#carruthers was so close to being good

[spinef0ryou]

An interview with Dave Mustaine from this month’s Metal Hammer magazine. Transcript under the cut.

THE REVENGE OF DAVE MUSTAINE

Forty years ago, Megadeth emerged from a maelstrom of drugs, carnage, and raw fury. Now, the man at the centre of it looks back at the birth of one of metal’s most iconic bands.

WORDS: JON WIEDERHORN

It has become one of the most oft-repeated legends of metal history. At 9am on April 11, 1983, Metallica woke up guitarist Dave Mustaine and told him he was out of the band. They were holed up in a divey live-in rehearsal space in Queens, New York, preparing to record their debut album, Kill 'Em All. With hardly an explanation, they handed him a one way bus ticket back to Los Angeles, and James Hetfield drove him to the Port Authority Bus Terminal in Midtown Manhattan. Without a dime in his pockets, Dave boarded the 10am bus, which was scheduled to arrive in LA four days later.

Broke and hungry, he spent much of the ride looking out the window, stewing in rage. His drinking had become a problem with the rest of the band, though the tipping point came when he attacked James Hetfield after the latter allegedly kicked Dave's dog. Still, Metallica were about to head into the studio to record their full-length debut without him, after he had written four songs, seven guitar leads and two sets of lyrics for the album. And that stung like hell.

Sitting on the bus, he glanced at a political postcard he had picked up along the way. It was from California Democratic Senator Alan Cranston, and it read in part: ‘The arsenal of megadeath can't be rid,’ political speak for, ‘now that the U.S. has ramped up its production of nuclear weapons, the genie is officially out of the bottle.'

It was like a bomb exploding inside Dave's head. ‘Megadeth: what a cool name for a band.’ Inspired, he started scribbling new song lyrics on the back of a cupcake napkin. This was the basis of the very first Megadeth song, titled Set The World Afire, which would eventually make its way onto the band's third album, 1988's So Far, So Good...So What!. But on that bus heading across the middle of America, Dave was determined, driven and hungry. Failure simply wasn't an option.

It's 40 years since that fateful bus ride, and Dave Mustaine has lived multiple lives. He's endured drug addiction, countless line-up changes, the death of close friends and his own throat cancer diagnosis (he got the all-clear in 2020). But the one constant throughout has been Megadeth, the entity he imagined into being while staring out at the passing landscape and seething.

"I was driven by revenge" recalls Dave of Megadeth's inception today, speaking to Hammer from his home in Nashville. "I was angry about what happened with Metallica, and all the way home I kept thinking, 'I'll just be faster, I'll be better, and my songs will be heavier."

It didn't take Dave long to get back on his feet once he returned to Los Angeles following his unceremonious dismissal from Metallica. Crashing at friends' houses in Hollywood, he began looking for bandmembers for his new project. Word soon began to spread - the guy who got kicked out of Metallica for being too fucked-up was back. And he was pissed off.

"Somehow everything turned into this thing where we had a band ready called Fallen Angels" says Dave. "I thought, "Uh, no we don't.!' I didn't even have a full band yet."

Trading under the name Megadeth - after the phrase he'd seen on that political postcard - he began trying to piece together a stable line-up, something that proved easier said than done. A churn of guitarists and drummers came and went throughout the rest of 1983 and into 1984, none sticking around permanently.

Some interesting characters passed through their ranks. One drummer, Dijon Carruthers, was the son of Hollywood actor Ben Carruthers (best known for his role in the 1967 war movie The Dirty Dozen). Another drummer, Lee Rausch, claimed he'd sold his soul to Satan, something that even Dave, who had performed occult rituals, found too bizarre (Lee, who died earlier this year, later became a committed Christian). And then there was a young guitarist named Kerry King, who briefly pulled double duty in Megadeth and his own band Slayer.

"When Kerry sat in with us [for five gigs in early 1984), he was doing us a huge favour" Dave says. "He didn't have any plans on being in Megadeth because he loved Slayer, and that was his band. I really didn't want to take him away from another band. Poaching bandmembers has never been something I've been into."

Finding a bassist was easier. Recently transplanted Minnesota native David Ellefson had moved into the apartment below Mustaine, and paid his new neighbour a visit to ask where he could buy cigarettes and beer. The two men got talking, and Mustaine plaved the AC/DC- and Judas Priest-loving Ellefson some of the music he'd written for his new band. The bassist liked it and threw in his lot with the guy living upstairs.

That just left the task of recruiting a singer. Dave didn't see himself as a vocalist, so they tried out a few other people. They either looked wrong (one guy turned up to rehearsal in make-up) or sounded wrong. It didn't help that the music he was writing was faster, angrier and more complex that any mainstream metal of the time. Eventually, someone suggested he do it himself.

"I was reluctant right up to the last minute," he says. "And then I finally said, OK, fuck it, I can't be worse than some of these other dudes."

Even while the line-up was solidifying, Dave kept writing. He was determined not to produce songs that sounded like his old band, which wasn't easy given his input into Metallica's early material.

"When I was in Metallica, I was kind of playing at Lars's level, because Lars was still learning to play drums back then," he says. "But watching James play guitar for the first time was kind of shocking, because I didn't know he knew how to play guitar. We just got fed up one day of auditioning guitar players, just like I did with singers. And he picked up this guitar and started playing, and inside I'm going, 'Get the fuck out of here. How can you possibly be satisfied being a singer when you play like that? Why not be both?' I've always thought he was a really talented guitarist."

The first 'proper' Megadeth line-up began to take shape in mid-1984. "There was a guy, Jay Jones, who managed another band and was a very scandalous person," says Dave. "He came into the rehearsal studio when he heard me in the room playing and said, 'Have I got a drummer for you!"" That drummer was Gar Samuelson, who had formerly been a member of a jazz/ fusion group named The New Yorkers.

Dave agreed to meet Gar in his studio and, right from the start, was impressed by his jazz swing, crushing hits and jarring mannerisms.

"Gar sat down on a couch in Mars Studios, and he was smoking a cigarette," says Dave. "He fell asleep and his cigarette burned through his hand and burned his fingers. I thought, 'Shit, this guy is crazy. wonder what he's into?”

What he was into was heroin, the reason he nodded off mid-cigarette - something Dave himself would find out soon enough. Today, the singer speaks highly of Gar's abilities (the drummer died in 1999, reportedly of liver failure).

"We became great friends, and his jazz style complemented my riffing," says the singer. "I gotta give credit where credit is due. He had a lot to do with the sound of that first Megadeth record. He had taste and technique for days."

Megadeth entered Hollywood's Hitman Studios in 1984 and recorded a three-song demo, Last Rites, which featured Last Rites/ Loved To Deth, The Skull Beneath The Skin and Mechanix, the latter a gas station sex fantasy that Dave had written when he was in his earlier band, Panic, and brought into Metallica (who would subsequently change the lyrics and rename it The Four Horsemen). Desperate for someone to help promote them and bring them dope, Megadeth hired Jay Jones as their manager/ pharmaceutical supplier.

It was Jay who helped find the final piece of the jigsaw. Guitarist Chris Poland had been a member of The New Yorkers with Gar Samuelson, and, more recently, a group named No Questions. Like Gar, he was a jazz guy - and, also like Gar, he was a heroin user. He had little interest in playing metal, but he was interested in a pay cheque to fund his own drug habit. Despite that, Chris and Dave hit it off musically, the spontaneity of the former's playing meshing with the growing complexity of the songs the latter was writing.

Mustaine and Ellefson weren't strangers to drugs, though they initially favoured weed and beer, but they soon gave in to temptation and started dabbling in smack as well. With time, dabbling became binging. For Mustaine, narcotics were a coping mechanism, a temporary respite from hunger and homelessness.

“I liked getting high, but it was more about escape than anything." he says. "If there was a moment we were awake, we were looking for drugs because that's how horrible our existence was. We were scratching and clawing to get someone to take notice of us and thank God, no matter how fucked-up I was, my first priority was making music and playing good shows."

After sending Last Rites to various L.A.-area indie labels, Megadeth caught the attention of New York’s Combat Records, who gave them $8,000 to record their debut album, Killing Is My Business... And Business Is Good! They stumbled into Indigo Ranch Studios in Malibu, plugged in and got by on a combination of ambition and muscle memory. One day, when Dave asked Jay where his bandmates were, his manager told him they had just spent $4,000 (half the budget for the album) on blow, smack and frozen hamburgers. Dave promptly sacked Jay, cajoled another $4,000 from Combat, hired engineer Karat Faye, and paid him $50 a day to finish co-producing the album with him.

“We did the takes quickly, with Dave, Gar and I in one room, playing together, with no click tracks," Ellefson told Metal Hammer in the mid-2010s. "You can hear the tempos shifting around, depending on whether it was a 'heroin take' or a 'cocaine take'. It's funny now, but I wouldn't recommend that approach."

Since three of the songs were from the Last Rites demo, Megadeth only had to finesse another four tracks and a cover of Nancy Sinatra's 1966 hit These Boots Are Made For Walkin'. Once the album was finished, Megadeth hit the road, though the severity of his addiction meant Chris had to sit out the first two weeks of the tour.

"He was a real Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde because of his personal issues," Dave says. "As much as I loved Chris and tried to get close to him, what he was doing just took precedence over anybody and anything. What they say is true. You become powerless over that stuff. So, when you came down to it, I didn't mean anything to Chris, Megadeth didn't mean anything to Chris. All he cared about was what he was doing on the side."

On the road, Megadeth spent many nights crashing at fans' houses, preferably apartments owned by nurturing women turned on by bad boy rockers. They spent other nights in Motel 6s and when nothing else was available they would sleep in the van.

"The shows were out of control because hardly anyone knew what moshing was," Dave says. "They weren't familiar with crowdsurfing. Kids would just jump up on the stage and there was no stagediving protocol. Some of them would run over to you and grab your mic stand to get some picks off. They'd bang into your guitar or try to scream into the mic. Then someone would shove them off the stage. It was pure balls-to-the-wall metal insanity."

The band environment was no more relaxing offstage, especially when Chris and Gar needed to score.

"They'd sell a whole bunch of gear to buy drugs" Dave says. "We'd have to drive around town to all the pawn shops and instrument shops looking for all the drum pieces, or other pieces of equipment."

The situation wasn't helped by the fact that their label didn't seem to care about the band. A particularly demoralising moment came when the band ran out of money and didn't have enough gas to get to the next gig.

"I called up the vice president of Combat and he was a real piece of work" Dave recalls. "I told him I was at the hotel, and I needed gas money to get to the next town so we could get paid. And the guy says, 'Get a day job."

Other, more weak-willed musicians probably would have quit there and then, but not Dave Mustaine. Every obstacle, every element of adversity, provided extra determination not to let getting kicked out of Metallica mark the beginning of his downfall.

Killing Is My Business... And Business Is Good! caught the attention of the thrash scene when it was released in June 1985, not least thanks to their frontman's connection with Metallica. It was a subject was brought up in every interview, usually resulting in shit talking from a still-bitter Dave.

The vengeful drive that had given Megadeth their initial impetus hadn't abated. Dave found time between gigs, fixes and after-show debauchery to write a bunch of new songs on the road to add to the ones he'd been stockpiling since the beginning of the band.

One day Mustaine and Ellefson were at Killing Is My Business... producer Karat Faye's house when the frontman picked up his bandmate's bass and began playing a rolling, strident riff. Ellesfon was blown away. It took them two hours in the rehearsal room to turn it into a song. On the car ride to that rehearsal, Mustaine had turned to the bassist and asked: "What do you think of Peace Sells... But Who's Buying?” Megadeth had the name of both their second album and - in the truncated form of Peace Sells - its iconic near-title track.

Lyrically, Peace Sells was a world away from metal's traditional fascination with swords'n'sorcery and the occult, injecting a dose of politics into the Megadeth's melodic thrash attack. What do you mean, "I don't support your system"?" sneered the singer. 'I go to court when I have to.'

"I tried to keep up with what was going on in the world and I still do,” Dave says. "I mean, it's not especially deep or anything. It's kind of like the credo of Al Bundy from the (late 80s/early 90s] TV show Married... With Children if he was a metal fan. That's a silly comparison, but it's what was in my head at the time. And I wrote all the lyrics on the wall of the practice room. When you're writing on a wall there's not much room to come back with an eraser. I don't know if they painted over the wall, but they probably should have excavated it and sent it to some kind of museum.

Despite their tensions with Combat, the label stumped up a budget of $25,000 for Megadeth to enter Malibu's Indigo Ranch studio with producer Randy Burns to record their second album. Even before the album was released, major labels had begun sniffing around the band. One person who was interested was Michael Alago, the A&R hotshot who had recently signed Metallica, but Dave had no interest in being on the same label as his former bandmates-turned-antagonists.

"I didn't want to play second fiddle to them." he says.

In the end, they signed with Capitol, who opted to buy Megadeth out of their contract with Combat and bring in producer Paul Lani to remix it and give it a slicker sound. Along with the deal came a noticeable improvement in the band's financial situation - as Capitol's shiny new thrash metal band, Megadeth received more tour support and bigger royalty cheques than they'd ever got on Combat. But much of the money they were now making went into their expensive pharmaceutical habits. Even though he was deep in his own addiction, Dave knew that providing some sense of leadership was important, now more than ever before.

"I quickly realised that when stuff goes wrong - and it does go wrong - that if you're the leader, you need to take responsibility for shit even when it's not your fault,” he says. “You need to step up and make it right. I look at stuff and say, 'I've got to do whatever I can to make this right. We've come too far for everything to go sideways."

To Dave Mustaine, righting the ship has also meant knowing when it's time to make changes. In June 1987, Megadeth wrapped up the tour in support of Peace Sells... But Who's Buying? with two shows in Honolulu, Hawaii. When the band got back to LA, Gar Samuelson and Chris Poland were jonesing for a fix. According to the frontman, they ended up selling band equipment again to buy more drugs. It was the final straw.

"I was totally fed up," Mustaine says. "I guess it was just one too many times driving around Los Angeles trying to find everybody's band gear. I told Ellefson, 'Well, that's it. I'm breaking up the band and I'm getting rid of those guys. If you want to stay with me that's fine."

David Ellefson did stay, though Chris and Gar were history. They'd eventually be replaced by guitarist Jeff Young and drummer Chuck Behler, whose one-album tenure - they appeared on 1988's chaotic So Far, So Good... So What! - proved to be no less volatile.

Forty years after Dave Mustaine formed Megadeth in the wake of his firing from Metallica, much has changed about both the band and their leader. Today, he's the sole remaining original member and the only one who has played on every album (after leaving and rejoining the band in the 2000s, David Ellison was ousted for a second and seemingly final time in 2021 following an online sex scandal.) The singer himself cleaned up long ago, embracing his Christian faith in the process.

But at the same time, the single-mindedness and stubborn streak that saw him pick himself up post-Metallica and build an entirely new band remains intact. Lesser musicians would have folded a long time ago, but not Dave Mustaine. And it all dates back to those earl vears when he had so much to prove and nothing to lose.

"We went through everything, man, from what happened on the road, to homelessness, to starvation," he says. "The panhandling, the sleeping on people's floors. The destitution the desperation and poverty. We survived it all."

MEGADEATH’S LATEST ALBUM THE SICK THE DYING… AND THE DEAD! IS OUT NOW VIA UMC

Sidebar:

THE SONGS THAT BUILT MEGADETH

The best of Megadeth’s 80s output

Killing Is My Business… And Business Is Good! (1985)

The snarling, sneering, 100mph title track of Megadeth’s debut album and a defiant ‘fuck you' to his ex-bandmates in Metallica.

Mechanix (1985)

Aka the song that begat Metallica's The Four Horsemen. Megadeth’s version is faster, sleazier, and had flames shooting out of its exhaust. 'Made my drive shaft crank/Made my pistons bulge,’ indeed.

Wake Up Dead (1986)

Peace Sells... But Who's Buying?'s opening track is a thrash song like no other, possessed of an oddball arrangement and lyrics that detail an extra-marital affair. The 'Diana' in the lyrics was Mustaine's real-life girlfriend.

Peace Sells (1986)

An iconic 80s thrash song: Dave takes aim at The Man over a massive bassline and ver instant-classic riff. It was purloined as the theme to MTV News, for which Mustaine claims he never got a penny.

Good Mourning/Black Friday (1986)

Begins with a downcast, jazz-adiacent guitar duel before it utilises circuitous riffing and glorious half-step abuse to show just how different Megadeth were to everyone else.

The Conjuring (1986)

Dave once claimed to have buried part of a hex in this occult-inspired rager ako featuring an evil-sounding guitar run, which explains why he stopped playing it for years after re-embracing his Christianity.

My Last Words (1986)

A Favourite of Lars Ulrich, apparently, and it's easy to see why, with its climactic build and fist-pumping gang-vocal climax, the Peace Sells... album closer is a tension-and-release masterstroke

In My Darkest Hour (1988)

So Far, So Good... So What!'s power ballad written in response to his ex-Metallica bandmates failing to tell him about Cliff Burton's death. The disdain at being left to fend for himself is tangible.

Liar (1988)

One of metal's greatest diss songs, aimed at former guitarist Chris Poland. Dave reels off a list of vituperative personal insults at his despised ex-bandmate before reaching an apoplectic climax: 'You... you... you fucking LIAR!'

Hook In Mouth (1988)

The 80s was the PMRC decade, and motormouth Mustaine had something to say about it on this scathing, bass-driven rebuke to the ‘Washington Wives' who were trying to silence metal and hip hop's freedom of speech.

"METALLICA WOULD COME TO OUR SHOWS!"

Ex-Megadeth bassist David Junior' Ellefson looks back on his early days in the band

WHERE DID YOU FIRST MEET DAVE MUSTAINE?

"I'd moved to Hollywood with my friends and Dave had an apartment directly above. We went and knocked on his door to buy cigarettes and he went, 'Down the street' and slammed the door in our faces. We went back later and asked him where to buy beer and he looked us up and down and said, 'All right, now you're speaking my language."

HOW MUCH INPUT DID YOU HAVE IN THE SONGWRITINGEARLY ON?

"Dave wrote the songs that cast the die of whatever Megadeth was going to be, but at the same time those songs were put together in the band room, and when you're in a room together there's a lot of collaboration. There are musical moments that happen that would never have happened with one guy putting, the songs together on his own.”

HOW WAS IT PLAYING WITH SLAYER'S KERRY KING, WHO WAS BRIEFLY IN THE BAND?

"Going to San Francisco with us opened his eyes to what thrash metal was, seeing bands like Exodus. Kerry went back to LA and Slayer took the make-up off and became more the band that we knew them to be."

HOW CHAOTIC WERE THOSE EARLY DAYS?

"Everything in Megadeth was chaotic because we were poor and we were on drugs. Some bands 'party' and to me that's beer and a little weed, hanging out. When you get into heavier drugs like cocaine and especially heroin, that’s not partying. You’re going down a very dark, secluded road.”

YOU AND DAVE WERE HOMELESS FOR A WHILE, RIGHT?

"Oh yeah, we were living in the rehearsal room, living in my van, finding people to take us in to crash at their house. Me and Dave would hock our guitars on any given week. We had these little phone sales jobs so when we got some money together we'd go get our guitars out of hock so we could go to rehearsal that week."

WAS THERE A RIVALRY BETWEEN BANDS IN THE SCENE?

"I'd say there a friendly rivalry. Dave was obviously furious about being let go from Metallica but Lars and the guys would come to some of our shows. For me, the rivalry was never Metallica. i'd listen to them and go, 'Fuck, they're hitting every mark. I know it was hard for Dave because how could it not be to look to the left and see Metallica going straight to the top?'

HOW DO YOU LOOK BACK AT YOUR TIME IN MEGADETH?

"No regrets and 100% pride. I will always be a lifelong champion of that band and legacy because It never would have happened without me - I financed the Killing Is My Business tour on my dad's credit card! I'm very proud of the years I was there. It's a cherished moment in time."

