax guy eurovision just got 100 times better. I loved sunstroke project last time and I love them now. Best party song of the year. How you can be not liking this song? 

8. Cyprus: Very radio friendly song with catchy lyrics. Quality song yet again fom Cyprus I'm glad. Interesting to see how it's gonna be live.

7. Sweden: First time of the history of melodifestivalen Sweden picked the song I liked.. sorry but that Nano was way too similar to one other song and it bothered me way too much. Robin had by far the best show in melodifestivalen I dare him not to change a thing (Dressmanwalk and hot dancers in suits works for me). Sweden you just know how to make shows and this song really need its live show to get where it is now.

6. Hungary: Love this sone more and more by every listening. I love it's in hungary I love the violin I just love everything. Hungary is always strongest when they pick songs sang in hungarian. Unique and beautiful.

5.Norway: I just L-O-V-E this song.. amazing... He has so great voice and the beat is nice.. modern song.. good job Norway.

4. Portugal: Oh Portugal finally did it!!! Finally a song I adore so so so much.. I feel like crying every time I listen this.. and I haven't even had time to check the translation yet.  But that old Disney feel you get from this. You get thrown middle of black and white film where you sit in smoky table and listen when this beautiful man sing like a bird.. I'm in love. 

3. Belgium: What is happening this year? What are these great modern pop songs we are having.. It's just quality after quality.. Awesome job Belgium.. this song will do good.. She just need to be good in live show..

2.Montenegro: Yes I know and I'm sorry.. but couldn't help mysef. .I was like 'can I do this?' but then the spaceship hit me.. I mean ho you cannot love this song? Man Montenegro I'm surprised.. this kind of cheeesy euro disco I love love love.. Just need my glitter and I'm ready to paaartyy.. (this song would make a great condom campaign song.. just saying.. cos I have my suit on..no need to worry..)

1. Italy: Oh how I hate that he had to cut the song for eurovision.. But oh well I'm in love.. and nothing can change my love for you Francesco Gabbani I'm waitin..ghmm I ment I'm wai..waiwing for you song.. not like i'm waiting him to marry me or anything.. nope not at all.. I have very realistic ideas in my head.. but common it's cheery italian pop song I lvoe cheery italian pop songs.. and when you add a hot italian man with tons of charisma what can go wrong? 

[sunshineara5]

HMverse WBJ: day 3

There is a flower still undiscovered. An animal that no one has seen. As more is explored outward it is important to remember to explore within. You are listening to The Static, 24 hour radio, so you may never be truly alone.

Welcome back listeners, thrilled for you to be here since the Black Jackets got back to us! Woo! They were able to share 2018’s census records with us for this special. There is clearly information omitted, but they allowed me to have everything that I would need for today’s special. Let’s get right into it:

As we touched upon in our first installment, generics are the main people here in the HMverse. Over half of the population is non-magical, however the exciting part is that only 58.9% of people residing in the USA in 2018 are generics. There are 41.1% people that are magical in some way. I am thrilled to see this number go up, since it is much more accurate. These percentages are determined by the Black Jacket standards; counting anyone who has magical properties to them. This is openly magical people, magical people who have a criminal record, anyone who has registered themselves as magical with the Black Jackets but not the government, and anyone who they have suspicion of being magical. They do request that after reading that statement I give the disclaimer that there is a 1.3% error margin on their numbers, accounting for people they have not identified yet, people who they have identified incorrectly as being magical, and for those who may become magical.

Although I had hoped for some more numbers about who makes up the magical community, the Black Jackets could not disclose this information to us. Which I understand, safety of the people comes first. I was able to pull together some more information for us and confirmed accuracy with the Black Jackets.

There are seven broad categories of magical people: generic, animalesque and aquatic, witch, fae, demons, undead, and other - listed in order of how commonly they appear in the USA and how many of them are residents.  The exact order may change depending on specific locations, of course.

Generics are again the most common. We won’t be talking about them that much, because they are exactly what you think they are: humans, no more and no less.

Animalesque and Aquatic sound more like they are two different categories, but all of the specifications for these categories match. They are most memorable for their werewolves and mermaids. One part human and one part pick-an-animal. This, for many that fall into the category, includes several different states between animal and human. Usually two, but in the case of werewolves all three.

Witches are our next group, and although you wouldn’t necessarily expect it, there are two types of witches.  I want to start by acknowledging that every witch practices their craft differently and they are defined by how they practice, but not for this. There are general witches and lineage witches, the difference being how they obtain magic. General witches are frequently generics who choose to study and practice witchcraft, largely using runes, sigils, circles, and other tools to be able to use the magic in the area and transform it. They are what most people think of when discussing witches. Lineage witches, also called line or family witches, get magic through their bloodline. They have a fae or demon relative and traces of their magic are still found throughout the family. They are generally stronger and affiliated with an element based on their family line. However, most of the population doesn’t know that there is a difference.

Fae are the fae. They are fairies, sprites, goblins, gnomes, trolls, elves, even some types of animals. There is a huge and broad variety of them, but a uniting factor is that they are all magical. Usually their magic is nature-based, but many have learned to do all kinds. It is a fact, though, that you never give them your full name. They can and may spirit you away depending on the one you are speaking with. Consider your courts carefully. Summer is unlikely, Winter is likely, and Spring and Autumn are a toss-up.  So always remember, middle names are a secret.

Demons are exactly that. Like the fae, there are a few different kinds. Demons are generally identified by family: Vrata, Tor, Levica, Igeli, and Kannatin are the ones most seen, however there are many more families than that. Families usually have similar types of magical capabilities and generally specialize in a skill. Again, do not give them your full name; while they are statistically less likely to do anything, they are just as dangerous as the fae. Really depends on what context you meet them in, but not a chance you need to take.  

