#but they also lived in Budapest in the turn of the century which is really the biggest odds

[autumnrose11]

iloveeddieredmayne:

David Colman: How’s Budapest?

Eddie Redmayne: I spent the day in trenches. We’re filming a World War I miniseries, and, to be honest, I haven’t seen much of Budapest. It’s been head-down working, so I’m hoping to get a weekend at some point soon and have a proper scout.

Colman: How long have you been there?

Redmayne: About three weeks. We’re shooting an adaptation called Birdsong, from a British book by Sebastian Faulks. It’ a beautiful love story set in France - the guy goes out to fight in World War I and comes back to Amiens and finds it completely different. It’s the first time I’ve played a soldier, so we get to have guns and bayonets and things like that.

Colman: But you had some practice - you know, killing Julianne Moore like you did inSavage Grace.

Redmayne: I did have some practice killing Julianne, that’s true.

Colman: You’ve done a lot of period films, haven’t you?

Redmayne: Yeah! I feel like I’ve worked my way through the Medieval period into the Elizabethan period, and now having done My Week With Marilyn along with Savage Grace, I’ve done the ’50s and ’60s. I was just on a film in North Carolina, and it was set in the ’80s. I’m sort of, step-by-step, working my way into the modern day.

Colman: Is there another time you could see yourself living in?

Redmayne: I kind of loved doing the Marilyn stuff set in the ’50s. One of the great experiences was shooting in Pinewood Studios. Michelle Williams was in Marilyn Monroe’s dressing room, and we were shooting in the studio where The Prince and the Showgirl was shot. In the studios next door, you had [the production of the fourth] Pirates of the Caribbean, and you wandered down this long corridor, and you would literally see a dismembered pirate come out of one door and some turn-of-the-century French something-or-other come out of another.There was an eclectic romance in shooting there. It also really reminded me of the romance of working in this industry where you meet all these people and become very close very quickly, and then you all spin away again three months later. That makes for some intoxicating friendships. None of my family works in this world, and they always question that side of it. I always try to describe making movies like summer camp, or some holiday where you spend all day, every day with a group of people whom you kind of love and then never see again.

Colman: You were living in New York when you did the play Red on Broadway. How was that?

Redmayne: I’ve got to say, I had the most spectacular time of my life. I was living in the East Village in a great little flat by Astor Place, and I’d always had this romantic dream about living in New York at some point. When I was living in New York, I had this slightly wannabe bohemian existence and took up painting, at which I’m appalling. I also bought several guitars.

Colman: Wow, the whole nine yards.

Redmayne: I figured if I was going to live the cliché, I should probably live it all the way.

Colman: Did you start smoking hash?

Redmayne: No. It doesn’t work for me. But I did end up trying to fly back to London with an absurd number of guitars.

Colman: You live in London now, right?

Redmayne: I live just near the River Thames, down by the South Bank. But I haven’t been there much. I’ve been living out of suitcases.

Colman: How do you do that, living out of a suitcase?

Redmayne: When I go to these new places, I leave with crap that I didn’t arrive with, and I’ve actually invested in a load of bags that fall apart about five minutes after you use them. So I’ve ended up with that incredibly depressing scenario where you’ve landed at Heathrow and your bag comes out with that clear film wrapped around it. 

Colman: Like Saran Wrap?

Redmayne: It’s happened at least twice, and I always feel like it’s a metaphor for my state of mind at the end of a job. It’s this battered, barely-put-together thing.

Colman: So how did you come to this Marilyn Monroe project?

Redmayne: Originally, when the script came in, I read the book and I was fascinated by this character Colin Clark. He’d grown up surrounded by people like Vivien Leigh and Laurence Olivier and Margot Fonteyn, who were friends of his parents, but he wasn’t intimidated by their fame. He went on to become a runner in the film industry. The film industry is incredibly hierarchical, a bit like Eton [College], which is where Clark went to school - and also where I went to school. But as a runner on a film set, despite the fact that you’re the lowest of the low, you also have access to everything, so what was challenging for me was that guy is kind of an observer and a cipher.

Colman: Were you a Marilyn Monroe fan going in?

Redmayne: I have to put my hand up here. I’m getting better, but I remain one of the most ill-educated filmgoers in the world, so it was a wonderful excuse to watch a lot of Marilyn Monroe movies. What’s amazing is this whole movie is about how she was going through this incredibly desperate, dark time, and was a nightmare from all accounts - and yet when you watch The Prince and the Showgirl, she has this lightness and frivolity and this kind of sexy effortlessness.

Colman: She does that sort of effervescent quality - especially in Some Like it Hot [1959],The Seven Year Itch [1955], and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes [1953]. She was such a brilliant comedian. It’s interesting in this movie to watch her go to such lengths to be seen as serious - you know, having Paula Strasberg there on set the whole time. And it’s not that she’s a bad actress, but everyone just sort of wants her to do that thing that’s so amazing.

Redmayne: I know. “Do that thing!” “Be sexy!” - It’s such a damning moment when Olivier says that to her. It can be a miserable profession , acting, because you always want what you can’t have.

Colman: I just watched Savage Grace last night. You were amazing.

Redmayne: That was a really special project for me, which I chased and chased and chased, and finally got, thanks to Tom Kalin, the director, and to Julianne. It’s one of those scripts that you read and you become sort of embarrassingly protective of it, like, “Please don’t let anyone else get this!”

Colman: I can see why - It’s such an amazing role.

Redmayne: It is, but it’s also the kind I love. In England we have this saying about Marmite: people either love it or hate it. That’s like a lot of the movie work I’ve done. People either find it repulsive or find it really interesting and get engaged in it. 

Colman: Incest tends to do that sort of thing. Either you love it or you don’t.

Redmayne: And now, in this film Hick I’ve just done, I play this Texan meth-addict pedophile with a limp …

Colman: Oh, is that all? No skin conditions? Teeth missing?

Redmayne: He does have all his teeth - I thought about getting a few knocked out, but no. I remember a friend was curious as to whether I was going to do it, and they were like, “Well, maybe the subject matter’s a bit intense,” and then they were like, “No, he’s doneSavage Grace! He’s done incest - come on.”

 Interview Magazine, September 2011

Eddie Redmayne Interviewed by David Colman

[affcgato-archived]

@wcrstarter, moved from here.

Kate was the new head of the New York Clan, and she did not seek to challenge her for the leadership of it. She already had enough to watch over back in Hungary, she oversaw the Budapest clan and kept a close eye on many other smaller clans throughout the Eastern Europe region. As she had since the early days, when she’d been turned and left the Clave. She had no designs for power, if anything she wanted to foster a good relationship with Kate and the rest of her clan. So that they might be able to help one another, even if it would take some time to prove she had no ulterior motive.

It wasn’t the first time someone had startled and been nervous learning her identity, and it was surely unlikely to be the last. Downworlders looked out for their own, even if a little begrudgingly at times for the vampire clans and werewolf packs, the Clave seldom rarely helped, unless someone with connections were to say something. Or, someone old enough with enough power issued a complaint. 

Sonja meant to cause no harm, merely curious to learn about the new head of the New York Clan. She recognized her, remembered her at Anna Valerious’s side at one time. But nothing beyond that.

“Sometimes I wonder who has more dramatics, the New York Clan, the Paris Clan, or Magnus Bane himself.” Sonja drawls, flashing the woman a grin in return. Privately, she knows anyone close in proximity to the warlock, New York, and the most recent generation of shadowhunters go, chaos of some sort is sure to follow. “New York, the city that never sleeps. Why expect the drama to do so in such a place, hmn?”

“Most of our people do, given that it’s one of the largest clans in Europe. And that its leadership has remained unchanged for hmn, five centuries give or take.” Sonja shrugs, time is a liquid thing that is hard to keep track of when you’ve lived as long as she has. Any mirth that had been on the ancient vampiress’s face was swiftly wiped away at the news of Camille’s transgressions. Her eyes flash and she refrains from hissing, but keeps a stormy expression while listening closely.

“I see....I should have come sooner. This, was not the first time that Camille has done such a thing. The last time, she was not aware fully of her actions. Feeding from drugged up and stoned out of their minds mundanes. But to hunt them in a sober mind....that is unforgivable. I do not blame whomever killed her, it was necessary.” She adds, to soften the harshness of her words. There was no love lost between Camille and herself, merely an obligation as an Elder and a fellow Clan Leader to see what was wanted from her. She wondered now, how long it had been going on, if perhaps Camille had begun to loose her...facilities as the years stretched on.

“A new face is certainly a good idea, a change in pace of leadership is sorely needed. I will be present at the next accords signing, and I will gladly back your position as the leader of the New York Clan. If that is what you would like from me, that is.” Sonja tilts her head, green eyes watching Kate closely. If her second could see her now, she’d be teased surely.

it always boils down to politics - with the clave, the downworlders as a whole, & their enclaves where they keep to their own kind. it was true, whether or not she felt like she truly belonged, whether or not she liked it or not. it's an adjustment she's never quite gotten comfortable with, & while she can navigate politics, it doesn't mean she should. she, decidedly, shouldn't really - but they'd picked her & so that's also decidedly their problem to deal with.

the other is definitely one of the older vampires. she's never felt comfortable around them, & a lot of it likely has to do with the manner in which she'd been turned. the various scars on her body seem to pulse with phantom pain at even just the memory but she ignores it in favor of getting a good measure of the vampiress before her. Sonja Viktorsdottir, if memory served. the daughter of one of their Elders, & impressive beyond compare in her own right. Anna had spoken highly of her - of all the vampires they had reached a tentative truce with, Sonja hailed from those outside of the line that had declared war on her institute. Anna's opinion was good enough for Kate. she settles slowly.

' the answer is in the middle of aVenn diagram, though I would say dating a mortal has tempered Bane a bit. ' his dramatics were still hardly comparable but Kate enjoys the warlock immensely so the barb is more fond than anything. ' some say it's the ley lines themselves. ' others might argue it was the likes of Valentine & the Circle, as well as those similar before him, who had always sought to rend Downworlders from existence. their kind had always flocked to large cities even if only to stay on the outskirts. the rise in technology meant conveniences, & many new bloods barely went without in terms of changes from their old life. such concentrated population meant higher chance at being targeted, & men like Valentine had the attention of a guided arrow. something she knows she doesn't have to voice to the other, to be sure.

' I think her... repeated offenses were why an outsider was chosen. I don't have former connections within the Clan to influence my thinking. it's been... quite an adjustment. ' to say the least. but the Institute had taken it well enough. one had even mentioned she was nicer than Camille, which had amused Kate more than she likes to admit. if that was their bar for working with them, then Camille must've brought a shovel to dig under it. the offer of the other to back her leadership so easily surprises her, but the younger vampiress nods & lets the remaining tension drop from her shoulders.

' I would appreciate that. I intend to sign as well, on behalf of the clan. we support the current leadership of our local institute, but if you have the inclination, I could use a crash course on what I'm getting myself into. '

[opheliaintherushes]

It’s kismet that I’m in the middle of reading The Castle and Joseph Roth’s The Tale of the 1002nd Night when I finally got the chance to watch Sunset - its feverish but hypersane Kafkaesque logic and premonitions of the fall of the Austro-Hungarian empire owes a great deal to both authors, but Laszlo Nemes stands on his own, and the fact that everyone slept on this at Oscar time was daylight robbery.

[zsocca55]

Hello There fellow Hungarian from Poland!

Do you have aby headcanons about Poland or Polish and Hungarian Relations?

Yay, another Pole! :D Much, much love from Hungary to you guys! ❤️❤️❤️ I tried to summarize my thoughts in short sentences but….eh… sorry for the length of this, but there is like, a ton of history to work with, and one idea popped up after another and then I just got lost typing this. I might as well write a whole book about it. XD

These are listed in more or less historical order. Am I doing this right? I’m bad at making headcanons! Also my interpretation of Poland is very different from his Hetalia presentation and my notes are based heavily on how Poland and Polish people are perceived in Hungary. Sorry if that bothers anyone, but I like to stay accurate to History.

Anyway, I hope this list satisfies!

Poland:

-Used to be really childish and carefree but after the partitions he matured rather quickly

-He is quite the attention-seeker, very social and has many friends but only a few real ones and he has trust issues and fear of abandonment - that’s why he can get very clingy

-Has pride like the size of the moon

-Communicates his emotions poorly - which results in him sometimes mistreating people he likes (Lithuania and Ukraine for example) - he is getting better at reading people though

-He is a “lets get shit done” type of person - you give him a job and he will do it impeccably and in time

-He appears like this happy-go-lucky guy, but it’s actually a coping mechanism

-When he feels down, he becomes emotional - and drinks a lot - he is an emotional drunk

-Had a big fat crush on Ukraine (he even has a folk song dedicated to her, Hej Sokoły!)

-Complains a lot - like a really lot

-Poland keeps old gifts he received from his great kings and queens in a safe (nobody knows about it though)

-The partitions caused him to lose consciousness for weeks. It was the shock of losing his identity as a ‘state’. All countries involved believed that he would die.

-Poland lived with Russia between 1795-1918 due to Russia possessing most of his territory. But he often made official visits to Austria and Prussia to negotiate the treatment of his people with them. He also got away on his own a few times (to help out Hungary in 1848-49 for example).

-Poland accompanied Tadeusz Kościuszko to America, but couldn’t stay for long. Youthful America’s enthusiasm inspired him a lot.

-He is a very bad driver, and had so many accidents he doesn’t keep count, but he is a skilled pilot so he often complains about not being allowed to fly around instead of driving around.

Poland and Hungary:

-Poland was also victim of Hungarian tribal attacks before the 10th century so his boss decided to befriend the new southern neighbour in hopes of making an ally. At first Hungary thought Poland was a girl while he thought she was a boy.

-Hungary first met a Polish tribe called “Lendzianie” and so she named his people “lengyel”. Poland never corrected her though.

-They paid visits to each other often during the early decades of the 10th century and played a lot. Once they jumped in a lake for fun’s sake, without clothes, and Poland quickly realized that Hungary is in fact a girl but he hadn’t got the heart to break the news to her because she was so confident in being a boy.

-They got distanced whenever internal crisises rose in their countries. Even up to this day, if one of them has an internal struggle, the other doesn’t pry and keeps a respectful distance. They respect each others boundaries in every way.

-Poland and Hungary were married twice, but all they ever did was giggle about it like the young teens they were and caused a lot of trouble for their kings with their pranks and mischiefs.

-Poland never understood why Hungary’s attention turned towards Austria in the 1400s though. Hungary also never understood why his attention turned towards Lithuania either.

-Poland and Hungary have a very similar residing scar running in three directions across their bodies which are testimony to them being thorn in three. Poland during the partitions and Hungary during the Ottoman-Habsburg invasions when she was also basically three entities in one.

-Poland fought with Hungary against Austria in 1848-49 but was dragged back by Russia when Hungary lost. He learned of her marriage to Austria through a newspaper much later and was severely disappointed in her.

-Poland tried to negotiate with the Allies in order to save Hungary from being chopped up and lose their shared border, but France faced him with a decision: either shut up and get a place on the map or refuse the treaty and have less territory. Poland never ratified the treaty but he still resents not fighting it more.

-Hungary tried to help Poland during his war with the soviets in 1920-22 but because Czechoslovakia refused to grant access to him out of spite, she turned to Romania of all people, pleading him to help. Romania actually helped.

-Hungary was pretty shaken and isolated from everyone after WW1. Only Poland and North Italy reached out to her, searching ways to keep in contact.

-Hungary resents joining the wrong side in WW2, which made her and Poland enemies. She tried to make the best of the situation and help Poland when her troops were stationed on his territory. They met accidentally in a forest while Poland was marching with partisans towards Warsaw in 1944. She helped him out but Prussia found them and Hungary pretended to take Poland hostage in order to release him later during the night. Her men were killed for fraternizing with the enemy.

-During the German occupation in Poland it was forbidden to listen to Polish nationalist songs and so Hungary and her men played “God save Poland” on repeat just because they could and Poland and his people were very thankful for it.

-When the Iron Curtain was drawn, Hungary hid away in her land, depressed, but Poland kept fighting the new rule until the Poznan protests inspired the uprising in Budapest in 1956. Originally Hungary organized a solidarity march for him but it turned into a freedom fight. She was struck down by Russia though, leaving her bleeding out on her streets with a hole in her chest. Poland flew to Budapest and offered his own blood to save her. Hungary remained unconsious for a week until she woke up. He was at her bedside the whole time.

-Poland often jokes about Hungary probably inheriting his “immortality” because of the blood transfusion.

-Hungary hid away again after 56. He tried to help Hungary get over her trauma by visiting her often during the rest of their years in the Soviet Union, but something broke in her and he didn’t really know what to do.

-This put a certain distance between them.

-After the USSR fell, Poland was quick to make new friends and make up with his neighbours but Hungary came out of her shell much slower. She did admire him for his strength to move on. He also encouraged her a lot to get up and improve her country.

-Hungary considers him her only real friend. She doesn’t trust anybody else with her life anymore. Out of gratitude, she decided to declare a special day for Poland (March 23) and when he heard of it, he actually teared up.

-Nowadays they visit each other on their Independence Days and celebrate together. They also go and cheer for each other’s football teams with hundreds of Poles chanting “Ria, ria, Hungaria!” and hundreds of Hungarians chanting “Polska! Polska!” on the streets.

-After hearing the song “Varsó hiába várod” from the band Republic, Poland thought Warsaw is indeed too far from Budapest so he made a plan to build a railroad so they can come and go between each other’s capitals in five hours. The idea is under construction at the moment.

-Poland and Hungary like to think that they are the heart of V4.

-Hungary goes along with whatever mischief or prank Poland makes up. And vica versa.

-They also promote their friendship with so much enthusiasm that Romania often calls them out for being too mushy.

.

Uh, thanks for reading through this! I know this is a lots of text, I get carried away when making up ideas. I’m unable to summarize my thoughts in short sentences. I don’t have the ability.

Also 50% of this is not even headcanon, some of these really happened or are happening.

Anyway, I hope I answered your question! :’)

[fixaidea]

2, 7, 20, 37 for the fic writer ask meme? ^_^

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to? I keep wanting to write reincarnation fic, but I still haven’t - which might be weird, considering my current fandoms.

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Grantaire risked a sideways glance. Enjolras wasn’t looking at him, but then, it was his habit not to directly look at whoever he was addressing. Also, he was leaning close to Grantaire and his voice was soft and calm. This was definitely still a conversation, not a fight. Grantaire relaxed.

‘Thing is…’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck ‘It’s easier to backtrack if you can pass your words off as a joke.’

‘But why would you?’

‘…Because I am a bloody coward?’

‘You are doing it again!’

‘Doesn’t count if it’s true’ said Grantaire, shrugging ‘Not everyone can live like you, all honest and straightforward, and unafraid of what people will think of you.’

‘When you have been called inhuman, a statue or an automaton one too many times you stop caring about such things’ Enjolras murmured, though the bitter tone of his voice indicated the contrary.

Grantaire shifted uncomfortably, recalling all the times he called his friend a ‘fine piece of marble’ or something similar. He wanted to argue that he merely meant to compliment his beauty, but on one hand, in his heart of hearts, he realised it wasn’t true, and on the other hand now really didn’t look like the proper time to do it.

Enjolras sighed, twisting his hands.

‘I beg of you, R, not to do this to me. Please, please be clear with your meaning because I genuinely can’t tell if you are being serious or not. We’d only end up where we started out – you hurt and me frustrated.’

Grantaire gulped. He was quite certain his blush must have turned into an interesting shade of grey. His palms were sweaty – he was quickly reaching his limit of serious emotions for the night.

‘I’ll try my best’ he said ‘That much I can promise.’

I know out of context this sounds too direct, but I promise a lot happened between the barricade and this moment. I like it because characters finally finding the same page and getting on it is always satisfying and I *think* I slipped my autistic Enjolras headcanon into it well enough.

20. Describe your perfect writing conditions. Silence, or with quiet instrumental music playing, and I’m alone in my favourite corner.

37. Talk about your current wips. What I really want to write right now is a canon divergence TGCF fic, where Xie Lian and Hua Cheng meet before Xie Lian’s third ascension. (Basically a prequel to ‘Dancer’.)

All the others are original projects - further entries in the life of René Giraud (supernatural adventures in 19th century France) and Ali Rana (urban fantasy set in modern day Budapest and/or a Caribbean cruise ship) and Usurper, a low-fantasy with a lot of backstabbing and political maneuvering.

[vanessakirbyfans]

After breaking out in Netflix’s hit global series and stealing scenes in 'Mission:  Impossible' and 'Hobbs & Shaw,' the British actresses about to display her range with frontier romance 'The World to Come' and gut-wrenching drama 'Pieces of a Woman.'

Vanessa Kirby was two days away from shooting Mission: Impossible 7 in Venice — reprising her role as the glamorous gunrunner known as the White Widow — when Paramount halted production. It was late February, and Italy had just recorded Europe’s then-worst outbreak of the novel coronavirus, at the time not officially labeled a pandemic. Tom Cruise’s billion-dollar blockbuster franchise had become the first major Hollywood casualty.

Seven months on, and with the film industry appearing irreversibly changed, Kirby is preparing her return to Venice. But it’s not for Mission: Impossible (she starts shooting that later in September). With The World to Come and Pieces of a Woman, filmed almost back-to-back in late 2019 and early 2020, the British star, 32, has the rare honor of having two films compete against each other in the Biennale, the first A-list film festival to physically take place since cinemas — and much beyond — shut their doors.

Appearing alongside Katherine Waterston and Casey Affleck in The World to Come — a frontier romance set against the rugged and patriarchal terrain of the mid-19th century American Northeast — Kirby plays flame-haired Tallie, who sparks an intense and liberating affair with a farmer’s wife, played by Waterston.

But it’s Pieces of a Woman — also heading to Toronto — and her quietly powerful and gut-wrenching turn as Martha, a woman dealing with towering loss after a home birth that goes wrong (shot in one hugely impressive yet frequently hard-to-watch half-hour take), that marks yet another new chapter for the actress, who already has condensed what many would consider a lifetime’s worth of career milestones into just a few years. A critics’ favorite on the British stage; Emmy-nominated and BAFTA-winning for her global screen breakout as Princess Margaret in the opening seasons of Netflix’s smash hit The Crown; part of two of the biggest action franchises around (she also appeared in Fast & Furious spinoff Hobbs & Shaw last year); and, for her next act, independent cinema’s newest leading lady.

Even before the reviews come in, Pieces of a Woman — also starring Shia LaBeouf, Ellen Burstyn and Sarah Snook — has found a fan in Martin Scorsese, who recently came aboard as executive producer.

“I haven’t stopped smiling,” says Kirby, speaking from the south London home she shares with her sister Juliet (a theatrical agent) and two close friends. “It’s such a mind-blowing thing.”

The actress was originally shown the script in L.A. by filmmaking couple Sam and Ashley Levinson (Ashley is producing the film for Bron Studios). Within 24 hours, she'd jumped on a plane to London, then Budapest, to meet director Kornél Mundruczó. “You know when you’re supposed to do something. ... It felt so right,” she says. “I wanted to show up and tell Kornél face-to-face how much I loved it and how much it touched me.”

Mundruczó, a Cannes regular who won the top prize in the 2014 Un Certain Regard sidebar for White God, also was taking something of a career leap, Pieces of a Woman marking his first English-language feature. But he found the right partner with whom to “take the big risk together,” likening Kirby to his favorite screen siren, Catherine Deneuve. “She’s someone who can express emotion for the unseen, and that’s very difficult,” he says. The World to Come director Mona Fastvold is equally praising of her star, describing her as an actor “who can truly disarm us” and their work together “one of most fulfilling creative partnerships I've had so far.”

Kirby, who cites Gena Rowlands as her cinematic idol (she has a photo from Rowlands’ 1980 drama Gloria in her room), says she had been “biding her time” waiting for such an opportunity: “I felt ready to lead a movie for a long time, but to actually do it was such a gift. Now that I’ve done it, it feels like a new stage for me.”

While there were few thespian genes in her family (her father is a top prostrate surgeon and her mother once edited Country Living), an 11-year-old Kirby caught the bug after watching a production of Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard. “I suddenly realized the power of telling these stories is that they can make you feel differently about yourself when you leave,” she says. “And I think that’s always been a goal for me since.”

Countless school plays — including an all-girl Hamlet (Kirby as Gertrude) — would follow, continuing on into college, where spare periods and evenings would be spent relentlessly rehearsing and putting on shows with friends (including Alice Birch, who recently adapted Normal People for TV). Audience numbers didn’t matter – several struggled to make it through a four-hour Eugene O’Neill adaptation, while there were definite walkouts when a group of them took Shakespeare's Julius Caesar to Edinburgh (“Why would you take Julius Caesar to a comedy festival?” she laughs).

It was all for the discovery, experience and thrill, which is why — just a few years later — when Kirby received her first paycheck, having picked up an agent and signed on for her first three professional productions, it felt strange.

“I still have the vision in my mind of holding that white paper and being like, why are you paying me? Someone’s paying me for this? Because I’ve done it so much.”

Performances of As You Like It, Edward II and A Streetcar Named Desire and collaborations with directors like Benedict Andrews would quickly establish Kirby as one of the U.K.’s hottest stage talents in the early 2010s. But by this point, screen had already come calling. BBC drama The Hour — a small part as a troubled young aristocrat alongside a pre-Bond Ben Whishaw — was her TV debut in 2011, landing four years before being cast in her most famous role to date.

The Crown creator Peter Morgan recalls going “rogue” when he chose Kirby, overruling the other show execs’ preferred choice for Princess Margaret. She had turned up to the audition looking like what he describes as a “catastrophic mess”; fake tan smeared haphazardly on her shins and hands stained orange (she’d forgotten to wash them after applying the tan).

“But she had an electrifying presence. ... You realized you were in the company of a rare and special talent,” he says, adding that her chaotic appearance plus visible nerves evoked the essential vulnerability he was looking for. “It was very Annie Hall.”

Subsequent screen tests — and the public reaction — confirmed what Morgan first saw, that Kirby was a “high-impact booking,” much like the royal she was taking on. “There was no room in which you were not conscious that Princess Margaret was there.”

To craft her Margaret, in which Kirby laid the largely unknown foundations that would support the royal’s more brash and defiant public persona in later life, she absorbed everything she could, seeking out footage where the princess thought cameras had stopped rolling, plastering her walls in photos and even listening to her favorite music on repeat (including a version of “Scotland the Brave” played on the bagpipes, much to her housemates' dismay).

“It was so exciting to play someone that was so complicated and so conflicted, who was really struggling with a sense of who she was,” she says. “But I also had to chart this journey carefully, across 20 years of a person's life, and try to make it believable and also set her up for the rest of the seasons that were coming.”

Mission: Impossible came off the back of The Crown, sometime in the middle of season two. “I think Tom had watched it, because he watches everything,” says Kirby, who was surprised to be warmly welcomed into the “Mission Family” during her first meeting with Cruise and director Christopher McQuarrie. “On my way home I rang my agent going, ‘I think I got the job, I’m not sure.’”

Hobbs & Shaw arrived via another route, Kirby approached by creative duo David Leitch and Kelly McCormick after she led a 2018 summer run of August Strindberg’s Miss Julie at the National Theatre.

While different adrenaline-fuelled vehicles, Kirby used both blockbusters to creatively “subvert” the usual expectations for female characters in action films, particularly within the typically masculine Fast & Furious world. “I was like, I don’t want to have to be saved ever, I don’t want to have to wear anything compromising, I want her to have her own emotional journey.” Her efforts were rewarded when a journalist wrote that Hattie — Kirby’s fearless MI6 operative in Hobbs & Shaw — had been her son’s favorite character. “How cool is that?” (She found the writer’s email to thank her).

As Kirby waits to start on Mission: Impossible 7 (and also 8 — she says the White Widow will likely “float in and out” of upcoming storylines), and for audiences in Venice and Toronto to see her first lead role, this philosophy is set to continue into what could be yet another career progression.

Alongside a daily film club with her housemates (with titles ranging from a list she found of the Dardenne Brothers’ favourite films to the cult so-bad-it’s-good hit The Room), Kirby has also used the months of lockdown to consider her next creative step and dream: setting up her own production company.