TO HELL AND BACK, THE NEW ALBUM FROM DAVID'S NEW BAND, DIETH, IS OUT NOW VIA NAPALM

[cinamun]

I’m having to put on my big gworl panties to unpack MerSean…

I think the only ship these two should explore should be friendship. Do I like the fact that Sean has managed to finally uproot himself from the indent he has left in his couch for a night out? Absolutely

Do I fear for Sean’s (and Mercy’s) health and well being if they do a thing: Absolutely

Boffum need to heal but not together, in that way. I feel Mercy should find some new unproblematic, good dick from someone else. Like there’s gotta be someone else just kickin’ it at Sky Fitness or the Cupcake stand in Uptown…or like The Art Gallery or something. Getting in bed with Sean is too close comfort. I want to save the good sis the time & energy before she gives it away.

Not even making this be about Jay but I feel like he would lose it. Going from Bishop to Sean, just might send him to an early grave. But even his feelings aside…Sean just got off the couch. We don’t need any more “soul ties” (if that’s the right word) with unhealed/mentally unstable (respectfully) men. Especially since she’s had a taste of freedom for what…like 2 weeks…and idk if we can even call it freedom because she’s not fully outta the clear. She’s confident…and having a good time with her girl Indy but…in the clear…far from it. 👀

The ship I do think she should explore: that music teacher position at Copperdale that miss girl had been eying. I think her tickling the ivories at that funeral is the real reason miss ma’am is living her most confident-infused best life. Them keys put some pep in our girls step, we can’t deny that.

*Please feel free to give me a better word for mentally unstable, if you have one. 💛

Its the practical rationale for me Chae!!!

Because look, the good brotha Sean literally just buried his boy (rip to the homie). While its nice to get off the couch (he says as much to Darren) and get out, have a lil fun (see the hint of a smile on the Harley), we don't need to rush into anything. Sean is still seeing the good Doc about 3 times a week and its going to take awhile for the Doc to work on YEARS of projecting, trauma, feelings of failed parenting and now loss. Sean has work to do.

And did Mercy ever have an outlet after the passing of Mr. Jackson Carruthers, Jazz Pianist? Perhaps not... she couldn't even be found when Georgie passed away and Bertie really needed her. She buries her own feelings and feels like she deserves punishment. That just doesn't go away after one bomb ass night out with a bad ass bestie.

She still has baggage and the tag says Bishop. The flesh is weak.

I'm so glad you mentioned the Music Teacher that Mercy very much wanted to be but was told "I don't want you working". Chile....

And here comes her son, Professor of the Pianistic Arts at Britechester, always a waiting list to enroll in his course because he LOVES what he does and the students LOVE that. I digress....

All very, VERY good points to soak in as we imagine the possibilities of these two very complicated characters.

[greencheekconure27]

Some Yeomen of the Guard headcanons:

The Lieutenant was looking to hire a jester because everyone kept telling him he's got no sense of humour, and he decided he needs to improve that.(Ironically he's one of the few people who would've found Wilfred's jokes funny)

Phoebe is very adventurous: she grew up hearing all kinds of tales of derring-do from her father and the other veterans (who all doted on her). She has dreamed in participating in one since she was a child, and not as a damsel in distress either. Which is another reason she immediately seizes the opportunity to rescue Fairfax

She talks Leonard into teaching her some fencing afterwards, and immediately uses her new knowledge to put the fear of god into Wilfred.

Jack can't swim. Elsie had to rescue him from drowning more than once. (It doesn't help that Jack's at his wittiest when insulting people; he gets thrown into rivers a lot because of this)

Leonard really didn't like how Fairfax treated Elsie at the wedding. He almost came rescue her when she called for "Leonard, my own" out of sheer habit. Phoebe had to hold him back.

Elsie is more in love with the idea of Fairfax than with the man himself. Coincidentally, said idea closely resembles the real Leonard.

Phoebe has a somewhat dark sense of humour, possibly as a result of all the executions she saw growing up.

Money notwithstanding, Jack Point wasn't happy about the whole "marrying off Elsie " deal at all. But old Bridget Maynard was really sick, and he was well aware they weren't making nearly enough to help her in time. So he put on a brave front for Elsie's sake and encouraged her to take up on the opportunity, accidentally alienating her in the process.

He's pretty much useless in a fight, but usually makes up for it by being extremely good at running away and dodging hits.

Fairfax and his cousin look very alike and have similar personalities, a fact that has contributed a lot to their rivalry.

Poltwhistle and Fairfax have been trying to kill each other for years, to the point that both of them see it almost as a sport.There may have been other, less lucky murder-y cousins in the past as well.

Jack stole the Hugh Ambrose book from the archbishop's library, originally in an attempt to find out what his employer finds funny, but after he got whipped and thrown out he decided not to return it. The jokes are all terrible. He used to entertain Elsie by reading them aloud and commenting on them.

Even the yeomen find Dame Carruthers' enthusiasm for all things Tower (especially the bloody parts) deeply unnerving. Wilfred and Kate are about the only people who don't try to quietly escape when she starts monologuing.

Kate thinks her aunt is very cool, actually.

[lizpaige]

❤️ or 💘 for Pynch please?

ooh, thanks for the ask, anon! I'm gunna do a lil from both of these for a lil college AU - also this turned into way more than a drabble sorry hehe ❤️ first kiss / realization 💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss Send me a Heart Prompt!

Ronan tried not to laugh at seeing how uncomfortable Adam looked, backed into a corner, being chatted up by Tad Carruthers of all people. Tad couldn’t take a hint and after a full year of college being politely let down by Adam countless times, the poor bastard continued to try. He was harmless, just lacking social cues, and could trap you in a conversation for hours. He never actually asked Adam out, but his intentions were clear and his crush only developed further the more they saw one another.

They were in the kitchen of the rowing team’s annual house party, Ronan was just grabbing a soda from the fridge. He lost Gansey about an hour ago and so he was doing his own hiding from Kavinsky, who also couldn’t take a hint, although he had gotten further than Tad with Adam. They had a brief friendly with benefits situation last semester, which ended in Ronan nearly flunking out of college and going to rehab over the summer. Things were less friendly now.

He lingered in the kitchen, trying to assess the situation, to see if Adam needed assistance. Sure enough, Adam caught his eye over Ronan’s shoulder and his expression went from desperate to devious. Ronan watched him smirk, eyes focused on his mouth as he said something to Tad, who turned around and looked at Ronan, confused. Adam continued talking and Ronan felt frozen, pinned by his gaze. 

“Yo, Lynch!” 

Ronan blinked and approached them, Tad waving him over and Adam’s smirk fell away. “What’s up?”

“Parrish,” ooh so it’s Parrish now. Ronan wondered what Adam had said to him to veto their first-name status. “-was just telling me you guys are dating.”

Record scratch. Blink. Back up. Ronan glanced at Adam, hoping to convey the look of What the fuck, Parrish with his eyes. He assumed this was Adam’s latest and desperate attempt to get Tad off his back, so he’d play along, but they were definitely going to talk about this later.

“Uh, sure,” well, shit that was less convincing.

Tad smiled knowingly, obviously not convinced. “How long?”

Ronan looked at Adam, Adam looked at Ronan. They both said at the same time:

“Few months.”

“Few weeks.”

They looked back at Tad with wary smiles. Ronan’s heart plummeted at seeing Kavinsky enter the kitchen. Fuck. 

“There you are, you bastard,” K bellowed, approaching the three of them and wrapping an arm around Ronan’s shoulders, stumbling a bit with his beer. “How’s it going, Carruthers?” 

Tad’s smile widened. “Good, K. Did you know,” Ronan shrugged K’s arm from his shoulder, “Lynch and Parrish are a thing?”

Kavinsky laughed, elbowing Ronan, waiting for the punchline. When it didn’t come, he sobered quickly. “What?” 

Ronan could see the appeal of this story now. 

“Apparently for a few weeks,” Tad said. “Or months? They disagree.” 

“The fuck?” K said with a disbelieving laugh. “Damn, who’s gonna tell Dick? He must be beside himself.”

Ronan grabbed Adam’s hand and laced their fingers together. “C’mon,” he started to walk away, tugging him along. Being around K was dangerous, he was adept at baiting Ronan, constantly getting him in trouble. He needed to get out of here.

“Hold on a minute,” K said, stepping in front of him.

“What.”

“Prove it.” 

Now it was Adam’s turn to laugh. “What?” 

“I don’t fucking believe you,” K said to Adam, flicking Ronan on the temple. “This idiot has more chemistry with Dick Three. I’ve never seen you guys do anything but argue. Now you want me to believe you’re dating? Prove it.”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “We don’t have to prove anything to you, what are we in middle school?”

“Just a little kiss,” K cooed, so close to Ronan he felt like his eyes were going to cross. “A little kiss and we’ll leave you alone.”

“Or I could fucking punch you in the face and then you’ll leave us alone.”

“Ronan,” Adam tugged at his hand. “It’s fine.” 

Before Ronan really had a chance to process, Adam stepped forward and pressed his lips to Ronan’s. It was clumsy and at the wrong angle, and more like a quick peck you’d give a distant relative than a paramour. They both stepped back abruptly, blinking stupidly at each other. They were still holding hands. Ronan’s heart raced.

Time seemed to slow as he continued to stare at Adam. All of his interactions with Adam seemed to slot into place, realign and refocus with a new lens. When Adam’s roommate would kick him out and he would sleep in Ronan’s and Gansey’s room, but in Ronan’s bed. When Ronan would bring him hot chocolates and teas from the student bistro on his late night library shifts. On school holidays he would opt to stay with Ronan rather than Gansey, spending weeks running around the Barns laughing, falling asleep under the stars on the roof of the house.

He looked at Adam and Adam was looking at him. As they had been for months. 

It was probably the worst kiss of his life, but there was something there. Something… he wanted to try again.

“That was beautiful,” K said sarcastically, wiping a tear from his eye. Tad was laughing along with him. “Beautiful, beautiful, bullshit.”

Ronan stepped forward and cupped Adam’s cheek, tilted his head back and crashed their lips together. The angle was better, the enthusiasm was a bit much. He pushed Adam back against the counter and bit his lower lip. Adam gasped, one hand cupping the back of his head, keeping him close, the other hand tugging at his jacket, pulling him in. The loud music of the party, the chatter between K and Tad, the voices in the hall, everything faded away to a dull hum, all Ronan could focus on was Adam, Adam, Adam.

[ogsherlockholmes]

14th October

We’re only two weeks in and we’re onto J villain number I-don’t-even-know with Jack Woodley from The Solitary Cyclist. 

Woodley is a particularly nasty character from the start, when he is first introduces himself as a friend of the client’s (Violet) uncle, then forcing himself on her. 

The first flaw in my [Violet] happiness was the arrival of the red-moustached Mr. Woodley. He came for a visit of a week, and oh, it seemed three months to me! He was a dreadful person, a bully to everyone else, but to me something infinitely worse. He made odious love to me, boasted of his wealth, said that if I married him I would have the finest diamonds in London, and finally, when I would have nothing to do with him, he seized me in his arms one day after dinner—he was hideously strong—and he swore that he would not let me go until I had kissed him. 

Woodley leaves after this, but then reappears, which causes Violet to leave. She says, ‘I would sooner have a savage wild animal loose about the place [than be near Woodley]. I loathe and fear him more than I can say.’ 

We get a basic impression that Woodley is a creep and a pervet, so it’s not a surprise when we find out that he forced Violet to marry him after kidnapping her. He had an accomplice, a disgraced clergyman named Williamson, who had a fight with Sherlock in a pub earlier, but I didn’t put him as the main villain largely because I hate Woodley. 

Williamson ‘married’ Woodley and Violet, but it doesn’t last long after Carruthers (not exactly Woodley’s friend, but his rival in trying to earn Violet’s love) SHOOTS him. 

“I am Bob Carruthers, and I’ll see this woman righted if I have to swing for it. I told you what I’d do if you molested her, and, by the Lord, I’ll be as good as my word!” “You’re too late. She’s my wife!” “No, she’s your widow.” His revolver cracked, and I saw the blood spurt from the front of Woodley’s waistcoat.

Not only does Carruthers shoot Woodley, he also respected Violet when she told him no, and although he did follow her when she rode on her bike, he was doing it more so to make sure she’s okay. Little bit weird, but given the circumstances it did end up being a good idea in the end. Woodley could really take some ‘respecting women’ lessons from him. 

(I say this, but it’s important to mention that Carruthers should have just let Violet go to keep her fully safe, and Watson calls him selfish for not doing so. Watson can teach the lessons instead.) 

The marriage wasn’t official, because Williamson wasn’t a real priest anymore: they didn’t think that one through, but all the better for Violet. 

Unfortunately, Woodley lives, and Carruthers demonstrates how everyone else feels when he says  “I’ll go upstairs and finish him first.” Please do Carruthers. 

Carruthers ruins this image of him being a good women-respecting man when we find out that he and Woodley played CARDS in order to see who would marry Violet. They wanted her inheritance since they both knew her dead uncle was a rich man who would undoubtedly include her in his will. Woodley won, but Carruthers actually fell in love with Violet, so stopped Woodley from marrying her. 

Thankfully, neither of them succeed, and Violet marries her actual love. Woodley gets a bullet hole in his chest and ten years. Not long enough, really. 

[letterful]

ON DEATH, WITHOUT EXAGGERATION,

or: a few of my favourite poems about dying, being dead, & the ones who are left behind. some melancholic, some upbeat, some morbid, some euphemistic, some sombre, some tongue-in-cheek, some direct, some not, all good. in no particular order:

— “on death, without exaggeration“, wisława szymborska (oh, it has its triumphs, / but look at its countless defeats, / missed blows, / and repeat attempts!) — “the suicide’s room”, wisława szymborska (a lamp, good for fighting the dark / a desk, and on the desk a wallet, some newspapers / carefree buddha and a worried christ / seven lucky elephants, a notebook in a drawer.) — “the letters of the dead”, wisława szymborska (poor dead, blindfolded dead, / gullible, fallible, pathetically prudent.) (can you tell that i’m very fond of wisława szymborska?) — “harlod’s leap”, stevie smith (it may have killed you / but it was a brave thing to do.) — “not waving but drowning”, stevie smith (i was much further out than you thought / and not waving but drowning) — “a meeting”, wendell berry (he has, / i know, gone long and far, / and yet he is the same / for the dead are changeless.) — “the dead”, billy collins (the dead are always looking down on us, they say) — “memory”, hayden carruth (my dear, / how could you have let this happen to you?) — “her long illness”, donald hall (daybreak until nightfall, / he sat by his wife at the hospital / while chemotherapy dripped / through the catheter into her heart.) — “this is a photograph of me”, margaret atwood (the photograph was taken / the day after i drowned.) — “owl song”, margaret atwood (i do not want revenge, i do not want expiation, / i only want to ask someone / how i was lost, / how i was lost) — “the promise”, marie howe (he looked at me as though he couldn’t speak, as if / there were a law against it, a membrane he couldn’t break.) — “aubade”, philip larkin (being brave / lets no one off the grave. / death is no different whined at than withstood.) — “lady lazarus”, sylvia plath (and i a smiling woman. / i am only thirty. / and like the cat i have nine times to die.) — “edge”, sylvia plath (her bare / feet seem to be saying: / we have come so far, it is over.) — “sylvia’s death”, anne sexton (what is your death / but an old belonging, / a mole that fell out / of one of your poems?) — “a curse against elegies”, anne sexton (also, i am tired of all the dead. / they refuse to listen) — “anne sexton’s last letter to god”, tracey herd (i have just lunched with an old friend / saying goodbye and something / ‘she couldn’t quite catch’.) — “ophelia’s confession”, tracey herd (i didn’t drown by accident. it was a suicide. / at least let me call my mind my own / even when my heart was gone beyond recall.) — “tomorrow they’ll cut me open”, anna swir (i have many powers in me. i can live, / i can run, dance and sing. / all of that is in me, but if need be, / i’ll walk away.) — “biology teacher”, zbigniew herbert (in the second year of the war / our biology teacher was killed / by history’s schoolyard bullies) — “dedication”, czesław miłosz (you whom i could not save / listen to me.) — “dirge without music”, edna st. vincent millay (they are gone. / they are gone to feed the roses.) — the rosie probert scene in “under milk wood”, dylan thomas (remember her. / she is forgetting. / the earth which filled her mouth / is vanishing from her.) — “do not go gentle into that good night”, dylan thomas (old age should burn and rave at close of day; / rage, rage against the dying of the light) — “a quoi bon dire?”, charlotte mew (and everybody thinks that you are dead, / but i.) — “myth”, natasha trethewey (you’ll be dead again tomorrow, / but in dreams you live. so i try taking / you back into morning.) — “i watched you disappear”, anya krugovoy silver (are you there? where? / are the others there, too?) — “i am asking you to come back home”, jo carson (my mamma used to say she could feel herself / runnin' short of the breath of life. so can i. / and i am blessed tired of buryin' things i love.) — “the night where you no longer live”, meghan o’rourke (was there gas station food / and was it a long trip) — “condolence”, dorothy parker (but i had smiled to think how you, the dead, / so curiously preoccupied and grave, / would laugh, could you have heard the things they said.) — “death at daybreak”, anne reeve aldrich (i shall pass dawn on her way to earth, / as i seek for a path through space.) — “fear no more the heat o’ the sun”, william shakespeare (golden lads and girls all must, / as chimney-sweepers, come to dust.) — “sonnet xciv”, pablo neruda (don’t call up my person. i am absent. / live in my absence as if in a house.) — “funeral blues”, w. h. auden (the stars are not wanted now; put out every one, / pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, / pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood) — “the drowned children”, louise glück (but death must come to them differently, / so close to the beginning.) — “because i could not stop for death”, emily dickinson (the carriage held but just ourselves – / and immortality.)

[wellpresseddaisy]

Because we had the little digression into 'What if the Wizarding World (noted as WW after this) still had The Season and all the trappings of pre-WWI Society?', my brain decided to get busy.

First of all, this works best if the WW is essentially another layer of reality next to the non-magical layer but not part of it. The current 'it's tucked in and around the non-magical world' always bothered me because they're not the fucking Borrowers (side note: excellent and entertaining children's series but I haven't read it in a while so please go into it with the knowledge that it was written a long time ago and their values are not our values). They're magic users. Surely they could simply move their reality seven inches to the left.

(This also explains non-magical world ghosts in the HP universe. They're not ghosts, you're a Squib with enough magic to barely see the other world seven inches to the left and also you're in the way of Lord Carruthers getting to the smoking room for port after dinner.)

Anyway, London access points for the WW are at Diagon Alley, the Ministry, St. Mungos, and Kings Cross. There may be others, but I haven't looked at a map and my time in England was spent in Yorkshire, which I liked a whole hell of a lot more than London. Although I did get a very entertaining tour of London from my Jesuit uncles when we were all in the UK at the same time. One of them kept an eye on me at all times so I didn't wander off and get lost, thereby making them explain this to my mother (who was a good 8 inches shorter than her Very Tall older brother). I was 21 at the time. In hindsight - hilarious. My spouse has made it very clear that they were only being sensible as I apparently have a habit of wandering. Anyway, back to the WW. There are other access points around the country, but wizards and witches mostly like to keep to their reality.

So most wizarding families in Society have a town house and a country house. The country house is their main residence and they go to town for The Season (roughly post-Christmas to July/August). Those with seats on the Wizengamot tend to be in town for the post-Christmas Little Season and bring their families down in the spring for the start of The Season. Things get really going in about April, but one must have one's wardrobe overhauled and the modistes in town are much superior to those in the country. One does not wish to look...countrified. (Molly Weasley, who always turns up beautifully dressed to Events, laughs into her home sewn sleeve. She tells people she couldn't reveal her seamstress - it's by invitation only)

I have a whole thing about clothing, but this is getting long enough so that Will Be Coming. As warning, I have a special interest in historic clothing.

One debuts into Society at 16. This is so an eligible witch or wizard (both must make a debut - we're not about gender roles here) can spend their 7th year not worrying about making a hash of their debut and NEWTs. Technically, they could do this at 18, but they didn't. They have a couple of Season before they're really eligible - the early start is so they can settle in and enjoy themselves for a few Seasons before looking for a partner.