The undead are really a small group, but they usually “live” the longest because they are already dead, thus appearing on our census for many, many years. This includes vampires and ghosts as the most common, but zombies and more still exist. Vampires have actually started evolving into two separate types, daywalkers and nightwalkers. This is a much more recent turn of events; the first reported daywalker didn’t appear until 1982, and there is record of nightwalkers going back much, much further. Both are still vampires, but they have started adapting to becoming something else, which is thrilling.

Other is the catch-all. Anything that doesn’t fit into the previous categories goes here. Enchanted and cursed people, dark parts, mind readers, mixed species, and corruptions. There is so much more that can fit in here as well. There are technically more people that fit into this category than into the undead. I myself am a member of this category.

Before we conclude for today there is a quick PSA. Summoning demons seems to be really cool and hip right now. Some of our demon listeners want all of you to know that they do not want to be summoned and request that you please stop trying. They do not want to grant you immortality, enhance your non existent powers, nor fix your bad hair day. The Demonic Court thanks you in advance.

Just know that you are not one of a kind and that there are more people like you. The magical community is as big and vast as the night sky. Take comfort in this my dear listeners. If you are ever feeling alone turn on the radio and we will be with you. This has been The Static, 24 hour radio, so you may never be truly alone.

[hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff]

THE UGLY HISTORY of the Children of God broke into wide public view in 2005, when Ricky Rodriguez — groomed from infancy to lead the cult known for sexual sharing in their communal homes — murdered his former nanny before committing suicide. Apocalypse Child, an enlightening but narrowly focused memoir by Flor Edwards, paints a more complicated picture of the group than do the lurid headlines.

Born in 1981 to rank-and-file disciples, Edwards lived far from the inner circle. Neither she nor her parents ever met David Berg, the group’s prophet and leader. Yet by Edwards’s account, Father David was ever-present through his revelations, his teachings, and his practices.

Edwards describes an unusual, fascinating, and demanding childhood — full of love and affection, but also full of disruption and uncertainty. Her family lived a peripatetic existence, moving from Spain to Sweden (where she and her twin sister were born) to Mexico to California, and on to several places in Thailand for a number of years, before returning to the United States and settling in the Chicago area.

Because memoirs must focus on the experiences of a single individual, we lose the backdrop. In Edwards’s book, that would be the larger picture of life and times in the 1970s, when Southern California was the epicenter of a religious counterculture, and when the majority of first-generation members like her parents joined in. The charismatic Lonnie Frisbee brought the Jesus People from San Francisco to Los Angeles; Chuck Smith baptized hippies on the beach near Costa Mesa, where he started Calvary Chapel; and John Wimber, a consultant to Fuller Seminary in Pasadena, established the Vineyard Fellowship in a break with Smith over exorcism and healing. (Both Wimber and Smith expelled Frisbee from their groups when they learned that he was gay, and they wrote him out of their church histories.)

The most famous, or perhaps infamous, of the Jesus Freak movements, however, was the Children of God. Renamed the Family of Love in 1978, and the Family International in 2004, most members knew it simply as the Family. The group was founded in 1968 by David Brandt Berg, a one-time minister in the mainstream Christian and Missionary Alliance. From his new pulpit on the streets in Huntington Beach, “Father David” channeled the spirit of the counterculture with his condemnation of “The System” and his promise of a coming apocalypse led by Jesus, the one true revolutionary. He was also fascinated by sex in all its forms and developed a theology that justified promiscuity — the “Law of Love.”

As a child, Flor Edwards clearly resented her parents’ religious commitment and their rejection of The System. Their decision to live communally, rather than as a nuclear family, particularly seemed to gall her. “As members of The Family, we were expected to ‘share’ our relatives with each other,” she writes, noting that some “uncles” and “aunties” were quite nice, and others were harsh disciplinarians. Her parents’ decision to “go for the gold,” and have as many children as possible, was simply additional evidence that “Mom and Dad’s loyalty was to Father David rather than to us kids.” Frequent training sessions that her parents attended as home leaders helped them focus on service to Jesus apart from the distraction of children, who “continued to take a backseat in their priorities.”

Edwards has no idea what motivated her parents to forsake the world and join Berg’s End Time army. They were trying to follow Jesus and prepare for his return in what seemed to them to be the biblical way: living hand-to-mouth, evangelizing on street corners, praying, and working in anticipation of the coming apocalypse. “If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me,” said Jesus (Matthew 19:21). Adults in the Family took this injunction literally. But there was a cost to the children, as Edwards observes.

The author escaped many of the antinomian and abusive sexual conventions that existed in the Family throughout the 1980s, although she recalls seeing and, more often, hearing adults coupling in a vacant bedroom (by 1990 the group had repudiated adult-minor sexual contact and abandoned the practice of bringing in new converts via sex, which they called “flirty fishing”). She did not escape occasional discipline, however, including a memorable occasion where she was given seven hard whacks with a paddle for “disorderly conduct,” which included the “vices” of disobedience, foolishness, defiance, and pride. With the adults distracted, she and her sisters had run wild, relatively speaking — playing instead of raking leaves, wearing outside shoes inside the house, laughing through mealtime, and staying up past bedtime. She was nine years old.

But Edwards also relates warm memories of going on fun walks with her mother, creating a swimming pool in one of the family homes, and living an exotic, if challenging, life abroad. Somewhat unexpectedly, she found life trying in the United States, where she experienced bullying, ostracism, and poverty for the first time. “I had never felt shame living in Thailand,” she admits, “even though it was a third-world country and we had no money.” Her isolation from modern American life, and growing disenchantment with the Family as a teenager, led her into a hard-drinking crowd and culminated in a suicide attempt. A year in alternative high school, however, and a teacher who encouraged her to go to college set her back on track.