“I feel so excited by the thought that there’s so many female stories that haven’t been told. And so many that have examined the psychology of a man in a particular situation, but not the woman,” she says. “I feel like there’s so much opportunity for that and that we do actually have a responsibility. Changing that space is very important to me.”

[lordgoopy]

“The Saturday Interview: I Am In Eskew Podcast” —Recovered

The podcast is called I Am In Eskew; it’s a horror / weird fiction show delivered as a series of dispatches from a vaguely Central European city.

Eskew is a place that is, both spatially and psychologically, off-kilter. The streets wind too far in on themselves, the stairs climb too high, and both buildings and inhabitants can act in peculiar, obsessive, or frightening ways. And every episode we follow the narrator, David Ward, a kind of semi-unwilling immigrant to the city, as he finds himself stumbling into new aspects of Eskew. As for me, I’m a writer in London, working in digital media for the charity sector; I’m writing and narrating Eskew sort-of-anonymously. Not for any kind of grand scandalous reason, but because I think it adds to the fun and helps to keep the conceit alive a little bit.

Ah...that explains why I couldn’t find your name when I was researching for this interview. I thought my skills were slipping! I think it’s very interesting that Eskew focuses on horror based around spaces and buildings. Is this something of particular interest to you?

Yes, definitely! I think there’s a rich ream of horror, from The Haunting of Hill House to Ghostwatch, that delves into the idea that certain places can simply go wrong - and once these bad environments have been established and ostracised by society, they can’t be exorcised. They simply keep accruing power through the individual stories that play tragically out in their shadow.

I mention a real-life example of that kind of bad architecture in one episode; the Pope Lick Bridge in Kentucky, a place that looks and feels so sinister that it developed its own local folklore about a goat-man who attacks people who stray too close to the edge - and which has ended up resulting in deaths as visitors peer over the side trying to get a peek at the monster.

I find this kind of stuff fascinating, because it plays into my own paranoia about environments, and my dislike of ghost stories with explicably human antagonists. Like David says in the first episode, people aren’t frightening. Places are frightening.

If I’m sitting alone at home on a dark and stormy night, and I glance nervously up towards the bedroom doorway, my fear is not that my house is being haunted by a spirit called Mabel who died in the 19th century at the age of fourteen and is constantly seeking her favourite teddy bear...because all of these details both humanise her and make her ridiculous.

My fear is that there will be something standing in the doorway, because the doorway is where things come to stand.

Because unoccupied spaces, in our imaginations, must find something to fill them.

Could you describe some of your creative influences?

Thomas Ligotti is probably the writer I’m trying to crib from the most. Not so much in terms of his pessimism (or his love of puppets as a horror motif, which I can’t really get behind), but I see him very much as someone who bridges the gap between American horror and European absurdism. Some of my favourite stories of his - The Town Manager, Our Temporary Supervisor, The Red Factory - are hilarious as comedies! They’re very much scathing satires on our inadequate human response to the inexplicable and awful.

Junji Ito is also a big influence, in particular, his masterpiece Uzumaki: a collection of short stories about a town that’s driven mad by the symbol of a spiral. The brilliance is in the inventiveness with which he builds an anthology of horrors, with variety and with mounting awfulness, while playing on that simple motif.

I see Ito’s work as very much in the spirit of some of the most classic horror of all; Ovid’s Metamorphoses, where the threat comes not from an external monster, but from our own bodies and minds, transforming at the whim of cruel, fickle and obsessive gods...which feeds into a lot of what I’m trying to do with Eskew!

I usually try and avoid thinking about Lovecraft as an influence, even though David is clearly an obsessive, neurotic first-person narrator in the Lovecraft/Poe mould. I think there’s a lot of baggage around what constitutes ‘Lovecraftian’ fiction, and I didn’t want to set up false expectations by referencing him (like the idea that there might be some monstrous cosmic intelligence behind it all).

I really enjoy Lovecraft too, especially something like “The Shadow Over Innsmouth.” I think the idea of monsters living in the sea near the town and the strange, inexorable link the townspeople have with them makes it a lot creepier than something like “The Call of Cthulhu.”

Yeah! I think the elements in Lovecraft that have made him so franchise-friendly (these brilliant alien races and gods) have eaten away at the edges of Lovecraftian horror, bringing it closer to something that can be quite kitsch, even a kind of steampunk pastiche at times. With Eskew, I’m trying to keep to something I see in Ito, or in Ligotti, where any antagonists, whether human or otherwise, are only symptoms of something worse, something that’s simply a force of nature.

I see the city of Eskew as being a bit like a literal cancer in that sense - a highly complex structure where some of the cells (or in this case streets, art galleries, citizens...) have started to lose their original sense of self and are obsessively spiralling off in other, destructive directions...

What made you decide to do I Am In Eskew as a podcast, rather than as a graphic novel or book?

Honestly, it’s a lack of talent in the first instance, and a lack of discipline in the second!

Writing it as a podcast was my partner’s idea (she’s also the occasional voice of Riyo, an investigator looking into David’s disappearance, and she copy-edits every episode with me) - I knew I wanted to write a series of horror short stories based around the theme of urban isolation and weird architecture, but I was really struggling to get started.

She suggested that recording it as a podcast would force me to keep to a schedule, and hopefullyit might even give me some audience feedback to keep me excited about the project.

So it was a pragmatic choice, but it’s one I’ve really come to be thankful for! I think the medium is perfect for bare-bones, atmospheric horror storytelling (Knifepoint Horror is probably the best example of that ‘lonely voice whispering in your ear’ kind of fiction), and there’s an incredibly welcoming, friendly, mutually-supporting community of listeners and creators online.

Once the podcast is complete, I think I’d definitely like to look at compiling all of the episodes, editing and improving them, and turning it into a full-length written anthology. I’ve definitely made a few continuity slip-ups along the way that I’d like to correct, apart from anything else.

I’ve enjoyed Riyo’s episodes too, especially now that she’s directly looking into ‘hostile environments’. I feel like the contrast in tone and narrative style help to strengthen the series overall. Do you intend for the story of I Am In Eskew to have a specific ending in the future? If so, have you decided on the arc of the story?

I think David’s story (and Riyo’s) needs to be a finite one, definitely. In my experience, most successful protagonists in serial horror tend to be investigators, or monster-hunters. That choice of profession makes them witnesses to the story, rather than victims - effectively, they’re exempt from the psychological cost of whatever happens.

With David, I very much wanted to avoid that sense of safety; I want the horror to keep taking its toll on the character, episode after episode - which means that eventually he does need to find some kind of resolution!

Otherwise that psychological cost starts to seem fraudulent, and the whole thing turns into a predictable game of ‘David sees something horrible, then miraculously escapes at the last second’ week after week.

So I do know how the finale is going to play out; it’s really just a question of how many more stories I can reasonably invent for the show, without things starting to feel stretched, before we get there.

Mind you, it’s been established that there are recordings from Eskew that have gone missing, so it doesn’t need to end, even if it ends…

Do you have a favourite episode of I Am In Eskew so far?

I really like Episode 3: Excavation. A mysterious digging sickness takes hold in Eskew, with citizens tearing their own hands to pieces just to get into the ground - and in retaliation, a religious cult starts to form, extolling the virtues of the sky and constructing a grand tower.

It’s not necessarily the best-written episode structurally, and definitely one of the crudest in terms of recording quality, but it was the first episode where I felt I was pushing the boat out towards the kind of outrageous, absurdist horror that I really wanted to be writing, where normal human behaviour was just being given a couple of extra screw-turns towards something awful and monstrous.

It was also the first episode where I really saw a few people begin to respond on message boards, so that was really reassuring to me - when it first went out, I was petrified that I’d gone too weird to sustain anyone’s interest.

I tried to pick a favourite episode in preparation for this interview, but I honestly couldn’t narrow it down past five or six. If I really had to pick, I’d probably choose Illumination - the episode about the sinister and compulsive call of an old railway bridge. Are ideas like this based on real examples?

That example definitely is - it’s based on a railway bridge about a minute’s walk from my house! I love that kind of very modern ruin; old brick stacks stood out in the open, arches filled with ivy, graffiti in a place that seems impossible to reach...

There are a few other specific London inspirations (I based the Fish Market on Spitalfields Meat Market, for example), but with Eskew as a whole, I was thinking specifically of hillier cities in Western and Central Europe: Budapest, primarily, but also Lisbon (the trams and cobblestones), maybe a bit of Rome...

I’m used to flat English cities without any kind of panorama, so I find it a ceaselessly astonishing thing to be lost in a city’s streets and suddenly find myself up high, staring down over a sea of winding streets and rooftops...

How do you feel having wrecked people’s appreciation of AA Milne’s poem Disobedience by highlighting how deeply sinister it is?

I’ve actually been driving myself wild trying to decide if that poem is just a nonsense rhyme celebrating bossy children, or if there’s a class-snobbery thing going on (James James Morrison’s mother puts on a golden gown, and goes to the end of the town...does she get robbed there? Is the end of the town so unsafe because that’s where the low-income people live?)

You may have a point there about class. After whatever happens to her happens, the King himself gets involved with a reward. Clearly, she’s a lady with connections! Could you describe your writing process?

My writing process is very much informed by necessity - I commute in and out of London every day and don’t have a lot of free time, so I have to do most of my drafting while standing upright in a crammed train carriage!

Which may not be ideal, but on the other hand, if you’re writing a podcast about the horror of urban life, there’s no better place to find inspiration than a crowded, sweaty, angry Underground train filled with blank faces...

How long does it take you to put an episode together, from first word to the finished product?

I’m very quick; I usually sketch out the episode concept well in advance, then take about a fortnight to draft it and edit. Recording and audio-editing happens very speedily, again out of necessity, on the weekends! I try and devote a day apiece to each.

Turning to the technical side, what do you wish you’d known about creating a podcast at the very beginning?

There’s still an enormous amount that I don’t know! When it comes to even simple audio editing, I’m learning all the time. I very much am still just a schmuck in his living room, talking into a handmade sound booth on his days off - which is the beauty of podcasting, I suppose.

But I’d probably give my earlier self some very common-sense advice like...

...be brave. Stick to a schedule. Know the signs of burn-out. Listen to other people’s work in the medium before you dive in. Stay hydrated so your mouth doesn’t make those disgusting wet sounds when you’re trying to talk. Never forget that this should be fun, above anything else.

What motivates you to keep producing episodes?

Honestly? Seeing that it’s connecting with people. Spooking people. Entertaining people. That means everything.

If people would like to engage with you or support you online, what’s the best way to do that?

If you’d like to support the show...please do just shout about it! Tell your friends, leave a review on iTunes. It really makes a huge difference.

If you’d like to chat, we’re also on Twitter: https://twitter.com/eskew_podcast

[halommosatlan]

Of all the people who have ever studied dinosaurs, collected dinosaur bones, or even thought about dinosaurs in any serious way, there’s never been anybody quite like Franz Nopcsa von Felső-Szilvás.

Baron Franz Nopcsa von Felső-Szilvás, I should say, because this man was literally an aristocrat who dug up dinosaur bones. He seems like the invention of a mad novelist, a character so outlandish, so ridiculous, that he must be a trick of fiction. But he was very real – a flamboyant dandy and a tragic genuis, whose exploits hunting dinosaurs in Transylvania were brief respites from the insanity of the rest of his life. Dracula, in all seriousness, has nothing on the Dinosaur Baron.

Nopcsa was born in 1877 to a noble family in the gentle hills of Transylvania, in what is now Romania but was then on the fringes of the decaying Austro-Hungarian Empire. He spoke several languages at home, and they instilled within him an urge to wander. He also had urges of another kind, and when he was in his twenties, he became the lover of a Transylvanian count, an older man who regaled him with tales of a hidden kingdom of mountains to the south, where tribesmen wore dapper costumes, brandished long swords, and spoke in an indecipherable tongue. The local mountain men called their homeland Shqipёri. We know it today as Albania, but then it was a backwater on the southern edge of Europe, occupied for centuries by another great empire, the Ottoman.

The baron decided to check it out for himself. He headed south, through the borderlands that separated two empires, and when he arrived in Albania, he was welcomed with a gunshot, which sliced through his hat and narrowly missed his skull. Undeterred, he proceeded to cross much of the country on foot. He picked up the language, grew his hair long, started dressing like the natives, and earned the respect of the insular tribes nestled among the mountain peaks. But the tribesmen might not have been so welcoming if they’d known the truth: Nopcsa was a spy. He was being paid by the Austro-Hungarian government to provide intelligence on their Ottoman neighbors, a mission that became even more critical – and dangerous – as the empires collapsed and the map of Europe was redrawn in the hellfires of World War I.

That’s not to say that the baron was merely a mercenary. He was enamored of Albania – obsessed, really. He became one of Europe’s leading experts on Albanian culture and came to truly love its people – one in particular. Nopcsa fell for a young man from a sheepherding village in the high mountains. This man – Bajazid Elmaz Doda – nominally became Nopcsa’s secretary, but he was so much more, although it wasn’t spoken about so openly in those less accepting times. The two lovers would remain together for nearly three decades, enduring the leers of their peers, surviving the disintegration of their respective empires, traveling Europe by motorcycle (Nopcsa on the bike, Doda in the sidecar). Doda was by Nopcsa’s side when, in the chaos before the Great War, the baron plotted an insurgency of mountain men against the Turks – even smuggling in firearms to build an arsenal – and then later tried to install himself as king of Albania. Both schemes failed, so Nopcsa turned to other pursuits.

As it turned out, that would be dinosaurs.

In fact, Nopcsa became interested in dinosaurs before he knew anything of Albania, before he met Doda. When he was eighteen, his sister picked up a mangled skull on the family estate. The bones had turned to stone, and it didn’t look like any animal the young baron had ever seen scurrying or soaring across his stately grounds. He brought it with him when he started university in Vienna later that year, and upon showing it to one of his geology instructors, he was told to go find more. And so he did, obsessively exploring the fields, hills, and riverbeds of the land he would later inherit, on foot and horseback. Four years later, a blueblood in name but still just a student, he stood up in front of the learned men of the Austrian Academy of Sciences and announced what he had been up to and what he had found: a whole ecosystem of strange dinosaurs.

Nopcsa continued to collect Transylvanian dinosaurs for much of the rest of his life, taking breaks here and there when his services were needed in Albania. He studied them, too, and in doing so was one of the first people who made any attempts to grasp what dinosaurs were like as real animals, not simply bones to be classified. He had a genius when it came to interpreting fossils, and it didn’t take him very long to notice that something was odd about the bones he was finding on his estate. He could tell that they belonged to groups that were common in other parts of the world – a new species that he named Telmatosaurus was a duckbill, a long-necked critter called Magyarosaurus was a sauropod, and he also found the bones of armored dinosaurs. However, they were smaller than their mainland relatives, in some cases, astoundingly so; while its cousins were shaking the Earth with their thirty-ton frames in Brazil, Magyarosaurus was barely the size of a cow. At first Nopcsa thought the bones belonged to juveniles, but when he put them under microscope, he realized that they had the characteristic textures of adults. There was only one suitable explanation: the Transylvanian dinosaurs were miniatures.

This raised an obvious question: why were they so tiny? Nopcsa had an idea. Along with his expertise in espionage, linguistics, cultural anthropology, paleontology, motorbiking and general scheming, the baron was also a very good geologist. He mapped the rocks that held the dinosaur fossils and could tell that they had formed in rivers – thick sequences of sandstones and mudstones that were deposited either in the channels or off to the side when the rivers flooded. Underneath these rocks were other layers that came from the ocean – fine clays and shales bursting with microscopic plankton fossils. Tracing out the aerial extent of the river rocks and scrutinizing the contacts between the river and ocean layers, Nopcsa realized that his estate used t be part of an island, which emerged from the water some time during the latest Cretaceous. The mini-dinosaurs were living on a small bit of turf, probably around thirty thousand square miles (eighty thousand square kilometers) in area, about the size of Hispaniola.

Maybe, Nopcsa conjectured, the dinosaurs were small because of their island habitat. It stemmed from an idea that some biologist of the time were beginning to entertain, based on studies of modern species living on islands and the discovery of some strange small mammal fossils in the middle of the Mediterranean. This theory held that islands are akin to laboratories of evolution, where some of the normal rules that govern larger landmasses break down. Islands are remote, so it is always a little bit random as to which species can make their way out to them, being carried by the wind or rafting in on floating logs. There is less space on islands, so fewer resources, so some species may not be able to get so big. And, because islands are severed from the mainland, their plants and animals can evolve in splendid isolation, their DNA cut off from that of their continental cousins, each inbred island-living generation becoming more different, more peculiar over time. This, Nopcsa thought, is why his island-dwelling dinosaurs were so tiny, so funny looking.

Later research showed that Nopcsa was correct, and his dwarf dinosaurs are now regarded as a prime example of the „island effect” in action. Otherwise, fate wasn’t so kind to the baron. Austria-Hungary was on the losing side in the Great War, and Transylvania was handed over to one of he winners, Romania. Nopcsa lost his lands and his castle, and a senseless attempt to reclaim his estate ended with him getting pummeled by a gang of peasants and left for dead by the side of the road. With little money to support his lavish lifestyle, Nopcsa grudgingly accepted the directorship of the Hungarian Geological Institute in Budapest, but bureaucratic life was not for him, so he quit. He sold off his fossils and moved to Vienna with Doda, destitute and overcome with melancholy that we would probably today recognize as depression. Eventually he had enough. In April 1933, the erstwhile baron slipped some sedative into his lover’s tea. When Doda drifted off to sleep, Nopcsa put a bullet into him, then turned the gun on himself.

(Steve Brusatte: The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs)

[coffintanz]

Tanz der Vampire Berlin 25-10-2018 Review

I went to see Tanz in Berlin. This review is different than others that I’ve done because I didn’t love it, I liked it. That’s a very strange opinion for me to have because I usually am impressed with every single Tanz show I see, but this one didn’t meet my expectations. Of course I’ve also got some good things to say. The rest of the review is below the cut due to it being quite a long text.

The theatre

Before I went to see the show I thought of the Theater des Westens as a very iconic Tanz theatre because the show had already been there twice, both with very successful runs (according to Wikipedia). I presumed that theatre would be a very good place to host the musical, but oh boy was I wrong. The Theater des Westens is small, really small. I know this is a futile comparison because not many of you will have been to the Pesti Magyar Színház, the theatre where Tanz is performed in Budapest, but it’s roughly the same size. The theatre has only one path which the actors can use to walk through when they exit/enter the stage, this is a horizontal path behind row 13. Why I usually talk about the paths in a theatre when it comes to Tanz, is because it is very important to the show, the interaction with the audience really comes to life when the actors can walk though the audience without being constricted by the layout of the theatre. This theatre isn’t made for Tanz. The building might look fancy, which adds to the atmosphere, but the layout of the seating area isn’t great, the animations on the screen were better looking in other theatres and the acoustics weren’t amazing either here. Maybe I’m just overly critical, but this was the 6th venue i’ve seen Tanz in, and I can conclude that there are theatres that are much more suitable to show Tanz in.

Random stuff that’s not about the show

I was in row 21 seat 8, and it is a really good place if you don’t want to break the bank and still see everything very clearly. Because it’s such a small theatre, even if you are in the back, the stage isn’t too far away.

The amount of people in the audience was disappointing. In front of me towards the right was a whole section of about 25 seats which weren’t taken. There were very visible gaps in some places in the audience which really made me think, if you can’t sell out a show in the first week after the premiere, isn’t that a sign that you should stop extending a show? And I know that after Berlin the show is over in Germany, but although it pains me to say it, I think they already have been playing on longer than is neccesary. And sure, they still make lots of profit, but for example if you look at the 2017/2018 run of Tanz in Vienna, it was almost always sold out. In Germany I get the idea that people are getting so used to having Tanz be somewhere in the country that the show isn’t special anymore. 

The Cast

Graf von Krolock: Filippo Strocchi

Sarah: Diana Schnierer

Alfred: Raphael Gross

Professor Abronsius: Sebastian Brandmeir

Chagal: Jerzy Jeszke

Magda: Sara Jane Checchi

Herbert: Christian Funk

Rebecca: Dawn Bullock

Koukol: Arvid Johansson

I had the full first cast, which is a tip, if you really want to see the full first cast, go in the first week after the premiere, because for most of the week the cast existed of those people.

Filippo Strocchi- I didn’t really like Filippo as Krolock. I never got to see his Krolock in Vienna and I was wondering what he would be like, well, he didn’t meet my expectations. He isn’t grafly in any way, and I don’t like his voice as Krolock. I thought it had to do with his age, like maybe he isn’t ready yet to play a vampire dude who has had many centuries to live. He’s 36, which is okay, considering that Jan Kriz (the next Krolock in Berlin, who I’ve seen already) is younger, but he had more of a Krolock-vibe to him. So to come to a conclusion, it doesn’t have much to do with age, it’s more about personal preference. People said that he’s a bit like Drew Sarich, he’s nothing like Drew Sarich. He’s his own person which is good, because an actor shouldn’t be portraying a character like someone else already does. There was nothing memorable about his Krolock. There were a few things that stood out, when he pulled Sarah’s arm away before the bite during Tanzsaal, he rolled his eyes in the most exaggerated way ever, as if to say; do you really think you can protect yourself? And when he seduces Alfred during Vor dem Schloss, he wasn’t even a centimetre away from Alfred’s face. He really went for it. A moment that was really fun is when he said “Doch sie gehört nur mir!” Abronsius was standing to his left and Filippo turned around to Abronsius and said that sentence directly to Abronsius. Which was totally new for me.

I didn’t love Filippo, there were some tiny moments I liked, but he didn’t act very Grafly, didn’t sing very Grafly. To me it felt like he was trying to make some moments more like a Rock show than a musical. All of this doesn’t mean that I hated him, he’s just not my preferred Krolock.

Diana Schnierer- Gonna keep it short about her because this was my 7th time seeing her and I don’t have much about her to add that I haven’t already said in other reviews. She’s a perfectly good Sarah, I really liked seeing her and Raphael on stage together again. When Sarah hints at doing the thing with Alfred during the Du bist wirklich sehr nett scene, some people around me really thought that some stuff was going to go down, so Diana was very convincing with her acting in that scene.

Raphael Gross- Raphael was very confused in the first act, he really didn’t know what he got himself into. In the second act he became more like the Alfred I had seen him be in other performances. When Abronsius says that Alfred should think about Sarah when she’s about to stake Krolock, Raphi put on the biggest puppy eyes face I’ve ever seen, and it was adorable.

Small things I’ve got to say about other actors- The chemistry between Herbert and Alfred during Wenn Liebe in dir ist was to die for! I’m beginning to like Christian Funk a bit more each time I see him. He even tried to give Alfred a little kiss on his head.

Jerzy Jeszke is a great Chagal. If I heard it correctly, he also said some things in Polish during the points when he kind of has to mumble, for example when he’s done with Eine schöne Tochter ist ein Segen. That really makes his Chagal his own. It actually surprised me that he is Chagal again because at the end of the Köln run, he would officially stop doing the show. But I guess that it has to do with the lack of participants they got to do the role of Chagal. For example, Dawn told me that she got a phone call in August if she would like to be Rebecca again. To me this sounds like there were very few people who auditioned for the role of Rebecca and they opted for someone who already had experience with the role. So maybe the same happened to Jerzy.

I didn’t know that I was so used to seeing Paolo Bianca until I got Arvid Johansson as Koukol. Arvid almost stood up straight as Koukol, which I found a bit strange. A nice addition to his character was when Krolock patted him on the head during Vor dem Schloss, Koukol poked Krolock in his hips with his head when he wanted more patting from Krolock.

Random stuff which is about the show

At one point during Die unstillbare Gier, the projector wiggled a bit, so the projection of the gate became wobbly and it just looked really funny.

I wonder how much is played of a record and not actually sung, like the part when Krolock exits the stage after Gott is Tot clearly comes from an already recorded part and is not sung live, and I really wonder how much such already recorded things are used in the show.

The ensemble members during Vor dem Schloss are all on a balcony right above the stage, there isn’t any involvement with the audience at all. Which is such a shame!

Conclusion

This was not my favourite show of Tanz I’ve ever seen. Sure, there were some good moments and I definitely liked it! But I didn’t love it. I don’t know if I want to see it again in Berlin, I was plannning on seeing it another time near the end of the run, so I will have seen it at least once in 2019 and that will be my last opportunity to see it before it closes altogether in March. But now I don’t know for sure if I still want to go because I felt kinda underwhelmed by this visit. Maybe things will change, I don’t know. It’s still Tanz, and I unconditionally love that show, but I should also be able to look at it critically, and that may result in some opinions that are not all positive.

[autodidact-adventures]

World War I (Part 75): After the War

About 9.5 million soldiers were killed during WW1 (4 million of them from the Central Powers).  There were 1.8 million Russians killed, nearly 1.4 million French, 800,000 Turks, 723,000 British, 578,000 Italians, and 114,000 Americans.  Romania & Serbia each lost over twice as many men as America.

2 million Germans had been killed, and a million Austro-Hungarians. Germany had lost, on average, 55 men every hour – 130 every day.  1/50 of Austria-Hungary's citizens had been killed.

And that didn't even include the millions of civilians who died. There were also over 15 million men wounded, and nearly 9 million taken POW.

There was no peace in Russia – a massive civil war lasted for years, killing more of its people than WW1 did.  It would even draw in troops from Western Europe and America, and it would end with the Bolsheviks firmly in control.

Weeks after the armistice, there was an uprising in Berlin that wanted to establish something like a Bolshevik regim.  It was bloodily suppressed by rough paramilitary “Free Corps” made up of demobilized soldiers who were unwilling to lay down their arms.

In Budapest & Munich, Communist governments briefly seized power. There was fighting over territory in the new nations of Poland & Czechoslovakia; in Transylvania, Ukraine, the Caucasus, and the disputed borderland between Turkey & Greece.  The American Secretary of State Robert Lansing wrote in April 1919, “Central Europe is aflame with anarchy.  The people see no hope.”

The Allied soldiers did not want to get involved in all of this.  Troops based near Folkestone (Britain) mutinied when they learned of plans to send them to Russia.  French crews in the Black Sea did the same thing for the same reason.

The Paris Peace Conference (January 18th, 1919 – January 21st, 1920)

Dozens of nations were invited to the conference, but it was clear that the decisions would be made by a very small number of them.  A Council of Ten dominated the proceedings at first – it was made up of the heads of government & foreign ministers of Britain, France, Italy, America and Japan.  But the group was too large for secrecy to be maintained, so the foreign ministers were excluded.

Japan was only interested in issues related to Asia and the Pacific. Italy eventually walked out because it didn't get everything it wanted.  In the end, the conference was dominated by Clemenceau, Lloyd George and Wilson.

Lenin's Moscow government didn't attend – the Allies refused to recognize it and supported its White Russian enemies.  Germany was excluded as an outlaw nation, which was a major break from tradition – for example, France had been given an important part in the Treaty of Vienna after Napoléon's final defeat.

The Austro-Hungarian & Ottoman Empires no longer existed, and Austria & Turkey hardly seemed even to matter.  New countries were emerging – Czechoslovakia, Finland, Hungary, Lithuania, Poland, and Yugoslavia (forming around Serbia).  They would soon be joined by Estonia & Latvia in the Balkans, and Lebanon & Syria in the Middle East.  All of them had to wait on the sidelines (often while still fighting with their neighbours) while the great powers decided their fates.

Meanwhile, the great powers had their own agendas.  Britain had already achieved its primary goals – Belgium was saved, Germany's naval threat was eliminated, and they'd made impressive gains in the Middle East, where Russia's collapse had got rid of their longtime rival.  Lloyd George's coalition government had returned to office after the December election, and it had few major goals apart from protecting the British Empire's gains, restoring some kind of balance of power on the continent, and punishing Germany enough to satisfy popular demand.  This last objective, however, couldn't be taken too far – Britain also wanted to keep Germany as a buffer against Communist Russia and as a future trading partner.

In France, though, the situation was different.  Germany was still larger than France and had more people; and France no longer had Russia as an ally to balance things out.  Clemenceau (and France in general) wanted to make sure that Germany was incapable of being a threat, maybe even by dismantling the country.