The debut itself takes place at Almack's, followed by a boat trip to the debut ball in the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens (we're 7 inches to the left, these things still exist for the WW). One is presented to the Lady Patronesses of Almack's (the Dowager Longbottom, Dame Marchanks, and Baroness Prewett) to make one's bow or curtsy (totally up to the witch or wizard which they select). They technically could ruin a young person's chances, but they mostly don't unless they decide together than the young person in question is an absolute rotter. It's happened only a handful of times.

Society (the Wizarding Ton, if you will) status is decided mostly by blood. Mostly, as association also plays a part. When they reach 16, Hermione will make her debut as a close personal friend of House Potter and House Weasley. Others who do not have those connections are closed out. They may attain some level of status through the Ministry, but it's never quite the same.

The blood = status bit makes for some particularly entertaining evenings at Almack's as the Malfoys and Weasleys (Narcissa madly trying to work out who makes Molly Weasley's clothing) are icily polite to one another. The Blacks (those as are left) sneer at everything and wonder who the Heir might be (it's Harry). The Parkinsons try to oil up to the Malfoys, hoping for a marriage and an increase in status. The Bulstrodes (there only because they like Baroness Prewett and Dame Marchbanks) dance with one another (Molly and Mrs. Bulstrode strike up an unlikely friendship over embroidery, crochet lace, and knitting patterns) and try to make small talk.

The big scandal of the 1993-1994 Season was the Malfoys having their Almack's vouchers revoked due to Lucius Malfoy brawling with Arthur Weasley. It was only the 3rd time in the last 200 years that had happened. As Molly's vouchers were through the Prewett line, hers were not revoked. She enjoyed herself tremendously that Season.

[causeiwanttoandican]

It’s all coming out...

The Times

Royal aides reveal Meghan bullying claim before Oprah interview

Valentine Low

The sources approached The Times because they felt that only a partial version had emerged of Meghan’s two years as a working member of the royal family and they wished to tell their side, concerned about how such matters are handled by the palace. The complaint claimed that she drove two personal assistants out of the household and was undermining the confidence of a third staff member.

The Times was approached by sources who stated that they wanted to give their account of the turmoil within the royal household from Meghan’s arrival as Harry’s girlfriend in 2017 to the couple’s decision to stand down as working royals last year.

A spokesman for the Sussexes said they were the victims of a calculated smear campaign based on misleading and harmful misinformation. They said the duchess was “saddened by this latest attack on her character, particularly as someone who has been the target of bullying herself and is deeply committed to supporting those who have experienced pain and trauma”.

Knauf sent an email to Simon Case, then the Duke of Cambridge’s private secretary and now the cabinet secretary, after conversations with Samantha Carruthers, the head of HR. Case then forwarded it to Carruthers, who was based at Clarence House.

In his email Knauf said Carruthers “agreed with me on all counts that the situation was very serious”. He added: “I remain concerned that nothing will be done.”

Sources say they were concerned that nothing was done at the time to investigate the situation, and nothing done since to protect staff against the possibility of bullying by a member of the royal family. Aides also insist that behind the scenes they did more to welcome Meghan and help her to find a role than has been publicly acknowledged.

They believe the public should have insight into their side of the story before watching the couple’s much-publicised interview with Winfrey, due to be televised in the United States on Sunday.

The couple’s lawyers told The Times that this newspaper is “being used by Buckingham Palace to peddle a wholly false narrative” before the interview.

However, The Times understands that the palace establishment is highly concerned that the allegations have emerged.

The sources have revealed a febrile atmosphere within Kensington Palace, where Meghan and Harry lived alongside the Cambridges after their wedding until the split between the two households at the beginning of 2019. Staff would on occasion be reduced to tears; one aide, anticipating a confrontation with Meghan, told a colleague: “I can’t stop shaking.”

Two senior members of staff have claimed that they were bullied by the duchess. Another former employee told The Times they had been personally “humiliated” by her and claimed that two members of staff had been bullied.

Another aide claimed it felt “more like emotional cruelty and manipulation, which I guess could also be called bullying”.

The duchess denies bullying and her lawyers stated that one individual left after findings of misconduct. The Times was not able to corroborate that claim.

The Times can also reveal that the duchess wore earrings to a formal dinner in Fiji in 2018 that were a wedding gift from Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman of Saudi Arabia, who is said by US intelligence agencies to have approved the murder of the journalist Jamal Khashoggi. The dinner took place three weeks after the killing.

At the time it was reported that the earrings were borrowed. The duchess does not deny this was what she said, despite being aware of their provenance.

On the same tour sources said the main reason that the duchess cut short an engagement in Fiji was because of her reservations about the organisation UN Women. It is not clear why she is said to have felt so strongly about its presence. The duchess denies the sources’ claims about the event.

Knauf wrote in his email: “I am very concerned that the Duchess was able to bully two PAs out of the household in the past year. The treatment of X* was totally unacceptable.”

He added: “The Duchess seems intent on always having someone in her sights. She is bullying Y and seeking to undermine her confidence. We have had report after report from people who have witnessed unacceptable behaviour towards Y.”

The email, which also expressed concern about the stress being experienced by Samantha Cohen, the couple’s private secretary, concluded: “I questioned if the Household policy on bullying and harassment applies to principals.”

The complaint was sent to the HR department. However, one source said: “I think the problem is, not much happened with it. It was, ‘How can we make this go away?’, rather than addressing it.”

After Harry was told about the complaint a source insists he had a meeting with Knauf in which he begged him not to pursue it. Lawyers for the duke and duchess deny that any meeting took place or that the duke would have interfered with any staff matter.

Another source claimed: “Senior people in the household, Buckingham Palace and Clarence House, knew that they had a situation where members of staff, particularly young women, were being bullied to the point of tears.

“The institution just protected Meghan constantly. All the men in grey suits who she hates have a lot to answer for, because they did absolutely nothing to protect people.”

Knauf‘s complaint never progressed. Two of the people named in his email are are said to feel that nothing has been done to investigate the bullying claim. The following month Knauf handed in his notice.

When the households split the following March he took up a job as an adviser to the Duke of Cambridge. He is now chief executive of the Cambridges’ Royal Foundation.

After a newspaper revealed that a PA had left after only six months, it is understood that the duchess became extremely concerned about the number of stories in the press about staff leaving. Her lawyers state that she did not read the press.

The tour of Australia, New Zealand, Fiji and Tonga was a difficult one for staff, sources told The Times. When the duchess wore the earrings in Fiji given by the crown prince she told aides who were preparing to brief the media about her outfit for the state dinner that they had been “borrowed” from a jeweller, a source said, an explanation that was widely reported. This was three weeks after the murder of Khashoggi at the Saudi consulate in Istanbul.

Lawyers for the duchess said she may have stated they were borrowed but did not say they were borrowed from a jeweller and denied that she had misled anyone about their provenance.

Although Case had no managerial responsibility for the staff mentioned in Knauf’s complaint, he is understood to have taken it seriously. He made sure it was sent to HR, and took a close interest in the welfare of the staff member still employed there.

The issue of staff — their treatment, and the fact that they were shared between William and Harry — became so pressing that William and Case accelerated the process of splitting the two households. “What was a long-term plan became an immediate plan,” a source said.

The spokesman for the Sussexes said in a statement: “Let’s just call this what it is — a calculated smear campaign based on misleading and harmful misinformation. We are disappointed to see this defamatory portrayal of The Duchess of Sussex given credibility by a media outlet. It’s no coincidence that distorted several-year-old accusations aimed at undermining The Duchess are being briefed to the British media shortly before she and The Duke are due to speak openly and honestly about their experience of recent years.

“In a detailed legal letter of rebuttal to The Times, we have addressed these defamatory claims in full, including spurious allegations regarding the use of gifts loaned to The Duchess by The Crown.

“The Duchess is saddened by this latest attack on her character, particularly as someone who has been the target of bullying herself and is deeply committed to supporting those who have experienced pain and trauma. She is determined to continue her work building compassion around the world and will keep striving to set an example for doing what is right and doing what is good.”

Buckingham Palace declined to comment.

*Names withheld by The Times

[the-empress-7]

Here it is, about complaint being withdrawn! It’s a bit unclear though, because of the last paragraph (could be that at the time some of them wanted to continue and some didn’t, but now when Meghan’s got an enormous platform to speak they feel like it’s their right to speak up too). This one is also written by Victoria Ward at The Telegraph and not Valentine Low.

Mr Knauf's email is said to have been sent to Simon Case, then the Duke of Cambridge's private secretary and now the Cabinet Secretary, after he discussed the matter with Samantha Carruthers, the head of HR. Mr Case forwarded it to Ms Carruthers, who was based at Clarence House.

He said that Ms Carruthers "agreed with me on all counts that the situation was very serious".

The email, in which Mr Knauf is also said to have expressed concern about the stress experienced by Samantha Cohen, the Sussexes' private secretary, concluded: "I questioned if the Household policy on bullying and harassment applies to principals."

The Duke of Sussex is said to have pleaded with Mr Knauf not to pursue it, according to a source. However, lawyers for the couple denied that such a meeting took place or that the Duke would interfere with a staff matter.

A source close to the Sussexes told The Telegraph on Tuesday night that they had no reason to doubt the existence of the email.

However, the source said that when the alleged complainants became aware that the issue had been raised, they asked for it to be withdrawn and it was not pursued.

The Times alleged that two of the people named in the email, who have not been identified, felt that nothing had been done to investigate the bullying claim.

https://archive.vn/EVDvk

Thank you so much. If the complaint made it’s way to someone over Jason’s head (whether HR or management) and they did not investigate the matter, let’s just say that is not good. Not good at all. 

[mst3kproject]

The Devil Bat

Two #fuck this movie entries in a row? Yikes.  Time for something fun.  Here we have Bela Lugosi and a fake bat on a string, in a movie brought to us by the Producers Releasing Corporation, who also gave us the classic I Accuse my Parents.  It’s a bad movie masterpiece all on its own, and Joel and the bots could only have made it better.

As the opening card informs us, Paul Carruthers is the kindly local doctor in the village of Heathville… kinda like how Harold Shipton was the kindly local doctor in Hyde.  In between tending to his patients, Dr. Carruthers has been carrying on twisted experiments in his secret laboratory.  Electrical stimulation has allowed his pet bats to grow to the size of geese, which is certainly impressive but doesn’t seem very useful until the doctor’s business partner Mr. Heath inadvertently insults him.  Seeking revenge, Carruthers trains the bats to attack anything with a particular scent, and then sends that scent to his enemies in the form of a shaving lotion!  Can ace reporter Johnny Layton find the truth about the ‘Devil Bat’ before the entire Heath family is destroyed?

This movie was like a nice sorbet after the two course rotisserie turd that was Curse of Bigfoot and Sorority Girl.  It has everything I want out of a lousy old horror movie: bad actors, a ridiculous plot, and hilariously shoddy effects, all dished out so earnestly that you can’t help but love the result.

It’s a fairly guilt-free pleasure, too, because I’m pretty sure no bats were harmed in the making of this movie.  There’s a couple of close-up shots of a live flying fox, but almost all the bats we see are silly stiff props that don’t even deserve to be dignified with the label puppet.  Dr. Carruthers carries these around dangling from coat hangers.  In order to make them grow he just hooks them up to a battery with alligator clips, then puts some goggles on and watches.  We see the stupid fake bat getting electrocuted, then cut to Carruthers watching, then cut back to a slightly larger fake bat getting electrocuted.

When the bat attacks, it dangles from a string (shaken slightly to make it ‘flap’) and swoops down to sink its fangs into people’s necks!  This prop does double-duty, since it also appears to serve as the fake bat the reporters rig up to get pictures of.  It’s the sort of monster you see Maciste fight half a dozen of when he visits the underworld.  The movie’s best bat moment, however, is the cardboard cutout that passes by to cast its shadow over the lurid newspaper headlines.  I can’t even describe how hilarious this is.

Bela Lugosi is in excellent mad scientist form, grinning and gloating and giving his all in a movie that really doesn’t deserve it. Everybody else is very bland, both the actors and their characters, but it doesn’t matter because they’re frankly not important.  The audience is here to watch this stupid fake bat kill people at Bela’s orders, and the other characters don’t need to do anything but scream really loud as they die. The film-makers know this, too, because they devote the bare minimum of time to things other than Bela and the bat.  The story speeds through all the plot stuff as efficiently as it can, so it’ll have time to linger on the mad science, crazed monologues, and stupid effects we came here for.

In some movies this might make Layton into a Hero Who Doesn’t Do Anything, but surprisingly, The Devil Bat avoids that pitfall.  Layton and McGuire aren’t exactly likable heroes and their supposedly humourous antics are never funny, but they continue to actively pursue the mystery even after they’ve technically lost their jobs over their pictures of a faker bat, apparently out of active concern for the people the bat is menacing.  Layton follows the clues back to Carruthers in a reasonably sensible fashion, and even has the presence of mind to react to the devil bats by shooting at them rather than standing around yelling!  His motivations for this are slightly selfish, in that he wants his job back and is in love with Mary Heath (what she sees in him is a mystery), but he definitely doesn’t just blunder through it like the reporter from The Mad Monster.

At the end, Carruthers is destroyed by his own creation when the Devil Bat turns on its master, as is inevitable for any mad scientist movie.  Even this doesn’t leave Layton out of the action, though – Layton came to Carruthers with his theory that the bats are attracted to the aftershave, and puts it on himself in order to lure them… then splashes some on Carruthers, too.  In the finale, then, they are both in equal danger. Layton is an active character rather than a reactive one, which seems to be something very difficult to do in movies like this that tend to focus on the villain.  So props for that.

There’s also some good fun to be enjoyed in Carruthers’ behaviour throughout the movie.  The impression we get of Mr. Heath and his friend Mr. Morton is that they’re grateful for Carruthers’ help and would happily give him more money if he asked for it.  It just never occurs to him to ask for it – he’d rather go straight into mad science revenge mode.  When you note that he started creating giant bats well before his beef with Mr. Heath, it seems like Carruthers has just been waiting for an excuse to send his pets off to kill people.  There’s also the fact that he’s very careful not to get any of his lotion on himself, to the point of throwing away a jacket that has become contaminated with the stuff… but on more than one occasion he shakes hands with somebody who’s just been applying it and then doesn’t wash afterwards.  He ought to have bats gnawing on his fingertips.

I was a bit surprised to realize that this is only the second bat-centric movie I’ve watched for this blog.  The other was, of course, It Lives by Night.  I was annoyed by the way It Lives by Night presented bats as bloodthirsty little monsters, but for some reason I didn’t have the same problem with The Devil Bat.  I gave that some thought, and decided there were two reasons for it.  The first is just that The Devil Bat spends less time tormenting actual bats.  The Devil Bat itself is very clearly fake, and while a fruit bat of some sort does appear in a couple of close-up shots, it doesn’t look like it’s having nearly such a bad day as the bats from It Lives by Night.

The second, more important reason, is that The Devil Bat gives us some kind of justification for the bat’s behaviour. Carruthers created this animal specifically to be the instrument of his revenge.  It attacks because it’s been taught to hate the scent of the shaving lotion. It Lives by Night does nothing similar, and seems to want to suggest that bats are just naturally murderous.  That’s bad press that these already much-maligned creatures don’t need.

(Bats’ ability to carry nine hundred horrible diseases and not get sick is, by the way, yet another of their amazing superpowers. SciShow on YouTube recently did a video on this if you’re curious.)

Of course The Devil Bat does have its annoyances.  Layton and McGuire are meant to be comic relief as well as heroes, and they’re about as funny as most comic relief reporters in terrible old movies.  They never quite descend to the level of Watney or Dropo but they don’t reach any heights, either.  Each of them also gets a very perfunctory love story that contributes nothing to the plot, with Layton falling in love with Mary Heath and McGuire with her French maid (yes, a literal French maid) Maxine.  So little time is devoted to these subplots that one wonders why the film-makers bothered including them.  The only reason I can think of is that even with them the movie’s only sixty-eight minutes long.

I probably could say something about The Devil Bat’s gender politics if I wanted.  The Heath family has made their fortune in cosmetics and yet there’s a bit where the newspaper editor seems to ridicule women for ‘all that goo they put on their faces’.  I’m honestly not sure it’s worth the effort, though.  I mean, it’s a movie about a giant bat on a string killing people because it doesn’t like their cologne.

Likewise, there may be some sort of commentary happening in the subplot about the reporters losing their jobs.  They really want to get the real story but they also really need to have something to show their bosses in the meantime, and it’s the latter that drives them to stunts like their even faker bat-on-a-string.  Or maybe something could be made of the thing with Mr. Heath underpaying Dr. Carruthers.  The cheque he sends him is for five thousand dollars, which was, as Joel and the Bots enjoyed saying, a lot of money back now.  The movie seems to feel that Mr. Heath was more than generous… but again, is it really worth taking The Devil Bat that seriously?

That’s as good a sum-up as any of The Devil Bat, really… it’s not meant to be thought about and I, for one, am not going to waste my time doing so.  Not when I can revel in the sight of that stiff fake bat on a string being swung into victims’ necks.  All the film-makers wanted was for us to watch and smile for an hour or so, and that’s exactly what you will do if you look The Devil Bat up on YouTube, where it is freely available in the public domain.  Enjoy!

[f4liveblogarchives]

Fantastic Four Vol 1 #227

Thurs Apr 30 2020 [06:34 PM] Wack'd: Another story catalyzed by space objects falling to Earth [06:35 PM] Wack'd: This time a meteor lands in a lake in Pennsylvania [06:36 PM] Wack'd: One of Reed's science friends calls Reed and is like "hey, I know you're big into meteors, wanna come do science and hang out" [06:37 PM] Bocaj: Space needs to stop dumping its junk in our yard [06:37 PM] Wack'd: I mean hey, we do it too. It's reciprocal pollution [06:37 PM] Umbramatic: The Great Space Junk Exchange [06:38 PM] Bocaj: When has a thing earth sent v'gering into space ever caused a problem [06:38 PM] Umbramatic: ...what the fuck were the dinosaurs polluting space with to get what they did [06:38 PM] Bocaj: Its not like we send a hulk of stuff and crash it into gladiator planets [06:38 PM] maxwellelvis: @Umbramatic Tobacco [06:38 PM] Wack'd: @Umbramatic : *Land Before Time* videocassettes [06:38 PM] Umbramatic: dbtgfrh ojgifmhk  hjnl;.'; [06:38 PM] Bocaj: Ha [06:39 PM] maxwellelvis: The real reason the dinosaurs went extinct. [06:39 PM] Wack'd: So anyway the team is going on vacation! Johnny wants to get a tan and Sue is like "let's bring the grill" and I'm like "you're. You're going to Pennsylvania" [06:39 PM] Wack'd: Like yes the caption specifies it landed at a resort but like, c'mon [06:39 PM] Bocaj: CAN Johnny tan? [06:39 PM] Bocaj: He's exposed to heat and light every day of his life [06:40 PM] Bocaj: Can Johnny Storm get a sunburn? [06:40 PM] Bocaj: Also: why isn't his name Blaze? [06:40 PM] Wack'd: Maybe he can choose to but it's unpleasant to use his powers for it and he prefers the old-fashion way [06:40 PM] Bocaj: Hm, acceptable handwave [06:40 PM] Wack'd: Like there's a difference between being exposed to solar radiation from billions of miles off and setting yourself on fire [06:41 PM] Wack'd: Ben is grumpy because Alicia is bogged down with work and can't make it, and his only other friend will be busy with science [06:41 PM] Wack'd: (You'd think he could hang out with Sue and Johnny and Franklin but whatever) [06:42 PM] maxwellelvis: Sandman stopped taking his calls? [06:42 PM] Wack'd: Sandman tries to beat him up on the regular, what're you talking about [06:42 PM] maxwellelvis: Ahh, right, you're not reading Two-In-One. [06:42 PM] maxwellelvis: Okay, there's ONE thing in Marvel Two-In-One that causes an actual change to the status-quo in Marvel; there's an issue where Ben goes to a bar and finds Sandman is also there. So he sits down with him and they talk. [06:43 PM] Wack'd: "Yer off yer meds again, aren'tcha, Flint" [06:43 PM] Bocaj: One of my favorite scenes in the DCAU [06:44 PM] Bocaj: Get rekt that scene of Batman talking to Ace, psychic meltdown [06:44 PM] maxwellelvis: By the end of the issue, Sandman has gone legit, and for like a decade, he stayed so, until eventually some Spider-Man story needed him back on the Sinister Six. [06:44 PM] Bocaj: (Because it implies that Only Batman can human at people is why) [06:44 PM] Wack'd: Decade does seem to be where Marvel status quo changes top out sadly [06:44 PM] Bocaj: I think it was after the clone saga [06:45 PM] Bocaj: During the panic mode 'shit roll it back roll everything back fuck fuck fuck' kneejerk [06:45 PM] Wack'd: Gotta remind people of the good ol days after that stinker, yeah [06:45 PM] maxwellelvis: Then it was close to like, two decades or something. [06:45 PM] maxwellelvis: That's an astonishingly long time in comics. [06:45 PM] Wack'd: Oh wow [06:45 PM] Bocaj: Funfact: Sandman was an Avenger [06:45 PM] Wack'd: Huh! [06:45 PM] Bocaj: Reserve, but still. [06:45 PM] Bocaj: Nice [06:46 PM] Wack'd: If nothing else the idea of him as a sympathetic crook seems to have stuck [06:46 PM] Wack'd: Which is not nothing [06:46 PM] Bocaj: Sam Raimi intensifies [06:46 PM] maxwellelvis: Marvel Two-In-One Vol 1 #86 is the relevant issue. [06:46 PM] maxwellelvis: So it hasn't happened yet at the time you're reading, is the other reason you hadn't heard about it. That issue was in 1982, so about a decade and a half, give or take. [06:47 PM] maxwellelvis: And you weren't far-off with that JLU joke, @Wack'd, says here that a big thing in the issue is Sandman dealing with the trauma of having been merged with Hydro-Man. Which is probably why he's receptive to the idea of going legit. [06:48 PM] Wack'd: Alright then [06:48 PM] Wack'd: ...anyway Sandman isn't. In this one. So [06:49 PM] maxwellelvis: Yeah, this was a lot more explaining for a dumb joke than I anticipated. [06:49 PM] Wack'd: Back to the story at hand [06:50 PM] Wack'd: Ben decides he's gonna go fishing. He's got a floppy hat and a vest and everything. Also: more womanly stereotypes!