By the end of the memoir, Flor Edwards is a bit more forgiving and understanding of her parents, seeing children and adults alike as victims of an abusive cult. It is clear that her parents did not share this victim mentality, although they gradually drifted away from the group when they sought medical care for her mother, who was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Serious abnormalities had first appeared in 1981 while pregnant with Flor and Tamar, but her mother thought nothing about it “since the world was going to end anyway.”

Just as it is difficult today to imagine a Los Angeles teeming with Jesus Freaks, it is hard to envision the dedication required to give up everything in the belief that time on earth was short. Although Edwards does not actually use ironic quotes when writing about being “God’s End Time soldier,” they are nonetheless present.

The 1960s and 1970s lacked the pervasive sense of irony that marks our own century. Devotion, loyalty, perseverance, and ardor were not considered pathologies in that era. A counterculture had arisen that rejected the values of the 1950s — the parents’ values — in a quest for a life of meaning. One of the most self-revealing statements to appear in the book is when Edwards declares that as a child she had been “burdened with saving the world.”

Fortunately, Edwards did not suffer the molestation a few children experienced in other communal homes or the cruelties inflicted on adolescents in some of the teen homes. Indeed, her book noticeably indicates that each home had its unique culture and practices, despite the edicts that came from on high. This undermines any attempt to make vast generalizations about the Family, even though former members tend to paint the past in broad strokes on critical websites. The mistreatment that occurred in one household was absent from another, and national differences made everyone’s experience different.

Children swelled the ranks of the movement because members of the Family did not believe in using artificial contraception. As early as 1982, children made up the majority of full-time members, and this imbalance continued for several decades. As a result, leadership shifted the focus of activities from street ministry and evangelization to education and homeschooling of children.

The educational background provided in the Family appears to have been exceptional for Edwards. She reports completing the Family-created fourth-grade workbook when she was seven, but not finishing the fifth-grade book because she was busy with chores in the communal home where her family lived. Even when she began attending public school as a teenager, she and her sisters were responsible for cooking and child care. Nevertheless, Edwards managed to maintain a 4.0 grade point average in high school and gained acceptance to UC Berkeley when she was 18, as did her twin sister.

Her separation from the Family began when she graduated from high school — at least mentally and emotionally — so the memoir does not cover institutional developments that have occurred in the last two decades. These would include the 2010 “Reboot,” which abandoned the communal-home model and, in effect, dismantled the last vestige of the group’s notorious past. The Family International exists today primarily as a virtual religion. A visitor to its website would find a completely traditional evangelical Christian message. 

Apocalypse Child thus presents an absorbing snapshot of one individual’s experiences in a radically alternative movement, even though it lacks the sociological backdrop and wider lens that would have put her experience into its historical context. A reader would need to view a bigger photo album to gain a complete understanding of how that one snapshot fits.

¤

Rebecca Moore is Emerita Professor of Religious Studies at San Diego State University and the author of Beyond Brainwashing: Perspectives on Cult Violence (Cambridge University Press, 2018).

The post When the Apocalypse Didn’t Come appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2PrS0G4

[kisuminight]

When Cia woke, it was alone and to a cold bed. Which meant no Umbra today, more’s the pity. Still, that didn’t mean she had to be depressed. Autear and his Soul Companion were always busy during the Quiet Week that occurred when things got shuffled around, and people switched units, and all the paperwork needed to get in.

Ironically, Quiet Week was the least quiet week of the year, and this was only the start of the second day.

Cia, of course, had all her work done—for the moment. The real boatload would arrive next week, when she had to deal with everything that had changed. Nothing could be done to mitigate that, unfortunately.

Still, she had free time now, and it wouldn’t do to waste it lying in bed all day. Now, what to wear? Skirts were nice, but she was planning on a fairly decent hike. Also, it was cold today. How about something looser? She still had some clothing here from when she ran the tunnels. But wearing mourning colors… There’s a pretty sash in blue, that would look nice with steel-shine and shadows. A sturdy pair of vambraces enameled in the same blue—right, the whole set had been a gift for her first Name Day in Abayomi.

Normally Cia didn’t need armor, but this particular pair were good for hiding knives and came with matching shin protectors and something to keep her hair out of her eyes, too. Was a cloak worth it? No, her inner fire should keep her warm enough; the tunic was half-sleeved, the pants long, and her boots tough.

A soft chime; that was probably whoever Autear had sent to watch over her. Actaeon’s meddling, probably; she and Umbra were far stealthier together than any clomping idiot pulled from the ranks, and anyone who could match her stealth capabilities was unavoidably busy or stationed elsewhere. Why was this needed? They weren’t that close to the border—

“Citadel!” Ooh, she was looking up at her friend. Wow, had it really been that long? And hadn’t the Orrians been assigned to something on the other side of the Divide?

“Cadencia!” Right, definitely Actaeon’s fault if she was using that name instead of the childhood variant. “It’s so nice to see you.” Such a gorgeous cloak; probably Rigel’s work—it so neatly hid the hilt of Stormsurge of War.

“Are you my bodyguard for the day?” Please say yes.

“Yes.” Yes! “Is there anywhere specific you want to visit?” And so thoughtful, too.

“Trees. I’m sick of rocks and dirt.” Gardens just didn’t cut it, and even a well-tended one couldn’t be too large out here.

“It doesn’t remind you of home?” Citadel gently guided them both toward one of the other exits. The empty halls echoed; everyone who was transferring was likely stuck at desks catching up on paperwork or dragged out for training by their commanding officer.

“Very funny. For the record, my home has been Abayomi for the last quarter millennia at least.” It hadn’t been that long, probably, but close to it. Close enough that Uncle was likely to die in bed of old age, rather than from the fighting, even with the little trick that vastly expanded the lifespans of even the shortest-lived races—and Tirians were already much longer lived than the Rikonians.

