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walkerismychoice · 5 years ago

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All I Need to Know for Now (Raleigh X MC)

Book: Platinum

Pairing: Raleigh X MC (Aria Campbell, Minor Avery X MC)

Rating: NSFW/18+

Note: Given my previous fics and head canons about Raleigh and Aria’s relationship, I wasn’t quite satisfied with the MC’s happy-go-lucky reactions to Raleigh’s antics this last chapter and wanted to add in more about their love triangle. I re-wrote the relevant parts of chapter 13 from this perspective. Some of the dialogue is transcribed from the chapter, but much is new or changed. I also changed up the sex scene some for fun and omitted much of the chapter that didn’t need re-writing to fit my version of the story.

Word Count: 2932

Aria doesn't know what to do with herself. Yes, she'd had a moment and acted completely insane, butting into Jaylen's performance of her song, but it's not like it's out of the ordinary for celebrities to snap and get even more popular for it. Seems she's just famous enough for people to care, but not quite famous enough to be able to get away with it. Bad girl pop star apparently doesn't look good on her.

So now she's stuck at home with nothing to do. It would be the perfect opportunity to write new songs, or finish some old ones, but every time she tries, she's got nothing. The stress of wondering if her career is over as quickly as it began is taking a toll, and she's adrift in small town no-man's land with no purpose or direction. So when her doorbell rings unexpectedly, she's not sure if it will he more bad news or a welcome distraction.

"Alright, Aria, have you missed me?"

"Oh my god, Avery! I can't believe you're here!" Saying she's surprised would be an understatement. She feels the urge to pinch herself to make sure this isn't another dream that will venture into nightmare territory.

"Hope you don't mind that I stopped by, but I redirected my flight on the way to the Indio music festival. And I brought a few friends..."

“Hey, kid. Long time, no see.” Hank stands behind Avery, in his typical working stance, arms folded with his aviator sunglasses on.

Next to him is Zadie, as stylish as ever and way overdressed for Aria’s neck of the woods. “You know, I thought you were exaggerating every time you said how boring your hometown was, but now I see the reports are accurate.”

Aria chuckles because Zadie isn’t wrong, but then she sees him step out from behind the group and her stomach flip flops with a feeling she can’t quite place.

“Hey, Aria. Are you gonna let us in or...” Raleigh asks coolly in his typical ‘I don’t give a fuck if you do or you don’t’ tone, but the smile on his face suggests he’s happy to see her.

“I’ve missed you all so much!” Aria exclaims, and she has, she really has. But she’s also overwhelmed by this impromptu visit, and her time away from Raleigh and Avery has done nothing to clear up her indecision about the two. They’d both sent her a couple of texts but they were fairly brief. Avery hand been supportive as expected, and Raleigh was... Raleigh. He’d worked out another PR relationship to take the media focus off of Aria, or so he said. There were plenty of other ways to do that, like, oh, for example, destroying millions of dollars worth of artwork which he also did do. She’s not sure which is worse or if she has the energy to put up with his antics, even if they are just for show.

Aria glances between Avery and Raleigh. She’s drawn to Raleigh despite it all, for reasons beyond her comprehension, this physical compulsion begging her to jump into his arms. But then there’s Avery - sweet, dependable, supportive Avery - looking at her with such adoration and longing it just feels right. She flings her arms around Avery’s shoulders, kissing him slow and deep. She can’t see Raleigh’s face but she can almost feel the heat of his glare, or at least that’s what she imagines the feeling to be. Avery’s hands find her waist, and he sighs into her mouth, Aria reflexively pressing closer to him. She feels him smile against her lips, and for a moment, she’s completely lost in him.

Aria pulls back, blushing fiercely. “Well come in!” She offers without making eye contact with anyone or waiting for a response. She needs to get a hold of herself before this gets even more awkward.

But then it does get more awkward when Avery spots the poster of him on her wall, and Aria’s kicking herself for not taking it down in all this time she’s been home. Raleigh jokes about there being no poster of him, but if Aria’s not mistaken, there’s more than just a hint of jealousy there. As mortified as she is, she can’t help but find satisfaction in Raleigh’s reaction.

~~~

The gang has been in Avery’s limo traveling to some unknown destination for almost half an hour now, departing shortly after dropping off Aria’s fan mail and filling her in on Ellis buying Jaylen’s label. Apparently he’d felt so bad about selling the song, when he couldn’t buy it back he bought the whole damn thing. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s still not Aria’s to sing, but maybe this will make things better in the long run.

The limo pulls up outside a gorgeous lake home - an Airbnb rental Aria presumes - but Avery immediately informs her otherwise. “Ladies, gentlemen, friends, welcome to my humble summer home.”

“It has a state of the art security system too!” Hank assesses. “I’m going to enjoy it here.” Leave it to Hank to notice that first over all the breathtaking scenery.

“How long have you had this?” Aria questions, stunned that Avery would own property so close to her hometown.

“Since this morning,” Avery answers with a sly grin. “I just bought it.”

Aria is speechless. Avery bought a lake house just to have a place to go to cheer her up. Compare that with Raleigh getting a fake girlfriend and creating property damage to smooth things over, and one of them is the clear winner as far as Aria is concerned. Not that this is a competition or anything.

“Alright, enough talking, more getting in the water,” Raleigh chimes in, not allowing Aria to dwell on it much longer.

Not having known where they were going, Aria hadn’t packed a bathing suit, but of course Zadie has her covered. The skimpy white suit isn’t the most practical for water sports, but at least judging from Avery and Raleigh’s reactions, she looks amazing in it.

They race on the Jet Ski’s and hang around the dock for sometime before boarding a rented sailboat with drinks in hand. This day is shaping up to be just what she needed. As they approach the center of the lake, Avery proposes an underwater breath-holding competition, which ends up being between himself, Raleigh an Aria. Aria just hopes neither of them pass out trying to be the better man.

Aria’s uses her breath control techniques to oxygenate herself as much as possible before dipping below the surface. She’s not sure how much time has passed, but all three of them are starting to squirm. Avery’s the first to give up, heading to the surface for air. Raleigh floats closer, eyes locked on her as an intimidation tactic she presumes, until he suddenly closes the distance between them and firmly plants his lips on hers. As he grabs her hips and presses his body against hers, she can’t help but kiss him back - a kiss that literally takes her breath away to the extent she has to give up and emerges above the water line just before Raleigh does.

“You did that on purpose just to get me to lose!” Aria splashes Raleigh playfully.

Raleigh winks at her. “It didn’t seem like you minded."

Avery swims over, a look of questioning and concern on his face, like he suspects a hint of what went on but doesn’t want to know. He gives Aria’s hand a squeeze and then cradles her in his arms as they bob in the water. “At least you beat me,” he offers as consolation, bringing his lips to hers for a fervent kiss. It’s nice, but after just kissing Raleigh, it’s lacking. It feels strange having Avery’s lips where his just were, and she's thankful for the water washing any trace of him away. Avery helps Aria back onto the boat and hands her a towel to dry off. “I hope you got the release you wanted today.”

On the one hand, yes, she’s happier than she has been in quite a while. On the other, she’s more wound up than ever. “I did. Thanks so much for coming out all this way to visit me.”

Avery smiles softly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Of course, Cadence. We’ll always be there for you.”

“Alright, less conspiratorial whispering, more water sports!” Raleigh proclaims as he climbs back into the boat, his timing impeccable once again.

~~~

Everyone gathers around the fire after dinner and a long day in the sun. They talk, laugh, eat smores, and when Raleigh picks up the guitar and starts to play, it turns into an impromptu singalong, with Aria, Avery, and Raleigh harmonizing beautifully. With no expectations or weight on her shoulders, it feels good, really good, to be singing again. But when Raleigh hands her the guitar to play, the wounds are still too fresh. Fortunately her friends are understanding and they don’t push the issue, knowing she’ll get there when she’s ready.

Before long, the others begin to head inside. “I suppose it’s time for me turn in as well.” Avery announces, nodding his head at Aria as he rises. You coming?”

She can’t tell if there’s any sort of expectation in the invitation, but whatever the case, she’s not going inside until she can have a proper discussion with Raleigh. "In a bit. I just need more time to...think.”

Avery’s face falls just a little, recovering with a weak smile. “Alright, Darling. Let me know if you need anything.” A silent moment passes as gentle waves lap against the shore, moonlight dancing off the rolling water.

As soon as Avery is out of earshot, Raleigh scoffs and shakes his head. “Darling? He never gives up the prince charming act does he?”

Aria shrugs. “Maybe you’d be wise to take a few lessons from his playbook.”

Raleigh’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well...I hear you’ve been getting into a lot of trouble in my absence.”

“What can I say? The town’s boring without you.”

“Ugh, is everything just a game to you? You may think it’s funny to destroy property and disrespect people as part of your bad boy image, but I don’t. It’s time you fucking grew up.” Aria pushes up from her Adirondack chair, already over this conversation.

“Wait!” Raleigh tugs on her hand. “Please sit back down, and I’ll explain.” Aria rolls her eyes but sits back in the chair. “I felt awful when you were sent home. If I’d have done what you did, I’d probably end up with a slap on the wrist and more fans and album sales than before. It wasn’t fair, and I hated the negative attention you were getting, so I thought, hey, I’m basically untouchable, why not create some headlines myself to take the focus off you?”

“And that’s the best idea you had? Why not make headlines for doing something positive instead of being destructive?”

Raleigh scoots forward, placing his hand on her knee. “You know the good doesn’t get nearly as much press as the bad. Look, I’m not Avery. I’m not the type to ride into town in my white limousine and save the day by buying a beach palace to keep you in.

“I’m not asking you to be prince charming, or a knight in shining armor, or... whatever. I just...” Aria struggles to put it into words. She’s not asking for a savior or a lifelong commitment, she just needs to know that she means something to him before she falls too deep and ends up with a broken heart.

“Aria, No matter the means, what I did, I did for you, because I care about you...and it worked. Between the property damage and my new fake relationship, your incident with Jaylen is old news.”

“Well if that relationship is as fake as ours was, I’m still not feeling very reassured right now.”

Raleigh cocks his head to the side with a smirk. “Are you jealous, Campbell?” Aria doesn’t respond but serves him an icy glare. “Aww, babe, come here.” He pats his leg and holds his arms open wide.

She’s still mad and doesn’t want to give in, but him calling her babe again makes her weak. She sighs deeply before getting up and settling into his lap. “You’re still on thin ice, Carrera.”

“Aria, you have nothing to worry about. She doesn’t hold a candle to you. She’s just doing us a favor. I’ve missed you.” Raleigh traces tingly patterns up and down her thighs, goosebumps forming under his touch.

Aria peers into his eyes, biting her lower lip. “Okay, you can kiss me now.”

Raleigh chuckles. "You've gotten bossy in your time away, huh?"

"Maybe....But you like it."

Raleigh threads his fingers through her hair, pulling her mouth to his, kissing her seductively, tongue gliding over her lips. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, Aria. All the things I wanted to do when I got you alone...”

She feels him harden beneath her as she plants another kiss on his lips. Now with the air cleared between them, she won't deny she's been thinking the same. Aria sinks to her knees and looks up at him through her lashes as she unbuckles his pants. "Well, you know what I've been wanting to do to you?"

"What's that?" Raleigh asks with a knowing smile as he lifts his hips to help her undress his bottom half.

Aria wraps her hand around the base of his cock and swirls her tongue around the tip making him twitch. "I want to make you feel good," she purrs, Raleigh letting out a groan as she takes him in her mouth slow and deep. Maybe she hasn't been thinking about this all day. But ever since he kissed her and she caught a glimpse of the outline of his hard length through the swim trunks clinging to his legs as he emerged from the water, it's been difficult to think of anything else.

"Fuck, Aria. This is better than good. You are incredible," he breathes, hands fisting in her hair, guiding her up and down his shaft. She cups his balls, taking him in as deep as she can go until he pushes her away. "Come up here before I explode."

Aria wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and climbs into his lap, straddling his hips. "What now?"

"I want you so bad Aria. Now we both get to feel good." Raleigh lifts Aria's sundress over her head and his eyes go wide. "You aren't wearing anything underneath!"

"Oops! Did I forget to put on underwear?" Aria feigns innocence.

Raleigh shakes his head. "You're lucky I didn't know that earlier." Without further warning he thrusts up inside her, Aria gasping as he hits her sweet spot and then pauses for confirmation. "You, good?"

Aria grins. "I'm fucking fantastic." She sinks down deep and rolls her hips, grinding her clit on him as he fills her completely

They move together, their steady rhythm gradually picking up pace. Raleigh plays with her breasts - licking, sucking, rolling her nipples between his fingers and thumbs, sending sensations of pleasure straight to her core and fanning the flames of the fire inside her. She knows she's close so she moves faster, grinds down harder as her moans get louder. "Raleigh, I-"

"Whats that? You want me to stop?" He teases.

"Don't you fucking dare," she warns with a laugh.

"And deny the chance to make you come? Never. I want to hear you scream my name," Raleigh commands, grabbing her ass and pushing in deeper with each thrust.

She closes her eyes and throws her head back, seeing fireworks behind her eyes as her entire body ignites. "Oh my god, yes, Raleigh!" She cries out into the night as her walls tremble around him.

Aria buries her head in his neck, and Raleigh picks up her slack, bouncing her her up and down his hard length. And then he lets out a strangled moan, his whole body shuddering as he finds his release.

Raleigh pulls her against his chest as they both come down from their high. "You are full of surprises, Aria."

“I gotta keep up with you somehow.” Aria kisses him sweetly one more time. She shivers and Raleigh grabs the beach blanket from the ground, shakes it off and throws it over both of them. She closes her eyes, not even realizing she’s drifted off until she opens her eyes again and sees how much the fire has died down.

Raleigh throws some kindling on the fire with his free hand and smiles down at her. “Hey, beautiful.”

She's feeling vulnerable yet open in his arms. No more fooling around, no more games. It's him she wants and he needs to know. "Raleigh, I'm glad you're here. I missed you so much these past few days. It's like I got jolted into an alternate reality you weren't in."

“I.. I missed you, too.” His expression grows somber, serious for once before his smile is back again. “But you don’t have to worry about that now. We’re here now, together.” He strokes her arm tenderly as he holds her close, pressing his soft, warm lips to her forehead.

It’s not a promise of any certain future, but Aria can’t say what tomorrow will bring. Knowing he’s all-in in this moment is good enough... for now.

#playchoices fanfiction #raleigh carrera #raleigh x mc #platinum #n*fw #ns*w

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celiacandsalty · 5 years ago

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Kal Penn’s Nuts

Warning: the following blog includes strong language, references to gluten, and excessive whining.

When my brother Jeff got diagnosed with Celiac disease in 2014 (at age 34) I distinctly remember my first thought being something along the lines of, “oh god, that poor bastard.” Not only because many most of the best foods contain gluten, but because I was already imagining the inevitable day when he goes to some business dinner or something and the server mistakes him for one of THOSE people. You know, the people we all roll our eyes at because they claim to have a gluten “sensitivity” or “intolerance,” but we suspect they’re full of shit and make a mental note to mock them at a later date. It’s hard to say why I cared so much about what hypothetical Cheesecake Factory employees in Ohio might think about my brother’s diet but I DID.

(I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but on TV shows now if they want to quickly convey that a character is an annoying douchebag, usually all they have to do is throw in a line where that person orders a gluten free whatever and a vegan something or other. It’s been a “joke” (for lack of a better word) for at least a decade now and for some reason shows no signs of stopping, despite the fact that it is completely unoriginal, unfunny, and hacky. What I’m saying is, gluten free is the new Nickleback.)

Okay, now cut to 2018 when I, following in my brother’s stupid footsteps, also get diagnosed with Celiac disease1 and all those pitying thoughts I never would have verbalized to my poor bastard brother come flooding back, only now they apply to me too and I can hear them all because they’re in my head. I did not take the news well.

Now, it almost goes without saying that it is easier now than ever before to find decent gluten-free food, especially in Portland, Oregon (where I fortunately already happened to live), but I gotta say, it’s a colossal pain in the ass and it still sucks. It sucks that I have to spend so much of my free-time moonlighting as a gluten detective, looking at menus for places I might possibly be invited to eat at someday and reading every word on every food label and trying to get to the bottom of whether miso paste or Werther’s Originals are safe for me to eat.2 It sucks that I don’t even really WANT to go out to eat much anymore because it’s such a stressful experience that I barely enjoy it anways. It sucks that I once enjoyed traveling and now I’ve pretty much written off at least a couple of entire continents (and they were good ones too.) It sucks that I have frequent anxiety dreams about accidentally poisoning myself. It sucks that I only just discovered Shake Shack 6 months before getting diagnosed and now I’ll never again know the joy of a squishy hamburger bun. It sucks that I no longer get to be the easygoing person in a group or at the office who, when asked about dietary restrictions, could proudly say “Nope! I’m fine with whatever (aka I am a very cool and chill person).” I could go on and on, but I’d have to say the thing that actually sucks the most is the whole gluten-as-a-punchline thing because for me it is so terribly unfunny.

A couple of months ago3 I was at the gym, listening to one of my podcasts in which the guests, usually comedians, get a chance to rant for a few minutes on any topic of their choosing. That week, Kal Penn (of Harold & Kumar fame4) was one of the guests and he made the bold choice to rant about GLUTEN. My blood went straight to a solid simmer before he said another word. I considered shutting it off, but I thought to myself, “Easy does it, Jeanne! Maybe it’s not going to be what you think it is.”

Narrator: It was.

Kal Penn went on to say that as a person living with a severe allergy to tree nuts, it makes him very angry that people who claim to have GLUTEN allergies or intolerances are diluting the seriousness of his legitimate food allergy. The main takeaway being that GLUTEN allergies are FAKE and a FAD and they’re a PREFERENCE, unlike Kal Penn’s very real allergy to nuts.

Of course, Kal Penn included the caveat that there is a VERY small percentage of people for whom gluten issues are real, but I feel like that finer point may have been lost in the message of screaming FAKE FAKE FAKE for 3 minutes.5

The annoying thing though, is that Kal Penn is right. It IS a fad. (Especially in LA.) And I HATE that it is. One particularly annoying thing about this is that restaurants are catching on and more and more GF items items are popping up on menus everywhere. Unfortunately, they are often actually GF, unless you have Celiac disease, which makes my gluten detective job much harder.6

Now I don’t doubt that living with a nut allergy is hard. And I imagine that Kal Penn and I actually have a lot in common when it comes to anxieties and frustrations around food and eating out. I know that I shouldn’t say that I’m jealous of Kal Penn and his nut allergy, but in a way I am. Yes, I’m sure it is terrifying to go into anaphylactic shock and have to be rushed to the hospital, but on the bright side, at least people don’t think you’re a douchebag liar!

Speaking of being rushed to the hospital, here’s the funny story about how I found out that I can’t eat gluten. A little over a year ago, I ended up in the emergency room after dramatically collapsing in my apartment and completely losing all feeling in the entire left side of my body. After getting an MRI (and some other very expensive tests), I was informed that there were several areas of stroke in my 34-year-old brain.7

I spent 3 days in the neurology unit with puzzled doctors coming in every hour to scratch their heads and look at me with great concern. I didn’t find out for another full week that all of this was a result of undiagnosed Celiac disease. Apparently though I was asymptomatic in terms of gastrointestinal issues (very common in adults), I had become so severely anemic8 that I literally almost died. Malnutrition and malabsorption are common symptoms of Celiac, and at this point my hemoglobin was so critically low that I required a blood transfusion and 2 IV iron infusions.

Ok, so cool story, I know, but is stroke and near-death a common effect of eating gluten? Nope! I don’t think so!

So what’s my point? Fuck, I don’t even remember now. But I guess what I’m saying is...we all know the people Kal Penn is talking about. And I spend way too much of my mental energy worrying that when I tell someone I can’t have gluten9, they might, for example, still serve me a salad that they accidentally put the croutons on and then tried to pick them off but missed a few because they probably assume I’m just another asshole doing the Whole 30.10

So, Kal Penn, believe me when I say that I am with you on the issue of THOSE people. But continuing to rail against them and their possibly exaggerated gluten sensitivities does nothing to stop them. (I suspect it might even make them stronger and more annoying.) It does however, continue to reinforce the already widespread belief that gluten is a made-up problem invented in the 2000s, by I don’t know, naturopaths and George Soros probably? And it’s this belief that is actually very dangerous to people like myself and my brother and the millions of other poor bastards with REAL incurable conditions, and, for what it’s worth, one that seems unlikely to change the way we treat someone with a nut allergy. And, last but not least, it is also a belief that occasionally ruins my workout/enjoyment of podcasts.

Anyways, thanks for letting me vent.

Oh, but sorry about your nuts, Kal Penn.

----

Cool family, right?? (Also my maternal grandmother had it too and was diagnosed in the 1980s.)

Still unclear

I meant to write this sooner. Fortunately, my New Year’s Resolution was to hold on longer to more grudges.

Among other things, like Obama’s White House?

I was also going to go back and listen to the podcast again to more accurately transcribe his rant, but just thinking about it made my heart hurt. If you want to hear for yourself, it was the November 9, 2019 episode of Lovett Or Leave It.)

Plus the pay sucks.

I think it could still pass for 28.

My blood’s solution to this problem was to produce WAY too many platelets, which I didn’t know and perhaps my blood didn’t know, are what make blood clot.

“Just tell them you have CELIAC.” Well guess what–some of THOSE people are co-opting our magic word too now!

Sorry if you’re doing the Whole 30 and not an asshole.