[06:51 PM] Umbramatic: i love ben's fishing outfit [06:52 PM] Bocaj: He looks so happy [06:52 PM] maxwellelvis: Fishing hats like that always make me flash back to that M*A*S*H episode where Col. Blake salutes while wearing his hat and hooks his finger on it. [06:52 PM] maxwellelvis: "What are you trying to DO to me?!" [06:52 PM] Bocaj: Oooow [06:52 PM] Wack'd: They fly into Pennsylvania and things have. Escalated.

[06:52 PM] Bocaj: "I don't want to hoard gold, I want to turn people into dinosaurs" "HE KEEPS SAYING THAT" [06:53 PM] Wack'd: For the record earlier cutaway panels show this is a bird that got mutated by the meteor but I got distracted and forgot to post it [06:53 PM] Umbramatic: that pterosaur's wings make me viscerally angr--AND THAT MAKES IT EVEN WORSE [06:53 PM] maxwellelvis: Somewhere a paleontologist is weeping [06:53 PM] maxwellelvis: OR [06:53 PM] maxwellelvis: Oh cool, I didn't know the writers of *Dino Squad* ghostwrote this issue [06:53 PM] Umbramatic: that's me, i'm the weeping palentologist [06:54 PM] Mousa The 14: The bird didn’t mutate, it simply regressed to an earlier form [06:54 PM] Bocaj: HROINK! [06:54 PM] Umbramatic: if it did that it'd be more like a velociraptor [06:54 PM] Mousa The 14: Hroink indeed. Hroink indeed. [06:55 PM] maxwellelvis: Pterosaurs and birds are completely different groups of archosaurs, that's a mutation, Mousa. [06:55 PM] Umbramatic: YES [06:55 PM] Wack'd: Not really sure why this merited a silent panel

[06:55 PM] Bocaj: Just put up an invisible force slide [06:55 PM] Mousa The 14: Artist showing off [06:56 PM] Wack'd: How bad he can draw children? [06:56 PM] Umbramatic: i dunno which makes a better reaction image, franklin's face or the pterosaur's [06:56 PM] Mousa The 14: Or to show Franklin is about to use. THE POWER [06:56 PM] Bocaj: Its not the worst tiny adult i've seen in comics [06:56 PM] maxwellelvis: Unless it leads to another god-child moment, it's a rather pointless reaction image. [06:56 PM] Bocaj: I'm not saying that its all Franklin's fault but I blame Cable on him [06:56 PM] Bocaj: God-child arms race [06:57 PM] Wack'd: So the monster explodes, and Reed collects its gem--EUGH

[06:57 PM] Bocaj: I don't like this. [06:58 PM] Wack'd: Ftr Gideon Carruthers is Reed's science friend. We already have a Gideon so I'll call him Carruthers [06:58 PM] Umbramatic: -screaming- [06:58 PM] Wack'd: To disambiguate him from the rich doofus [06:58 PM] Bocaj: I'd laugh my ass off if he looked just like gideon from gravity falls [06:58 PM] Bocaj: or even gideon from Scotts Pilgrim [06:59 PM] maxwellelvis: I know there's some sci-fi parasite this reminds me of, but I can't think what. [06:59 PM] Bocaj: Captain N mother brain? [06:59 PM] maxwellelvis: Parasite [06:59 PM] Bocaj: She was a parasite on my peace of mind [07:02 PM] Wack'd: Sue takes a moment to check that Franklin isn't traumatized but he's like "we fought and won, just like in the comics!" And then uh

[07:02 PM] Wack'd: Were comics caught up in the Satanic Panic or whatever? Like [07:02 PM] Umbramatic: -screams- [07:02 PM] Wack'd: Seems more like a 50s thing [07:02 PM] Wack'd: Also yeah that sure is a Franklin [07:02 PM] Bocaj: I think Wertham argued that kids couldn't distinguish comics from reality and yeah that was way before this I think [07:03 PM] Bocaj: I think in his book he cited an incident that I don't know if legit or not where a kid tied a blanket around their neck like a cape and jumped off a roof [07:03 PM] Wack'd: Eesh [07:04 PM] Bocaj: Not sure that could be laid at Superman's feet. He very clearly says 'I have alien powers from being an alien' [07:04 PM] Wack'd: Can't wait to see this kid's mutt mutate into MCGRUFF, THE CRIME DOG

[07:04 PM] Bocaj: Duff Dog Oh Yeah [07:04 PM] Bocaj: Suds McDuffie [07:04 PM] Wack'd: This is cool too I guess

[07:05 PM] maxwellelvis: I was going to say, I think a dire wolf is more likely. [07:07 PM] Umbramatic: awoooo [07:07 PM] Bocaj: Werewolves of Slyvania [07:07 PM] maxwellelvis: I really wish the LOTR movies had modeled the Wargs more on dire wolves than hyenas. [07:08 PM] Wack'd: Okay I think we can safely dismiss the idea of these mutations having some kind of basis in scientific reality

[07:08 PM] Wack'd: Paleontologists rest easy [07:08 PM] Umbramatic: FOREHEAD BEAM [07:08 PM] Bocaj: You've never seen a dog shoot a laser? [07:09 PM] Umbramatic: pidge shoots lasers all the time [07:09 PM] Wack'd: Anyway this time instead of the monster exploding Reed spots the parasite on the back of its neck and grabs it before self-destruct is triggered [07:09 PM] Wack'd: Kid gets his dog back and dog stops being a fiend [07:09 PM] Umbramatic: we have to prevent her from doing it to the neighbors [07:09 PM] Bocaj: Duffer... will live [07:10 PM] Wack'd: Reed I, uh, think the forehead laser puts a serious hole in your theory!

[07:11 PM] Wack'd: Also the fuck is the "evolutionary agent"? Is he claiming we have, like, an evolution gland that pumps evolution juice into our bodies that makes us not be weird history monsters? [07:12 PM] Wack'd: Okay so Reed elaborates that the forehead laser is because the parasite gives its hosts psychic powers to make them more powerful so they can steal gasoline to eat [07:12 PM] maxwellelvis: Well, sure, I can see how that- huh? [07:13 PM] Wack'd: "It makes a bizarre kind of sense," says Carruthers, who is also identified as a geologist and so I guess is just rolling with this [07:13 PM] Bocaj: Carruthers: "Its not a rock so i don't fuckin know" [07:14 PM] Wack'd: Sue is upset that Franklin is in danger and weird shit keeps finding them and Reed is like "we do have some quiet times, they just happen off-panel" and Sue is like "you're right, I'm sorry I snapped" [07:14 PM] Wack'd: And she wants a normal life and yadda yadda [07:14 PM] Bocaj: Like that time she played horsey [07:15 PM] Bocaj: REMEMBER THE HORSEY TIMES SUE [07:15 PM] Wack'd: Sue, hold on to your memories of like the first two pages of each recent arc [07:15 PM] Bocaj: Yeah! [07:16 PM] Umbramatic: thbijgthp oknjlph;[m'n [07:16 PM] Wack'd: So they send Ben down in scuba gear to get the meteor which does actually kinda look like it could be a Steven Universe corrupted gem. Unfortunately he brings something back with him

[07:17 PM] Wack'd: Remember: if a character says they want to go fishing in act one they need to catch a giant sea monster by act three [07:17 PM] maxwellelvis: Shai-hulud [07:17 PM] Umbramatic: poor ben [07:17 PM] Umbramatic: he just wanted to turn fish in to blathers [07:18 PM] Wack'd: Reed, being the smart intelligent thing he is, puts this round item down on the floor of a rocking boat [07:19 PM] Wack'd: It cracks open and [07:19 PM] Wack'd: And then Sue was the reverted evolution thingy

[07:19 PM] Bocaj: So whats the 'reverted evolution' of Sue [07:20 PM] Bocaj: Issue 1 Sue where she didn't ever contribute anything? [07:20 PM] Wack'd: Uh. Angry, I guess?

[07:20 PM] Bocaj: My idea was funnier and plausibly unfair [07:20 PM] Wack'd: True [07:21 PM] Bocaj: Hope this isn't another situation where Reed is justified in belting her [07:21 PM] Wack'd: Also Reed opens the cracked egg and finds five grooves for parasites to be in like seeds [07:21 PM] Wack'd: So after Sue there's one unaccounted for [07:21 PM] Bocaj: Dun dun dun [07:22 PM] Wack'd: Immediately resolved by it dropping out of a tree and on to Carruthers' neck [07:22 PM] Umbramatic: oh [07:22 PM] Bocaj: Whats tension anyway [07:23 PM] Wack'd: Hm. Reverting made his skin darker. Don't like that

[07:24 PM] Bocaj: I do like the resigned "Yep -- I wuz right" from Ben [07:24 PM] Bocaj: Don't like "uglier than the hulk" paired with the thing you said [07:25 PM] Wack'd: Anyway Carruthers goes after some oil because these things eat oil remember, so Johnny blows up the oil and Carruthers goes flying like in an action movie or a Looney Tune [07:25 PM] Wack'd: Thus knocking him out so Ben can get the parasite off him before he explodes [07:26 PM] Bocaj: Yaa~aaay [07:26 PM] Wack'd: Oh. Oh fuck [07:27 PM] Wack'd: I've been sitting here thinking "but why are the monsters blowing up anyway? How does that benefit the parasites? Surely they'd want to keep the host alive to keep collecting oil" [07:27 PM] Wack'd: Adding to that, Reed postulates time is a factor as to why some explode and some don't [07:28 PM] Wack'd: But, uh. I thiiiiiiink it might be a lot simpler than that

[07:29 PM] Wack'd: If I'm right, Franklin blew up the dragon and the sea monster. He wasn't around for the dog and Carruthers [07:29 PM] Bocaj: Dun dun DUUUUN [07:29 PM] Wack'd: (And probably wouldn't have blown them up if he had!) [07:29 PM] Bocaj: Geez Franklin, geez [07:30 PM] Wack'd: And now he's like "do I...blow up mommy? No, right? I feel like that's probably a no" [07:32 PM] Wack'd: Anyway Sue is not entirely mutated, just got some weird facial deformities and is a little out of it. Reed says its maybe her cosmic ray blood [07:32 PM] Umbramatic: *screams* [07:32 PM] Umbramatic: @ the franklin face [07:32 PM] Wack'd: Haha! VINDICATED

[07:33 PM] Wack'd: Honestly kudos to Moench here for successfully constructing a mystery I didn't know was a mystery until the reveal happened [07:33 PM] Wack'd: That's some good writing right there [07:34 PM] Wack'd: Less good writing: this

[07:34 PM] Umbramatic: so nice work [07:35 PM] Wack'd: Anyway Franklin blows up the parasite without hurting Reed or Sue and is very proud of himself [07:36 PM] Wack'd: And Reed concludes "uh maybe we should figure out exactly hat Franklin's deal is" before the whole team hightails it back to New York [07:36 PM] Wack'd: A happy ending maybe

[07:37 PM] Bocaj: OR IS IT? [07:37 PM] Wack'd: Nope, turns out they have another son [07:38 PM] Bocaj: Benjamin Jonathan Richards you were named after the two bravest men I know [07:39 PM] Wack'd: LETTERS! Everybody loves some letters [07:39 PM] Wack'd: Eric L Watts wants Johnny to fall in love with another superhero and Ben and Alicia to get married. I like one of those ideas [07:39 PM] Bocaj: Is that the one what did happen eventualy? [07:40 PM] Wack'd: I mean both of those happen eventually [07:40 PM] Bocaj: Or is it the one, due to the vagaries of gendered language, that has Johnny come out as queer? [07:40 PM] Wack'd: Ha [07:41 PM] maxwellelvis: Lyja isn't a superhero when she and Johnny meet, though. [07:41 PM] Wack'd: Someone wants to know how Sienkiewicz is pronounced! It's sinKEVitch [07:41 PM] Wack'd: @maxwellelvis He does also date Medusa, so [07:41 PM] Bocaj: He's dated Crystal and Medusa [07:41 PM] maxwellelvis: Good golly [07:41 PM] Bocaj: He dates Nova, not that one, who probably counts if Silver Surfer do [07:42 PM] Bocaj: Huh. This list of romantic partners I've found for him is shorter than you'd expect [07:42 PM] Wack'd: People are kind of tetchy at how much Reed stretches now. Two different letter writers are like "He's not Plastic Man!" [07:42 PM] Bocaj: Hah. [07:43 PM] Wack'd: And people really like the more domestic stuff, specifically how Sue is written [07:43 PM] Wack'd: I'm sure the fact that all the letter writers are dudes is a coincidence [07:44 PM] Bocaj: I'm kind of but not really but a little surprised that Carol and Johnny haven't gone on at least one date. They have a venn diagram social circle and Carol dated Spider-Man briefly which is a similar kind of energy [07:44 PM] Wack'd: Oh hey, look who's making her *Fantastic Four* debut

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Things my dad said while watching Never Too Young to Die

So recently I discovered the hour and a half of dramatic cheesiness that is Never Too Young to Die. And I decided to show my dad the movie, since we’re both KISS fans and he’s never seen a movie Gene Simmons has acted in. So here for your reading pleasure is a bulleted list of all the hilarious things my dad said aloud while we were watching the movie. Spoilers ahead for Never Too Young to Die, but you’re probably never gonna watch it anyway lol. Enjoooooy!!

something said – Dad

“something said” – me

“something said” – a line from the movie

What’s the plot of this? (said after lecturing me on something during the first minute and a half)

Is that Gene Simmons?

This is so cheesy.

A disc? “A floppy disc.” Oh.

STARGROVE!

(talking about the stereotypes found in the movie) An Asian tech nerd.

They’re blocking the bullets with an umbrella?

*laughs at Gene’s delivery of a line*

Wow—he just went diabolical.

Don’t be such a smug little smart guy, John Stamos.

*laughs at the bullshit police report*

Look at that hair.

To me: You gonna start watching Full House now? You got a crush on John Stamos?

Oh, that’s his love interest, I can already tell. Ride off into the sunset.

Heheheheheh. Grenades.

So much for his inheritance. “What the hell did I inherit?” Ah!

So does she just walk around without a shirt the whole movie?

That the guy with the wig? That’s—That’s Gene Simmons! *laughs*

*sees Gene Simmons in THAT costume* Oh my god...

Olivia, this is really bad... oh my god...

“You missed the tongue, Dad!” That’s okay.

Incinerator? That’s the name? “Yep.” Oh, they’re closed for the night.

*sees a man get blown up* Whoa.

*watches Danja drive her car under a truck* Whaaaaat... pretty risky business doing that.

“Do you understand?” No. I dunno what you’re talking about.

*laughing while watching two whackos beat up John Stamos* Jeez... this is so corny... Jesus Christ...

Olivia, how did you find this movie? Did you see it on a KISS blog or something?

(Me, who found out about it from a Tumblr gif: ...Let’s go with that.)

He’s fighting back now. He’s using his gymnast skills. Well, why didn’t he do that from the beginning? Did he just discover he has powers? (Dad asking the right questions lol)

“So... it was in the care package.” Ohhhh. “What do you think of that?” Unbelievable.

So was Gene Simmons nominated for this? “Uh, no.” Oh. Too bad. They should’ve taken a look at this. (he says sarcastically lol)

(whacko gets stabbed by Velvet after failing to get the disc) *laughs*

What is this magical place?

(About Gene disguised as Carruthers) Do they not know it’s him? Are we, as the audience, not supposed to know it’s him in disguise?

Look at all the hair. Oh my goodness.

“Look what that got me, huh?” Not an Academy Award. That’s not what that got you, John.

Ya blew it, Lance.

Dad’s response to me complaining about the forced hetero scene: Well, you can’t think too much about it, it was the 80s. And I don’t think she’s used to hearing “no” for an answer.

Shouldn’t you guys be occupied with the task at hand, and the water supply being spoiled for thousands of years?

*laughing* This is so bad.

You know, *sighs* I don’t even know where you find these movies.

*very impressed* Who’s playing the sax solo?

*shows a very whelmed response to the Carruthers/Ragnar reveal*

Is he trying to get them all drugged up so they’d torture these guys?

How’s he gonna get outta this? Uncle Jesse... Can’t even watch.

*laughs at Gene’s fake... y’know* HAHAHAhahaha! They showed his boobies!

*comically imitates Vanity’s lines*

*laughing* This is the worst movie I’ve ever seen...

There he goes; Stargrove.

Lenny Neehaus? He’s a known composer! This is the worst score ever! Maybe he was getting his start here.

What’s disturbing to me is not so much the movie; the fact that you’ve watched it, that you’ve sat through it twice, is what concerns me.

“So what’d you think of the movie, Dad?” Uh, it was one of the best I’ve seen. (he says sarcastically lol)

[weekendwarriorblog]

TENET: Nolan’s latest attempt to eff with heads is confounding, but not in a good way

It’s been a while since I’ve written a full long-form review for my blog. While I certainly have more than enough work on my plate, I did want to write something more at length than my technical review, which you can read here. 

While I’ve been a Christopher Nolan fan for quite some time, and I’ve been interested in Tenet in terms of its potential to be  a suitable sci-fi follow-up to one of my favorite films of his, Inception, I knew that I’d eventually see it, so I’ve generally tried to ignore anything about it for as long as possible. I just want to add that I had absolutely zero bones about hopping on a Metro North train to Connecticut to see it in Wilford, since New York City theaters are still closed with no sign of reopening. (I won’t get into THAT again. You all know how I feel about it.)  So let’s get to the movie, and I promise to be careful about spoilers, and only say what needs to be said so you can get the general gist and feel of what the movie’s about.