“Hardwood trees then, not pines.” Citadel’s smile flickered for a bit as she thought. “Closest is Thousand Homes, if you’re willing to take your chances with Izhar.” A wave to the guards and they were out, stepping into cold morning sunshine. Cia stretched to meet it, eyes blinking slowly. “Now I know you’ve spent too much time inside.”

“Oh hush, you.” Winglets stretched too, and Cia had to hold them back, keep them from expanding in a snap-crack of lengthening bones and shush of new feathers as the wind tickled between them. “If Grandfather wakes up—well, at least the war will finally end.” I don’t think I could stop him in time, she meant.

“Have a little faith in yourself,” Citadel chided, taking long strides towards the perimeter. Cia hurried to keep up, flicking a thought with their intended destination down her Bonds to her twin and Autear. The other half of her Bonds… well, they didn’t matter anyway; Cia could no more use them than she could expect dead flowers to bloom. “Now how’re we going?”

“Let’s race,” Cia offered as they passed the final checkpoints. Mental note: check in with Autear about out-bound security. Yes, they appeared to be an Orrian and the Bonded of the Third in Command. Didn’t mean they shouldn’t get stopped all the same.

“I promise not to beat you too badly.” The beginnings of what would be a canyon, had the mountain range formed naturally, chipped their way out of the rock before them. Of course, the artificial nature of the terrain meant the canyon wouldn’t, couldn’t take them straight though, but it did give them a decent head start going up and over them.

“And what were you expecting to do if a normal soldier accompanied you, hmm?” Citadel teased. “Normally this journey takes well over a week, one direction.” And nobody had that kind of free-time anymore, not even not-really participants in this stupid war.

“That’s why they might have sent Umbra. He can keep up. Or, worst comes to worst, I’d beg Skylight for a lift. He’d probably have the break in between chasing the Air Forces through formations.” Often literally, though it was mostly just scare tactics. Starsong complained for days if she had to deal with unnecessary injuries.

Though everybody else’s definition of worst probably went more like Cia ditched her guard again and now we can’t find her. Actaeon and Leah had torn out their hair over it more than a few times, back before they’d returned to life. These days she knew better, though. With Actaeon, Autear, and Starsong in such important places, she no longer had the liberty to jeopardize their web on what might happen if they lost her as they’d lost Felka and Coiwren both.

“Think we can make it in under an hour?”

Her cloak unfastened and slung over one arm, Citadel’s wings rose with a singing, vibrating hum. “On your mark.”

“Get set.” Now Cia let her winglets extend and then keep going, spilling out until only their upraised posture kept white feathers from trailing in the dirt. Despite having been informed that the sound of her transformation made Starsong want to strap her to a bed and go over her with a bone-viewing spell (which she’d actually done, on one memorable occasion), it didn’t hurt. If anything, Cia felt most relaxed and at home when the sky opened up to her.

“Ready?” In unison, they looked to each other with sharp, competitive grins. “Go!”

The world fell away in a rush of wind and sound. The fall sky, dove gray, bent down to meet them, the flocks of clouds suddenly within reach. Up, up, following the sharp rise of stone sides, up to the highest point of the Dragon’s Spine. A pause, hovering over the craggy spikes that jutted from each obsidian-covered vertebrae and then down, down in a stooping dive.

She had the advantage here and now; the way Mitesha wings scooped the air made them good for hovering, for maneuvers and on-the-dime turns. Today, the name of the game was speed and power, climbing high then folding your wings to plummet—a falcon instead of a humming bird.

Change the angle, open the wings just a little, fast, too fast—there! Cia touched down in the shadows of trees, a little heavy but not enough to hurt anything. Citadel followed her down minutes later, and they basked together in exhuberance and anticipation, laughing.

“Time?”

“Just over half,” Citadel shared conspiratorily, wings slicking back down as she swung her cloak back over her shoulders. The sigils stood out even better here, opalescent and gleaming in the leaf-dapple of sunlight against birllant crimson. “I was prepared for you to hesitate, crossing over.”

“Why? Because I know the Naming is a true one?” Cia tilted her head upwards, taking in the sheer faces and jagged gaps that carved out a shape most people called coincidental in comparisons to the legends about the mountain range. Idiots. Honestly, what kind of non-volcanic mountain was topped in obsidian?

Not the natural kind, clearly. Mother’s last trap for Grandfather, placed in hopes that his waking would be a short one. “That’s a lot of rock. Even if he wakes up, it’ll take a while to shake his scales loose. After all, he’d been stone-locked since the Day the Sun Went Out.” And if he wasn’t careful about it, the knife-shards of his own making would slice through weakened scales and paralyze him to die in sunless, claustrophobic confinement.

“Alright. Do you have a reason to be here, or should we just find a canopy to cloud gaze from?” Ah, point. Cia hadn’t really thought it completely through under the pressing need to be surrounded by untamed green life and the cycle of death and reuse inherent in all things.

Slowly considering, Cia folded her own wings away, letting the extra mass slip back into subspace with the rest of her full shift, shrinking them back into winglets. Citadel slipped an arm about her shoulders, but the prospect of flying again, soon, kept the soul-killing pain at low ebb.

A head title, letting the sounds and temperature of the forest resonate through her audial horns. “Let’s just… look at the leaves. The temperature changes should’ve left us with some pretty spectacular foliage. We might get some late-presenting fruits as well.”

“Of course. The tree-cats will be getting their winter coat right about now; we might see some of them.” Citadel released Cia, taking a few steps into the forest in far-off consideration. “You might want to activate those limiters now; as soon as everything gets used to our presence, it’s going to get noisy again.”