Woodrow Wilson saw himself as a neutral mediator free of the cynical & selfish calculations of Europe.  He wanted to not only end WW1, but to set up a League of Nations to end war entirely; also to implement his Fourteen Points to make the world “safe for democracy” (although he would gradually lose interest in them).

It is rather ironic that the first of his Fourteen Points demanded “open covenants of peace, openly arrived at.”  The Allies redrew the map of the world in great secrecy.  The Fourteen Points talked about the right to national self-determination, but Britain, France, Italy & Japan were taking whole regions all around the world. Wilson refused to support Ireland's demands for separation from Britain, which outraged Irish-Americans.  Other ethnic groups felt betrayed as well.

Wilson eventually abandoned his Fourteen Points (even the pretence of championing them), probably to keep ahold of some degree of influence with Lloyd George & Clemenceau.  He became as vengeful towards Germany as Clemenceau, and accused Americans who questioned his ideas for the League of Nations of being “pro-German”.

Neither Italy nor Japan had contributed much towards Germany's defeat (Japan had contributed essentially nothing).  But both gained more than any other country at the conference, and left feeling alienated and dissatisfied.

Italy was given more territory than they'd been promised by the 1915 Treaty of London (Wilson complained that America hadn't signed that agreement & was not bound by it, but he did agree to it).  They absorbed Alpine regions in which 100,000's of ethnically German Austrians lived.  But the Allies wouldn't give them Fiume (Croatia), so the delegates left in indignation.

Italy had been dominated by Vienna for centuries, but now the empire was gone, and Austria was merely a small, landlocked, poor country of 7 million people (and they petitioned to be absorbed into Germany). So Italy was the strongest it had ever been since the fall of the Roman Empire, with no neighbours to be feared, and saw no need to remain on friendly terms with Britain or France.  Struggles for power in Rome had greatly compromised Italy's young democracy, and the way was cleared for the emergence of Mussolini.

Japan had sold industrial products and raw materials to the West during the war, greatly prospering in doing so.  Now it gained Germany's North Pacific colonies; it had control of China's Shantung Province (China's protests were ignored); and had great ambitions on the Asian mainland.

With their conquests ratified, Japan now asked for the League's covenant to include an “equality clause” that would declare racial discrimination to be unacceptable.  They didn't even ask for enforcement provisions – it was just symbolic, to show that they were accepted as equals by Europe & America.

But Wilson offered no support (America didn't allow Asian immigration, and the western states were determined not to change that).  Australia objected for similar reasons.  So Japan, like Italy, gave up on the West – they were dominant in East Asia and didn't need their former allies anymore.

Up until now, Turkey had quietly accepted the loss of its empire. But the French government wanted to strengthen their position in the Balkans, so they insisted that Turkey give the Aegean port city of Smyrna to Greece.  Anger rose up in Constantinople, leading to the rise of a nationalist movement under Mustafa Kemal.  The Greco-Turkish war broke out on May 15th, 1919, and would continue until October 1922, when they recaptured Smyrna.

In the south, Britain & France disagreed on how to divide up their Middle Eastern conquests.  Britain took Palestine and opened it up to European Jewish immigration, under the Balfour Declaration. They suppressed a revolt in Mesopotamia, and then created the new puppet kingdom of Iraq, with Kurdish, Shia and Sunni populations thrown together.  France was allowed to have Lebanon and Syria (the latter despite Britain's reluctance).

As for Germany, Clemenceau suggested breaking it up: he was eager to exploit the separatist movements that had sprung up in Bavaria and the Rhineland.  Lloyd George refused, so Clemenceau's next suggestion was to turn Germany's Rhineland regions into an independent ministrate that would really be a French dependency.  This was also refused.

While all this was going on, the Allied naval blockade was still in place.  Perhaps 250,000 German civilians died because of this. Herbert Hoover (who would be president from 1929-33) was in charge of European relief operations.  He begged for permission to send food to Germany, but even Wilson rebuffed him.

The Allies refused to be bound by the terms of the November armistice.  Clemenceau & Lloyd George disliked Wilson and didn't respect him, and happily joined him in forgetting the Fourteen Points.  Reparations now became the central issue.

Britain & France had both borrowed great sums of money from America, and they'd hoped that the loans would be forgiven after the war.  Wilson refused, so both turned to German reparations to solve the problem.  Huge amounts of money were suggested – enough to cover all the damage to French & Belgian property, the costs incurred by the Allies in fighting the war, and their veteran pensions.  The question of how much money it should be, and when it should be paid, became incredibly complicated.

Lloyd George didn't want to push Germany too hard, in case it fell to the Communists.  Clemenceau, though, wanted to drain Germany to prevent a military resurgence.  Both wanted to put Wilhelm on trial for war crimes, but Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands refused to hand him over.

Wilson had once been an advocate for peace without victory, but had greatly changed his tune.  He now believed Germany was undeserving of even the slightest consideration.  None of the three men realized that accepting the new Weimar Republic into the family of nations might have been a good step to take, now that the imperial regime was gone.

In May, the Weimar government was ordered to send a delegation to Paris.  The delegation was confined behind barbed wire, and not allowed any contact with anyone.  They were summoned to appear before the Allies on June 7th, and presented with what would eventually be called the Treaty of Versailles.  The terms were draconian.

Germany had to acknowledge that it was solely & entirely responsible for the war.  They were excluded from the League of Nations.

They were to return Alsace & Lorraine to France (without a plebiscite), and give small amounts of German territory to Belgium. France would occupy Germany's coal-rich Saar region for 15yrs, and after that a plebiscite would be held to determine where it went.

The Allies would occupy all German territory west of the Rhine for the next 15yrs.  Austria was forbidden from uniting with Germany.

The Sudetenland (a region whose population was mostly German) was given to the new Czechoslovakia.  The new Poland would be given German port cities on the Baltic, creating a “Polish corridor” that would actually cut East Prussia off from the rest of Germany.

Upper Silesia (which had long been a part of Germany) was given to Poland, and northern Schleswig was given to Denmark.

The German army was limited to 100,000 volunteers.  The general staff & air force were to be dissolved, and all U-boats were to be destroyed, as well as all but 6 of her battleships.

Germany was to pay reparations, but the exact amount & time of payment were left unspecified, which Clemenceau was pleased with.  He hoped that Germany would be either unwilling or unable to pay, and then France could stay on the Rhine indefinitely, and the occupied territories might eventually choose to become part of France.

The head of the German delegation summed up his interpretation of the treaty in four words: “Germany renounces its existence.”

The treaty actually caused the warring factions of German society to unite.  Weimar officials complained that Germany had been deceived and betrayed, and that the Allies were ignoring the armistice terms and Wilson's Fourteen Points.  But the Allies threatened to invade, and Germany had to give in and sign.

Another problem was that the Allies had decided to deal only with the Weimar government, not with the military.  This led to claims that the army had been “stabbed in the back” by cowardly and traitorous liberal politicians.  (At the time of the armistice, the army hadn't actually surrendered, and still held vast amounts of captured territory.)  The Germans were given an excuse to hate the new government.

The People

The Treaty of Versailles was signed on June 28th, 1919. By then, many of the important figures of the war were dead.  Tsar Nicholas, Tsarina Alexandra and their five children had been executed by their Bolshevik captors in Siberia.  Istvá Tisza (the Hungarian Prime Minister from 1903-05 and 1913-17) was assassinated by Communists on October 31st, 1918.  Gavrilo Princip died of tuberculosis in jail in April 1918, regretting only that he'd also killed the archduke's innocent wife.

Others died not long afterwards.  Theobald von Bethmann Hollweg (Germany Chancellor from 1909-17) died in retirement in 1921.  Henry Wilson, who left the British army to become an Ulster MP, was shot dead on the doorstep of his home by an IRA gunman.

The Austrian Emperor Karl I had been deposed but refused to abdicate; he died of pneumonia in exile on April 1st, 1922, at the age of 35yrs old.  Woodrow Wilson's League of Nations was rejected by the Senate; he left the White House in poor health in 1921, and died in 1924.  Lenin was disabled by cerebral haemorrhages and died in 1924.

Many of the old soldiers & generals slowly faded away.  Nivelle finished his career in North Africa, and was heard of no more. William Robertson commanded the British occupation troops in the Rhineland from 1919-20, was made a Field Marshal and a Baronet, and retured.  Alexei Brusilov served the Bolsheviks until 1924.

Foch was made a Marshal of France, and received many honours; he then withdrew from the world stage.  Luigi Cadorna was in disgrace after the terrible failure at Caporetto, but Mussolini rehabilitated him, and he was made a Field Marshal in 1924.  Franz Conrad von Hötzendorf moved to Germany and spent the rest of his life writing self-serving memoirs of little historical value.

Douglas Haig was made an Earl, and Parliament voted to gift him £100,000 at the end of the war.  But he was too controversial, and too hated by Lloyd George, to be appointed Chief of the Imperial General Staff.  He raised money for needy veterans until he died in 1928.

John Monash stayed in Europe long enough to oversee the return of his troops, and establish educational programs to help prepare them for civilian careers.  He became an Australian national hero, and the Monash University was founded in 1958 and named after him.

Arthur Currie was given a cold welcome by Canadian political leaders. When a journalist accused him, in print, of squandering the lives of his troops at Passchendaele, he filed a suit and won it; he was then put in a carriage and paraded through the streets by crowds of cheering veterans.  He became the Vice Chancellor of McGill University, but faded into obscurity.

Mustafa Kemal was the only WW1 general who played a major role in the post-war world.  He took the name Atatürk (meaning “father of the people”), became president of Turkey in 1924, and began turning it into a secular, westernized state.

King George V died on January 20th, 1936.  His last years were troubled by his eldest son's scandal with Wallis Simpson.

Kaiser Wilhelm lived quietly on a small Dutch estate until he died on June 4th, 1941.  During the first two years of WW2, he followed Germany's progress by putting pins in maps.

Georges Clemenceau was already in his late seventies.  He was resented by many French politicians for how he'd managed the war in its last year, and the negotiations that followed.  He ran for president in 1920 but lost, and resigned as premier.  After that, he travelled the world, hunting tigers in India; he wrote books, and toured America to warn of the dangers of their indifference to European politics.  He never lost his hatred of Germany, and died in Paris in 1929.

In 1922, the Conservative Party left Lloyd George's coalition and took power independently, and Lloyd George lost the position of Prime Minister.  His Liberal Party had declined by then, and Labour was now the most important opposition party.  He stayed in Parliament for more than 20yrs, but was a marginal figure without a power base, and never held office again.  He died on March 26th, 1945.

When Ludendorff returned from exile in Sweden, he became involved in the darkest elements in German poolitics.  He was involved in attempts to overthrow the Weimar Republic in 1920 & 1923 (the second time with Hitler).  He ran (unsuccessfully) for president of the republic in 1925, and divorced his wife Margarethe.

His second wife encouraged him in a very strange campaign to rid Germany of Christians, Jews and Freemasons.  He ended up isolated from everything progressive, and even from the Nazis & the Junker officer corps.  He died in 1937, and in the months before his death, he finally began to see sense and tried to raise the alarm about the dangers of Hitler's dictatorship, but no-one was listening to him.

Leon Trotsky lost out in a power struggle with Stalin after Lenin's death.  He was expelled from the Russian Communist Party in 1927, exiled to Central Asia in 1928, and finally expelled from the USSR in 1929.  Stalin's agents followed him, though, and he moved to Turkey, France, Norway, and finally in 1936 to Mexico.  He was assassinated on August 21st, 1940, by an axe blow to the back of the skull.

Hindenburg was in his seventies, and he retired from the German army after the war.  He was a strong monarchist with no respect for the new republic, but agreed to run for President in 1925, and was elected (he was still an national hero).  In 1932, he was an even more passive figurehead than he'd been in the war, but he agreed to run for re-election because there seemed to be no alternative to Hitler.  He was again successful.

In 1933 he was persuaded to appoint Hitler as Chancellor – his associates assured him that once Hitler was in office, he'd be easily contained.  This, of course, turned out to be completely untrue.  He died on August 2nd, 1934.

Pétain was made a Marshal of France, and Commander-in-Chief of the French armies.  He remained on active duty even though he was in his sixties, and moved from one important position to another.  When Germany invaded France in 1940, he was 84yrs old, and asked to form a government.  When the Germans conquered 2/3 of France, he arranged an armistice, and the Vichy government named him chief of state, with nearly unlimited powers.

Pétain remained in office during the occupation out of fear that leaving would leave to worse Nazi outrages.  He tried in many ways to obstruct the Nazis.  After liberation, the new government put him on trial and condemned him to death.  However, his former protégé Charles de Gaulle reduced his sentence to life imprisonment, and he died in confinement on an island off the Atlantic Coast in 1951.

Churchill did well in the decade following the Treaty of Versailles. He was Secretary of State for War (1919-21), Colonial Secretary (1921-22), and Chancellor of the Exchequer (1924-29).

He'd originally been a member of the Conservative Party, but switched to the Liberals in 1904.  In 1924, he switched back again, but the Conservatives never forgave him for it.  From 1929 onwards, he was consigned to the “political wilderness”, warning about Germany's rearmament with few people taking him seriously.

[maryxglz]

Once in a while comes along a movie in which the setting is so captivating it becomes a character in its own right. For me, this list includes movies such as Howard’s End, The Holiday, You’ve Got Mail, Something’s Gotta Give, Baby Boom, The Grand Budapest Hotel, and ... here’s the odd one that stands out from the list … Only Lovers Left Alive, cleverly written and stylishly directed by Jim Jarmusch.

Among a company of beautiful movie houses and settings, the 135-year-old mansion in Only Lovers Left Alive reigns in a league of its own. Clearly once a great beauty, the house Jarmusch features in the movie is more like an abandoned ruin than the elegant Gilded Age property it used to be. The mansion stars as the cluttered abode of Adam, a centuries-old, moody rock-star vampire who's finding himself bored and annoyed by the human race (whom he calls "zombies"). Located in the crumbling yet distinctive Brush Park neighborhood of Detroit, Michigan, Adam’s house in real life is a 6,200-square-foot Queen Anne house with the address of 82 Alfred Street, formerly  known as the Whitney Mansion

The history of 82 Alfred Street reflects the economic roller coaster ride that has carried Detroit for decades. Built in 1879 by James P. Donaldson (original owner), the house stayed in the Donaldson family for many years until David C. Whitney bought it in 1893. Whitney had architect Gordon W. Lloyd expand and remodel the house to its Queen Anne style. Over the years, there have been many other owners. And as Detroit changed, so did 82 Alfred Street. To accommodate the influx of auto industry workers pouring into Detroit in the 1920s, the house’s then-owner Jeanette Davies turned it into a boarding house. It remained as a rooming house until the 1940s.

   “Our film doesn’t show you the amazing people there, the stuff going on, the interesting activity.”   — Jim Jarmusch, Director of Only Lovers Left Alive, on filming in Detroit, Michigan

By the time Jarmusch and his film crew found 82 Alfred Street in June 2012, the house and its Brush Park neighborhood already reflected the wear and tear of the city's economic struggles. Only a few inhabited homes survived with shredded remnants of their gloried past. Among many of the houses in the area, the former Whitney Mansion (which came fully stocked with years of unwanted furnishings) won the director’s approval as the film location for Adam’s hideaway. The house - as it was when Jarmusch found it - perfectly symbolized the decaying beauty of a once-magnificent city.

Chris-Teena Constas, Detroit location manager for Only Lovers Left Alive, said she scouted many locations for the movie before Jarmusch chose the house at 82 Alfred Street. "One of the main and most important locations was Adam's house," said Constas. "They really wanted to stay true and authentic to Detroit and the architecture."

   “One of the the main and most important locations was Adam’s house. They really wanted to stay true and authentic to Detroit and the architecture.”   — Chris-Teena Constas, Detroit Location Manager for Only Lovers Left Alive.

The production used the exterior of the house in many scenes and also filmed in the property’s foyer and living room, stairway and on one of its upper floors. “We basically decluttered more than dressed it,” shared Greg Brautigan, first assistant director in Detroit. “You could barely squeeze through the hallway.”

With a small crew shooting mostly at night (from dusk to dawn), the production filmed at 82 Alfred Street and around Detroit for about a week. Only Lovers Left Alive treats us to Jarmusch’s “lonely but lovely” visions of Detroit as Adam and Eve (the luminescent Tilda Swinton) go cruising at night, driving by the city’s iconic landmarks such as the deserted Packard Plant and the Michigan Theater (once a gorgeous cultural gathering place, now a car park).

The director took great care to choose the film locations for Only Lovers Left Alive. "The places are like characters, they're as important to me as characters in the film," said Jarmusch. Originally, Rome and Detroit were supposed to be the settings for Eve's and Adam's world respectively. In the final film, Eve lives in Tangier instead, but Adam's home stays in Detroit. "The places inform you in a lot of ways," said Jarmusch. "Adam lives in Detroit to kind of hide, and his view of Detroit is desolate - nighttime and desolation. But that is not all there is of Detroit - our film doesn't show you the amazing people there, the stuff going on, the interesting activity. But he's not part of that."

"(Jarmusch) was truly captivated. He loved the energy and that kind of swagger that the people of Detroit have," said Detroit cinematographer Christos Moisides, second-unit director of photography. "It ... was more the haunting beauty that's so cinematic. It may not be pristine beauty, but there's a lot of amazing history," Moisides said of the director's atmospheric visions of the city.

Detroit’s nocturnal landscapes fit Jarmusch's vision. "He wanted to keep it natural and very stark," Brautigan said.

“It ... was more the haunting beauty that’s so cinematic. It may not be pristine beauty, but there’s a lot of amazing history.” — Christos Moisides, Second Unit Director of Photography - on filming in Detroit, Michigan.    “The places are like characters, they’re as important to me as characters in the film.”   — Jim Jarmusch, Director of Only Lovers Left Alive, on choosing film locations.

In December 2012, a few months after Jarmusch and company wrapped up production, Jeff Cowin bought 82 Alfred Street - lock, stock and barrel. Since then, he has been restoring the mansion back to its glorious former self. In addition to preserving the historic details of the Queen Anne home such as its wood floors, paneling and trims, Cowin also modernizes its kitchen and bathrooms. "It's a labor of love. I work all the time, all my waking hours, but it's my passion," said Cowin. "It's magical when you can walk in the door and you can sense the history." Today, you too can experience a bit of Detroit’s glorious past while sleeping in the house that was the film location of Only Lovers Left Alive. Yes! 82 Alfred Street is now available for rent on Airbnb. I've never been to Detroit, but after having watched Only Lovers Left Alive multiple times (as it is one of my most favorite films this year), I'm putting Motor City and 82 Alfred Street on my bucket list. Like Jarmusch and the late Malik Bandjellou (who directed and filmed the Oscar-winning documentary Searching for Sugarman in Detroit), I feel strangely protective and enamored with the desolate fading beauty of the city. And ... its rich musical heritage. Only Lovers Left Alive celebrates both ... in spades.If you're lucky enough to visit Detroit any time soon and have a chance to stay at 82 Alfred Street, do let us know how it feels to be inside a famous movie house. We'd love to hear from you! 

[richardkovacs]

(9/9) New personal project I shot just before lockdown. Aunt Lenke (Lenke néni, as we call her in Hungarian) is an 87-year-old widow who is the sister of my grandfather. She is very close to me and my family, she is always present at the family events and she lives in the same village in rural Hungary where I grew up (Rácalmás). Aunt Lenke used to be a pastry chef at a grand hotel in Budapest, The Gellért. She grew up on the secluded countryside in the 20th Century, in a tight-knit family, so it was emotionally very challenging for her that she had to leave the village and go to work in Budapest, the big city. Then time passed, and as I could see on the old photos from the family album, she enjoyed dressing up and wearing elegant outfits, she was beautiful and cheerful. Since then she kept almost all of her clothes, so she has a really big wardrobe in her house which she still maintains very well. I wanted to bring up her old memories of dressing up and dig into her wardrobe and memories. First she didn’t want to agree to the shoot saying she is too old, but then it turned out she really enjoyed the process and the excitement of it. All of the clothes she is wearing on the photographs are from her own personal wardrobe - she hasn’t worn most of these pieces for decades and for this occasion she styled herself with the help of my sister, and we shot in her house and garden. Another important initiative of the project is to raise awareness about the diversity of models and casting in fashion projects and shoots. The idea of beauty is being questioned more than ever before and there is a real sense of change in the industry, but I think it would also be important to look at different age groups, not just youth. Elderly people can bring so much character and so many ideas to the table in the context of photography too, and I find the manifestation of the passing of time fascinating, seeing how she was as a young person and how she is now and how she remembers back. (at London, United Kingdom) https://www.instagram.com/p/CDEziiThPc5/?igshid=uby8skoapfz

[travelcenter-uk]

Stop what you’re doing, you might want to look at this if you’re travelling

Now, I get that this might be a bit of a shock. Trust me; I’m at a loss of words too, but the news just came in, and it is true. We have a brand new multi-centre holiday deal, and it definitely is one of a kind. Now, if you clicked here expecting something else, I’d say…well, nothing actually, but if you clicked this knowing that this was a not-so-original scheme to get more views, then congratulations, you’re right. But before you leave, take a moment to hear me out.

As you all know, we’ve been doing a lot of deals, and this time around, we want to spread the word for every traveller who wants to get back out there. Our newest deal could very well be the much-needed city break or family holiday you’ve been looking for, So, I’d suggest you read at least 40% of what we have to say about pairing these three cities together. Why? Well because, you know? Great experiences and life’s treasures blah, blah, blah, but mainly because the price is competitive enough to make you want to book. In all honesty, we’re almost sure you’d like the price tag that comes along for ALL of the back-in-time experiences you accumulate in this trip.

Up first, Budapest!

Budapest

Because there’s no reason not to love this budget-hugging city.

No, seriously, I wasn’t paid extra to put that there. Budapest is cheap. How cheap, you ask? Enough for you to get the city’s best experiences. Green spaces, a laid-back city vibe, misty mornings, streets splashed with vibrance, delectable flavours, thermal baths and above all, bars that you’re not going to think of leaving. No, I don’t think everyone who reads this is an alcoholic to make it a prominent factor of Budapest, I just happen to know a lot of travellers who enjoy the pulsating nightlife of the city. Some may even call Budapest the sin city of Hungary. Yeah, that’s how famous the party scene is in the city.

“oh no, how will I ever know where to begin when there’s so much to do and see!”

Fear not, that’s where I come in! Here are some of the best places you could set your sights on.

Thermal baths

I really couldn’t choose between the two of these attractions, so I’ll leave that up to you. But I’ll lay down the general groundwork of both of these must-see sights. I’m sure everyone knows that aside from the elegance of these attractions, it’s the stress-melting water that everyone loves, but here’s why these baths stand out the most in my opinion.

Gellért Baths – makes you feel like royalty. The architecture is as grand as it gets; the stained-glass windows and the multi-coloured tiles makes it even better. It also looks like it could make an appearance in all of your favourite Instagram influencers page, it kind of correlates with the aesthetic of the show.

Széchenyi Baths – Is one of Budapest’s most famous baths. It’s pleasantly crowded, the outdoor segment alone makes it worth visiting and Saturday nights usually aren’t for healing, it’s for unforgettable “sparties”.

Budapest’s chocolate museum

Don’t mind me, just drooling.

It really does give off Willy Wonka & the chocolate factory vibes. So, I guess if you have an almost unhealthy obsession with chocolate, there’s no other place you’d rather be. This museum is a unique place where visitors are taken on a culinary journey through the history of chocolate, complete with tasting sessions (the real highlight). Guests can dip marzipan balls into a chocolate fountain (I take it back, this is the real highlight), make their own handmade chocolates (oh, come on!), and explore the museum’s collection of historic Hungarian paintings (…).

Széchenyi Chain Bridge

Want an intriguing factoid? No? That’s okay, you’re getting it anyway.

Did you know? The Széchenyi Chain Bridge is a symbol of bringing people together from all walks of life, see, isn’t that deep? It’s also a great example of 19th-century engineering, but you probably don’t care about that. However, you might find it convenient to know that it is a very much Instagram-worthy spot in the city. So, hey, symbolic unification aside, if you want killer photos to let your enemies know you’re living your best life, this is where you should go.

More Budapest Highlights

Three attractions alone aren’t enough for you to grasp the devastatingly wondrous tone of Budapest. You could also visit ruin bars, these are…well, bars but the twist is that they’re set up in unconventional places, making things much more exciting. Plus, you didn’t think we’d leave out the UNESCO World Heritage Site of the city did you? Buda Castle is a towering specimen of endless charm, and I’d call it a waste of time if you didn’t sneak in a visit to this place on your holiday. Last, but certainly not the least, is St Stephen’s Basilica, the world-renowned church that many classify as the jewel in Budapest’s crown.

Now, on to the next one!

Prague

Who wouldn’t want to Czech out Prague?

One thing everyone should know about Prague is that not even the curious crowds of tourists can take away the joy of exploring this grand spectacle of a city. Prague’s architecture makes you levitate, the savoury smell of its food makes you want to let your nose take the lead, and Prague’s maze of cobbled lanes and hidden courtyards is a paradise for aimless wanderers.

Here’s where you should be in Prague!

Old Town Square

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that Prague is also all about history?

Being one of the most essential backdrops to some of the most crucial moments in the country’s history, the Old Town Hall features one of Prague’s most famous monuments, the Medieval Astronomical Clock. Yeah, there are going to be a few annoying tourists you’ll see clogging some spaces, but does that have an impact on the veracity of this historical attraction? No, of course not.

Prague Castle

Looking over the heart of the city, this attraction is the largest ancient castle complex in the world and towers over the Vltava River. The amount of critical events this attraction has seen in Czech history is almost uncountable but just to point out a few; this includes 1989 inauguration of Václav Havel as Czech president, the triumph of Nazi dictator Adolf Hitler over the country on the eve of World War II and so much more.

Strahov Monastery

Talk about convenience! Situated on a ridge close to the Prague Castle complex, this attraction was founded in the 12th century. With majestic halls and Baroque interior decor, the monastery definitely is one of those wow-evoking stops that you should make on your trip.

What’s more? You could also enjoy a medieval dinner at the heart of city. Picture a 3-5 course dinner with unlimited drinks and a myriad of entertainment options. From swordsmen, belly dancers and jugglers, there’s nothing that make you turn away from these performances, well, except the soul-stirring aroma of your food.

And finally, we have the last city on your trip!

Krakow

Effortlessly fusing the best of the past & the present, Krakow comes out as the last but possibly the best closing destination to your multi-day trip. So, let’s take a look at where the key highlights of the city are!

Wawel Castle

Yes, it’s excruciatingly beautiful, yes, there’s a lot of history, but did you know that a side of that history includes a dragon? Yup, that’s right. In the early 14th century, Krakow was terrorised by an evil dragon named Smok Wawelski (sick name, if you ask me!). So, Smok (yeah, we’re on a first-name basis) actually lived in a limestone cave beneath the slopes of Wawel Hill (which you can visit), where the king’s castle was perched on. In all honesty, I get why Smok wanted to live there, it’s a charming cave. A hidden gem, as some would say. Unfortunately, there was a dude named Dratewka, who left a dead lamb stuffed with sulphur at the entrance of Smok’s lair; Smok ate it, got extremely thirsty, drank too much water from the Vistula River (which you can visit) and exploded (RIP Smok, you thirsty dragon).

Planty Park

Now, I get it. “Why is there a park of all places in Krakow’s highlights?!” well the thing is, this park is a pivotal pillar when it comes to uncovering the secret behind letting loose in the city. If you’re overwhelmed or just not feeling 100%, I suggest you take a quick walk through this place! It’s full of life in summer and an unarguably vivacious winter wonderland during the colder days.

Kościuszko Mound

Built-in the image of the primaeval Pagan mounds that surround the city at various points, the soaring hill of Kościuszko was elevated in 1823 to honour its namesake national hero, Tadeusz Kościuszko. From the top, travellers can savour the sweeping panoramas of the city, especially during clear days where’s there’s not a cloud in the sky.

