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voyagis-infinitum · 4 years ago

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Person I fallow is posting Treasure Planet OCs. so... Here we go.

My Treasure Planet OC 'Lucky' John Flint Captain 'Lucky' John Flint "The Man Who Dances with Death" Species: Falmahaution Age: 265 years old (about 26 in human years) Family: dozens of nieces, nephiews, cousins, aunts and uncles making up Flint Pirate Clan Immediate Family: Rudolf 'The Red' Flint (brother) Isabell 'La Syrena' Flint (Sister) 'Wild Sarah' Flint (Sister, Deceased) Nathanial Flint (Father, deceased) Elizabeth Iron Flint (mother, deceased) Cassandra 'The Gypsy' (wife) William Flint (eldest son) Nathanial Flint II (youngest son) Jamaica Flint (Daughter) Ships Crewed: Fancy under Avery (As master at Arms) Wild Rover (As Captain) Weapons used: cutlass, Laser flintlock, laser blunderbuss, various cyborg appendages Strengths: intelegence, unique anotomy which results in Very capable fighter (Falmahautions have three lungs and two hearts among other things) strong cyborg limbs made out of specially forged steel, resourcefulness, expert marksman, master engineer (builds and races his own solar surfer) Knowlege of ancient technology (from studying Forefathers and Treasure Planet) Friends in high places, knowelege of how to extract and manipulate pure darkmatter, cunning Weaknesses: 1/3 of his lungs is collapsed, 1/2 of another is damaged, 1 heart poisoned in duel, overconfident, relies too much on luck and is therefore reckless, superstitious, damaged body which would be superior to most species, is now only just on par with humans, heavy drinker, conscious weighs heavily on him Captain Lucky John is the son of the notorious Nathanial Flint, and the rightful heir to Treasure Planet, in his youth, he sailed with his father while he collected the famed 'Loot of a Thousand Worlds'. Due to Nathanial Flint keep Treasure Planet's power for himself, rather than share with his beurocratic Pirate Family out of spite, Nathanial Flint was disowned by his father, and took Lucky John, his siblings and his wife plundering his own using Treasure Planet. Later, after his father was wounded in a mutiny, and he and Billy Bones fled the planet Lucky John sailed with several pirates and smugglers. The most notable of which was Captain Avery on the Fancy as Master at Arms and Marksman. Avery was, at the time, the Pirate Lord of Madagascar in the Brethren Court. Fallowing the Gunsway Heist Avery retired and ruled his Pirate Colony on Madagascar. Trouble was brewing with the Powerful Flint Pirate Clan, and the Teague Pirate Clan however. The Teagues and the Brethren Court argued that the Flints should abide by the Pirate Code though this was just the latest in a long list of grievances in their rivalry. The Flints responded that their Clan predated the Code, and had their species' longevity to prove it. Eventually, after the Flint and Teague clans erupted into open warfare with each other, and threatened to destroy the Brethren Court, and Greater Piracy as a whole, an agreement was reached. A Member of the Flint Clan would sit on the Brethren Court and call themselves one of the 9 Pirate Lords. The Flints, would, in return, agree to adhere to the Pirates Code. Avery, remembering Lucky John fondly, passed his Piece of Eight and seat to his old ship's officer. decades later, Lucky John would be injured in a duel, and fearing Death, pass his piece of eight, and seat on the Brethren Court to the only person he trusted at the time, One of his own Fleet's officers. None other than a young Edward Teague, later Keeper of the Pirate Code. Fallowing his recovery, The Flint Patriarch, Big Ben was livid, and disowned Nathanial Flint's Bloodline for a second time. Eventually, Lucky John took aboard his ship a young John Silver, who he nicknamed 'Long John Silver' for his tall tales of adventure. He was like a son to him. At the time, Billy Bones was also the ship's Helmsman, as he had been for years. Over time, John Silver became Quartermaster on the Wild Rover. After years of Comradery however, Silver began pressuring the Captain to go after Treasure Planet again, knowing Lucky John Still had the map. This eventually led to a mutiny. Silver's ruthlessness and betrayal even though he trusted him so much, as well as his two faced lies, led Lucky John to fear Silver. Flint was marooned with his loyalists on a small island, while Billy Bones Fled the ship, entrusted with the map by Lucky John. Silver hoped a few weeks on the island would convince Lucky John to change his mind. True to his luck however, a Ship loyal to Lucky John's pirate clan, a barque happened across the island. It was fleeing a Navy patrol. Flint returned to his stronghold to find Silver lamenting his actions, he had told the rest of Flint's crew and captains that he was dead. Lucky John subsequently took Silver to Protious I to the infamous Dead Man's Chest, a barren and notoriously tall platue which was a popular spot for pirates to maroon people and leave them to die atop of. The same planet, was, incidentally where Silver had rescued Morph from some years before. Lucky John's last action upon seeing Silver, was to take Silver's hand as revenge. Silver, and a handful of others, including Turnbuckle, Hands, Onus, Birdbrain Mary, Scroop and Meltdown were those who would survive the ordeal and become part of Silver's Crew later on Occasionally he sailed with Terran Letters of Marque during wars with the Procyons. He even fought along side Captain Amelia and became friends with her and had a brief thing with her. After the wars, however, Lucky John returned to pyracy, and for that, Amelia never forgave him, and they often exchanged broadsides when the notorious space pirate and the navy captain sighted each other's ships. During the Voyage to Treasure Planet, Silver used his galleon Argentum to try and intercept Billy Bones cutter as it left Spaceport Crescentia to rendezvous with Lucky John. Billy Bones had been in hiding for years, and was unable to contact his captain. While the Argentum and the Wilde Rover conducted a ferocious space battle, Silver Fled in a small gunboat with several members of his crew to try and fallow Billy Bones down to Montressor. The Argentum was heavily damaged and burning when Flint left her, and Silver beached her to return to later, as he infiltrated the RLS Legacy's crew. Flint subsequently would later give chase to the RLS Legacy but would arrive too late to take the treasure and watched from orbit as Treasure Planet Exploded. During the Ironclad conflict, Lucky John acted as one of the main Smuggler Lords who helped the Procyons build their ironclads, fallowing the end of the conflict, and Jim Hawkins promotion, Lucky John would develop a fierce rivalry with Commodore Hawkins of the Terran Royal Navy. they would fight many times and the pirate would come to remark that "Young Master Hawkins is the most worthy Challenge I have had in a long time." The rest of his life and events can be read in my, (abandoned sorry,) Fanfic www.deviantart.com/edward-smee… Eventually, Lucky John became the Falmahaution Abbassador To the Terran Empire and retired to Spaceport Cresentia. He and his crew are frequent patrons of the rebuilt Benbow Inn on Montresser. Lucky John eventually got over the loss of Treasurte Planet and came to be good friends with the Hawkins, the Dopplers and John Silver, who was an old shipmate of Lucky John's.

Lucky John and ‘Ginnie’ Flint, the OC of a friend from old rps. They are half siblings. among other aspects of my world building lore, the species of Flint, which i dubbed ‘Faulmahaltions’ is a hybridized crocodile and scorpian species, and as such further interspecies breeding is made difficult, ironically, Ginnie’s creator maintains that Ginnie had a birth defect and so was put into Stasis by Nathanial Flint, and emerged centuries later, on Lucky John’s shoulder is his pet Candarian Zapwing, Skullduggery

Lucky John was bornb beneath three lucky stars which, on his homeworld denote great fortune, and luck. Lucky John, as a result is blessed with inane and almost unbeleivable luck, and has been banished from almost all gambling establishments in the Etherium. He just is that lucky. These three fate gauging die, are a method of fortune telling used by his people, and incidentally depict the three stars Lucky John was born under.