Right. Cia didn’t need to physically dial-up or dial-down the muffling spells, but the repetitive motion of circling the rings at the base of her audial horns felt comforting, reminding her that she was in control, wasn’t hurt, wasn’t trapped. Gently, gently….

Ten percent left, and Cia stopped. She dropped her hands to her sides and leaned against a tree, just breathing as she waited for her balance to adjust. She didn’t have to wait long; if it hadn’t been Quiet Week back on the base, she’d never have carefully crept them up to thirty percent. Given the possibility—Cia pulled out her visor, slipping it on. Hooking into the underside of her ring-shaped limiters, they automatically shaded to appropriately match the level she’d set her hearing at.

“You set?” Citadel asked, hands moving up to flick through a series of signs that were half medical, half hunter-tracker, modulated with the Orrian’s own separate flavor of subtle curls. The actual meaning was more like :recovery-injury perception-broken ready-move:, but it was interesting to dissect the linguistics of Citadel’s patterns. They would allow even someone with no clearance—or even a studious enemy—far too much insight into Citadel’s position within their army, provided they knew about the origins of certain signs. Something to talk to Autear about.

“I’m good,” Cia responded quietly, as the world re-oriented itself around her. “Let’s go see if we can find some of your tree-cats.” :Fine no-worry: her hands backed up her vocal message. Hmm, maybe it was a little worrying that that sign, shaped in plain Abayomi Enforcer cant, was the one she used most often.

Cia pushed off from the tree, claws tapping out a staccato trill before she was fully on her feet, wings a trailing memory as a few of last year’s leaves brushed along her heels. Her chosen pace was sedate and observing, a long-ingrained habit. Citadel danced ahead, a flickering splotch of color as she explored and poked—but more a wraith than a living being. Every bell hung muted and silent, not a single chime emerging despite Citadel’s vivid movements.

Even now, they each kept themselves perfectly aware of where the other was. Before the war, before Izhar… Cyznia hadn’t been safe, even with three attentive parents. Now, with both of them in high-level positions (ish. Like Cia could ever actually join, not with her Bonds torn to both sides. But with the corruption that saw Abayomi massacred vanquished on every front, the Ghosts of Cia’s past could finally rest, and her revenge along with them), defensiveness was still second-nature. After all, it’s hard to break a habit when it keeps you alive.

They walked for hours this way. Above their heads, the branches painted each other a riot of colors. Deep red was background to an intertwined spatter of gold and orange. The trees were alight with shades of flame. Wistfully, Cia called out, “Do you think we could stay until sunset?” She drummed her fingers softly on one of the trunks as she passed, waiting for Citadel’s answer.

Though she really did want to stay for the sunset. Perhaps maybe this one could finally return the beauty to her, instead of ruins and smoke and the air itself glowing the color or blood to match the loss of an entire city state.

“Our CMO would throw a fit,” Citadel materialized on the branch above her head. “Isn’t that Saint Tumeric’s Exception?” The complicated gesture actually read :idiots laughably-bad strike-back:

Cia knelt, pattering her fingers along her calf. Citadel’s herblore was better than her own, no way she hadn’t recognized it as “Silvane-royale, actually. It’s different.”

“Very different?” Citadel asked softly. :Intention-firm: Cia simply laughed in response, and Citadel peered down at her balefully. Was it really necessary that Cia play it up so much? Well, Citadel wasn’t about to be left out. “What are its uses?”

Not necessary, maybe, but fun. “Very different,” Cia confirmed. “You might know it better as Kingslayer Mimic. Probably the deadliest herb-born poison on the planet.” Dead silence. Someone was clearly trying not to fall out of their tree. “Get down here, so I can show you the differences.”

“…Okay,” Citadel reluctantly replied, clearly worried about being bored to death. She jumped down to land beside her, light as a feather. Citadel swept her cloak out around her as she knelt, apparently vulnerable.

In the continued silence of the forest, Cia modulated her voice to seem low, but actually pitched it to carry. “Now, the major difference between Saint Tumeric’s Exception and Silvane-royale are the leaves. Saint Tumeric’s grows upward, with a leaf on every other side. Silvane-royale, much like Poison Creepers, puts out its leaves in threes. This plant is actually the origin of the phrase leaves of three, leave it be, though it is mostly remembered in terms of Poison Creepers.”

“Still good advice,” Citadel grumbled, “Poison Creepers may not kill you, but the rash will certainly make you wish it had.”

“A fine point! Still, this configuration is common among plants carrying touch-released toxins. Others you’ll also see it in include Thistle Briars and Purple Head.” With one hand, she reached out to touch the ripe seed pods. Citadel observed, content that Cia was doing it right, so Cia rubbed her fingers in reprimand.

“Are you supposed to be doing that,” Cia asked, injecting worry into her voice. Well-justified worry, given both were tempting an attack.

An attack which still hadn’t come, so they were observant after all. “The seeds have a milder version of the toxin—Silvane-royale gets the nutrients from the soil to metabolize into poison. The seeds can be ground and mixed into a tincture for a sedative or boiled into a tea to boost the immune system.”

Slowly, Cia reached out, snapping the seed pods off with two hands. Most of them went into the pouch she’d initially belted onto her hips. The other half she slipped to Citadel; undoubtedly, she went through plenty of them every time the Orrians went running into trouble.

The light had already changed, even in the time they’d been talking. Not late, not yet, but certainly afternoon. They’d walked for a while, even if their flight took only a short time, so “Time to go back?”

“Yeah, probably,” Citadel stood, brushing leaves off her cloak. She sounded wistful, and a spot of brilliant red clasped her hair. “We’ll want to get back before dark.”