Bonus Attraction

Kraków-Płaszów concentration camp – Well, the best way I can describe the experience is that it definitely is formative. This concentration camp lets you get a great glimpse into what happened in the past, which I’m sure you’ve read about! Now, you’ll get to have this gloomy experience firsthand.

So, there you have it! The best attractions from each city that does a great job when it comes to infusing history with the regular joys of going on a holiday. If you’re interested in this offer make sure to book your multi-centre holiday by letting us know through a call or even an email. That’s all you have to do, and we’ll reach out as soon as we have everything you need (which usually takes us minutes).

Read More:- https://blog.travelcenter.uk/stop-what-youre-doing-you-might-want-to-look-at-this-if-youre-travelling/

This Article, Information & Images Source (copyright) :- https://blog.travelcenter.uk

[sunsetliminal]

An Interview With Leah Stenson

“Circles on the rain-dimpled pond expand, intersect, like kimono patterns.” -“Inokashira Park”, Leah Stenson

Leah Stenson is a published poet, Board Member of Tavern Books, and coordinator and host of the long-standing Studio Series Poetry Reading and Open Mic in Portland. She is the author of two chapbooks, The Turquoise Bee and Heavenly Body, and the editor of two anthologies, Reverberations from Fukushima: 50 Japanese Poets Speak Out  and Alive at the Center: Contemporary Poetry from Portland, Oregon. Stenson’s work is featured in Sunset Liminal vol. 3, and her full-length manuscript, “Everywhere I Find Myself,” will be published by WordTech Communications’ Turning Point imprint in December of 2017.

What brought you to Japan? When did your interest in Japanese culture and art begin?

I went to Japan in 1977 because I was interested in Buddhism and ended up staying in the country for 16 years. My first connection with Japan was with a Japanese sculptress named Momoko who lived in my neighborhood when I was twelve. My father, who was studying for his M.A., was tutoring Momoko in English. She and my father were both attending Columbia University. When Momoko heard that I played the violin, she invited me to her home to play for her. She played violin as well. In appreciation, she sewed satin kimonos for my brother and I and hosted a sukiyaki party for our neighborhood friends. I think that was the beginning of my affinity for Japan.

The setting obviously influenced your content, did it influence your style? If so, how so?

When I lived in Japan, I was too busy to write. I was teaching English at a university and raising a family. I think I wrote a total of one poem during the 16 years I lived in Japan, something about strawberries. After I moved to Portland in 1993, I had more time to write. I think I’ve always been drawn to compression, an economy of words. I may have developed this style as a result of living in Japan where many art forms tend towards austere elegance, eschewing over-the-top emotional expression—i.e., haiku, ikebana, chado, butoh, etc. Even in daily conversation, the Japanese are apt to be measured and restrained as opposed to wordy and effusive. There is always an undercurrent of self-control in Japanese society which stems from the samurai code; and I imagine that my admiration for that sense of self-control manifests itself in my writing style. Many of my poems and lyric essays are tightly constructed with attention to every word. A friend of mine who has lived in Japan for many years says that, although my poems don’t adhere to the definition of haiku, they are very much of that genre. I think you can feel that in “Inokashira Park.”

Your use of alliteration is subtle, but clearly present. Is it an integral part of the poem to you? How does it serve the poem beyond an aural quality?

I am always conscious of the sounds of words when I write. In “Inokashira Park” sound was particularly important to evoke the rain—i.e., rain-dimpled, patterns, pitter-patter; a sense of quietude—i.e., nursery song, mothers, soothe, housebound; and a slide into dreamscape—i.e, flow, footbridge, white swan, ukiyoe, floating. The sounds are intended to soothe and draw the reader into the quiescence of my fleeting vision.

You do an excellent job of engaging our senses as readers. It is difficult to determine whether sound or imagery dominate in the piece. Was this balance carefully crafted? Do things seen and things heard evoke different poetic themes for you?

In “Inokashira Park” I worked harder than usual on sound imagery. The reader needed to hear the rain, the mother singing and the boats paddling on the lake. Generally, visual imagery serves as the primary impetus for my poetry and sound is secondary. In this poem, visual and auditory imagery were considered simultaneously. I think this accounts, in large part, for the poem’s success.

Tell me about the nursery song - what it's about, when you first encountered it, and what it means to you.

I had a good Japanese friend, a woman quite a bit older than I, who was kind of a surrogate mother figure. One day when she came to my house, she held my two-year-old daughter on her lap and sang “Amefuri (It’s Raining)” to her. This song (written by Kitahara Hakusyu in 1925) is sung by Japanese mothers to their children on rainy days. It’s comparable to “Rain, Rain Go Away, Come Again another Day” that American mothers recite to their children. In Amefuri, a child is delighted that her mother comes to meet her on a rainy day and that she gets to walk with her under the shelter of an umbrella while listening to the patter of the rain and splashing in puddles. I was touched by the image of my friend singing to my daughter, as if she were her own granddaughter. Somehow, this lovely scene rose up from memory and found its way into my poem.

The closing lines "I could dwell forever in this ukiyoe / moment, fragment of a floating world" are breathtakingly beautiful. Could you provide a brief take on the ukiyoe art style in your own words to provide our readers with some context? And if it's not to damaging to dissect, I'd love to hear what a "floating world" means to you.

Ukiyo-e was an art form that flourished from the 17th to 19th century in Japan. With the rise of the merchant class, participation in the arts flourished, and aspects of daily life—landscapes, beautiful women, Kabuki actors, erotica, etc.—were featured in woodblock prints. Utagawa, Hiroshige and Hokkusai are some masters of the genre. The word ukiyo means “floating” and “e” means painting. Ukiyo-e prints often depict “the floating world,” a world of pleasure, hedonism and beauty which is fleeting, like life itself. The term also suggests a world that is illusory, a kind of samsara. For me, the floating world is the dream-like state which takes us away from the cares of daily life. It is unsustainable because, while we are swept away in the joyful flow of the moment, we know we can’t hold onto it and that to try to do so will lead us away from spiritual growth. In that realization lies pathos. I wrote Inokashira Park after meeting with a Japanese poet who was helping me with some translation work. After our conversation in a lovely tea house by in the park, I stopped by the edge of the lake to savor the moment which suggested Japan of a by-gone era.

Are there more poems from your journeys in Japan? Or from travels elsewhere? Is there somewhere you haven't been that you'd like to visit for inspiration?

I have written many poems about Japan. Some are haiku-esque and others are critiques of Japanese society. I co-edited and published a book of Japanese poetry in 2014: Reverberations from Fukushima: 50 Japanese Poets Speak Out. I frequently write poems that have been inspired by cross-cultural encounters. Some of this work will appear in my forthcoming book: “Everywhere I Find Myself” which is scheduled to be published by WordTech Communications in 2017. I love to travel and look forward to visiting Budapest and Prague and Italy, hopefully, in the not-too-distant future. I have ethnic origins in Hungary and Italy so trips to these countries should be especially significant for me.

Tell us about your beginnings as a writer, as a poet, and as an editor.

As a young girl, I was an avid reader, and I think I experienced the full impact of the written word after I read Charlotte’s Web in grade school and Heart of Darkness in high school. I wrote poems of teenage angst, and in college I majored in English Literature and Philosophy. After getting an M.A. in English Literature, I worked as an editorial assistant in NYC. During my twenties, when I was working in publishing, I published some book reviews and a few magazine articles; however, I didn’t feel ready to write creatively. I knew that, although I had some facility with language, I really didn’t have anything profound to say. Then I moved to Japan to learn about Buddhism. A short stay turned into 16 years; and by the time I left that country, I had many things to write about. In Japan, I was too busy to even think of writing (although I did some editorial work there), but a few years after I moved to Portland, OR I joined a writing group and began to embrace my identity as a writer. I began writing creatively in my mid-40s, about two decades ago. I especially enjoy the editorial process and find it soothing after the initial burst of creative energy it takes to get something down on the page.

Your bio is chock full of literary projects. Give us the rundown on one which means a lot to you right now and why you're passionate about it.

At present, I am working on a collection of lyric essays. I have found that when I begin writing, I often feel compelled to say something that reveals my personal viewpoint. Poetry isn’t the best genre in which to express one’s opinion so I thought I should explore the lyric essay. This literary form will give me more leeway to examine issues but still be creative with language and format. In the future, I hope to collaborate more with other poets as well as with musicians and artists. I look forward to the day my older daughter (a painter), husband (a photographer) and I do a joint presentation on Japan.

Interview conducted by Stephen Krzyzanowski, September 2016.

[boldmistakes]

but the knights rose up & killed the kings (seblaine, 1/1)

summary: Sebastian Smythe was raised by a psychopath and mentored by a reformed assassin, so it was no wonder he went and fell for the kind of guy who ran off to take on a centuries-old terrorist organization by himself. It was just the pattern of his life, really. [Gallagher Girls AU] warnings: suicide, violence, death (not major character), mental manipulation, past torture, PTSD, allusions to child abuse; about as graphic as the teen series its based on, which is to say not very  notes: written for seblaine week 2017 day 2: spies/undercover. to be specific, an AU of Ally Carter’s Out of Sight, Out of Time. [24k] [A03]

“Take me with you.”

Sebastian drew Blaine to him, kissed him, bodies pressed together like a promise.

“I can’t,” Blaine said, pulling back, breathless, pink-cheeked, and frowning.

“You have to,” Sebastian replied urgently. “You can’t do this alone, Blaine.”

“I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.” Blaine touched the bandage curled around Sebastian’s neck, a white collar which spread down to wrap around his chest, covering up third-degree burns that had, yes, hurt like a bitch when he’d gotten them. “I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“You’ll be the one getting hurt if you go after them alone.”

Blaine hesitated, a flicker in his eyes, and Sebastian pounced on that weakness like had been trained to from the cradle.

“Take me with you,” Sebastian repeated, kissing Blaine again, sweeter. “You need me.”

Blaine’s hesitation collapsed, and he bowed his head, resting his forehead against Sebastian’s shoulder. He hugged Sebastian, and his shoulders shook.

“I do,” he said softly, Sebastian smoothing a hand over his trembling back. “I do.”

“Take me with you?”

Blaine nodded against his shoulder.

“Tonight. Midnight.”

Sebastian kissed him one last time.

--

That was the day Blaine Anderson disappeared without a trace. Sebastian was left behind.

Keep Reading on A03

--

Sebastian spent the summer searching for him.

A global manhunt based on no clues, just gut feelings, just pretending he actually knew Blaine. Apparently he didn’t because Blaine was nowhere, a ghost in a world of them, probably dead for all they knew.

Sebastian couldn’t think of Blaine rotting away in some shallow grave somewhere after being tortured for information by the Circle, by his --

He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

It was the kind of weakness he’d never allowed himself before, but sometimes he also felt that his whole infatuation Blaine had redefined strength in a way that left him nothing but weak.

The Sebastian of two years ago wouldn’t have cared about one dead teenager, spy or no.

The Sebastian of two years ago was sixteen years old and already had blood on his hands.

What was one more death to blame himself for?

--

Seventy-six days. Two and a half months. The length of Dalton Academy for Exceptional Youth’s summer break.

Come fall, students returned to the school’s hallowed halls in droves to continue their education. Dalton Academy taught its students only the most valuable skills, in art, language, math, history, science, and espionage. It was a premiere education; it simply also happened to fast-track one for a career in the CIA or some even more covert agency.

Sebastian thought Dalton was, in a word, quaint. But he’d had a much more intensive education.

Still, he slipped into that blue-and-red blazer come fall, and tried to pretend he wasn’t on house arrest, that he wasn’t being watched, that he still had the choice to walk off these grounds and continue his search.

Seventy-six days. Two and a half months. That was how long Blaine had been missing for.

--

Sebastian fit in at Dalton, well enough.

The classes were doable but interesting, both the physical and mental ones. He even had friends , as odd as it was to say. Mostly they were Blaine’s friends:

Tina Cohen-Chang, who was a chameleon, able to slip forgettably into any situation, and yet inexplicably also loud-mouthed and dramatic, prone to tears and shouting.

Quinn Fabray, a senator’s daughter composed of hard edges hidden behind a sweet smile, and terrifying good at manipulating people, a trait she credited to public school cheerleading.

Santana Lopez, a legacy spy who played with knives as a fashion statement and cut with words a dozen times sharper; her parents had been his babysitter over the summer and between Budapest and Greece and Brazil he gained a healthy respect for Santana’s toughness.

There were dozens of others. Blaine Anderson was the son of Dalton’s headmistress, decorated ex-CIA agent Pamela Anderson. (He was like, 90% sure that wasn’t her real name.) His older brother was infamous field agent Cooper Anderson. He was popular in his own right, the best of the best, a Dalton boy through and through. Smart, ambitious, driven. He also drew people to him, all honey. Friendly, sweet, kind .

Not exactly what you expected from a guy with actual high-level clearance who had been taught how to snap necks before he could legally drive.

When they’d first met, Sebastian’s job as visiting Carmel student to try and outfox the Dalton kids and see how they did in the real world, he had thought there was some trick to it. That Blaine was acting, that nobody could really be like that .

Turned out he was wrong. Sebastian was wrong about a lot of things. He lived.

After all, he also never thought Blaine would lie to him.

--

Two weeks after the school term began. Fourteen days. Ninety days.

An utterly normal day at Dalton Academy, Blaine Anderson came back.

--

Sebastian heard the ripples through the school, but he didn’t go looking.

The whispers were enough to build an idea of Blaine in his mind, like his own unwanted kind of echolocation. The resulting image wasn’t a pleasant one.

Damaged. Broken. Scary.

Santana caught up with him as he left his Diplomacy & Treaties class (actual lessons on peaceful resolution -- it was baffling.)

“He’s seriously fucked up,” she said, and he knew her well enough to see the tension at the edges of her otherwise stone face.

“Blaine’s a survivor,” Sebastian said. “He’ll be fine.”

Santana’s mouth twisted. “Yeah? Get back to me on that when you finally see him.”

Sebastian didn’t want to see Blaine. Seventy-six days of searching for him and fourteen more of pacing his cage like a circus tiger, and here he was, terrified of what waited for him somewhere in the otherwise placid halls of Dalton Academy.

Damaged, broken, scary, fucked-up. That was supposed to be Sebastian’s role. He had no idea how to take Blaine’s, how to be the stable one.

All he knew was that Blaine would be there for him.

No, he lied; he also knew that he wanted to help Blaine, however he could. That was all he had ever wanted.

He smothered a brief, unfair surge of anger at Blaine for leaving him behind, and went to find him.

--

“Hey, killer.”

Blaine did look awful. He had always been small, but now he was downright starved , with the same look to his eyes a wild animal caught in a trap might get. His hair was a mass of matted, bleached, white-blonde curls. Dark hollows ringed his wary gaze, and in the simple t-shirt and sweats it was easy to see the dark patterns of scars and wounds which broke up his too-pale skin.

He looked like he’d crawled his way out of that shallow grave.

“Sebastian.”

Blaine adjusted his stance, looking ready to flee. Sebastian kept his hands in his pockets, didn’t make sudden movements.

“What are you doing here?”

“I go here now,” Sebastian shrugged, and Blaine’s gaze flickered to his neck, no doubt staring at the thick pink scar which stretched out across his skin now. “They figured it’s for the best.”

Blaine said nothing. Curled his arms around himself. Became, somehow, smaller.

The door to the medical ward swung open, and Dr. Owen stuck her head out.

“Blaine? We’re ready for you now.”

Blaine nodded jerkily, and with a final look at Sebastian, rabbited inside.

--

Before Dalton, Sebastian attended Carmel Institute for Troubled Youth.

The name always made him chuckle. Troubled . Carmel found the cream of the crop, just as Dalton did. It just had a different flavour of cream. One attached to sealed records and dismayed parents of otherwise bright delinquents, the “ but he was such a good child” s of the world, happy to send their disappointments off, out of sight, out of mind.

Then Carmel took these crude lumps of clay and shaped them into the finest trained killers available for hire.

“You’re always guaranteed a job after graduation ,” he’d joked once to Blaine, who hadn’t found that very funny.

What could Sebastian say? He had a sense of humour, and it took more than brutal training to coax an assassin out of him to dampen it. Maybe it helped that unlike his peers, Sebastian had never been some petty delinquent. He had known from the start exactly what Carmel was, and what would be expected of him.

Simply put, Sebastian was a legacy .

Not that he’d wanted to be. Not that he’d wanted that life, wanted to be just another monster in the night. So in his attempts to find some way out from the trap tightening around him, he had turned to someone who had successfully done it: Hunter Clarington. Former student and teacher at Carmel, then later at Dalton as its Covert Operations professor. One of Blaine’s favourite teachers, apparently.

He was also a triple agent who had played both sides rather masterfully until he had been forced to make his allegiances clear. He and Sebastian had both done in that in the tombs beneath Carmel, in a true trial by fire.

Hunter wasn’t in a hospital though, nor the Dalton medical wing. No, Hunter was seen as a traitor, so he was hidden away in a hidden room in the walls of Dalton, the kind you only found after successfully navigating the warren of secret passageways.

It seemed lonely, but then again, loneliness was expected of their lives.

Sebastian still tried to visit, though Hunter was basically a vegetable, wrapped up like a mummy and coked up to his gills on painkillers, sustained purely by life-support. The doctors weren’t sure if he would wake up; Sebastian thought he would based on nothing but the time he had spent at the man’s side, learning from him, travelling the globe, trying to take the Circle down together.

Hunter Clarington was a mean old dog and it would take a little more than an explosion to stop him.

“Blaine’s back,” he told the unconscious figure.

The machines continued on steadily. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sebastian shook his head. Silly as it was, he had half-hoped that might suddenly bring the man back. Hunter had been best friends with Danilo Anderson, Blaine’s deceased father. Like Sebastian, he had been compelled to protect Blaine, another little thing they had in common.

(Blaine had been in those tombs too, and for some stupid reason, Sebastian had thought they’d succeeded and Blaine had come out of that labyrinth uninjured -- but obviously not every hurt was a physical one.)

“He’s … not okay,” he continued.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“I think …” Sebastian swallowed. “I think my mom got a hold of him.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The only mystery was why Blaine was still alive.

--

The Circle of Cavan was a centuries-old terrorist organization.

It had its fingers in every pie throughout the globe, controlling world events and politics and people with the ease of someone rearranging a chessboard. They were rich, powerful, and immensely dangerous.

They had killed Danilo Anderson, because he’d known too much, been trying to take them down.

They had tried ( tried? ) to kidnap Blaine, because they thought him his father’s son with his father’s knowledge.

They had cornered Sebastian, Blaine, and Hunter in the tombs that held Carmel’s secrets where they had been retrieving Danilo’s journal, and that had ended in Sebastian setting a burn room alight with him and Hunter in it to give Blaine time to run, run, run .

Sebastian’s mother, Camille Smythe, was one of their foremost hitters.

--

“Have you talked to him?”

Sebastian looked up as Tina sat next to him in the Grand Hall where meals were taken. It was lunch, so Sebastian would rather eat than talk, especially when they were required (per the board at the head of the room) to speak in German at this meal -- his was a little rusty.

“Hi, Tina, nice to see you too.”

“Cut the crap.” Tina looked pointedly down the table, where Blaine sat, alone. He had taken one look at Sebastian indicating the empty seat next to him and veered away. “ Blaine .”

Santana and Quinn settled next to them, also looking down the table at Blaine. Sebastian shrugged, taking a bite of his perfectly treated chicken. One thing he could say about Dalton: they spared no expense. The chef used to work in the White House, even.

“He’s talked to him,” Santana said shrewdly. “No way he hasn’t.”

“He isn’t talking to us,” Quinn reported. “He isn’t talking to anyone.”

“You think he could at least apologize,” Santana added.

“Apologize?” Sebastian finally gave up on lunch. “What’s he supposed to say? ‘Gee, Santana and pals, sorry I spent the summer getting tortured, but I did pick up some souvenirs -- who wants the snowglobe?’”

“He ran ,” Santana hissed. “Without us. Without anyone. He --”

“Got what he deserved?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow. He hoped it conveyed that only one of them had killed before. Santana quieted.

“I just want to know what’s going on with him,” Tina said softly. “I’m worried.”

“Blaine will talk when he’s ready to. He always has,” Quinn said.

“He doesn’t know,” Santana said abruptly. “He doesn’t know about this summer. About everything we did for him …”

“Tell him,” Sebastian advised, leaning into Santana. He knew that under her poison and her barbs she cared deeply. You just had to give her a kick in the ass.

“First I’d have to catch him.”

Sebastian looked at Blaine, but Santana was right; he was no longer there, and the doors to the Grand hall were swinging slightly. Sebastian changed tactics. Adapt to survive .

“Quinn’s right. He’ll come when he’s ready.”

He hoped he wasn’t lying to them.

--

“We’re getting a new CoveOps teacher.”

“Finally. Who’s it going to be?”

“Goodbye, Dr. Jesse!”

“I miss Mr. Clarington.”

“I don’t know, he was gorgeous, but he was a total dick.”

“I heard a rumour they’re bringing Agent Crawford back.”

“Oh, that would be even worse than Dr. Jesse … ”

“What about --”

Everyone was abuzz, but Sebastian paid it no mind. Whoever it was wouldn’t be as good as Hunter, and Sebastian only cared about learning from the best.

--

It was dinner in Arabic when Dean Anderson rose to her feet.

Sebastian watched her, more curious, as ever, about the woman who had raised Blaine than he was about anything else. She would have had the same training as his mother, but she was a whole different creature. Almost … silly.

She had always been kind to him. He could forgive silliness.

“Attention everyone,” she called, but the hall was already silent -- good spies paid attention. “As I’m sure many of you are aware, we’re getting a new CoveOps teacher today.”

Everyone looked between each other, excited eyebrows going up. Sebastian glanced at Blaine; he was huddled at the very end of the table, stabbing at his food.

“Dr. Jesse has served us well, but he’ll now be focusing on teaching Psychology.”

Dr. Jesse St. James smiled and waved at everyone. Sebastian shook his head. The only reason the doctor was here was to keep an eye on Sebastian. He was also a Carmel export, which found many uses in having someone who knew the ins and outs of the human psyche. Sebastian thought he was a dick, but he and Hunter were working together to dismantle Carmel. Hunter trusted him, as much as any of them could trust anyone, so Sebastian did too.

“Taking his place is, I’m very happy and proud to announce, my son …” everyone turned to stare at Blaine, who shrank back “... Cooper Anderson.”

The doors to the Grand Hall swung open with flair, and in strode an impeccably handsome man, the kind you found on billboards and silver screens. His blue eyes twinkled, his teeth flashed white, and as he walked by everyone, regardless of gender, craned their head and stared, stunned. When he reached the front of the hall he pivoted, grinned, and held up his hands.

“Please, please … hold the applause.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow as everyone laughed. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected Blaine’s brother to be like, but this wasn’t it. But should he be surprised? The polar opposite of Tina’s chameleon skills was to be a peacock. That had been Blaine’s talent; deliberately inviting attention to spin it to his benefit. Of course his older brother would be much the same.

Blaine had never been this … over the top with it, though.

“Students of Dalton!” Cooper called, once the students settled. “It’s a real pleasure to be here, where some of my biggest fans live, and to get to teach you some real life skills , if you know what I mean!”

Cooper winked broadly. Everyone was eating it up.

“So I’ll let you finish eating, but if you have any questions, want any autographs, I’ll stick around after dinner.” Cooper jerked both thumbs to himself. “Anderson. Cooper Anderson. Shaken, not stirred. Have a good night, everyone.”

Everyone applauded. Sebastian looked to Blaine, who was digging his fingers into his arms, expression ill. Frowning, Sebastian started to rise, concern overwhelming the desire to give Blaine space, but Blaine got up before he could and left. Sebastian slowly sat back down.

Hopefully having more family around would help Blaine, not hurt.

--

“I hear his mom found him in a brothel in Amsterdam …”

“Have you heard him? He just hums to himself. All the time. Totally weird.”

“Those marks on his arms … do you think they’re all inflicted by someone else?”

“No, he was found in a Mexican jail cell. He did something to get put there.”

“Did he run away, or was he kidnapped?”

“He’s not participating in P&E. He’s still too injured. They must be pretty bad … unless he’s faking it.”

“When’s his mom going to make him get a haircut?”

“He always breaks the rules. Remember when he dated that civilian? They had to bring in actual agents to interrogate him!”

“He’s just desperate for attention.”

“No, he was definitely found working for a home-grown terrorist cell, they had to deprogram him …”

“He’s going to cause trouble.”

--

Blaine was a ghost; sometimes it seemed he’d never returned.

He walked the halls lightly, keeping to himself; Sebastian watched him from a distance. Blaine didn’t socialize; he barely ate; he sat quietly in the back of each class and didn’t take notes. It was hard to tell if his wounds were healing under his Dalton uniform, but his gait was still one of shrinking injury. He had yet to do anything about his hair except wash it.

Sebastian wished he could do these things for Blaine, but he couldn’t.

--

CoveOps was held on Sublevel Three that day.

Sebastian paused as he entered the classroom, before moving to stand behind one of the tables. Each bore a long narrow crate; he knew what was inside. Hell, he’d known it was going to be something like his when the class was held somewhere this high security.

Blaine entered the class last. Took a spot in the back.

“So, Smythe,” Cooper said, gaze sharp as he took in Sebastian. “Know what they are?”

“Yes.”

“Care to share with the class?”

“No.”

Cooper nodded, then the sharpness faded as he looked over the class, winning smile back in place.

“Alright kiddos!” Cooper clasped his hands together. “Open up!”

They weren’t given tools but that wasn’t a problem. Spies were inventive. Sebastian soon had his crate pried open and stared down, resigned, at the ominous black rifle parts bedded in the straw.

He was years too old for this lesson, that was for sure. He glanced back at Blaine, who was staring blankly at the disassembled gun.

“Can someone tell me the difference between CoveOps and P&E?”

Quinn raised her hand. “It’s in the name. Protection and Enforcement is all about prevention. Protecting yourself. CoveOps is more active. Taking on operations, putting yourself into life-threatening situations.”

“Exactly. Ten points to Ms. Grace Kelly.” Cooper smiled at Quinn, then continued his slow pacing. “Can someone tell me why you haven’t learned about guns yet?”

“They’re … active,” Tina said. “They’re dangerous.”

“True, but that isn’t why they’re controversial. Blaine? Any ideas?”

Blaine was still staring at the rifle, didn’t even raise his head.  

“They make you lazy,” Santana interjected in a bored drawl. “If you need a gun at all, it’s probably too late to be safe.”

“Bam, you’re dead,” Sebastian added coldly, and everyone stared at him. Cooper cleared his throat.

“Yes. A good spy doesn’t need one, but they’re still useful to know. Just like you should always have a smooth jazz number tucked into your back pocket in case a Moroccan princess says she loves your voice -- tell you all about it later -- you --”

“Blaine!”

Nick’s shout made them all turn. In a sure grip Blaine was held a now-fully assembled semi-automatic, its dark branching shape gleaming dully under the light. It was pointed at the rest of the class.

“Blainey?” Cooper’s voice was soft.

Blaine looked up, some awareness leaching back into his eyes. His hands started to tremble.

Neutralize the threat , whispered his mother, or was that Hunter, or someone else entirely, himself. But this wasn’t a threat. It was Blaine.

“Blaine,” Sebastian said, trying to sound soothing as he took a step toward him. Eight feet away. “Just put it down ...”

He wasn’t sure if he was fast enough to disarm Blaine non-lethally if Blaine was about to do something very, very stupid.

“Blaine, it’s okay, you’re safe here …” he continued. Another step. Seven feet away. Tip a table, use it as a shield? Tell the class to get down. Now? Would that set Blaine off?

Sebastian was saved from having to make a choice when Blaine made a choked sound and dropped the gun with a clatter. Turning, he fled, by the sound of it headed straight for the elevator out of there.

Cooper chased after him, shouting his name; Sebastian went for the rifle, which he quickly disassembled, shaken himself. It had taken Blaine under a minute to put this together. That wasn’t studying in advance; that was familiarity. A killer’s ease.

Sebastian had thought Blaine entirely a victim in his time away, but what if …

--

There were rumours Blaine needed deprogramming.

Sebastian hadn’t believed them, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Blaine definitely wasn’t making the best case for himself.