Lucky John’s Jolly Roger is actually much more lighthearted than the pirate himself, and depicts himself dancing with Death. this is, due to the high number of times that Lucky John narrowly escaped Death due to his luck. Here he is pictured at the transom of his ship, Jolly Roger flying while weilding his cutlass, and blunderbuss, while his ship’s Long Tom sits on postion on the transom. Skullduggery perches on her master’s shoulder

Lucky John owns a number of ornate weapons he uses when pirating. A blunderbuss with a rotating series of energy cells to maximize the number of rounds without reloading, a curved dagger, and curved cutlass. After his Father’s Demise, Lucky John became a member of the crew of the famed Pirate Henry Avery, and was the ship’s Master At Arms. Avery subsequently gifted Lucky John the finest pistol aboard the Gunsway after the infamous raid. Lucky John’s musket was perhaps the most common of his weapons in the days before his own captaincy, and his ability as a sharpshooter with his cybernetic eye was made infamous. Lucky John was also infamous for once saying “If ye have one shot, and yer pinned down, shoot somewhere random, and pray for the best.” before a brick wall collapsed on Royal Marines and enabled the pirates an escape.

Lucky John is also not just a famed pirate, but also a loving and caring father. He has three children with a gypsy wife. Their hybridization was easier due to Lucky John’s knowlege of the medical technology of Treasure Planet, His daughter is named ‘Jamaica’ after his favorite pirate island, and his sons are Nathanial and Billy, after his father, and best freind. Here, Lucky John sits in the cabin of his ship, showing his children a bedtime story about his Father and the legend of Treasure Planet, while his beloved wife scoops ice cream for her children. Out the stern ligh windows are a planet and spaceport, and a pirate Barque and fast attack who serve Lucky John’s pirate clan

Lucky John’s ship the Wild Rover, named for the favorite song of Lucky John is a 30 gun pirate galleon.

Class: Galleon Designer: Lucky John Affiliation: Pirate/ Flint Pyrate clan Captain: Lucky John\ Crew: 150 space pirates of various species, and robot manufacturers. Armentment: 30 heavy laser cannons, 1 heavy long Tom projectile Cannon, 3 arm mounted grappling claws, 1 arm mounted drill, 2 arm mounted circuler saw blades Special shipboard systems: Pure Darkmatter crystal power core, cloaking device, smuggling compartments The 'Wild Rover' was built by A Falmahaultion Shipyard on Lucky John's Homeworld. He made several modifications to her systems based on things he learned studying the systems of Treasure Planet in his youth. Others, including her extremly effeciant power and engine systems, he learned from solarsurfing. Lucky John Has used the Wild Rover for 83 years, ever since he took command at the young age of 182. She has sailed under many flags since her Launch. Including the Emblem of the Falmalhaltion Empire, The Skull and Orbits, and both Terran, and Procyon Privateer Flags. Not to Mention False colors and Smugglers flags. Lucky John had used her to battle rival Pirates, His own family, Royal Light Ships, Procyon Star Runners, and Arcturian Armada Galleons, not to mention countless numbers of Richly laden merchant ships, and Rich Spaceports. Lucky John Commanded her during The Pirate Civil Wars between the Teague Clan and the Flints, which threatened to destroy the Brethren Court. He also fought several battles between Admiral Amelia, Commodore Hawkins, other Prominent Terran naval Officers, and John Silver.

Falmahaultions are native to the Planet Candaria. Their name is actually in reference to two ancestral species. a crocodilian and scorpian species who interbred, Fal’ Mah-Hault is actually a translation meaning ‘Children of Mah and Hault’ the first two who interbred. due to this hybridization it made their species difficult to hybridize further, resulting in birth defects. unique anatomical features include:

Three lungs. one large interlocking respiratory system

Two hearts, completely separate circulatory systems, one is cold blooded, the other is warm blooded, they even each other out, and regulate the body.

an external ‘exoskeletal brace’ prominant on the hands and faces, the ‘brace’ is what remains of the scorpian ancestors exoskeleton, and serves to protect joints, as in the knuckles, and bones, as well as protect sensitive nerve endings. in both the hands, and the face around the eyes, these nerve endings sense chemicals in their air, like a snake’s tongue.

three pairs of eyes. each vertical pair sees color in different wavelengths, and gives a great field of vision as well. ultra violet normal light etc.

Increased tolerance to poison etc. Falmahaultions also retain their scorpian poison glands, though they migrated to their talons, and fangs, and are, in most cases underdeveloped, and have to be stimulated with certain herbs to reach full maturity, and toxicity.

another interesting feature, is the split nails of the Falmahaultions. This is a cosmetic choice, rather than a genetic trait. it is one talon per finger, which certain warrior classes, or others of particular wealth and stature began splitting with knives and permitting to grew in a bifurcated look. The practice was widely adopted by both males and females, but began with the female warrior caste. despite the wholly cosmetic nature of the procedure, Falmahaultion doctors have noted that the remnant poison glands flow easier under such circumstances.

Sensative smell- large noses and nostrils permit Falmahaultions excellent smell

Dense muscles, their species hails from a jungle world, with aztec like architecture and as a result, are known for their great physical strength, and survival abilities, which is only aided by additional respiratory and circulatory systems.

LUCKY JOHN’S TRAITS IN REGARD TO THE ABOVE WORLDBUILDING

Lucky John has lost one heart and one and half of another lung to a duel with a poisoned blade. His body was unable to process the poison due to its extreme potency, and destroyed one of his hearts, one of his lungs, and caused a lung collapse in his middle lung. This incident lowered his all around ability for athleticism and strength and as a result put him on par with most humans, and humanoid species. His luck enabled him to survive.

Lucky John lost his lower right eye in another incident and had damage caused to his nerve endings. He was forced to replace it with a cybernetic eye having all the standard features, and replace one of the nerve endings as well. eventually, he had a special protective placed secured over the central ridge of nerves that journeyed up his face in between his eyes. he forged both from gold.

Lucky John Split his fingernails. Both in homage to warrior caste traditions, and out of a cosmetic choice. sometimes he paints them, or lets his wife paint them. Though traditional nail paint is made from a mix of pigments and the individuals own venom. In the case of his lost arm, his has curved knife blades with no splits in them.

A heraldic Candarian Zapwing and the Flag of the Flint Pirate Clan. The Central Clan has hundreds of Flints, aunts, neices nephews, uncles, brothers, sisters, all under the leadership of Lucky John’s Grandfather, and Nathanial Flint’s Father, Big Ben Flint. Who has disowned Nathanial Flint’s Bloodline multiple occasions. Each subsequent member of the clan however, has their own flagship, command fleet, and Pirate Clan under their leadership with many fleets and hideouts, giving way to a powerful pirate dynasty, and empire. a dynsasty and Empire which Nathanial Flint outshone when he took Treasure Planet for himself to spite his greedy and powerhungry father Big Ben, thus earning his ire.

The Pride of Candaria, a stolen royal Flagship bearing Candarian symbols on her sails. the Flagship of the Flint Pirate Clan, and the ship of Big Ben himself. The whole stern is the site of not just cabins but pirate administrative offices from which the massive pirate clan can run their empire.

For your consideration @lootofathousandsworld I haven’t touched these guys in so long. I miss them.

#flint #captain flint #treasure planet #OC #original character #space pirates #alien pirate #space galleon #solar galleon #original art.

