#he is being a trooper and following my checklists

[nerdgirlnarrates]

Earlier this year I read The Checklist Manifesto by Atul Gawande, which is a phenomenal book, but it has had the side effect of making me an even more neurotic person. Now in every situation I think “I know what this situation needs: a checklist!” and my extremely type B boyfriend is suffering.

[evabellasworld]

I Give You My Heart

Chapter 2

AO3 Link

13+ and above for cursing and mild violence

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Summary:  When Riyo Chuchi’s life was threatened, Commander Fox and Jedi Knight Ava Lira and Eva Bella Young are assigned to bring the senator back to her home planet Pantora, where she will be safe from harm. But when the assassin knows her whereabouts, it’s up to Fox, Lira, Eva, and Riyo to work together and stop the assassin.

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A trooper with red-painted armour rushed through the corridors of the medbay, filled with nurses and doctors going in and out, pushing their patients to another room for further treatment. She tries to be more patient as she has a lot of things on her mind right now, such as reporting to Commander Fox about the current status of the Senate building and the paperwork that she was due next week.

Chae took a deep breath underneath her helmet and pushed herself through the crowd, searching for the hospital ward that her superior officer had told her to meet up at. She had a lot of things to do, but since Fox insisted on meeting her at the hospital, she doesn't have that much of a choice anyways since she has to follow orders that are given to her.

Arriving at room number 1296, she knocked on the door. One of the nurses, who had brown eyes and brown skin, opened the door for her, her checklist in her hand. “Can I help you?” she asked. 

“I was told that a friend of mine is getting her treatment in this room,” Chae told her nurse. “Her name is Senator Chuchi.”

“Ah, yes, she’s in this room right now,” she smiled. “Please, have a seat first. We can only have one visitor at a time.”

“Of course, miss,” Chase nodded, as she sat down and took off her helmet, revealing her black, curly hair with white streaks. She leaned against the wall and placed her left leg on her right knee, her eyes closed. 

For a moment, she found herself floating in space, with only her armour and her hair flowing in gravity. She glided her eyes around her new surroundings, wondering whether she’s actually in space or not. Taking a deep breath, Chae flew upwards and felt the thousand stars within her fingertips. She soon found herself floating in the sea of colourful smokes, staining her armour.

She doesn’t mind, though, since she never got a chance to choose her own colours. As a Coruscant Guard, she didn’t have any choice on having her own interest and hobbies outside her duty. Chae was able to hold her paintbrush correctly and analyze the meaning behind every painting in the art museum and the hallways of the Senate building, but she never got to utilize them when she had to pain her brand-new set of Phase 2 armour.

Chae wonders about the galaxy and how they get their colours, but because the Chancellor always insisted on how her armour is painted, she lost the opportunity to paint the nebulas and supernovas and even the black hole. She had the chance to colour them on the walls of the barracks and her own bunk, since she sleeps there after duty.

“Chae,” she heard someone shaking her shoulder. The black-haired clone gasps and opens her eyes, only to find Commander Fox standing in front of her. 

“Commander,” she sprung from her seat, giving him a salute. “I was told that I have to meet you here, sir.”

“Yeah, I did,” he answered. “I called you here to give me an update about the situation in Cantham House. Have you had anything so far, trooper?”

“From our investigations, we found traces of tripwires that were attached to the entrance, which was what triggered the bomb in the first place.”

“Tripwires, eh? That is surprising, to say the least.”

“I agree, commander. Someone must have thought this through and attached tripwires all over the door, which is difficult to do so, actually.”

“That is true,” he sighed, his hands on his hips. “Whoever done this must have known about the senator’s meeting.”

“But who could have done such a thing, commander?” Chae asked, confused. “Senator Organa, Senator Amidala and Senator Chuchi were friendly to everyone they met, including clones as well.”

“I suspect one of their rivals,” Fox could only guess. “For all I’m aware, most politicians are always scheming and would do anything to gain more power, even to the point of eliminating their opponents.”

“But why, sir? They served the Republic and their people, so shouldn’t they be working together to make things better for the public?”

That is the biggest lie that Fox had ever heard as the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. “Unfortunately, Chae, not everyone is selfless in their duty. Some made the decision to ignore the people they represent and instead pursue something that is only temporary, such as credits.”

Chae could only frown by his remarks, but she admitted that he has a good point. “But I know not all senators are like that,” she tried to be optimistic. “I mean, Senator Chuchi always defends us whenever someone is picking on us clones.”

His heart flutters whenever one of his vods mentions her name and yet, he remains unemotional on the outside. “In her case, I would make it an exception. She’s one of  the senators that held tight on her principles and her morals, and in this age, that is admirable.”

“It is, sir,” Chae gave a nod. “Oh, there’s one more thing. Jay and Eren have checked the security footage and so far, we’ve found nothing.”

“Well, that is unfortunate but I’m sure we’ll find something eventually,” he answered, before turning his back towards the door. “You may return to your duty, trooper. Let me know if something comes up, alright?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Chae acknowledged, as she walked away from her superior in what seems to be a half-empty hallway, with only nurses and staff pacing back and forth, with a datapad in their hands. Fox went inside room 1296, where Riyo was sitting on the hospital bed, her forehead covered in bandages and there was a small cut underneath her golden eyes.

“Anything so far?” she asked, as Fox sat beside her, taking off his helmet, revealing his looks. Like his brothers, he had dark brown eyes and tanned skin, along with black, curly hair, with white streaks beside his ears, which he didn’t dye them, unlike Chae. He also had eye bags from filling up paperwork late at night in his small office, which he’s used to it.

“My troops found some tripwires attached to the door,” he told her the truth. “But so far, we didn’t find who was responsible for the bombing.”

“I don’t believe it,” her eyes widened. “Who would have the right mind to place tripwires in front of Senator Organa’s office?”

“I’m also asking the same question to myself as well. How is it possible that there were tripwires when there was no sight of the suspect.”

“Well, I’m glad the rest were okay,” Riyo changed the subject. “Except for Bibi, though. I heard that she’s still unconscious.”

“I’m sorry for your friend,” Fox expressed his sympathy. “I know what it’s like seeing your friend getting hurt and not being able to do anything about it. Sorry if I’m rambling something out of topic.”

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” she assured him. “I’m just grateful that you understood what I’m going through right now.”

He let out a soft snicker, much to Riyo’s confusion. “Did I say something strange?”

“No, of course not,” Fox denied, waving both his hands. “It’s just that you said that I understood what you were going through right now.”

“Is there something wrong with what I said, Fox?”

“No, nothing wrong, Riyo,” he stuttered a little. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

Riyo’s lips tightened at his harsh words about himself. “Has anyone ever told you about your soft side?”

“Only my brothers and sisters, and even then, they had to try hard enough to let me out of my shell.”

“That sounds like a typical sibling relationship, don’t you think?” she giggled politely. Fox curled his lips upwards as he recalled the antics that Tori would pull on him whenever he’s occupied with his assignments, from purposely mispronouncing his names to roasting him until it makes his tongue-tied. Despite that, he misses her occasionally and would take the chance to spend some time with her if she’s on shore leave, of course.