“Hold on,” Cia reached out, plucking the stray leaf from her friend’s hair. “You had a hanger on. Look, it matches!” That would be a nice gift. Preservation spells, so the color never faded and the leaves never cracked, strung with ribbons and bells… it would make a nice hair decoration. But what colors? Red and black for Citadel, maybe? But some of the gold and orange leaves reminded her of Corona, bright and cheery and always happy to go where the wind led.

“It does,” Citadel agreed. “Do you want to collect more? They’d make pretty decoration.” Thank goodness for Citadel knowing what was on her mind! This trip would’ve been hell if they’d sent anyone else along.

“There was a really pretty maple closer to where we entered,” Cia offered. They could walk back and collect leaves at the same time. “Let’s find some nice gold ones, I want to make something for Umbra.”

“Of course,” Citadel curled a hand around Cia’s wrist, comforting. :Already-caught: the tracings of her fingers whispered, before she whirled, using the contact as a point of leverage to move Cia behind her even as she drew her blade with the other hand.

Metal rang against metal. Citadel breathed in and stepped forward. The glint of the sun on polished metal hid the mystic sheen of her Stormsurge of War changing, sharpening, and the Knight’s sword accepted the momentum, slicing through its opposition and then dulling again; blunt, as it threw the attacker back.

“Cadencia, go.” Yeah right, and leave Citadel? Not that Citadel couldn’t take care of herself, but the principle….

Cia didn’t want to be a soldier in this war. Didn’t was to fight the family scattered to every side. But here and now, she will protect the family fighting before her. Pretty, perfect nails stretch into broad claws. Bone thickens, lengthening, and more bone begins to jut from her skull at her temples, as audial horns ease back into the more pervasive set that crowns the head of her true form. Magic coagulates under fragile skin, hardening imperceptibly, even as rows of vertebrae are revealed when wings flare out—ready, poised on the edge of flight to freedom and an oncoming angel of death.

A magic suppressing cuff clamped down on one wrist, the edge of a knife pressed to her throat. Neither actually meant anything, of course, and the decision to elbow him and then use his own knife to slit his throat came to her in the split second before he spoke.

“Drop the sword, and Coiwren will keep both you alive.” Ah, well that changes things. Slowly, Cia let most of the truisms slip away, keeping only her defenses. Then, on second though, she edged that down, slowing turning the dial until the power was there, but hidden, lurking, waiting until the moment it was needed.

Best not to melt the cuff, after all. No need to give away even the smallest edge of their trump card.

“He never said we would be safe,” Cia stressed without speaking, through the little movements as she sheathed her sword.

“Sorry,” Cia whispered back, voice carrying to both her captors and the pair just on the other side of the minor clearing.

“It’ll be alright,” Citadel replied absently. No hard feelings; if it had been Rigel or Betelgeuse, she’d have done the same thing. Both knew how to keep themselves alive. Still, her eyes watched her sword as she passed it to the other enemy.

“Nice sword,” he grinned, a malicious flash of teeth. “I think I’ll keep it as a replacement.” Citadel rolled her eyes, completely nonplussed as she held out her hands to be bound.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” she offered blandly, and took the vicious glare head-on with a sharp, toothy smile of her own.

“Why not, you won’t need it anymore,” he sneered, deciding that she wasn’t being offensive enough to counterpoint it with a punishing blow.

“Magic sword,” Cia chipped in. “It kills people who aren’t its chosen wielder. Without the wielder being anywhere near it. Messily.”

“You’re bluffing!” The knife drew closer, and it took Cia a tick to remember that she should probably be bleeding right now. Oops. On the bright side, the idiots didn’t really seem to have noticed.

“Go ahead. Try it,” bland smile, I dare you to light in her eyes, Citadel buried her emotions behind the frigid nonchalance of Bellatrix, a title she’d proudly earned for all that she never used it.

“Fine. We’ll have Kah-Tiar check it out when we get back to base. Now walk.” The base was that close? None of their intelligence indicated that the No-Fly Zone between the two sides had shrunk. Walking distance should not be possible. Or a thing.

But at the same time, it had to be walking distance. Most of the fliers were on Melanthios’ side, and it wasn’t immediately obvious that either of them were flight-capable. Taking them into the air would be stupid, and Coiwren was… well, a lot of things, including emotionally crippled, but that didn’t mean he was stupid. Common sense would follow that none of his people were either—but these two weren’t setting a very high bar or intelligence.

Almost reluctantly, Citadel began to move off. Cia’s captor allowed the other two to go ahead before following. The first two steps were nearly dragging her, before Cia managed to collect her feet and meet the pace without stumbling. Still, weren’t they going to search her? Search Citadel? They hadn’t even looked under her cloak!

They weren’t even going particularly fast. Given the pacing, and the way Cia was playing it up… “Can I still collect leaves?” Ooh, Citadel had that full-body wince down really well. “I mean, we’re walking so slowly….”

“Why do you think that would be allowed?” Cia’s captor was looking a little wide-eyed before he remembered that he needed to keep moving. “Don’t you realize you’re a prisoner.”

“Well, yes,” Cia agreed. “But I’m not affiliated. Which means I can’t be held without reason.”

“Association with a well-known terrorist isn’t reason enough?” Citadel’s captor sneered.

“And I’m from Abayomi. We’re neutral in this war; or laws are different,” Cia shot back, firmly establishing her persona as finally in the here and now.

“Then how could you?” Citadel’s captor sputtered furiously, but the person leading Cia along snarled for silence. Citadel herself went tense and then loose, Stormsurge rattling in her sheath. Cia blinked innocently, but cycled up her power subtly.

“Leave it, Jazmyn.” He turned to Cia, taking a more gentle, coaxing tone. “Hey, can you tell me what year it is?”