#celiac disease #kal penn #jon lovett

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dravitus-akaelos · 5 years ago

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The Doctor Is In - RP Log

Dravitus Akaelos’ entrance is preceded by three sharp, precise raps upon the door as the man's gloved knuckles impact upon the wood. Stepping inside without even the slightest hint of hesitation, the formidable figure fills the doorway for a moment as he scans the interior, before stepping to one side and holding the door open for his companion. "After you, Milja." He turns to Marius with a polite smile, inclining his head in greeting. "Hello, Mr. Vieremont. Thank you for meeting us."

Marius Vieremont paused in mid-sentence as the door was rapped upon and so opened, as his guests stepped through. Upon the page, a quill stood upright, apparently having been transcribing his spoken thoughts. With a small gesture, it fell to the book, leaving only a small splatter of ink. His unfocused gaze moved to approximately the location of those who had entered and he inclined his head. "It is my pleasure. Please, do call me Marius."

She moves with quiet calculation, slow and at his heels as is expected of someone of her status, or more accurately, lack thereof. Plenty able, she does not need any doors held for her, but every time this grace is shown to her, her ears perk and the faintest tickle which threatens a smile percolates her insides. Nodding, she moves towards the interior-- polished and clean, lacking any offensive scents which might have alluded to subpar practice. Her eyes are bright and wide, flicking over the furniture before resting on the books, and finally the man. She is hard to read, lacking much expression, her lips an unaffected flat-line, though her eyes may have told a different story. "Thank you for having us mii.... Marius." Her soft voice shifts gears just as it begins and she looks down to the marbled floors. "Marius." She affirms, respecting her host's wishes

Dravitus shuts the door with a gentle 'click', pressing his fingers briefly upon Milja's back to nudge her towards the seats as he himself steps unhurriedly towards them. He indicates them with a light gesture, head canting to one side, "Of course, Marius. May we sit?"

Gloved hands gesture to the comfortable couch in front of Marius’ desk, plenty of room for both of them. "Yes, please do," he said, reaching out unerringly and closing the patient journal that he'd been recording thoughts into. The click of heels and feminine cast of the voice gave him all the clue he needed; "Miss Milja and Dravitus Akaelos, I presume?"

"You have it right," There is the slightest rise in her voice, pleased and pleasant. Milja glides her fingertips over the furniture, carefully and with tender sort of reverence before seating herself before the elegant elezen.

"Correct." comes the smooth, deep voice, followed by the sound of fabric and leather rustling and the faintest creak of the seat taking the man's considerable mass. Folding one hand atop the other upon his abdomen, Dravitus regards the physician with open, unabashed curiosity. "I apologise if we disturbed you in the midst of your work - if it is of import, please do continue. We are not opposed to waiting, after all."

The clinic around them is pristine; immaculately clean with gleaming marble floors and without a speck of dust anywhere. There's the scent of fresh linens on the bed, the pungent smell of the herbs suspended above them and the musty scent of the wall of books. Some appear to be patient journals, others are books on doctoring and still others are volumes of conjury and thaumaturgy. The man himself is reed-thin, with salt and pepper black hair and dressed as circumspectly as his clinic. Motioning vaguely with a gloved hand, he shakes his head. "It is nothing that cannot be continued later on, I'd not have guests wait. Besides, I prefer to keep patient notes confidential, if you'll pardon me. How is your man recovering? The stitches should have dissolved by now."

Milja adjusts herself a few times, but consistently she fixed on their host with genuine interest. She is here to learn, and is appreciative of any opportunity afforded to her. For this reason, she might have been a bit stiffer than usual, her shifting positions indicative of the importance she holds this meeting in. However, her demeanor becomes somewhat more effervescent once they begin speaking of recovery. "Yes!" She quietly exclaims, though almost immediately regrets that hint of excitement which colors the singular syllable. "He has recovered very nicely-- much faster than anticipated, and the scarring has already paled from purples to whites. You'd not believe the condition he was in prior if you saw him today."

Dravitus’ lips curve so faintly one would be hard pressed to note the shift in expression, yet the amusement is nonetheless there, lending a glimmer to the burnished silver of his eyes as Milja fails to contain her enthusiasm. An inclination of the head precedes his own commentary, tone calm and level as he remarks, "Indeed. You laid an admirable foundation upon which my medical staff could work, Marius. I believe that I would not be incorrect in assuming that you have something of a passion for your work, beyond that of your peers. Certainly," and here he gestures about him, encompassing the clinic as a whole, "Your place of work certainly displays enough telltale signs of such a trait, and I have no doubt that it is not artifice on your behalf."

Close inspection of the man reveals a hint of his own personal challenges; his pale gaze never quite focuses on either of them, though it is aimed in their general direction. At the enthusiastic little squeak of a word, Marius offers a genuine smile of thin lips, seeming sincerely pleased at the report. "Thank you, and well-pleased am I to hear it," he states crisply, nodding in Milja's direction. His attention shifts to Dravitus as he speaks and he gives a quiet huff of amusement. "No, you are not incorrect. I enjoy my work and find it... mn, uniquely rewarding. Ah, but I am being rude. May I offer refreshments? Water, tea... something stronger?"

Milja is perceptive enough to notice the seeming difficulty the man has in focusing on them as one might have typically, but this hardly tarnishes her opinion of his ability. Her cheeks grow hot as she realizes she might have been staring inappropriately long at the icy silver slits of Marius' gaze, still incredibly striking, despite their lack of focus. She inhales deeply and huffs out a short spurt of a sigh, hardly despairing, which dissipates into the air her relief. She is pleased to have been received so kindly, but old habits died hard and she subconsciously could not refrain from holding her breath in situations such as this, where she carried the heavy burden of having to impress others. Especially those who had shown her a life she had been deprived of for so long. "When one works in earnest and enjoys it, it is always apparent. I would appreciate a tea, if you don't mind." For a moment she considers offering her assistance, but refrains for fear of inadvertently offending the man. This was his home, after all.

Akaelos, for his part, seems largely indifferent to the man's condition - blindness was an impairment, of course, but the Elezen seemed more than capable of overcoming it. Pity would be a grave insult, in the half-blood's view, in light of the accomplishments the doctor had made despite what held him back. A familiar sentiment, after all. So his own silver eyes settled comfortably upon Marius' unseeing gaze, affording the man the full weight of his attention as he would any other. "I am no stranger to finding one's work rewarding. There are few things in life more fulfilling, I find." A brief smile accompanies the words, the sincerity of his tone evident. The sound of thick synthetic fabric sliding upon itself accompanies the uplifting of a forestalling hand as he replies, "No, thank you, though I appreciate the offer. Tell me, Marius - how is business in Ul'dah? Do you see many patients of late?"

Marius certainly didn't seem to notice Milja's lengthy stare, though he does cant his head slightly at the sigh of relief - a flicker of curiosity reflecting in his narrow features. "I do hope you like black tea, all I have on hand at the moment is an Ishgardian blend. I have cream and sugar to sweeten it, if you prefer it as I do," he replied conversationally, rising and taking precise steps - as if counted in his head - over to the stove. Without difficulty, he places the kettle on and retrieves the box of tea pouches as well as any sighted man could. "Business in Ul'dah is always thriving, which while fortunate for me, is rather less so for those under my care. No physician wants to be *needed* for their services, of course, but I'm grateful to be able to provide succor for those who require it." He turns, leaning back against the counter. "It'll be but a moment for the tea, Miss."

Milja is filled with something akin to mortified as she accepted the offer of hospitality only to have Dravitus decline. Distinctly feeling as though she has put her host out, her ears tip back down, closer to her head and she averts her eyes, looking towards Marius as he moves towards the stove. She is certain of her mistake, and resolves to wait for him to answer first in other situations of this nature going forward. "Sorry." While Marius puts on the kettle, she issues an apology which is both sincere and humbled, though unsolicited. Still she is gracious, perhaps more-so, when the Elezen addresses her "Of course, thank you so much-- black tea is just fine, Ishgardian is all the better." Only half her attention can be devoted to the topic of business while the rest of her facilities internally chastise herself.

Dravitus listens attentively to their host as he responds to the query, though he allows his gaze to flick about the room as he studies it with clinical interest, noting various topics of the books within his range of vision, and so on. His eyes flick to Milja at her apology, to which he simply raises a hand in a dismissive gesture, giving her a slight lift of one shoulder in a shrug. "A laudable sentiment, to be sure. Do you have much experience in treating combat wounds - from the gladiatorial arena, perhaps? Or are you more inclined towards more mundane ailments?"

Their host seems puzzled by the apology, and there is a moment of uncertainty as to who it is being directed to. In the end, he elects not to acknowledge it at all, as he cannot imagine what in the world she would be sorry for. As promised it's only moments until the kettle whistles and he pours the tea - two cups - setting both on the tray, along with a small porcelain cup of cream and a dish of sugar with a spoon settled within. Taking up the tray, he carries the entire affair over to the desk and sets it down. "After you, my dear," he invites, motioning to the cream and sugar and giving her ample time to help herself. Settling back down in his chair, he considers the question. "My true calling is healing the aetherflows of the body, but I am also extensively experienced in both combat-related injury and the more mundane. My parents ensured the quality of my education growing up, once they realized my talent for healing."

An ear perks to the whistle of the kettle and Milja rights herself, sitting straighter as to steel herself. She puts aside insecurities in favor of attending to the conversation at hand, as she knows is expected of her. "It smells lovely, I am glad to not be partaking alone." She favors Marius slightly more for this gesture, intentional or not. Reaching for the tea, there is a certain timidness in how she takes it to her hand, cradling it carefully, each movement graceful and distinctly feminine. Blowing softly, the lip of the mug to her painted lips, she listens with astute attention to their host, intermittently checking for temperature. "Your parents, were they healers also or supportive of your art?"

Dravitus’ demeanour changes not a whit as Marius sets the cup before the Viera at his side, the benign, solid confidence wavering not at all as she accepts the offered cup. A list of the myriad and sundry ingredients one could add to a warm brew to cause all manner of ill effects flickers briefly through his thoughts before he dismisses it - she would learn the hard way, if it was tampered with. "Duly noted." He pauses, allowing Milja to field her question, and appears content to give Marius time to respond before besieging him with further queries.

Marius favors Milja with a warm, genuine smile. "I never turn down an excuse for a cup of tea," he confides with a wink in her direction, a chuckle soon following. It's a soft, pleasant sound, and as sincere as his smile was. His teacup was only half-full, the reason for which soon became obvious, as he added a copious amount of both cream and sugar to the teacup. Someone had a sweet-tooth, it seemed. "My mother - rest her soul - was the healer in the family. My father, who also passed many years was more of a..." He hums softly, searching for the word. "Protector, of sorts." The mage doesn't seem to mind the myriad questions, answering each with ease.

Amethyst eyes follow the cream as it swirls into the dark tea and becomes opaque. While this was all par for the tea course, she did not anticipate the amount of sugar dumped into the cup. Humored, a brow lifts and she fails to stifle an amused grin. She is riveted with interest now, hanging on the words he speaks and reeled in by the dulcet sounds of his laughter. She is wary, but she is distinctly aware of something within her tempering ingrained dubiety. She nods, considering what he says of his family and can not refrain from flicking her attention towards Dravitus for a brief moment. "They sound like an effective pair, and clearly their efforts have served you well-- serving US well, especially Garilan."

Dravitus’ brows lift at the sheer amount of sugar that pours - and continues to pour - into the cup. The ratio of liquid to sugar seemed barely enough to render the sweetening substance dissolved, and it occurs to him that perhaps that is the sole reason why there is that much tea in the cup at all - as a vehicle for the sugar and little else. Could the man even taste the tea at that stage? Giving his head a disbelieving shake, he comments, "It is commendable that they chose a profession for their child that seems suited. At least, if the passion for healing was an existing one and not something perforce adopted, of course." The tips of his gloved right hand's fingers smooth out over the leg of his trousers as he regards Marius appraisingly for a moment, before nodding to himself. "Indeed. I have seen the butchery that some of the so-called healers perform in this province, and so I am inclined towards securing your services for my personnel, if you are amenable." He smiles, pleasant despite the business-like focus of his words, and continues. "I am offering you a contract, Marius. I wish for my personnel to have priority treatment, within reason, should they require it when they are in the area. Naturally, emergencies are to take precedence over matters that do not threaten the lives of my people, and you are free to go about your business as you see fit otherwise." He cocks his head at the man, studying him. "Your thoughts?"

"It's always been that way for our family," he explains, taking a sip of his tea and sighing with contentment. "It's been arranged like that for hundreds of years, passed down with our own personal traditions through the centuries. One has always been the healer - the Advocate - and the other has always been the protector - our Arbiter. Gender factors not at all into it," he explains. "And they had something of a talent in choosing professions for my brothers and I, even if I wanted to be a Knight when I was very young," he says with a rolling chuckle. Shifting his gaze to Dravitus, he listens attentively to the offer, curiosity glimmering in his silvery eyes. "Your ‘personnel’? Are you the leader of some militia, then?"

"Oh, that is interesting. I've not encountered familial arrangements of that nature before, but it makes sense." a faint blush paints her pallid features pink as her mind wanders where it might, but she quickly reins that in and crosses her legs. Eyes search Marius' smooth features for any trace of emotion, any inkling of his intent of acceptance of what Dravitus lays out with almost rapacious eagerness. The offer was fair, and from her own experience Milja knew it would become fairer still once a proposal was extended. While she should have disappointed to find Dravitus' offering met with a question, she is instead met with a sort of pride. He was not wrong, but her lips are tight and her eyes glisten towards Dravitus in anticipation of his response.

Dravitus’ head tilts to one side as he watches Marius, regarding the man with curiosity as he outlines his familial traditions - Ishgard was not an unknown quantity, but nor was it an area of his expertise. "You can still heal with one hand and wield a blade in the other. I would count that a superior knight to most." The corner of his mouth flickers up in a twitch of amusement, eyebrows quirking at the suggestion. "A milita?" A hand glides through the air in a smooth refutal of the notion. "Nothing so amateurish, I assure you. I own and run Reign Enterprises, which is a multi-national business that has a number of interests and departments. Foremost, however, you may consider us something of a private military company. I train, manage and dispatch my personnel on a wide variety of tasks, in many places, often simultaneously. I am seeking to expand into Eorzea, and having medical personnel contracted to attend my company foremost is among the foremost necessities when expanding my holdings into a new area."

Marius’ expression was quite easily read, a hint of curiosity laced with a good bit of interest. The man had no poker face, not even a little - likely come from his inability to read other peoples' expressions. "It's certainly not a common arrangement," he demures in agreement with her. "But, as I said - tradition." Shifting his attention to Dravitus, he listens quietly, sipping his tea, whilst the other man speaks. "I admit, your organization does sound rather impressive. I am concerned, however, as to the volume of patients I might be taking on. I am, as is obvious, only one man - although I have a connection to a network of other healers, should the need arise that I take on more than one or two patients at a time. I am inclined to agree to your proposal. What are you offering as recompense?"

Dravitus had early on demonstrated his impressive acumen when it came to matters of military and business. Furthermore, Milja was impressed with his willingness to dirty his own hands in matters which otherwise may not have concerned individuals of similar appointment. It was an admirable trait among many, and when he spoke, his own passion was clear. Milja sits back, easing behind the lead of her superior and relaxing with what she anticipates to be an eminent acceptance. Should Marius find the offer agreeable, Milja looked forward to the prospect of working with him to further her own art.

"Funding." The reply is immediate and delivered without pomp - stated in a clipped and factual manner, before he continues. "Aside from that, I have access to resources that I can place at your disposal, should you require or desire them, for whatever reason. As I have mentioned, my reach extends to other nations, and so I have an easier time of conveying material that is otherwise difficult, if not impossible, to acquire here." He flicks his fingers in a peremptory fashion, stating, "I will not overwhelm you, worry not. In the event of a large-scale operation being conducted in the region, I will notify you and offer you the opportunity to accompany them as a stand-by medical operative - with appropriate bonuses for doing so. As well, I can bolster your staff and facilities on an as-needed basis." He dips his head towards Milja. "Milja numbers among my existing medical staff, as an example - though I would also reward you for sharing your experience and skill with her and others that may benefit from it, should you be amenable."

"Funding is of a lesser concern, as I have my family's coffers at my disposal. We are a small House in Ishgardian society, largely unnoticed, but a wealthy one," he states succinctly, without boasting. "However, I would certainly value the resources you mentioned - as I've mentioned, I'm only one man, and at the moment, must resort to purchasing what I need for supplies, rather than gathering and making them myself. Herbs for tinctures and potions, cloth for bandages and et cetera." He paused and set his empty teacup down. "In the interest of being frank and fair dealings, I should disclose to you - in case you've not yet realized - that I am quite blind. Entirely so, as it happens. I do have a... means of seeing, when absolutely necessary, but I fear I would be a liability as a combat medic on the front lines with your men. As for sharing my expertise with Miss Milja and others, that would be certainly doable."

Milja is marginally taken off-guard by the welcomed moment she could offer herself towards industry for the man who had positioned himself as a champion in her eyes. With catlike reflexes, Milja pounces on this opportunity, eagerly coming to meet minds with their host. "Of course. While coin is always advantageous, one who has honed their art to the degree you have weighs other valuables higher. Resources happen to be in the realm of my own abilities. I can extend my gift of gathering, among other utilitarian talents to further your own objectives." In regard to blindness, Milja had surmised as much. In the lull of a brief pause, she smiles. "Clearly one does not need sight to be talented, I am certain your knowledge and experience would serve our necessities just as well from behind the front-lines. That is what I am here for."

Akaelos nods curtly, having anticipated the response - there was little about Marius or his clinic that denoted a dearth of funding, but it seemed greed was not a motivator for the man, either. Interesting. "I can supply those, and other materials and resources. I believe that you could benefit from a choice selection of magitek medical equipment, for example." His tone turns dry as he cocks a brow at the man's declaration of his visual impairment. "You may be blind, Marius, but I am not. It would take an oblivious individual indeed to neglect to notice such a thing. You need not actually fight, simply await field casualties in the triage on-site, but that can be discussed at a later time." He laces his fingers together and sets his intertwined hands atop his thighs, continuing. "Do you have requests that you would like to make in order to secure your services? I will not prevaricate -I insist that my personnel get treated first, when they suffer in equal measure to others."

Marius smiles in Milja's direction, inclining his head slightly. "In return for such responsibilities that I would direct you to, I would be more than happy to share my expertise in both conjury and thaumaturgy, if you wish." He pauses when she speaks again, and he nods. "That is where I would best serve, I do agree. I am knowledgeable in triage as well and have acted as such an agent before, in addition to lending my healing skills to those who require it." Intrigue took the man's expression as mentioned magitek medical equipment. "Interesting. One wonders where you might have gotten your hands on something of that nature, to be given at will." As he had already mentioned the subject of triage, he allowed his previous words to stand on their own. "The amount of resources and such can be drawn up in a standard contract," he said, gesturing vaguely. "But otherwise, I would have no other requests. Yours that your personnel be treated first is fair." He tapped his knee twice, then nodded. "I am inclined to accept your offer."

Milja Svartur 's evaluates the two taps on her companion's knee and considers if there was any relevance to such a gesture. Her ear flickers to the back-flipping wind-up at her back, the dampened clang of metal against marble pulling her attention towards the device. There is the lightest tug of apprehension, the same she always has when matters of lineage or nationality are revealed. She is abated by the inclination towards Dravitus' employ, his terms fair, consistent, and reliable as the man seated beside her. Milja is hopeful now, excited by the prospect of acquiring experience in thaumaturgy and conjury. Quietly she sits, her chin dropping closer to her chest and hands folding neat upon her lap while she awaits her superior to navigate the terms of the contract set forth.

Dravitus nods emphatically. "Excellent." The single word is coloured with satisfaction, and Dravitus even permits himself a fleeting smile of success before he withdraws a pristine folder from within the satchel at his hip. He slides it forward until it presses against the tip of Marius' fingers and says, "The contract has already been drawn up. Feel free to have a trusted aid look it over - I trust that you will find it to your satisfaction. When you have done so, sign it and return it to me at your convenience. I will send Milja to you for her instruction shortly, with appropriate notification." He flicks a glance at the aforementioned woman, favouring her with a brief smile. "I trust that the matter has now been concluded to the satisfaction of all parties?"

Marius had heard the little device, and he'd wondered inwardly what it was, but hadn't deemed it important enough to ask. Perhaps a timekeeping device? Before he could ask, however, there was paperwork being pressed to his fingertips - there was a sudden moment of tension there at the unexpected touch to his hands, even gloved - but it soon vanished. Accepting the contract from Dravitus, he laid it down on the table. "Luckily enough, I know just the person to do so; she'll know what's what," he said with a quiet laugh. "Though you don't seem to be the type to try to take advantage; nay, you seem to me to be the sort that is strict, but fair." Waving a hand, Marius nods. "Yes, I believe I can count our business concluded. Until such time as I return the contract to you," He produces two linkpearls from a pocket and sets them on the table. "you may reach me on my personal line."

Milja turns towards the objectively foreboding man to her left and nods emphatically, practically glowing. Irrepressible radiance defines her in this moment and the Viera is convinced that even lacking sight, Marius would be able to feel it. To be certain, she squeaks out "very much so, a distinction I am grateful for." Milja's head pivots to a slight degree, looking amenably upon their host. "Accurate evaluation, but it is a luxury to know where one stands." Milky fingertips peek from the softened black leather fingerless gloves worn, extending to reach for the linkpearl nearer to her. "Thank you, Marius. I am very much looking forward to working with you. If there is anything to which I may be of service, please do not hesitate to reach out to me." She shifts back into her seat and tucks the small device away in one of the multitude of pockets strewn across her robes. Unconsciously she adjusts a little closer towards her companion, as if seeking assurance without so many words.