John David Washington (of BlackKklansman and Monsters and Men) plays an agent for an unknown organization, referred to only as “The Protagonist.” Along with his frequent colleague Neil (Robert Pattinson), he’s sent on missions that revolve around a special form of plutonium that causes objects to move backwards through time. I think that’s possibly all you really need to know, although along the way, the two of them come into contact with an ruthless arms dealer named Sator (Kenneth Branagh, sporting a bad Russian accent for the third time) and his beleaguered wife Katherine (Elizabeth Debicki), who Washington hopes to help while also using her connection to Sator to locate and obtain the mystery metal.

Most of Tenet involves some configuration of this group of four (later joined by a less-recognizable Aaron Taylor-Johnson) as they perform a number of elaborate heists to get closer to the source and distributor of this temporal metal.  (Honestly, I’m not quite sure why bullets that go backwards into guns is that useful unless this is meant as Nolan’s commentary on gun control. Clearly bullets that fly back into guns would be better than what we currently have in the world.)

I’m not sure where things start to go wrong, because most people will be trying to hang onto every word so they can stay up to speed. Even when Michael Caine shows up for no particular reason to add to the exposition. There’s a certain point where Nolan goes so far over the edge with the amount of exposition about how this time travel works that I certainly got completely lost about what was going on… shortly after, I just stopped caring.

Listen, I loved Shane Carruth’s Primer the first time I saw it, but the second time I saw it, I had to draw maps and graphs to figure out what was going on, and it’s kind of hard to do that while you’re sitting in a darkened theater. The main characters end up revisiting a lot of the same places and time periods over the course of the movie, immediately reminding one of Back to the Future Part 2, but it’s done in a way that’s not nearly as fun or even as clever as it could have been. (See last year’s Avengers: Endgame for how that can be done.)

Oddly, I saw a really awful Bruce Willis movie recently called Hard Kill that wasn’t even close to being as good or well made as Nolan’s latest, but it did have a similar high-fallootin’ concept that was so bizarre and ridiculous that whenever the characters stood around talking about it, you couldn’t help but laugh. In this case, you just feel vexed that Nolan seems to deliberately be trying to confuse his viewers more than need be. Oh, yeah, and then watching various characters walking and talking backwards just makes you think of the dancing guy in the dream sequnces in David Lynch’s Twin Peaks i.e. it’s weird, but maybe not great for a Christopher Nolan movie.

On top of that, Tenet could have literally been called “Exposition: The Movie” and it would have been a much more apt title that describes what Nolan delivers. There are a few short bursts of action and a few impressive set pieces but then the movie is right back into everyone talking about quantum physics stuff that only Kid Cudi from the recent (and much better) Bill and Ted Face the Music could explain.

That aside, the performances by Washington and Debicki are quite good, but no one will ever be able to convince me that Robert Pattinson is a good actor after seeing his performance in Tenet is just nuts. Pattinson is so bad as Neal after playing so many outlandish characters in recent years that hearing (presumably) his very own British accent just comes off as weird.

Things get a little better as the movie gets into its final act setpiece, a full-on battle in a Vietnam quarry that harks back to the siege on the bad guy’s island hideaway in On Her Majesty’s Secret, which oddly also inspired a key action sequence in Inception. It’s pretty cool but watching backwards explosions just doesn’t do it in terms of wow factor. Another example of Nolan repeating himself was one particular fight in a hallway between Washington, Pattinson and two military types which was almost like, “Remember that cool fight Joseph Gordon Levitt had in Inception?

The problem is that Tenet barely achieves a third of the emotional level as Inception even as it tries to create an awkward romantic angle between Washington and Debicki that never delivers, but even her constant worries about her young son being hurt by her brutish husband falls short. Thankfully, Ludwig Göransson tone down his otherwise loud and bombastic score to try to add to the mostly emotionless performances, but it just didn’t do much to elevate what ends up being a fairly cold and almost clinical effort.

Tenet certainly has its moments that people will talk about, at least the ones they remember after being battered over the head with exposition. Knowing how hard Nolan is trying to recreate what was so cool and exciting about Inception, but not really succeeding, makes Tenet a disappointment at best.

Rating: 6/10

[doomonfilm]

Memories : The Best Films of the 2010s

Only a few years into my tenure as a film blogger, and I’ve been tasked with a monumental undertaking : ranking the top films of the last decade.  Reflecting year by year is a journey in its own right, and with things like recency bias to take into account, plus the dice roll of blessing and curse that perspective and time bring to older films, I knew that this would be memorable at best, and stressful at worst.

That being said, I don’t claim to have seen every movie, so I know that there are some ‘glaring’ omissions.  I am always open to recommendations for films I should watch (for the purpose of blogging on them or otherwise), but DOOMonFILM has always been about my personal experience as a film fan, first and foremost.  Discussion is welcome, and constructive criticism will always be considered, but this is one man’s opinion.

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THOUGHTS ON THE DECADE

The 2010s, despite moments of controversy in terms of diversity, turned out to be surprisingly forward-thinking in hindsight.  On more than one occasion in the decade, the film of the year (in terms of awards or in terms of critical/public reception), as well as highlight films of each year, were made by foreign directors.  Women and minorities also managed to be recognized in front of and behind the camera at what seemed like a higher rate.  Newer technologies were embraced, such as pushes forward in new cameras or directors opting to shoot on devices as small as iPhones, leaps forward in special effects, and a multitude of movies given the iMax treatment.  A handful of directors happened to put out multiple movies throughout the decade, and a few of those in that handful managed to make multiple award-winning and widely accepted films.  Marvel left such an impact on Hollywood, and the worldwide movie industry, that DC was forced to try and follow suit, and mergers with Sony and Disney were top tier news for months on end.  Actors like Scarlett Johanson, Ryan Gosling, Emma Stone and Leonardo DiCaprio, among others, solidified themselves as box-office legends, while actors on both sides of their career (first-timers and those in the twilight of their career) found success throughout the decade.  All in all, it was a decade that continued to make me happy to be a movie fan, and as hard as it was to do, I managed to find 100 films throughout the decade to rank. 

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100. It Comes at Night (dir. Trey Edward Shults, 2017) 99. Kick-Ass (dir. Matthew Vaughn, 2010) 98. The Peanuts Movie (dir. Steve Martino, Andy Beall and Frank Molieri, 2015) 97. Everybody Wants Some!! (dir. Richard Linklater, 2016)  96. Upstream Color (dir. Shane Carruth, 2013) 95. Avengers : Age of Ultron (dir. Joss Whedon, 2015) 94. John Dies at the End (dir. Don Coscarelli, 2013) 93. Doctor Strange (dir. Scott Derrickson, 2016) 92. Keanu (dir. Peter Atencio, 2016) 91. Free Fire (dir. Ben Wheatley, 2017) 90. Upgrade (dir. Leigh Whannell, 2018) 89. Chappie (dir. Neill Blomkamp, 2015) 88. American Ultra (dir. Nima Nourizadeh, 2015) 87. I, Tonya (dir. Craig Gillespie, 2017) 86. Boyhood (dir. Richard Linklater, 2014) 85. The Grand Budapest Hotel (dir. Wes Anderson, 2014) 84. La La Land (dir. Damien Chazelle, 2016) 83. Ex Machina (dir. Alex Garland, 2015) 82. Nightcrawler (dir. Dan Gilroy, 2014) 81. Sicario (dir. Denis Villeneuve, 2015) 80. Looper (dir. Rian Johnson, 2012) 79. The Killer Inside Me (dir. Michal Winterbottom, 2010) 78. Hell or High Water (dir. David Mackenzie, 2016) 77. End of Watch (dir. David Ayer, 2012) 76. Django Unchained (dir. Quentin Tarantino, 2012) 75. Thoroughbreds (dir. Cory Finley, 2018) 74. Chronicle (dir. Josh Trank, 2012) 73. Melancholia (dir. Lars von Trier, 2011) 72. Black Mirror : Bandersnatch (dir. David Slade, 2018) 71. Detroit (dir. Kathryn Bigelow, 2017) 70. BlacKkKlansman (dir. Spike Lee, 2018) 69. Black Panther (dir. Ryan Coogler, 2018) 68. I Am Not Your Negro (dir. Raoul Peck, 2017) 67. Straight Outta Compton (dir. F. Gary Gray, 2015) 66. Kubo and the Two Strings (dir. Travis Knight, 2016) 65. It Follows (dir. David Robert Mitchell, 2014) 64. Logan Lucky (dir. Steven Soderbergh, 2017) 63. Get Out (dir. Jordan Peele, 2017) 62. Booksmart (dir. Olivia Wilde, 2019) 61. Beats, Rhymes & Life : The Travels of A Tribe Called Quest (dir. Michael Rapaport, 2011) 60. Lady Bird (dir. Greta Gerwig, 2017) 59. Moonrise Kingdom (dir. Wes Anderson, 2012) 58. The Cabin in the Woods (dir. Drew Goddard, 2012) 57. Black Swan (dir. Darren Aronofsky, 2010) 56. Captain America : The Winter Soldier (dir. Joe Russo, 2014) 55. If Beale Street Could Talk (dir. Barry Jenkins, 2018) 54. Avengers : Infinity War (dir. Anthony Russo, 2018) 53. True Grit (dir. Ethan and Joel Cohen, 2010) 52. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (dir. Martin McDonagh, 2017) 51. Whiplash (dir. Damien Chazelle, 2014) 50. Midsommar (dir. Ari Aster, 2019) 49. Journey to the West : Conquering the Demons (dir. Stephen Chow and Derek Kwok, 2013) 48. Sorry To Bother You (dir. Boots Riley, 2018) 47. Mid90s (dir. Jonah Hill, 2018) 46. Logan (dir. James Mangold, 2017) 45. The Killing of a Sacred Deer (dir. Yorgos Lanthimos, 2017) 44. Phantom Thread (dir. Paul Thomas Anderson, 2017) 43. The Hateful Eight (dir. Quentin Tarantino, 2015) 42. Exit Through the Gift Shop (dir. Banksy, 2010) 41. The Irishman (dir. Martin Scorsese, 2019) 40. Suspiria (dir. Luca Guadagnino, 2018) 39. The VVitch (dir. Robert Eggers, 2016) 38. Dogtooth (dir. Yorgos Lanthimos, 2010) 37. The Lighthouse (dir. Robert Eggers, 2019) 36. Annihilation (dir. Alex Garland, 2018) 35. Drive (dir. Nicolas Winding Refn, 2011) 34. Beyond the Black Rainbow (dir. Panos Cosmatos, 2012) 33. The Favourite (dir. Yorgos Lanthimos, 2018) 32. Searching (dir. Aneesh Chaganty, 2018) 31. Tangerine (dir. Sean Baker, 2015) 30. Snowpiercer (dir. Bong Joon-ho, 2014) 29. Under the Skin (dir. Jonathan Glazer, 2013) 28. Dunkirk (dir. Christopher Nolan, 2017) 27. Blade Runner 2049 (dir. Denis Villeneuve, 2017) 26. Baby Driver (dir. Edgar Wright, 2017) 25. Joker (dir. Todd Phillips, 2019) 24. The Neon Demon (dir. Nicolas Winding Refn, 2016) 23. Spider-Man : Into the Spider-Verse (dir. Peter Ramsey, Bob Persichetti and Rodney Rothman, 2018) 22. The Shape of Water (dir. Guillermo del Toro, 2017) 21. The Social Network (dir. David Fincher, 2010) 20. Frances Ha (dir. Noah Baumbach, 2013) 19. Under the Silver Lake (dir. David Robert Mitchell, 2019) 18. Mad Max : Fury Road (dir. George Miller, 2015) 17. Good Time (dir. Josh and Benny Safdie, 2017) 16. Mandy (dir. Panos Cosmatos, 2018) 15. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (dir. Quentin Tarantino, 2019) 14. Her (dir. Spike Jonze, 2013) 13. The Lobster (dir. Yorgos Lanthimos, 2015) 12. Inherent Vice (dir. Paul Thomas Anderson, 2014) 11. The Master (dir. Paul Thomas Anderson, 2012)

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10. The Last Black Man in San Francisco (dir. Joe Talbot, 2019)

I saw this film as the decade was winding to a close, but it made easily one of the starkest impressions on me of any film-going experience I can recall.  The movie looks amazing, the score and soundtrack are powerful, the acting is rich and dynamic, San Francisco is as beautiful on film as it is in real life, and the thoughts that arise from the narrative presented are the kind that hang around and result in personal changes that matter.  A shining achievement from a stellar year of film.

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9. Inception (dir. Christopher Nolan, 2010)

If Christopher Nolan wasn’t already considered top tier prior to Inception, any doubters were left floored at the close of this masterpiece.  For a story that could have easily been way too convoluted for standard audiences, the visuals, direction and pacing guide us through the madness perfectly.  For anyone interested in dream depictions on cinema, for fans of stellar action, and for the smart people who know the quality that comes with the Nolan name, this one was a no-brainer.

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8. mother! (dir. Darren Aronofsky, 2017)

After being a bit on the nose with Noah, in terms of a film on religion, most directors would take that as a sign to move on from the topic.  For a director like Darren Aronofsky, however, the next step was to seemingly go back to your mind-scrambling roots, dig deeper symbolically, narratively and metaphorically, and come back to the table with one of the most divisive and controversial films of the decade.  mother! will clearly be a film ripe for analysis for years to come, and for as subjective and deep an experience as the film is, this reflection is welcome, as it serves to enrich future viewing experiences.

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7. Uncut Gems (dir. Josh and Benny Safdie, 2019)

How long does a film have to be out to be considered one of the best of the decade?  In the case of Uncut Gems, I will allow recency bias, as it is clearly evident at the beginning of the closing credits that the film is special and will resonate for years to come.  The Safdie brothers already had a classic under their belt with Good Time, and throwing that Sandler magic into the mix only amplifies their heightened and immersive style.

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6. The Florida Project (dir. Sean Baker, 2017)

There are a small fraternity of directors that put out their first films and follow-up films in the 2010s, and while examples of possible award snubs can be found for these directors, there was one clear-cut case of oversight : the 2017 lack of recognition for Sean Baker’s immaculate, beautiful and moving The Florida Project.  While Tangerine was certainly the loudest of warning shots a first time director could provide, the amount of growth, nuance and confidence found in this follow-up deserved multiple awards, not just an acting nod for Willem Dafoe.  Perhaps Baker’s next film will bring him the recognition he deserves in terms of awards, but he’s already made a clear cut name for himself.

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5. Hereditary (dir. Ari Aster, 2018)

I rediscovered a love for horror films in the 2010s, and a key reason would be the emergence of director Ari Aster.  Upon seeing trailers for Hereditary, I knew that it would probably scare the life out of me, but the taste of the story given was so gripping I had to see it.  The fact that the trailer was so powerful, only for the movie to unfold in ways that I never would have imagined or discerned from the trailer, was one of the most rewarding film experiences of the decade.  Toni Collette also gave a performance for the ages.

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4. You Were Never Really Here (dir. Lynne Ramsay, 2018)

It’s arguable that Joaquin Phoenix may have had the strongest decade of any actor, and for my money’s worth, he was at his best in You Were Never Really Here.  Much of the angst presented was previously explored in The Master, and as great as Joker is, it’s essentially the DCEU version of You Were Never Really Here, tonally and in terms of specific elements.  Nobody short of the Safdie brothers are making movies that look, sound and feel like this one, and the unfortunate practice of human trafficking hitting the news forefront makes this film as timely as it is sad.

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3. Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (dir. Edgar Wright, 2010)

Hands down the coolest film of the decade.  Not since Who Framed Roger Rabbit? had so many elements that I loved from other properties managed to find their way into the same movie, and the way that the gumbo was prepared and served was pitch perfect.  As my friend Erin stated after we viewed the film, ‘If you watch this movie and don’t like it, I don’t think we can be friends’.  Some of my favorite sequences of any film are in Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, and this is the EXACT kind of film I look forward to one day sharing with my children. 

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2. Parasite (dir. Bong Joon-ho, 2019)

Another recent film that made an instant impact.  In terms of topics like honesty, entitlement, and family dynamics, nothing I can think of in recent memory is touching Parasite.  The parallels between the two families presented are perfect both visually and in the performances, and with each new bit of information presented, much of what you were previously presented is immediately recontextualized and put into question.  This film, from front to back, is one of the most gripping journeys a filmgoer can take. 

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1. Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) (dir. Alejandro González Iñárritu, 2014)

Easily my favorite film of the decade.  This is the closest thing to a song-poem that I’ve ever seen presented on film, and it’s heartbreakingly beautiful.  Nothing else released in the decade looked or sounded like this film, and the way it meta-reflects on Hollywood, Broadway, superhero films and the importance of actors is equal parts hilarious, thought-provoking and wonderfully frustrating.  The film answers enough questions it posits so as to not completely confound the viewer, but it leaves enough open-ended so that repeat viewings are rewarding.  A true achievement of film, regardless of decade.

[emmerrr]

hi! 45 for pynch please?

45: “You’re simply the best.” (i knew exactly what i was going to do with this as soon as i saw the prompt so i hope you like it!)

prompt list is here if anyone’s interested, i currently have 3 more to do but so far i’m 2 for 2 in keeping them short so feel free to send more and i’ll try and get to them all! :)

-

It was inevitable really that Adam and Ronan would eventually get dragged to a Vancouver crowd party at Litchfield House.

The party in question was, in theory, a graduation party. Ronan tried to get out of it on the technicality that he hadn’t actually graduated, but Henry was having none of it, and Adam had said that if he had to go then Ronan definitely had to go. Which meant that Ronan was definitely going, but that he was also definitely going to be an ass about it.

It wasn’t that he minded Henry’s company; on the contrary, Henry had grown on him immensely in the months prior. They were friends, even. Good friends. 

It was everyone else who would be there that Ronan objected to.

Gansey offered to drive them all in the Pig. Blue made a gallant bid for shotgun but Ronan beat her to it (”I don’t think so, short-stack”) and tuned himself out of the conversation on the short drive over.

“Here’s the plan,” he said as they all walked up to the front door. “We stay for half an hour, then Parrish fakes a stomach ache–”

“Why do I have to fake a stomach ache?”

“Alright, fine, Sargent can do it, I’m not picky.”

“No one’s faking a stomach ache,” Gansey said reasonably.

Blue elbowed Ronan lightly in the side. “If you’re actively trying not to enjoy yourself, then you’ll definitely have a shitty time, so you might as well get your head out of your ass.”

“Hmm, interesting suggestion but…no.”

Blue rolled her eyes and muttered something about Ronan being impossible before marching up the steps and knocking loudly on the door.

Adam sidled up to Ronan. “She’s got a point, you know.”

Ronan groaned. “Not you too, Parrish, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

Adam shrugged. “It’s a Henry party. At least you know it won’t be boring.”

Henry opened the door grandly. He was wearing neon-orange framed sunglasses and he had a red solo-cup in one hand.

“You’re right on time! I do so appreciate punctuality, come in, come in. Nice to see you’ve brought your smile, Lynch.”

“Fuck you, Cheng.”

“Fuck you, too,” Henry said brightly.

Inside, the party was already in full swing. Speakers from somewhere were blasting out a song Ronan didn’t know and didn’t like. Most of the graduating class seemed to have been invited and it was crowded in the hall as Henry led them towards the kitchen. Ronan reached back for Adam’s hand as they navigated their way around other people.

In the kitchen, Henry got them all drinks. It was pretty much Pepsi all around; Gansey wasn’t drinking because he was driving, Blue was withholding out of solidarity, and Adam didn’t drink anyway. Drinking alone had somewhat lost its appeal, so Ronan accepted his Pepsi with a grim smile.

Sicksteve stuck his head around the kitchen door. “Oh there you are,” he said to Henry. “Cheng2 can’t find the lead to plug in the karaoke machine.”

“It’s in the box.”

“It’s not, he told me to come and get you.”

Sicksteve disappeared again and Henry sighed. “Duty calls. Hang out, have fun, I’ll find you later. No one’s allowed to leave until they have sung at least one song.” With that, he followed Sicksteve out.