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bywordofaphrodite · 4 years ago

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Book Reviews 3&4: Nancy Drew and the Lilac Inn by Carolyn Keene & Trixie Belden and the Secret of the Mansion by Julie Campbell Tatham

This review’s theme is girl detective books ! Audience age range: roughly 12 and up !

Just as Enid Blyton’s books made me fall in love with magical creatures and faraway lands, detective novels became an obsession during late primary school, with classic lead female characters Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden being my absolute favourites. My school had an extremely small and limited library, and the Nancy Drew books were one of the only decent series there- even with a great chunk of the collection missing. My mother introduced me to Trixie Belden, which she insisted was better than Nancy Drew, though I refused to listen to such a declaration at the time.

Now, though? My opinions have definitely changed.

Nostalgic review

Rating: ★★★★★

From memory, Nancy Drew is a clever, beautiful and well-off girl in her late teens, living with her lawyer father Carson Drew and her housekeeper Hannah Gruen, who has looked after Nancy since her mother’s passing when she was only three. I always enjoyed the dynamic between Nancy and her father, as it was similar to mine with my father, also a lawyer- Carson doesn’t step in unless Nancy needs his help, but he does assist in legal advice when necessary. I also loved Nancy’s friendship with the cousins Bess and George, and liked that her relationship with her ‘special friend’ Ned never got in the way of solving mysteries or hanging out with her friends (‘hanging out’ was practically code for sleuthing in these novels anyway). Overall, my memories of this series amount mostly to exciting searches for missing heiresses, finding beautiful jewels and battling crocodiles in Florida.

On the opposite side of the spectrum is Trixie Belden- rough-around-the-edges thirteen year-old from a poor family living with both her parents and three brothers. Where Nancy has a housekeeper, lives in an affluent suburban neighbourhood and never wants for money, Trixie lives on the outskirts of a small town, both her parents work, and she is constantly reminded of how important it is to work for money as they do not have much of it to spare on mindless things. Nancy is a fairly solitary character, often working alone unless her friends show up, and even then she does most of the legwork; Trixie is also the main sleuth in her series, but her best friend Honey is almost always at her side. While the mysteries were great, the warm friendships in Trixie Belden novels are what I remember best.

Regardless of whatever my thoughts may be after rereading books from these two series, I’ve never ceased referencing either of them and my love of the mystery genre still holds fast even now.

Nancy Drew and the Lilac Inn Review

Post-read: ★★

Synopsis: girl detective Nancy Drew is called to solve a series of odd goings on at her newly engaged friend Emily’s inn, in what seems to be an attempt to prevent Emily and her fiancé from opening. Disaster strikes when her aunt retrieves Emily’s inheritance of diamonds- Emily’s last hope to cover the costs of fixing up the inn- and they are swiftly stolen within the hour. Nancy vows to catch the thief and the intruder and save Emily’s inn from failure.

I struggled in choosing which Nancy Drew book to reread for this review, and after reading through multiple rankings lists I decided on the Lilac Inn because it ranked highly on every list. I now wish I had just gone with Crocodile Island anyway… at least there was something snappy about it. In between the bomb, the theft, the doppelganger, the underwater fake-shark, the kidnapping, the spear-gun attack- I think I’ve made my point. There’s far too much going on, and if it was well-written I would be okay with it, really I would, but it’s all so blandly articulated that half the time I had to reread just to make sure I’d read correctly what nonsense was occurring at any given time.

Straight out the gate, I just want to say how shocking the writing was- that’s shockingly bad, by the way. If I thought Enid Blyton’s work was stunted, well, this was far, far worse. Especially since it lacks the excuse of being written for young children. It was incredibly difficult to push through in the slower parts, and I must admit I basically skim-read the lead up parts to the action sequences (which were incredibly minimal compared to the gnashing crocodile teeth I longed for, but alas). Sadly for me, Bess (my old fave), George and Ned were not present at all, and I cannot remember if they had actually been introduced that early in the series because they are not mentioned once.

I did really like the concept of the story, and the element of Nancy having a creepy doppelganger posing as Nancy to cause mischief (she has several over the series) was fun, even more so that said doppelganger was an actual actress and quite ruthless in her attempts to steal Emily’s diamonds- I love a morally-corrupt pretty female villain as much as the next person, after all. There is a romance teased between Nancy and a young man staying at the inn, a young man who continuously seems to be in the same room as the diamond thief messing with Emily’s inn, but ultimately both never amount to anything. This hardly surprised me given the book is written in the thirties, and Ned and Nancy never do anything but attend dances together the entire series, but still, come on. He could’ve at least stolen the diamonds to add some spice to his useless appearances.

It’s possible that were a very talented scriptwriter to take this book and make it into a movie it could work out a lot better than it does on paper- provided the casting was done well. The sets would be interesting, and I think the creepiness of the ‘ghost’ in the orchard and the diving scenes would translate a lot better on camera. Normally I’m not one to nominate live actions of novels for no reason, but this thought kept recurring as I struggled to get through the writing.

Characters who aged well: Nancy is smart and weirdly good at everything (they don’t explain why she knows how to do all the things she does, but diving and freeing herself from bonds seems to be easy enough for her. Given male characters are always allowed to be perfect without training, I’ll allow it). For a female character written in the 30s she has plenty of agency and does not once rely on a man’s help to do anything, which is why I always enjoyed her books. Carson Drew also aged well- not present that often, but useful without being interfering, and his trust in his daughter is refreshing. As for the other main characters in the series… they didn’t even show up in this book so I can’t really comment on this.

Characters who aged badly: plot twist- I’m adding Nancy here too. She is a little too perfect, too polished, a common criticism by modern readers, though at the time of publication was her main selling point. Additionally, earlier editions of the series featured racist comments made by Nancy, although those have since been taken out. However, the publisher and creator of the first books was not a very pleasant person, so I find myself able to separate that from Nancy’s character.

Favourite scene/quote: ‘The article went on to tell that Nancy had just completed a course in advanced skin diving in the Muskoka River, and that she had finished first in total points in the twenty student group’.

I find this quote amusing because there is really no need for Nancy to be good at every single thing, and this is a good example of the many times throughout the series that Nancy is the ��best’ at a very random activity that is often never mentioned again.

As for my favourite scene, though nothing interesting actually ends up happening in the orchard, I did like the eerie setting of Nancy dressing up as a ghost and chilling behind a tree for a while (okay it was partially eerie, mostly just oddly comedic). The actress/impostor posing as Nancy provided a few good scenes, too, but for the main villain of the story she was hardly in as many scenes as she should’ve been in.

After doing some research, I discovered something most interesting: Nancy was written with significantly more character by the original ghost-writer of the series, a woman named Mildred Wirt Benson, who wrote Nancy ‘embodying qualities that she wished she had’- but the publisher Edward Stratemeyer did not want a bold female character, and she was rewritten with similar dialogue but now accompanied with ‘dainty’ verbs to sweeten her words. Stratemeyer was also known for his beliefs that women belonged in the kitchen, and the only reason he created Nancy in the first place was to capitalise on young female readers who wanted their own equivalent of the Hardy Boys.

With all of this in mind, it’s very possible that the Nancy from my memories is a mix of the older and new editions, which allowed Nancy more personality as the series went on, no longer needing to confirm to the sexist expectations of the 1930s. And despite these origins, Nancy Drew aged quite well as an unintended feminist icon: she solves her mysteries alone and rarely needs Ned’s help at all; in fact, most of the time, Nancy is the one doing the saving. It’s nice to think that, almost one hundred years later, Mildred Wirt Benson’s version of Nancy is the one being kept alive, both on paper and onscreen.