That… was an interesting path to take. She didn’t want to get too deeply into lies, but this could be fun. Citadel nodded, the slightest incline of her head. After all, the people who mattered would know differently.

“Ano,” Cia hemmed a bit, and then listed off a number maybe a year or so before the Fall, with the caveat, “I think, anyway. I was… not aware for a bit, so now Autear is kind of protective.” The translation they were supposed to get out of that was extensively sheltered. Neither of them were quite sure how much Eon was sharing, but given how overprotective he was… yeah, sheltered.

Both of the captors were staring. Mission achieved, judging from the way Jazmyn soundlessly mouthed “Autear” over and over. Cia’s captor’s smile had turned weak and wavering. Citadel just rolled her eyes.

“How familiar are you with Coiwren?” As if a single person knew everyone else in a city of a million. But in this case, given they’d have enough surviving records to pinpoint her from Coiwren’s files….

“My bar was frequented by Enforcers after hours. If I see him, I’ll probably recognize him as one of the faces I saw from the stage,” Cia replied. And when the triad was actually on the clock, they were the best team in all Abayomi.

“You’re a bar owner.” Jazmyn said. His tone was mostly blank, but disbelief edged it.

“No, just a singer. Autear owned the bar. It burned down when I—well, Autear says it wasn’t an accident.” Not that it was connected to the fall of Abayomi. Glassong had been a casualty of the moment when one of her Bonds had gone silent and dead. A time when flames rose in a funeral pyre for Cia’s oldest child.

Then her second had gone in an attempt to find out what happened and perhaps reclaim the body, and had been Lost, too. Some days, she resented that her duty and family had kept her rage and grief tamped down, kept her from going herself to sort the situation out—and other days she was grateful, because then there would’ve been another Cyznian gone, and her entire corner-foundation would’ve collapsed before Melanthios had even begun his revolution.

“And you?” This was directed at Citadel, who was still putting a great deal of effort into maintaining a straight face.

“I’m a doctor,” she reported blandly, then flashed a fang.

“With a sword?” Jazmyn yelped. “A supposedly murderous sword? Yeah right. What’s your real story?” …Seriosly? They’d better not be Ops agents, or Cia would have to have a disagreement with Eon.

“I really am a doctor. With a sword, yes, because I’m what you would call Chi’sendra. I’m a wanderer though I’m currently wandering with a group—who’re all idiots incapable of staying out of trouble. The cloak was a gift from them. Cia is a friend from the days before I wandered and seeing as how she attracts more trouble than Starsong in a laboratory, I figured it would be best to tag along.” Citadel paused for a bit, then said, decidedly, “My sword is loyal and sacred. The murderous part only happens if you’re doing something you’re not supposed to.”

The Commander did the stitching himself,” Cia tossed in, just to see them squirm. “He was worried that she’d get hurt.” Now how ould they deal with telling two innocents that they were being dragged in based on the symbols they wore unknowingly.

“You don’t really believe this, do you, Valié?” Jazmyn sputtered.

“I think that’s for the officers to decided,” Valié responded, considering. “Now, march.”

[megadarkbouquettidalwavethings]

Simon McMenemy – the best British coach you’ve never heard of?

Simon McMenemy was in charge as the unfancied Bhayangkara FC won the Indonesian top flight in 2017

The Indonesian top-flight season starts this weekend – and a Scottish coach you may not have heard of is about to begin the defence of his title.

Simon McMenemy’s journey from English non-league football to championship-winning manager in Indonesia is certainly a road less travelled.

Along the way, he has changed the football fortunes of the Philippines, dealt with false promises in Vietnam, chased snakes from his home in the Borneo jungle and coached a former team-mate of Cristiano Ronaldo.

Now he wants his chance back home – but can he catch the attention of clubs in the UK?

A fairytale in the Philippines

The story began in West Sussex back in 2010, when McMenemy had a chance Facebook conversation with two Filipino brothers, Simon and Paul Greatwich, who he had coached at Burgess Hill Town in the eighth tier of English football.

The pair told him that the Philippines national team job was vacant and McMenemy, despite being the 32-year-old assistant manager of non-league Worthing, audaciously threw his hat into the ring.

Remarkably, the Philippines Football Federation was convinced. He packed his bags and left the south coast of England for South East Asia.

McMenemy’s first task was to guide the Philippines to the 2010 AFF Suzuki Cup – the region’s major international championship. The team was nicknamed the Azkals, after the mongrel dogs that roam the country’s streets, and it was a fitting moniker given their lowly football standing.

Under the Scot, however, they flourished. He led the Philippines all the way to the semi-finals, where they fell narrowly to Indonesia. But McMenemy and his team had won a host of admirers.

“We only realised the change in outlook that had happened when we got back,” McMenemy told BBC Sport. “There were a huge amount of people there at the airport to greet us. There were cameras, everyone was doing interviews. It felt like the birth of a new sport in the Philippines.

“It really changed the football landscape. The last six or seven years since that happened, football has exploded. There’s now a professional league up and running, and the club that wins the league qualifies for the Asian Champions League. That all stemmed from our success. We were the snowball pushed off the top of the cliff.

“It really was a fairytale.”

The fairytale quickly turned sour, however, as McMenemy – despite his managerial heroics – was dumped weeks after the end of the tournament in favour of German coach Michael Weiss.

McMenemy was in charge as the Philippines reached the last four of the AFF Suzuki Cup in 2010

Landing a job on Twitter – it didn’t last

What followed is best described as a journeyman few years for McMenemy, who took up club jobs in Vietnam, Indonesia and the Maldives – the latter of which saw the club owner initiate contact, and then seal the deal, via Twitter.

It brought many eye-opening experiences, including a memorable first spell in Indonesia, in the heart of the jungle in Kalimantan – where controlling the population of snakes in his garden proved as challenging as controlling his players. The daily serpent chase was not something he had had to face in the South Downs.