Dravitus, for his part, ignores the little magitek machine that is totally not back-flipping like a dumbass contraption - he builds things with more dignity and gravitas than that, thankyouverymuch. "I strive to be as such, at least." He pauses to pat Milja upon her hand gently before rising, smoothing his clothes absently before selecting the linkpearl and pocketing it. "We will be in touch, then. Thank you for your time, Marius. Have a pleasant day." He gestures for Milja to precede him as he turns towards the door.

-Fin- @milja-svartur @marius-vieremont

#dravitus akaelos #balmung rp #ffxiv #garlean #rp log #ffxiv rp #milja svartur #marius vieremont

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marius-vieremont · 5 years ago

Text

The Doctor Is In (RP log)

Dravitus Akaelos 's entrance is preceded by three sharp, precise raps upon the door as the man's gloved knuckles impact upon the wood. Stepping inside without even the slightest hint of hesitation, the formidable figure fills the doorway for a moment as he scans the interior, before stepping to one side and holding the door open for his companion. "After you, Milja." He turns to Marius with a polite smile, inclining his head in greeting. "Hello, Mr. Vieremont. Thank you for meeting us."

[1:07]★Milja Svartur She moves with quiet calculation, slow and at his heels as is expected of someone of her status, or more accurately, lack thereof. Plenty able, she does not need any doors held for her, but every time this grace is shown to her, her ears perk and the faintest tickle which threatens a smile percolates her insides. Nodding, she moves towards the interior-- polished and clean, lacking any offensive scents which might have alluded to subpar practice. Her eyes are bright and wide, flicking over the furniture before resting on the books, and finally the man. She is hard to read, lacking much expression, her lips an unaffected flat-line, though her eyes may have told a different story. "Thank you for having us mii.... Marius." Her soft voice shifts gears just as it begins and she looks down to the marbled floors. "Marius." She affirms, respecting her host's wishes.

Dravitus Akaelos shuts the door with a gentle 'click', pressing his fingers briefly upon Milja's back to nudge her towards the seats as he himself steps unhurriedly towards them. He indicates them with a light gesture, head canting to one side, "Of course, Marius. May we sit?"

[1:32]★Milja Svartur: || adjusts herself a few times, but consistently she fixed on their host with genuine interest. She is here to learn, and is appreciative of any opportunity afforded to her. For this reason, she might have been a bit stiffer than usual, her shifting positions indicative of the importance she holds this meeting in. However, her demeanor becomes somewhat more effervescent once they begin speaking of recovery. "Yes!" She quietly exclaims, though almost immediately regrets that hint of excitement which colors the singular syllable. "He has recovered very nicely-- much faster than anticipated, and the scar has already paled from purples to whites. You'd not believe the condition he was in prior if you saw him today."

Dravitus Akaelos 's lips curve so faintly one would be hard pressed to note the shift in expression, yet the amusement is nonetheless there, lending a glimmer to the burnished silver of his eyes as Milja fails to contain her enthusiasm. An inclination of the head precedes his own commentary, tone calm and level as he remarks, "Indeed. You laid an admirable foundation upon which my medical staff could work, Marius. I believe that I would not be incorrect in assuming that you have something of a passion for your work, beyond that of your peers. Certainly," and here he gestures about him, encompassing the clinic as a whole, "your place of work certainly displays enough telltale signs of such a trait, and I have no doubt that it is not artifice on your behalf."

5]★Milja Svartur is perceptive enough to notice the seeming difficulty the man has in focusing on them as one might have typically, but this hardly tarnishes her opinion of his ability. Her cheeks grow hot as she realizes she might have been staring inappropriately long at the icy silver slits of Marius' gaze, still incredibly striking, despite their lack of focus. She inhales deeply and huffs out a short spurt of a sigh, hardly despairing, which dissipates into the air her relief. She is pleased to have been received so kindly, but old habits died hard and she subconsciously could not refrain from holding her breath in situations such as this, where she carried the heavy burden of having to impress others. Especially those who had shown her a life she had been deprived of for so long. "When one works in earnest and enjoys it, it is always apparent. I would appreciate a tea, if you don't mind." For a moment she considers offering her assistance, but refrains for fear of inadvertently offending the man. This was his home, after all.

[1:59]Dravitus Akaelos , for his part, seems largely indifferent to the man's condition - blindness was an impairment, of course, but the Elezen seemed more than capable of overcoming it. Pity would be a grave insult, in the half-blood's view, in light of the accomplishments the doctor had made despite what held him back. A familiar sentiment, after all. So his own silver eyes settled comfortably upon Marius' unseeing gaze, affording the man the full weight of his attention as he would any other. "I am no stranger to finding one's work rewarding. There are few things in life more fulfilling, I find." A brief smile accompanies the words, the sincerity of his tone evident. The sound of thick synthetic fabric sliding upon itself accompanies the uplifting of a forestalling hand as he replies, "No, thank you, though I appreciate the offer. Tell me, Marius - how is business in Ul'dah? Do you see many patients of late?"

]Marius Vieremont certainly didn't seem to notice Milja's lengthy stare, though he does cant his head slightly at the sigh of relief - a flicker of curiosity reflecting in his narrow features. "I do hope you like black tea, all I have on hand at the moment is an Ishgardian blend. I have cream and sugar to sweeten it, if you prefer it as I do," he replied conversationally, rising and taking precise steps - as if counted in his head - over to the stove. Without difficulty, he places the kettle on and retrieves the box of tea pouches as well as any sighted man could. "Business in Ul'dah is always thriving, which while fortunate for me, is rather less so for those under my care. No physician wants to be *needed* for their services, of course, but I'm grateful to be able to provide succor for those who require it." He turns, leaning back against the counter.

[2:06]Marius Vieremont: "It'll be but a moment for the tea, Miss."

[2:15]★Milja Svartur is filled with something akin to mortified as she accepted the offer of hospitality only to have Dravitus decline. Distinctly feeling as though she has put her host out, her ears tip back down, closer to her head and she averts her eyes, looking towards Marius as he moves towards the stove. She is certain of her mistake, and resolves to wait for him to answer first in other situations of this nature going forward. "Sorry." While Marius puts on the kettle, she issues an apology which is both sincere and humbled, though unsolicited. Still she is gracious, perhaps more-so, when the Elezen addresses her "Of course, thank you so much-- black tea is just fine, Ishgardian is all the better." Only half her attention can be devoted to the topic of business while the rest of her facilities internally chastise herself.

Dravitus Akaelos listens attentively to their host as he responds to the query, though he allows his gaze to flick about the room as he studies it with clinical interest, noting various topics of the books within his range of vision, and so on. His eyes flick to Milja at her apology, to which he simply raises a hand in a dismissive gesture, giving her a slight lift of one shoulder in a shrug. "A laudable sentiment, to be sure. Do you have much experience in treating combat wounds - from the gladiatorial arena, perhaps? Or are you more inclined towards more mundane ailments?"

[2:25]Marius Vieremont: "My true calling is healing the aetherflows of the body, but I am also extensively experienced in both combat-related injury and the more mundane. My parents ensured the quality of my education growing up, once they realized my talent for healing."

[2:33]★Milja Svartur || An ear perks to the whistle of the kettle and Milja rights herself, sitting straighter as to steel herself. She puts aside insecurities in favor of attending to the conversation at hand, as she knows is expected of her. "It smells lovely, I am glad to not be partaking alone." She favors Marius slightly more for this gesture, intentional or not. Reaching for the tea, there is a certain timidness in how she takes it to her hand, cradling it carefully, each movement graceful and distinctly feminine. Blowing softly, the lip of the mug to her painted lips, she listens with astute attention to their host, intermittently checking for temperature. "Your parents, were they healers also or supportive of your art?"

[2:37]Dravitus Akaelos 's demeanour changes not a whit as Marius sets the cup before the Viera at his side, the benign, solid confidence wavering not at all as she accepts the offered cup. A list of the myriad and sundry ingredients one could add to a warm brew to cause all manner of ill effects flickers briefly through his thoughts before he dismisses it - she would learn the hard way, if it was tampered with. "Duly noted." He pauses, allowing Milja to field her question, and appears content to give Marius time to respond before besieging him with further queries.

1]Marius Vieremont favors Milja with a warm, genuine smile. "I never turn down an excuse for a cup of tea," he confides with a wink in her direction, a chuckle soon following. It's a soft, pleasant sound, and as sincere as his smile was. His teacup was only half-full, the reason for which soon became obvious, as he added a copious amount of both cream and sugar to the teacup. Someone had a sweet-tooth, it seemed. "My mother - rest her soul - was the healer in the family. My father, who also passed many years was more of a..." He hums softly, searching for the word. "Protector, of sorts." The mage doesn't seem to mind the myriad questions, answering each with ease.

[2:50]★Milja Svartur Amethyst eyes follow the cream as it swirls into the dark tea and becomes opaque. While this was all par for the tea course, she did not anticipate the amount of sugar dumped into the cup. Humored, a brow lifts and she fails to stifle an amused grin. She is riveted with interest now, hanging on the words he speaks and reeled in by the dulcet sounds of his laughter. She is wary, but she is distinctly aware of something within her tempering ingrained dubiety. She nods, considering what he says of his family and can not refrain from flicking her attention towards Dravitus for a brief moment. "They sound like an effective pair, and clearly their efforts have served you well-- serving US well, especially Garilan."

[2:53]Dravitus Akaelos's brows lift at the sheer amount of sugar that pours - and continues to pour - into the cup. The ratio of liquid to sugar seemed barely enough to render the sweetening substance dissolved, and it occurs to him that perhaps that is the sole reason why there is that much tea in the cup at all - as a vehicle for the sugar and little else. Could the man even taste the tea at that stage? Giving his head a disbelieving shake, he comments, "It is commendable that they chose a profession for their child that seems suited. At least, if the passion for healing was an existing one and not something perforce adopted, of course." The tips of his gloved right hand's fingers smooth out over the leg of his trousers as he regards Marius appraisingly for a moment, before nodding to himself. "Indeed. I have seen the butchery that some of the so-called healers perform in this province, and so I am inclined towards securing your services for my personnel, if you are amenable." He smiles, pleasant despite the business-like focus of his words, and continues. "I am offering you a contract, Marius. I wish for my personnel to have priority treatment, within reason, should they require it when they are in the area. Naturally, emergencies are to take precedence over matters that do not threaten the lives of my people, and you are free to go about your business as you see fit otherwise." He cocks his head at the man, studying him. "Your thoughts?"

[3:23]★Milja Svartur "Oh, that is interesting. I've not encountered familial arrangements of that nature before, but it makes sense." a faint blush paints her pallid features pink as her mind wanders where it might, but she quickly reins that in and crosses her legs. Eyes search Marius' smooth features for any trace of emotion, any inkling of his intent of acceptance of what Dravitus lays out with almost rapacious eagerness. The offer was fair, and from her own experience Milja knew it would become fairer still once a proposal was extended. While she should have disappointed to find Dravitus' offering met with a question, she is instead met with a sort of pride. He was not wrong, but her lips are tight and her eyes glisten towards Dravitus in anticipation of his response.

[3:29]Dravitus Akaelos 's head tilts to one side as he watches Marius, regarding the man with curiosity as he outlines his familial traditions - Ishgard was not an unknown quantity, but nor was it an area of his expertise. "You can still heal with one hand and wield a blade in the other. I would count that a superior knight to most." The corner of his mouth flickers up in a twitch of amusement, eyebrows quirking at the suggestion. "A milita?" A hand glides through the air in a smooth refutal of the notion. "Nothing so amateurish, I assure you. I own and run Reign Enterprises, which is a multi-national business that has a number of interests and departments. Foremost, however, you may consider us something of a private military company. I train, manage and dispatch my personnel on a wide variety of tasks, in many places, often simultaneously. I am seeking to expand into Eorzea, and having medical personnel contracted to attend my company foremost is among the foremost necessities when expanding my holdings into a new area."

Marius Vieremont 's expression was quite easily read, a hint of curiosity laced with a good bit of interest. The man had no poker face, not even a little - likely come from his inability to read other peoples' expressions. "It's certainly not a common arrangement," he demures in agreement with her. "But, as I said - tradition." Shifting his attention to Dravitus, he listens quietly, sipping his tea, whilst the other man speaks. "I admit, your organization does sound rather impressive. I am concerned, however, as to the volume of patients I might be taking on. I am, as is obvious, only one man - although I have a connection to a network of other healers, should the need arise that I take on more than one or two patients at a time. I am inclined to agree to your proposal. What are you offering as recompense?"

[3:41]★Milja Svartur || Dravitus had early on demonstrated his impressive acumen when it came to matters of military and business. Furthermore, Milja was impressed with his willingness to dirty his own hands in matters which otherwise may not have concerned individuals of similar appointment. It was an admirable trait among many, and when he spoke, his own passion was clear. Milja sits back, easing behind the lead of her superior and relaxing with what she anticipates to be an eminent acceptance. Should Marius find the offer agreeable, Milja looked forward to the prospect of working with him to further her own art.

[3:45]Dravitus Akaelos || "Funding." The reply is immediate and delivered without pomp - stated in a clipped and factual manner, before he continues. "Aside from that, I have access to resources that I can place at your disposal, should you require or desire them, for whatever reason. As I have mentioned, my reach extends to other nations, and so I have an easier time of conveying material that is otherwise difficult, if not impossible, to acquire here." He flicks his fingers in a peremptory fashion, stating, "I will not overwhelm you, worry not. In the event of a large-scale operation being conducted in the region, I will notify you and offer you the opportunity to accompany them as a stand-by medical operative - with appropriate bonuses for doing so. As well, I can bolster your staff and facilities on an as-needed basis." He dips his head towards Milja. "Milja numbers among my existing medical staff, as an example - though I would also reward you for sharing your experience and skill with her and others that may benefit from it, should you be amenable."

[4:10]★Milja Svartur is marginally taken off-guard by the welcomed moment she could offer herself towards industry for the man who had positioned himself as a champion in her eyes. With catlike reflexes, Milja pounces on this opportunity, eagerly coming to meet minds with their host. "Of course. While coin is always advantageous, one who has honed their art to the degree you have weighs other valuables higher. Resources happen to be in the realm of my own abilities. I can extend my gift of gathering, among other utilitarian talents to further your own objectives." In regard to blindness, Milja had surmised as much. In the lull of a brief pause, she smiles. "Clearly one does not need sight to be talented, I am certain your knowledge and experience would serve our necessities just as well from behind the front-lines. That is what I am here for."

[4:13]Dravitus Akaelos nods curtly, having anticipated the response - there was little about Marius or his clinic that denoted a dearth of funding, but it seemed greed was not a motivator for the man, either. Interesting. "I can supply those, and other materials and resources. I believe that you could benefit from a choice selection of magitek medical equipment, for example." His tone turns dry as he cocks a brow at the man's declaration of his visual impairment. "You may be blind, Marius, but I am not. It would take an oblivious individual indeed to neglect to notice such a thing. You need not actually fight, simply await field casualties in the triage on-site, but that can be discussed at a later time." He laces his fingers together and sets his intertwined hands atop his thighs, continuing. "Do you have requests that you would like to make in order to secure your services? I will not prevaricate -I insist that my personnel get treated first, when they suffer in equal measure to others."

Marius Vieremont smiles in Milja's direction, inclining his head slightly. "In return for such responsibilities that I would direct you to, I would be more than happy to share my expertise in both conjury and thaumaturgy, if you wish." He pauses when she speaks again, and he nods. "That is where I would best serve, I do agree. I am knowledgeable in triage as well and have acted as such an agent before, in addition to lending my healing skills to those who require it." Intrigue took the man's expression as mentioned magitek medical equipment. "Interesting. One wonders where you might have gotten your hands on something of that nature, to be given at will." As he had already mentioned the subject of triage, he allowed his previous words to stand on their own. "The amount of resources and such can be drawn up in a standard contract," he said, gesturing vaguely. "But otherwise, I would have no other requests. Yours that your personnel be treated first is fair." He tapped his knee twice, then nodded. "I am inclined to accept your offer."

[4:33]Dravitus Akaelos nods emphatically. "Excellent." The single word is coloured with satisfaction, and Dravitus even permits himself a fleeting smile of success before he withdraws a pristine folder from within the satchel at his hip. He slides it forward until it presses against the tip of Marius' fingers and says, "The contract has already been drawn up. Feel free to have a trusted aid look it over - I trust that you will find it to your satisfaction. When you have done so, sign it and return it to me at your convenience. I will send Milja to you for her instruction shortly, with appropriate notification." He flicks a glance at the aforementioned woman, favouring her with a brief smile. "I trust that the matter has now been concluded to the satisfaction of all parties?"

[4:53]★Milja Svartur turns towards the objectively foreboding man to her left and nods emphatically, practically glowing. Irrepressible radiance defines her in this moment and the Viera is convinced that even lacking sight, Marius would be able to feel it. To be certain, she squeaks out "very much so, a distinction I am grateful for." Milja's head pivots to a slight degree, looking amenably upon their host. "Accurate evaluation, but it is a luxury to know where one stands." Milky fingertips peek from the softened black leather fingerless gloves worn, extending to reach for the linkpearl nearer to her. "Thank you, Marius. I am very much looking forward to working with you. If there is anything to which I may be of service, please do not hesitate to reach out to me." She shifts back into her seat and tucks the small device away in one of the multitude of pockets strewn across her robes. Unconsciously she adjusts a little closer towards her companion, as if seeking assurance without so many words.

[4:57]Dravitus Akaelos , for his part, ignores the little magitek machine that is totally not back-flipping like a dumbass contraption - he builds things with more dignity and gravitas than that, thankyouverymuch. "I strive to be as such, at least." He pauses to pat Milja upon her hand gently before rising, smoothing his clothes absently before selecting the linkpearl and pocketing it. "We will be in touch, then. Thank you for your time, Marius. Have a pleasant day." He gestures for Milja to precede him as he turns towards the door.

-Fin-

@dravitus-akaelos @milja-svartur

#long post #sorry mobile users #RP #FFXIV rp #balmung #dravitus akaelos #milja svartur #marius vieremont

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redditnosleep · 7 years ago

Text

My Student Submitted The Most Disturbing "Living History" Project I've Ever Seen

by gretelcat

I have been doing this for seventeen years, and when I collected the projects this time around, I assumed they would be as dull, if not duller than usual. This had not been a particularly bright class.

So I went home, poured myself a glass of wine, and prepared for a long night of “I only owned two pairs of pants when I was your age” and “My brother got beat with a newspaper for hitting a baseball into a neighbor’s yard.” And of course, these projects were peppered with innocent, old-person comments that were so horribly sexist and racist you just had to laugh.

Now, I had a girl in my class whom I will call Olivia. She was pudgy, quiet, and proved herself a consistent B student. I expected her project to be as unremarkable as her, and perhaps that’s why I was so profoundly disturbed by what I witnessed that night.

Olivia had submitted two discs for some reason, so I began with the one marked “interview.” My screen hiccupped twice before a grainy image of a living room came into view. The place was a hoarder’s hell. Olivia was curled up in an armchair clutching a notebook and looking like a scared animal. Across from her sat a man with a somber countenance, smoking a cigarette and staring at her expectantly.

“Go ahead,” a woman’s voice whispered from behind the camera. Olivia’s owlish eyes flashed towards the screen, then back to the man.

“I am here with my Great Uncle Stephen,” she began almost inaudibly. “He is going to tell us about his oldest memories from being in the army.”

Great Uncle Stephen looked like he’d rather be in a goddamn trench at the moment, but he waited patiently for the questions to begin.

Not surprisingly, Olivia read verbatim from the suggested questions sheet I had handed out to the students. He answered her curtly. Once or twice I heard her mother whisper “speak up, Olivia” from behind the camera. Typical, boring shit.

So I was intrigued when Olivia set down the notebook and asked, “Did you like being in the army?”

That was totally off-script. Great Uncle Stephen emitted a chain smoker’s wheeze. “Nope. Glad to get out of my town though.”

“Where did you go?”

“Balkans.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. I doubted she knew what the Balkans were, and my suspicion was confirmed when she asked, “Was Baukiss very different from here?”

“Yes.”

Mom cleared her throat from behind the camera, perhaps encouraging Great Uncle Stephen to be a little more forthcoming.

But Olivia seemed genuinely interested. “Uncle Stephen,” she asked, “what is your very worst memory from the army?”

The old man crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and then slowly lifted himself out of his chair. “I’ll be back,” he mumbled. The camera cut off.

When the screen flashed back on, everything was the same except Great Uncle Stephen had several pieces of paper in plastic sleeves laid atop all the crap sitting on his coffee table. One, he held in his hand.

“I was a kid when I enlisted,” he said, looking at Olivia. “Your brother’s age,” he told her. Olivia nodded. “I never saw combat. Both of my deployments were to cities in Eastern Europe that had been destroyed by civil wars. Everything was a mess. I felt like a janitor for fuck’s sa-”

“Ahem!” Mom coughed.

Great Uncle Stephen sighed and looked at his paper. “My unit was assigned to a school that had been obliterated by all the violence. Broken windows, caved in rooms – and for some reason, the part that got to me the most was that the school had been like this for years before we got there. No one had lifted a finger to fix it. I saw kids walk by it on their way to go beg for money or whatever shit they did-”

The camera dipped towards the floor as I heard Mom whisper harshly at Great Uncle Stephen. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but it wasn’t hard to imagine.