Trixie Belden and the Secret of the Mansion Review

Post-read: ★★★★★

Synopsis: energetic teen Trixie Belden’s boring town of Sleepyside is turned upside down when a rich new family moves onto the property opposite her own, an old miser winds up in hospital and his empty mansion is suddenly inhabited by a runaway boy, and a missing fortune is waiting to be uncovered.

Whewww.

This was a massive breath of fresh air after the Lilac Inn! After being so unimpressed by both Blyton and Keene’s writing, Tatham’s writing restored my faith in my childhood judgement. Her words flowed well and the conversation between the characters was very natural. The blank slate characters in the Lilac Inn were showed up by the animated and multiple-dimensional characters in the Secret of the Mansion, and I never once felt the need to rush myself through the chapters.

Unlike my method of choosing a Nancy Drew book, I simply decided on reading the first Trixie book for this review. While I almost went for a later book where all the main characters had been introduced, I couldn’t remember how Trixie first met Honey and Jim, which I felt was pretty important to her character. I’m very glad I did. Even in the first book, Trixie endures so much character development (contrasting very strongly with Nancy’s flawless existence). Longing for a friend, Trixie takes herself up the hill to the newly habited mansion to introduce herself and her little brother Bobby, who she is babysitting to earn money to buy herself a horse. There she meets rich girl Honey Wheeler, a sickly and sheltered but sweet girl of the same age, whose parents pay little attention to her. Things fall into place with all the expected luck of a teen heroine- Honey’s governess is a lovely woman who wants Honey to befriend Trixie and offers to look after Bobby, and of course Honey’s stables are now filled with horses and a stable hand who can teach her to ride.

But for every easy thing comes an opportunity for Trixie to grow: she comes to admire Honey’s bravery after previously being irritated by her fear of trying outdoor activities; she ignores the stable hand’s orders not to ride the stallion and falls as a result, leading to her having to work to regain his trust and also being taught the valuable lesson to recognise her own limits; finally, as much as Trixie hates looking after little Bobby, when he is bitten by a snake Trixie is resourceful and quick on her feet in helping him, keeping him well enough until a doctor and other adults arrive.

Rather like the Lilac Inn, the mystery of the story centres on the hidden will to a supposed fortune of the elderly man who lived in the old mansion not far from Honey’s new home. On a whim, Trixie nags Honey into accompanying her to snoop around the building, leading to their discovery of the old man’s nephew Jim hiding there. By the end of the book, the girls have helped Jim to find the will and safely escape his abusive step-father. Later in the series, Jim is adopted by the Wheeler family, and also becomes Trixie’s primary love interest (I love that this relationship is not at all rushed either).

The reading level for the Trixie Belden series is listed as grade 3 and above, but I had no problems being completely involved and intrigued by the storyline and characters as a twenty-three year old. I think I’ll continue to read the series on my own time, as I always enjoyed the full character line-up developed after a few books in.

Characters who aged well: Trixie! If my praise during this review didn’t make clear enough, she’s a wonderful character with great development. Honey and Jim are also solid characters, and Bobby and Trixie’s parents are well-written too- supportive and kind, but realistic concerning raising Trixie to be a responsible kid. Also going to add that Trixie’s group of best friends- self-named the Bob-Whites of the Glen and consisting of her two older brothers Brian and Mart, Honey, Jim and the later additions of Dan and Di- have a strong presence and very distinct personalities when they show up in the later novels.

Characters who aged badly: nobody! All the side characters were well done, including the villain. He wasn’t over-the-top by any means, his abuse of Jim was both emotion and physical in a realistic manner that concerned the adults around him enough to comment on it without actually taking proper action to help him, as it often goes. I appreciated the author’s ability to write a male character the vulnerable one, to recognise what was wrong about the situation, and to gladly accept help from two girls younger than him.

Favourite scene/quote: “‘serves him right,’ Trixie said, wiping her grimy hands on her rolled-up blue jeans. ‘The mean old miser. You should have left him lying in the driveway, Dad.’”

An earlier quote in the book, this sets the tone for Trixie’s character: she’s messy, no-nonsense and cheeky. For a female character written in 1948 I found this quite amusing. There’s none of the internalised misogyny that often popped up in ‘tomboy’ characters of the time: Trixie just is what she is, and she’s great.

A standout scene would be Trixie sucking the venom from her brother’s snakebite to save him, and the chapters focused on the developing friendship with Honey and Jim while the two teach Trixie how to handle horses is also enjoyable.

Overall verdict:

My mother was right, Trixie Belden is far better than Nancy Drew in every category I can think of. I wish that the series had gained the popularity that Nancy Drew did, because it would make for a fun movie or television show. There is an eighteen year gap between the publication of the first novel from both series, and both heroines saw many more books written after that. Nancy Drew is so persistent, however, that multiple movies and even a recent CW show have been made, though it is not very accurate to the books at all. Even now, modern-day setting Nancy Drew mysteries are still being released under the Carolyn Keene pseudonym, showing her unending mythical status.

I still love Nancy, bad writing and all, but in all fairness, Miss Trixie deserves a cut of the nostalgic hype surrounding the girl-detective genre. I’d also like to bask in the poetic justice of Nancy not only remaining a more iconic character than the Hardy Boys, but also becoming more feminist as time goes on. I’m sure the publisher is rolling in his grave!

#nancy drew #carolyn keene #trixie belden #girl detective #fiction #university project #nostalgia #feminism #female characters

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lawful-evil-novelist · 7 years ago

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This might seem like a very weird question, but if you haven’t mentioned it before- Who are your top 5 or 10 Least favourite rogues + favourite rogues and why? Hope you don’t mind me asking

I CAN ABSOLUTELY DO THAT FRIEND. I’m only going to do a top 5 least favorite because I like most rogues, but I will do a top 10 favorites.

Top 5 Least Favorite

5. Dollmaker-Dollmaker is creepy, and not the kind of creepy I like where it makes a compelling character. No, he’s just creepy and uncomfortable and I don’t like it.

4. The Joker-Joker is a very compelling and interesting as a concept and if you list off his personality on paper he’s a decent character. But he’s usually utilized poorly, and overused to the point of annoyance.

3. Professor Pyg-Nope. No. Nah. No.

2. Lyle Bolton-You all know why I hate Bolton, I don’t think I need to explain that.

1. Dr. Hugo Strange-Look, you all know my problems with Strange, you all know why I hate him, I don’t want to repeat myself.

Top 10 Favorite

10. Pamela Isley-I absolutely love Ivy and how gray her morality is. She has points but she’s going about these points the wrong way. She complains about no one listening and then doesn’t listen herself. Usually, I’d hate a character who is so hypocritical but her conviction really makes you grasp her side and see her anger, while acknowledging that she is still, on some level, wrong.

9. Maximillian Zeus-I find nothing more amusing than Maxie, and nothing more enjoyable. Maxie is one of the few characters in a fictional world who grasps the gods of a pagan mythology perfectly, while also not believing in the same ideals. Maxie is far, far kinder than Zeus in the actual mythology, but he’s still uncaring about humanity as a whole and has a superiority. The only thing you notice is that he considers people he respects as fellow gods and legendary heroes, and that’s kinda the biggest honor he can bestow. It’s fascinating to get into his head and look at how he sees the world.