“Yeah, that’s what siblings do,” he shrugged. “Do you have any siblings, Riyo?”

Before she could answer him, Fox’s comlink went off, leaving him groaning for his life. “Commander Fox here,” he replied. 

“Sir, the Chancellor would like to meet with you,” one of his subordinates informed him. “It’s regarding the bombings in Cantham House.”

“Roger that, Robin. Commander Fox out.”

Riyo frowned as he stood up and grabbed his helmet, putting it on his head. She didn’t want to see him go, but at the same time, she didn’t want to stop him from doing his duty to protect Coruscant from more harm. “I’ll see you later,” she stared at him, longing for Fox to stay for a while.

“I hope so,” he replied, as he left her hospital room, leaving Riyo in a quiet, blank room, which was devoid of colours and warmth.

[omegaling]

Allez Cuisine! ~Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen: Deviled Eggs and Leftovers

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

“For the last time, Finn, she said she doesn’t want to, so let’s go!  If I miss out on Mami Trooper’s deviled eggs I swear to God I won’t give you a moment’s peace all weekend!”

“But…” Finn started to protest, but Rey lay a hand on his arm before another argument could break out.

“Really, Finn, I’ll be fine.  I always appreciate your family including me in their holiday celebrations, but this year I just want to be alone. Besides, you need to spend some quality time with Poe instead of always worrying about me for a change. I’m a grown woman; I can look after myself.”

Finn looked crestfallen, and Rey had half a mind to throw him over her shoulders and carry him fireman-style to Poe’s car herself.  Luckily Poe rescued her by placing his hand gently yet firmly on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“I think we should respect Rey’s decision, Finn.”

“Really Finn, I’ll be fine,” Rey insisted, picking up his duffel bag and handing it off to Poe.  Finn pouted, but finally allowed Poe to steer him to their apartment’s front door.

Every year, Finn’s grandmother, whom was affectionately known to everyone as Mami Trooper, prepared a Thanksgiving feast of unprecedented magnificence.  By the time all her family and guests started to arrive at her brownstone in Brooklyn, her table was already laden with all of her favorite holiday dishes from her childhood in Louisiana: Cajun-spiced turkey, cornbread dressing with andouille sausage and pecans, collard greens slow-cooked with ham hocks, crispy fried okra and oysters, candied yams, ham baked with brown sugar and pineapple, made-from-scratch macaroni and cheese, sweet potato pie and, most importantly, her legendary deviled eggs (the spunky old woman loved to proudly boast how she turned down Emeril Lagasse and Paula Dean both offered to by her recipe from her and she shot them both down after pretending to consider it for a week).  

What was even more impressive than the food itself was the sheer quantity of it, as Mami Trooper strongly believed that no one should eat alone on Thanksgiving.  Not only had Rey been a fixture in the Trooper family since the first Thanksgiving after she moved in with Finn, but his grandmother also opened up her home to the entire block, inviting every overworked single mother, young man trying to get back on his feet after coming out of a rough patch, and lonely senior citizens whose families were scattered around the country and no one could make the trip to New York that year.  Everyone who came always brought something of their own to contribute, and by the time dinner was in full swing Rey was amazed that the dining room floor didn’t simply collapse under the combined weight of the people and the food.

The next day, while the rest of the city was caught up in the throes of Black Friday, the Trooper family (complete with Rey in tow) would drive up to Finn’s uncle’s farm upstate for traditions and activities to ring in the start of the Christmas season.  Just a few weeks ago Rey had been adamantly looking forward to the Thanksgiving holidays: then everything with Kylo happened, and she worried that her sullenness would only drag everyone down. Making excuses to Finn, Poe and Rose was exhausting enough; she did not want to have to do the same with people she barely knew all weekend.

Poe’s Fiat was full to capacity, making it look like he and Finn were going on an extended vacation instead of a holiday weekend.  Even if Rey suddenly did change her mind she doubted there would even be any room for her. Mami Trooper ran a very tight ship during Thanksgiving and only allowed those she trusted the most into the kitchen while dinner was being made, but she had no objection to letting others take over the cooking duties afterward.  From the look of it, Poe was planning on taking full advantage of having farm fresh ingredients to play with all weekend.

As Poe tried to stuff Finn’s duffle bag into the last available slot of space in the car, Finn cursed and made a dash back to the apartment building, shouting that he forgot something over his shoulder.

“You owe me five bucks,” Rey said with a roguish grin when Poe joined her on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, yeah,” Poe grumbled, jerking his wallet out of his back pocket.  “I made him a checklist and everything. How is it possible for him to  still  forget something?”

Rey gave him a half-shrug.  “He’s your boyfriend. You own that mystery now.”

They waited for Finn to emerge in companionable silence for the next few minutes.  People trickled in and out of the other buildings on the street as they went about their own Thanksgiving festivities.  The peacefulness was momentarily broken by a chorus of cheers from an apartment somewhere over their heads, no doubt in response to one of the ongoing football games.  The breeze picked up gently, bringing the scent of someone’s cooking with it. Saliva exploded in Rey’s mouth; she was going to miss Mami Trooper’s food something fierce this year.

Finn reappeared a moment later, empty-handed and grinning sheepishly.  “Turns out I had my phone charger packed after all.”

Poe cocked an eyebrow at Rey.  “Does this mean I get my money back?”

“Nope.  The bet was he went back to the apartment to get something, not that he already packed it and forgot.”

“Hardy-har-har,” Finn said with a dramatic eye roll.  “Come on, let’s get going. The Saints play in an hour.”

“You’re a traitor to all native New Yorkers, Trooper,” Poe said as he moved to the Fiat’s driver’s side.

“Hey, my family’s roots run deep. I have to represent where I can.  Besides, you’re one to talk, Mr. Green Card,” Finn shot back.

“Guys, guys!” Rey interrupted them, laughing.  “If you don’t get on the road now I’ll call Mami myself and tell her to ban you from her deviled eggs all weekend!”

“You’re a stone cold bitch, Jakken.  Maybe that’s why you do so well in the business.”  Poe grinned, his eye sparkling with good humor as he at last ducked into the car.

“You only have yourself to blame for that one!” Rey shouted after him.

Finn climbed into the passenger seat, but before he shut the door he looked imploringly at Rey one last time.  “If you do change your mind, we’re only a phone call away. That’s for anytime this weekend.”

“But it’s a three hour drive to you uncle’s farm.  You’ll be wasting a whole day if you come back for me.”

Finn shrugged.  “Maybe. But you’re kind of worth it.”

Rey felt her heart swell with affection for her friend.  The backs of her eyes prickled hotly as she gave him one more long hug and thought, in spirit of the season, how thankful she was to have such wonderful friends.

I don’t deserve them,  Rey thought as she waved Finn and Poe off until the Fiat turned a corner and disappeared.  She knew she had been mopey and distant over the past few weeks, but instead of pushing the issue they respected her need for space and never attempted to coax the information from her.  Even when she told Finn she wouldn’t be going to Mami Trooper’s for Thanksgiving he didn’t so much as ask for a reason, even though he looked heartbroken when she broke the news to him.