“Did you hear that, Ronan?” Adam asked with a grin. “There’s a karaoke machine.”

“Not a fucking chance, Parrish.” He sincerely hoped Henry didn’t manage to find the missing lead.

No such luck. Around twenty minutes later, caterwauling erupted from further within the house, some bastardised version of that Kelly Clarkson song about someone being gone.

Adam actually winced, it was that bad. After eliciting a promise from Gansey not to leave without them, Ronan led Adam upstairs, peeking into rooms until he found what he was looking for.

A window leading to a roof.

They opened it up and stepped outside, sliding it back shut almost all the way, leaving just a crack open so they could still hear the muffled party sounds from inside.

They sat down side by side leaning against the wall of the house. Ronan took Adam’s hand again and rubbed his thumb across his knuckles.

Down below, Tad Carruthers was throwing up into a hedge.

“Ah,” Adam said, resting his head on Ronan’s shoulder. “High school parties.”

Ronan snorted. “Fuck high school parties.”

“Fuck high school parties,” Adam repeated with emphasis.

This, alone with Adam, was much more Ronan’s kind of party.

It was dark and late when they eventually went back inside. They’d already seen quite a few people leave and Ronan was hoping they could just grab their friends and head out too.

They eventually tracked the others down in the room with the karaoke machine, where a very intoxicated Cheng2 was singing a mournful rendition of Landslide. Gansey appeared to be wiping an errant tear from his cheek. Henry looked moments away from falling asleep in the corner.

The only people now in here were the actual residents of Litchfield house as well as Gansey and Blue, and Blue gestured that Ronan and Adam come and sit down as soon as she spotted them.

“Where’ve you been?” she asked.

“On the roof,” Adam said.

“On the roof? You two are so anti-social. You missed Gansey and Henry singing Just The Two Of Us.”

A small part of Ronan was genuinely devastated to have missed that. “Someone better have filmed that.”

Blue waved Gansey’s phone at him. “Got you covered. But I’m not showing you until you sing a song.”

“You sing a song.”

“I have, you missed that, too.”

“Well…I can’t sing, so there’s that.”

“You can too,” Adam said. Ronan glared at him and Adam grinned and shrugged. “Well, it’s true. I’d love to hear you sing a song.”

It was a dare and Ronan couldn’t back down. He leaned close to Adam’s ear, whispered “Traitor,” then kissed his cheek.

He went over to the karaoke machine that Cheng2 had now vacated and did a cursory search through the songs to see if there was anything on there he could actually stand to sing. It didn’t take long to find the perfect one and Ronan laughed sharply. 

“Just remember, Parrish,” he said as he queued it up and picked up the microphone, “that you asked for this, and this is for you.”

Henry perked up as soon as the music started to play (“Oh I love this song”) and Blue laughed in delight (”You absolute sap, Ronan Lynch”), but Ronan kept his gaze on Adam as the chorus kicked in, singing out “You’re simply the best, better than all the rest,” as Adam went a delightful shade of pink and buried his face in his hands.

He was smiling, though, and a smiling Adam was always the goal.

By the second chorus, everyone was singing along. Henry had in fact joined Ronan at the microphone and was incorporating his own dance-moves that Ronan couldn’t for the life of him follow. Although he did now think he’d put on a big enough of a display of party spirit to excuse him from at least three social functions going forward.

Not that serenading Adam was a particular hardship. Ronan meant every word.

Song over, Ronan relinquished the microphone to Henry and took his seat back at Adam’s side, hiding his face in Adam’s shoulder.

He felt Adam’s hand come up to brush against the bristles of his hair. “Simply the best, huh?” he murmured.

Ronan nodded. “That’s you.”

“I’d sing a song for you but I’m pretty sure you already picked the best one.”

Ronan lifted his head and grinned. “Got good taste, that’s why.”

Adam kissed him. “I think we should go home now.”

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night.”

[ephrampettaline]

chatzy au log with @bumblingbrujo, @cassiegermaine, @ephrampettaline, @freddiewatts, @imviapassmeabeer, @joeyvoeman, @mayaparker, @scarlettxruby, and @thatwhichbindsus

Ephram came awake squinting and groaning in protest as the curtains to his bedroom were thrown open, letting in floods of too-bright pale sunshine that caught every single dust mote in the air and made him cough at the mere sight. 

"Mrs. Hudson says you woke her up to draw you a bath sooo late last night that she was too tired to get us breakfast this morning so Mummy let us have cake and bread-and-butter and cold chicken with our milk!" Addie informed her uncle, once she'd cannonballed herself onto his bed and plumped herself in the slowly-deflating heft of his eiderdown. Her red hair caught at the light too, flaming up in a nimbus around her head, and despite himself Ephram hauled up to a semi-sitting position and wrapped one arm loosely around the little girl. 

"Then maybe I should have more late nights that require baths, hmmm?" he said, his own hair rumpled, his skin still smelling of soap and faintly of drinking sweats under his loose white shirt and cotton sleep pants. Ephram leveled a look at Cassie (who was far too amused for his taste) and said, "--good thing I didn't bring any company home with me, either, or Mrs. Hudson would have had to draw two baths and you'd be getting no lunch after such a fancy breakfast." 

He'd fucked that wide-hipped barmaid up against the casks of small beer in the back of the Fox and Fern before making his way home and rousting the long-suffering Mrs. Hudson for his bath, but he could just as easily have brought her back to the house. 

Or maybe not. Maybe Cassie, in her usual fashion, knew him better than he knew himself, sometimes.

Cassie had actually give Addie the idea to bumrush into Ephram's room for a more pleasant wake up call. If it had been just her or Mrs. Hudson, they would have just pulled back the curtains, along with his sheets and barked at him. They knew Ephram long enough for that kind of privilege anyways. She rolled her eyes slightly as the little girl and her Uncle chatted, readjusting the baby on her hip. "It's time to get up, before you sleep the day away." No doubt, he was fighting back some reminance of a hangover and Cassie stuck out her hand for the red head girl. 

"Adeline. Your Uncle has to get ready for work." Addie hopped off the bed standing at the foot with her hands firmly on her hips. "Better get to business." She pouted before running out of the room to go play with her toys. Cassie stayed behind. 

"What did you decide at the bar?" She prompted Ephram almost immediately. "Are we keeping the guns on our turf or did Watts switch it?"

Ephram snagged Adeline back to plant a kiss on the girl's soft, sweet-smelling cheek before turning her loose to be shooed off by her mother. "Conversation took a different turn," Ephram grunted shortly as he swung his long legs off the bed, groaning and rubbing his face before lurching to his feet and going to his wardrobe to paw through the three suits he had hanging there. "Christ, the moths've been at these. The last thing I need is to be seen in public with my clothes ventilated -- everyone'll assume it's bullets that did it." He bundled two of his suits out and onto the floor, muttering, "--I'll have to get new ones from Watts, I can afford them now and I need to look the part, don't I? You should get yourself some new frocks too, Cassie. We have to make Kingfisher look like money." 

Stepping into his trousers, Ephram fastened them and said, "Miss Caird will be delivering to Watts' warehouse. It's the best dropoff point, Cassie, with the river approach it'll look like any other canal traffic. Right now with the handover in power and the old man's fingerprints still all over everything at Kingfisher, you can bet our warehouses are being watched by the screws. Agents from Organized Crime & Narcotics, would be my bet." He shouldered on a clean shirt, buttoning it and sliding his suspenders over his broad shoulders. "So it's Watts' warehouse, and I'll be shifting our share of the weapons directly to Clair de Lune until we get them handed out." Finishing with his vest and suit jacket, Ephram spread his arms for his sister's approval. "Decent enough?"

Cassie looked at him wearily as he spoke. "Ephram..." It was just another reminder of why she didn't have a soft spot for Freddie Watts. Not because he was bad business or anything like that, quite the opposite. He had a way of making things too personal and muddling everything. In her own opinion, Cassie didn't like handing over the fire power but Ephram's reasoning was fair enough. "Fine. You're lucky your so clever." It was the closest to berating she got over the subject. "I can go along to Clair de Lune when we make the official shift." She pushed the door open wider when Ephram was properly dressed. "Come on. I called Miguel to come fix up your face."

Ephram was about to protest when Mrs. Hudson appeared in the hallway, looking surly and bag-eyed. "Ma'am," she said to Cassie, pointedly ignoring Ephram as if he was standing there stark naked and too shameful to be looked at, "the doctor you requested has arrived and is waiting in the second parlour." She stepped aside to let them pass, and Ephram said, "Fine, fine, I can't argue with the both of you. Although this isn't necessary." It wasn't exactly that Ephram didn't trust Miguel. It was just that he didn't like him. But then, considering the previous night's business with Freddie Watts and the further business tonight, it seemed there was a lot of weighing out trust and like in the balance lately. Striding into the second parlour, its window shutters open to allow the doctor the light he required, Ephram unbuttoned his jacket and slung it off onto a chair. "Come on then, doc," he said briskly. "And will somebody get me some tea and a crust, please? I'm famished."

Miguel had been wondering what Cassie wanted with him, but when Ephram walked into the parlour, all became clear. This was the fool who had been pulling Iann in, as close to an alliance as possible with his no name brother that desperately hated commitment. Miguel opened his big black bag with a click, and pulled out a large vial of sodium hypochlorite, it didn't burn like some antiseptics, so he could douse the wounds generously to kill any bacteria that might have been festering there. The interesting thing about war was that it always made medicine better. Suffering lead to advances. Miguel didn't have any nitrous oxide here, but then again, he didn't think Ephram particularly deserved it. A rough boy like him could deal with the pain. 

"This is the part that hurts," he warned as he pulled out a needle and thread. He held it with a long steel needle driver and swished it around in the sodium hypochlorite to make sure it was clean. "Mrs. Hudson, could you be a dear and hold these two bits together?" he was used to war, to dirty trenches and sewing people back together as they screamed, this was downright rosy in comparison. "Thank you," he said politely as Mrs. Hudson helped, and he sewed Ephram's cheek up. It was fast, only three stitches, but having Mrs. Hudson there to hold the flexible skin together helped. "If I were to say, don't do it again, would that mean anything to you, Mr. Kingfisher?"

Ephram dabbed his thumb against his cheek, feeling the familiar tread of stitches with a frown. Not because it might leave a mark, he didn't care about that -- but because it brought up memories he'd rather have left in the squelching mud and stink of the trenches. "If I were to take words from men like you, Doctor," he said tightly, "then you'd be out of business. War's over, after all." Ephram lifted his chin at Mrs. Hudson, who was staring at the young doctor with the doting look of a proud mother (which annoyed Ephram even more). "Tea, Mrs. Hudson," he repeated, and the housekeeper lifted her skirts and swished off, muttering. "While you're here, Miguel," Ephram said, reaching for his jacket and tugging it on again, "perhaps you can serve another purpose. How's your animal husbandry?"

Miguel raised an eyebrow, he ignored Ephram for a couple moments as he cleaned up his equipment and put it all safe and tidy into his black bag. "I think," he finally started. "That you're confusing me with my brother, who will in fact, do anything for money. I, on the other hand, have a career."

Ephram tugged his shirt cuffs straight. "See yourself out, then." He headed out of the second parlour, almost crashing into Mrs. Hudson who was arriving with tea and toast and eggs on a breakfast tray. "Set that aside for me, and pay the doctor," Ephram instructed her, leaving the housekeeper and heading outside and down the lane to a small shed that stood along one of the inner wooden fences. 

Unlocking the door, Ephram stepped inside and surveyed the sweating, bloody man who was tied down to a cot within. "Well, Carruthers," he said, taking in the pallor of the man's skin and the objectionable smell in the air, "seems as though I wasn't able to fetch you a veterinarian. You'll have to make do with my own skill at field medicine."

Miguel didn't like Ephram. And he didn't want to help him, but there was the matter of that annoying oath. Not to mention his own curiosity. So after a moment of cursing himself, he followed after Mr. Kingfisher, outside to a small shed. It didn't smell particularly of animal, it smelled like infection and blood. "Ephram - what the holy hell?!" And he had asked about animal husbandry, why did he have to be so obtuse? For that matter, why did Miguel have to be so literal? "How long has he been here? What did you do to him?"

Ephram reached over to bang the door shut after Miguel came in. "I did nothing to him. Eh, Carruthers?" Ephram kicked one leg of the cot, causing the man lashed to it to groan at the jolt. "He brought it on himself. If he wanted to hold a secret meeting about forming a union, he shouldn't have done it at the very Kingfisher Soapworks that employs him. With all that lye about there's a hellish amount of opportunity for an accident." Reaching forward, Ephram twitched off the thin, putrid sheet that covered the man's lower half, exposing oozing raw pink skin on both his legs from the chemical burns. "A dog that bites sometimes gets itself poisoned for its troubles. Sad state of affairs."

Miguel opened his bag again. He didn't think he had enough antiseptic to take care of this, but he had to try. Miguel worked on the putrid burns, cleaning, lathering on ointment, and bandaging. He only stopped to glare up at Ephram Kingfisher. "If anyone here is an animal, it's you," the words came out as soft clipped noise, something between a snarl and a whisper that evaded description. Whatever it was, it was full of vitriol.

Before anything progressed much further than that, the doors of the shed rattled with three hard knocks.

Ephram watched impassively through blue cigarette smoke as the doctor worked, making no response to the man's insult. Carruthers seemed to stir from his pain stupor, though, enough to gather that he was being tended to with care and skill; he craned up to beg Miguel, "Please, please sir, untie me, I can't hardly feel nothin' in my fingers and toes--" before Ephram loomed behind the doctor's shoulder. "If you want something, Carruthers," Ephram said, "ask for it properly. Bark like the fucking dog you are." The man stared in shock, but it was clear that through his tears and pain he was about to obey, and start barking, when the raps at the door interrupted.

Ephram dropped a heavy hand on Miguel's shoulder. "Keep working," he said, and then opened the door.

The hand on Miguel's shoulder calmed his frayed nerves, and filled him with dread. There was nothing he could do. He knew what kind of man Ephram was, the evidence was laying in front of him. Miguel wasn't naive enough to think that the three stitches on Ephram's cheek would hold him back if Miguel pissed him off.

Ciara smiled as the door opened. "Evening Mr. Kingfisher," she started, friendly as could be, flashing her badge so he knew this was official. "I happened to see you walking in over to this shed as I was pulling in, and was hoping to catch a moment of your time."

Ephram angled himself to block most of what was happening in the little shed -- not hard to do for a man of his stature -- and reached for Ciara's badge. "You know my name, I see," he said. "To be expected, since you're on my property. Which means I'm entitled to know yours as well."

Ciara didn't hand over her badge, just held it up for him to read. Keeping her smile and unassuming like. New money were in so many ways worse than old money, they weren't easy to read in the same way and were a little more unpredictable than most. "Ciara Woodman. Sorry to disturb you, but we've got a missing persons, a member of your staff at the Soapworks, a Mr. Carruthers. Would you happen to have heard anything?"

Ephram took his cigarette from his mouth, blowing out smoke as he looked Ciara Woodman up and down, taking his time. She wasn't unknown to him -- or at least, her name wasn't. He'd never seen the woman herself. After a long moment that stretched almost to discomfort, he pushed the door to the shed open, ducking his head and gesturing Ciara inside. "Workplace accident," Ephram said, his voice pleasant and featureless. "Got a doctor in to tend to 'im. If we had to report this on the books, Miss Woodman, it might mean a shutdown for a time -- and times are hard, for those working in factories."

Miguel bristled. How quickly Ephram could change his tune. But what could he say? What could he do? Other than his work, other than why he was there, to heal, to care for. That was all he was good for. At least that's what it felt like sometimes. All he could do was clean up other people's messes. Did Ephram really want to keep this guy alive? Miguel did his best to ignore the two, unhelpful, people in the room. He needed to focus if he was going to clean off all the putrid flesh and disinfect the rest.

"Evening doctor," Ciara greeted as she stepped into the shed, keeping herself mild too even as her nose wrinkled. She made careful sure that she only looked at the sick man and his doctor, and then right back to Mr. Kingfisher. There was a reason she was here, and not Mike from Missing Persons, but they didn't need to know too much about that. Besides, town like this? The police force was always overstretched, filling in jobs that weren't theirs. "I understand your concern, Mr. Kingfisher. Wouldn't want to put anyone out of work now. Mind me asking how such the injury happened?"

Ephram made a small noise, a precursor to starting to explain, when Carruthers himself answered Ciara's question. "It was an act of God, ma'am," he ventured, "or the Devil hisself. There was a malfunction with one of the lye drainpipes and I happened to be carrying buckets of softsoap as I passed, so I wasn't quick enough in getting myself out of the way of the splashing." He swallowed, throat working, and looked from Ciara to Miguel. Not a glance at Ephram. "At least nobody else was hurt thank the Lord. We look out for each other at Kingfisher, ma'am." 

Ephram raised his eyebrows briefly, tipping his head in Carruthers' direction. "There you have it," he said.

Miguel mumbled something that could theoretically have been "Evening officer," but wasn't quite words, much less English words. His hands paused for a moment when Carruthers spoke. Was that bravery or cowardice? He kept himself squarely under Ephram's thumb, but maybe he had bought himself some mercy, or time, or... Miguel had no idea. But this wasn't his job, wondering and getting frustrated, none of it was his job. Figuring out a way to take Ephram down a peg was definitely not his job. His job was working, with his hands, and that's what he did. He spread more ointment, and he bandaged. He glanced up at the cop and the animal. Well, people did like dogs. Maybe that was how he was so charismatic. "I'll need to get more ointment and bandages, Ephram." It was something of a test, he wanted to see how Ephram reacted. And maybe he would ask again once the cop left, and see if the reaction changed.

"Then get them, Miguel." Ephram knocked the door open with his shoulder. "Mrs. Hudson will have what you need up at the house."

Ciara turned back to the doctor and his patient, easily hiding her surprise at her answer. Of course, it could be true. On the other hand, between her, the short doctor, and Mr Kingfisher, she knew whose ire she would want to avoid most. His gaze told her it was no gratitude that had him answering for his boss. "Thank-you Mr. Carruthers. Sounds like God's work you're still with us." It didn't; the only god in this city was the lecherous hunger for money. "And the good doctor, of course." She turned back to Ephram, filing notes in the back of her mind of what the shed had looked like from her periphery. "What's the prognosis like, doctor?"

Miguel nodded. Well, that worked. Ephram was serious about keeping Carruthers alive. And he wasn't going to wonder why that was. "If we can beat the infection, he could live." He was blunt and honest. "If he does live, he will never be quite as flexible, but that's something to worry about in a month, not now." For now, he would be going back to the house to ask Mrs. Hudson for more help. "I'll uh... leave you to it then." He glanced between Ms. Woodman and Ephram. He left and closed the door behind him.

Ephram took out his cigarette case, holding it out open to Ciara at the same time as he said, "Let's step outside, shall we? Now the doctor's given Mr. Carruthers a new lease on life, we should leave him to rest." Carruthers, shuddering on the cot, seemed to agree as he closed his eyes in fatigue.

Ciara nodded. "I'll pass the news onto his wife, that he's under the generous care of Mr. Kingfisher itself. Can't say we often get news this good for Missing Persons, especially for folks who live south of the river." She knew enough medical care to know she had to trust the doctor on this one. Factory owners didn't care about their staff like this, not when there were hundreds of men still trying to find work after the war. If the man died, the doctor had provided a perfectly good excuse. Open and shut case, even if the wife tried to do something. Shaking those thoughts from her mind, Ciara took a proferred cigarette, lighting it with her own lighter that she offered him in case he wanted to start a new one. Her shoulders relaxed, her expression eased. "I'll follow your lead."

Ephram curved his big hand around Ciara's as he ducked his head to light his own cigarette at her flame, knuckles brushing against her wrist. The sun was bright outside of the cramped outbuilding but it was chilly, and as the door shut behind them, Ephram turned, putting Ciara's back against the shed. "Have a drink with me," he said, gaze scanning their surroundings quickly -- instinctively, like so many ex-soldiers -- before he fixed her with his dark blue stare. "Come inside. I'll get you warmed up."