On the pitch, McMenemy’s spell in Borneo began with a bang in a dramatic local derby.

“Late in the game the referee gave our opponents a corner,” he recalls. “There was a huge pitch invasion because their fans thought it was handball and should have been a penalty.

“The police eventually got them back in the stands – and then the referee changed his mind and gave a pen. Our goalkeeper saved it and, of course, there was another pitch invasion. It was carnage.

“We were pushed into the centre circle and armed police surrounded us as a full scale riot with 15,000 fans happened around us. Just another day in the Indonesian League!”

The chaos of that first match was indicative of what was to come as the job in Borneo, and another in Java, ended prematurely. Performances were good but the political game proved a stumbling block.

A return to the Philippines with Manila-based Loyola Meralco Sparks in 2014 brought more stability – but two years later, McMenemy was ready to throw himself back into the lions’ den.

McMenemy landed in job in the Maldives on Twitter – but it was anything but paradise

The Indonesian Leicester City?

In January 2017, he joined Bhayangkara FC in the newly rebranded Indonesian Liga 1.

“I knew that I had one more chance,” said McMenemy. “I saw an opportunity to redeem myself and although Bhayangkara were a mid-table team – an unfancied team at best – I believed I could get them playing.”

McMenemy set about crafting his new side, with one of the first major decisions being which marquee player to sign. Former Premier League players Michael Essien, Peter Odemwingie and Didier Zokora are among those to turn out in Indonesian football in recent years – but Bhayangkara’s new boss was after more than star power.

“In my first spell in Indonesia I signed Marcus Bent from Birmingham. He was an incredible guy, a lovely bloke, but he took a lot of time to manage on and off the pitch because he was new to Indonesia and found the new surroundings difficult.

“I wanted to avoid that again – why sign Robin van Persie if you have to focus all your time on helping Robin van Persie settle in Indonesia? It’s not fair on the other players.”

McMenemy brought Marcus Bent to Indonesia from Birmingham – and learned lessons from the experience

Instead of a Flying Dutchman, McMenemy turned to a poised Portuguese. The arrival of Paulo Sergio, a midfielder who came up through the ranks of Sporting’s fabled academy with Real Madrid forward Cristiano Ronaldo, was a masterstroke.

Sergio had starred under ex-Blackburn boss Steve Kean as Brunei DPMM won Singapore’s S.League in 2015 and he quickly became the glue that held McMenemy’s young side together.

A motivated coach bred a motivated group of players and the wins kept coming.

With three games of the season to go, Bhayangkara were top and locked in a three-way title battle with Bali United and PSM Makassar, clubs with deeper pockets and bigger fanbases.

“No-one expected us to be challenging for the title but I wouldn’t say this was another Leicester City story. We weren’t a counter-attacking team – we played attractive football and dominated games. The belief was always there and with a couple of games of the season to go, we were top and fighting hard to stay there.

“Then we had a huge slice of luck.”

In a 1-1 away draw at McMenemy’s former club Mitra Kukar, ex-Liverpool midfielder Momo Sissoko played for the hosts despite being suspended. The Indonesian FA awarded Bhayangkara the three points, leaving them in need of a victory in their next game to claim the league title with a match to spare.

They won that match 3-1 and celebrated as if they had won the title – but it was short-lived. Rivals Bali United had complained about the Sissoko decision and the league refused to confirm McMenemy’s side as champions until they conducted an investigation.

“We were left on tenterhooks for two to three days,” McMenemy explains. “It was horrible. Eventually, though, we got a phone call in the middle of training saying we’d won the league. It was a messy end and took the shine off things a little given how well we’d played all year. But at least we were able to lift the trophy at home on the last day of the season.”

McMenemy became the first British coach to win the Indonesian championship and, more importantly, finally proved that his initial success with the Philippines had been no fluke.

“It was an incredible relief. I still have a tweet on my phone that I saved from the day I arrived at Bhayangkara. It said: ‘Coach, you’ve been here twice. Why would you come back? #loser.’ That served as great motivation. Everything I learned over the past seven years – the failures and successes, all the different cultures and ideas – came together to help shape the title win.”

McMenemy was celebrating as his team won the Indonesian top flight last year – but would love a chance to impress back home

Can he cut it back home? Clyde didn’t want to know

McMenemy is now busy preparing for the new season, having turned down job offers from Malaysia, Thailand and even South Africa.

The Scot’s reputation is clearly growing – he was recently named FourFourTwo South East Asia’s coach of the year – but he is yet to capture the attention of clubs back in the UK.

New jobs for Roy Hodgson, David Moyes and Sam Allardyce in recent months – at Crystal Palace, West Ham and Everton respectively – show that some Premier League clubs still have a penchant for the familiar.

But McMenemy is hopeful a time will come when club owners in general are more outward looking in their managerial choices.

“I honestly don’t mind that no-one at home knows who I am, but I do think there is a fundamental problem with the culture,” he added.

“There are a lot of disheartened young coaches who can’t get a look in because there is still that old school, insular circle of coaches just swapping positions.

“Where’s the new blood? Why aren’t we learning from countries like Germany, where new young coaches seem to pop up and enjoy success every year?

“A few years ago I sent across my CV for the Clyde job and spoke to the chairman on the phone. He said: ‘It’s very impressive but you have never done anything in Scotland.’ I get that he was stating the facts but I had managed a national team in front of 90,000 people in the semi-final of a tournament.

“Hopefully a time will come when I can put my CV in for a job next to the latest England international who’s just retired and people will think: ‘This guy has done a lot – let’s give him a chance.’

“I know my name might not open doors – but maybe one day my football experiences will.”

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