It’s time to let go of this Iron Chef ordeal and everything tied to it, Rey vowed as she returned to their apartment.  Poe and Kylo Ren could claim that she had all the makings of being a great chef in her own right until the cows came home, but after everything that happened following the their now infamous episode Rey firmly decided that the celebrity chefs could go right ahead and keep their fame and glory for themselves.  She was perfectly happy where she was in her life and grateful for it. Very few people ever had the privilege to say the same thing.

A sudden epiphany hit Rey, like a soccer ball getting kicked into the side of her head.  She might not have felt up to a big family gathering this year, but that didn’t mean she had to confine herself staying home and feel sorry for herself all weekend.  A quick Google search provided Rey with the information she needed, and ten minutes later she was headed out of her apartment donned in a fleece coat, scarf and knitted beanie, making her way to the Bowery neighborhood in the crisp November morning.

When Rey arrived at the Bowery Mission homeless shelter her heart sank.  The building’s main dining hall was already packed with both people in need and volunteers; she hadn’t even thought about calling ahead to see if they even had any openings for additional help in her off the cuff decision to volunteer for the afternoon.  To her relief the smiling receptionist assured her that more help was always welcome. There was a waiting list to work in the kitchen and serve the meals, so until a spot opened for her Rey opted to spend some time with the shelter’s youngest patrons.

Rey was directed to another room off the main dining area, which was filled with about twenty toddlers and younger children being looked after by half a dozen or so volunteers while their parents had the opportunity to shower and rest.  Looking out at them, Rey felt her heart clench painfully in her chest, accompanied by a surge of guilt that squeezed the air from her lungs as her mind became awash with memories of spending much of her young childhood in similar places.  While unwelcome memories of Unkar Plutt still resurfaced from time to time, she hadn’t given any thought to her earliest years in the system since before she started working for Poe. The last time she had seen Kylo Ren she had railed on him about forgetting where he came from, but hadn’t done the same as well?

A tug on her hand brought Rey back to the here and now.  She looked down to see a small boy of about six or seven staring up at her with wide, limpid eyes.  Rey smiled at him. “Well, hello there, sweetie. What’s your name?”

The little boy didn’t answer her question, but instead proffered to her an extremely battered copy of  Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone .  Rey understood immediately.

“Do you want me to read this to you?”

He nodded eagerly.

Rey walked over to one of the furthest corners of the room, away from the louder cartoons and video games, and settled on one end of a small futon sofa.  The little boy perched at the other end, like a cat that still didn’t fully trust her. Rey opened the book, mindful of the first few pages that wanted to come loose from their binding, and started to read.

“ Mr and Mrs Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were very proud of say that they were very normal, thank you very much…”

By the time the wizards all raised their glasses to toast The Boy Who Lived, the little boy had moved across the couch to snuggle into Rey’s side.  Another four children came over to listen to Harry talk to the boa constrictor, and when Harry’s Hogwarts letters started pelting out of the Dursley’s fireplace her audience swelled to ten.  She had to take a break when someone started pounding on the door of the shack on the rock out at sea, her throat dry and scratchy from reading for almost two hours. The children started to protest as she got up, but she promised to be back to tell who was on the other side of the door after she got herself some water.  When she reached the volunteer’s break room, one of the Bowery Mission staff members informed her that there was an opening in meal service, but Rey politely declined. She didn’t want to disappoint her audience.

“Um… Excuse me?”

A soft, timid voice made Rey stop in her tracks on the way back to the play area, a bottle of cold water in her hand.  Standing behind her was a full-figured teenager of about fifteen or so, wringing her hands together in a nervous gesture.  Rey smiled kindly at her. “Can I help you? Are you okay?”

“Oh… Yes, I’m okay… I was just wondering… I mean, I’m sure I’m completely wrong, but…” The girl clasped her hands so tightly together than her knuckles started to turn white.  Rey waited patiently until the girl visibly gathered her courage and blurted out almost faster than Rey could follow, “Were you just on an episode of  Iron Chef America ?”

The question caught Rey off guard, and she answered that yes, she was, without really thinking.  She kicked herself mentally for doing so - the whole point of this weekend was to try to get over Kylo Ren - but the girl suddenly lit up so brightly that Rey forgot her own grievance.

“Oh… Oh,  wow ,” the girl said breathlessly.  “I thought that maybe it was you because of how you hear your hair, but lots of girls started wearing their hair like that after that episode and…” She trailed off, looking deeply embarrassed.  “I’m sorry, I know I’m rambling and you’re busy. I just always loved Iron Chef America but the episode you were in was just so...so good .  I mean, Kylo Ren is always fun to watch and Chef Dameron is really hot, but you were my favorite part.”

Now it was Rey’s turn to blush.  While her coworkers and the other chefs of the Village complimented her fairly often on her work, she didn’t consider herself particularly exceptional.  True, she could imitate any dish down to the exact amount of salt used, but it wasn’t the same as coming up with the recipes on her own. Getting compliments from someone she didn’t know humbled her to the core.

“Thank you.  So much,” Rey said, her throat tight with emotion.  “Do you like to cook, too?”

“I do!” the girl said enthusiastically, only to deflate a bit immediately after.  “When I can, that is. A lot of the homes I stayed in don’t let the kids in the kitchen, so I don’t get to practice a lot.  I mostly only watch shows like  Top Chef, Chopped and Iron Chef.   I don’t think I’ll ever be as good as someone like you.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Rey said with a mischievous smile.  “The first time I tried cooking for myself I ended up exploding eggs all over my new roommate’s kitchen.  The whole front of the apartment smelled like a fart for a week.”

The girl tried to capture her laughter by clapping a hand over her mouth, but her giggles still managed to slip through her fingers.  Her reaction prompted Rey’s smile to widen even more.

“And I’ll tell you another secret.  I didn’t learn to cook until I was nineteen.  That wasn’t even three years ago.”

Now the girl was openly gaping at her, all signs of mirth wiped clean from her face.  “But… But what you did on Iron Chef was incredible… It was like art…”

“How about this?  How about you come with me and hear how Harry learns he’s a wizard, and afterwards we can talk about cooking.”

For a second Rey was worried that the girl was going to faint on the spot. Thankfully, she only ended up nodding. “My name is Lucy, by the way.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Lucy.  Now let’s go see a man about an owl, shall we?”

Two chapters and a trip to Diagon Alley later, Rey and Lucy sat at an unoccupied table near the back of the Bower Mission’s dining area with a mug of tea and a glass of soda, respectively.  Lucy peppered Rey with every imaginable question pertaining to cooking, jumping from what it’s like working in the kitchen of an upscale restaurant to how certain kinds of meals are prepared to what was it like being on TV (and is the Chairman like that all the time or is it just for the show?). Finally she calmed down enough to ask - at least in Rey’s opinion - the most crucial question of all.

“Where do I even begin?  Like, what is the first thing I need to know?”

It took Rey a few minutes to wrack her brains to remember the first lessons she had, way back when Poe gave his cooking seminar at NYU. Everything she did as his prep cook was now so ingrained into her that it was difficult to remember that there was a time when she could hardly tell the difference between one end of a knife and the other.  She ran through all the basics that not only aspiring chefs should know, but everyone as they came into adulthood. Lucy didn’t look particularly impressed when Rey told her the importance of learning how to properly prepare eggs and pasta and vegetables, but Rey quickly set the record straight.