“Do you want to hear this goddamn story or not?” I heard him bark in response. “Then you better let me tell it how I want.”

“Mom,” Olivia chimed. “Please stop interrupting.”

“Are you presenting this in front of the class?”

“No, Mom, we’re just handing it in to the teacher.”

“I’m sure he’s heard the word shit before,” Great Uncle Stephen contributed helpfully. I wasn’t a “he” as a matter of fact, but other than that the statement was accurate.

The camera was lifted and after a couple of blurry focus adjustments, the shot was the same as before.

“Ahh I’m talking too much anyway,” he grumbled. He lifted the piece of paper in his hand close to his face. “In the basement, I found this letter. I didn’t know what it said but I had a buddy of mine translate it. So I’m gonna read it now. And then I’ll tell you what I saw in that basement.”

A chill ran down my spine. Mom zoomed in to Great Uncle Stephen and his letter. His palsied hands trembled as he held up the paper. This is what he read:

Dear Sir,

I never loved my country. So many of these skirmishes are born from patriotism, a power struggle for the shards of a once-great empire, but I do not care what name my home has on a map. This fighting is senseless and I stay as far away from it as I can.

It was not these attacks and disorganized violence that took the lives of my wife and child. It was illness. Mercifully, it happened quickly for the baby. Nadja suffered for longer. I watched in horror knowing I could do nothing for them. My only solace is that I was there for them every step of the way. I stopped going to work one day, and no one came after me. I doubt they noticed I was gone. Since the school was simply across a field, visible from my window, it would have been easy to go for a few hours each day and come home quickly to care for them. But what was the point? All I did was clean floors. I was as useless to the world as I was to my family.

I tried to take Nadja to the hospital, but the journey was too long and taxing. I brought her home and she died that night.

After Nadja and the baby were gone… well, I don’t remember much. I didn’t leave my hovel, barely ate and slept, thought many times of taking my own life. Tempting though it was, I felt paralyzed by my own helplessness.

The one thing that kept me sane was my radio. I never turned it off once. Even though I didn’t listen to the words being said – in fact, the channel I got the clearest was in English (I think) which I don’t speak a lick of. But the voices, the music, and the true knowledge that life existed beyond this violent city sustained me.

I have no idea how long passed before I saw the light of day again. I was dizzy from hunger, so finding food was my priority. My radio came with me, of course. Since I first holed myself up, it has gone everywhere with me. It talks to me as I sleep and as I wake. I don’t know what it’s saying, but I know I would die without it.

Once I had some water and food, it occurred to me that the only thing left to do was go back to work. So I did. The following morning, I simply returned to the school where I was a janitor and got back to work.

Nobody made a big deal out of it. Like I said, Nadja had been sick for a long time, and those who worked at the school knew it. I appreciate that no one had pestered me to come back to work during the hardest days of my life. The teachers never said much to me, but we smiled at each other in the halls and that mutual respect was perhaps the reason I decided to come back at all.

The place had gone to the dogs without me, so I simply grabbed my broom and rags from my closet and set to cleaning. Everyone is grateful to have me back, I know. And the best part is that nobody minds my radio. I bring it with me everywhere and keep the volume low enough not to disrupt the students. No one has ever complained. In fact, I suspect they like it.

The schoolhouse is not very big, but does require a lot of maintenance. The floors are always sticky and stained, so I spend most of my time mopping. Kids make messes – I guess that’s why I’m still in business. Sometimes I have to move things around to make sure I get every spot on the floor beautiful and clean, but I take pride in that.

And the repairs! The school always needs tune-ups here and there, and I am happy to help. Some days I’m reconstructing a desk that broke as I whistle along with the radio, other times I handle more serious, structural issues. Days when I have work like this, I feel truly instrumental, like a cog in a larger machine. How could this school survive without me? It took me a long time, but I once again feel that I have purpose.

There is a larder behind the school that is full of preserved food. In lieu of payment, I am allowed to take as much food as I need. That arrangement is fine – what would I do with money anyway? I used to bring the food back to my home, just one field away from the school, but when I started sleeping in the basement no one seemed to notice. This school is special to me and I cannot leave it unguarded.

When I am besieged with memories of my wife and baby, I turn up the volume on the radio to drown out such thoughts. It works for me every time.

Except this morning.

Because this morning, I woke up to dead silence.

I frantically examined the radio to see what had happened. I honestly cannot tell you how many days in a row I have been using it. Did it simply live out its life and die naturally? I have spent the entire day trying to fix it. Most of this time, I have been crying. I am losing my mind without it.

I have given myself until sundown. If I cannot fix it by then, I am going to take my life. I am writing this because the sunlight is starting to die and I know what my fate shall be.

I have thought about taking one last walk through the halls of my school, saying goodbye to the students and teachers. I know I will be missed. But I cannot bring myself to leave this room. I cannot go anywhere knowing that my radio is dead in here.

There are no more tears in me. It feels now like I can’t catch my breath. I vomited what little food I had in my stomach and I am growing dizzy again, like I did after Nadja died. I am not long for this world.

But before I take my life, I have closed the door to this room and stuck a chair beneath the handle. It is the only room in the basement and has a small casement that lets in just enough light for me to see what I am doing. If anyone is kind enough to come looking for me, they should not be met with this gruesome sight. Perhaps they will see the door is blocked, smell my rotting body, and simply forget I ever existed.

But I have placed both my radio and this note outside the door. Kind sir, if you are reading this, I have one humble request: please fix it. Save my radio. It did not deserve to die in its sleep and I am ashamed that I cannot revive it.

Now I am ready to join Nadja and little Ludmilla in heaven. I hope this school can find another janitor who loves and cares for it the way I do.

The hour is now. Do not forget my radio.

Stanislav

When Mom zoomed back out, Olivia had tears in her eyes. “Thank you for sharing, Uncle Stephen,” Mom said, her voice choked. “I think we have enough.”

“Wait!” Olivia chirped. “He said there’s more. What did you find?”

Before Great Uncle Stephen could open his mouth, the image disappeared. My jaw dropped. Was that it? What did Great Uncle Stephen see?

I promptly remembered that there was a second disc. This one was unmarked, but I hoped it contained the rest of the interview.

There was no video, only audio. The voice that started up was Olivia’s.

“Hi Miss Gerrity. I’m sorry about my mom, but she refused to record the rest of what my uncle was saying. But I asked him to continue and secretly recorded the story as a voice memo on my phone. I remember you said earlier this year that history is written by the people who win wars.” She sucked in a breath and commenced crying. “But everyone’s history is important, even if they are sad, pathetic people and even if they never won a single thing in their life. I haven’t slept through the night since I finished this project, but you have to hear what my uncle has to say.”

There were tears in my eyes, too. The sincerity of her words was beautiful. I was also flattered that she had remembered some trite phrase I threw around because it was what my history teachers said to me.

Before I got too sappy over it, the audio began again.

“Fine,” came Mom’s frustrated voice. “If you want to hear the rest of the story, fine, but this is not appropriate for a school project.”

“Let me finish,” Great Uncle Stephen snapped. “If it’s too much for you, help yourself to a snack in the kitchen. But Olivia wants to know what happened.”

I heard her mother mumble something and walk away. Olivia and her uncle were alone. I imagined her looking at him expectantly.

“So did you find the radio? Or did it get ruined when the school got blown up?”

He rasped and I heard the distinct click of a lighter. “That letter,” he began slowly, “had a date on it.”

“What date?” she inquired hungrily.

“It was dated two weeks before we started rebuilding the school.”

“Didn’t you say the school had been destroyed like two years ago?”

“Yes,” replied Great Uncle Stephen. “It had been.”

There was silence as I felt goosebumps on my arms. The images that came to my mind were almost too overwhelming to express, but Great Uncle Stephen put them into words effortlessly. Clearly he had spent his whole life thinking about it.

“This man, this Stanislav, went to a vandalized, falling apart schoolhouse and cleaned up blood and rubble like it was spilled drinks and dust. He smiled at dead bodies in the hallway and believed they were smiling back at him because they liked his radio. He moved around corpses so he could sweep the ground under them. The roof was half collapsed, so when it rained, he must’ve gotten soaking wet but was so oblivious that he didn’t even feel a thing.” I could hear Olivia crying steadily. “I found the larder he was talking about. It was all pickled, preserved food that probably tasted like shit. Most of the stuff was moldy.”

“Did – did you see the dead body?”

“Yes. Hanging from the ceiling, but still amazingly… lifelike. He wasn’t rotting away. This hadn’t happened years ago.”

“Did he look peaceful?” she asked, a chord of desperation in her voice.

“Couldn’t tell you. The smell was rank, and his face was blue and his eyes were bulging. Like this.” I imagined him demonstrating.

“And the radio?” Olivia wept.

I heard Great Uncle Stephen take a long drag of his cigarette. “It was there, alright. And it was still on.”

#creepy #horror story #gretelcat

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kaitkerrigan · 7 years ago

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3 People - 1 Person Shouldn’t Be There

I’ll transcribe my writing too because it looks like chicken scratch. This was fun. I’ll admit that I had the characters in mind before I started writing. I have an outline that I’d been working on, but as you can see in the beginning, I didn’t totally know what I was doing. And I certainly didn’t know these were the characters I’d be diving into today. It was the prompt of 3 people - one who shouldn’t be there. I think the “one who shouldn’t be there” is complicated in what I wrote, which is kind of what I like about it. I think this is a nice first draft of a scene. Normally when transcribing, I make a ton of edits and do a lot of my first rewrite in that process. I tried not to but I definitely cheated once or twice before I’d realized I’d done it and I left those small edits.

There are a few notes for myself. The St. Kitts idea needs to be an American country so that immigration is not an issue but that the cop makes a thing of it. I also am not very clear on the physical choreography of who is in and out of the car and I think ultimately that matters a ton but it’s a nice framework for something.

I think this would come pretty late in the story (I don’t know if it’s a screenplay or a play just yet but I tried to play around with screenplay because I’m not as practiced in thinking that way).

THREE PEOPLE IN A ROOM

They stood in silence for a while. he wanted to tell her that he was sorry for this. She wanted tot ell him that she wasn’t like him - the other him.

Polly and John sat in the car silently. They didn’t dare speak the words in their brains. They didn’t dare to say aloud their thoughts - lest they immediately come true.

CLOSE UP on John, his eyes in the rearview mirror. We see the officer coming forward. Polly squeezes John’s hand. She’s clearly in pain. Her knuckles are even whiter against his dark skin.

John squeeze back - a kindness - and then retracts his hand to the steering wheel - deliberate, slow. The officer motions for them to roll down the window. John does.

Officer, white, strong-looking, looks in.

JOHN: officer. is there a problem?

OFFICER: I ask the questions here. You answer them.

JOHN: Of course. Yeah. Sorry. I. Sorry.

OFFICER: Do you know the speed limit here?

JOHN: Ah. Um. 65?

OFFICER: Yes. It is. 65. Do you what what you were going?

JOHN: Uh. Maybe, uh, 72?

OFFICER: That’s very accurate. 72. In a 65 zone. So you know the speed limit and you know what you were doing and you did it anyway. Flagrant disregard for the law.

POLLY: Oh come on.

JOHN: Please, Polly. I’ll -

OFFICER: Ma’am/ Did you say something?

POLLY: No.

JOHN: Sir, my wife is, uh, she’s pregnant. And she’s feeling sick and I’m taking her to the hospital.

OFFICER: Your wife.

JOHN: Uh, I mean. We’re, uh, we’re going to the courthouse tomorrow.

OFFICER: Where are you from, huh? What kind of accent is that?

JOHN: St. Kitts [but an American Island - look up!]

OFFICER: uh huh. I’m gonna need you to step out of the car.

POLLY: Officer, I’m in a lot of pain. I need to get to a hospital. I need -

OFFICER: Is this man your husband?

POLLY: No. But -

OFFICER: Then I need to ascertain why he said he was your husband now, don’t I?

POLLY: I don’t see how our relationship has anything to do with -

JOHN: Polly, please.

OFFICER: Do not talk over the lady. We’re gentlemen around these parts.

POLLY: I’m pretty sure the only crime my fiance committed is driving while black.

OFFICER: I’d watch my language.

POLLY: My language? What language?

JOHN: Polly!

OFFICER: Ma’am. Did this man pressure you to get into his car?

POLLY: Look in the glove compartment. Our marriage license is in there. We got it this afternoon. He’s not coercing me. He’s trying to take me to the goddamn hospital to save the baby that we don’t know if we’re going to abort. Ok? How’s that for relationship status?

OFFICER: Ma’am. I do not want to take you down to the station but you are really testing my patience.

Polly doubles over.

OFFICER: Hey! Hey! What do you have over there!

He pulls his gun. Polly vomits.

OFFICER: Oh, shit. She’s really sick.

JOHN: Yeah.

OFFICER: She needs help.

JOHN: Yeah. That’s why I was driving fast.

OFFICER: Yeah.

John stands still with his arms against the car, so patient.

JOHN: Can I -

OFFICER: Huh?

JOHN: Can I get back in the car?

OFFICER: Uh, yeah. Yeah. I’m gonna have to ticket you.

JOHN: Yeah.

OFFICER: But, uh. I’ll give you a warning.

JOHN: Thank you.

Polly throws up again.

Cut to a close up of John driving. Then a close up of Polly, stone-faced. She bursts into tears.

#free write #writing sprint #kait kerrigan #creative writing #playwriting #screenwriting

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swequanparoth-blog · 5 years ago

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Stanislav

One of my least favorite parts about being a middle school history teacher is the bullshit “Living History” assignments we give at the end of every school year. Kids are supposed to sit with their grandparents and video tape, voice record, or transcribe their oldest memories for posterity (and for an easy way to bring up their GPA). I have been doing this for seventeen years, and when I collected the projects this time around, I assumed they would be as dull, if not duller than usual. This had not been a particularly bright class. So I went home, poured myself a glass of wine, and prepared for a long night of “I only owned two pairs of pants when I was your age” and “My brother got beat with a newspaper for hitting a baseball into a neighbor’s yard.” And of course, these projects were peppered with innocent, old-person comments that were so horribly sexist and racist you just had to laugh. Now, I had a girl in my class whom I will call Olivia. She was pudgy, quiet, and proved herself a consistent B student. I expected her project to be as unremarkable as her, and perhaps that’s why I was so profoundly disturbed by what I witnessed that night. Olivia had submitted two discs for some reason, so I began with the one marked “interview.” My screen hiccupped twice before a grainy image of a living room came into view. The place was a hoarder’s hell. Olivia was curled up in an armchair clutching a notebook and looking like a scared animal. Across from her sat a man with a somber countenance, smoking a cigarette and staring at her expectantly. “Go ahead,” a woman’s voice whispered from behind the camera. Olivia’s owlish eyes flashed towards the screen, then back to the man. “I am here with my Great Uncle Stephen,” she began almost inaudibly. “He is going to tell us about his oldest memories from being in the army.” Great Uncle Stephen looked like he’d rather be in a goddamn trench at the moment, but he waited patiently for the questions to begin. Not surprisingly, Olivia read verbatim from the suggested questions sheet I had handed out to the students. He answered her curtly. Once or twice I heard her mother whisper “speak up, Olivia” from behind the camera. Typical, boring shit. So I was intrigued when Olivia set down the notebook and asked, “Did you like being in the army?” That was totally off-script. Great Uncle Stephen emitted a chain smoker’s wheeze. “Nope. Glad to get out of my town though.” “Where did you go?” “Balkans.” “Uh-huh,” she said. I doubted she knew what the Balkans were, and my suspicion was confirmed when she asked, “Was Baukiss very different from here?” “Yes.” Mom cleared her throat from behind the camera, perhaps encouraging Great Uncle Stephen to be a little more forthcoming. But Olivia seemed genuinely interested. “Uncle Stephen,” she asked, “what is your very worst memory from the army?” The old man crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and then slowly lifted himself out of his chair. “I’ll be back,” he mumbled. The camera cut off. When the screen flashed back on, everything was the same except Great Uncle Stephen had several pieces of paper in plastic sleeves laid atop all the crap sitting on his coffee table. One, he held in his hand. “I was a kid when I enlisted,” he said, looking at Olivia. “Your brother’s age,” he told her. Olivia nodded. “I never saw combat. Both of my deployments were to cities in Eastern Europe that had been destroyed by civil wars. Everything was a mess. I felt like a janitor for fuck’s sa-” “Ahem!” Mom coughed. Great Uncle Stephen sighed and looked at his paper. “My unit was assigned to a school that had been obliterated by all the violence. Broken windows, caved in rooms – and for some reason, the part that got to me the most was that the school had been like this for years before we got there. No one had lifted a finger to fix it. I saw kids walk by it on their way to go beg for money or whatever shit they did-” The camera dipped towards the floor as I heard Mom whisper harshly at Great Uncle Stephen. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but it wasn’t hard to imagine. “Do you want to hear this goddamn story or not?” I heard him bark in response. “Then you better let me tell it how I want.” “Mom,” Olivia chimed. “Please stop interrupting.” “Are you presenting this in front of the class?” “No, Mom, we’re just handing it in to the teacher.” “I’m sure he’s heard the word shit before,” Great Uncle Stephen contributed helpfully. I wasn’t a “he” as a matter of fact, but other than that the statement was accurate. The camera was lifted and after a couple of blurry focus adjustments, the shot was the same as before. “Ahh I’m talking too much anyway,” he grumbled. He lifted the piece of paper in his hand close to his face. “In the basement, I found this letter. I didn’t know what it said but I had a buddy of mine translate it. So I’m gonna read it now. And then I’ll tell you what I saw in that basement.” A chill ran down my spine. Mom zoomed in to Great Uncle Stephen and his letter. His palsied hands trembled as he held up the paper. This is what he read: Dear Sir, I never loved my country. So many of these skirmishes are born from patriotism, a power struggle for the shards of a once-great empire, but I do not care what name my home has on a map. This fighting is senseless and I stay as far away from it as I can. It was not these attacks and disorganized violence that took the lives of my wife and child. It was illness. Mercifully, it happened quickly for the baby. Nadja suffered for longer. I watched in horror knowing I could do nothing for them. My only solace is that I was there for them every step of the way. I stopped going to work one day, and no one came after me. I doubt they noticed I was gone. Since the school was simply across a field, visible from my window, it would have been easy to go for a few hours each day and come home quickly to care for them. But what was the point? All I did was clean floors. I was as useless to the world as I was to my family. I tried to take Nadja to the hospital, but the journey was too long and taxing. I brought her home and she died that night. After Nadja and the baby were gone… well, I don’t remember much. I didn’t leave my hovel, barely ate and slept, thought many times of taking my own life. Tempting though it was, I felt paralyzed by my own helplessness. The one thing that kept me sane was my radio. I never turned it off once. Even though I didn’t listen to the words being said – in fact, the channel I got the clearest was in English (I think) which I don’t speak a lick of. But the voices, the music, and the true knowledge that life existed beyond this violent city sustained me. I have no idea how long passed before I saw the light of day again. I was dizzy from hunger, so finding food was my priority. My radio came with me, of course. Since I first holed myself up, it has gone everywhere with me. It talks to me as I sleep and as I wake. I don’t know what it’s saying, but I know I would die without it. Once I had some water and food, it occurred to me that the only thing left to do was go back to work. So I did. The following morning, I simply returned to the school where I was a janitor and got back to work. Nobody made a big deal out of it. Like I said, Nadja had been sick for a long time, and those who worked at the school knew it. I appreciate that no one had pestered me to come back to work during the hardest days of my life. The teachers never said much to me, but we smiled at each other in the halls and that mutual respect was perhaps the reason I decided to come back at all. The place had gone to the dogs without me, so I simply grabbed my broom and rags from my closet and set to cleaning. Everyone is grateful to have me back, I know. And the best part is that nobody minds my radio. I bring it with me everywhere and keep the volume low enough not to disrupt the students. No one has ever complained. In fact, I suspect they like it. The schoolhouse is not very big, but does require a lot of maintenance. The floors are always sticky and stained, so I spend most of my time mopping. Kids make messes – I guess that’s why I’m still in business. Sometimes I have to move things around to make sure I get every spot on the floor beautiful and clean, but I take pride in that. And the repairs! The school always needs tune-ups here and there, and I am happy to help. Some days I’m reconstructing a desk that broke as I whistle along with the radio, other times I handle more serious, structural issues. Days when I have work like this, I feel truly instrumental, like a cog in a larger machine. How could this school survive without me? It took me a long time, but I once again feel that I have purpose. There is a larder behind the school that is full of preserved food. In lieu of payment, I am allowed to take as much food as I need. That arrangement is fine – what would I do with money anyway? I used to bring the food back to my home, just one field away from the school, but when I started sleeping in the basement no one seemed to notice. This school is special to me and I cannot leave it unguarded. When I am besieged with memories of my wife and baby, I turn up the volume on the radio to drown out such thoughts. It works for me every time. Except this morning. Because this morning, I woke up to dead silence. I frantically examined the radio to see what had happened. I honestly cannot tell you how many days in a row I have been using it. Did it simply live out its life and die naturally? I have spent the entire day trying to fix it. Most of this time, I have been crying. I am losing my mind without it. I have given myself until sundown. If I cannot fix it by then, I am going to take my life. I am writing this because the sunlight is starting to die and I know what my fate shall be. I have thought about taking one last walk through the halls of my school, saying goodbye to the students and teachers. I know I will be missed. But I cannot bring myself to leave this room. I cannot go anywhere knowing that my radio is dead in here. There are no more tears in me. It feels now like I can’t catch my breath. I vomited what little food I had in my stomach and I am growing dizzy again, like I did after Nadja died. I am not long for this world. But before I take my life, I have closed the door to this room and stuck a chair beneath the handle. It is the only room in the basement and has a small casement that lets in just enough light for me to see what I am doing. If anyone is kind enough to come looking for me, they should not be met with this gruesome sight. Perhaps they will see the door is blocked, smell my rotting body, and simply forget I ever existed. But I have placed both my radio and this note outside the door. Kind sir, if you are reading this, I have one humble request: please fix it. Save my radio. It did not deserve to die in its sleep and I am ashamed that I cannot revive it. Now I am ready to join Nadja and little Ludmilla in heaven. I hope this school can find another janitor who loves and cares for it the way I do. The hour is now. Do not forget my radio. Stanislav When Mom zoomed back out, Olivia had tears in her eyes. “Thank you for sharing, Uncle Stephen,” Mom said, her voice choked. “I think we have enough.” “Wait!” Olivia chirped. “He said there’s more. What did you find?” Before Great Uncle Stephen could open his mouth, the image disappeared. My jaw dropped. Was that it? What did Great Uncle Stephen see? I promptly remembered that there was a second disc. This one was unmarked, but I hoped it contained the rest of the interview. There was no video, only audio. The voice that started up was Olivia’s. “Hi Miss Gerrity. I’m sorry about my mom, but she refused to record the rest of what my uncle was saying. But I asked him to continue and secretly recorded the story as a voice memo on my phone. I remember you said earlier this year that history is written by the people who win wars.” She sucked in a breath and commenced crying. “But everyone’s history is important, even if they are sad, pathetic people and even if they never won a single thing in their life. I haven’t slept through the night since I finished this project, but you have to hear what my uncle has to say.” There were tears in my eyes, too. The sincerity of her words was beautiful. I was also flattered that she had remembered some trite phrase I threw around because it was what my history teachers said to me. Before I got too sappy over it, the audio began again. “Fine,” came Mom’s frustrated voice. “If you want to hear the rest of the story, fine, but this is not appropriate for a school project.” “Let me finish,” Great Uncle Stephen snapped. “If it’s too much for you, help yourself to a snack in the kitchen. But Olivia wants to know what happened.” I heard her mother mumble something and walk away. Olivia and her uncle were alone. I imagined her looking at him expectantly. “So did you find the radio? Or did it get ruined when the school got blown up?” He rasped and I heard the distinct click of a lighter. “That letter,” he began slowly, “had a date on it.” “What date?” she inquired hungrily. “It was dated two weeks before we started rebuilding the school.” “Didn’t you say the school had been destroyed like two years ago?” “Yes,” replied Great Uncle Stephen. “It had been.” There was silence as I felt goosebumps on my arms. The images that came to my mind were almost too overwhelming to express, but Great Uncle Stephen put them into words effortlessly. Clearly he had spent his whole life thinking about it. “This man, this Stanislav, went to a vandalized, falling apart schoolhouse and cleaned up blood and rubble like it was spilled drinks and dust. He smiled at dead bodies in the hallway and believed they were smiling back at him because they liked his radio. He moved around corpses so he could sweep the ground under them. The roof was half collapsed, so when it rained, he must’ve gotten soaking wet but was so oblivious that he didn’t even feel a thing.” I could hear Olivia crying steadily. “I found the larder he was talking about. It was all pickled, preserved food that probably tasted like shit. Most of the stuff was moldy.” “Did – did you see the dead body?” “Yes. Hanging from the ceiling, but still amazingly… lifelike. He wasn’t rotting away. This hadn’t happened years ago.” “Did he look peaceful?” she asked, a chord of desperation in her voice. “Couldn’t tell you. The smell was rank, and his face was blue and his eyes were bulging. Like this.” I imagined him demonstrating. “And the radio?” Olivia wept. I heard Great Uncle Stephen take a long drag of his cigarette. “It was there, alright. And it was still on.” P.s This story is not mine. I found it on Reddit. Credits to the rightful owner. Just wanna post it here because I don't want to forget this.