8. Drury Walker-Look, I was introduced to Drury in probably the worst way, through The Batman where he’s just a dweeby nerd who gets special powers from a fluke. But I love Drury in the comics. Drury in the comics is so enjoyable. He’s a gun for hire, ingenious, but clearly has had to build himself from nothing and doesn’t trust the establishment. I also thoroughly enjoy that he will literally do anything for money and is so open about it he’ll literally switch sides if he’s offered more cash. He’s not loyal to anyone but himself and has no shame in showing that off.

7. Waylon Jones-Firstly, I fucking love this crocodile man and he is beautiful fuck what anyone else says. Secondly, Waylon has got to be the most enjoyable example of prejudice shown in an extreme light. Usually I take issue with these “monster prejudice” stories but they did really well with Waylon in the comics. It’s really clear from how he talks and interacts with other characters that he was not born acting like a monster, but is reacting to how he was treated. When he realized no one would see him as anything but a monster, he gave up and became the monster.

6. Garfield Lynns-I like Garfield for many of the same reasons I like Drury. It’s so obvious Garfield has no loyalty, that he does not care, that he is brilliant and has no shame in his skills or lack of loyalty. I find these characters enjoyable for their sheer lack of fucks to give. It’s so obvious characters like this have been told they won’t amount to anything and just being even moderately well known is enough for them.

5. Edward Nygma- Okay so Edward Nygma barely cracks my top 5 but he is still there so fight me. Edward is bar none one of the most amazing shows of an intelligent, curious character who radiates charisma. He is absolutely the most fun to watch just because of how happy he is to be doing ANYTHING. He has so much energy and he’s so entertaining I just can’t help but crack a smile whenever I see his stupid face.

4. Mary Dahl-Mary Dahl is so enjoyable I can barely put it into words. She just has this energy, how she switches so quickly from this dead-serious and almost furious irritation to her excitable childish nature. She so obviously loves twisting everyone’s expectations around and scaring the shit out of people. AND I LOVE IT.

3. Bane-Okat no joke, I wanna know if a single person exists who does not love comic Bane. Comic Bane is intelligent, he’s strategic, he’s sarcastic, and he’s ruthless, but he acknowledges that he is not infallible, he struggles with addiction, he’s unsure of himself, he refuses to take credit for the good he does do because he doesn’t see himself as worthy of praise. He is just a character with so much depth and nuance and just-I love this man guys, he is the actual best.

2. Lonnie Machin-Now I used to hate Lonnie but recently he’s shot up my list of favorite characters because I’ve begun heavily identifying with him. And this isn’t because he’s perfectly relatable, he’s kinda a jerk sometimes, but there’s something about having a villain around your age who has the same problems with society that you have. Lonnie is so adamant about fighting for people who have nothing and who are thought of as nothing and it’s so inspiring to see a kid stand up for people, and stand up for himself, and get people to notice problems with the world he lives in. Does he pull this off? No, not really, he’s kind of over the top with it, but his heart is in the right place and I like that.

1. Jonathan Crane-Okay, you guys have aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall heard me ramble about Jon and his character so I won’t waste your time here. You know why I love this walking trainwreck. He’s great, and he also needs to sleep.

#asks #answered #Anonymous

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unfolded73 · 7 years ago

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This Graceful Path (5/19)

Summary: Emma has just moved in with Mary Margaret and started working as a deputy in the Storybrooke sheriff’s department when she meets Killian Jones, the town’s introverted harbormaster. When a prominent Storybrooke resident is found murdered, Emma tries to juggle solving the case with new friendships, parenthood, and romance. A Season 1 Cursed!Killian AU.

Rating: Explicit per CSBB guidelines (violence, sex); more of an M on unfolded73’s scale. The sex, when we get there, is not extremely graphic in nature. Same with the violence.

Content Warning: This fic contains two major character deaths, one canon and one not. (You’re already past them.)

Total word count: ~ 75,000

Acknowledgements: Thank you to @j-philly-b for betaing this monstrosity. Thank you to @caprelloidea for all of the read-throughs and cheerleading; not sure I could have written it without your excitement early on. Thank you to @teruel-a-witch for the original prompt on tumblr which sparked this fic. Thank you to @pompeiiablaze for the wonderful art which accompanies Chapter 3 and also will accompany later chapters. Thanks to the CSBB mods (@sambethe in particular, who had to look at my check-ins) for your support and for enduring my neuroses.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 – AO3 Link

Chapter 5

Regina Mills thought of makeup like armor.

She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, carefully drawing a black line across the edge of her eyelid, unflinching as the tip of the eyeliner pen traced from left to right. She repeated the process on the other eye.

Tonight was about power. The balance of power had undergone a seismic shift in Storybrooke the moment that Gold breathed his last, and Regina had spent too long hanging back and waiting for the new Dark One to show himself, to make a mistake. Waiting for someone else to take care of the problem for her, thinking that somehow the mundane law enforcement process of the Land Without Magic would deal with things without her having to lift a finger. Now was the time to stop waiting. Now was the time to go out and take the power while things were still in flux. Make it clear that she was the one who controlled this town now, curse or not.

She finished, as always, with lipstick: the most perfect red, the color of the apples that adorned the tree in her backyard. Pressing her lips together, she gave herself one more critical look in the mirror before she put her lipstick away and stepped out of the bathroom, armor in place. Running her hands down the form-fitting black dress she wore, Regina walked down the hallway and cracked open the door to Henry’s room, letting a thin shaft of light fall across his sleeping face. His chest rose and fell as he dozed on, unaware of what Regina was about to let into their house. Slowly and carefully, she pulled the door closed.

She detoured by the wine rack, selecting a Cabernet before moving on into the kitchen. Pulling down two wine glasses from the cabinet, she set them down on the marble surface just as she heard a tapping on the front door. Smiling her best smile, Regina walked into the foyer and opened the door to greet her late evening visitor. “Killian, how are you?” She stepped back and beckoned him into the house.

“Confused as to why you summoned me here, Madam Mayor.”

“Please, it’s Regina.” She watched as he looked around the foyer of her mansion, taking in the high ceiling and the grand staircase. “And I summoned you here because I thought it was past time to get to know the man that my son speaks of so highly.” She walked back toward the kitchen, expecting that he would follow. He did. “Would you like some wine? I was just opening some.”

He shrugged. “Don’t go to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. I like to have a glass in the evening, but I have no one to share it with most of the time.” She pulled a corkscrew from one of the drawers and smoothly twisted it into the wine bottle.

“Henry’s spoken of me, has he?”

Regina plastered on a sweet smile as she poured wine into the glasses. “He seems to admire you a great deal; your love of books, for example. I can’t thank you enough for lending him things to read. He’s a very solitary boy, as you’ve probably noticed.” She handed him a glass.

“Aye. Although he seems much happier since his birth mother came to town.”

Regina held her smile, feeling the wide bowl of the wine glass give slightly under her clenching fingers.

“It’s very big of you, allowing him to spend time with her,” Killian went on. Before she could respond, her cell phone started to ring.

She looked at the screen and rolled her eyes before accepting the call. “I’m sorry, Killian, I have to take this. Yes, Sidney.”

“Mayor Mills,” Sidney said, a slight tremor in his voice. “I got your message.”

She set her wine down. “Yes?”

“You want me to run for sheriff?”

“That’s what I said. I don’t make a habit of joking, do I?”

“No, of course not, but… I’m a newspaper man. I don’t know the first thing about being a sheriff.” His shaky, obsequious tone made her fist clench as she envisioned engulfing him with a fireball.