“It’s all about the foundation,” she told Lucy, bobbing a tea bag into a fresh mug of hot water.  “DaVinci didn’t paint the Mona Lisa the first time he picked up a paintbrush any more than Beethoven composed the Fifth the first time he sat down at a piano.  If you don’t have a proper foundation lay down, anything you try to build on top of it will just collapse sooner or later.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Lucy said.  “But how do I even start?”

“Like anything else that requires practice: at the beginning.  Offer to help your foster parents prepare meals, even if it’s as simple as something as cutting up vegetables or making side dishes.   Take a cooking class if you school offers it, or see if there are any programs for high school students you can enroll in. Start looking into culinary schools for after you graduate; there are a ton of them in New York, not just the CIA, and a lot of the city colleges have basic cooking courses you can take while you work on your general education courses.  And when you apply to work at a restaurant, don’t turn your nose up at the grunt work, like dish washing or the messier, more time-consuming prep work. It will prove to the head chef that you want to be there because it’s something you’re passionate about and not because of romanticized assumptions.”

Lucy nodded slowly, and Rey could tell by the set of her mouth that she was worrying the inside of her cheek.  Rey knew exactly what she was feeling, as clearly as if it was projected into her own mind: a fear and self-doubt born from living a life in the system, that no matter how well Lucy behaved or how hard she studied or worked, she would always be inadequate in the eyes of “normal” society; that being a foster child was a sigma that marked her for failure for life. The ghosts of Unkar Plutt’s hurtful words started to crawl into Rey’s own mind, a cruel taunting slur that dogged her throughout high school. Without thinking Rey’s hand shot forward to grasp Lucy’s. Lucy jumped at the unexpected contact, but she didn’t yank her hand away.

“Hey,” Rey said, looking Lucy straight in the eye.  “I was just like you when I was your age. I was in the system since I was five, and it was thirteen years of being bounced between homes of sub-par care, falling behind in school every time I got transferred and living with the certainty that it was never going to get better.  And it did, not only because I worked for it, but also because I got help. So I want you to do this: if you need to put down a reference for a college application or a work resume, you give them my name and the number to BB8. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“But you don’t even know me!” Lucy blurted out, looking very much like she wanted to cry.

“And Poe Dameron didn’t know me, but he took that leap of faith anyway.  And someday I’ll take that same leap for you. You just have to promise me one thing.”

It took Lucy a moment to calm down, wiping the tears off her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt to ask Rey what she wanted her to do.  Rey felt her heart go out to her. She wondered how long it was since the poor girl was given even the smallest sliver of encouragement by an adult.

“No matter where you end up, never forget where you came from.”

It wasn’t until later that Rey realized Poe Dameron’s cooking lessons were not the only ones she tapped into while she was talking to Lucy.

Rey might have missed out on Mami Trooper’s Thanksgiving feast, but that didn’t mean that she had to give up a traditional meal altogether.  And while she could just as easily make herself an upscale dinner of cranberry-glazed roast turkey and French aligot potatoes, she chose a much more non-hassle option.  She could not put her finger on an exact reason why, but there was something deeply satisfying about eating a sandwich made of pre-cooked turkey breast, instant mashed potatoes and stuffing, canned gravy and cranberry sauce on plain white bread.  She had picked up all the items on a whim on her way home from work on Tuesday, and now she was glad she did. Preparing Michelin quality food day in and day out made her appreciate the simpler, nostalgic foods and the comfort they brought. No matter how good their food was, that was something that chefs like Poe and Kylo could never replicate in their restaurants.

Rey paused, her sandwich halfway to her mouth.  Her last conversation with Kylo rose from the recesses of her mind she banished it to, but now she made no effort to stop it. She had told him that she would rather keep her sentimental memories than trade them for a lucrative career, but wasn’t she already kind of guilty of that?  When she came to New York she suddenly had the entire culinary world at her fingertips to explore. Before that she had no idea that so many different types of food existed; she could eat at a different restaurant every night and never go to the same place twice. Hell, there were still places in the Village she’d never been to. And yet there was nothing else she’d rather be eating at that time than her Thanksgiving leftovers sandwich.

A new idea materialized, which was quickly followed up by a plan.  She was still of the opinion that Kylo was a pretentious asshole and she doubted now that that would ever change, but she didn’t want to leave things as they were.

Maybe, like her, he just needed a reminder.

Rey finished her lunch, changed into warmer clothing (it was decidedly colder today) and set off for the nearest grocery outlet.

The store was virtually empty when she arrived.  The one cashier on duty gave her a smile just large enough to acknowledge her presence before returning to fiddling with their phone.

Rey moved up and down the aisles, tapping into her memories of when she was a college student living on a very limited income.  She grabbed pasta, ramen packages and rice that only cost a few dollars for several boxes and two jars of generic tomato sauce; Kraft macaroni and cheese and a few cans of soup; peanut butter, jelly and bread; half a gallon of mind and half a dozen of eggs; a couple of frozen dinners on sale for a dollar each; and finally a small package of ground beef that was marked down two dollars because it was going out of code tomorrow.  By the time Rey checked out she had spent just under thirty dollars and had enough food to make meals for the next two weeks, three if she really stretched it.

With her purchases made, Rey called for a Lyft car (she wasn’t even going to attempt the subways, even with the hub of Black Friday shopping on the other side of the city) and went straight to Walker Tower.

Roger was off-duty when Rey arrived, but the doorman who was there knew her well enough to not give her any issues as she walked in.  The Tower’s lobby was already adorned with beautiful Christmas decorations, but Rey did not give them so much as a second glance and she went to the elevators.  On the ride up to Kylo’s floor, she re-adjusted the note she prepared in the Lyft car so it sat in plain view on top of the bag. When she arrived at Kylo’s apartment, she dropped the bag outside his door, then immediately turned around and went back the way she came.

About twenty minutes later Kylo’s neighbor, fresh back from a refreshing jog, took notice of the lumpy plastic bag sitting outside his reclusive neighbor’s door.  Curiosity prompted the man to go over to investigate. He couldn’t see what was inside because a note that read “This is where I came from” lay over the top.

The man’s interest immediately vanished, his mind back on the shower he was looking forward to.  He didn’t know his neighbor other than what he heard from the other Tower’s residents, and that the unanimous decision was he was a grade-A jerk.

Rey was reading on Saturday morning when her phone  pinged with a new text message.  She was sure it was going to be another text from Finn telling her how much he missed her (complete with a crying emoji face) so her heart skipped a beat when she saw it was from a number she was sure she would never see again.  The whole apartment felt to tilt under the weight of the two words on her phone’s screen.

“I’m sorry.”

Rey stared at her screen for a full five minutes as she deliberated on the best way to respond, because she knew no matter what, it would send her down a road of no return.

Finally, she made up her mind.

“ Come over to dinner.  My roommate it out of town.  I’ll cook.”

She held her breath as she waiting for an answer.

Ping.

“I’ll bring the wine this time.”  