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olbis · 8 years ago

Text

HS Quotidien Interview

Hi folks! Here is a transcript of Harry’s interview with Yann Barthès. I didn’t want to spend too much time on it, so I apologize if there are a few typos. However, I moonlight as a lyrics transcriber so it should be pretty accurate... This includes a bit that was cut in the replay version, so don’t be surprised.

YB: Welcome to Paris.

HS: Thank you.

YB: How are you?

HS: Um, good. I'm good.

YB: Can you answer in French? Comment ça va? (= how are you?)

HS: Umm, I have… a little bit…a tiny bit… Très bien. Et toi? (= very well and you?)

YB: Well, very well, thank you. Thank you very much for being here. We always start interviews with international stars with this question: can you give us your five favourite words in French? Or a sentence that you know in French? I was told you know some.

HS: “Comment vous-faîtes un café si délicieux?” (=how do you make such a good coffee?)

YB: Ah, ah, ok.

HS: (mumbles something I can’t understand) It’s all I have.

YB: Do you often use that sentence?

HS: … no. Yes! Yeah…

YB: Who or what comes to mind when you think of France?

HS: …. um… best people I’ve known… I think *her* (points to a fan). And then I guess…Fabien Barthez.

YB: (slightly surprised) Fabien Barthez, yes. (note: he is a French footballer who played in the 90s) So Harry, you are 23 and you are one of the biggest pop stars in the world. You know that everyone is watching you very carefully (note: the French expression YB uses, which is not mean, kind of implies: waiting for you to trip or fail) with your new album, Sign of the Times. Why did you choose this song? Why Sign of the Times? It's very far from what we expected from you.

HS: Yeah, I think I, uh, I wanted to… I always liked music that makes me feel something and I, you know I think…writing it, I kind of felt something and wanted to put that out. I think it is a good indicator, um, for me of what the album means to me. So that’s why I wanted to go with that first. I think.

YB : Billboard Magazine wrote that this single is, I quote, “one of the most ambitious song in pop music of the past decade”. Not bad… do you have friends at Billboard?

HS: (cute little laugh) I don't know anyone at the Billboard.

YB : Upon listening to it, we think of David Bowie, of Queens… Who else inspired you?

HS: Um, I mean…. I think, I think, everyone, anything, any song you’ve ever listened to growing up or throughout your life that you’ve enjoyed (…he then says something I can’t catch) so I think a lot of different things but I think, uh, I wanted to… I wanted to just write, and see what came out …. and see, you know I didn’t know what I sounded like, to make an album, so the process was as interesting for me as I think it will be for people listening to the album for the first time.

YB: Do you know any French singer? This is a trick question… and don’t say Serge Gainsbourg!

HS: I know Woodkid.

YB: Woodkid?

HS: Woodkid, yeah. He directed my music video so, uh…

YB: Why did you choose him?

HS: Um, I just think, I think his videos are amazing. I think he is a really, really talented guy. And I love French people. So I wanted to work with ‘em.

YB : (makes faces at Harry) When you are in Spain, you say that you love Spanish people…

HS: No? Great tie, by the way. Good tie.

YB : Really? (looks for the label for half a second) Uh, it’s French.

HS: I’m sure. Wouldn’t be a Spanish tie, would it?

YB: Can I see your loafers? I was told you have great loafers. (zoom in on Harry’s Gucci rainbow shoes). Wow, yeah. What is it? It’s not French, it’s Italian. (a fan in the audience then says it is Gucci).

HS: It’s not, no.

YB: It’s from the European Union.

HS: (laughs) Probably, yeah.

YB: It seems like everything is very easy for you. Has everything really been easy for you?

HS: Um, was what simple?

YB: Well, your life. You have a dream life. With 1D.

HS: Oh, I mean, I feel very lucky to be able to be making music, I feel very lucky to able to make this (points to his album) and I feel very lucky today being in France (… says something I don’t understand…) singing this song. And uh, yeah, I can’t complain.

YB: And what was less pleasant?

HS: (pauses) Um… I don’t know.

YB: One thing…

HS: Um, I think, I think when you care so much about something it’s hard to get to a point where you feel like you’re finished. I think you always feel like your adding, like you wanna add something to make it better. So I think the hardest part was getting to that part and be like, ok, it’s finished. Um, yeah.

YB: You said in the May issue of Rolling Stones that a big part of your album was inspired by a women. (Leans forward and asks sarcastically) Really?

HS: No, I think, I think, honestly, I think the album is much more about me than it is about anyone else. I think if I said the album is about a woman, it kind of feels like… and I…uh, I don’t know, I put a lot of work into it so I don’t feel, I don’t feel like it revolves around a woman. I feel like, it is a lot about me and things like (??) Yeah, I feel like it’s more about me than about anyone else. (makes a cute sassy little face)

YB: How do you navigate going from a group adventure, being in a boyband, to a solo career as an adult?

HS: Um, I mean, it’s been a lot of fun, I think. You know, we were very lucky to get to do some amazing things. And at the moment in our lives, we’re at a time when everyone is trying their own thing and having a good time. It’s been amazing to see everyone do so well. So if I can, kind of, do as well as the other boys, that would be amazing.

YB: Do you talk or text them everyday? Whatsapp?

HS: I don’t have that. But yeah, we talk, yeah. Yeah, absolutely, yeah. It’s uh, and everyone’s been bringing stuff out and it’s been, it’s been a lot going on, so it’s been… it’s been a good time.

YB: Here is the album cover. Can you describe it? Why this photo?

HS: Yeah… Um, so… (cute little sound) I worked with, um, I worked with a photographer, Harley Weir. I’m a massive, massive fan of her, of her work. And uh, it was an amazing opportunity to get to work with her and I think she’s incredible. And I felt like, this was what I wanted…

YB: Why is it pink? Why the water, why the back? Why…why?

HS: (shrugs)

YB : It’s beautiful! But why pink for example?

HS: I dunno man.

YB: (fakes surprise) Really? That, you don’t know?

HS: I don’t know. Um, I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever want to…

YB: (interrupts Harry) Some say it is the colour of rock’n roll?

HS: (pauses). Apparently so. I dunno. I think, I think, it means something to me and I think if it means anything to anyone else. I wouldn’t want to take away from that by explaining it. I think the cool thing about stuff like photos and art is you can just leave it, you don’t have to explain it.

YB: So everyone can see whatever they want, is that it?

HS: Yes, exactly.

YB : Have you seen that? (shows a video of fans reacting to Sign of the Times). Your fans film themselves listening to your song for the first time… So there are some very relevant analysis… (the video continues to play out) Do you read what people say about you on social media, here on YouTube, or Twitter, or Instagram. You use Instagram, right?

HS: Yes, I use it a little bit. (To the crowd that sounds sceptical) Yeah, I use it a little bit! I mean I wish everyone was having as good a time as the girl that was (makes vague arm movements). That, that’s what I do when I listen to it. So…

YB: Do you do your own Insta posts, with your own fingers, or is it someone else?

HS: Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I do mine.

YB: Do you still vote in Redditch?

HS: …in?

YB: Redditch.

HS: Where I was born? I don’t live in Redditch anymore.

YB: So you don’t vote there. When was the last time you voted?

HS: No, London, yeah.

YB: Do you have an opinion on Brexit?

HS: Um…

YB: Welcome to Europe by the way!

HS: Thank you very much, thanks for having me. Um, I mean I don’t… I don’t really comment on politics. Um, to me I think anything that brings people together is better than something that keeps people apart. Uh, that’s, yeah…

YB: And yet, you do support legal equality. Man, woman, heterosexual, homosexual. It is politics, isn’t it?

HS: Um, I don’t know, that doesn’t feel like politics to me, I think. Stuff like equality feels much more like fundamentals. I feel like everyone really is equal. That doesn’t feel like politics to me.

YB: Do you know that your fans are very fetishist. They know every tattoo, every piece of jewellery you have, they have a heart attack when you cut your hair. So clearly, here, you are playing on their nerves. Today, you are playing on their nerves.

HS: (a bit coy) Ok. Is it?

YB: Yes, of course. (shows pictures of Harry’s tattoos) Yes, clearly. What is your favourite tattoo?

HS: Um, I think uh… probably, I don’t know actually.

YB: What is the last one?

HS: The latest is this one, there (points to the Arlo tattoo). And this guy (point to Jackson). And this guy (points back to Arlo).

YB: Jackson?

HS: This guy (point to the bottom of the bee? I’m not sure). This guy (points to another tattoo on his right arm, off camera, and then to the rose).

YB: (laughs) All at the same time?

HS: Yes, it is close. (it is what I hear but the French interpreter translated it by “there is a lot”)

YB: And your hair? What’s the deal with your hair? How many tons of hair products have you used when you were in 1D (note: in French, there was no connotation of the 1D era being over or not)

HS: (sigh) Yeah, like a lot. I think a lot, yeah.

YB: You are in the next Christopher Nolan movie. It’s called Dunkirk.

HS: Yeah.

YB: How did you end up there?

HS: Um, I auditioned.

YB: There, there we see you (as images of Harry in Dunkirk are shown on screen)

HS: There I am. Yeah, it’s me. Um, yeah, I auditioned. Um, yeah, it was great, it was an amazing experience. It’s gonna be a really cool movie.

(COMMERCIAL BREAK)

YB: Harry, it feels like we've known you since you were just a kid. The world discovered you in 2010 on the seventh season of X Factor. (shows a clip of Harry’s audition) So in this video you are alone but Simon Cowell, member of the jury, has an idea. He puts you together with Zayn, Louis, Liam and Niall and you become One Direction. You are the one who came up with the name One Direction and the five of you sell millions of albums. One Direction is quickly considered as the new Beatles, you fill the biggest avenues in the world, the whole planet talks about you. When you travel, we feel for your eardrums… you become the pride of the UK. Prime Minister David Cameron even makes a cameo in one of your videos… you sing in front of the Queen… but in 2015, bang!… Zane leaves the band. The fans can’t get over it… but they can rest easy now, one of their favourites is on the cover of Rolling Stones, he will be in the next Christopher Nolan movie, plays Mick Jagger on SNL… but what you don't know is that we already met in 2012 (shows a clip of Harry talking in French)… you were doing promo in France… and now I have questions for you.

First, when you are in the car (Harry is shown on screen surrounded by a crowd of fans, trying to get to his car) and fans are coming at you from everywhere, do you see that? (shows a photo of faces squashed against a window).

HS: Uh, I think I actually lost my shoes that day. And then I got in the car… I got in the car and I was like, I don’t have any shoes (… note: I can’t make out what he says next.)

YB: I have a second question. Do you always do that before going on stage (shows a clip of Harry and Zayn having their teeth and nostrils checked out). Do you still do that? Shall we do it?

HS: No.

YB: Really? You won’t do it?

HS: (shields himself with his hand and shows YB his teeth and nostrils) Thank you.

YB: What is the weirdest question you've been asked in an interview?

HS: Um… Mm… um, I think it actually was a French interview. I got asked if I would uh, if I would pee in a sink.

YB: Why, indeed, that is weird!

HS: It was the first question!

YB: Well, it sets the mood!

HS: Yeah

YB: And what question do you never want to hear again? Did I ask it?

HS: (turns to where the audience is giving suggestions) Which one? Oh, crush.

YB: What?

HS: Crush.

YB: Oh, that… (makes a heart of his hands) Ok, good. I haven't asked that. Phew. Do you know that at a young French writer has just published a novel about you? It's called « Styles », it's published by Jean-Claude Lattès. It is a novel about the writer’s obsession with you. It's in French so well…

HS: Aaah?

YB : You can translate it. I'm giving it to you

HS: Is this true?

YB: It is true. He dedicated it to you. Jean-Claude Lattès is a very serious publishing house. It is called “Styles”. So read it.

HS: Thank you

YB: Thank you very much Harry styles for coming on our show. His first self-titled album comes out on May 12th. Thank you very much, have a good trip back

I really loved that interview. I thought Harry was very relaxed and it was lovely to see him having a good time, laughing and interacting with the audience. I liked that YB addressed Harry as an equal, joked and was interested in what Harry thought as a musician and as a person. All in all, it was very respectful and set the record straight on many RS controversial points.

Also, there a was segment later in the show called #fakenews and one of the joke was someone saying “Harry Styles doesn’t make real music” and then getting slapped across the face and a big #FAKENEWS coming on screen!

#transcript #quotidien #harry styles #pink album

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meggannn · 8 years ago

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concrit, and notes for the self

So this is a bit of a weird post I've been wondering how to articulate for a while. I know people have different ideas on fandom courtesy in this regard, and opinions on this topic can be heavily divided.

This is my post to get it out there and say I don't mind, and in fact encrouage, people giving me concrit in my fic in AO3 comments or reblogs. Everyone is different and everyone writes fic for different reasons; some people write for fun and don't care about improving. I totally respect that and that's why I don't offer concrit unless someone specifically asks for it. I'm writing for fun, but I also take my writing seriously, maybe more seriously than I should, so if you've ever read my fic and thought "hm, that bit's not great," please consider this an open invitation to give me all the constructive feedback you want. I try to say I welcome it consistently in my notes when I post fic, but I guess people don't really register that. In fairness, I've seen people say they welcome opinions on their fic and then turn haughty and defensive when someone gives any feedback that isn't praise, but I've always respected writers who freely share the negative concrit they receive (so long as it’s not a troll) because as a reader, it also encourages me to read and interact more with them. If you don't feel comfortable sharing it publicly or want to talk about a certain thing at length, you can always feel free to IM me privately here, or leave the comment on anon on AO3.

This is a weird thing to post on Tumblr, since I don't think I have a big writer presence here, but AO3 doesn't really have a good platform to share this kind of message. And I realize this is a bizarre thing to want to post about -- if I'm not receiving any concrit, like, shouldn't that be a good thing? am I really complaining I'm not receiving any? -- but the few times I have received concrit in the last five years, one was from a friend who knows me well enough to know I welcome it, and the other two were strangers who seemed hesitant to bring it up at all, that made me wonder if they were scared of my reaction so they sandwiched it between complements to soften the blow. I don’t want people to worry about my reaction and apologize for giving negative feedback. I’m always down to talk about ways I can get better. Chances are more likely I’ll probably apologize to you, lol.

Not to say people should look for things to criticize if they think there aren't any -- I'd be flattered -- but I don’t want people thinking giving me concrit will make me resent them, or that bad feelings will fester if we’re mutuals. I promise there isn't anything mean enough you can say about my work I haven't already said to myself. (Though I will say, I'm writing this with the implication people will be reviewing recent or future works judging my talent as a writer now, not dig into my '09-'13 fic history back when I didn't know the word for ellipses and criticize me how I was.)

I have a weird history with concrit (it all started with a flame war back in ‘10...), but now I take the smallest comments from both positive and negative feedback so seriously to the point it does affect how I look at my future works, possibly because most of the feedback fic writers -- including myself -- do receive is just a single bookmark or anonymous kudos with no words attached. Sometimes when I think of people hating my stuff it makes me never want to share anything again, but a large majority of the time when I do receive it, I find that I have a thicker skin than I thought and I'm very easily able to separate the work from my personal feelings. Again: there's nothing anybody can say will be as bad as what I've already told myself, lol.

I'm putting the rest of this behind a cut because it's somewhat related, but it's mostly me blabbing about ways I think I can improve. I've been trying to narrow it down to a few specific areas I want to get better in. Some are going to be on me and only on me to make happen, but I feel like others might better spotted by readers.

This is about to get very mopey and self-indulgent, so if anyone actually reads this bear with me.

Vocabulary. It’s not that I think I have a limited vocabulary, but I think my tendency is to rely on the same words or phrases, which... just feels lazy and fake after a while. @thunderheadfred suggested I don’t try to hard with this one, because trying too hard to include big words can often lend to a convoluted mess, but I think the solution to my problem might just be “read more” and “get creative with how words interact with each other.” Part of this is also just learning relevant jargon or legalese or whatnot and getting familiar with it to the point that I finally don’t feel like I’m playing Mad Libs when I’m talking about something I don’t understand.

General... logic editing. I'm not sure how to describe this one, but I've had moments occasionally while rereading fic where I just think, “Life doesn’t work like that,” or “Megan, you pulled that one completely out of your ass.” You ever just read a fic and think “Goddammit, this makes no sense,” or even with smaller things, just “that’s not how that works”? Some of them are going to be things only specialists will know, which is okay because at that point I feel like learning to get it right is more a bonus than an obligation especially if it’s not plot relevant, but I generally want to make everything as accurate and realistic as possible to the point that the story unfolding in the reader’s head matches the film I’m imagining in mine. Most of the time, I can bullshit my way through stuff I don’t know, but bullshitting also takes talent, which... well. The thing about talent is that you need to have it or develop it, it’s not always something someone can help you with. But still, it’s a bit of a weird problem to articulate when the crux of it comes down to me saing like an idiot, “Uh, I don’t know how things work.” I kinda vaguely know how governments work. My knowledge of science and technology and math is in the negatives. And I don’t have a goddamn clue how the military works, which is a great joke on me for falling in love with a character like Shepard and wanting to write a million fics about them. So, just, part of this is research, but oftentimes research is only half the problem. The other half of the problem is sitting down at my keyboard and thinking “Great, now how am I going to write it?” because more often than not what happens is that the information I just read off Wikipedia or an obscure informative website just collects dust in my brain. I’m trying to be patient with myself about this kind of thing, because on some level I realize I’m pretty damn young and sometimes you just learn things by! going through life! But I am also an impatient ravenclaw motherfucker who wants to be a good writer Right Now. I want to know how things work and how they affect the people around them! I want to be able to make my story and understanding of the world as accurate as possible! I want people to go “yes, this makes absolute sense” not just “oh, that sounds kinda right I guess?” One thing I try to remind myself is, when I think a small thing sounds wrong or try-hard or that that thing doesn’t quite sound right for whatever reason, most of the time, the reader has no idea. The reader might be skimming over it, they may be digesting it without any sense that something is wrong about it whatsoever, hell they might even like it. I mean, if you asked me to read a friend’s fic and point out an error, I’d have to pull out a magnifying glass to find one, and they’d probably be able to recite a laundry list’s worth within five seconds. So there’s that.