--

After he left the class, Blaine apparently found himself on one of the main staircases.

Apparently, St. James had tried to catch his attention, ask what was wrong.

Apparently, Blaine had turned on him, wrapped both his hands around St. James’s neck and tried to strangle him over the balustrade.

Apparently, it had taken three others to pull him off, and St. James’s neck was purpled almost black now.

Apparently, Blaine had been carted away after that, and not seen since.

“He’s lost it,” Santana said, a catch to her voice. “What can we …”

“There, there,” said Brittany, a new transfer and, Sebastian suspected, becoming more than just a friend to Santana, as she ran a hand over Santana’s hair. “He’s just having a bad day.”

“A bad brain,” Tina corrected, eyes red-rimmed; she cried when she was worried, a terrible trait for a spy to have. “What’s wrong with him?”

What isn’t , Sebastian wanted to say, but it felt mean, so he tamped it down.

Blaine needed support right now, not judgement. Now if only Sebastian could give him the former when Blaine seemed to expect only the latter, running from each open hand like he expected a slap. What did they do to you , he thought to the absence of Blaine. Just how deep under your skin did they get?

--

Despite people claiming Blaine was on his way to a government blacksite to be locked away for treason, he was at breakfast the next day. He looked as small as ever, though, and with each hissed piece of gossip he shrank further.

Screw it , Sebastian thought, before picking up his tray and going to sit next to Blaine, setting his tray down with a clatter; Blaine’s eyes widened and he flinched back.

“Morning, tiger. Wonderful day in the neighbourhood, isn’t it?”

Blaine stared a few seconds before responding. “No, it’s not.”

“Aw. What’s going you down?”

Blaine’s expression twisted bitterly. “What do you think?”

“What, choking out St. James? We’ve all wanted to do that. He used to make us do vocal drills while we ran marathons.”

“What …” Blaine frowned. “Vocal drills? Like … left, right, left, right?”

“Songs. Marching ones, but he threw in some Top 40 when he felt creative.”

“Why on earth ..?”

“Music is deeply embedded in our brains. Connected to memory, our senses, our whole nervous system. Well -- according to him. So it’s probably bullshit.”

“I think I actually read something about that once in Scientific American .” Blaine’s eyes lit up with an old, familiar glow. Sebastian smiled fondly.

“You’re cute -- for a geek.”

“Hey …” Blaine laughed briefly, but it faded soon after, his whole form seemed to fade, like an overexposed photograph. “I have to see Dr. Jesse.”

“To apologize?”

“No. Well, yes. But.” Blaine took a deep breath, lowered his voice. “I have to talk to him.”

“Why?”

“I have to. Like a, a … therapy thing.”

“For the PTSD?”

Blaine blinked. “How do you know I have that?”

Sebastian stared at him, eyebrow raised silently. Blaine ducked his head, cheeks burning.

“You deserve help,” Sebastian finally said, reaching over to squeeze Blaine’s hand. He was heartened when Blaine didn’t immediately yank his hand away.

“I do?” Blaine shook his head. “I ...”

“Just try it out,” Sebastian urged. “Okay?”

“... Okay.”

--

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence.

It was the last time they ate together for a while: Blaine went back to avoiding him.

Sebastian tried not to let that hurt.

--

Weeks passed. Nearly three. Nineteen days.

Blaine’s sessions with St. James had to be paying off. He finally started to put on some weight again, and he walked a little taller. He was still withdrawn, but it was in this contemplative way. Doubtless, he had a lot to think about. Sebastian frequently puzzled over what secrets of the summer were locked behind Blaine’s deep glacier of silence; maybe Sebastian and their friends didn’t have the clearance to know. At least Blaine had someone he could talk to now.

Santana reported, however, that Blaine had started sleepwalking. That one night he’d come right to her, Tina, and Quinn’s room and knocked on it without even realizing he was there.

“Whatever Dr. Jesse is doing, I wish he’d do faster,” she had snarled.

Quinn later told him as they studied in the library together that Santana and Blaine had gotten into a huge blow-out after this late night visit. That ugly things were shouted from both sides, blame and insults and cold dismissals.

“Blaine’s gotten meaner,” Quinn finished off with.

“I don’t think so,” Sebastian said, and Quinn gave him a look

“You’re a little biased, aren’t you?”

Sebastian was suspicious. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We all know how you feel about him,” Quinn said pointedly.

Sebastian scowled. Oh great. Relationship talk. “I’d argue he doesn’t.”

Quinn set her books aside and leaned in. “You can’t honestly think that,” she said, like she thought Sebastian was telling an amateur lie.

Sebastian, feeling stupid and sulky and childish, slumped in his chair. “I’m just his buddy .”

“Look at this.” Quinn pointed to his scar; he caught her wrist, squeezing, but she didn’t flinch. “You were willing to die for him.”

Sebastian glared. “So?”

“ So ,” Quinn said, “don’t you think he knows that?”

Sebastian shrugged, not meeting her eye. Quinn shook her head and tugged her hand away.

“ Boys ,” she dismissed with a sniff. “All I’m saying is, there’s a reason Blaine didn’t take any of us, especially you, with him.”

“He should have, though,” Sebastian said, a little hoarser than he intended.

“Yeah.” Quinn sighed. “He should have.”

--

“Sebastian.”

He turned. St. James approached. His neck had healed up, voice clear as ever.

“What’s up, doc?”

“We’re going on a field trip.”

Sebastian stiffened. “To Carmel?”

“No.” St. James shook his head. “That’s crazy, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t do crazy.”

“You’re a shrink.”

“Other people’s crazy is fun.” St. James smirked. “No, we’re going to Clarington’s cabin.”

“What? Why?”

Hunter had a cabin hide-out, only a few hours away. Sebastian had been only once, and immediately decided he’d never live outside a city. There were, like, bugs out there.

“For Blaine Anderson’s treatment.”

“His ... what?”

“We know he stopped by there before he took off on his little jaunt --”

“They investigated. Said there was nothing there.”

Sebastian had been in Buenos Aires at the time, not with the Lopezes, not with anyone, two weeks to chase his own, personal leads.

“Yes, but we’re hoping that if we take Blaine there it will bring something back.”

“Why would he need stuff brought back?”

St. James tilted his head to the side, actually smirking. The dick. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“He doesn't remember what he did over the summer,” St. James said. “Not a thing. The last thing he remembers is leaving Dalton -- everything after that is gone until he woke in a convent in the Alps in September.”

“The Alps ?” Sebastian gaped. “He has amnesia ?”

“Trauma can do that to a person.”

“Why didn’t he …”

“Say something?” St. James shrugged. “He’s a very private individual, isn’t he? You have to admire it. I hate when people talk about themselves too much. I’ve personally been called stoic yet charming in a Clark Gable kind of way ...”

“Again, you’re a shrink. People are supposed to whine at you.”

St. James dismissed that with a wave of his hand.

“Just get ready to leave tomorrow morning for the cabin.”

“Why am I coming?”

Had Blaine asked for him? Hope bubbled up.

“I’m your handler. Sebastian. Where I go, you go.”

Sebastian nodded, and suppressed his disappointment.

--

Early next morning, Sebastian Dean Anderson, Cooper, St. James, Blaine, and the girls piled into a van for the drive to Hunter’s cabin.

As he slumped back in his corner, earbuds in but music quiet, Sebastian observed how Blaine interacted with his friends.

Tina was full of false cheer, trying to offer possible amnesia cures and reassuring Blaine that it was only a matter of time until something sparked.

Quinn was as level-headed as ever, talking about assignments and gossip about other students, treating this like any other op.

Santana was fiery and icy at turns; either making snide comments about Blaine’s decision not to tell them about his amnesia or freezing him out.

Blaine all but ignored them, answering only the most direct questions and then only in short, clipped phrases. He kept looking at St. James, who gave him a reassuring nod or two that helped Blaine settle down.

Sebastian wondered what, exactly, they discussed in therapy.

Was Blaine only bothered by the fact that he couldn’t remember what to be bothered by? Or was there more going on than St. James had let on to? Were there flashes of memory? Scars that told a story? New information found?

Hopefully the cabin would provide answers.

--

Sebastian let everyone enter first in case of ambush (some habits died hard; particularly when they worth keeping alive to keep you alive) and circled the cabin, looking around at the quiet woods.

It actually felt too quiet, but that was likely down to their presence; a big old van driving up tended to scare off the critters who saw human activity very rarely. Still, he wanted out of there ASAP. Isolated spots like this were great for assassins to work in. When your target has nowhere to run, no one to help them, they’re more likely to give up.

Another lesson: Every spy who dies gave up in some way. There’s always a way out.

When he finally joined the group, they were reviewing Hunter’s security tapes, watching the recordings of Blaine’s visit. It was mundane things, making dinner, reading, adding to his go bag. At the end of the tape, Video Blaine noticed the camera and destroyed it. Smart. Not useful for them now, but smart.

Cooper leaned back, kicked his feet up, tucked his hands behind his head; Sebastian wondered if he’d been to Hunter’s cabin before, or if he just treated everywhere like his own personal abode.

“Tell us why you came here, Squirt.”

“I don’t know,” Blaine snapped; Sebastian was sure everyone noticed the nervous energy building up in his tense shoulders. “I don’t remember .”

“Not what I asked. Why, of all the places you could go, would you come here?”

Blaine looked around the cabin, taking a few deep breaths. Sebastian followed his gaze, frowning. Something wasn’t right …

“I left without supplies, without a plan. I had to go somewhere I knew to prepare.”

“Hunter’s stash was half-empty,” the dean confirmed. “Money, papers, weapons, all gone.”

There was a brief silence laid over with the memory of Blaine easily assembling that semi-automatic in CoveOps; Blaine looked ill.

“Was this really the only place?” Quinn asked hastily. “It seems too obvious.”

“Maybe there was something else …” Blaine made a frustrated sound. “Mr. Clarington hid so much from us.”

And right then, they couldn’t ask the man for help. Sebastian kept looking, determined that when Hunter woke up he would hear Sebastian had done good work, and then with a raise of his eyebrow he spotted something.

“Sebastian?” Sebastian looked over. The dean was looking expectantly at him. “What do you see?”

Sebastian went to one spot in the wall he’d noticed, a paler knot of wood, and pressed with his hand, running it along the faint seam that appeared. He hit a pressure point, pushed, and then pried the loose board free. The hiding spot behind it was empty.

Cooper frowned. “What was in there?”

“I don’t know,” Sebastian said with a shrug. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“If only Mr. Clarington was awake --”

“That isn’t Hunter’s hiding spot,” the dean said, voice soft. “That was … the kind Dan always used.”

They all fell silent, staring at the hole. Its dark rectangle looked almost coffin-like now, an omen from the past. Blaine stepped forward, jaw tight, and reached inside, running his fingers in search of something, anything . This close, Sebastian could smell the Dalton-issued soap he’d used in the shower, except Blaine had never used to be standard anything. So much had changed ...

“I must have found whatever it was,” Blaine said, turning on them, a little wild-eyed. “It was dad’s … it was probably about the Circle!”

“Are you remembering anything?” Tina asked eagerly, but Blaine shook his head impatiently.

“No, no but it had to have been!”

“I don’t know what Dan would have hid there,” the dean said, doubtful.

“And now we’ll never know.” Blaine started to pace, his excitement faded into furrowed brows and tense, jumping fingers. “I lost whatever it was, just like I lost his journal.”

“It isn’t your fault, sweetie,” the dean said, Cooper nodding and reaching out, but Blaine jumped away from their reassurance.

“Yes it is!” Blaine ran a and through his bleached curls. “I ran away, I took them, they got lost, it’s all my fault .”

“Calm down Blaine,” St. James tried, voice gentler than Sebastian had ever heard from him before, but it just set Blaine off. With a final, almost animalistic sound he spun and marched off, shoving the door open and leaving it swinging behind him as he headed for the woods.

“I don’t know about all you,” Santana said, “but I’m getting real sick of pint-sized Jason Bourne there flouncing off!” She headed for the door too, shouting, “GET BACK HERE, PUSSY!”

Tina and Quinn made to follow, but St. James touched their shoulders.

“Let them work it out,” he said. Cooper took his mother by the arm, sitting her down at Hunter’s small table and murmuring to her and rubbing her back; she looked a little shaken. Sebastian, tired of the tension and feeling restless, headed to the door but St. James tried to stop him too. “Sebastian …”

“No worries, doc,” Sebastian threw over his shoulder. “I’m going to walk the perimeter. Leave the emotional blowouts to people who have feelings.”

St. James let him go, looking like he’d roll his eyes if he were a decade younger, and Sebastian was soon wandering the woods. It was cool out there, late autumn bringing colourful leaves down to paint a thick springy carpet across the forest floor. It was still quiet, but at least some birds were chirping their little songs. At one point Sebastian spotted one of Hunter’s traps; a thin wire stretching ankle-height between two trees, no doubt connected to an incendiary or a sawed-off shotgun.

Chuckling -- the mean old dog could keep biting even in a coma -- he stepped over it and continued deeper in the wood. It was almost … peaceful.

Maybe some time living alone wouldn’t be so bad. Last time he’d been here he’d been so angry it was hard to appreciate the silent beauty of the trees, the rise and fall of the hills, the crisp, clean quality of the air …

A gunshot sounded.

Sebastian straightened, looking around with narrowed eyes, ears pricked.

Rifle. Hunting one. But he doubted it was someone after game. At least, not the animal kind.

Still keeping watch, he crouched, retrieving the blade he kept strapped to his ankle. Hiding even a single weapon from the keen eyes of the Dalton staff was a feat worthy of the best agent out there, but Sebastian was glad for the effort as he palmed the blade and began a slow stalk through the woods. They were likely shooting at Santana and Blaine. Only one shot; unless it had been very lucky, at least one was still alive.

Another gunshot. Scratch that.

Judging by how it echoed, at least seventy yards away. South. Wind was blowing that way; good. It would cover his approach.

Walking carefully, not making a sound, he headed back toward the cabin.

A third gunshot. Maybe the gunman wasn’t having any luck.

Was that Santana, shouting Blaine’s name? He eyed the hill between him and the gunshots and started to climb. He reached the top before long, peering over cautiously.

Fourth gunshot. Different weapon. A shotgun. Hunter’s trap? More to the west. Thirty yards.

Sebastian resisted the urge to run. Kept his even pace, his breathing steady. As he got closer he slipped behind a tree. Listened. A murmur of voices. That was St. James:

“I was worried about you, Blaine, I came to check on you -- ah , don’t poke it, I’ll just keep the pressure on, done this a hundred times before …”

Then, Blaine: “It’ll be okay Dr. Jesse, don’t worry.” Voice low. Alert. Keeping watch.

Blaine was alive. That was good. There was no relief, though. There was nothing but his training. Where was the assailant?

“Watch out!” St. James suddenly shouted.

Grunts. Skin meeting skin. Close combat. The gunman must have been disarmed. Ten yards.

Sebastian looked around the tree slowly. There was a strange man dressed in camo meeting Santana blow for blow -- but good as she was she had little real-life experience. Sebastian stepped out, ready to help. The gunman dropped Santana, was drawing his hand back, something glinting in his hold. Sebastian was running, his own blade ready, bury it into the thick web of muscle in his back, twist, get him to drop the knife, jerk it out, grab his head, yank it back, slit his throat --

Fifth gunshot. The rifle. The gunman fell back, gurgling wetly. Hit the ground. Went still.

Sebastian looked up. Blaine stood there, stance braced, rifle trained on the dead assailant. Sebastian exhaled slowly.

“Blaine!”

Tina and Quinn were suddenly there; Quinn went to help St. James, whose arm was bleeding from a starburst shotgun blast pattern; Tina took one look at the body and started to gag, turning to a bush as her shoulders heaved. Blaine kept the gun steady. Santana crawled away from the body, eyes wide, face splattered red. Sebastian tucked his knife away then approached from the side. Movements calm and steady, but loud enough to announce his presence.

Blaine didn’t so much as twitch.

“Blaine.” Sebastian reached out, curled his hand around the warm barrel of the rifle. “Put the gun down.”

Blaine blinked slowly, but otherwise gave no indication he’d heard Sebastian.

“Blainey!” That was Cooper. “Put down the gun. It’s safe now.”

Blaine flinched, and hesitantly lowered the weapon. Sebastian took it, though he didn’t bear the familiar weight long before Cooper was claiming it. Sebastian released it gladly; he didn’t think Cooper trusted him with a weapon, but he didn’t blame the guy.

“We need to go,” Sebastian said, watching the way Blaine’s gaze remained glued to the man he’d killed. “He might have back-up.”

Cooper nodded, wrapping an arm around Blaine. He tugged his little brother away to join Quinn and St. James, as their mother came to hug Blaine from the other side, a worried hand cupping his face. Sebastian’s gaze lingered on Blaine a moment longer, then he looked for Santana and Tina. Santana had run a hand over her face; the blood was smeared. Crouching, she was running her hands over the corpse.

“Santana,” he said sharply as he came over. “Leave it.”

“He might have something on him --”

“He’s a professional. He won’t have anything except backup. Unless you want to die, move .”

Santana nodded and rose, but still needed Sebastian to tug her arm and direct her to the waiting group, St. James and Quinn meeting her halfway there and murmuring to her, Quinn taking her by the hand. All that was left was Tina, who was staring not at the body but Blaine, face pale.

“Come on, Cohen-Chang. Move it.”

“Blaine killed him,” Tina said weakly. “He killed him.”

“Yes,” Sebastian said. Tina looked at him, mouth wobbling dangerously. God help him if she started to cry. Blaine would probably get mad at him if he slapped her. “You see that body? He wasn’t a good man. He deserved to die. We’re happy he’s dead. Understood?”

“We’re … happy …?”

“Yes, happy.” Sebastian nodded, and Tina automatically nodded too. Satisfied he had her, he touched her shoulder and showed her along.

They left the body in the woods. A clean up crew would be by later.

It would be like it had never happened.

--

Someone knocked on his door.

Sebastian considered ignoring it, his hand sliding down to his ankle knife.

“Sebastian, it’s me. Pam.”

He couldn’t shut out the school’s dean and mother to his -- well, whatever the hell Blaine was to him.

“Come in.”

He got up, moving out of the way of a direct attack. She entered, shutting the door behind her. She zeroed in on his placement in the room.

“You’re a very careful boy, aren’t you Sebastian?”

“All Carmel students are, Dean.”

She looked around and he knew what she saw. How bare his quarters were, how he had covered up the window. No tells or sightlines made for a cosy room, if you asked Sebastian.

“Please, call me Pam.”

That was informal. Insubordinate . “Are you sure?”

“You’re more than just a student, dear.” Now her trained gaze gave him a once-over. “Are you okay?”

Sebastian crossed his arms. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s been a stressful time for you.”

“It’s been a stressful time for you too,” he countered.

“These are stressful times,” she agreed, smoothing down her dress. She was nervous. “I’m worried about Blaine.”

Sebastian relaxed. They had that in common. “We all are. Pam.”

“He’s not -- right. He loses time. He doesn’t remember the things he’s doing. He sleepwalks. I know PTSD. Every agent knows that. But this …”

Sebastian nodded slowly. “Does he need deprogramming?”

“I don’t know. We’re not sure what he’s been programmed for .”

That seemed obvious to Sebastian. “To serve the Circle.”

“But how? Why? We don’t know these things.” She frowned, then waved a hand. “But that’s talk for a higher clearance. I need to ask a favour of you, Sebastian.”

“You could just order me.”

“You’re more than just a student,” she repeated, then smiled crookedly. “And I don’t think you’re so good at doing what you’re told.”

Sebastian smirked at that. It was true, and damned if he didn’t take it as a compliment.

“So what’s this favour?”

“We’re holding a meeting tomorrow morning. I want it to remain undisturbed.”

Sebastian saw through that.

“They’re going to talk about Blaine. About whether he’s been compromised. You don’t want him knowing about it.”

She nodded, almost shame-faced. “I’m going to tell them they’re wrong.”

“I’ll do it,” Sebastian said. “The last thing Blaine needs is to hear people doubting him.”

“I’m glad you understand.” She looked up at him, gaze sincere. “I’m asking because I know you look out for him.”

“I try. When he lets me.”

Pam smiled, gave his hand a squeeze, and left.

--

Blaine and his mother were very close.

Sebastian thought it was sweet. Sometimes he was jealous, admittedly. His dad had been a mystery to him, and his mother would never win any parenting awards.

But Blaine deserved a good relationship with his mother. Especially after losing his dad. Danilo Anderson was dead, Sebastian was sure of that, but after ninety days of having no clue where Blaine was he better understood why Blaine clung to the things he did.

His mother. His dad’s journal. His dad’s noble quest. And … his dad’s empty grave.

Maybe if there had been a body, Blaine wouldn’t have run away. Maybe he wouldn’t be so damned secretive. Maybe he would have given up on chasing the Circle.

Maybe he would be safe.

--

Next morning, two days after the incident in the woods, Sebastian caught up with Blaine in one of the study rooms.

All thoughts of Pam’s favour briefly flew from his mind at the sight of him. Oh, he could tell Blaine somehow knew about the meeting and was off to investigate. But sometime since the woods Blaine had cut his hair, dyed it black, and gotten back to gelling it. With his weight and colour returning he looked halfway to normal.

You just had to ignore the look of quiet horror in his eyes.

“Looking good, sexy.”

Blaine looked over, blushed. Touched his hair. “Quinn and Tina helped dye it back.”

“They do good work.”

Sebastian came over and ran a finger over the curve of Blaine’s ear, and Blaine’s lashes lowered briefly at the touch. Sebastian wished he could kiss him, but now wasn’t the time.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m an early riser. Wanted to get some studying done.”

Blaine stepped away. “Without books?”

Sebastian smiled innocently. “What kind of spy carries books?”

“My mom sent you, didn’t she?” Blaine scowled. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“So you’re not going to see what’s up with those two limos that just drove up?”

Blaine glared at him then turned and approached the unlit fireplace. He ran his fingers along the mantle, and there was a distinctive click. The fireplace slid back into the wall and then to the side with a grinding sound, revealing a dark hole in the wall.

Dalton’s secret passageways. You had to love them.

“You shouldn’t go,” Sebastian told him. “Some things you aren’t meant to hear, tiger.”

Blaine continued to ignore him, and dove into the passage. Sebastian followed him, stooping. It was a low ceiling, and as the fireplace moved back into place behind them it became pitch-black, like they’d been swallowed by a giant lazy snake. But he could hear Blaine’s breathing, and he trusted the guy who had all but lived at Dalton since he was twelve and knew all its secrets to lead the way.

“We’re heading … west,” Sebastian said. “This leads to Hunter’s room.”

“Yeah.” Blaine finally spoke, voice echoing. “I wish he would wake up …”

“He will,” Sebastian said confidently. “Just you wait.”

A long silence. Then, “I wish I had your faith.”

“I’m no believer,” Sebastian told him with a snort. “I’m just very good at people.”

“Was that your specialty? At Carmel?”

Blaine hadn’t learned from Sebastian about the training Carmel did. He learned it from Hunter when they’d been sneaking into the institute’s grounds, and he hadn’t been happy to hear it (relatively) second-hand. He also knew Blaine struggled with the idea of Sebastian’s bloody destiny, which was why Sebastian hadn’t wanted to tell him.

“You don’t want to know what my specialty was.”

Blaine fell silent again. They came to another passageway after Blaine pushed open a sliding panel. This path was lit, and familiar; left led to Hunter’s room (Sebastian could hear the beep, beep, beep from here) but Blaine went right. They were headed for the dean’s office. Along the way Blaine began to hum to himself, a tune Sebastian couldn’t quite place.

Hopefully he was thinking this crazy plan over, but knowing Blaine, he wasn’t.

“Pam really didn’t want you to hear this, Nancy Drew,” Sebastian said, once they were close.

Blaine sent him an unreadable look. “Since when do you call my mother ‘Pam’?”

“Since she asked me too. What can I say? I’m catnip to the Anderson clan.”

Blaine grimaced, then ordered: “Hush.”

Sebastian smirked. “Can’t handle the truth?”

“No, hush, we’re nearly there.”

Sebastian sighed, but obeyed. He didn’t want to get Blaine in trouble, or Pam knowing he failed his mission. He joined Blaine against the wall, where Blaine was pressed against pinprick holes that led into the dean’s room.

Knowing it was a bad idea, Sebastian listened in too.

--

“Where the Circle is involved, the CIA always has a leak.”

“The real concern is the fact that that boy is always leaving school grounds.”

“Blaine is not the problem.”

“We should be asking less if it’s dangerous for him to leave … but if it’s dangerous for him to stay.”

“Blaine is not dangerous.”

“The corpse sitting in the morgue at Langley might care to disagree.”

“That was self-defense!”

“ This time.”

“And the Circle wants to kill him. They’ve decided he’s finally disposable. Danger is following him no matter what.”

“He’s a threat no matter what. He’s been compromised --”

“We don’t know that!”

“When the Circle had him --”

“ If the Circle had him --”

“Maybe they never had him. Maybe they sent him back. Sent him back with an agenda.”

“Blaine is no double agent.”

“We don’t know anything, Pamela. Your son ran away, and I think we’re all very interested in exactly who came back.”

--

Blaine was running again. Sebastian, exasperated, chased him.

Through the passage, up a narrow zigzagging flight of stairs, to a gable room with a window with a large stained glass design akin to the school crest. It painted the room blues and reds with pale dawn light. Blaine was pacing, and Sebastian sighed, relieved to see he had stopped.

“If you run out of every situation, it ruins the drama of it, you know.”

“I’m not in the mood for jokes, Sebastian.”

“That wasn’t a joke. It was a pithy observation.”

Blaine looked like he wanted to drag his hands through his hair but he remembered it was now gelled. Instead he left his hands hovering in the air and turned on Sebastian to snap, “Why are you even here?”

“Well, I wanted to go to Vegas and count cards, but according to the government I need a high school diploma.”

“Be serious!” Blaine ordered, almost desperate, a streak of red light across his eyes. “For once, can you just answer a damn question?”

“What, exactly, is the question?”

“Why did you follow me!”

“Because I wanted to.” Sebastian stepped closer; Blaine stepped back. A purgatory of a dance. “Because you needed me to.”

“I don’t need that,” Blaine insisted, arms wrapping around himself.

“Yes you do.” Sebastian smiled, a little weakly. “Who else will let you yell at them like this?”

Blaine flinched, shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I’m not mad at you,” he said, voice briefly retreating from his angry tones, revealing vulnerability underneath. “Not really. I’m -- I’m furious with myself.”

“Why?”

Blaine’s anger returned, drifting even further into the array of red. Further away from Sebastian.

“I killed someone.”

Sebastian refused to let that stand. “And why did you do that?”

Blaine glanced away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re not stupid, killer , so don’t act like it.”

Blaine stepped back like he’d been slapped, jaw dropping. “Don’t call me that!”

“I thought that’s what you were,” Sebastian sneered. “A killer. No if s, and s, or but s.”

“I --”

“ Or ,” Sebastian continued, overriding him, tone gentling, “you had a reason. What was that reason?”

Blaine’s shoulders slumped. “To save Santana.” He started to pace, weaving in and out of the colours, energy rolling off him in waves. Sebastian, seeing he’d found a fracture point, continued to hammer it.

“So do you think shooting someone to save a friend is the exact same as the person you shot hunting two teenagers through the woods?”

“No!” Blaine ran a hand over his face, mumbled something against his hand, before he dropped it to continue aloud. “But I still did it. And I -- I don’t want to justify it.”

“Then what do you want?”

“To not be a killer. To not have that man’s and god knows who else’s blood on my hands!”

Sebastian walked up to Blaine, curled his hands around his shoulders, squeezing when Blaine flinched. He looked down at Blaine, trying for stern but landing on sad. “Then tell me: why didn’t you let me do it?”

Blaine’s breath caught. “What?”

“I would have killed him. I was going to kill him.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I would kill anyone for you.”

It wasn’t a huge declaration to Sebastian. It was simply a fact.

Blaine shook his head, denial crossing his features, mouth working silently for a moment. “You wouldn’t --”

“I would.”