[sleemo]

TIME Magazine: A Star of His Own Making 

In person, John Boyega carries himself with an assuredness that could be mistaken for self-­importance. He’s one of those actors who look as tall and sturdy in real life as they do onscreen. He fills whatever room he happens to be in with inviting, boisterous chatter, thanks, no doubt, to years of voice training on the English stage. And he’s dead certain he’s going to be a big, big movie star.

I first meet Boyega in a cramped hallway at ABC Studios in Manhattan in July. We barely manage a hurried handshake as he proceeds in Aaron Sorkin–like strides toward a nearby stage. His publicist and his sister—who also acts as his assistant and is Googling where they can find British pub food in New York—are drafting in his wake. I watch off set as Boyega sits down with the hosts of Live With Kelly and Ryan, his first of three interviews for the day. Each sit-down requires the same thing of the 25-year-old Brit: promoting his latest film, Kathryn Bigelow’s Detroit, about the city’s 1967 riots, and expounding on the state of race relations in neat, 30-second sound bites. Naturally, interviewers also want to ask about his other new movie, Star Wars: The Last Jedi, coming out in December. 

If the challenge of figuring out how to discuss Black Lives Matter and lightsabers in the same breath weighs on him, Boyega doesn’t show it. “I see what I do in part as creating change through art,” he tells me. “Sometimes that responsibility can feel like a burden, but it’s not. It pushes you to find your purpose in the world.”

Most people know Boyega as Finn, the Storm­trooper who defects to the Rebels and helps an aspiring Jedi (Daisy Ridley) in 2015’s Star Wars: The Force Awakens. Boyega is confident that he can sidestep the quagmire of franchise fame that has kept some actors from ever eclipsing their first blockbuster roles. So when I finally sit down with him for lunch, I begin by asking if he’d rather follow the Denzel Washington/Harrison Ford path to stardom—­bringing the same charming swagger to every role—or if he’d prefer to go the Judi Dench/Idris Elba route of disappearing into parts. He grins at me and says, “I think to be a real star, you have to do both. I’m going to do both.”

Which might seem presumptuous if Boyega hadn’t been consistently checking off items on his superstardom to-do list. Since his breakout role two years ago, he has produced and starred in another franchise film, the upcoming Pacific Rim: Uprising (become a producer: check), played opposite Tom Hanks in the poorly reviewed The Circle (inevitable flop: check), returned to London to play a soldier with PTSD at the Old Vic (reaffirm acting chops onstage: check) and, with Detroit, become the face of an Academy Award winner’s latest gritty film (make an Oscar bid: check). And he’s working on writing and producing his own movies in hopes of leading a generation of artists who bring more diverse stories to the screen.

So, yes, John Boyega will be a big, big movie star. And he plans to get there his own way.

Boyega, the son of Nigerian parents, grew up in the working-class South London neighborhood of Peckham and began enrolling in youth theater programs when he was 9. As a teen, he was cast in a movie filming near his neighborhood, Attack the Block. The comedic horror film centers on a gang of teenagers who must defend their public-housing project from an extraterrestrial invasion. Soon after it premiered, Boyega began trying to land American movie roles, culminating in a series of grueling, secret Star Wars auditions for director J.J. Abrams, who had been a fan of his first film.

The day he found out he got the part, Boyega says, he went home to tell his parents. He bowed to them in a traditional Nigerian sign of respect to show his gratitude for the sacrifices they had made. His ­parents—his mother works with the disabled, while his father is a Pentecostal preacher—­immigrated to England before Boyega was born. “I grew up with my dad telling me that you’re currently around church people, but soon you’re going to be in a world where people don’t believe the same things you believe in. People are going to laugh at the stuff you believe or are going to treat you a certain way,” Boyega recalls. “And just to try as much as you can to be loving to all people.”

Boyega’s casting in Star Wars put that advice to the test. The beginning of the film’s first trailer, released in 2014, showed the actor in Stormtrooper garb minus the helmet. Within minutes, he was deluged with messages on Twitter objecting to the idea of a black man at the center of a Star Wars saga. And Boyega continues to endure occasional harassment on social media. “It’s blatant racism,” he says. “I embrace all people, but I do not embrace racists. I despise racists. Do they know how dumb it is to waste brain cells on taking issue with the amount of melanin in someone’s skin?” He argues that everyone just wants to see themselves represented onscreen and that it’s time for more diverse heroes at the movies.

He pauses and then tells me, “I really want you to include this: 99% of the response was positive. Good doesn’t get credit sometimes because it’s overshadowed by the bad. People tried to boycott the movie, and we made something like a billion dollars in 12 days. That represents every person who bought a ticket. So much for your boycott.”

Disney is hoping the next Star Wars, subtitled The Last Jedi, will draw an even bigger audience when it premieres on Dec. 15. Boyega’s innocent Finn offered much of the comic relief in The Force Awakens, but the actor says the movie and his character’s story get much darker in the sequel. Finn wakes from a coma and is paired off with a new character, Rose (Kelly Marie Tran), as they embark on a dangerous mission with the droid BB-8 in tow. Rose, a lowly engineer who yearns to fight for the Resistance, believes that Finn is a war hero. “Finn’s not so sure that he’s a hero or that he really even believes in the Resistance or anything at all,” says Boyega. “So he’s off with Rose, who is a true believer, and he has to figure out whose side he’s on and navigate these conflicting emotions.”

Finn’s onscreen banter—with Rey, with Han Solo, even with BB-8—made the character a fan favorite. As a result, Boyega says he found himself with an unexpected platform. He’s used it to defend his fellow actors and challenge the entertainment industry. He spoke for Ridley when she left Instagram after an anti-gun-violence post resulted in harassment. He called out HBO’s Game of Thrones for its lack of diversity. And he defended Get Out star Daniel Kaluuya, whom he knows from the London theater circuit, when Samuel L. Jackson said an African-American actor, rather than a black English actor, should have played the lead role in the movie about American racism. “It just makes no sense for Brits and Americans to fight with each other like that,” says Boyega. “When you’re black and in a position of influence, you have a responsibility to speak out. When you’re an actor, you have a responsibility to speak out through your work.”

Detroit is an example of the latter. It is an affecting, if complicated, film. Bigelow filmed it as if she were running with a camera through a war zone. But unlike her other recent movies (The Hurt Locker, Zero Dark Thirty), the battleground is a Midwestern metropolis. Boyega plays a security guard who tries to act as a liaison between white cops and black civilians amid unfolding violence at the Algiers Motel. His attempts to protect the innocent eventually make him a scapegoat for the police. “It was an even bigger opportunity than Star Wars to show what I can do,” he says. “You don’t want people going to a movie as serious as this and saying, ‘Hey, why is Finn being interrogated by the police?’”

Boyega’s performance has put him in the conversation for an Oscar. That’s a particularly important item on the superstar checklist and requires a rigorous press tour. If you ask Boyega who his role models are on that score, he’ll talk about his Star Wars co-star Ford. But when it comes to influences, Boyega is more likely to cite his peers. He brings up Issa Rae, the creator and star of HBO’s Insecure. “That’s something I hope to achieve someday, to write and develop my own original project,” he says, adding that he has always written but didn’t really understand how to tackle a screenplay until Spike Lee gave him a copy of his Do the Right Thing script, which included notes scrawled in the margins.