Environmental building. I feel like I'm improving on this simply because I've finally started acknowledging where characters are even located in a place at all, lmfao. I'd like to upgrade to "being so good at describing locations and environments that someone other than me can ‘see’ where they are," but atm I'm settling for, "remember to at least TRY to transcribe the physical locale I see in my mind, because half of the time you forget to do even that, dumbass."

Characterization. This is a big one because it affects so much else, namely, the course of the entire fic. I say this all the time to reviewers but I mean it. A fair amount of time I can type on autopilot and it’s like the characters are doing all the work for me, but other times I sit for an hour scratching my head saying “Jesus, what would Varric say in this situation?” and then I realize “Maybe Varric wouldn’t even let himself get into this situation in the first place,” and that starts a whole chain of doubt and thinking about rewriting and actual rewriting while wondering if the rewriting is even necessary. I've recently been able to put my most consistent problem to words, and that's that I will always have staple issues with the POV characters. The nature of my style means that I spend a lot of time in the POV's head, which sometimes means less energy is spent developing their actual actions. E.g., say I write a fic with Shepard as the POV. If Garrus is in the fic, he is absolutely going to be the snarky, confident, more proactive version of himself to make up for all of the angst and moaning I will inevitably write as a result of digging into Shepard's mind. But say I write the same fic with Garrus as the POV. Depending on the time setting, I will be so caught up in his head as he worries about his mom dying and his guilt over losing his team and his place in the Hierarchy or if his dad will ever forgive him or his insecurities over his relationship with Shepard, that Shepard-the-deuteragonist will have to be the talkative, confident marine to draw him out of his own head. And again, imagine this is, like, the same story -- the same story written from a different perspective shouldn’t go a different way! In this example, some of the gap can be excused with the fact that by necessity, the POV has them viewing each other. Garrus and Shepard know each other well enough to know each other's bravado and strength can be a facade for their seriously fucked up emotional issues, so it's not that they imagine the other never has these moments of darker reflection that they do. And the same thing about Varric and Hawke or Hawke and Fenris, etc etc. Depending on how you play them, they could also be looking at each other through rose-colored glasses, or be so used to accepting and supporting the other through their private uncertainties that for the sake of the fic, that what they mostly register in the other is just the best or most confident side of the other's behavior. Narratively, I've realized it might come out of a subliminal urge to balance one's introspective side with the other's more proactive side, which may work sometimes (if they're both serving aggressive roles in the story, for me, the fic might get too 'loud'; if they're both too quiet, it'll just get boring), but most times I feel like it doesn't do justice to the "loud" parts of the POV character, since they are always the one who gets caught in paragraphs on paragraphs of angsty introspection in their own head due to my inability to write anything else. Shepard and Garrus are undeniably “loud” characters no matter how you slice it. Shepard may mope and pine and nearly drown in her depression in her private moments, but she's also a marine, and she’s proactive and brave and assertive. So I'm trying to be hyperaware of when I lose those facets of her personality through the trees when I try to capture the forest that is her darker side. And I would be wholly welcome to anybody who has comments on that type of thing in the future, if I write a character that isn't acting like themself.

This got a lot longer than I thought it would so now I’m not sure how to end it. I think I’m just going to sit in silence for a moment then heat up some soup. Hmm.

ETA: I would be ashamed if I didn’t mention @tetrahedrals, who consistently provides me wonderfully helpful feedback on my ME fic, and none of whose fault this is. All remaining errors in my fic after they’ve been beta’d and workshopped are entirely mine, but she’s helped me a lot to ensure there are far fewer than there might have been. xo

#writing notes

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eos10transcriptions · 8 years ago

Text

102 - Hi, I’m Ryan (transcription)

102 - HI I’M RYAN

Transcribed by: @taylorswiftscolonexploded

Read on google docs: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ESIQ4Vjns0riRSQCCWW6Cpp_ZqmuCZoEfGy5x_6Ct9s/edit?usp=sharing

SCENE 1 (CREW STACKS)

SOUND: HUMMING NOISES, BEEPING

JANE:

Dr. Dalias?

RYAN (sleepily):

Yeah?

JANE:

Sorry to wake you.

RYAN:

No…

SOUND: BANG

RYAN (CONT’D):

Ugh! Dammit!

JANE:

What was that?

RYAN:

My head. I’m...in the crew stacks and just...forgot.

JANE:

Why are you in the crew stacks?

RYAN:

I’ve not been assigned quarters yet.

JANE:

Well, what’s taking so long?

RYAN:

The quartermaster said if all the regular maintenance to the upper habitat ring is

finished this afternoon he’ll have them ready whenever he damn well pleases.

JANE:

That sounds like him.

RYAN:

He might die from being pushed out of the airlock. Just saying. So, what do you

need?

JANE:

I think you should come to the promenade.

TRANSITION TO: SCENE 2 (PROMENADE)

RYAN:

Hey, so, what’s up?

JANE:

Dr. Urvidian. Waaaay up.

RYAN:

Is that-?

JANE:

Yep.

RYAN:

How high is that?

JANE:

Fourth level, so about 60 meters? And nothing but vacant shops up there. He’s

been hanging from that railing for the better part of the past half hour.

RYAN:

Doing what?

JANE:

Waiting, apparently.

RYAN:

For?

JANE:

You.

URVIDIAN (distant):

Dr. Dalias! This is what you wanted!

JANE:

Sooo is he’s-?

RYAN:

Sober? Yes.

JANE:

For how long?

RYAN:

Well...let’s see...I left his office about 7 hours ago, so… 7 hours and 10 minutes?

JANE:

Oh! Well, he’s doing much better than I would’ve thought.

CUT TO: THEME

SCENE 3 (PROMENADE)

URVIDIAN:

You mustn’t get too close, Dr. Dalias.

RYAN:

Why, are you gonna jump?

URVIDIAN:

No, but I am going to push you.

RYAN:

Here.

URVIDIAN:

What’s this?

RYAN:

Metalaxiton. It’ll help ease the withdrawal symptoms.

URVIDIAN:

I know what metalaxiton does. Tell me Dr. Dalias, do you have anything that will ease the soul magnum tedium of everyday life?

RYAN:

Yeah. It’s called alcohol.

(PAUSE)

Sorry. Bad joke. Here, you take this.

URVIDIAN:

I don’t want it.

RYAN:

Why the hell not?

URVIDIAN:

Because addiction is not just physical datament. If i’m going to end my

dependency, it’s going to come from willpower and strength of character, not a

pill.

RYAN:

(SCOFFS)

Willpower and strength of character? You’ve been sober for half a day and you’re

hanging off a ledge 60 meters above the promenade.

URVIDIAN:

Momentary setback. And, hello, Mr. Supportive. Are you not supposed to be

encouraging or something?

RYAN:

Yes. That’s why I’m telling you to take the metalaxiton.

URVIDIAN:

And I told you I don’t want it.

RYAN:

You’re showing all the signs of withdrawal.

URVIDIAN:

Am not.

RYAN:

Are too.

URVIDIAN:

Am not!

RYAN:

Are too!

URVIDIAN:

Shut up, cretan!

RYAN:

Really?!

URVIDIAN:

Just...help me off this ledge.

RYAN:

Fine.

(PAUSE)

You okay?

URVIDIAN:

How humiliating.

RYAN:

What?

URVIDIAN:

Do you see the crowd that’s gathered?

RYAN:

Well...can you blame them?

URVIDIAN:

All to watch me plunge to my death.

(PAUSE)

No, actually.

RYAN:

You are legendary. Like it or not.

URVIDIAN:

Stop patronizing me.

RYAN:

No, seriously, some of them even made signs! No way they would’ve gone

through that trouble if you were just some dockhand or engineer.

URVIDIAN:

Oh, yes. I particularly love the one anticipating joy over my freshly cracked skull.

RYAN:

You can read that from up here?

URVIDIAN:

You can’t?

RYAN:

No, I was just hoping you couldn’t, y’know, you being so ollll- oh I like the glitter

on that one, don’t you?

URVIDIAN:

Oh, yes, it’s spectacular! That is not, however, how you spell “Jackass”.

RYAN:

I’m guessing English isn’t his first language seeing as how he’s a giant insect.

(DEEP BREATH)

Will you please just take the Metalaxiton?

URVIDIAN:

NO! No! I’ve decided on the matter, and I will thank you not to bring it up again.

RYAN:

Do you like suffering?

URVIDIAN:

Yes. Stubborn, thing, are you not?

RYAN:

I’m not doing anything I wouldn’t do for any-

URVIDIAN:

What?

RYAN:

Nothing.

URVIDIAN:

Patient. You were going to say patient!

RYAN:

No I wasn’t!

URVIDIAN (laughing):

You think I’m your patient?

RYAN:

Well….

URVIDIAN:

Well, what?

RYAN:

You’re kind of my patient…

URVIDIAN:

Oh, I am nothing of the kind I assure you!

RYAN:

Fine. Fine! I’m not your doctor, you’re not my patient! Physician, screw thyself!

URVIDIAN:

It’s ‘heal’. The phrase is “Physician, heal thyself.”

RYAN:

I’m just trying to help.

URVIDIAN:

Your medical advice is completely unnecessary. There’s nothing you can tell me

that I don’t know.

RYAN:

Probably true.

URVIDIAN:

Definitely true.

RYAN:

Okay, so, you won’t take the metalaxiton out of some perverse need for

self-flagellation, whatever, your choice. But, then, if that’s going to be the case,

there is something else I want, though, something maybe even more important.

URVIDIAN:

And that would be?

RYAN:

Uhh...there’s...a group that

URVIDIAN:

Noooo! No, no, no, no, no, no, nooooo, no, no.

RYAN:

You don’t even know what it is.

URVIDIAN:

If you think I’m twelve-stepping my way across EOS 10 just to keep a post where

I spend my days asking aliens to turn their heads, sometimes plural, and cough,

you’re out of whatever passes for a brain behind that huge, shiny forehead.

RYAN:

Would you just-?

URVIDIAN:

No! Noooo! Good day, Dr. Dalias.

RYAN:

It was. And then I woke up.

TRANSITION TO: SCENE 4 (INFIRMARY)

LEVI:

Dr. Dalias!

RYAN:

Hi, Levi.

LEVI:

You have to help me!

RYAN:

What’s the matter?

LEVI:

I’m dying!

RYAN:

No, you’re not.

LEVI:

I am! The Interface told me so!

RYAN:

The Interface told you so?

LEVI:

Yes! Interface?

SOUND: BEEPING

LEVI (CONT’D):

Am I dying?

INTERFACE:

Yes.

LEVI:

You see?

RYAN:

Interface, what is he dying of?

INTERFACE:

Progressive cellular senescence.

LEVI:

Oh god! It sounds horrible!

RYAN:

Levi, it means aging. Senescence is aging, a perfectly natural, normal biological

process.

LEVI:

How is that again?

RYAN:

You’re fine. You’re growing older, just like me, just like every living thing in the

universe. You didn’t think you’d live forever, did you?

LEVI:

Most days I don’t believe I’ll live to see dinner. It’s always such a surprise.

RYAN:

Trust me, you’re going to be here for a very, very long time.

LEVI:

Can you ballpark this for me?

RYAN:

Uhhh… 2…. 250 more years? On the low side.

LEVI:

That’s it?

RYAN:

How old are you now?

LEVI:

128.

RYAN:

That’s already more than the average human’s life span.

LEVI:

Oh. Oh, I see. You wretched species! I do have sympathy for you. Thank you,

Doctor! This does...put things in perspective.

RYAN:

Glad I could help.

LEVI:

Tell me, how do you deal with your ephemerality?

RYAN:

One day at a time. Unless you’re Dr. Urvidian, excuse me.

URVIDIAN (distant):

No no no no no no no no.

RYAN:

What is going on in here?

URVIDIAN:

She is interfering with my work!

JANE:

I’m just accompanying the doctor on rounds.

RYAN:

Is that unusual?

URVIDIAN:

Yes, when she also follows me into the bloody bathroom!

RYAN:

Okay that’s a little weird.

JANE:

He asked me to do a bioscan and the next thing I knew he’d slipped down the

hall and raided the pharmaceutical closet behind my back!

URVIDIAN:

Slanderous little witch!

JANE:

Hey!

RYAN:

Guys!

URVIDIAN:

She makes it sound so treacherous.

JANE:

Then why’d you try to distract me?

URVIDIAN:

By asking you to do your job? You would find pushing a few buttons on a scanner

mentally challenging, wouldn’t you?

RYAN:

Okay! Enough!

URVIDIAN:

I simply needed to retrieve an antibiotic course for Lieutenant Commander

Hargon, he’s contracted a nasty case of microbial encephalitis which I suspect he

received from a Terulian prostitute. Perhaps you know her, Nurse Johns.

JANE:

Hey!

RYAN:

That’s it?

JANE:

Check. His. Coat.

RYAN:

What?

JANE:

His white coat! When I saw him down the hallway something was weighing down

the left pocket.

URVIDIAN:

That’s absurd.

RYAN:

Let me see the coat.

URVIDIAN:

It’s nothing.

RYAN:

Then let me see it.

URVIDIAN:

No.

SOUND: RUSTLING

URVIDIAN (CONT’D):

Stop!

RYAN:

What are you afraid of?

URVIDIAN:

I said no!

RYAN:

This… what is this?

URVIDIAN:

It’s rubbing alcohol.

RYAN:

You were… going to drink this?

URVIDIAN:

No. Of course not. Don’t be so ridiculous! The door slid open and I… I was… you

wouldn’t... you wouldn’t understand.

JANE:

Got that right.

RYAN:

No, no! That is...that’s not...you’d be surprised what I might understand.

URVIDIAN:

It was...it was just staring at me. Mocking me.

RYAN:

What was?

URVIDIAN:

On the container. That word.

(lowly) Alcohol. A-l-c-o-h-o-l al-co-hol. I had to have it, I had to take it. I panicked.

(Normal) There. Are you happy? Do you have enough insight into my personal

psychopathy now? Or shall I share more, would you like to hear about medical

school and my trouble hiding erections in the cadaver lab?

RYAN:

Um...not really.

JANE:

Wow that explains so much.

URVIDIAN:

If you’ll excuse me.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS

JANE:

I totally get it though.

RYAN:

Yeah, addiction, alcoholism, they’re horr-

JANE:

No, I mean the cadaver thing. I totally get that!

RYAN:

One issue at a time, please.

TRANSITION TO: SCENE 5 (BAR)

RYAN:

Hey.

URVIDIAN: Oh goody. I was hoping my day would get worse.

RYAN:

How’s the drink?

URVIDIAN:

I don’t know yet. I haven’t tasted it. How’d you find me? I told the Interface to

withhold my location.

RYAN:

I put myself in your place, thought about what I would do if I were you. And here

we are. Level 9 bar.

URVIDIAN:

So. Less than 24 hours playing nanny to a drunk and you think you have some

marvelous insight?

RYAN:

I wasn’t wrong, was I? If you want to underestimate me, that’s fine, but I think you

know you’re doing it.

URVIDIAN:

Wrong, Dr. Dalias. It’s not you I’m underestimating, it’s your estimating the

situation that I’m concerned about which only appears on the surface to be

underestimation of you, the person, instead of what it is, accurate estimation of

your own estimating ability.

RYAN:

You… sure you haven’t had anything to drink today?

URVIDIAN:

I’ve been staring at this one. Imagining its exquisite effervescence, dreaming of

its vivacity, yearning to put it to my lips. And cursing myself for being a

weak-minded ninny.

RYAN:

It’s not just about willpower. But c’mon, when is the last time you’ve gone this

long without a drink? You’ve made it more than 12 hours.

URVIDIAN:

Is that cause for celebration?

RYAN:

It’s proof that you can do it.

URVIDIAN:

Do you know what I’ve been doing in the last 12 hours?

RYAN:

Aside from hanging on a ledge above the promenade?

URVIDIAN (quietly):

Yes.

RYAN:

No idea.

URVIDIAN:

I’ve been hoarding.

RYAN:

Hoarding?

URVIDIAN:

Those 12 hours I’ve managed to stow away my last 12 bottles of Cerliac Ale in

various strategic locations across the station.

RYAN:

Okay, but-

URVIDIAN:

Also, 48 bottles of vodka, 223 cases of wine from the vineyard on Neptune, 117

bottles of Tresian rum, 26 liters of champagne, 116 bottles of amarattle including

a Dieresian vintage, 17 varieties of whiskey from across Quadrant 3, three of the

last known bottles of Corona beer,(deep breath) and as you know, one bottle of

rubbing alcohol.

RYAN:

Umm… well.... that…

URVIDIAN:

As I explained earlier, Dr. Dalias, I panicked.

RYAN:

But, you haven’t had a drink.

URVIDIAN:

I dislike you.

RYAN:

Especially when I’m right, apparently.

URVIDIAN:

I’ve been thinking.

RYAN:

Uh oh.

URVIDIAN:

About- shut up- this troop of weak-minded namby-pambies you mentioned this

morning.

RYAN:

I’m pretty sure I didn’t say “weak-minded namby-pambies.”

URVIDIAN:

If one wanted to, say, observe this group in an academic sense, of course, where

might one find them?

RYAN:

One would find them in the habitat section, level 8, community room alpha at

1900 hours.

URVIDIAN:

Oh, that’s unfortunate.

RYAN:

What is?

URVIDIAN:

I’m busy then.

RYAN:

Doing what?

URVIDIAN:

Things.

RYAN:

Things?

URVIDIAN:

Yes.

RYAN:

What things?

URVIDIAN:

Important things. Once in a lifetime things.

TRANSITION TO: SCENE 6 (COMMUNITY ROOM)

FEMALE VOICE:

Hello? Hi, come on in!

URVIDIAN:

Thank you. I...I’m just here. I’m...in the wrong room apparently, I-I’ll just be going.

FEMALE VOICE:

If you’re looking for the SAA meeting, this is it!

URVIDIAN:

SAA?

FEMALE VOICE:

Substance Abuse Anonymous. We try to be all inclusive.

URVIDIAN:

Oh, well, then maybe...perhaps I’m in the right room.

FEMALE VOICE:

Have a seat! We’re just getting started with the introductions!

SOUND: DOOR OPENING

RYAN:

Hi! Sorry, sorry I’m late.

FEMALE VOICE:

No problem, we’re just getting started!

URVIDIAN:

This is completely and totally unacceptable! Just because central command sent

you here to babysit me does not mean you can completely and totally invade my

semblance of privacy that I have left.

RYAN:

Doctor-

URVIDIAN:

No, you listen to me you neandertal. I’m putting up with your ham fist intrusion

because that’s what’s required of me. But at this, I draw the line. These meetings

are not public spectacles for slack-jawed gawkers! I will not have you reporting

my confessions back to the council.

FEMALE VOICE:

And you, in the back?

RYAN:

Oh, uh, sorry! Hi, um, everyone, I’m Ryan.

SOUND: (SCATTERED “Hi, Ryan”’s)

RYAN (CONT’D):

And I’m an addict.

URVIDIAN:

Jackass.

CUT TO: END THEME

#eos 10 #eos 10 podcast #eos 10 transcription #102 #s1e2

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fuckyeahoutsidexbox · 8 years ago

Photo

Show of the Week - CS:GO Counter-Strike: Global Offensive

Second Show of the Week transcribed and giffed! Once again, if there are any mistakes please tell me!

(Mike)

Hello and welcome to OutsideXbox’s Show of the Week. Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated as have rumours of my lucrative life insurance policy it turns out, Jane.

(Jane)

Yes, well, I mean it got us this moderately priced new studio so don’t knock it deado.

(Mike)

Our game of the week this week is Counter-Strike: Global Offensive or if you prefer the syllable saving CS: GO. A Valve game that shuns storyline in favour of action, it’s a… [interrupted]

(Jane)

Woah, woah, woah what do you mean it shuns storyline? It’s a Valve game. It’s got to have story.

(Mike)

It doesn’t have a storyline, it’s a straight up multiplayer.

(Jane)

No, no, no it’ll be in the world somewhere. It’ll be emergent storytelling Valve style cause they’re clever like that.