His large hands engulfed hers as he lit the flame, ensuring Ciara couldn't step too far away as he led them out, and swung closed the shed behind him. It was cool, and the sun wasn't far from setting. That shed wouldn't stay warm long, she thought idly. Carruthers dissipated from her mind entirely as she let out a small gasp when Ephram pinned her against the shed, those dark eyes piercing right into her. She raised her chin, smiled with just one side of her mouth, and raised an eyebrow. "Sounds tempting. Depends what drinks you're offering, and what sort of company."

Ephram and Miguel had exited the parlor so quickly after the few stitches had been made Cassie didn't get a chance to follow them. She was stuck behind with Ms. Hughs and Ephram's discarded breakfast. She sighed heavily, eventually making it outside and rounding the back of the large estate till she saw the side of the shed along with Ephram and that dectective. Her eyebrows rose high. What the hell was he doing? "Dectective." Cassie called out, voice bright and jovial as she jogged over offering a hand to shake. Cassie had practically inserted herself between them. "We weren't expecting you.You didn't come up to the house. How can we help?"

Ephram pulled back and huffed an aggravated breath, although his gaze was still hot, trained on Ciara over his diminutive sister's bustling, inquisitive head.

Ciara held Ephram's gaze a second longer before smiling just as jovially as Cassie's voice was when she looked over to her, and took her hand firmly. "Mrs. Kingfisher. I didn't, I'm afraid, I apologise. I saw Mr. Kingfisher just as I was arriving. Mrs. Carruthers called us about her husband and I'd hoped Mr. Kingfisher might point us in the right direction, which he so kindly did."

"Did you see the doctor?" Ephram interrupted. "He was to ask Mrs. Hudson for more ointment and bandages, or some such thing. And Cassie -- we'll want to send a little something to Mrs. Carruthers and their three wee boys, won't we." He smiled slightly at Ciara. "Triplets."

Cassie nodded in stiff understanding as Ciara mentioned she had just seen her brother outside and approached. A reminder to up security."I'm glad he could assist. Please, why don't you come into the house." She looked sharply at Ephram for a moment, another silent beratement. "It's chilly out here. Are there other issues we should know about? No doubt you heard about the shot I took at the cemeterary yesterday." Her lips curled into another faint smile at the mention of the Currathers wife and children, "Of course. I'll arrange something to be sent over there promptly. Have McGee handle it." She fixed her hair and shrugged at the mention of Miguel, "I believe Ms. Hughes is still helping the doctor."

Ephram serenely ignored his sister's pointed looks and shepherded the two women back up the path towards the house, where they were met by a harried Mrs. Hudson at the door. "Will you be wanting lunch, Mr. Kingfisher?" she asked, frustration evident in how she wrung her hands, and Ephram nodded. 

"In my office, Mrs. Hudson," he said. "If we have any visitors, announce them first, eh?" He left the woman bristling in indignation at this affront to her ability to do her job, and brought everyone through to his office, a fire already crackling and throwing shadows around the room's dark wood and rich forest colours. Ephram sat against the desk in satisfaction -- the old man had hated it when he did that. "A bad situation, that attack at the cemetary," he remarked. "So many opportunistic people skulking around now that our dear father's gone."

"The weather is turning," Ciara agreed, and gestured for the Kingfishers to lead the way. She barely cast a half glance at the shed before following them herself. Ephram shepherded them into her office, and rubbed her arms. The police cars were invariably freezing, whether they were the striped ones or plain clothes, so the heat of the crackling fire was invaluable. She nodded sympathetically. "You understand I can't comment on ongoing investigations, but we are taking this attack very seriously. Allow me to extend our condolences for your father as well."

Ephram watched Ciara rubbing her arms, choosing a seat near the fire; he took off his suit jacket and pushed off from the desk, going over to her and holding the item of clothing out on the tips of two fingers with an encouraging hum rather than tucking it around her shoulders himself. "Mrs. Hudson will have coffee for us with lunch," Ephram said, voice low as if he was addressing Ciara alone.

Ephram stood as Ciara shivered, and offered her his suit coat. "I'll be right as rain in a moment," Ciara replied, shaking her head, and forced the shivering to still, loosening her arms to rest on her lap, looking up at him intensely. "I hope I'm not taking either of you away from work."

Ephram looked back at her for a moment, eyelids slung low, then dropped the coat to hang from the corner of her chair-back before returning to his perch against the big polished desk. "How very polite of you to be concerned about our schedules, Miss Woodman," he said in a more bland tone, all congenial business. "It's yours we're working around, though, isn't it? Seeing as you stopped by to inquire about Mr. Carruthers' whereabouts. Did I provide you all the answers you were looking for, yet?" Ephram folded his arms, fingers curling into the material of his long sleeved shirt. "Or did you need more from me."

In Ephram's office Cassie took a comfortable seat on the small couch in the corner of the room. It was a spot she had long been familiar with, a place she marked for herself as a child when she quietly stepped in as Harlan was in the middle of meetings or business. She was so quiet, she used to disappear in the dark corner. Cassie still did, if she concentrated hard enough. Little did Ciara know, she had clearly made it onto Ephram's work schedule as well.

Mrs. Hudson had showed Miguel where the medical supplies were kept. It was a good thing to know, especially if Cassie and Ephram were going to keep getting hurt and calling him. Or hurting people and calling him. Mrs. Hudson was making coffee, to fight against the chill in the air. She offered Miguel a cup and he smiled at her and took it. "I can take the press to Mr. Kingfisher," he offered and picked up the french press with one hand, and a stack of mugs with the other. Maybe Mrs. Hudson was annoying with Ephram, that seemed to be the only reason why she would let Miguel barge into Ephram's office. He would be happy to annoy Ephram if Mr. Kingfisher took it out on him and not the helpful older woman. "Here we are." He set the mugs down on the desk and started pouring coffee.

“I can’t have imposed too much as you both invited me so generously into your home,” Ciara replied with a smile, looking from him to Cassie. “I will take my leave soon. As far as I’m concerned, my work is done for now, however the paperwork which remains in my office is uninviting to say the least.” The doctor returned, with coffee, and seemed awful comfortable in serving them in the Kingfisher office. “Thank you doctor.”

Ephram took his own mug with a casualness that seemed to suggest he thought that handing around coffee was a fitting use of Miguel's time. "Ah. Does that mean this is the full extent of your interest in Kingfisher Soapworks, then?" Ephram lifted his mug to his lips, letting the steam sting the tip of his long nose before he took a swallow. "Or will we be seeing you broaden your interests to the whole of Kingfisher & Company?" He didn't expect a straightforward answer from the agent, on either his direct question about her official duties or the thread of insinuation that wound through their conversation. But sometimes it paid to be bold with your statements. You never knew how the other person would respond.

Miguel gave Ciara a quick smile. "You're welcome, Officer Woodman." He poured himself a hot mug of coffee and settled back in a comfortable seat by Cassie to wait out the weather. Once things calmed down he would leave. Or once things got a little less entertaining.

“Why do you ask, should I have a professional interest in your company?” Ciara asked, eyes glinting with a friendly mischief, as sirens rang in the distance. She stood, taking in the heat of the fire one last fire. “I believe that is duty calling, I fear. Thank you all, you’ve made my job today much easier.”

Ephram moved to see Ciara to the front door, tucking his calling card into her pocket and saying, "Once duty's call is over, remember that offer of a drink. Dinner, too, perhaps."

When Miguel took a seat near her, Cassie shifted her cup of warm coffee from one hand to another. "Acutally, now that you're here doctor." Se spoke, voice still soft as to not overtake the rest of the office, "Perhaps you could take a look at my brush with death as well." The corner of her mouth curled at the dramatics of her statement, but she didn't exactly wait for Miguel's okay either, pulling the fabric over her shoulder down and off. It was only roughly scabbed. She kept an eye on the dectective as Ciara announced her departure, only speaking when the door clicked behind her. To Ephram this time, "Crooked dectectives aren't exactly reliable."

Ephram snorted as he returned to Cassie's admonition, collecting his coffee and sprawling low in the seat Ciara had vacated. "Careful, you'll shock the good doctor with such scandalous talk," he said. "He seemed pretty impressed by Officer Woodman."

Miguel immediately went to look over the wound. It was scabbed over, and it didn't look inflamed of infected, which was almost surprising. "It looks clean. It doesn't look like it needs stitches, but we can keep an eye on it. If it hurts more or feels hot, you can give me another call." He glanced between Cassie and Ephram, and felt like a kid in a school house. A very volatile ad violent school that he was struggling to understand. "Why do you think she's crooked?" he asked.

"Oh." Cassie blinked slowly, turning her eyes up at the Tiffany Lighting fixture when Miguel seemed confused over her calculation of the dedective. Clearly, she had given him too much credit. "Anyone who takes my brother up on an offer has to be deliciously wicked." She kept her mug up near her mouth, masking a smirk, "wouldn't you agree Ephram?"

Ephram rolled his head lazily against the back of the chair, looking over at Cassie. "Not much of an offer, sister," he said with a slight crooked smile. "Only doing my part to help out law and order in our fair city. Things'll go so much smoother if we strike up a congenial relationship, eh?"

"Well maybe, she's lonely. Maybe she believed his little hero story about helping Carruthers after he had an accident at work, so not to shut down the factory." He was offering excuses, and he knew it was excuses as he said them. No one would really believe that story, would they? Not even from Ephram's smooth mouth.

Ephram left that one to Cassie to answer, since she seemed to like Miguel. Or at least, she'd been the one to call him, so Ephram figured she might as well deal with him. Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway and Ephram was on his feet before she even had a chance to announce, "Mr. Watts will be in shortly, and a young woman arrived whom I showed to the parlour." She paused. "Is this to be a nightly occurrence, sir? With different young women each time?"

Ephram patted Mrs. Hudson's shoulder as he went past. "You've got a dirty mind, Mrs. Hudson," he said, leaving the housekeeper sputtering and red-faced as he went on to the parlour, trusting that Freddie would find his way there. "Hullo, Ruby," Ephram said, gesturing to the bar cart. "Help yourself, get comfortable. I've got need of your cupboards and hidey-holes."

Ruby stood quietly, looking out the window and seemingly disinterested in the muted conversation of Mrs. Hudson, even though it amused her to be called 'a young woman.' Though compared to the easily flappable housekeeper, Ruby supposed she was. But it mattered not. She wasn't here to impress the help. She turned when she was addressed, smiling at the tall head of the Kingfisher clan. "Ephram. A pleasure as always." She moved easily towards the offered drink, pouring herself a small helping of something dark and rich before offering to pour one for him if he liked. She hummed as he got straight to the point. "Running out of room in your own kitchen?" she asked, knowing full well what he meant. "I've got some space you could borrow." She took a sip of her drink. "How much do you need. And when?"

Freddie sauntered into the parlour after a brief detour to the kitchen to fetch himself a cuppa. “And here I thought you weren’t having a wake, Ephram,” he said, before smirking, “This is about the sort of turn-out I’d expected.”

"That's sweet." Cassie gave him a somewhat pathetic little smile. It was clear Miguel was out of his element in their household. Sometimes it was fine to have a completely ignorant party around, like if Addie were to run into the office with one of her toys. But Miguel did know some things, like his brother was further connected to Kingfisher. He was quickly approaching in overstaying his welcome. She stiffened as the maid came in with official announcement of more visitors. "Why don 't I see you out doctor?" Cassie offered, standing and expecting Miguel to follow.

Ephram nodded for Ruby to pour him another like her own, taking a seat this time to conduct business. Unlike Miss Caird of the night before, she was a known quantity; Clair de Lune had provided Slap Jacks with space to hide money or goods or hell, breathing cargo from time to time. He could afford to be more casual. "Enough room for six rifles and," he paused for just a moment, "two dozen pistols, with ammunition." Ephram accepted his drink as Freddie strolled in, furnished with a teacup and saucer, and wondered if the other man had caught Ephram's idea of how to divvy up their new cache of weapons. He'd find out sometime. "The old man would be touched you decided to kick up your heels in his memory, Freddie," Ephram said, not bothering with introductions. In the line of business they were all in, everyone who was an important enough player was known to the others.

“Ruby,” Freddie said, giving the widow a gracious nod, before turning his attention back to Ephram again. “Your math is off, sunshine,” he said bluntly, “Count those handguns again, or I’ll start doing a few equations of my own, yeah?”

Miguel nodded. It was probably time to get going anyway. He stood and followed Cassie out. "Thank Mrs. Hudson for the coffee, please." He ducked out, black bag in hand, and fled from the Kingfisher family.

Ruby nodded to Freddie as he entered, glancing between him and Ephram as they seemed to differ on the amount of items that needed storing. "That's not a problem," Ruby said. "Though I'd need an accurate count," she told them both. "Don't need anyone thinkin' stuff goes missin' under my watch."

"Go on, darling," Freddie said, eyeing Ephram coolly, "-give the nice young lady the proper number. Take your shoes off if you need a bit of help."

Ephram gave a short laugh, then tossed back his drink. "Fine, then," he relented. "Six rifles and eighteen handguns, Ruby, all under Slap Jacks. Freddie will be retaining the balance of the shipment on his side, so no need for you to bother with that." He raised his eyebrows at Freddie. "Satisfied? We'll go halves. But only this once."

"I'll be even more satisfied once I've taken possession of my share," Freddie said. "Which actually brings me to the reason for my visit." He gave Ephram a knowing amused sort of look. "Since you got yourself into a strop last night, we never managed to work out who you'll be having on hand for the delivery. I'll be needing those names, love."

Ephram considered glowering at Freddie, but the previous night's anger had dissipated when he'd lost himself in the barmaid's kisses. "Voeman, like I said. And Dubois, you know her." He smirked in Ruby's direction. "I know he's a valued lodger of yours, Ruby, but I won't be using Cardero. Not after the sloppy fucking mess he turned up at the Fox and Fern."

"Alright. Six and eighteen. I just needed us all to hear it, since we know I won't be doin' any lookin' or countin'." Plausible deniability was one of Ruby's precautions. She never looked in a crate, or a box, and she never asked for names of anyone that might need to hide under her floorboards for a night. So as long as the two men knew what the shipment contained, and paid Ruby for use of her house, then she didn't give two shits what was in the crates. "He has his attributes," Ruby said. "But tact isn't one of them. I'll make sure to send him elsewhere."

Ephram made an approving noise at that particular initiative of Ruby's. "You must send him all over bloody Soapham on a daily basis," he murmured, snorting at the idea of Iann Cardero being sent off on fool's errands the live-long day. "Does that brother of his frequent your establishment? The sanctimonious doctor Miguel?"

"Keep him entirely in the dark, yeah?" Freddie instructed Ruby, "He's for sale at a cheaper price than anyone else in Soapham, and he's the last bloody person I ever want within 50 yards of a firearm." He turned back to Ephram. "And Dubois will do nicely, yeah. She nearly makes up for Voeman." Freddie sipped his tea. "I'll have Wawelski on hand tonight, and Oliver. Just in case you were curious."

Ephram curled up a side of his lip. "Oliver makes up for Wawelski," he grunted, and got up to fetch himself another drink.

"If he keeps busy, he stays - mostly - out of trouble," Ruby said of Iann. "And I've seen Miguel once or twice. Nice fella. Quiet. Never causes trouble." She looked at Freddie and gave him a tip of her head. "I think there's a shipment of seedlings for my winter garden the next county over that need pickin' up. Should take him the better part of two days to fetch it for me."

Ruby: "Longer if he decides to stop and get pissed."

Ephram drank what he'd poured, then sloshed some more into his glass. "So, longer, then," he said, lifting it to his lips.

Ruby smirked. "Oh, ye of little faith in the willpower of a drunkard who doesn't want to be a drunk."

Freddie took another sip of his tea, then looked to Ephram. "And yet you're in the habit of employing him," he murmured, raising an eyebrow. "Tell me darling, just what was it he needed to be paid for last night?"

Ruby looked at Ephram as well. She'd seen the state of Iann that morning, passed out and filthy in front of the kitchen fireplace. She'd tossed a bucket of water on him and run him outside.

"You're like a dog with a fucking bone, Freddie, has anybody ever told you that?" Still, Ephram figured it didn't matter to talk about Iann and what he got up to in front of Ruby; she lodged the man in her house, she was well aware of his activities. He spritzed some seltzer into his scotch and came back around to sit down again. "Nothing extraordinary. I needed a runner who wouldn't be immediately identified as Slap Jacks, and Cardero fit the bill. With the old man gone, there's loose ends I need to tie up." He turned his glass in his fingers and amended, "Loose ends I can tie up, now that I have free rein to do it." Ephram smiled lazily at Freddie. "Enough? Or would you like details of where I sent him and how I conveyed him there?"

Freddie batted his eyelashes, though his eyes remained calculating beneath them. "Oh, I think details would be lovely, Ephram," he said, "Tell us all about your loose ends, hm?"

Ephram crossed his legs at the ankles, slouching lower in his chair. "Have another cup of tea, Freddie," he murmured. "You seem as though you need help swallowing something."

Freddie smiled. "I swallow as well as I ever did, darling - it looks to me as though you have a problem spitting things out."

Ephram hung his arm over the side of the chair, glass dangling from his fingertips. "Why are you so all-fired up to know about what I do with Iann Cardero, out of everything else I'm currently involved in?" he asked, his ire beginning to rise again. "You aren't about to hire the man, and I'm not using him for anything we've got going in common. Change the subject, Freddie. I'm not in the mood."

Freddie's smile turned a bit thoughtful - Ephram's reticence to discuss Cardero meant that he absolutely needed to know what was going on there, and he resolved to set one of his best and brightest on it as soon as he got back to the shop - and he nodded his concession graciously, giving a little wave of his hand not holding his saucer. "Alright then," he said, "-a change of subject. I saw Ciara Woodman leaving here as I was pulling up - will she be playing a part in our new investment, or was that simply a social call?"

Ephram unwound a little bit when Freddie obliged his demand, a smile touching the corner of his mouth as he thought about Ciara Woodman and her clear interest in what Ephram had been proposing. "Business," he said, "but Kingfisher business. Have you tangled with her before? I've heard tell she's not immune to some shekels crossing her palm."

"All cops are dirty if you offer 'em enough," Ruby murmured, raising her eyebrow. Her ex had been a cop before getting himself killed somewhere in the dredges of France. Good riddance, of course. But that was beside the point.

Freddie frowned at the way Ephram was smiling. His getting cosy with the police would be nothing but tiresome where Freddie's own interests were concerned. Freddie would simply have to get in there first. "I know her by reputation," he said, "-but I've never yet had the pleasure."

Ephram sprang up from his chair, reinvigorated by talk about the attractive detective (neverminding Ruby's aside; a bribable agent of the law was a plus as far as he was concerned). "Speaking of pleasure," Ephram announced, "we need to move somewhere decidedly less domestic, now that tonight's weapons shipment has been pinned down. Shall we?" As per usual, the walk to the Fox and Fern was a speedy one, and this time, Ephram found them a normal table to sit at. No need for the privacy of a corner, either.

A plus they could definitely be, but bribable meant turncoat in Ruby's thinking. But Ciara had nothing to do with her, nor would she as far as Ruby knew, so she let it slip from her mind. She downed what was left of her drink and set her glass aside for the housekeeper, and followed down the street to the pub.

Maya glanced up from the customer she was serving when the door swung open. Ephram, she recognized immediately. The other two she placed quickly too. She gave all three of them a nod to acknowledge their entrance before returning to the customer in front of her. Once he was served, she made her way to the table. "What can I get you folks this evening?" she asked with her well worn smile.

"Gin," Ephram said, reaching into his vest pocket and putting some folded bills on the table, keeping them there with two fingertips. "And if either of my fine companions is thirsty for something other than gin, they'll be paying for it themselves." He lifted his hand so Maya could retrieve the money, taking out his cigarette case and lighter.

"Gin will be fine, darling," Freddie agreed, "Make mine a large one, yeah?"

Maya nodded, "Two gins coming right up." She glanced over to Ruby, taking Ephram's money as she did so.