Boyega says he’s excited that several actors he knew from the London theater world are beginning to break into Hollywood too: Malachi Kirby was Kunta Kinte in the recent Roots remake for History, and Letitia Wright will play a warrior in the 2018 Marvel superhero movie Black Panther. “It kind of reminds me of that picture of Tupac and Jada Pinkett in high school. Everybody’s gone off now to have their moments,” says Boyega. “I think our generation, we don’t want to wait around only to be given the same stereotyped roles again and again. We want to decide our own fate.”

[aclockworkfilmsnob]

Thoughts on Elle (2016)

Elle was one of my most anticipated movies of 2016, but since it had such a limited release it was next to impossible for me to see it at the time. Now that I finally got to see it last night, I must say it definitely lived up to my expectations of being something truly great. Paul Verhoeven is a director I admire quite a bit. Though I'm not a fan of Showgirls and have not seen Basic Instinct, his unofficial sci fi trilogy (Robocop, Total Recall, Starship Troopers) are three films that I constantly sing praise about. Considering the fact that he hadn't directed a film since Starship Troopers in 1997, I was very excited for this. Elle is a film that almost works in the opposite format of his sci fi trilogy. His sci fi films are very over the top and campy in their presentation, but deep down are tackling a very serious subject matter (Commercialism, Government Control, Censorship, Brainwashing, Fascism, etc.) Elle, on the other hand, presents itself in a very serious and dramatic tone, but every now and again has elements of satire and humor. Being the story of a single woman hellbent on finding the man who broke into her house and raped her, this story is nowhere near as predictable as it sounds. I cannot spoil anything, but all I can say is her approach to the matter seems so idiotic and nonsensical that you're almost convinced you're watching a terrible movie with no sense of direction, until about 75% of the way through when you realize what is really going on. While the rapist storyline is, by default, the focal point of the storyline, there is still much more going on in the story involving Michèle Leblanc (she is never referred to as Elle in the movie) dealing with her every day life. To call her family dysfunctional would be an understatement. She has a son whom she feels no emotional connection to (or his pregnant girlfriend, who treats him like shit), a mother she loathes for no great reason, and a father she refuses to forgive for the murderous crimes he committed in the past. That's not including her best friend who almost acts more as a mother to her son than she does (there's a very interesting explanation for that) and the fact that she's fucking her best friend's husband. Did I mention she also wants to fuck her neighbor, who is also married? Elle is not an easy film. Nothing about it is obvious or clear cut, unlike Verhoeven's most notable filmography. And for the kind of story it is, that works tremendously in its favor. Michèle is a very complex and troubled character. She is the true definition of a three dimensional female character, one that Tumblr SJW's would be furious at (sorry that she is not in the vein of Kate McKinon licking a proton gun in the oh-so progressive hit Ghostbusters) She is a character with a lot of flaws, and a lot of strengths as well. She is strong, smart, very resilient, and also very funny. She makes a lot of provocative, cynical and mean spirited jokes in situations most people wouldn't dare think lightly of. She lives on her own and often likes to take things into her own hands. She is one of the leading founders of a video game company, and as a result she has a lot of power and control. Though that can also work to her disadvantage, as she can be too manipulative and too controlling for her own good, hurting the people who don't deserve it as a result. While her independence can at times be her downfall, there are also instances where she lacks any independence whatsoever, and to avoid spoilers that's all I can say on the matter. But, like Michèle herself, this film is not without its flaws. As you can tell by my description, there is a LOT going on in this story, and at times the film cannot mesh them together as smoothly as one may hope. This is also an issue I had with Starship Troopers, where all of these singular elements of the film are fantastic, but he presentation of it all is kind of off. However, Starship Troopers also suffered from some of its statements contradicting each other, which by the end of it only felt like it took away from the movie. Everything in Elle is warranted and fits into the story just fine. Sloppy execution is certainly not something I can overlook, but when I consider it to be the only real problem of the film, it brings me to my final conclusion that I absolutely saw a great film. It is not quite as good as Robocop and Total Recall, but I do consider it better than Starsip Troopers, which is still a film I love. Hopefully this is a new brand of filmmaking for Verhoeven, because I would love to see more films done in the vein of this style as he did for Total Recall and Starship Troopers following the style of Robocop. I gotta give Elle a 9/10, and definitely recommend it to anyone who can see it when it's released on Blu Ray next month. My 2016 list so far: 1. The Neon Demon 2. The Nice Guys (might be #1, not sure yet) 3. Elle 4. The Witch 5. The Conjuring 2 6. Deadpool 7. Captain America Civil War 8. 10 Cloverfield Lane 9. The Lobster 10. Cafe Society I still need to see Arrival, Silence, Kubo and the Two Strings, La La Land, Jackie, Moonlight, Hell or High Water, Manchester by the Sea, Moana, Fences, and Paterson, so chances are my list will change significantly once I've completed my checklist. As much as I really liked 6-10, to have them on my top 10 of the year list would be kind of disappointing. 1-5 were amazing films, and chances are within the next few months I'll own them all on Blu Ray.

[geoduinn-blog]

On why I adore Prompto, the transient heart of FFXV, and the power of bromance

So I wrote this pile of meta immediately after finishing FFXV and shortly before some similar analyses wound up on YouTube. While I agree with a lot of them, I don’t feel like they go far enough in exploring the gravity of the train scene and its impact on the story, so I decided to upload this almost a year after the discussion was relevant. Please excuse the outdated references to an ‘upcoming’ DLC for Prompto.

FFXV is a flawed game. It is plotted sparsely and structured contestably. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, and its light-and-darkness lore feels okay at best, contrived the rest of the time. I don’t even want to mention its treatment of gender, or I’ll never write about anything else (and maybe this game deserves that). But the reverence and joy I often felt while playing FFXV must not be understated. As annoyed and even angry as I am at SquareEnix in the aftermath of one of its best games in a long time, the fact remains – this IS one of its best games in a long time. This is certainly not because of the flawless execution of each of its individual parts, and definitely not because of any attempts to respect its non-male fans, but because of what generally makes a FF game a FF game – the unforgettable atmosphere, the commitment to the characters, and the miraculous success of key dramatic scenes in the face of insurmountable narrative ridiculousness.

This hybrid between a tumblr meta and an HSC essay will explore that success through the framework of some of my favourite elements of the game: a scene wherein the villain Ardyn tricks the young protagonist Noctis into harming his best friend; the relationship between Noctis and Prompto, the bestie; and the expression of the core themes of the story through the world and atmosphere that these elements create together. Themes of friendship, transience, and sacrifice will be explored, but all in all, this is just an unstructured meditation on some things I love about this game – an ode to the flawed FFXV, crafted in its image.

Ok so the scene I described above really cements Ardyn as one of the most detestable FF villains for me, while also making me love Prompto all the more. In a nutshell, Ardyn swaps bodies with Prompto, and Noctis, following the logic of the story, attacks this supposed Ardyn. While the scene relies on a really stupid narrative device, its positive effect on the relevant character arcs is proportionately strong. My suspension of disbelief has just been brutally injured by a magical technique that I didn’t know the villain possessed until two seconds ago, but the scene still somehow works. It’s such a typically FFXV thing – logically pathetic, but narratively powerful enough that I yelled at my TV.