(Mike)

If you say so. Super-secret hidden storylines aside. Here’s what you need to know about CS: GO. CS: GO is a multiplayer only team based shooter in which a squad of pretty non-specific terrorists go up against a squad of noble counter terrorists. Terrorists mostly want to plant bombs and hold hostages while the counter terrorists want to defuse bombs and rescue hostages. Also, each side wants to kill the other side. And that’s the entire fictional premise for Counter-Strike Jane, honestly. It’s also a game with a long and storied past. Counter-Strike began life all the way back in the last millennium, if you can believe it. When PC gamers like me fought off dinosaurs by day and scored headshots by night. The game started out in 1999 as a multiplayer mod for Valve’s seminal sci-fi FPS Half Life made by modders Minh Lee and Jess Cliffe. It took the torch from straight up death match multiplayer shooters such as Quake 1 and 2 to lead the burgeoning field of online multiplayer gun shooting. It arrived with new and uniquely cool ideas, not least the cycle of earning cash at the end of each round and spending it on weapons and equipment at the start of the next. And it made huge waves in pro gaming. Counter-Strike: Global Offensive, out now on Xbox Live Arcade, is only the latest in a series of iterations on that Counter-Strike formula. A long line of updates, revisions, community mods and even the odd boxed game. The no perks, no unlocks, no regenerating health, no instant respawns and no iron sights and there is friendly fire, in some modes. In short, it’s a pure bracing shot of something different and demanding in a crowd of me too FPS multiplayer and that’s why it’s our game of the week.

(Jane)

Who’s that guy?

(Mike)

That’s a terrorist.

(Jane)

And who’s that guy?

(Mike)

That’s a counter terrorist.

(Jane)

Right. And how do they fit into Aperture Science and Black Mesa?

(Mike)

They don’t. So now that… [interrupted]

(Jane)

Okay, erm, but what does it say on that wall there? That one. Is that a newspaper article?

(Mike)

No.

(Jane)

Aw.

(Mike)

So, now you’re excited about CS: GO, here’s how to play it.

(Jane)

That guy’s not talking, maybe he’s Gordon Freemen.

(Andy)

It’s possible to do well at Call of Duty and Battlefield by playing like this. Play like this in Counter-Strike: Global offensive however and you’ll be doing a lot of this. So, if you’re not a long-time fan of Counter-Strike, you’re going to have to adjust your tactics. Luckily, we’re here to help like heroes.

First up, and most importantly, you run faster with a knife. Not entirely sure why. It’s like the head of Valve is in love with knives or something. Oh, yeah. Right, right. Still this is a core Counter-Strike skill. Bind the knife to something like up on the D pad and switch to it after buying your weapon at the start of the round. With the extra speed, you should be able to reach critical choke points ahead of your enemies until all the new players wise up to it and do likewise. The downside, of course, is that you might also reach these chokepoints ahead of you own team and turn up to a wall of enemies on your own having literally bought a knife to a gun fight. Make sure you can switch to a shooty weapon quickly.

Next, you’re more accurate if you walk or crouch and you also move silently whereas you may as well be wearing a hat made of claxons if you’re running. Crouch is bound to left trigger by default, the same as iron sights in Call of Duty and you should use it the same sort of way for increasing your accuracy. If you’re the last person left alive on your team, you don’t want to give up your position unless it’s absolutely necessary.

On Xbox, you can control your horizontal and vertical analogue sensitivity independently in CS: GO. Headshots make a big difference to how quickly your enemies go down, due to that being where their brains are. There isn’t a huge amount of verticality in the maps either. Because of all that, we tend to go for a high horizontal sensitivity with a lower vertical one so that even when we’re spinning around wildly to target someone, panicking and crying, more of our shots will go in the chest to head kill zone.

If you’re playing on competitive servers, buy Kevlar and the diffuse kit whenever you can. It will keep you alive and save you precious seconds while defusing a bomb if the terrorists manage to plant it. And it’s also totally on trend with this autumn’s military inspired look.

Short tip this, but it’s as true now as it was on LV426.

(Corporal Dwayne Hicks)

Remember, short controlled bursts.

(Andy)

Thanks, Hicks. Sorry about the rubbish way you were killed off at the start of Alien 2.

Next tip, the Desert Eagle pistol is a monster. If you can afford it, buy it. It’s ridiculously better than all the other pistols and you can have it in additional to your main weapon.

Next, and this may seem obvious but it bears repeating, learn the maps. Most of the maps in Counter-Strike are pretty well balanced with certain areas that favour sniping, close quarter shoot outs or middle distance machine gunning. If you know the maps, you can predict what a lot of enemy teams are going to do and then plan your strategy accordingly. For example, if you’re playing against a terrorist team on Aztec that favours the bomb site overlooking the swamp, try getting a sniper rifle and hanging out by the big double doors behind it, picking them off as they charge your way. Fun.

And finally, don’t flash bang your own team for pity’s sake. I said don’t! Argh, I needed those retinas.

[music plays]

(Andy)

Is she alright over there?

(Mike)

Yeah, yeah, she’s just working on a theory that the Zeus X27 taser is actually a piece of sentient designed by GLaDOS to test the terrorists and counter terrorists who she believes are robots sent from Black Mesa to infiltrate Aperture Science and steal her research.

(Andy)

Probably leave her to it then.

(Mike)

Yeah. I’ve got the feedback if you want to do that.

(Andy)

Great plan.

(Mike)

So, it’s that time where we share the words you’ve been writing at us in comments, on Facebook and on twitter.

(Andy)

In regard to last week’s Show of the Week, Ben Borthwick write “Mike died and you didn’t use the Channelling the dead pun? Awww.”.

(Mike)

My bad. Actually, your bad. I was dead.

(Andy)

You were dead. Good times. Peter meanwhile takes issue with your pronunciation of Boba Fett saying “There are only two Bs in Boba, not three Channel!”. Then he links to this helpful pronunciation guide.

[Pronunciation guide repeats “Boba Fett” three times]

(Andy)

Well, what do you have to say for yourself?

(Mike)

I say that is the last time I pronounce anything from straw was.

(Andy)

Onto Mark of the Ninja now, of which we posted a preview earlier in the week and which comes out today if you’re watching on Friday September the 7th or in the past if you’re watching any day after Friday September the 7th.

(Mike)

Sam Williamson commented “This is looking really cool, like 2D Tenchu with a draw distance. After something of a dry spell it’s a good time to be a stealth fan, with this, Dishonored and Hitman: Absolution out in the next few months.”.

(Andy)

And in response to the OutsideXbox survey on the plural of ninja, Richard Cadman responds “Ninji obviously”.

(Mike)

Totally incorrect.

(Andy)

Finally, the user known only as TheMansuraj asks “Any chance of an OutsideXbox podcast?”.

(Mike)

To which the answer is yes there is every chance of an OutsideXbox podcast! It’s right at the top of our to-do list and when we do get round to do it, we’ll let you know right here.

(Andy)

That’s all for this week guys. Thanks for watching, don’t forget to hit like and subscribe on YouTube. We’ll see you next week. Did you figure out the story then?

(Jane)

Yeah, yeah I did. It’s amazing, it would blow your mind if you knew.

(Andy)

It’s not something stupid like this is all one of Cave Johnson’s tests or something, is it?

(Jane)

Uh no.

(Andy)

Wanna play some DOTA 2?

(Jane)

What now?

#outsidexbox #jane douglas #andy farrant #mike channell #show of the week #transcript

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dailyaudiobible · 6 years ago

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01/29/2019 DAB Transcript

Exodus 8:1-9:35, Matthew 19:13-30, Psalms 24:1-10, Proverbs 6:1-5

Today is the 29th day of January. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian and like every day of my life and hopefully of yours too, it's great to be together here with you for these few minutes that we can step aside from all the chaos and distractions and just…just breathe…just sit…just let God's word speak to us. And, so, that's what we're here to do and that's what we will do. We’re reading from the Common English Bible this week and we find ourselves in the middle of a pretty dramatic situation where plagues are descending upon Egypt and God is setting His people free. Exodus chapter 8 and 9 today.

Commentary:

Okay. So, today in the book of Exodus the plagues began to devastate the Egyptians and, you know, we probably have all heard of the plagues sent upon Egypt. This is a pretty famous story. But now, we’re kind of reading it order and as it happened, and Pharaoh had been warned and God had even given signs to warn Pharaoh. The thing is, Pharaoh could not get his mind around at all the idea of a God that was higher than himself and the gods of Egypt, right? So, any God coming into his land and saying, you know, do anything whether it be let my people go or have oatmeal for breakfast, like, no god gets to come into this land and tell Pharaoh what to do. And, so, he's bristled and thinks himself as a son of God himself. So, there's this struggle that is happening in today's reading. So, the Nile River, the freshwater source was turned to blood, and the frogs invaded the land, and the gnats swarm infested Egypt, and then flies, which I hate by the way, pestered and contaminated the countryside, and the Egyptian livestock died, and boils and sores begin to break out on the Egyptian population, and then this legendary hail fell from the sky that destroyed the crops. And every single time Pharaoh summoned Moses and begged for help and relief, right? He asked him, “pray for me.” And, so, Moses did pray and then the plagues were relieved and then at each turn Pharaoh hardened his heart. He thought the whole thing over and was like, “who is this foreign God coming into my land trying to take over not only my land but also to push me around?” So, you think about it. Even though they were being devastated systematically it hardened his heart. And, I mean, it’s not like we don't do the same thing. It's not like, you know, if somebody comes at us with a demand and their coming kind of invading our space with this demand, it’s very easy for us to resist and harden our hearts toward them even if what they're telling us is the absolute truth. So, this is what's going on here only a grand, a much grander stage.

And then in our reading from the New Testament from the book of Matthew there’s a story that's also a very famous story that's known as the story of the rich young ruler. And, so, this rich young ruler who’s, you know, we can look at this person as arrogant or we can look at this person as anything, but the Scripture reference to this guy is that he is actually devout and trying his very best to follow the Mosaic law and serve God. And, so, he comes to Jesus and he's got questions about eternal life. What do I need to do? What good must I do to have eternal life. That's the question. It's fair. So, like this guy’s devoutly serving God and comes to Jesus to ask this important question. And Jesus tells him to obey the great commandments and the guys like, you know, I have, I’ve tried my best to do everything that I've been taught. So then Jesus says to him, “if you want to be perfect, go get rid of everything”, well He says, “go, sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven and then come, follow me.” And I see that every year and I’m like, man, Jesus is inviting this rich young ruler to become a disciple, “come and follow me” is what He says to everybody who becomes His disciple. But in this case the man had a lot and any he was saddened but he walked away. And, so, in this encounter we see Jesus doing what He always does. Like, He takes stock of the situation, what's being presented to Him and then He goes around behind all of that to what's really going on. And we’ve talked about this before because we go out into the world and we present something but then there’s this interior monologue or this interior life that we have. Jesus is after that life, the true one, the real one, right, the unspoken one, the one that is within us not the one that we are presenting. And, so, we watch this over and over and over because that's what Jesus is after, the truth, what is real. And, so, in this particular story with the rich young ruler, Jesus invited him to get rid of the one thing that gave him status and security, like the one thing that was giving him an identity outside of God. This is a devout person obeying the rules trying to follow God but he's got this thing, his wealth in this case, between him and God. It’s like this idol and his life and Jesus is after it. So, that gives us an opportunity. Maybe that's not our issue. Maybe we don't need to go sell all that we have and give it to the poor because that's not the thing that’s between us and God. But what are we valuing more than a relationship with God? I mean, that's a stark thought because our initial reaction is nothing but that's…that may not be as accurate as we think. What are we valuing more than our relationship with God? Because as stark as that is, that's where to find the idols in our lives. And in the story of the rich young ruler we realize once again a true life of faith is going to be and has always been an all or nothing proposition. And that's the thing that we’ll see distinctly as we continue to journey into the Gospels.

Prayer:

Father once again here we are with plenty…plenty to consider. You’ve brought up plenty of things in these stories for us to look at, the way that we resist and harden our hearts, the way that we allow idols to continue to dwell between us and You. These are big things. And, so, we invite Your Holy Spirit to come and we continue to open ourselves up. Nothing is off limits to You. You can go anywhere in our lives that You want to go, You can touch anything in our lives that You need to touch because we trust You. So, come Holy Spirit we pray. In Jesus’ name we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, its where you find out what’s going on around here. So, be sure to stay tuned and stay connected.

Stay connected to the Prayer Wall where people are praying for each other on a continual basis. That can be found at dailyaudiobible.com or in the Daily Audio Bible app.

Also remind you about the Daily Audio Bible transcripts. Yeah, every day for the last…I don't know…many years now, friends, friends of the Daily Audio Bible have taken the time and found it meaningful to transcribe the things that get said here. And, so, that's a resource that's available. If you ever…I mean…obviously you can go back and relisten or in the app or in the online player, you can favorite an episode so you can refer back to it or even the journaling section in the app…like you writes notes and remember, but if you ever want to come and go back and read, then that is available and you can get there by going to dailyaudiobible.tumblr.com. Or, you know, if you're driving or whatever and you just can’t remember this, just go to dailyaudiobible.com, which you probably can remember because you’re reminded about it every day and go into the community section where you’ll find all of the different social media links and this particular link to the Daily Audio Bible transcripts lives there. And, so, that is a resource that's available.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link that's on the homepage and I thank you. If what we’re doing together by taking this journey through the Scriptures brings good news and life and light and encouragement and direction into your world then thank you for being life-giving back so that each and every day the global campfire continues to burn, and we continue to keep all of the servers spinning. Thank you for your partnership. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment, 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi, this is Protect You with His Wings from Virginia. I’m calling on 23 January. I have two shout-outs and one prayer request. Christina with a bumpy dog, I believe your name is Christina, I just started listening to the Daily Audio Bible this fall, so I didn’t write your name down, I’m sorry, I think you have leukemia. You were calling from a hospital, you were let out for Christmas. I heard your call and I haven’t heard you in a while. I would like to hear your voice and I’m praying for you. Jeff from Virginia you called about a restored relationship your father and grandfather. I’m praying for you and my prayer request is also for restored relationship with my father. I’m also asking for prayer for my dad’s salvation. He’s 76 years old and his health is failing. I don’t really have much of a relationship with my dad. I love my father. He is not only an atheist, but he’s verbally abusive to anyone who is of faith and believes in God. He’s extremely toxic, he’s very manipulative. My mom’s an alcoholic and is codependent upon him. I have been counseled by a trusted pastor, a social worker counselor and several women in the faith who are women ministry leaders. They’ve all advised me to set boundaries which he’s crossed. And, so, I’ve been advised to stay away. I cannot reach him, but I know God can and I’m asking for your prayers Daily Audio Bible faithful believers. Fellow prayers in the Lord, please pray for my dad’s salvation. Please pray for a restored relationship. God bless this wonderful podcast. Thank you Brian, Jill, China and all of those behind the scenes. God bless you.

Hello this is Anne from Charlotte North Carolina and I just wanted to thank everybody that calls in and shares prayer requests and praise reports because it helps me feel trust in community. And I wanted to respond to many people but today is to Tim from Michigan. And Tim I was so moved, and I had to call. You said that you are listening with us now and you are hoping for enough faith to become a Christian. And I wanted to encourage you that, I think you already have enough faith. And many decades ago when I became a Christian I just got alone and I got down on my knees and I asked God if He was real and Jesus was really the King of Kings and Lord of lords and the Savior of the world and I wanted to know Him, I wanted to give my life to Him, I wanted Him to be real to me, I wanted Him to save me and forgive me my sins and asked Him if He would do that. And He did. And He will for you too. All you have to do is have enough faith to speak that question of asking God and telling Him those things. It’s not hard. It just…it does take humbling ourselves enough to admit that we need God, where he is God and we’re not. I like thinking of when we have to go to sleep every night, it’s one way God reminds us that He’s God…

Hello Daily Audio Bible family, this is Sherry who Loves to Worship in Southpass Cal and I just want to tell you how much I love, love, love you all. I just am amazed at this wonderful family that we have. Thank you, Brian, and all that is behind him lifting his hands to make this possible. And I love your readings and I can’t live without it. I’ve been doing this since, I think, spring of 2009 and it’s so exciting. Just wanted to lift up…well…first of all I want to thank Miguel for praying for my pastor back in the day when you were asking for prayer requests for our churches or pastors and so I just wanted to let you know that it was really heavy on my pastor’s heart at of the time, it’s been years, we’d been kind of homeless, we’d been renting halls and things like that and we are now in our own building and you prayed for that and thank you so much. And then I wanted to lift up Margo from, actually she’s now in the UK heading to Liberia. And I just wanted to tell her that I have been praying for you nonstop and daily ever since you let us know that you have this call upon you and your husbands lives. And I just want to say you are courageous. I know that is hard to follow the call. I can’t know exactly what you’re going through, you know, but it just kind of lets us know when we are…don’t have anything or comforts around us that we really look forward to what is ahead. And as that’s the hope and you’re gonna be sharing that. So, I’m about of time, so I just want to say I love you, I’m praying for you and God bless you.

Hi Daily Audio Bible family this is Stanley from Maryland. I haven’t called in a long time. I’d like to call and just pay for…pray for others. For a long time, I’ve __ calling and I don’t know…just thinking may be like it’s too busy…I’m too busy…or I just can’t do it, I don’t know. But I’d like to pray for those who are affected by shame and guilt and pride because these are things that I’m asking God to help me to deal with. So, God, I know that I can’t deal with these things on my own, pride, shame, guilt, frustration with life and I feel like I’m flailing and anxious all the time and I want to stop because I know that there is rest with You and I want to live in the present and be able to enjoy the call that You have on my life and not be so worried about the future and what’s missing. Help me God, help others, help others who are facing disappointment, things that they can’t control. Help us to release these things to You and to seek Your help and ask for help and to get rid of our pride in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Hi everyone, Daily Audio Bible family, this is Beth calling from the Bay Area and I’m calling in again. I called last week as well for prayer but today I was listening to this guy who called in. I’m sorry I don’t remember your name but you’re from South Africa, but you live in London. And I just want to say thank you and praise God for your encouragement and your message of hope, it was exactly what I needed to hear, that God’s already answered my prayer before I even spoke it. And it reminded me of the day I was diagnosed with breast cancer about a month ago. That morning Brian read Psalm 131. And I’m reading it from The Message Version but is says, “I’ve kept my feet on the ground, I’ve cultivated a quiet heart. Like a baby content in its mother’s arms, my soul is a baby content.” And that was exactly what I needed to hear that morning, that like a weaned child with its mother I am to be content. And the Lord told me that he’s __ . I heard him tell me that, not audibly, but I knew it and that was when I knew even before I was diagnosed…before I heard the diagnosis. But anyway, I know the Lord is with me, I know He’s going to use this, and I would just appreciate everyone’s continued prayers but I just want to thank everyone who calls in and encourages one another. And I just love this family so much. I love you all. Have a good night. Bye.

Oh, my goodness, hello my Daily Audio Bible family. This is God’s Girl in East Texas. I’ve had stomach surgery since I last caught talked to guys and had a hernia fixed, but my God reigns. And I was thinking about when my little five-year-old grandson was here the other night. We were trying to go to sleep and he kept talking and he says, “Kiki”, he calls me Kiki, “can we please listen to the Daily Audio Bible?” So, I turned it on and it just helps him and it’s so cute because every time I turn the Bible on, give it about 10 minutes, he’s is out like a light. The soothing word of God, that’s how I take it. It’s the word of God is such a medicine for our souls and our minds and in these last days it just seems like things are getting worse, but our God reigns, and He wants us to stay faithful to Him. I love each and every one of you. Happy new year. Brian and your family, the Lord bless you and happy new year to you. Thank you for this beautiful and precious ministry. My husband drives a truck, he’s on the road all the time and he listens to it as well. So, our families connected in so many ways to keep the Lord our God close as possible. But I just wanted to call in and tell you guys I love you and Jesus bless you and keep looking up. Our redemption draws nigh. Bye-bye.

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duaneodavila · 6 years ago

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The Courtroom of Babel

Trial lawyers tend to make friends with the court reporter. They sit there with us during the down time, with nothing in particular to do. So we chat. And we need them to get the transcript right, so it never hurts to be friendly with the people whose efforts serve your goals. We come to appreciate the difficulties of the job, from lawyers and judges talking over each other, as they can only get one person at a time, to mumbling, to using words with which they’re unfamiliar.

There are times in court when Qawi Abdul-Rahman, a Center City-based defense attorney, gets the sense that folks listening didn’t understand a piece of testimony.

“You get it all the time, truthfully,” Abdul-Rahman said. He’s been concerned that the true meaning of statements like “I don’t fool with them” glide past the ears of listeners who aren’t black. The unaware might think the speaker has a problem with someone. But saying this doesn’t necessarily imply hard feelings — it means the speaker isn’t really in someone’s circle.

This is a legitimate problem, but not just a black dialect problem. It happens with Chinese, with Spanish as well, and no doubt with many other languages and dialects. There’s a difference when an interpreter is used, though the problem persists, as the judge calls for a “Chinese” interpreter, which usually means Mandarin, when the witness speaks a Cantonese, or when the Spanish interpreters is from Spain and lacks familiarity with Domincan slang.

But when the witness testifies in what’s now called African American Vernacular English, as it’s now called to give it the appearance of standardization, there’s no interpreter.

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But that was then, and this is now, when what wasn’t a language has become a language because to suggest otherwise would be to accept standard English as more legitimate than AAVE.

Along with lapses in comprehension, Abdul-Rahman has observed persisting biases around how African Americans speak: “The system keeps perpetuating the same faulty norms about us.”

Unsurprisingly, a study showed that court reporters have serious difficulty with this, or “the system,” meaning court reporters, perpetuates “faulty norms,” meaning unfamiliarity with the dialect. To be clear, any argument about the use of standard English has no place in the courtroom. We take our witnesses as they come, regardless of how they express themselves. The issue is both the ability of lawyers, judge, jury and court reporters to understand them and memorialize their words.

But where the problem comes in is that advocates for acceptance of AAVE as a stand-alone language both seek to have it accepted while complaining about those who don’t speak the language.