“Does killing not matter to you?” Blaine tried to tug himself away, but Sebastian didn’t let go. “Is it that -- that meaningless ?”

“No,” Sebastian said, a brief flare of his own anger curled in his gut. “It matters. I know it matters.”

Blaine’s eyes widened, and they took Sebastian in as if seeing him for the first time. As if remembering just how Sebastian had earned his perspective. It changed something in him, unsteady and broken free.

“I don’t even remember doing it,” Blaine finally confessed.

“Killing him?”

Blaine nodded. “Or -- or picking up the gun. We were in the woods and he attacked and then -- you were there, taking the gun away.” He exhaled shakily. “You were there the whole time, weren’t you?”

“I was.”

“You’re always there …”

Sebastian said nothing. Blaine pulled away from his grasp and this time Sebastian let him go, watching the antsy clench and release of Blaine’s fists, dappled in blues and greens.

“I don’t remember doing it …” he spoke quietly. Then: “They’re right.”

Sebastian bit back an aggravated sound. “They aren’t right.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because they don’t know you.”

“And you, and mom, and Cooper, and my friends …” Blaine listed off each one like they hurt. “They’re all too close to this. To me .”

“Right.” Sebastian pointed vaguely in the direction of the office. “What the hell do you think their opinion on me is? Would you listen to that?”

It occurred to him Blaine very well could, but it was too late. The words were already out there.

“No …” Blaine turned back, and then his hand was there, sliding along Sebastian’s neck, fingertips tracing the line of his scar. Sebastian shivered. “But you’ve proven yourself.”

“So have you.” Sebastian caught Blaine’s hand, drew it to his mouth, kissed his fingertips. Blaine breathed in, out. Wet his lips. Looked away, then back. Asked:

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

“Never.”

Blaine’s expression crumpled. “I wish I had that faith in myself.”

“Until you do, you have me,” Sebastian promised, and then suddenly Blaine was pressed against him, a surging wall of heat that zeroed in on their joined mouths as they kissed, a deep kiss, the kind they hadn’t shared since Blaine had run away. Sebastian let go of Blaine just to draw him closer, arms around him, hand pressed against the wing of Blaine’s still too-sharp backbone, sure he could feel his beating heart through the clothes and skin and muscle and bone. Blaine shuddered in his arms, pulled back, pressed his forehead to Sebastian’s chin.

“Don’t go,” he asked, so low Sebastian almost didn’t hear.

It wasn’t the kind of promise spies could make. Sebastian didn’t care.

“I won’t,” Sebastian replied, and he wanted to ask the same, wanted to remind Blaine that he was the one who always did the leaving, but he knew it wasn’t important. Blaine had asked, and in doing so, he’d made what he needed clear.

Sebastian kissed him again, and despite everything, things felt -- right.

--

Sebastian wasn’t even sure how many days it had been since he and Blaine first met.

It had become a matter of countlessness based purely on the fact that Sebastian had no plans to ever say goodbye. What was the point of keeping track?

So he could be forgiven for a bit of exaggeration when he said that it had been forever and a half of them dancing around each other to finally, finally be -- official.

Official … boyfriends? Jesus.

Whatever you would call it. Sebastian had certainly never done this before, and Blaine’s one try at it hadn’t been so hot, so they were both just fumbling along.

Well. Fumbling could be nice. Thank god they both had single dorms.

--

Sebastian was in the middle of learning all the pretty little sounds he could coax out of Blaine without their clothes coming off when a knock came to the door.

“Blainey Days!”

“Go away,” Sebastian growled, then added to Blaine, “I knew we should have gone to my room.”

“Your room creeps me out. I feel nervous about snipers.”

“The whole point of the window being covered is so you aren’t nervous.”

“Yeah, it has the opposite effect.”

The door swung open. Sebastian groaned and rolled off Blaine, who sat up, adjusting his shirt and tugging a pillow over his lap.

“Took you that long to pick a lock?” Sebastian asked, sitting up himself. Tina glared as she tucked her hairpins away

“I was giving you time to get decent.”

“Sebastian? Decent? Now there’s a joke.” Santana followed Tina in, with Quinn, who laughed at her comment.

“I don’t recall inviting the peanut gallery,” Sebastian complained.

“Your loss,” Santana said, and perched herself on Blaine’s desk. “We have a surprise for you.”

“And it couldn’t wait until morning?”

“Yeah guys,” Blaine said. “You know I love you all but it’s nearly midnight.”

Tina took a deep breath. “It’s about your summer away.”

That chilled the mood. Sebastian got to his feet, arms crossing as he hovered over Tina.

“What is it?”

Tina flinched.

“Sebastian?” He looked at Santana. “Back off.”

Her tone was understanding. Sebastian took a deep breath, nodded, and sat back on the bed. Blaine grabbed his hand, and squeezed it.

“What did you find, Tina?” Blaine asked.

“Remember when we were at Mr. Clarington’s cabin?” Tina reached into the bag she’d brought and pulled out a stack of … flyers. “I grabbed his mail before we left. I thought, I don’t know, there would be a clue.”

“And she’s just nosy,” Quinn said; Tina threw a flyer at her, then handed Blaine an envelope on top of the stack. Blaine gasped.

Sebastian leaned over, and his eyebrows went up.

The letter was addressed to Hunter (under an alias) and judging by the postage it came from Rome. And the sender was … Blaine Anderson.

“Are we sure this is yours?”

“Oh, definitely,” Tina said. “I’d recognize Blaine’s cute little loops anywhere.”

Sebastian didn’t recognize Blaine’s handwriting. That was an oversight. He’d fix it.

Blaine took a deep breath.

“We should take this to my mom.”

--

The letter contained … souvenirs. A handsome watch for Blaine, a necklace for his mom.

Still, it was all they had. And it served as an arrow, pointing the way. Blaine was going to Rome to see what it sparked in his memory. Going with him was Cooper, his friends, and Agent Crawford, who was an MI6 agent Sebastian had never met though he knew him by reputation.

Sebastian would not get a chance to meet him, because Sebastian was not allowed to go.

“Blainey’s not the only one the Circle wants to get a hold of,” Cooper pointed out. “And Sebastian’s not allowed to go anywhere without St. James, but we can’t make this an official trip.”

So Sebastian was once again left behind as Blaine jetted off.

This time though? He wasn’t taking it lying down.

--

Rome was beautiful. He almost appreciated it.

Last time he’d been here, he had been with Hunter. He’d been taught about the world of art crime in between hunting down their enemies, touring galleries and museums and getting lessons on actual art on the side. He liked that about Hunter. No one would ever call him nice , but he saw that Sebastian lacked education in the finer things in life, and found a way to teach him that wasn’t condescending.

Before that, his last trip to Rome had been with his mom. She’d handed him a pair of pliers and told him, “I’ll hold him down while you do the work. ”

Hell of a thirteenth birthday present, that was for sure.

Sebastian shook off the memories. He had tracked Blaine down to their safehouse, and sat outside for hours, perched on the roof opposite. But night had fallen and the lights were off so everyone was likely asleep. He was thinking about going for a walk to stretch his legs when the front door swung open. Sebastian shrank back down. Blaine was leaving, but something wasn’t right. His gait was slow and awkward, and his clothes looked wrong (Sebastian was like, 99% sure that was Tina’s shirt. Blaine didn’t wear skulls.)

Sleepwalking . Blaine was in the habit now.

With a sigh, Sebastian climbed down the fire escape and followed Blaine, leaving some space as he tailed him. He didn’t exactly want Blaine to know he was in town, because then Cooper and Agent Crawford would send him right back. Blaine might also call him clingy .

So. Healthy distance. Sebastian followed for nearly six blocks, Blaine wandering the sidewalks, seemingly aimlessly. All seemed fine ...

Then Blaine walked right into oncoming traffic. Jesus christ .

“Blaine!”

Sebastian broke into a run, legs eating up the distance between them in a few breaths as horns blared until he could slam into Blaine, grabbing him and yanking him back onto the sidewalk. They fell down in a painful tangle, and Blaine made a groggy sound.

“Sebastian ..?”

“Jeez, babe,” he said, a little winded. “You were never taught to look both ways?”

“Where are we ?” Blaine sat up, frowning down at him. “Why aren’t you at school?”

Sebastian only raised his eyebrows, and with a sigh Blaine clambered off him, offering Sebastian a hand up. As he got up, Blaine abruptly asked,

“Where were you those two weeks in summer?”

Sebastian’s eyebrows stayed up. “How did you hear about that?”

“Santana told me. Where were you?”

Blaine was sounding distrustful. Sebastian didn’t like that.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I was with someone in Rome, apparently, some guy --”

“Some guy?” Sebastian scowled against a burst of stupid, petty jealousy. “Hot date?”

Blaine frowned back. “It wasn’t you?”

“No. If I found you, you really think I’d have let you run off again?” Sebastian shook his head. “I … went looking for my mom. Bad idea. Okay?”

Blaine stared at him inscrutably, gaze still a little muggy with sleep, then nodded.

“Fine.” Blaine looked around him, orienteering himself and humming thoughtfully, and then started to walk. Away from the safehouse. Sebastian caught up again, baffled and tired.

“Where are you going?”

“This way.”

“The safehouse is the other way.”

“I have to go this way …”

Blaine sounded out of it; Sebastian peered into his eyes, but he was awake, if a little dreamy-eyed. Lost in thought? In memory ?

Shrugging, Sebastian decided to go with it.

--

Blaine led them to the U.S. Embassy. Of course he did.

Blaine input the code to one of the gates like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Blaine saw the guy who stepped out to greet them (tall, blond, mouth ) and smiled widely before shouting “Sam!” and moving to hug him.

Sebastian stepped between them, eyeing the guy suspiciously.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Sam Evans.” The guy grinned, offering Sebastian a hand. “You must be Sebastian Smythe. Cool.”

Sebastian did not shake that hand, gaze analytically scanning this Sam for any kind of weapon. Muscular, but not a fighter’s body. Sebastian could take him. Low blow first, then go for the neck --

“Sebastian,” Blaine touched his elbow. “Sam is an old friend.”

“How --” Sebastian thought about it. “Your dad ran for president.” He smirked. “And lost. Russell Fabray was his running mate.”

“He and Quinn, you know,” Blaine offered lowly.

“What? Fucked?”

“Sebastian,” Blaine hissed as Sam made a face that made it clear he never got any. Sebastian experienced unwanted sympathy. “They dated .”

“Blaine and his friends were there on the campaign,” Sam explained. “And then I bumped into him here and I was like, Whoa .”

Sebastian stared. Was that … a Keanu impersonation?

“So I was here?” Blaine’s eyes widened excitedly. “In the summer?”

Running footsteps. Sebastian turned. A man was coming up fast, gun drawn.

“Yeah, of course dude! It was --”

Sebastian moved instantly, putting Blaine behind him. He could use Sam as a buffer if need be. Shift Blaine behind Sam, charge from the right -- the man was leading from the left. Slightly uneven steps. Bum leg? Aim for that.

“FREEZE!”

No, Sam would run. Blaine needed to move too.

“ Run!”

Sebastian took a step forward (get the leg, trip him, hit to the shoulder so he dropped his gun) but Blaine grabbed his elbow.

“Sebastian! Stop!”

Stop? Why the hell would he stop? But -- the man did. Lowered his gun.

“Sebastian?” he asked, in a crisp London accent. “This is Sebastian Smythe?”

“What the hell’s it to you?”

“Sebastian,” Blaine said, now almost amused. “This is Agent Crawford. My ... chaperone.”

Ah. So Sebastian was busted. Too bad; he was kind of looking forward to sneaking around.

--

It turned out all of Blaine’s companions had followed him in various states of dress, and soon everyone was upstairs inside the Embassy.

No background checks. No IDs handed over. No calls to verify their clearance.

Sebastian half-wanted to kill someone just to teach them a lesson. Mindful that crack probably wouldn’t go over too well in present company, Sebastian started to pace the room slowly. It was luxurious, his feet sinking into the pearl carpet with every step.

He used to stay in rooms like these, houses and hotels alike. The Circle paid well, and the Smythes were old money thanks to that. He would ask what blood money had paid for this room, but you just had to pick up a history textbook for that.

He didn’t trust this Sam, though. Everyone treated him like a friend (and Quinn like a long-lost chance) but … politicians . Dwight Evans had nearly been president; that was exactly the kind of man the Circle would buy off. Then he’d become an ambassador after losing ? That implied friends in powerful places. No, Dwight was definitely dirty.

Which left the pertinent question: just what had Dwight taught Sam? Because Sebastian didn’t believe a son could remain ignorant, hands clean, of what his father was doing for long.

He definitely didn’t trust Sam.

So he felt nothing but foreboding when Sam told Blaine:

“You wanted to rob a bank.”

Because then Blaine got a glint to his eye and declared:

“Then we’re going to have to rob a bank.”

--

As the heist planning began, Sebastian ended up by Agent Crawford, who didn’t seem too happy either.

“This is a bad idea,” he told the man, who nodded.

“Very much so.”

“Can’t you tell him no ?” Sebastian asked. “You are mission leader.”

“I believe we must do it, even if it is rather dangerous. This could give us the leg up we need on the Circle.”

“Hmph.” Sebastian crossed his arms. “Just remember tomorrow that I already said I told you so .”

Agent Crawford gave him an amused side-eye.

“You’re quite protective of Blaine, aren’t you?”

Sebastian shrugged. “He needs a lot of protecting.”

He was planning a bank heist , for Pete’s sake.

“I find him to be a very capable young man, actually.”

“Well, he is, but …”

“You love him.”

Sebastian swallowed a strangled sound only thanks to years of training. “He’s … a special guy,” was his weak response. Agent Crawford chuckled.

“I admit, when I heard the son of Camille Smythe was lurking about, I thought for sure it was some kind of trick.”

Sebastian stiffened. “Oh yeah?”

“But I am not so sure now.” Agent Crawford tilted his head. “I have a confession.”

Sebastian looked at him expectantly. This conversation had been incredibly awkward so far; he hoped it wasn’t about to get worse.

“I am acquainted with your mother,” Agent Crawford said slowly. “And … I once tried to kill her.”

Oh, was that all?

Sebastian cocked an eyebrow. “Can I make a confession?”

Agent Crawford bowed his head in silent encouragement.

“I wish you hadn’t fucked it up.”

Agent Crawford looked from Sebastian to Blaine (and with his clearance he would have read the reports, known exactly what Camille had both actually and likely done to Blaine) and then looked back, nodding.

“Next time, she won’t be so lucky.”

“Yes,” Sebastian agreed, a hard, cold sense of promise tightening in his gut. “She won’t be.”

--

That night, as he lay awake in the guest room at the embassy Blaine came to him.

“Sebastian?” he asked quietly as he slipped into the dark room. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian extended his arm. “It’s a good idea not to sleep in strange places.”

“Normally I’d call you paranoid, but …”

“Things have changed,” Sebastian filled in for him, and Blaine made a small sound of agreement as he came over. He sank onto the bed and Sebastian curled his arm around him, tugging him down. Blaine lay next to him, face pressed against Sebastian’s shoulder.

“I want to sleep,” Blaine confessed after a few beats as their breathing adjusted to each other, Sebastian actually relaxing. “But I’m scared.”

“I’ll stay awake for you,” Sebastian said, rubbing slow circles on his back.

Blaine kissed his shoulder. “Thank you,” he murmured, and Sebastian smiled.

“Hey, like I’d ever say no to sleeping with you …”

Blaine laughed, already sounding sleepier, and gave Sebastian’s chest a light whack.

“The Incorrigible Mr. Smythe …”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

Blaine mumbled something, but after that, he was out like a light.

--

The heist went wrong. Naturally.

Six tense hours after it began Blaine was back at the embassy with nothing but his dad’s journal (which he already had memorized) and a bleeding Ambassador Evans. The Circle tried to ambush them, and they’d barely escaped with their lives.

“I told you so,” he muttered to Agent Crawford, who sent him a reproachful look before going to look over the journal with Blaine.

Then, against all odds, they found something new.

--

It was a letter.

Hidden in the lining of the journal, written by Danilo, and addressed to Pam and their children.

Cooper’s voice shook briefly as he read it aloud to Blaine, who stared at the paper like it was his father, risen from the grave.

Danilo claimed to have hidden a key in the Roman safety deposit box.

(But the box was empty, Blaine had said, except for this journal.)

That wasn’t the part which dictated their next move though. No, that was when Blaine traced his father’s initials at the bottom of the letter than looked to Cooper with frantic urgency.

“We need to get a car,” he said.

“We have no idea where this key is, Squirt,” Cooper had shot back, but Blaine was shaking his head, jumping to his feet.

“Not that. I just -- I know where we need to go. I’m … remembering.”

Tina gasped, which was how they were all feeling probably, and they went to go rent a van.

--

It was a long drive; they drove all night.

Blaine held Sebastian’s hand but didn’t speak to him, staring out the window as he gave Cooper terse directions.

Through here. Turn here. Straight ahead. Right. Left.

It took them out of the city-state, far and away, then up, up, up … the roads became narrow mountainous ones and Blaine’s grip grew clammier in Sebastian’s hand, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sebastian asked, but Blaine was like a man possessed -- not the way he was sometimes since his return, but like a dog with a bone. He just nodded shortly and kept pointing the way. Sebastian didn’t fail to notice that they were in the Alps now; probably not too far from where Blaine had been found all those months ago.

Finally, they ran out of road.

“Are you sure this right?” Cooper asked, but Blaine was already opening the door and climbing out. Uncaring of the snow drifts on the ground he started to walk, mouth set in a firm line.

Sebastian, absently grateful that they were all wearing thick coats, followed a few steps behind. He kept a wary eye on Blaine, half-thinking he was on the verge of collapse. His steps swayed and his breath was ragged -- not used to the altitude, maybe. Was he even in good enough shape for this? It was a strain on Sebastian and he hadn’t recently spent two months being starved and tortured. They should turn back; there would be no clues waiting for them, just confirmations.

“C’mon, mountain man,” Sebastian tried after a half-hour of steady uphill climbing, following what was barely a path, concerned. “Haven’t we gone far enough? There’s nothing to see.”

Blaine pointed to a nearby pine. As if purely to prove Sebastian wrong, a streak of blood marred the bark, and Sebastian swallowed.

They both knew whose blood that was.

He was silent as they continued. It only took another half hour, legs aching and soaked through and wishing he was in a bubbling hot tub right then, but they came across what they were looking for: a crumbling stone building, looking long abandoned. Except there were trees nearby cut not too many months ago, and a pile of fresh firewood out back. No tracks in the snow though. Used recently, but no more.

Nobody needed to say it, staring at the stark grey lines of the building against the clear sky, white snow, and skinny trees, so seemingly unremarkable. This was where Blaine had been over the summer; the place where he had been tortured so thoroughly the shock had lost him his memory.

“I don’t like this,” he told Blaine as Blaine fearlessly approached the house. “The Circle won’t have left anything behind …”

Blaine shook his head. He wasn’t looking for anything about the Circle, Sebastian realized. This was entirely personal.

He followed Blaine inside (small, neat room, the fireplace the only point of interest; his mom wouldn’t have found it rich enough for her tastes) then down the stairs to the basement, which was guarded by a heavy wooden door. Blaine braced himself up against it then shoved with a strained sound; it dragged across the floor, leaving marks. Then it was open, revealing a room illuminated only via a small, barred window.

Blaine hesitated, then ghosted inside, looking around with wide eyes.

Sebastian stayed by the door. He wasn’t interested in seeing more, not that there was much to see. The room was empty except for a narrow cot with restraints up against the wall and a bucket that stank even in the cold.

Blaine went to the cot, and lifted the thin mattress. Tossed it aside. Reached down and ran his fingers over the wall.

“Blaine,” Sebastian murmured, not even sure what he was going to say.

“B.D.A.,” Blaine read. Carvings in the stone? “D.D.A.”

Blaine Devon Anderson. Danilo Diaz Anderson.

“He was here too,” Blaine said wonderingly, then his shoulders seized. “God, oh god, he was -- he was …”

Blaine turned, expression shock-sick. He walked over on unsteady feet, hand pressed to his mouth; Sebastian tried to catch him, but Blaine shook him off, feet guiding him automatically past Sebastian and back up the stairs.

Sebastian sent a final, repulsed look over the room before he followed, dragging the door shut behind him. It closed with a distinctive click.

How many times had Blaine heard that over the summer?

“Blaine?” Tina asked, uncertain. “Are you okay?”

Everyone else stared at him, but he walked by like he hadn’t even heard, arms curled around himself, breathing laboured. He exited the cabin and drove straight into the snow, headed back for the treeline, continuing to climb. There was no doubt to any step he took, moving with unerring focus as he had all day.

Everyone tumbled out after him; Sebastian brought up the rear. It was hard to watch this.

“Hang on, kiddo,” Cooper said, moving to catch up with his brother. He tried to stop Blaine but Blaine ducked his hold.

“Coop,” Blaine said, voice shaking. “Dad was here. He’s … he’s still here.”

Cooper paled. “Blainey …”

And Blaine kept walking. Sebastian knew that the end of this journey would be the worst discovery yet, he was sure everyone knew that. Blaine needed this, though, so all they could do was follow their amnesiac Pied Piper and see where he lead them. There was no sound except the crunch of snow beneath their feet and the drag of the wind over the mountain, the occasional twitter of distant birdsong. There was no path, no sign they were headed anywhere but into the wilderness to be lost.

Then, after twenty minutes of walking, everyone shaking from the cold, they found an unnaturally square man-made clearing and ...

“A grave,” Tina said quietly, and Sebastian had to look away.

Blaine fell to his knees in the snow atop the distinctive raised rectangle. His head bowed as if in prayer, or maybe as if asking for forgiveness, and he stayed there for a long, long time.

Danilo Anderson had finally been found.

--

The flight back home was long, and quiet.

Sebastian kept to himself; Blaine wanted nor needed any company, curled up his seat on the Fabray’s jet, staring out the window. Cooper sat across from him, his earbuds in, eyes shut, looking for all the world like he was asleep but the tension in his fingers was unmistakable.

Everyone else didn’t want to intrude upon the brothers and their grief so they occupied themselves with unobtrusive tasks; Santana was texting Brittany, Quinn was reading, and Tina dozed fitfully. Agent Townsend was writing a report. Sebastian wondered what it said about him; it was selfish, but every positive word about Sebastian might help to loosen the collar around his neck.

He was feeling the urge to run. To go hunting. To find anyone who’d set foot in that stone building and repay them every mark painting Blaine’s skin in kind.

Those were fantasies for now, though. He tried to focus on reality, the questions still nipping at him. About how Blaine had gotten out of that basement, how he had gotten there in the first place. Had he escaped, or been let go? Had he been taken, or gone willingly? Had Sebastian’s mother been there? How much had she done to Blaine?

He wondered if his mother had killed Blaine’s father, and hated that the answer was likely yes.

He also wondered if Blaine had realized that too.

Stupidly, pointlessly, Sebastian hoped he hadn’t, and that he never would.

--

Pam greeted them when they pulled up to Dalton.

Blaine approached her cautiously but she wasted no time pulling him into a hug, then Cooper when he came near as well. They stayed tangled together, sharing each other’s grief, until Blaine pulled back.

“I’m sorry, mama,” he said.

“Don’t be, baby,” she replied, voice wavering. “You brought him home.”

Blaine’s face crumpled and he hugged her again; Sebastian and everyone were doing their best to sneak around the Andersons and given them privacy when Pam looked up sharply.

“Sebastian, wait,” she said. He froze. Was he going to get lectured for giving his handler the slip? But Pam was smiling. “Hunter’s awake.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened, and he took off running.

--

“Hunter.”

“Sebastian.”

They exchanged a handclasp. Hunter was actually sitting up, in a wheelchair. His skin still bandaged and his voice was hoarse like he had a pack-a-day habit but Sebastian was so relieved to see him up with all his mental faculties in place that he nearly did something really embarrassing and hugged him. Instead, he sat on the ground next to Hunter’s chair, feeling like he was about to hear yet another lesson.

“Been keeping out of trouble?” Hunter asked.

Sebastian laughed. “Have you met me?”

“Right. Stupid question.” Hunter’s trained gaze checked him for injury, and Sebastian probably should have been insulted but, well. He was in too good a mood. “Where have you been?”

“Here, there, everywhere.”

“Not Rome?”

“That might have been a pitstop.” Sebastian realized then he might have to be the one to Hunter that his best friend was definitely dead, and his cheer faded under a wash of fear. He looked at Hunter uncertainly, but of course Hunter was never easily surprised.

“Pamela told me you found Dan.”

Sebastian ducked his head, a useless apology bubbling up that he swallowed. Hunter sighed.

“I knew the old bastard was dead. I just hope it gives Pamela some peace.”

“Yeah?” Sebastian smirked, tried to lighten the mood. “Plans to move in on his widow?”

To his amazement, Hunter almost looked flustered for half a second, which was some of the most genuine emotion he’d ever seen the man display.

“You’re a sick little freak,” Hunter told him genially, and Sebastian laughed, ducking the hand Hunter tried to swat him with.

“Too slow, old man,” he said, but Hunter might be decrepit and broken but he sure wasn’t beaten, because his other hand snaked out lightning-quick to give Sebastian’s hair a tousle. “Hey,” Sebastian whined, moving away and smoothing his hair down.

“That is the least you deserve,” Hunter informed him haughtily. “Now: mission details. Report, soldier.”

Sebastian straightened and did just that. Once he was done, and they were snickering over some dry crack Hunter had made, the door opened. Blaine stood there.

“Sorry,” he said, eyes wide. “I thought you were done.”

“We are.” Sebastian got up, stretching with a yawn. “He’s all yours, killer.”

The old nickname came automatically, and Sebastian realized belatedly it might not go over so well, after that day in the woods. He went to apologize, but Blaine just smiled at him before turning his attention to Hunter. Sebastian left them at it, then went to go find his bed.

He hadn’t slept in three days. Time to fix that.

--

They got two new pieces of the puzzle from Hunter.

First, what they were looking for:

“A list,” Hunter said, rocking his wheelchair like his form of pacing. “That Lord and Lady Dalton compiled, of every founding member of the Circle of Cavan.”

The Lord and Lady had first encountered the Circle when Thomas Cavan, its leader, had tried to assassinate Lincoln. (Well, one out of two assassination preventions wasn’t too bad.) They would have researched this.

“How does that help us?” Blaine asked. “Those people are over a century dead.”

“It’s a family business,” Sebastian guessed; Hunter nodded. “Passed down through the generations.”

“If we find that list,” Cooper said excitedly, “then we know who leads the Circle today.”

“And then we can take them down,” Blaine said, the excitement catching.

“So Dan found this list?” Pam asked. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Hunter said. “I just realized he must have found it. I’d hoped it was in his journal, but obviously not.”

“The key,” Blaine said, looking around. “They key leads to the list. But we don’t have the key.”

Before he could deflate, Hunter smirked. “Actually, we do.”

Which was the second piece Hunter gave them: that Blaine not only had the key, he was wearing it.

“The watch?” Blaine stared at it, like he’d forgotten about it. “I don’t understand.”

“Look at the design on the face. What do you see?”

“The red and blue … it … kind of looks like the school crest, I guess?”

“It’s the Dalton family crest,” Hunter explained. “Naturally, you wouldn’t recognize it. It was scrubbed from all records to protect the school and the Daltons’ descendents.”

Quinn, who had been silent until now, absorbing everything with an equally observant Santana and Tina, reached out; Blaine offered her his hand, and she started at the watch face, fascinated. She was a distant relation, Sebastian knew, though she’d learned it so late in life he wondered what hold it could really have over her.

“I must have gotten it in Rome,” Blaine said. “I didn’t fail the first bank job … and I mailed it back with the necklace so it would look like nothing serious.”

“Very good,” Hunter said, and Blaine smiled at that. “We are at a standstill now, however.”

“We have the key,” Santana said slowly, “but we don’t have the lock, do we?”

“What on earth could a watch unlock?” Tina asked. “Some kind of vault?”

They looked between each other, but nobody had any ideas.

Two steps forward, one step back; that should be the real motto of espionage.

--

The next month was almost … normal.

Whatever normal was in lives like theirs, at least. Sebastian and Blaine went to classes, hung out with friends, did homework, made out, and in Blaine’s case, went to therapy.