“You investigate things, don’t you? Then you already know more about it than Emma Swan does.” She drummed her fingernails on the countertop with impatience. “She’s a criminal, and inexperienced—”

“She worked as a bail bondsperson, that’s—”

“Don’t interrupt me, Sidney. You’re running for sheriff. Understood?”

There was a pause. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I have to go. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.” She ended the call and tossed her phone down. Regina took a sip of her wine, watching as Killian did the same. “I heard that Miss Swan questioned you about Gold’s murder; what a terrible business.”

“Aye, she had heard somewhere that I hated him. Can’t imagine what would have given her that idea.”

“Let’s be honest, Killian. We’re all friends here.” She took a step closer to him, her voice dropping. “A lot of people hated Gold, and a lot of people are better off now that he’s not in the world. Do you take my meaning?”

He set his glass down. “I don’t, actually.”

She smiled, her hand moving to touch his arm. “I mean, sometimes things like this happen for the greater good. Some things transcend the laws of this… pitiful world. It may be that, according to some higher law, the person who killed Mr. Gold deserves a medal, not a prison term.”

Regina watched his eyes carefully, but she could see no dawning understanding there, only confusion. “Well, when you find the person who did this, you can try to give him a medal, but I’m thinking Emma’s going to be more interested in serving up that prison term.” He took a step backward, putting some space between them. “So it’s a good thing I’m innocent. I’m not interested in either.”

Resisting the urge to pick up her wine and smash it down on the floor, Regina crossed her arms. “You are innocent, aren’t you? Or perhaps… unaware.” She stalked closer again, backing him into the countertop behind him. “Unaware of the dark power lurking inside you, hmm?”

The flash of fear in his eyes made her heart sing. “Why are you saying these things to me?”

“When you killed him, when you finally got your revenge on the Dark One after all those wasted years, what did you do with the dagger? Where did you hide it… Hook?”

He shook his head in denial, his hand starting to shake. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t kill anyone. Not good form… It’s not good form.”

“Somewhere in that curse-addled brain of yours is the information I need. But how. To get. It out,” she said, punctuating every other word with a thump of her knuckle on Killian’s forehead.

He ducked away from her, his face going suddenly very pale, and Regina wondered with annoyance what she would do with him if he passed out on the floor of her kitchen. Perhaps if he went completely mad, she could lock him up in the mental ward of the hospital, she mused. That would at least get him out of her hair while she conducted her own search for the Dark One’s dagger. But it would also guarantee that if the curse did break, if Emma Swan really was who Regina feared she was, Regina would have made herself a powerful enemy. Better to bide her time, and keep this sniveling, pitiful, nascent Dark One on her side.

She plastered on her fake smile again. “I apologize, Killian; I’m under a lot of pressure lately, and it’s starting to get to me a little bit. You can understand that, can’t you?” She picked up his glass and held it out to him. “Here, have some more wine.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Mayor Mills, I’d just as soon take my leave of you. I’m feeling quite ill all of a sudden.”

“Oh, of course, Killian. You’re free to go.” For now.

~*~

He tossed in his sweat-soaked sheets, trying in vain once again to find his way into sleep. It was like trying to dive off the end of a pier: putting his hands over his head, leaning over and launching his body into the water, only to find himself sprawled out on the hard wooden boards a moment later, sore and broken from the attempt.

And then when Killian did manage to plunge into the water, it was filled with monsters.

His dreams were unrelenting, technicolor horrors that left him sweating and gasping when he could finally pull himself above the surface. He saw his left hand lying on the deck of a ship like some dying sea creature as blood spurted from his wrist in a red parabola. He held a woman who looked like Milah in his arms and watched as the light of life died from her eyes, felt the numb certainty that her death was the end of everything good in his life. He saw himself, drunk and ruthless and cruel, forcing a terrified man to walk off the end of a plank into the murky depths of the ocean. Saw himself sink a knife into his own father’s gut.

He stabbed and stabbed, glorious great flesh-rending gashes as the life of the Crocodile drained out of him. The dagger sat heavy in his hand, the intricate hilt marking patterns into his palm.

Some of the dreams made a sort of sense. He had lost his hand in a sailing accident, that’s what he was seeing. But why did he dream over and over of Milah in such unusual garments? Why were his dreams so vivid with men cowering before his command when no such thing had ever occurred?

Blood ran down the dagger, blood coated his hand and soaked the sleeve of his shirt. He held the dagger up in the dim light, saw it waver as the writing on it disappeared. Saw it replaced by something else.

“You’re cracking up… mate.”

Killian sat up, jerking away from the hallucination that had materialized in his bedroom. He wrapped his arms around his legs, pressed his closed eyes against his knees until he saw white spots bloom behind his eyelids. “You’re not real. Not real, not real, not real,” he repeated out loud.

“I’m in your head,” the creature said. “Not the same thing as not being real.”

He looked up and saw the beast that had visited him before: the scaly, iridescent skin, the yellowed teeth, the clawlike fingernails waving at him impishly.

“Hello,” it said.

“Begone, demon.”

“Not so fast. I need to tell you some things first.”

Killian dragged himself out of bed, giving the apparition a wide berth as he left the bedroom. The chill of the apartment combined with his sweat-damp t-shirt set him shivering. He stumbled over to the kitchen, pulling a tumbler down from the cabinet with a trembling hand. More rum ended up on the counter than in the glass, but after he drained his first pour dry, Killian was able to put more rum in the glass with a steadier hand.

“You may have no recollection of what you did, but the queen has your number. She knows, but she’s going to bide her time. We’ll have to deal with her eventually, but best to wait on that. You’re not strong enough to face her. Not now. Not like this,” the beast said with distaste.

“Not real,” Killian whispered, taking another drink.

“But there are other problems,” the beast continued conversationally as if it wasn’t speaking to a man who had lost his last connection to reality. “If the queen controls the sheriff, then she controls your fate. We need to put a stop to that.” The creature uttered a horrifying giggle. “Sidney Glass was born to be a pawn; we just need to take control of the pawn for ourselves. I think even you can manage that.”

Killian felt rather than saw the apparition disappear.

~*~

Emma’s eyes raked over the chalkboard menu at Storybrooke Coffee Company. She desperately needed coffee before work, and she was getting a little tired of the standard diner coffee that Granny’s had to offer. She didn’t have much discretionary income, but today a three dollar mocha felt necessary to surviving the day.

She was stirring sugar into her cup when David Nolan walked in. They eyes met, and she smiled awkwardly.

What do you say to the guy who broke your roommate’s heart? she wondered. It’s not like she and David really knew each other that well; they’d only spoken a couple of times. Aside from the fact that he’d been in a coma and was in an unhappy marriage, she knew very little about him. He wore a flannel shirt, jeans, and a pair of practical work boots, and he walked up to the counter with a charming grin for the barista.

While he waited for his skim latte to be made, he shuffled over next to her. “How are you, Emma?”

She shrugged. “I’m okay, I guess. Sleep deprived thanks to the hours I’ve been working. Did you have a good Thanksgiving?”

“It was fine,” he said, but she saw sadness in his eyes. “Did you spend yours with… Mary Margaret?”

“Yeah.” She realized she was still absently stirring her coffee, and she tossed the wooden stirrer in the garbage with an eye roll for herself. “I thought you usually got your coffee at Granny’s,” she said, remembering when he and Mary Margaret had both been arranging to be there at 7:15 in the morning just to catch sight of each other.

“I did,” he said, glancing around. “But I… was afraid people were starting to talk.”

Emma decided to change the subject. “You work at the animal shelter, right?”