Okay. So I assumed straight up when Ardyn appears on the train and starts referring to Noctis as his ‘bro’, his ‘dude’, his ‘man’, that he’s just being a douchebag. I was ever so slightly suspicious that the game gave me only the option to attack Ardyn at this point, but I wasn’t exactly calm enough to question it when faced with the asshole who shivved my fiancé. I just wanted to shiv him back.

When he continues the gross façade with what seems to be mock surprise at the fact that Noctis is trying to kill him, it only serves to rile greater anger. Of course, he wants to kill you, you basket case. You’re just provoking him, now. Why are you acting like you’re one of us?

And then Noctis drops a few choice lines that will haunt me/him until the end of the game – things like “why have you been following us around all this time anyway; all this bad shit has been happening ever since you started tagging along behind us…” in other words, a violently sincere checklist of all of Prompto’s greatest fears. And this Ardyn, this Ardyn-who-isn’t-really-Ardyn, doesn’t fight back. He asks, disbelievingly, “Is that true?”

The horrible genius behind Ardyn’s plan is that it kills two birds with one stone – two beautiful, innocent, emotionally brutalised birds – by having them kill each other. What could be a worse fate for Prompto than finding out that his best friend doesn’t really love him; that, in fact, Noctis has been harbouring annoyance for him all along, and that this has festered into resentment the longer they stay together, and has finally become hatred now that the truth is coming out? What could be worse for Prompto than dying at Noctis’s hand?

At this point, let’s consider Prompto’s character. Prompto is a bit of a dork. He’s the same age as Noctis but has never considered himself as being in the same league as his friend, physically, intellectually, or socially. He has the lowest base stats of any of the four main characters. His defence sucks, his attack sucks, his magic sucks, and his HP is even worse than Ignis’s. His photographic hobby serves no practical purpose, unlike Noctis’s angling, or Gladio’s wilderness survival, or Ignis’s campside culinary creativity, which all mesh together ridiculously well. He’s the shortest in the group and the most feminine in appearance, and compensates the most (and apparently in the only way he knows how) with over-the-top body language and a tongue piercing and a wardrobe straight out of Hot Topic. Noctis even (affectionately) calls him a nerd on several occasions.

Prompto is painfully aware of his role in the group dynamic. He’s the annoying friend. The plebe in a party of royals. The self-conscious try-hard with no redeeming qualities, as far as Prompto himself is concerned. He is less aware of the strengths of his role, because they are not traditional male strengths, and because he is the only person in the group to successfully wield them.

Prompto is crucial to the main group because he is the best at maintaining relationships. He is the only one who is able to consistently offer the emotional support Noctis doesn’t let on that he needs; the only one with the courage to try to defuse the arguments between Gladio and the Prince, even at risk of harm; the one who puts aside his own anger to hold up Ignis when Ignis is stumbling blind through a swamp, fighting to stay himself while Noctis and Gladio just fight each other. When King Regis dies, not even Ignis maintains the level of composure and sensitivity that Prompto has. While the others crumble under an awkward and heartbreaking silence, Prompto softly attempts to comfort Noctis, while also instantly recognising that they need to flee, lest they face the same fate as Noctis’s father. While Ignis and Gladio sit in the dining car of the Tenebraean train in silence, Prompto attempts some semblance of normal conversation out of a desire to show Noctis that he is emotionally available.

His loud public persona and awkward tendencies mean that he comes across as slightly autistic or socially maladjusted. But he is far from stupid, and his reluctance towards anger and direct confrontation should not be mistaken for dullness. His instinct to support others just outweighs his instinct to respond to his own feelings.

But if he views these abilities as expendable, then why shouldn’t Noctis? By Prompto’s logic, the idea that Noctis might actually hate him and his loud, oblivious, materialistic personality is perfectly reasonable. That dramatic irony is the tragedy of Prompto’s character. It’s a tragedy that many players can recognise in some way, be it through themselves or who they once were, or through a friend or family member who underestimates their own importance.

Of course, Noctis does not hate Prompto. Far from it.

After chasing ‘Ardyn’ through the train car, suspended in a dreamlike state and mysteriously separated from his best friend, Noctis awakens to Prompto, lifting him to his feet. They scour the train together, stop the magitek troopers together, bring down a fleet together. So when Noctis sees Ardyn and Prompto standing atop the train, with Ardyn apparently having disarmed Prompto and now wielding Prompto’s gun against him, his reaction is instant. He bolts to save Prompto by throwing Ardyn from the train. It is at this exact, context-free, confusing, and somehow still earth-shattering moment that we realise Noctis has just flung his best friend off a moving train and is now stuck on top of it with Ardyn. Who proceeds to knock him out.

Now, let’s consider the relationship between the player and Noctis. Right from the start of the game, we occupy a space in the back of Noctis’s mind. We are the third-person in his RPG world, and while we have enough distance both visually and narratively to view him as his own distinct character, we are beckoned forward to identify closely with him, all the time. One of FFXV’s great strengths is its immersive power. Whether we are young and on our own clumsy journey into the responsibilities of adulthood, like Noctis, or whether the game serves as a portal into our past, it attempts to appeal to a universal sense of familiarity. It achieves this certainly not through the genders of the main dudes or the roles the game therefore assumes they should mould themselves to, but because the undercurrent of love is instantly recognisable to anyone lucky enough to have faced a challenge beside their friends. FFXV is about growing up by supporting the people you love and accepting their support in return, and as Noctis’s shadow, we get a first-row view of his appreciation of this. We feel his appreciation through the links we make to our own memories.

So, with this clarity of vision, in this spiral of dramatic irony with Prompto at the ugly centre, we know intrinsically that Noctis cares about him. This is not even something to be questioned. We see it in his affectionate exasperation and in the way his voice softens whenever he laughs at Prompto’s awful jokes. It’s in the sincerity of the scene at the motel, when Prompto admits his fears of inadequacy to Noctis, and Noctis tells him how much he values their friendship. We know how honest Noctis is in this friendship because his whole experience is one of helplessness in the face of destruction and thankfulness for what he has left – a lurching return to innocence, heralded by tragedy and softened by beauty.

But it isn’t only in these confessions that Noctis’s feelings are confirmed – it’s in the feeling that every moment the four friends spend together is precious and fleeting. The game is saturated with gentle scores and spontaneous bursts of music that ache to reflect the joy in the characters’ journey together. The lingering sadness in some of these pieces only reinforces the inkling that none of this can last – that they cannot be friends forever, because life has a way of ending things that should go on, and love hints always at sacrifice. Even game mechanics like the day-night cycle reinforce this feeling, as each sunset bathes the world in silence just a little too soon, and we think, ‘just one more fish, just one more hunt, just one more line of ridiculous, endearing dialogue’, but to push these boundaries would be to endanger our friends, and we are forced to retire for another night. The game sears moments of perfection into our mind, and in doing so, reminds us that each of these moments can only happen once. Every dungeon is new until you know what’s inside; every fish is a question mark until you catch it. (THIS IS A SERIOUS ESSAY I SWEAR.)