When Blaine wasn’t free to do the chatting/kissing/hanging out thing, Sebastian would go socialize with Hunter. Hunter was going through physical therapy and it made him grumpy, but Sebastian knew that in this case, his bark was worse than his bite. Though Hunter could probably still find a way to kill them all, if he got into the mood.

Luckily he was over that ‘killing everyone’ phase of his life and onto the much healthier ‘making threats, blackmailing, and swearing’ phase as Sebastian helped him do the simple exercises Dr. Owen had prescribed.

“This is a form of torture,” Hunter grumbled as he tried to stretch out his legs, and Sebastian snickered from where he was pushing down on his back.

“Well, we all know torture is my speciality …”

Hunter groaned, stretched furthering. “Jesse actually says your speciality is annoying people.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

“Can’t argue with that.”

It was just like old times; it was nice to talk to someone who knew his whole story.

--

“Sebastian.”

Sebastian jumped; immediately shifting into a defensive stance. Blaine stepped out from behind a tree, smiling shyly. Of course Blaine had managed to surprise him; a very capable young man .

“Hey, sailor.”

Blaine approached, offering his hand. Sebastian took it and they continued to walk through the Dalton grounds together, all thoughts of heading back inside vanishing the moment Blaine’s warm hand found his. It was chilly, an anticipation of snow in the thick low clouds. Sebastian couldn’t stand the cold; once he’d told Blaine that and Blaine had said, “That’s got to be the first weakness I’ve ever heard from you .”

Sebastian didn’t get why Blaine never saw that everything Sebastian did for him was an admitted weakness.

“Sebastian …”

“Yeah?”

Blaine took a deep breath.

“Is Mr. Clarington your dad?”

That startled a laugh out of Sebastian. “No.” He would ask what gave Blaine that idea, but he knew why Blaine had fathers and sons on the brain. “I never knew my dad.”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine offered.

Such a sweet guy. He had recently learned that his dad was definitely dead but he still cared to comfort Sebastian on some old fact of his life. Sebastian … oh, Sebastian was just so grateful to know him.

“It’s no big deal.”

Blaine was silent for a moment. “How did you and him meet?”

“Ah, tiger, you don’t need to hear that …”

Blaine huffed, squeezing his hand. “You are so secretive!” He sounded a bit sullen.

Sebastian cracked up at that. All this time he’d call Blaine the secretive one, but maybe that was just because Sebastian expected secrets. Blaine was right; he didn’t like to share, because sharing got you dead. Sharing was like when he was eight and a nice man helped him find his way home, and then that nice man his nice Interpol friends had broken into their house later to get his mother and she had gunned them all down with expert grace. Sharing had been his mother then forcing him to look at their bodies and saying, “This is the price of trust, ” and as she hugged him he’d wondered, terrified, if he couldn’t trust her either.

“I’m serious,” Blaine insisted as Sebastian tried to calm his laughter. “I … I really do care about you Sebastian, but you act like … like I’ll run screaming from you.”

“You do have a habit of running way.”

“Says the jetsetter.” Blaine frowned. “I am sorry I left without you this summer, but it was to keep you safe. I was the only one the Circle wouldn’t kill.”

“There are worse things than dying.”

“I know.” Blaine exhaled slowly. “I know that now. But after you threw yourself on that bomb …” Sebastian’s briefly felt the dull whump and hot flare of the burn room igniting around him, and his scars pulled tight. “I needed to do it alone.”

“I know,” Sebastian echoed, absently rubbing his neck. “Still sucks though.”

“It does.” Blaine looked over. “And stop misdirecting!”

“Misdirecting? Me?”

“If you don’t want to tell me about you and Mr. Clarington, you can just say so.”

“You really want to know? It’s not so exciting.”

“If it involves you, I’m excited to hear it.”

Someone genuinely interested in his life because it was his, not because of what he knew. It was hard to wrap his head around.

“Fine.” Sebastian took a moment to order his thoughts. “I had just killed my first man and was about to start high school, which are both pretty big milestones in a young man’s life …”

Sebastian glanced at Blaine, and though he had paled a little, he didn’t flinch away. Amused and touched, Sebastian continued.

“Mom had taught me all the basics and it was like, So long son, see you at graduation so you can enter the family business. And in comes Hunter. I think he just wanted to win my loyalty so the Circle didn’t get it but I’m grateful.”

“Maybe he just liked you,” Blaine suggested hesitantly.

“He did say I reminded him of a younger version of him,” Sebastian said. “You know. Angry. Stupid. Ready to watch the world burn. He took all that and helped me channel it into something more … productive.”

“Just at Carmel?”

“No, we spent summer breaks together.” Sebastian smiled mischievously. “I don’t know if you have the clearance to hear some of those stories.”

Blaine’s nose wrinkled. “Was it just spy stuff?”

“What do you mean?”

“My dad used to, you know. Take me to football games, museums, concerts …”

Blaine trailed off. Sebastian glanced over and nudged him; Blaine blinked and came back to himself.

“You know. Not everything is shadow games,” Blaine finished.

“I didn’t want to do that stuff,” Sebastian said. “But … sometimes, yeah, he would make it like a training exercise. And we’d go to art galleries and rugby games and all that crap.”

“That’s good,” Blaine said, smiling up at him.

Sebastian shrugged. “Civilian life seems pretty damn boring, but I guess dabbling isn’t so bad.”

“I agree,” Blaine said. “I pretended to be a civilian once, so I could date …”

“Hummel,” Sebastian said distastefully; he had shown up in time for the tail end of that drama.

“Yes … and I realized it was fun to pretend, but this?” Blaine gestured, indicating the two of them and Dalton in the distance across the snowy lawns. “This is the real me, and it’s what I want.”

“Good choice. Pick the fun life.”

Blaine grinned, then tugged him into a kiss.

“You are the fun life,” he said, and Sebastian kissed him again, smiling just as widely back.

--

Blaine and the girls figured out the map.

Sebastian could have hit himself when they told him what it was; apparently, Tina had been flipping through Lady Dalton’s old journals and shared with the class. In them they had found reference to a window to the future which had led them to the gable room and its stained glass window.

That same window Sebastian had spent a very happy afternoon making out with Blaine in front of, after they’d eavesdropped on the meeting with the trustees.

Analyzing the window design revealed that it was actually a map, which when paired with the design on the watch pointed to an abandoned residence of the Dalton family in Ireland.

“That’s where the list is,” Blaine said, eyes bright. “Ireland. We have to go to Ireland.”

--

“I’m glad I don’t get jet lag.”

Sebastian settled next to Santana on the plane, who smirked.

“Subtle brag, Amelia Earhart.”

“She went missing, I don’t know how I feel about that comparison.”

“Actually, she didn’t,” Quinn said, seated across from them and taking the long flight as the perfect time to paint her nails. “She was a Dalton graduate, a spy. She went into deep cover after she landed.”

“Helped take down the Order of Anubis,” Santana added. “Crazy death cult that was, big surprise, nothing but white people … Amelia kicked their asses though.”

“They buried her on the Dalton grounds when she passed away,” Quinn said. “She lived to be ninety. One of her descendents is in our math class.”

“Guess I still have Dalton secrets to learn,” Sebastian said, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t let Blaine hear you say that,” Santana said, rolling her eyes. “He’ll talk your ear off.”

They all looked down the plane, where Tina and Blaine were playing a vigorous game of War . It was nice to see Blaine laughing so freely again.

“I wonder if he’ll stay, after graduation,” Quinn said thoughtfully. “Or at least come back after college to teach.”

“Probably,” Santana said. She flashed Sebastian a smug look. “Ready to settle down, Sebby?”

Sebastian pulled a face, both at the future she’d painted and the nickname.

“Blaine isn’t ready to settle,” Sebastian said, with great confidence. Blaine was just coming alive again after a huge trauma; why wouldn’t he want to explore all he could, shout his triumph of survival to the world? “Once we take down the Circle, you’ll see.”

“ If we take it down. We have to find that list and even then ...”

“Never say never,” Sebastian said. “In my experience, nothing -- nobody -- is immortal.”

“God,” Santana said with a roll of her eyes. “Not your ‘I’m big and bad and have seen all there is to see’ routine. Get a new shtick, because this one’s old .”

“You would know all about overplayed clichés Ms ‘I’m Going Gay For a Girl I Met At Boarding School.’”

Santana actually blushed, and Sebastian shared an amused look with Quinn.

“Britt’s just -- she’s not like anyone else,” Santana finally said, getting all -- gooey . “Not a jaded asshole like everyone else in our world. She’s .. the bright parts of life.”

Sebastian could certainly understand the appeal. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t torment her though, because that was apparently what best friends did.

“Christ. Is that the start to your vows? You know what, ask Quinn to be your maid of honour, I just can’t fill out a dress the same way …”

“Who said you’d even be invited to the wedding!”

“But you’ll definitely invite Blaine, and I’ll be his plus one.”

Santana now shared a look with Quinn, and then said wickedly, “Blaine strikes me as the kind of gay to go chase down that bouquet so watch out, Smythe.”

“It might turn into a double wedding,” Quinn added dryly.

Sebastian glanced at Blaine. He knew they were just teasing but … marriage . Not really a thing Sebastian had ever thought he’d have, and god knows he didn’t have any kind of reference point for what a healthy marriage looked like, especially between two people in the business. The whole idea sounded … claustrophobic and kind of terrifying. But once upon a time, coming to Dalton and dating Blaine and signing himself up for this potential suicide mission to stop the Circle would have felt the same way so … who knew?

One thing was for sure: he doubted there was any other person on this planet who could make him feel the way Blaine did.

“Oh my god,” Santana whisper-shouted. “You’re actually considering it!”

“No I’m not, I just didn’t want to dignify you with a response …”

“You’re totally imagining being Mrs. Anderson! Oh, this is rich. Not so big and bad now, are you?”

The thing was .. she was right.

And it wasn’t so bad to know.

--

They landed in bonny green Ireland in the morning.

Agent Crawford greeted them as they got off the plane, taking his aviators off in a move Sebastian bet he’d practised.

“Welcome to the Emerald Isles,” he said, and exchanged cheek kisses and hand clasps with Pam and Cooper. “Pamela, Cooper, always lovely … no Hunter?”

“He’s still not well enough to travel,” Pam said.

“He must be happy about that,” Agent Crawford said with a chuckle.

“He was watching Top Gun and muttering the lines under his breath when we left,” Cooper said. “ Mi hermano esta loco .”

“Can we socialize later?” Blaine suddenly interjected, shifting his weight. “No offense, Agent Crawford, I just feel like we’re running out of time.”

“Understandable, Blaine. Well, let’s get a move on.”

Agent Crawford had rented a few cars, which they took on a long drive to a pier. Cooper drove their car, and there was some tension under his usual carefree expression that Sebastian noted from where he sat in the back, giving Blaine’s knee reassuring squeezes whenever he saw Blaine's tension rise to match. From there it was a boat ride through the choppy waters of the Atlantic, aiming for the distant island where the Dalton family ancestral home was. They could see it as they approached, blinking the ocean spray from their eyes; a large, decaying building similar in shape to the Academy, a massive manor that reached four stories into a grey sky promising rain like a hulking, sleeping bear.

“Weren’t exactly a fan of visitors, were they?” Sebastian asked once they hit the cliff, mooring against some jagged rocks.

“For good reason,” Pam said. “The Daltons have always been targets.”

“Still, they could have put in an old-school elevator …”

“Scared of a little climbing, Sebby?” Cooper smirked as he handed Sebastian a rope, which he accepted with a silent exhale.

“Sebastian,” he said, glaring around the boat. “My name is Sebastian. Not Sebby, not Seb, not any other butchering you can think of. Three syllables. Not hard to manage.”

Judging by the smirks around the boat, he was going to be hearing a lot of nicknames in the near future. Sighing, he grabbed the rope and some climbing spikes and started his way up, ignoring Tina’s call of “Bassy, make sure you don’t slip!” Halfway there it started to rain, and Sebastian wasn’t even surprised. He managed the slick rocks with ease (it was just like that time in Zambia with Hunter) but he couldn’t help but take it as a bad sign.

Once at the top he pushed wet hair out of his eyes and waited for Blaine, offering him a hand to pull him up over the edge. Blaine smiled as he straightened, their soaked bodies briefly pressed together, a welcome warmth in the icy chill. Blaine pushed up to kiss Sebastian, then stepped away.

“We should split up,” Blaine said, at least having the decency to sound regretful.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Sebastian said, sighing. “When are you going to realize we work better together?”

“We do,” Blaine earnestly agreed. “But some things are about more than work.”

Whatever the hell that meant.

“Besides,” Blaine added, “I trust you. And you’re the only one here with a connection to the Circle … so if they’ve been here, you might spot the signs.”

“Right.” Sebastian briefly wondered if his appeal to Blaine was based on his connection to the mystery that had defined half Blaine’s life. “You’re right, we’ll cover more ground apart. Happy hunting.”

They shared a last kiss, and then Sebastian started to wander the perimeter, shoulders hunched against the cold, delicate rain, as he cut through a path through the white mist swirling around the building and grounds. The manor was in bad shape; they must have run out of money building its massive frame, hauling supplies up and down the cliffs; he could see missing touches. The elements hadn’t helped since; whole floors had collapsed, leaving a gaping hole in its side. At one point he saw Blaine, at the edge of the floor where it had gave out, before Blaine slipped back inside.

Tired of the rain and seeing nothing, Sebastian walked back to the entrance. Quinn was there, staring at a statue in the overgrown garden out front.

“Find something, Fabray?” Sebastian approached her.

“I think that’s Lady Dalton,” she said, staring up at the statue’s worn face.

“Oh yeah? I see the resemblance.”

Quinn gave him a doubtful look. “It’s just a statue.”

“Look at the way she’s holding that parasol -- you know there’s a knife inside. And she’s in a fighter’s stance.” He winked at her. “Beautiful, but more importantly deadly. Just like you.”

Quinn smiled at him. “Sometimes, I actually get what Blaine sees in you.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted.” Sebastian smirked. “Saying you want to jump my bones?”

“I think they call it temporary madness,” she shot back. Sebastian was grinning at that when he heard something under the rattle of the rain. A stone, scattered underfoot? He tilted his head, listening closer; Quinn noticed his change in mood and though her smile didn’t fade she grew more alert.

“Walk with me, Fabray,” Sebastian offered, and Quinn nodded. She took his arm and they started to wander the garden. The rain came down harder; all they could hear was it, clattering against stone and wood like pebbles falling from the sky.

As they rounded a large fountain, a dark figure rose up from the bushes and trained  a gun on them. Clearly he thought he had the drop on them, but Sebastian and Quinn were ready.

Sebastian dove low, and Quinn jumped up, pressing a dainty foot on Sebastian’s back which she used like a springboard. It was just like P&E; as Sebastian somersaulted behind the man, turning to ram his foot behind the back of his knee, Quinn arced through the air like the Irish mists taken human form then brought her feet up to slam into the assailant’s chest; he fired wildly as she sent him to the ground with a sickening thud.

Sebastian sharply jabbed the muscle above the man’s armpit, making his fingers spasm on his gun, which Sebastian tore from his slack grip. Quinn wasted no time drawing her fist back to punch him in temple. His head bounced back against the stone and then he was unconscious, eyes rolling up into the back of his head.

“Nice arm,” Sebastian said.

“Thanks …” Quinn stood up, staring down at the man with a troubled expression. “Where did he come from?”

Sebastian got up too, keeping the gun in hand as he took a closer look at the attacker, squinting against the rain.

Recognition dawned, and Sebastian sent a wary look around them.

“I know him,” Sebastian said. “He used to babysit me.”

Quinn’s eyes widened in understanding; Sebastian’s mother was here.

“We need to find Blaine,” she said grimly, and they took off towards the manor entrance.

That was when the explosion sounded.

--

God fucking dammit . He knew this was going to end badly.

Sebastian and Quinn had turned heel and made for the side of the manor instead, where the explosion had sounded. They leaped a short crumbling wall then made in a large arc to see that a new hole had been blasted out the side of the building, rubble still smoking despite the rain. Santana stood there, peering around.

“It was your psycho mom,” she told Sebastian, then cursed in Spanish for a breath before turning back. “She was chasing Blaine and Tina.”

“Which way?”

“I didn’t see, but --”

“Look!” Quinn pointed toward a distant flash of yellow; the sweater Blaine had been wearing was that colour. Sebastian took off running, feet slipping on the thick wet tufts of grass between the rocky landscape of the island. It was steadily dropping; sixty yards away Blaine and Tina were being chased by a distinctive slim figure.

Mom .

“Sebastian, wait up --”

If they couldn’t keep up that was their business. The wind rolled up off the ocean, up the cliff, over the edge; the rain was being driven right into his face and he could barely see the three he was chasing except for that distinctive yellow bobbing ahead.

He tossed the gun. No use. Couldn’t aim in this rain while running.

Blaine slowed due to the approaching cliff edge; Camille had boxed him towards the edge of the island like a fox with a rabbit. Camille kicked him; Blaine went tumbling, dangerously close to the edge. Sebastian was closing in, but he was still too far away. Tina launched herself at Camille, who easily tossed her aside. Blaine scrambled, rolling over and kicking out at Camille, but she leaped over his windmilling legs gracefully. Blaine unsteadily got to his feet.

Thirty yards out. Were they speaking?

Camille glanced over her shoulder; spotted Sebastian. Her expression was unreadable from this distance; she turned away. Took a step towards Blaine; he slid a foot back, his heel going over the edge.

Twenty yards. Blaine suddenly raised a -- a gun? Where had he gotten that? Camille stopped advancing.

Ten yards. Blaine lifted the gun higher, and fired; a rocket of burning orange streaked into a high arc across the wet sky. Flare . Camille ran at him; Blaine dodged; she dived off the cliff.

“Blaine!” he shouted, but Blaine didn’t seem to hear. He was on the edge of the cliff and raising his hands like he intended to dive in after Camille --

Oh no you won’t .

Sebastian poured a final bit of energy into a dead sprint, skidding to a dangerous stop at the edge of the island and wrapping an arm around Blaine’s waist. Blaine struggled, but Sebastian stumbled back, lifting Blaine off his feet.

“Don’t do it, killer,” he gasped, catching a few angry elbows Blaine threw.

“Let me go!” Blaine snarled. “Let me go, Sebastian!”

“Stop, Blaine!” Santana added, just a few breaths behind him; out of the corner of his eye he could see Quinn helping Tina up. “It’s over, stop!”

Blaine slackened, and Sebastian set Blaine down, still holding on in case the sudden acquiescence was a trick, but Blaine just stared off into the dark waters below, panting raggedly.

“It’s gone,” he said, voice shaking. “It’s all gone.”

--

Another quiet flight back to America. Too bad he wasn’t getting frequent flyer miles from all this travel.

Sebastian had found some tiny vodka bottles and was hoping to drink the time away but before he could crack them open Cooper, smirking widely, had confiscated them to drink them himself with his mom. Incredibly rude, that. Sebastian deserved a drink.

There was a chance his mom was dead, after all. Drowned, crushed on rocks, lost at sea.

Though if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t actually think that. Sebastian had learned to survive from the best.

Camille Smythe was still out there, he was almost sure.

Sebastian was exiting the washroom when Blaine appeared. Sebastian tried to stand aside but Blaine stepped forward, pushing him into the bathroom and tugging the little door shut behind him. Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

“Mile high club time?” Sebastian asked, smirking widely. “How saucy of you, Anderson.”

“I want to talk,” Blaine said, which was some of the first words he’d said since telling them all that the list had gone over the cliff and into the ocean. His gaze was tight; he didn’t look happy.

Feeling he might regret it, Sebastian asked, “What about?”

Blaine looked like he might chicken out for a second, but he took a deep breath and soldiered on to ask, “Tell me about your mother.”

“What?” Sebastian folded his arms, leaned back against the wall. Was Blaine about to accuse him of something?

“I want to hear about her,” Blaine said. “Nothing about, about blood or death or anything like that. I want to hear something, I don’t know --”

“Nice?” Sebastian offered.

“ Human ,” Blaine settled on.

“Huh.” Sebastian scratched his chin, wondering what to say. Blaine hadn’t killed his mom -- was this why? Thinking about her soul? “Anything in particular?”

“Whatever you want. I just -- I need to hear it.”

“Okay …” Sebastian thought for a few long moments. “So, she’s French, right? Well, she always felt most at home when we back in the old country. But when we couldn’t be there she had this recipe, for a bourguignon, passed down by her mother, and her mother before her. So I guess too bad I was a guy, but she still taught me to make it. We spent a few afternoons like that, cooking together. It was … nice.”

Blaine gazed up at him, brows pinched. Then: “You’re lying.”

Sebastian sighed, nodded, and softly replied, “Yeah, I am.”

Blaine swallowed, then bowed his head forward, pressing his forehead to Sebastian’s shoulder; Sebastian uncrossed his arms so he could rub Blaine’s back, concerned at the faint hint of a tremble he felt. He’d noticed this before and thought it was just down to Blaine being underweight, but he’d gained a lot back so … was it just the force of his emotions? Was that normal?

“I hate her,” Blaine hesitantly said, voice thick.

Sebastian couldn’t help but smile, but it was a humourless one.

“Yeah … me too.” Sebastian could elaborate more, on songs she’d sang to him and how love with a price wasn’t really love even if it felt the same, but the words failed him. All he could think about right then was his mother advancing on Blaine, that flare burning against the grey sky. Blaine’s forgiveness for a woman who hadn’t deserved it, because she was someone to Sebastian.

“You’re a good man,” Blaine softly said.

Sebastian kissed Blaine’s temple. “You’re not so bad yourself, babe.”

They held each other until someone knocked and they were forced to separate, but they kept their fingers tangled together as they left; Sebastian guessed they both needed the connection, right then.

--

They went to see Hunter once they got back to Dalton.

“So the list is gone?” Hunter asked, rocking his wheelchair back and forth.

“Into the sea,” Blaine confirmed, sounding a touch ashamed. “There’s no way it survived that.”

“And you didn’t get to see it?”

“No. It was in this glass vial, and Sebastian’s mother interrupted before I could take it out.” Blaine glanced briefly at Sebastian as he spoke. “She did say something weird …”

“What was that, honey?” Pam asked.

“That I didn’t need to see it. Like I already knew the contents.”

“Not surprising,” Hunter said. “They took you because they thought you knew.”

“Why would they let Blaine go if they thought he still knew?” Sebastian asked. Everyone shared looks, but Cooper shook his head.

“Blainey might have got away on his own. We don’t know they released him.”

“They’ve also been trying to kill him,” Pam added, a shadow crossing her features. “They wouldn’t do that if they still needed him.”

“Can we not talk about me like I’m not in the room?” Blaine snapped, then his eyes widened apologetically. “Sorry, mama.”

“It’s okay,” Pam said, reaching over to pat her son’s cheek. “It’s been a long few days.”

Blaine smiled fondly at his mom, and Sebastian stared at them, that old jealousy surging up. He ruthlessly stepped on it, glancing away. Hunter sighed, aggrieved.

“So Blaine doesn’t remember, or know, there’s nothing in Dan’s journal, and the list is destroyed.”

“The flipside is the Circle might leave us alone for a while,” Sebastian pointed out. “They don’t have anything to be afraid of now. We’re not a threat.”

“That’s true,” Hunter said, nodding his approval at Sebastian, who smiled back. “You’re the main loose end now, Sebastian.”

“Which could be to our advantage,” Sebastian said, inspiration striking. “Mom will probably come for me herself if she’s still kicking so we could use me as bait.”

“Do you think she’d talk?” Hunter asked, frowning thoughtfully.

“We are not using Sebastian as bait!” Blaine snapped, glaring at Hunter.

“It’s fine, tiger.” Sebastian shook his head. “I can take care of myself.” To Hunter, he continued. “We both know she’s a fanatic, Hunter. Torture won’t phase her.”

“Toughest woman I’ve ever met,” Hunter agreed, then added to Pam, “except for you of course, Pamela.”

Pam smiled at him. Cooper cleared his throat. “If she won’t talk, what’s the point of taking her in alive?”

“Coop,” Blaine hissed. “Some sensitivity. Sebastian’s right there.”

“I happen to agree with your brother,” Sebastian said. “Generally speaking. In this specific case. But … she could be bait too.”

Hunter’s eyes lit up. “They’d want to silence her.”

“And they’d send someone good in to do it. Someone high up. And someone who might be more likely to talk.”

“And if Camille is dead,” Cooper added, “they’ll still send that kind of asset after Sebastian. Win/win.”

“Exactly,” Sebastian said. “And if it doesn’t work with me, Hunter’s also an option.”

Blaine was staring like they were all crazy; it was probably something he should get over if he wanted to be a real agent one day.

“Good plan, Sebastian.” Hunter nodded sharply. “We’ll start discussing details for it tomorrow. For now, get the hell out of my room. I need to sleep.”

“Yeah, night to you too, old man …”

“Goodnight, Hunter, sleep well.” Pam kissed his cheek, and Hunter grumbled under his breath, looking away.

Sebastian got up, and followed the Andersons out of the secret room. He could feel Blaine glaring holes into the back of his head, but he ignored him. Blaine would get it out at some point. They emerged from the passageways in a hallway by the chapel, which was quiet and dark. Pam pat Blaine’s cheek.

“Off to bed for you,” she told him.

“I don’t like the idea of this bait plan,” Blaine said, stepping away. “Isn’t there some other way?”

“We’ll think it over,” Pam told him. “None of us want anything to happen to Sebastian.”

Cooper looked tempted to disagree. Sebastian rolled his eyes.

“It’s not like they’ll put me under a box on a stake and hope she knocks it down chasing me in. There will be snipers and trained agents and me wearing a bulletproof vest … it’ll be boring, honestly.”

“It’s still a risk,” Blaine stubbornly insisted.

“And you’re the only one allowed to take those?” Sebastian squeezed Blaine’s shoulder. “We’ll talk it out in the morning, babe.”

“He’s right, bee.” Pam kissed his cheek, and Cooper clapped Blaine on the back with a, “Night, Squirt,” before the two of them walked off, talking to each other in low tones. Sebastian and Blaine started off in the opposite direction for the dorms, and they ended up walking by Sebastian’s to Blaine’s a floor above it -- Blaine really just didn’t like Sebastian’s room and its window.

“I don’t feel great,” Blaine said abruptly, breaking the silence.

“I thought that fish dinner on the plane tasted off …”

“Not food poisoning. It’s -- what happened in Ireland. This crazy plan you’re proposing. Rome. Mr. Clarington’s cabin. The place where they held me … everything, everything, nothing feels right …”

“Blaine.” Sebastian turned to him as they came to a stop outside Blaine’s door, caught his shoulders, rubbed them. “You don’t feel right because nothing is right. But we’ll make it right, okay?”

Blaine nodded slowly. Sebastian wasn’t entirely sure Blaine believed him.

“Stay with me?” Blaine asked, backing up to rest against the door.

“Of course.” Sebastian kissed him, and opened the door behind Blaine.

They walked in together, sharing small kisses, but the mood was soft, not heated. They got ready for bed and then climbed into the narrow bed, tangled together. He fell asleep to the sound of Blaine’s gentle breathing, for once not worried about sightlines or snipers.

He felt ... safe.

--

Blaine woke up just a few hours later; it was nearly three a.m.

“Blaine?” Sebastian reached out for him, yawning.

“I had a bad dream,” Blaine said lowly.

Sebastian started to sit up. “Want to talk about it? Or just have me distract you?” He grinned against the darkness of the room; Blaine leaned in to kiss him.

“No, I think I’m going to talk to Dr. Jesse,” Blaine said evenly. “I have some stuff to work through.”

That was an understatement. Sebastian flopped back down, yawning again.

“Want me to walk you there?”

“I’m sure I won’t get lost.” Blaine shuffled around; the door opened, the hall lights illuminating his figure; still in his pyjamas. Weird, but he sounded way too awake to be sleepwalking. “Bye, Sebastian.”