The paper points to a 2007 dissenting opinion from a judge in the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Sixth Circuit. The judge had listened to a recording from a 911 call and argued that it was not possible to know whether “he finna shoot me” was present or past tense. (“Finna” is a contraction of “fixing to.”) But the judge made a grammatical mistake: In African American English it is impossible for “he finna” to be in the past tense. The judge had consulted the site Urban Dictionary.

There is a common misconception that when you hear African American English, the speaker is using poor grammar. This stigma persists despite linguistic research and ample evidence that the dialect — and its regional varieties — follows grammatical rules of their own. Linguists note that many phrasings in African American English are camouflaged: The words may seem familiar in mainstream English, but in dialect, they act differently.

If AAVE is a legitimate language, meaning that there is standardization within the community that speaks it, then it should be addressed like any other language spoken by a witness: an interpreter should be required so that everyone who doesn’t speak it understands it, and, of course, the court reporter can transcribe it accurately.

Not to add another wrinkle, but when jurors’ first language isn’t English, there is a double-interpretation problem, from AAVE to standard English, then processed into whatever language the juror “speaks” in his head.

Can the court reporter side of the problem be fixed by the most obvious “solution,” having more black court reporters than white?

When looking at test performance, black court reporters, who were roughly 26 percent of the sample, scored higher at paraphrasings and made fewer mistakes around syntax, but their transcriptions weren’t more accurate than their counterparts’. Across races, court reporters shared negative views of dialect.

What this suggests is unclear, except that the race of the court reporter isn’t the fix. And notably, if court reporters were selected by race, what would we do when the witness speaks Spanish or Chinese. Do we switch out reporters so that they align with the witness?

And as every lawyer and judge realizes, what the witness means to say, what the witness said, what we hear, can be critically important.

Chief defender Keir Bradford-Grey said the Defender Association had been unaware of how deep issues of miscomprehension run. She’d been familiar with the “lawyer dog” case: In October 2017, the Louisiana Supreme Court declined the appeal of a man who had been quoted telling police, “Why don’t you just give me a lawyer dog.” A justice on that court wrote that the man had not made a clear request for counsel, arguing that “lawyer dog” was “ambiguous,” as if, reports noted, the man could’ve been asking for a pet.

“Translating to paper, you don’t know or understand inflections and all that,” Bradford-Grey said. “We knew that. We didn’t realize that the wording wouldn’t be understood.”

Well, many of us did, and have made an effort to clarify what we realized would be confusing by follow-up questions.

Abdul-Rahman has noticed layers of miscomprehension that may be linked to race, but also to what he detects as class, neighborhood, profession, or religion. It falls to the attorney, he explained, to translate and get moments of misinterpretation into the court record. He might repeat his question to produce answers that sound more mainstream. He might start to explain different slices of vernacular himself. But if a prosecutor objects and a judge agrees that his efforts aren’t relevant, that’s where that ends.

Is it wrong to try to clarify the vernacular into standard English, so the jurors can better understand and the court reporter can better transcribe? If not, then we’re left with a courtroom of babel and a record that fails to clearly state the testimony.

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The Courtroom of Babel republished via Simple Justice

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mercerislandbooks · 7 years ago

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Draft No. 4 by John McPhee

John McPhee has been doing basically the same thing for over fifty years, and been doing it so well that there’s now a name for what he helped invent: creative non-fiction. More than simple reportage, his writing is always distinctive and artistic while remaining resolutely truthful. Critic Michael Dirda says of him, “Never as flashy as Hunter Thompson or Tom Wolfe ... McPhee has always relied on prose that is fact-rich, leisurely, requiring a certain readerly patience with scientific and geographical description, and nearly always enthralling.” I might quibble with the use of the word nearly there, but otherwise spot on. Any McPhee book deserves notice, but the one he’s produced at this late stage in his career is worthy of more than usual. In Draft No. 4, he brings his full arsenal of talents to bear on the subject of his own life and work—catnip for his fans. I count myself among them, and so does the writer Matthew Fleagle, a frequent guest at Message in a Bottle. It was inevitable that we’d have a long conversation about DN4 and want to share it with this audience. Thanks in advance for your certain readerly patience.

--James

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Matt: I've been trying to synthesize the various points of my enjoyment of this book into something either insightful or provocative to lay on your doorstep. Clever and sweeping I left sitting in the car. Good thing, too, because even those first two have run off like unleashed hounds and won't come back. I'm left holding a book whose page edges are speckled with "archivally correct" nonstaining, bronze book darts marking chunks of advice I'd like to remember in my own writing, or phrases particularly well crafted, or judgments I strongly agree with or harbor slight anxiety about. Or just little delights that gave me a feeling of solidarity with the author. (I would start with the very title of the book and McPhee's use of the abbreviation “No.” for number, which I consider lovely and which I recently and with sadness opted not to use at work because I feared my colleagues would no longer know what it could possibly mean.) It's not that there's nothing to say about the book as a whole, it's just that I found so little controversial or even surprising in it. In fact, the only moment of disquiet I experienced was righteous anger on the author's behalf when he was confronted by misguided editors. More on those later, perhaps.

One thing I kept noticing is that this book is one big example of itself, or at least of the second chapter, "Structure." You read about how McPhee decides on an organization that best suits the material he's gathered, and then a little later, even in other chapters, you notice how anecdotes are arranged out of chronological order and what the net effect of that is, and it induces you to reflect on why he chose that structure for that section. In that way, reading Draft No. 4 felt a little like a favorite uncle explaining economics to me while slipping five dollar bills into my jacket pocket. How did the work strike you as a whole? I've not read many books on the writing process before, but maybe you have? How does it stack up?

James: I have read quite a bit on this topic in my time, but I won't mention any titles here. I don't want to embarrass the authors of those books with my stubborn refusal to put their good advice into practice. Kill my darlings? Never! McPhee's book is quite a bit different than the others I've read. Those were mostly full of prompts and exhortations, tips about priming your muse's pump and developing regular literary habits, but Draft No. 4 assumes a reader who's already a practitioner. He doesn't bother coaxing words out of you, he just talks about how you might better focus your good ideas and cope with the torrents of prose you're producing. Or more accurately, he talks about how he does those things. It's rather flattering to be treated with such respect, as though his lofty, glossy-magazine, major-publishing-house concerns are relevant to us, the grubbiest of Grub Street hacks.

So I'm not sure I'd say that these are the first pages to turn for aspiring writers. They are, however, a joy for anyone who loves to read. As he has done so many times before (more often than anyone living?) he takes up the smallest, dullest, most overlooked pebble on the shingle, holds it to the light, and makes it sparkle. Oranges? Shad fishing? What can't he do? I swear, if he decided to investigate the mysteries of colonoscopy, I would be first in line to buy that book. Luckily for the squeamish, here we're dealing with a more seemly topic, the minutiae of writing and revision. He does go pretty deep into the weeds during the "Structure" chapter you mentioned, when he discusses the careful organization of his manila folders, but it's not boring, it's humanizing and fascinating. Says McPhee, "If this sounds mechanical, its effect [is] absolutely the reverse." He's talking about his process, but he might as well be talking about this very book. Draft No. 4, like all his writing, is replete with details about how a skilled, intelligent person goes about doing what he does, and that specificity is what makes his writing so generally insightful. Even if you're not a barge captain or a tennis champion or an award-winning nonfiction writer, you can relate. After all my years behind the counter at Island Books, I couldn't help but relate to his paean to the noble typewriter, for example. And I commiserated with him through every paragraph about his long war with his editors over the appropriate use of profanity in his work. I dropped a couple of—ahem—clinical terms in a blog post half a decade ago and I still feel the aftershocks occasionally. I'm sure your sparkly pebbles were different than mine, though. Other highlights for you?

Matt: You said "different than" instead of "different from." I believe McPhee's Miss Gould would bluepencil that usage were the venerated New Yorker copyeditor not in her grave these dozen years; he says so on page 168. I must admit my nature is sufficiently compulsive that I enjoyed the discussions of the fiddly little rules and style conventions that make English such a Tartarus for some people and such an Eden for people like me and I presume you. I also like the particular way he slalomed past them. He didn't say, now these are the rules of grammar and usage I insist on. If his narrative is like a downhill ski course in which his primary purpose is to tell a number of anecdotes, the rules are rather like the poles his elbows happen to slap on his way down the hill, and often the discussion of a rule is by way of telling an amusing story about an editor or a fellow writer. Still, I fasten onto the rules themselves—can't help it—and I grin with puerile self-satisfaction to find that, for example, Mr. McPhee and I understand each other with regard to “that vs. which.” Or that we're on the same side of the coyness issue: ”He became close to a Georgetown neighbor—a young senator named John F. Kennedy”—gah! When I read about his having to defend his understanding of the possessive of “Corps” before the editors of The New Yorker, I found myself so deep in his corner on this point (it can only be Corps', say John and I) that I had to hogtie my inner Yosemite Sam to keep from popping a vein. It's shameful to use an author of such stature in this ferrety little way, but we're talking about how we enjoyed the book, yes? This is partly how.

I did feel a bit strange navigating his section on frame of reference, which in the main I thought was extremely useful, especially his image of points of reference as the lights on a night-flying airliner, a structure whose size and shape and rate of travel are implied (but not EXplied—my word) by these lights. The author makes a strong point about what we're asking the reader to do, and how we fail them, when we use cultural references that don't help them imagine the structure we have in mind. But it backfires for me. When properly caffeinated I'm okay quick of wit, but I'm never more learnéd than I am. The author took pains to illustrate why some references are too fleeting in the culture not to be stale before they reach the editor, and others too obscure ever to be useful. But throughout this section and indeed the whole book he uses references that sail over my shoulder like the can of beer that Bruce Willis tosses to Matthew Perry at the end of the movie The Whole Nine Yards (there's one McPhee would strike, I'm sure) while he himself actually seems to relish dismissing Wilford Brimley as someone he thinks no one's ever heard of. Wilford Brimley! It made me think, truly I am a Philistine if one of the few references in McPhee's book that I get is one that he says one of his students used in a giant fail. But one I did understand was Philistine, which is on his white list, and which I've just used, so I won't fall apart over this. Still, with all the reading I did in college I didn't read Proust, so I don't know what the madeleine signifies, and McPhee never tells me. It all seems a little arbitrary. I guess you have to know which parties you'll be comfortable at. Did anyone else here find Henry James' use of the word lugubrious in The Princess Casamassima distracting? As you mentioned, any book by McPhee is a delight to read. Off the top of my head, I remember smiling at “innumerate” for people challenged by digital things—the disciplinary Antipodes of “illiterate.” And “ficused over” to mean obscure cheaply and quickly, referring I guess to hiding a crack in the plaster by moving a potted fig against the wall. Maybe these are old barnstormers, but I hadn't seen either before. And the beautifully vivid line describing what it was like using a tape transcriber, which was "activated with foot pedals, like a sewing machine or a pump organ." But more than any of these details—although I've focused a lot on them—the book really delivers as a series of purposeful and constructive reflections on how McPhee delivers a story, soup to nuts, complete with omissions (the section on cutting good material out of a story is bound to cut a lot of us to the quick). And I like your assessment that, while anyone who enjoys good prose might enjoy it, this book most usefully falls into the hands of a writer who is already working on a biggish project, maybe some poor blighter already sitting on the floor surrounded by piles of scissor-cut strips of typewritten notes, manila folders at the ready. Did I say that out loud? How about you, James, were there things in DN4 that you might incorporate into your own process?

James: I’d love to say yes, but it’s hard to see how. My writing projects don’t have nearly the scope that McPhee’s do (although this blog post is threatening to move in that direction). What I take away from DN4 is mostly very general, with potential application in any field, personal or professional. Over and over, McPhee demonstrates how curiosity and close observation can reveal wonders, how talent is actually the product of effort, and how important it is to find the right tool for the job and use it well. His tools just happen to be words; yours might be bedpans or socket wrenches or Perl commands. Pay attention, take care, and keep trying. If this is a how-to guide, it’s really a How To Live.

You made fun of yourself earlier, but I’m going to stick up for mustelids everywhere and defend the ferrety picking of nits. One of the significant lessons here, as in all our man’s work, is that small details matter. You don’t get the proper Big Picture without them. I like knowing that a Union Pacific coal train is exactly seven thousand four hundred and eighty-five feet long and that a WWII-era Japanese incendiary balloon did not cross the entire Pacific Ocean and demolish a plutonium reactor at Hanford. At least not exactly.

I even like the things I don’t know. I mean, I knew about the madeleine and Wilford Brimley, but I sure as heck didn’t know until now that odobene was the perfect adjective to describe his facial hair. “Writing has to be fun at least once in a pale blue moon,” says Mr. McPhee, and his mustache fashion show was a monkey barrel’s worth.

I’m going to resist the temptation to talk about all this ad infinitum, piling up drafts of our own in double-digit quantities. Before we wrap up, though, I have to say something about the last pages of the book. My note about the anecdote that concludes Draft No. 4, the story of a meeting between a five-star general and a nondescript college kid—a young writer by the name of John McPhee (gah!)—was a simple one: “What an ending!” It inspires me to finish our conversation with a big musical number or something equally splashy. But since that ending is so great largely because it’s about the impact of what’s left out and not said, I’ll skip it.

–30–

#John McPhee #Draft No. 4 #James Crossley #Matthew Fleagle #Yosemite Sam #Oranges #Wilford Brimley #writing advice #How to Live

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raystart · 8 years ago

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A Brief History of the Pencil, as told by a Pencil Aficionando

Caroline Weaver, the owner of CW Pencil Enterprise, a specialty pencil shop in Manhattan’s Lower East Side, has managed to make the dream of obsessives come true: What if this thing I love, this strange small thing, could be my job? For Weaver, that strange small thing is the humble pencil, and it has provided not only a business—celebrating its two-year anniversary this March—but a book as well, a history of the pencil entitled The Pencil Perfect. We chatted with Weaver about her store, the birth of the pencil craze, why Japanese pencils are so good, and why people think pencils contain lead. Here are twelve of the most fascinating things we learned.

Pencils do not, and have never, contained lead of any sort.

“It took quite a long time for people to even figure out the chemical composition of graphite,” says Weaver. Graphite was discovered in England in the mid-1600s, and the possibilities of this new material were immediately obvious—but exactly what the stuff was made of, that was a little tricky. “When it was first discovered, people called it black lead, because it kind of resembled lead. And to this day, we still call it lead, and think there’s lead in pencils. But the truth is there was never lead in pencils,” she says.

The first pencils looked pretty weird.

“Graphite was originally used bare as an artist’s material with string wrapped around it, so you had something that wouldn’t get your hand really messy and would also keep the graphite from breaking,” says Weaver. Graphite is quite brittle, but it would take centuries before a process was discovered to mix powdered clay with powdered graphite to make stronger, cheaper pencils. “The Faber-Castell archive has what is believed to be the first pencil. It’s basically two small planks of wood with a piece of graphite stuck inside it, and only three of the four edges are covered. It looks like a super primitive carpenter pencil.

Caroline Weaver in her New York City shop, CW Pencil Enterprise.

In fact, the pencil was a luxury item for centuries.

“They were originally made mostly by cabinet makers, or anybody skilled in woodcraft. It’s not easy to enclose something that small in wood, and they were all made by hand,” says Weaver. The pencil was a huge step up from the then-modern pen, which was a quill, in that you didn’t have to carry around a bottle of ink, which made it ideal for the military as well as artists. But at the time, it was essentially an artisanal sculpture featuring a rare mineral—very expensive.

Legend has it that Napoleon is in large part responsible for the modern pencil.

Weaver was careful to say that this is a legend, and not necessarily completely accurate, but: “Legend has it that during the French Revolution, Napoleon asked Nicholas Conte, who was an engineer who worked mostly with hot air balloons, to make him a better, stronger pencil. All the good pencils were coming from Germany or Britain at the time, and he couldn’t import them because of the war.” Napoleon only had access to crappy graphite, but Conte figured out that even crappy graphite, when powdered, mixed with powdered clay, and fired in a kiln, makes not only a serviceable and inexpensive pencil. It makes a better pencil. Conte also created the mostly-modern method of enclosing the stick of graphite in two half-cylinders of wood, rather than filing out a hole through the middle of a solid stick. And he did this all, according to legend, in eight days.

The eraser came after the pencil—and you won’t believe what predated rubber.

“The erasability of graphite wasn’t a quality that people recognized at first, because erasers didn’t exist,” says Weaver. Rubber, native to the Americas, was both extremely expensive and, until the mid-1800s, perishable. In place of that, pencil-wielding writers used something you might not expect. “People used pieces of bread to erase, slightly stale bread,” she says. “Because it’s still a little absorbent but also a little scratchy, so you can kind of scratch off the graphite.”

The Japanese make some of the most prized modern pencils.

“In Japan, during the mid-20th century, there was almost a race between two pencil companies, Tombow and Mitsubishi, to make the world’s finest pencils. The result is a pencil called the Tombow Mono 100. The Mono 100 is a beautiful pencil. The detailing on its finish—it has this giant white stripe on the end, it has all this gold detailing, it’s so shiny, it’s gotta have at least 14 coats of paint on it, and it has 10 billion particles per cubic mm in its graphite core,” gushes Weaver. These pencils come in fancy plastic boxes with delicate paper sleeves inside. “The packaging is just unbeatable,” says Weaver. “I guess that’s a very Japanese quality, the excessive but beautiful packaging.”

There are still pencils made in the U.S., and they’re actually pretty good.

The U.S. once had a booming pencil industry, in part because the most common wood for casings is cedar, which the country has lots of. Today, there are only three significant manufacturers left in the U.S.—even Dixon’s iconic Ticonderoga is made elsewhere—but they’re not bad! “The General’s Semi-Hex is still manufactured in the U.S., made in its original factory in Jersey City, New Jersey. It’s the most local pencil to us in New York, which we’re very proud of,” says Weaver. “They make a number 2 that’s yellow, with the gold foil, very similar aesthetic to the Ticonderoga, very nostalgic. That, to me, seems to be like the most American pencil.”

What separates a lousy pencil from a great one? How different can they be?

“The first question you have to ask is, is it made out of good quality wood? You have to sharpen your pencil, so if it’s bad, that’s immediately an issue. The other thing that I don’t think people really pay much attention to, unless they know to look for it, is how well-centered the pencil is,” says Weaver. “You can tell that by looking at the unsharpened end of it. There’s so little room for error when it comes to making pencils that even if it’s a millimeter off-center, it gives you trouble when you’re sharpening it. If you sharpen it and find that it’s kind of slanted, that means the core is off-center. That can also lead to the wood splitting, which isn’t good.” Beyond that, things are mostly up to personal preference: Do you like a scratchy pencil or a smoother (but more likely to smudge) one? Do you like lightweight or heavy pencils? How do you like your pencil to look?

There is an online obsession with a particular, long discontinued sharpener.

There are a few different ways of sharpening pencils, but the easiest is the electric sharpener. That said: “Electric sharpeners can be terrible. The best ones were made by Panasonic in the 1980s, but those can be hard to find these days. Believe it or not, there is a resale value for those Panasonic electric sharpeners, because people really love them,” says Weaver. There’s a thriving market on eBay for them; sharpeners in great condition can sell for upwards of $75.00.

But the hottest sharpener isn’t one for amateurs.

“Amongst people in the pencil community, the long-point sharpener is kind of the thing right now,” says Weaver. “It’s a two-step process; it looks like a normal hand-held sharpener, but it has two blades. Blade number one just sharpens the wood of the pencil, and then when you’re done you have to put the pencil into blade number two which very gently refines the blade of the graphite. So the result is a super long point, much longer than you get from any other kind of sharpener. People like it because you don’t have to sharpen your pencil as often. But it’s tricky, it’s kind of hard to use. You have to have a lot of patience.”

“Steinbeck stage” is a term any budding pencil-head might want to learn.

If you frequent pencil message boards—there are some revolving around the Erasable Podcast—you’ll see the term “Steinbeck stage.” “Apparently John Steinbeck discarded his pencils when the barrel of the pencil, the metal part on the end, got to the part of his hand that connected his index finger and his thumb,” says Weaver. So when a pencil gets to that point, it’s referred to as the “Steinbeck stage.” On the other hand, you don’t have to discard a pencil at that point. “I use a pencil extender. We sell so many pencil extenders; I think it’s something that a lot of people have no idea even existed. And you should use your pencils until the end! It feels like a big accomplishment,” says Weaver.

Weaver did, in fact, write her book about pencils with a pencil.

“I did write the book with a pencil,” she says. “I wrote it in a notebook and then transcribed it. I’ll be honest, I cheated a little bit; for a couple sections I just wrote the outline in pencil, not the whole thing, but I tried my best. I ended up using just under 40 pencils for the whole thing, and I saved all the stubs.” Not only that, she tried to match up the pencil she used with the topic at hand. “If I was writing about Faber-Castell, I used a Faber pencil. Or I used vintage pencils for some sections. I kept them all in a jar that had a label on it that said ‘How many pencils does it take to write a book about pencils, in pencil?’”

And that’s part of what Weaver loves so much about pencils. Unlike a pen or mechanical pencil, a classic wood-case pencil fades away with work. “I think that’s something that’s so amazing about this kind of object; it’s something that just disappears when you’re done with it. You’re left with a tiny stub that’s almost a souvenir of all the work you’ve done, and that’s kind of nice,” she says. Plus: Wood pencils smell good.

#startups #text #startup #advice #busieness #howto #news #tech #love

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