“That’s right.” He smiled agreeably. “It’s not glamorous and it doesn’t pay much, but I find it rewarding.”

“Graham used to volunteer there,” she said, and she was a little bit horrified to realize there were tears welling behind her eyes. Oh right, the other symptom of her lack of sleep — sudden and unexpected sadness.

“He did,” David agreed. “He had a way with the dogs. I’m sorry about what happened.” His eyes pierced into hers, and inexplicably, Emma felt a little bit better. “He was a good man.”

“He was.” The barista called his name, and David turned and walked over to get his coffee. She watched him; a strong guy, built like a farmer, like he’d be able to hold his own in a fight.

“Hey, David,” she called as she tried to press the lid back on her coffee cup without losing control of it and spilling it all over herself. He faced her, his expression expectant and pleasant. “Have you ever thought about doing anything different? I mean, besides working at the animal shelter?”

“Sure, I’ve thought about it; they can’t afford to pay me full-time. Like what?”

“Like being a sheriff’s deputy?” She wrung her hands together, suddenly nervous. “With Graham gone, I need help. I mean, I could probably only bring you on part-time at first, but once I officially take over as sheriff, I might be able to make it full-time. If you’re interested.” She felt a twinge of worry that she was betraying Mary Margaret by asking David to work for her, but he was the only person in Storybrooke she had met who seemed like he would be remotely useful in the job. Mary Margaret would have to deal.

He grinned. “Well, sure I’m interested, but why me?”

“I don’t know, you seem like you’d be suited for it. And there’s a lot to do and I’m all by myself there; I mean Graham had only hired me a month ago and suddenly I’m in charge.” She clenched her fist, letting the feeling of her fingernails digging into her palm distract from the stress and sadness she was feeling. She forced herself to laugh. “So what do you say? Can I hire you?”

~*~

“I have to admit, I imagined a little more action with this job and a little less reading,” David said, rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Emma said, stretching her back out and trying to find a position where it wouldn’t ache. “This is the only thing I can think to do at this point.” They were carefully going through all of Gold’s real estate holdings, matching them up against records of rental payments from the townspeople of Storybrooke to see if anyone owed Gold money. It was slow and terrifically painstaking work. Hours of reviewing documents had led to a very short list of names, and even those people had only been delayed in a few payments. No one owed Gold money for any length of time, which in and of itself was interesting; with so many tenants, it seemed likely that some fraction of them would have been delinquent in their payments. She wondered what Gold did to get the money he was owed so consistently.

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stave off a headache, and flipped to the next deed. It was for a plot of land with a cabin on the property, and the address caught her eye for being quite different from any of the others she had been looking at: 10250 Rt. 83. That couldn’t be anywhere near the rest of the homes in town.

“David, do you see any tenant records for 10250 on Route 83?”

He flipped through the manila folders, then flipped through them a second time. “Nope, none.”

Emma pulled the plat map book that she’d borrowed from the town records office over and studied the index, then turned to the appropriate page. “Huh.”

“What is it?”

Standing up, she carried the book over to the detailed map of Storybrooke that was up on the wall of the sheriff’s station. “Gold had a cabin not that far from where his body was found. A cabin that he didn’t seem to be renting to anyone.”

David stood up and joined her at the map. “Do you think there could be a clue there?”

“Yeah, I mean, he was out there with a shovel, and we still don’t know what he was trying to bury. Maybe there’s a clue at the cabin that will help us understand what happened that day?”

Pulling his coat on, David grinned at her. “Well, what are we waiting for, Sheriff? Let’s go.”

“I’m not the sheriff, not yet. Regina’s already threatened to get someone to run against me,” she said as they climbed into the police cruiser outside the station.

He scoffed. “From what I’ve seen so far, you’re an excellent sheriff, Emma.”

“You’ve been working for me for two days, David.” But still, she couldn’t help smiling as they drove to the outskirts of town.

With David’s help navigating, they found the route to the cabin without too much trouble, pulling onto a dirt track that Emma probably wouldn’t have noticed if they hadn’t been looking for it. At the end of it, they found a rustic cabin, as well as Gold’s black Cadillac.

“Well, that solves that mystery at least,” Emma said. “All this time and no one knew where his car was.”

“How far is this from where the body was found?” David asked.

“Not far,” she said, studying the trail map she’d brought. “It’s maybe a quarter of a mile through those trees,” she said, pointing.

The inside of the cabin was extremely basic. Mostly just a single room with dark paneled walls decorated with deer antlers. Wrinkling her nose, Emma looked around. She couldn’t see any evidence that Gold had left anything here.

“I’ll go check Gold’s car while you look around in here,” David offered, and she agreed.

They found was one small bedroom and a bathroom, but both seemed as barren and unlived in as the rest of the cabin. She clicked the light on in the bathroom and took a quick glance around, and was about to turn it back off when something caught her eye. On the tiled floor, next to the sink, was a single, perfect drop of what looked like dried blood. Bingo.

Emma ran for the front door. “David? Get the evidence kits.”

Her hands shook as she pulled the nitrile gloves on, her palms sweating and making it all the more difficult to get the damned things on correctly. Finally, she managed it, and dropped to her knees, photographing the droplet of blood from several angles before she carefully scraped it up into a small plastic tube that she could cap and label. David watched her from the doorway to the bathroom.

“Wow, you really know what you’re doing,” he commented.

She laughed uneasily. “Not really, but I fake it pretty well. Do you see any more blood anywhere?”

“No.” They both looked around before agreeing that there were no more droplets of blood. “So what if it is Gold’s blood? He owned this cabin; what will that prove?”

“Nothing, but maybe it’s not Gold’s blood. Maybe it’s the killer’s blood. Maybe they fought and Gold managed to injure the person who attacked him.” Emma stood up. “Okay, let me spray the luminol.”

David handed it to her out of the bag. “Go for it.”

Emma sprayed the sink and the floor around the sink with luminol before handing it back to David, who held up the black light and turned it on. “Okay, here goes nothing,” she said, flipping off the light switch.

They both stared at the sink for a while. “Holy shit,” Emma finally said.

“I’d say someone washed off a lot of blood here,” David commented. The basin of the sink glowed blue. As did several spots on the floor. Emma took pictures of all of it before they turned the lights back on.

“So whoever killed Gold came to the nearest place they could to clean up, and washed the blood off their hands here,” she said, pacing back into the main part of the cabin and pulling her gloves off.

“Looks like it.”

“Okay, let’s back up a minute. Gold drove out here because he wanted to dig something up or bury something, right? So how did the killer find him? Was it someone Gold trusted, did they come in his car together?”

“Maybe the killer followed Gold out here in another car?” David asked, running a hand through his hair.

“That could be.” She took a breath and let it out. “So I just have to check every car in Storybrooke for any additional blood traces.” Emma dropped onto the sofa and put her head in her hands.

They searched the rest of the cabin but didn’t turn up anything else. The initial rush that had come with discovering the cabin and Gold’s car and the blood drained away, leaving Emma feeling tired and hollowed out. For as much as they’d learned, she didn’t feel like she was any closer to finding the murderer.