Prompto’s photos are perhaps the strongest mechanic of all when it comes to creating this sense of joyous ephemerality. What appears to be a game mechanic of little worth – indeed, what many hardcore reviewers criticise as a gimmicky addition to a weird bachelor party road trip of a game – holds arresting thematic relevance. Photography has been used in many games to express the irretrievability of a single moment, or to capture a second of the impossible (think of everything from Fatal Frame to Firewatch to Life is Strange – where photography exists in a game, it always provokes meaning, even if only sometimes offering a useful mechanic). Prompto is an indispensable member of the group – yes, because he’s funny, he’s kind, he’s supportive, and he puts himself in as much danger as anyone else to stop the Empire’s mad plans – but also because he is the group’s record keeper, the one producing proof that all of this happened. Prompto is the guy with the camera, and that means more than he can know. Noctis’s final request, after all, is to carry one of Prompto’s photos with him into death.

Let’s return to Noctis as a character, and try to understand the growth he experiences, leaving him at a point where he finally feels he can face that horrendous death in the absence of his friends. By the end of the game, he reaches a place  where he appreciates that he can fulfill his duty with only his friends’, fiancé’s, and father’s love to support him, despite that he will never see any of them again. He has accepted that the halcyon days of his closest relationships are gone forever. This is in large part due to the fact that he has proof of their time together. It is vivid in his memory even when the present feels like a dream – the sidequests and aimless travel easily last three-quarters of the full game, after all, and the endgame is more of a haunted epilogue than a true catharsis. It is in his ability to even sit on the throne, as alone, he would never have survived the return to a daemon-ravaged Insomnia. And it is in the final photo that he takes with him. Noctis is heartbreakingly aware that his power is all thanks to his friends, and his sacrifice is an attempt to reciprocate this love by returning them to a time when they were free.

The scene on the train and its brutal aftermath (yes, this essay thingy is still about the scene on the train) is a crucial turning point in Noctis’s journey. After Prompto is thrown form the train by none other than his best friend, who believed he was in fact Ardyn, Prompto is captured. Sure, there’s some as-yet-unpublished DLC that happens in the middle, probably involving more horrible experiences for Prompto, but we basically know where he ends up. Captured, detained, and tortured, and Ardyn seems to enjoy every second of it. When Noctis rescues Prompto, Iggy and Gladio in tow, he releases Prompto from the Shinra-esque rack he’s suspended on and supports his exhausted collapse. Prompto says, almost infuriatingly, “Tell me Noct… were you worried?” The millisecond it takes the decent player to hit “of course I was” and yell “I fucking love you, you prick” at the TV, Noctis is gathering himself for a reply. One almost expects anger, but instead, he replies with warmth and appreciation – not even pity. This seems to be the best possible response, because Prompto confesses he knew this was true – that Noctis would come to rescue him, and that the trick had been Ardyn’s design, and not a product of Noctis’s hatred. Their reunion is essentially a happy one, despite the circumstances.

Because this is FFXV, the scene feels slightly emotionally constipated as no actual reflection is afforded the exchange. The boys accept and go about their usual business (with the exception that Prompto, bruised and bleeding like everywhere, leans unmoving against the wall with a look on his face that suggests he’s probably going to be traumatised for the rest of his life). Noctis’s apparent calmness could come off as a little uncaring from a shallow analysis (AHAHAHA BUT WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE). However this is the first time in the entire game he has had any chill about anything. In short, he is returning Prompto a favour.

In long, he has come to terms with grief and better appreciates his role as someone who can bring stability to a traumatic time, and Prompto is a person who, for all his wildness, values that affection and stability, evidenced by the fact that he is usually the one providing it. Consider Noctis before this development. While a wonderful character, he was pretty typically a FF protagonist in his fear of letting people down, not being able to save someone, etcetera etcetera. Lightning couldn’t save Serah, Cloud couldn’t save Aerith, Tidus couldn’t save Yuna probably, Ashe let her fiancé and father die before she could raise a rebellion. Like her, Noctis couldn’t save Luna or Regis. For the whole first half of the game, his objective was to find Luna, to reunite with her, to bring her into the fold and finally marry her. Twelve years of betrothal come to a clamorous end when Ardyn murders Luna, and it echoes straight back to the death of Regis at the hands of Ardyn’s imperial army, at the start of the game. Losing not only his father and his lover but also his best friend would ruin Noctis. Talcott’s grandpa’s murder, and then Gladio’s injuries, followed by Ignis going blind, are the start of Noctis’s realisation of the length his friends will go to, to protect him. His reaction, understandably, is guilt. He hasn’t accepted his own political weight or the personal sacrifices he must make at this point, which is frankly a perfectly healthy and decent reaction to finding out that people are willing to die for you because your powers can save the world or whatever. We see how distraught Noctis is when Prompto falls, and he has to recount the ordeal to Ignis over the phone. No question from our end – Noctis cares immensely about Prompto.

At this point, he is still not the force of stability that we see him as at the end. It is through the next few days of quiet travel, the realisation that night is coming and will never end, and the slow, sad appreciation for these final moments with Ignis and Gladio that Noctis realises what everyone has been fighting for. They’ve been fighting for each other and for him, sure, because they’re friends, but they’ve also been fighting for that joy that they once knew and want to restore to the world. Prompto, too, has sacrificed more than a simple plebe should ever have been expected to sacrifice in this savage political diatribe, because he wanted to support Noctis. Noctis seems to realise, in this twilit interval between the open world of the past and the claustrophobic corridors of the future, that the time for him to become a stable force for his friend is now.

When Noctis frees Prompto from one of the most disturbing locations in the game, more akin to something from Amnesia than FF, his character arc completes. His developmental climax has already happened, and the endgame follows in swift, ghostly steps. Were you worried about me? Of course I was. The moment Prompto is thrown off the train marks a climax in Noctis’s grief about what they have left behind and what has been ruined. His reunion with Prompto forms an assurance that, despite the finality of this sadness, their adventure has fostered some future cure. The small, fleeting beacons of joy, now gone, signed a pathway toward eventual hope. Prompto will never recover, and Noctis will never be able to go back and stop what happened to him. But he is alive, and Noctis can make sure there is a future in which he can rest, and continue recording the passage of those moments vital to life.

We are important to each other. Our short time together was precious and transformative. The things we did together we may never do again, but to believe you mean any less to me because you’ll be in my past soon (OR because you’re a magitek trooper – surprise) is so, so wrong. That wreck of a bachelor party is the reason we made it so far.

And so this mess of an analysis winds to a close.

I’ve covered a few important points in this ridiculous monologue. The success of FFXV as an examination of transience and the power of friendship, probably. Some stuff about Ardyn was in there as well I think.

I don’t know. This game didn’t have a great deal of closure and neither does this essay. But I feel like there was some good stuff in there. I wouldn’t have spent so much time on it, otherwise. I wouldn’t have loved so deeply if that moment of perfection had never happened.

But all good things come to pass. The game, Noctis, this essay. That’s it.