And humming, he left, shutting the door behind him. Sebastian rolled over, taking Blaine’s absence as an excuse to starfish out. Dalton beds were too small for two people, but maybe like the very strict hall monitors, it was a deterrent against fraternization at a co-ed boarding school. Sebastian smirked. Poor, unlucky heterosexuals. Carmel had been co-ed too, and strict, but Sebastian hadn’t had trouble finding a bed to slink into. And when he wasn’t at school, his main two parental figures had both been assassins (reformed and otherwise) so he had never exactly had a curfew …

Hunter definitely knew about Sebastian and Blaine. He probably approved; he liked Blaine, didn’t he?

Sebastian rolled over, groaning. Sleep wasn’t coming. Thinking about sharing beds and Blaine sent his mind in a whole different direction … but he knew Blaine wasn’t ready to sleep with him. Blaine was a virgin, and after everything he’d gone through in the summer, his scars, he wasn’t crazy about his body right then. Which Sebastian understood. Respected . Because he’d never want Blaine to feel unsafe with him.

Did Blaine feel safe with him?

Obviously, idiot. He trusts you .

That wasn’t the same thing, though, was it? Sebastian rarely felt safe, but he spent a lot of time with Blaine, whom he trusted implicitly … life was complicated like that. Maybe that was part of growing up.

He’d always thought of himself as an adult, just one not legally allowed to drink. But spending time at a school like Dalton had given him some perspective. He was certainly more mature than his peers in some ways. Had more life experience. But he also had a lot of the same struggles, false assumptions, hopes and fears. He still had things to learn.

With just one more term left until graduation, too.

It’s a big bad world out there , St. James had once said. We’re just getting you ready for it .

God, that guy was a dick. Not that Sebastian had a ton of room to talk, and hell, look at Hunter too, it was just a Carmel ex-pat thing. They all had their stories … but Sebastian wouldn’t be humming if he was about to go see the good doctor, that was for sure. Blaine was weird like that. Too nice for his own good. Blaine’s gotten meaner , Quinn once said. Still bullshit. Blaine was a little sharper with people, a little angrier, and they all knew he was fucked up, but he wasn’t mean . He’d get better. That was what he had his family for, his friends, St. James. Hunter. Sebastian .

Sebastian was more concerned about Blaine’s sleepwalking than his snappiness, honestly. Sleepwalking, spacing out … lost time, it was all lost time. Just like the summer. Like the secrets he’d learned were trying to dig their way out, but something was forcing them back under. Maybe Blaine did know the list. Maybe he’d learned it while on the run.

Why would they let him go? Sebastian didn’t care what Cooper said, there was no way Blaine could have escaped. Not if Sebastian’s mom was involved.

We both know she’s a fanatic. Torture won’t phase her . That was the power of belief, wasn’t it? Camille believed in the Circle. And Blaine believed in his dad. Had lain in a cell for two months with his dad’s name carved in front of his face, his only anchor in the sea of his suffering. A very capable young man . Blaine wouldn’t have given up the list, not if it was the last thing his dad had given him. Not to an enemy.

But it was an enemy who wanted it. So an enemy would have to become a friend.

A friend that would be poised to help Blaine sort through everything he did or didn’t remember … help him heal from a summer being conveniently traumatized …

Sebastian sat up, fear clawing up its way through his chest, settling heavily in the base of his throat.

A friend Blaine was alone with right now.

--

Sebastian raced to St. James’s office as fast as he could, bare feet slapping against the wooden flooring of Dalton’s halls.

His heart was pounding, downright aching in his chest, even though he’d sprinted longer distances. I’m an idiot . Downstairs. Cut through the girl dorms to get to the east wing -- he barreled past Mlle Claudette, who was on monitor duty.

“Wake Pam,” he shouted at her as he ran.

He needed back-up. Back-up. Girl’s dorms. He screeched to a halt then backed up to Santana, Tina, and Quinn’s room, hammering on their door. When he heard them moving inside he spoke hurriedly:

“We need to find Blaine.”

Then kept moving. They didn’t need him holding their hands; they were some of the best students at this school. Sebastian ran to the end of the dorms, shoved open a secret passage behind a tapestry, used the shortcut to make better time to St. James’s office. Out through a closet. Take a right; down the hall. Short flight of stairs. And --

The door to St. James’s office hung open. He paused outside, but didn’t hear anything. Still, he stayed low as he entered, looking around; the room was empty.

“Shit.” Sebastian ran his hand over his flushed face, breathing deeply. He touched the chairs; still warm. Must have just left. Scanning the room as he’d been taught, a section at a time, he looked for some clue as to where the two of them had gone.

There was a piece of stationary, neatly folded, on the desk. Sebastian picked it up, flipped it open.

I’m sad and confused. It’s only natural. I just want this to be over.

Sebastian crumpled it; he didn’t need to read more. He knew a suicide note when he saw it. He also knew a lie when he saw it.

It was Blaine’s handwriting; he’d made a point of memorizing it. No sign of distress; the loops neat as ever. Blaine wrote it, but not under duress -- at least not the traditional kind. Compromised. Deprogramming . St. James knew the psyche like no one else, how to shape it, manipulate it … and the doctor was leaving right now. So if he wanted Blaine dead, an apparent victim of suicide, he must have manipulated Blaine into it.

Sebastian smoothed out the note. The last line was: I just want to fly away from this .

Jumping. Blaine was going to jump. Natural, immediate, no fuss. Five stories would do it. Probably from the roof on the west; then he could see St. James driving away. Suggestions like this required triggers; the taillights could be that, especially since St. James wouldn’t want Blaine being discovered until he was off the grounds or risk getting caught in a lockdown.

An old memory whispered at him: When the light changes, pull the trigger. Pull the trigger. No questions, just pull the trigger.

Sebastian started to run again. He was on the third floor. Only two up. He tore down the hall, pounded up the stairs. Fourth floor. Door to the right was locked at nights; picking it or kicking it down would take too long. To the left. Detour. Down a hall, to the left --

“Sebastian!”

Pam stood there in a nightdress; the girls were with her, also in pyjamas. They had to be on their way to Blaine’s room. “What’s going on?” Tina asked, voice shaky

“St. James compromised Blaine. He’s trying to kill himself. I think he’s going to jump. Move .”

They didn’t waste time on stupid questions. They ran like hasty ghosts sweeping the late-night halls, and then made up the last flight of stairs, a tight spiral that moved in dizzy circles. Attic door; Quinn shoved it open and they burst out onto the fifth floor.

A long narrow hall; storage up here. He looked, but he couldn’t see Blaine.

“Split up,” Pam ordered, voice calm despite the faint sheen of panicked sweat on her forehead. “Sebastian, Santana, left. Quinn, Tina, with me.”

They took off. Sebastian had to keep ducking his head below the thick beams which ran across the ceiling, he and Santana moving rapidly between stripes of moonlight across the hall.

“Look!” Santana hissed. Pointed. Open window. Sebastian rushed up, stuck his head out. He couldn’t see Blaine, just the icy dark tiles of the roof and the sharp rise of the nearby gable. He climbed out, toes immediately chilled, and started to move his way carefully across the precariously slick slate; it wasn’t steep but the ice could be deadly.

Santana followed him. “Do you see him?”

“No, not yet --”

“What if he’s not here ? He could be in the labs swallowing bleach right now --”

Sebastian clenched his jaw; he couldn’t consider being wrong; he’d come too close to losing Blaine so many times. He’d save him again; he would never stop saving him.

Then, carried on the wind … singing.

“That’s Blaine,” Santana said, pausing as she climbed the gabled roof. She looked over at Sebastian, dark gaze glittering. “He’s alive .”

Sebastian hadn’t known Blaine could sing, but his voice was lovely. And the tune was somewhat familiar …

“Blainey.” That was Pam, voice thin on the wind. “Come inside, dear.”

Sebastian and Santana started to climb faster, feet sliding dangerously. At one point Sebastian skidded, and Santana paused to grab him, hauling him up. Pam, Tina, and Quinn were all talking earnestly to Blaine, voices getting louder.

“It’s too cold out here, Blainey Days,” Tina called. Her voice was clearest yet; was she on the roof too? “Come here.”

“It’s not too cold when there’s music!” Blaine said cheerily. Too cheerily. “Do you remember the concerts, mama?”

“No, bee, but we can talk about it inside.”

“You wouldn’t remember … dad took me. You were in Malaysia, I think .. I wanted to sing, dad said I could do anything …”

“Of course you can, Blaine.” Quinn; the most scared he’d ever heard her. “Let’s talk about it inside, where it’s warm.”

“I can’t do that,” Blaine said, a hint of regret. Sebastian and Santana finally made it over the peak; on the other side, Blaine stood by the edge of the roof, arms extended, walking back and forth in a dangerous sway. Tina was trying to edge down the roof to approach him; Pam was half-out the window and Quinn peered out next to her.

Blaine laughed, loud and free, and stumbled, nearly falling. Sebastian’s heart lunged into his throat.

Dalton had fourteen foot ceilings on the first floor; twelve on the second; ten on the next three. Add in roof and foundation and it was least a sixty foot drop. The average height needed to kill someone was only fifty feet.

“Blaine, please,” Tina begged. “It’s time to come inside. This isn’t funny.”

Blaine shifted, staring off at the driveway. Sebastian followed his gaze; taillights were rapidly fading. St. James. Sebastian could maybe catch up -- he just had to get down, find a car, a motorcycle, chase him down --

But he couldn’t leave Blaine.

“Anderson,” Santana snapped, climbing over the edge of the gable and trying to make her way down. “Snap out of it!”

“Blaine,” Sebastian added, joining her. “You don’t have to listen to St. James. He’s gone.”

“He is,” Blaine agreed, and sighed. “Which is why I have to jump now.”

“Blaine, no!” Tina reached for him, and hit a thick patch of ice; she fell and started to slide, catching hold of a narrow chimney at the last minute, feet dangling off the edge.

Blaine didn’t even react to his best friend nearly flying off the roof. He just watched the final fade of the two red dots and then let his foot hover in open air. Blaine was about to die, and what could Sebastian do? As Tina proved, it was too icy to move quickly. Sebastian was helpless --

Blaine stepped off the roof. Tina screamed, snaking out her hand to grab Blaine’s. Her whole body jerked, one hand clinging to the chimney and the other holding onto Blaine, now out of sight below the roof.

“You have to let me go,” Blaine shouted up, almost frustrated.

“No, Blaine!” Tina’s voice was thick with tears. “I won’t!”

“Neither will I, bee,” Pam added, as she made her way down with careful grace. She lay flat on the roof, shimmying the last bit, and stuck her hands over the edge. She grabbed onto Blaine, sliding a dangerous inch herself, but her expression of calm determination never shifted.

“But --” Blaine’s voice wavered. “Can’t you hear the music, mama?”

Pam shook her head. “No, baby, I can’t.”

A long silence. The wind blew a rattling gust, and then Blaine said, sounding lost:

“I can’t either. Not anymore.”

--

They got Blaine off the roof.

They moved him to the medical ward, where Dr. Owen was awake and ready to examine him. Blaine sat on the edge of an examination table, wrapped in a blanket.

“He’s in shock,” Dr. Owen said.

“Sedate him,” Pam ordered. “We can’t risk that happening again.”

Blaine looked up. “Mama --”

“I’m sorry, bee.” Pam smoothed down his hair, leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead. “I love you. But now it’s time to sleep.”

Blaine was guided to a bed; Dr Owen prepped a syringe. Pam held his hand as the needle slid home, and didn’t let go even when Blaine’s lashes fluttered shut and sleep took him.

Sebastian understood her reluctance to leave; he didn’t plan on letting Blaine out of his sight any time soon. Neither did the girls, who found a bed next to Blaine’s to huddle together on.

Sebastian hunkered down in the corner, arms wrapped around his knees, and waited for Blaine to wake up.

--

Somehow, they found a moment alone.

Blaine had been moved from the ward to his mom’s quarters; Pam had gone to get Hunter and the girls were changing after the all-nighter. Cooper had called to say his attempts to find St. James were a bust; the man had already left the country, and Cooper would be back soon.

So right then it was just the two of them, Blaine still wrapped in that blanket and sitting on the sofa, Sebastian leaning against the wall across from him. The silence was overbearing. Blaine hadn’t even looked at him; Sebastian had no idea what to say.

Well. Time to bite the bullet.

“Sebastian --”

“Blaine --”

They paused, and shared a quick smile. Sebastian inclined his head, indicating Blaine should go first.

“Sebastian …” Blaine took a deep breath, let it out. “I didn’t want to kill myself.”

“I know,” Sebastian said. “St. James did it to you. Played with your head.”

Blaine nodded slowly. “I think … I’m crazy though. And it’s not his fault. Not totally.”

Sebastian shrugged. “In this life, who isn’t a little crazy?”

“And if it’s more than a little for me?”

The real crazy thing was, Blaine asked it like Sebastian would ever give up on him.

“Then you’re my crazy boyfriend that I’m crazy about.” Sebastian came over and kneeled in front of Blaine, smiling up at him.

“Sebastian …” Blaine gazed down at him, in a moment suspended in time. It got a little too much for Sebastian, who had to wink.

“And besides, the crazy ones are always best in bed.”

Blaine blushed, flapping his blanket at Sebastian, who took it opening up as an opportunity to slide his hands inside along Blaine’s thighs, pushing himself up to kiss Blaine. Blaine kissed back, a little desperately, and Sebastian squeezed his thighs, pulling back briefly to murmur:

“I’m sorry.”

Blaine leaned away, frowning. “For what?”

But before Sebastian could answer the door swung open and Pam pushed Hunter inside. Sebastian hastily freed his hands from under Blaine’s blanket, shifting to sit next to Blaine on the couch instead. Pam smiled mischievously at them.

“Ah, young love. Remember what that felt like, Hunter?”

“Definitely not,” Hunter said, sniffing. Sebastian shook his head with a grin.

Soon everyone was there, settled in and looked to Blaine expectantly. Sebastian found Blaine’s hand under the blanket and gave it a squeeze. Blaine smiled at him and then took a deep breath before haltingly working his way through his story.

St. James had been one of the people holding him captive over the summer; it was probably why Blaine had tried to choke him.

(Sebastian understood the desire.)

It was St. James’s technique that had lost Blaine his memory, and implanted the song -- the song Blaine had been absent-mindedly humming all term. The song was from the concert Blaine had gone to with his father shortly before Danilo had disappeared.

“They knew I saw dead drop from a -- a woman, I don’t know who, but she gave dad a list. The list.”

As Sebastian had guessed, St. James had hoped that by releasing Blaine to apparent safety then positioning himself as Blaine’s confidant who could continue to toy with his brain in private sessions, he could get Blaine to reveal that list.

“But why would they want the list? Why not want it gone?” Quinn asked.

“Because St.James, and Sebastian’s mom -- they’re part of a splinter cell in the Circle.”

“Which is why some people in the Circle want you dead, and some were trying to just kidnap you,” Tina said, gasping.

“Plans to overthrow some people and take the lead?” Sebastian snorted. “Yeah, that sounds like mommie dearest.”

“But did you tell him?” Santana asked. “Did he learn the names?”

“He didn’t need me,” Blaine said darkly. “Hence the trip to the roof. He said Camille had retrieved the list.”

So she had survived the dive. Sebastian wasn’t surprised.

“So now they’re one step ahead of us … again,” Cooper said. “We’re screwed.”

“Don’t be so sure, Coop.” Blaine got to his feet, letting the blanket fall, and went to his mom’s desk to pick up a pencil. He looked around, then headed straight for a smooth pale wallpaper. He started to write, and under his sure hand names started to appear.

A list of names.

“You remembered!”

“Yes.” Blaine nodded, sounding satisfied. It was good to hear confidence on him again; he wore it very sexily. “Every single one.”

Everyone leaned forward, reading the list as it sprouted on the wall with bated breath.

“Charles Sylvester,” Cooper said. “There’s a Sue Sylvester, she’s part of the UN. Mean old warhawk.”

“Goolsby,” Pam added. “Silicone valley. Big tech money, used to work in radios.”

Four names went by that didn’t strike immediate recognition (Davids, Delmonico, Menkins, Ryan) but the next one made everyone pause. Blaine stared at what he’d written and shook his head.

“No, it can’t be -- he helped me.”

The name was SAMUEL P. EVANS.

“It could just be his dad, not your summer boy,” Sebastian pointed out. Blaine threw him a look.

“The Ambassador helped me too. He saved my life after the bank job went south.”

Doubt flickered across his face, though. Sebastian bit his tongue; Blaine would come around.

“We have to get Sam out,” Quinn said, getting up. “If his dad is in the Circle, and is now in danger -- we have to save Sam.”

“We have to confirm who the actual descendents are,” Hunter said. “Before we go running around ‘saving’ anyone.”

Sebastian nodded in agreement.

“This is good though,” Blaine said, looking around the room. “They’re not a step ahead anymore. Which means we get to do the chasing now.”

“And we will, Squirt,” Cooper said. “But it won’t necessarily be you.”

“What! You can’t shut us out --”

“Blaine,” Pam said gently. “This is serious. Actual agents will be put on this.”

Blaine opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. “Fine,” he said. “I agree. For now.”

Cooper laughed. “That’s my baby brother.”

“I’m not a baby,” Blaine shot back. “Not anymore.”

Cooper shared a look with Pam, then reached over to give Blaine’s hair a ruffle.

“You’ll always be one to us, though.”

Sebastian watched this, and figured Blaine was lucky his family wasn’t locking him away after everything that had happened. But Cooper knew Blaine was growing up, no matter his teasing.

Sebastian suspected they wouldn’t actually be shut out of what was coming for long.

--

“You never told me you sing.”

Sebastian and Blaine were lazing on Sebastian’s bed; Blaine had for once not complained about the covered window being a turn-off. Maybe he was realizing Sebastian had a point.

“I don’t. Not really.” Blaine leaned back against the wall. “I used to take lessons when I was a kid, but then my dad died …”

“Made you want to go into the family business?”

“I don’t know if I ever had a choice with that.”

“Of course you did.” Sebastian smiled at Blaine, amused. “You always have a choice.”

Blaine looked at him, breath caught, then nodded, marvelling to himself. “Yeah … yeah, I do.”

Sebastian reached over, hand curling around the back of Blaine’s neck, tugging him into a kiss. They shared several long, slow kisses, moving closer together, until Blaine was half in his lap. Sebastian was sliding his hand up the back of Blaine’s shirt, not pausing at the raised pattern of the scars, and Blaine wasn’t moving away so things were going very nicely --

And then an impatient knock came at the door.

“Bling-a-ling!” Tina called. “Come on, Santana wants to practise throws and we need a fourth!”

“So get Smythe’s tongue out of your mouth and get out here!” Santana added.

Blaine groaned and slid away from Sebastian and off the bed. Sebastian rolled his eyes.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Sebastian called as Blaine went to open the door. “I don’t get an invite?”

“You’re our judge,” Quinn said. “Loathe as we are to admit it, you’re the best here at this so you’ll check our technique.”

“Aww.” Sebastian bounced to his feet. “I get to nitpick and critique you guys? That’s so sweet, it’s like an early birthday present.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Santana told him. “Or we’ll throw you .”

“Hey. All good agents know how to take a fall. Not surprised you don’t know that though.”

“The problem with looking to you for how to do things, obviously,” Santana shot back, as the shut the door and started to walk together.

“But you can’t help but look at me, right, when I’m always ahead of you?”

“Alright, you two,” Blaine interrupted. “Let’s save the bloodshed for the barn.”

Sebastian and Santana shared a look. “Always killing our fun, Anderson,” Sebastian complained.

Blaine laughed, wrapping an arm around Sebastian’s waist. “My apologies,” Blaine said, and Sebastian draped an arm around Blaine’s shoulder in reply. Their fivesome headed down to the P&E barn together, laughing and chatting, terrorist threats and espionage worries miles and miles away. It was just them, and the winter calm, and the excitement of the holiday break and how they would spend it. Normal, human things.

The future was coming fast, Sebastian knew, and one day they would be helping take down the Circle. Take down his mom. But until then … he was going to enjoy all he had.

After all, he’d done his fair share of waiting for it.

--

fin

[thetraveljedi]

TRIP REPORT: Budapest, Hungary

After a lovely day in Vienna, we continued down the Danube to our final stop of the cruise- Budapest, Hungary. As we cruised down the river through the night, we were treated to lovely views of Bratislava and the countryside of beautiful Slovakia. We arrived just as the sun rose over the hills of Buda, and had a prime docking location on the Pest side, right near the Chain Bridge.

Some background before I begin- Budapest wasn’t called Budapest originally. It started off as three separate cities- Buda and Obuda on the western side of the Danube, quieter and full of hills, and bustling Pest, an important Hungarian commercial center, on the east side of the river. Eventually the three combined in 1874 to become Budapest- though the government did consider calling the city Pestbuda before settling on the opposite. As a result, the city is sprawling and the sites of Budapest are quite scattered throughout. So due to my limited time in the city, I decided to book a private tour with a car so I could get to see as much as possible.

We started off with a short drive over one of the several crossings over the Danube, the famous Chain Bridge. The bridges over the Danube in Budapest were destroyed in World War II; only the towers of the Chain Bridge survived the destruction. Fortunately, the bridge was rebuilt and maintains much of historic glory thanks to the gorgeously restored towers.

Once on the Buda side from the Chain Bridge, we passed through the Buda Castle tunnel, seeing the remains of Buda Castle, once the home to the royals of Hungary. The castle was heavily damaged during World World II, and is now home to the Hungarian National Gallery and History museum. Once through the tunnel, we continued up one of Buda’s most notorious hills, Gellért Hill.

Gellért Hill is home to some of the more controversial pieces of Hungarian history. A huge stone Citadel looms around the hill, built by the Hapsburgs after the Hungarian Revolution in 1848. Hated by Hungarians due to its symbolism of the Hapsburgs long reign over Hungary, pieces of it were symbolically destroyed after it was handed over to the local government at the end of the 19th century. Standing on the very top of the hill is the Liberty Statue, erected after World War II during Soviet occupation to commemorate their victory in World War II and the end of the Nazi occupation of Hungary. It is one of only two Communist era statues that remain in the city of the hundreds that once stood on Budapest’s streets; most of them were removed and now form Memento Park, an open-air museum on the Pest side, including most of the several Soviet soldiers that used to surround the Statue of Liberty atop Gellért Hill. The Statue of Liberty is an impossible site to miss in the skyline of Buda, a reminder that despite a turbulent history of occupation, an independent Hungary has emerged from the rubble.

After that somber look into Hungary’s more recent history, we moved into the historic core of Budapest, called the Castle District. Home to several of Budapest’s most well known historic sites, such as Matthias Church and the Fisherman’s Bastion, walking through the Castle District truly feels like you’re stepping back into time. For lunch, I had to try one of my favorite dishes in its native land- goulash- and sampled some Hungarian wine. My guide told me winemaking in Hungary has just begun making a huge comeback in the wine industry, and since red wine is my favorite he suggested I try Egri Bikavér, aka “Bulls’ Blood,” a famous full-bodied red unique to Hungary. It was really delicious, so much so I made it a point to find some to bring back to the ship with me.

Following lunch, we hopped back over the Danube to Pest, starting with one of the most famous architectural sites of Hungary, the stunning neo-Gothic Hungarian Parliament Building. It’s so expansive you’ll feel tiny standing next to the sprawling building. Next to the Parliament is Kossuth Tér (Square), home to important government buildings and also the site of the Kossuth Tér Massacre, where in 1956 hundreds of demonstrators protesting the Soviet occupation of Hungary were gunned down by Soviet troops. There are still a lot of missing details about the incident, including how many people died; estimates generally believe the number to between 300-800, but some recent research indicates that number could be in the thousands. Many of them were kids and college students. An underground museum detailing the event lays under the memorial honoring the victims, and asks anyone with any additional information about massacre to report it officials to complete the missing pieces in this dark chapter of Hungarian history. Even more haunting are the bullet holes still visible in the government buildings that surround the square.

Next we drove through the bustling streets of Pest, down the major avenue Andrássy Út, which is *the* big shopping hub of Pest and is lined with gorgeous historic buildings, including the Hungarian National Opera House. At the end of the road is Heroes’ Square, a statue complex devoted to celebrating some major figures in Hungarian history, such as Stephen I, the first King of Hungary.

Heroes’ Square also marks the beginning of City Park, Budapest’s crown jewel of a park, which is home to several important sites, such as the Museum of Fine Arts, Palace of Art, and the Budapest Zoo. The Park and many of its buildings were constructed as part of a huge millennium celebration held in 1896 to commemorate 1000 years since the establishment of the Principality of Hungary, when the Magyars, the ancestors of Hungarians, first settled into their current spot in the Carpathian Basin. You’ll hear and see the number 96 all around Hungary because of its key spot in Hungarian history- the Parliament Building, for example, is 96 meters tall in commemoration. Just don’t remind Hungarians that the committee organized to determine the year of Hungarian settlement actually found that the Magyars arrived in 895, not 896; the committee was asked to add a year onto their findings because the city leaders knew all the construction necessary for the grand festivities wouldn’t be ready in time for 1895.

Another staple of City Park is the Széchenyi Baths. Hungary lays on top of a vast network of thermal hot springs, so much so that when the Romans first settled in Hungary they named the settlement Aquincum- “abundant waters.” You’ll find tons of thermal baths in Budapest, but the Széchenyi is one of the largest and most historic. It was packed with people enjoying the benefits of the warm mineral water. If I had more time, I definitely would’ve hopped in!

But I still had a few more sites left in Budapest I needed to make my way to. Next up, we headed over to the Jewish Quarter and the Dohány Street Synagogue. Before World War II, 5% of Hungary’s population and 25% of Budapest’s pre-war population was Jewish. But as anti-Semitism in Europe grew in the early 20th century, the Hungarian government began to enforce “Jewish laws,” and Budapest’s Jews were forced to live in a miniscule section of the city surrounding the synagogue. Hungary would go on to join the Axis, which gave Hungary some more freedom as to how to interpret Hitler’s “Final Solution” to exterminate Jews. Hungary opted to deport, inter, or send Jews to Hungarian military labor camps rather than engage in the genocide. This wasn’t enough for Hitler, though, and in 1944 he sent the Arrow Cross regime to Hungary to ensure his orders were carried out. The Jewish Quarter was turned into an even smaller walled ghetto, where Jews were forbidden to make any contact outside the walls. 600,000 Hungarian Jews died in the Holocaust. Today, only .5% of Hungarians are Jewish.

After World War II, the Synagogue and the surrounding neighborhood were left to decay, leaving the iconic synagogue and Jewish Quarter buildings in disarray. But as Communism finally left Hungary, renewed interest in restoring the temple helped bring the building back to its former glory, much thanks to the financial support of a famous Hungarian-American Jew, renowned cosmetics entrepreneur Esteé Lauder. Built in 1859, Dohány Synangouge is the largest synagogue in Europe and the second largest in the world, and is one of the most beautifully unique houses of worship I’ve ever had the privilege of laying eyes on during my travels.

My final stop in Budapest was the Great Market Hall, an absolutely enormous 3-floor market that has everything Hungarian you can imagine. The basement boasts the fish and pickle market, the ground floor has all produce, meat, wine, and other snacks, and on the top floor you’ll find tons of souvenir shops and a restaurant. It was built in 1897 and heavily damaged in World War II as its located right near Chain Bridge. It sat neglected during the Communist occupation, but was fully restored and reopened only in 1997. I got to sample some delicious cheeses and Hungarian wine, and learned all about the different kinds of Hungarian paprika there are- be careful for the spicy varieties if you do the same!

I still can’t believe I managed to squeeze all of those Budapest sites into a small period of time, but I definitely felt like there was still so much more left of the city to see. I returned to the Viking Vili having fallen in love with Budapest and eager to return so that I can experience more of the city. Of all the cities I visited on this trip, Budapest had one of the most unique histories and friendliest people I encountered.

And now we’ve reached the end of my Trip Report! It’s been so much fun reflecting and sharing this trip with all of you. I leave for my next trip in less than week, heading across the pond to London for a week and going to a longtime favorite footie/soccer team of mine, Arsenal. I can’t wait to share this trip with all of you too! But in the meantime, I’ll be switching up some of the articles to include more travel tips, destination guides, and special interest travel- foodie, sports, and history travelers should get excited for those!