Chapter 6

#csbb #cs ff #captain swan ff #this graceful path fic #my fic

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dukeofriven · 7 years ago

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FOOL: “By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.”— But do you remember? ‘Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal; an you smile not, he’s gagged?’ And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. - Twelfth Night, 5.i For fuck’s sake. Let’s just, for the moment, set aside the utter horror of the event itself - the mourning, the agonies physical, mental, spiritual, the trauma that will afflict people for the rest of their lives. Let’s lay aside the secondary horrors, of everyone not ‘there’ who now has to process the event - the clean-up, the identification and cataloguing of the dead. Let’s set-aside the feelings of helplessness and gut-wrenching self-recrimination of people who will spend years blaming themselves for what happened - the ‘could have done betters’ the ‘why didn’t I realizes’ the ‘if only I acted fasters,’ because events like this are never singular in their trauma, they spread it in tendrils of loathing. Let’s set aside what we all know will happen next: ‘thoughts and prayers,’ a refusal to accept mass murder as a political statement and a demand not to politicize the event, the same Candide-esque, almost zen-like statements in support of a culture where sickening mass murder happens weekly and nobody does anything about it because why would you? America has more guns than people As Is Their Right and acting like there are consequences to that fact would be foolish or, worse, political. Let’s set aside the millstone of the second amendment - both the repeatedly fatal modern misinterpretation of its language and the broader, never-examined inability of a nation to even consider that it’s founding members might have erred in framing its legal foundations - either from bias, oversight, or simple failure to accurately predict the technological and social changes of the subsequent two and a half centuries. Let’s set aside the gross obscenity that is the Department of Homeland Security informing the public that is has uncovered no links to terrorism and that other venues are not at heightened risk - because if we examine that quote for even a second we come to the blood-chilling implication that the Las Vegas gunman didn’t need the financial backing of a nefarious terrorist organization to arm himself and carry-out an attack that killed 50 and injured 400+ people - he just needed to go to a store, and therefore all venues are at the same terrible, unpredictable risk of lunatics who are allowed to own 10 firearms with little oversight or scrutiny that they were yesterday as they are today, and will be again tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. Let’s even lay aside the fact that since the middle of last night every casino owner in Las Vegas has been locked in meetings with their business partners, lawyers, and accountants as they - almost paralyzed by blind panic - try and predict how this will affect revenue over the next six months and how they can best minimize the damage to their pocket books - because let’s not pretend that a corporate culture that was content to passively let people gamble their lives away is going to find a conscience when lives in the region are taken more actively. Let’s set all that aside because at the end of the day none of this is unique - if we neglected covering something in the litany of stark, sobering horrors above we shouldn’t worry: we’ll have another chance to mention it the next time the horror comes round. Even oh-so-edgy, truth-to-power, we-simply-must-change write-ups like this one are part of the process - a thousand came out after Orlando, a thousand came out after Sandy Hook, a thousand more will come out in the next few days, and they will all fall howling into the amaranthine void, having accomplished nothing. If Europe is place that cannot escape its past, America is a place that refuses to look directly at it, save through a mirror darkly. America is a place where pattern recognition is a mortal sin in the eyes of the political class. When the Challenger exploded the board of inquiry started asking a series of whys and hows - looking not only at the specific, technical failure that caused the shuttle to explode, but at the reasons for that failure in the first place: the culture of complacency, arrogance, and profit that existed within the institutions - NASA, Marshall, Morton Thikol - that had failed so badly to protect American lives. Whenever American society explodes, however - whenever the system fails to stop a madman from committing brutality and terror - you’re not allowed to ask more than one ‘why’ and one ‘how. “How did he do it” and “why”? The ‘how’ is always “he bought guns” and thank you, that’s all, no further questions. To examine the question further, to examine the culture that gets indignant at the thought of questioning gun ownership and the love and worship and appreciation of guns, is offensive, rude, ‘not the done thing.’ So let us set aside a cultural landscape where the act of social critique is far more disturbing and disloyal a trend then the weekly murder of the innocent en-masse. “America is full of responsible gun owners” the outraged will bristle, while doing nothing to address the fact that American guns owners are more consistently irresponsibly then any other nation on Earth not currently on the edge of or having collapsed, doing nothing to address the fact that America’s relationship to the consequence of mass gun ownership has no corresponding reflection anywhere else in the first world. ‘A few bad apples’ is the familiar refrain whether it is mass shootings or police brutality or sex crimes at fraternities - the annual, predictable harvest of bad apples is a quirk, an anomaly, and not a reflection that the orchard itself is not so much riddled with disease and sickness as it was seeded with toxic cultivars at the start; that these bad apples are the trees producing fruit as intended, that all of this is preventable if only anyone would actually tend to the orchard with a ruthlessness that would lead to tangible results. Let us set that all aside because it is a given - immutable, unchanging - and focus on the one thing in all of this sickening tragedy that is new, namely that this morning the president of the United States came within a heartbeat of sending the victims of senseless trauma his ‘warmest congratulations’ on the event of their being assaulted by a madman with guns. “Warmest condolences” isn’t a thing people should say - it’s some awful confabulation between ‘sincerest condolences’ and ‘warmest congratulations,’ born perhaps of confusion over the right thing to say in the moment. Culturally you’re allowed to be insincere with your congratulations, hence the intensifier of ‘I really mean it,’ but it’s gauche to be insincere when expressing sympathy. On any other day, with any other person, I would doubtless overlook it as a slip of the tongue. For all I know it is a regional difference and New Yorkers warmly offer condolences to one-another all the time - but after a week spent watching one Donald J. Trump repeatedly disrespect the mayor of a dying city he is failing to lend aid too, complain that football players are pussies for not putting themselves at greater risk of concussions for the entertainment of the masses, and cutting the legs out from under his chief diplomat for no other reason than he wants to seem like the biggest cock of the walk when it comes to nuclear war, I can only see this as one more example of a man whose lack of empathy takes my breath away. Donald Trump doesn’t know a thing about sympathy - but he knows what it sounds like when someone tells him how great he is, so that’s what he defaults too. That last little meaningless valediction - ‘God Bless You” - really sets my teeth on edge for it hollowness and vacuousness (coming as it does from a man who is his own god) but it’s that opening statement that is the most meaningless. (It is amazing how Donald J. Trump washes clean the sins of past presidents. How can we ever consider Nixon cold and unfeeling when compared to Trump? How can we feel that Regan’s rapidly deteriorating mental state made him unfit for the presidency when compared to Trump? How can Eisenhower, Kennedy, and LBJ choosing to mire America in the bloody charnel house of Vietnam rather than lose any face on the world stage seem nearly as bad when compared to Trump, taking the world to the edge of nuclear war for no greater reason than his infantile ego?) The panic, horror, and surreality of mass shooting have happened before. They will happen again. But now we are faced with a new element - sincerity so ineffectual, so insincere, so clearly forced that the national mourner-in-chief can not even find the humanity within himself to reflect upon the shocking, brutal loss of American lives in a way that makes any of this feel real. We have already become numb to mass shootings in American: are we now becoming indifferent? Is so little demanded of political leaders’ empathy and compassion that glimpses of grief - glimpses of the real people who inhabit the office - are surplus to requirements? The biggest mass shooting in American history happened last night, less than eighteen months after the previous biggest mass shooting in American history: in the time between the last great shooting and this one American has only gotten colder, more violent, and less caring. The trends above seem to go hand-in-glove with this new trend of a president who can shed only crocodile tears. How long before his incapacity finishes trickling down to the rest of them? How long before they stop acting like they should care? How long before we stop expecting them? How long before the next mass shooting becomes like the next drunk-driver crashing on the highway - beneath the notice of the great and powerful? After all, it happens every day - and it’s not like we can do anything about it. It is The Way Things Are.

#donald trump #las vegas #america #usa #mandalay hotel #mass shootings #gun control #terrorism #challenger #trump #longform

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