Ephram lit a cigarette and pulled the knobby, stained ashtray closer to him. "Oi," he said to his companions, gesturing to his newly-stitched face, "Cassie got that odious little doctor in to see to me. Apparently he's still larking about as if he's the angel of the battlefield, expecting us all to fall to his boots weeping when he arrives to stitch us up and send us back out to face the guns."

Freddie rolled his eyes. "That little twat with the big sad eyes?" he asked - and then he snorted at the few stitches. "You could've done that much on your own and saved yourself the sermon."

"He was already in the house. It was either let him embroider my face, or run him over on the way out." Ephram chuckled to himself. "You know, I reckon ol' Mrs. Hudson's sweet on him? Either that or thinking of nursing him tenderly to her bosom."

"Gin's fine, thanks," Ruby said as well.

Freddie laughed lightly. "She always did put me in mind of a wet-nurse, your Mrs. Hudson," he said, "So what was he doing round yours then?"

Maya nodded again when Ruby indicated she wanted gin as well. She headed back behind the bar and poured three glasses of gin. Freddie's she made a double. While behind the counter, she started Ruby and Freddie's tabs. She returned to the table. As she set down the glasses, she asked, "Are we here for business or pleasure? I've got to prepare my staff." Although tonight it was just her and one of the bus boys.

"Thanks for that," Ruby said, raising her glass of gin to her lips with a frown. "Now I'll never get the image of Cardero and that woman's tits outta my head."

Ephram crinkled his forehead, puffing out smoke. "What was he doing still hanging around, you mean?" he asked. "I found him another job to do. Although he tried to put me off with some self-righteous comment about his brother. Your good mate Iann Cardero, that is, Freddie." Ephram looked up at Maya's question, saying, "Can't have one without the other, in my experience. Let's see where the night takes us, hmmm?"

"Oh, with Mr. Kingfisher, it's always business, love," Freddie said to Maya, murmuring a quick 'ta' for his drink and taking it from her. He shot Ephram a smirk. "Whatever he says, it's always business."

Ephram momentarily considered objecting to Freddie's characterization of him, but the more he mulled it over, the more he found he liked it. He raised his glass to the other man's smirk and took a drink with a satisfied grunt.

"And here I thought we all had enough uncertainty during the war," Maya replied with a tilted smile to Ephram. She had been an ambulance driver in France. Despite where she and her pub had found themselves, it was enough uncertainty, and many other things, to last her a lifetime. "Always work?" she parroted Freddie, "Haven't you heard about what that makes Jack?"

Ephram barked a laugh at Maya's choice of words. "Miss Parker," he said with tight, contained mirth, "I'm the head of the Kingfisher family. I decide everything when it comes to Jack."

Freddie followed suit, lifting his glass and taking a long swallow. "By which he means they're all dull boys."

Maya kept smiling. She'd been intentional in her words. She had to be. "The head of the Kingfisher family, you say?" she asked in feigned innocence and leaned on an empty chair, "Now you think someone might've mentioned that." Of course, they both knew perfectly well that she knew who he was and that he made the decisions when it came to Jacks.

Ephram pointed at Freddie. "I'll tell Cassie you said that," he threatened, amused. "She's always been of the opinion that the Jacks were wildly entertaining." He took a drag and said smokily, "--not that it means she likes any of them, mind you."

Freddie let loose a silvery peal of laughter this time, and grinned across the table at Ephram. "Does your sister like anyone?" he asked, "I'm only halfway convinced that she likes you. Honestly, if I were you I wouldn't get too comfortable in the throne, love - your Cass may decide the empire would fare better with a female ruler and that'll be your head on the block."

Ephram thumped the table with his knuckles, actually grinning himself. "There, you see, Maya? You may have to revise your knowledge of the Kingfisher family tree after all. My sister might decide she'd prefer to be an only child."

"Well, when the time comes I'm flexible," Maya replied, "Her gin money's just as good as yours."

Ephram carried on grinning at Freddie, the expression feeling all at once unfamiliar and easy on his face. That was the trouble with Watts, in particular; sometimes Ephram's body forgot they were so much older than they'd been when they were close, the first time around. That so much had happened to make him more grim, more bloody-minded. Less fun, Freddie would no doubt say.

Ephram caught sight of Octavia over at the bar and gave a sharp, loud whistle through his teeth to hail her. "Come sit with us!" he called. "Since Ruby's fucked off somewhere, you can take her place on my generous offer to pay for drinks -- so long as you're drinking gin, that is. Anything other than gin, you pay for on your own."

Octavia Picked up her drink and tipped her hat to the bartender. "Evening." She greeted them, taking a seat at their table.

Freddie watched Ephram for a moment, able tonight to see glimmers of the boy he'd known inside the man, and then turned his attention to Vi. "Hello, darling," he said, flashing her a smile and raising his glass, "Drink up, yeah? Ephram's generous offer may dry up at any moment, so do your damage while you can."

Ephram said archly, "--telling Octavia to do her damage is practically the same as turning out your pockets to her. Count your rings, Freddie. Or at least make sure they've still got their gemstones intact." He leaned back, turning his amused look on Vi. "Been lifting anything interesting? I could use a little levity. Or so everyone keeps telling me."

"Well when you put it that way." Vi raised her glass. "Cheers." She said before taking a gulp like it was pop.

Freddie flexed his tattooed hands, the heavy rings he wore sparkling in the low light of the pub. "If she can take them off my fingers," he said, "-she's earned them." He winked at Octavia, "But she knows better than that, don't you, love?"

"Ma a'ways says don't bit the hand that feeds ya." Vi laughed. She leaned forward, inspecting his rings. "Eh, I don't like costume jewelry anyway." She winked back.

Ephram hooted at that, saying to Maya, "Bring this girl a double! She deserves it for that." He shook his head in admiration at Vi's boldness.

Freddie laughed loud, and shot Vi a grin. "Octavia, darling, you may stay at this table as long as you like."

Maya nodded, "Double, coming right up." Once back at the bar, she had to deal with a few other customers before returning with Vi's double.

"My pleasure." Vi said proudly. She sat back and crossed her legs at the knee, making herself a little more comfortable. "What have you fine gentlemen been up to this evening?" She asked.

Ephram finished his drink, saying, "Maybe you best bring the bottle round to leave on the table, Maya. I have a feeling we're going to be plundering your shelf tonight." Turning his attention to Vi's question, he said, "The usual -- slandering those who aren't here to defend themselves. Although with the likes of Iann Cardero, he may just reel through the door at any moment."

Maya returned shortly after with the bottle. As she hadn't been invited to sit, she leaned with a hand on the back of one of the empty chairs. It was always good for business to keep an ear to what the Kingfishers were up to.

Vi downed the rest of the gin and tonic before sliding her glass forward. "Who else are we slandering, eh?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

Ephram propped an elbow on the table. "Anybody. Whoever we feel like. We've already covered Iann and his doctor brother, but I'm not confining it to family."

Octavia laughed and filled her glass half way, offering a refill to the others. "Oh yes, The Brothers." Vi said.

“Well, I hope you spare your poor widowed sister.” Cassie spoke, walking up to the small group that had formed in the normal spot for Kingfisher and Co when it came to the Fox and Fern. She took a seat on the other side of Ephram. Her elbows on the table and body crouch low and otherwise opposite of the lady she looked, “You should keep business in the manor right now. Not brag about to practical strangers.” Her jaw tightened, voice still soft over the low rumble of the pub, “About anything.”

Ephram chuckled, holding out his glass for more gin. "Maya," he said, since the pub owner was still handy, "has an official called Ciara Woodman ever had a drink here?" Cassie's arrival was welcome, of course, and Ephram absorbed her words without much outward response other than a low hrrrmm.

Ephram turned to Cassie, remembering to tell her, "I mentioned to Freddie Watts that I needed new suits and you were in the market for a few new dresses and he's promised to get that sorted for us -- it's why he knocked off early. If you have any specifications on ribbons or lace or whatnot make sure to send him a runner before he gets working, eh?"

Maya shook her head, "Come on Ephram. You know I'm not going to tell you that. If I did, I'd have to tell the cops you drink here if I want to keep my license."

Octavia looked from Ephram to Maya. "I'm guessing most of this lot are already passed out and the other half's pissed." She said with a shrug.

Cassie turned slightly to look at the bar owner when Ephram inquired with her. She knew The Fox and Fern was a favored and treasured spot. Police had sniffed around in the past. If Maya was at all observant, she’d offer up even slivers of info. “If you hadn’t jumped the detective.” Cassie said cooly, “I was going to visit her tomorrow.”

Cassie nodded at Ephram’s addition about new clothes. It was lower on importance, but she wasn’t one to turn down new frocks and ribbons. “I’ll send a note over. Thank you brother.”

Ephram pressed his lips together in an assessing downturn when Maya refused to give any information, finally saying, "--you'd best attend your other customers, then, if it's your license you're concerned with."

Maya leveled Ephram with a look. "Come now, you're a businessman. What kind of reputation would I have if I went running my mouth for either side? Would you drink here if you knew I was the kind to talk?"

Ephram spread his hands on the table. "Everyone talks to someone, Maya," he said flatly, the words clipped. "If you're not talking to me, then I don't have much use for you, do I?" He nodded at the bottle. "Other than for you to pour and serve."

Cassie‘s lips thinned. “Then leave. If you want to stay on Kingfisher’s good side.” She opened her mouth to continue but Ephram stepped in. She sat back in the bar stool a little more relaxed. Cassie hadn’t ordered a drink. She didn’t plan to. Someone had to keep their head. Besides, she preferred to drink in private, regardless of the taboo. “None of this conversation concerns you. Leave the bottle.” She grumbled back to Maya, waving the bartender off without so much as a glance. It rubbed her the wrong way, when someone completely disregarded her brother’s request. The only person who could do that was…well Cassie herself.

Maya raised an eyebrow. She wasn't surprised, not really. She looked between Cassie and Ephram, not losing her plaster smile. To Cassie, she reminded, "You wouldn't do anything here, not when its the only place you can be certain isn't a trap." Then facing Ephram, she added, "And what if I had seen her around here? Her money's good as yours."

Ephram stood, bringing Cassie up with him and snagging the neck of the gin bottle to bring as well. "Seems Kingfisher's thirst will have to be slaked somewhere new," he remarked. "Come on, Cassie. Good to see you, Vi. If you want to drink somewhere for the Jacks, you know which pubs are ours." He nodded at Maya as they went past her. "Now you won't have to factor our money into what you take."

Cassie stood promptly with Ephram, not wasting her time on responding to the other woman behind the bar. “Don’t ever go back to that place.” She said, the poison and vitriol only obvious behind her words to someone like her brother.

Ephram lit a cigarette as soon as they left the Fox and Fern for the last time, inhaling in the now downright cold night air. "We have options," he said, although he was frowning. "Suppose this means I'll either have to walk a little farther or take a car when I go drinking. Ah, well."

“A driver is something we can easily remedy.” Cassie shrugged, continuing to walk next to her brother down the block until the rounded the corner and saw the familiar outline of the large manor. She paused only for a moment when she saw a figure looming around outside the front doors, but her hesitation quickly died, and instead Cassie smiled in amusement just a little. “It’s Voeman. Did you call him? Mrs. Hughs is gonna have a cow.”

Ephram grunted, raising a hand to hail Voeman as they approached. "Mrs. Hudson never met something bovine she didn't like. It's me she likes to cut her eyes at." He nodded curtly at Joey when they were within speaking distance, saying, "Awright, soldier?"

Joey had been getting a bit anxious about this job offer Ephram had thrown his way. He mostly knew what he was getting into, and it was nothing good, but Ephram had saved his life during the war and that wasn't easily forgotten. He wasn't anxious about the subject matter, no, just the fact that he hadn't been called in a while. He wasn't a man that liked having time on his hands, and lord knew he didn't want to be home with his wife. "Heya, Boss," he said with a nod in answer. "Thought I'd drop by." He caught Cassie's eye and smiled a bit. Just a bit. "Ma'am," he greeted, touching the brim of his cap.

"Well, no use you propping up the wall outside." Ephram opened the front doors to let them in, Mrs. Hudson turning up a few moments later and visibly drooping at Ephram's -- third? fourth? -- request for food for the day, his previous demands all having gone uneaten for one reason or the other. "Come into the second parlour," Ephram told the other two. "It's smallest, it always warms up fastest."

“Go, go.” Cassie waved them along eager to get into the house and next to a roaring firepit as well. She had to give it to Joey, at least he knew how to show up somewhat inconspicuous. Still, maybe he was just a little eager for a job. Ephram hadn’t used him in a bit, and Cassie wondered only for a quick moment if that was her fault. “She’s going to have a fit.” She sung quietly to her brother in reminder about their maid. The lady did look, at the very least, disheveled and flustered, “I saw her feeding your other meals to the children. And the dog.” Cassie commented when she opened up the second parlor.

"At least someone's being fed." After the strange turn of events at the Fox and Fern, Ephram didn't feel much like drinking; once Mrs. Hudson brought the tray of tea and sandwiches, he selected one and ate it out of hand with a cup of tea in the other, toasting himself in front of the fire and just ... watching his sister and Joey.

The Kingfisher house always baffled Joey. He didn't even have one parlor in his apartment, let alone a second one. He wasn't strung up for cash by any means, thanks to Ephram, but he lived a pretty simple life compared to this. No maid. No fancy teapot and matching fine china. But he didn't look at them with envy. Just awe and bewilderment. "Thank you," Joey said quietly to the maid as she brought them tea and food, which he gladly helped himself to, removing his flat cap and setting it on the arm of the chair he sat in as he sipped his tea. "What were you two out and about for?" he inquired, side glancing at Cassie as subtly as he could manage.

“Business.” Cassie answered Joey simply, taking her seat and eating one small sandwich from the tray that had been delivered. “We didn’t get very far. And instead, we found a bar that is no longer suitable for Kingfisher and Co.”

Joey raised his eyebrows as he took another sip. "Oh, which bar? Let me know where I should avoid."

Ephram added, "--or the Slap Jacks, for that matter. We're shifting our drinking to, hmmmm ... The Gray Pearl, I think. They do a nice roast there on Friday nights and it's only two long blocks further than Fox and Fern. In the other direction." Ephram drank some tea and then said experimentally, "Cassie was told tonight that she shouldn't dare try anything at Fox and Fern since it's apparently the only place in Soapham she can be sure isn't a trap." He gestured around their heads at the manor with the last crust of his sandwich before popping it in his mouth.

Cassie side glanced to Joey when Ephram informed the other man with better specifics of what had happened at the pub. A threat, but an easily perceived one none the less. She scoffed, “Which should automatically put it under suspicion for everyone.”

Joey felt himself getting angry at the notion of something disrespecting Ephram and Cassie. He wasn't sure if it was his loyalty to the Kingfisher family and the Slap Jacks flaring up or...something else. "You want me to do something about them?" he asked, setting his teacup down on the table and leaning forward slightly.

Ephram shook his head. "Not that important. Let them go on as they are -- we have more complex situations at hand."

Joey leaned back just as quickly, abandoning his empty teacup on the table. "Okay. But just say the word if you change your mind." He was debating bringing up other jobs Ephram might have for him, but unlike when they served together, this was a whole other element that belonged to Ephram and he was only allowed to be privy to because these two wished it so. So he did his best never to overstep his bounds.

If she wanted to be more petty, or more like if she could afford to be more petty, Cassie wasn’t sure she’d agree with the shadow of a threat as unimportant. It’d been more of a shock then anything to have the comment directed at her. It meant the barkeep was plain stupid, or someone in a mask. For the time being, Cassie would chalk it up to stupidity. “You look good Joey.” She commented, taking a sip from her tea. “Ephram’s gathering arms from a supplier.” Cassie paused glancing to her brother to allow him to continue, “That firepower will help us in the coming weeks.”

Ephram polished off another sandwich and cup of tea, finally starting to feel a little more settled. "You'll be needed for the delivery of the arms," he told Joey, "at the warehouse of Freddie Watts. He and his men will be in attendance, and the weapons are to be divided squarely between us. I'm bringing Dubois as well to keep you company, and then our share of the guns is going to Clair de Lune. Ruby's already been notified to make room for them." He looked over at Cassie. "You said you wanted to handle that part? Joey should go with you."

Joey suppressed the urge to smile at Cassie's compliment, simply nodding in thank you. "You as well, Cassie," he said quietly, refilling his teacup just so he had something to do with his hands. He nodded along as Cassie and Ephram explained the plan. He raised an eyebrow at the mention of 'in the coming weeks', but let it go to focus on the job at hand. "Sounds good to me. You expecting anything to go sideways?" He'd never met this Freddie Watts, though he'd heard of him, and didn't quite know what to expect.

Ephram ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek for a moment -- but only a moment. "Freddie's solid," he said, but the streak of cold, ruthless business he'd cultivated in himself spurred him on to add, "--for now. He's got nothing to gain by turning coat on this deal. And I reckon he's riding out his curiosity on what direction Kingfisher's gonna take with the old man six feet under."

Cassie sighed at Ephram’s suggestion. She felt he was doing it just to spite in her some round about way. Not that Joey’s company was unwelcome it just…felt weird encouraged by her brother. “Ephram, it’s not going to look exactly status quo for a war veteran to be approaching a half way house with a woman in tow.” She rolled her eyes at the idea of Freddie being a threat, “He’s too cocky over the share he got. He won’t put that in jeopardy.”

Ephram scratched the tip of his ring finger against his chin. "I'm sure Joey's dignity can handle some idle gossip about his whoremongering, if that's what it takes to get you and the shipment to safety," he said, stare unwavering between them. "I want you both on this. That's the long and short of it."

Joey wordlessly gestured toward Cassie with a nod of agreement, but he knew he couldn't argue with Ephram. "I'm no stranger to getting my hands dirty. Or my reputation." It was a bit of a joke, but he didn't laugh. "Whatever you want, Boss."

“Fine.” Cassie backed down, placing her tea cup on the table with a little harder ‘clang’ against the wood. She’d do as she was told, but it didn’t mean she always had to agree with it. “Joey and I will oversee Clair de Lune and the shipment together. At your request.”

Ephram met Cassie's displeased look, holding it as he said to Joey, "...there's a man in that shed against the western fence. A man whose life has run some ways past its purpose." He paused, then let the hammer drop. "Make sure those two things meet up even again, Voeman. And don't let me see any trace of it when you're done." Ephram smiled flatly. "I reckon you need more tasks to keep you busy and out of Cassie's hair."

Joey stood at Ephram's orders. He was used to being ejected from the house when he was no longer needed. Sent off to do the dirty work. But it was still always jarring. He remembered how Ephram had treated him like a pal in the trenches. An equal as they both stared death in the face over and over. But things were different now, and it didn't do well to dwell on the past. "Yes sir," he muttered, picking up his cap and heading for the door. "Consider it done."

“I know how to handle myself, and Joey Voeman.” Cassie grumbled to Ephram, “Your votes in confidence are overwhelming. Anyways, that widow should have received a check of funds by now.” Since he’d brung up the man dying in the shed, “I sent a box of groceries too. So, they’ll forget about him.” Cassie summarized flatly.

Ephram covered the distance over to Cassie in a few long strides, until he was next to her, curved over her so close his breath stirred her hair. "To hell with the Carruthers widow," he said, voice rumbling. "Do you want Voeman or not? Isn't that why you're pissed with me for staying out last night, for getting close to Ciara Woodman today? Because your bed's been cold too long?" Ephram pressed in closer, cinching Cassie's arm in his big hand. "Or is it something else that's got you bothered."

Cassie made a grimace when she saw Ephram quickly closing the space between them. It wasn’t any sort of reaction she had been expecting, but the sharp whispers next to her ear had her chuckling shortly thereafter. “Ephram please. If I wanted Joey I could have him. I’ve done it before. He’s has a wife. There are certain precautions. But most importantly, I know how to keep business and personal life separate.” 

She turned, narrowing her eyes slightly at him, “I don’t know if I could say the same for you. So if the Slapjacks slip with this half and half deal you have with Watts-“ Cassie pulled her arm from Ephram’s grasp, “Don’t come crying to me.”