#i just love that beard took the same care to Trent’s book that he did to his favorite most read book in the show

[coachbeards]

Never forget that what beard added to Trent’s book probably weren’t criticisms, it’s just one book nerd to another expressing their interest!!! i bet he liked Trent’s book,,,

[spaz8550]

Stay

Ch 16

"Do you want to help me make dinner?" Sinead asked with a grin.

"Sure." Bill came out of his room and glanced at Sinead and Severus.

"Bye." He said hurrying out the door before they could reply. Severus helped Sinead make a stir-fry chicken.

After dinner Sinead and Severus returned to their spots on the couch and continued to look through books. Severus seemed to be full engaged in the task but Sinead's mind was wondering, she had so many questions to ask so much she wanted to know.

"What are you thinking about?" Severus asked noticing Sinead staring at the wall.

"I-nothing." She said quickly knowing it was going to take some time before Severus felt comfortable enough to share with her information about himself. "You were thinking about something because your expression kept changing." He said glancing up from the book.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable with questions." Severus sat a bit straighter and paused before answering.

"I can answer a few questions about myself. You've been telling me all about your family." Sinead half smiled.

"I just don't want-"

"You said that already. Go ahead and ask your questions." He said a bit un-patiently but stopped. "My parents names were Eileen Prince, she was a witch, and Tobias Snape, he was a muggle. I grew up in Spinner's End and I still own the family house there. The neighborhood is all muggles, my father hated magic and my childhood wasn't happy. You love your family and are close to them, neither of my parents showed me much affection and I can't say that I really loved them." Severus paused and finally met Sinead's eyes. Her smile had faded and she had a sad look on her face. "Don't feel sorry for me. I don't like to talk about my past because I always get the same expression." Sinead moved closer to Severus on the couch and she felt him tense.

"Severus, as much as I want to know about your past the present is more important." Sinead took Severus's hand in her lap and smiled. "You don't have to say anymore if you don't want to." Severus nodded as Sinead continued to hold his hand giving it a light squeeze. "We can take a break from the books, that is if you want to." Severus nodded as Sinead used a spell to summon a photo album. "This is from when I began my apprenticeship with Nathaniel." She said using a spell to keep it suspended between the two of them the pages turning slowly.

"So that is Nathaniel." Severus asked seeing an older man with a long white beard.

"Yes."

"Albus mentioned he attended Hogwarts for school than traveled around Europe before settling in America."

"Yes, he taught at Durmstrang Institute for a few years but didn't agree with their selection of students. The man with the brown hair is Trent."

"The one who is coming here with his wife?"

"Yes."

"Who is the red haired woman?" Severus asked as the pictures showed Sinead getting a certificate.

"That's Maggie, one of my best friends."

"You two look like sisters." Severus said with a small smile on his lips. It was true both women had red hair and pale complexion. They may look alike but their personality was completely different.

"She is an astronomy expert took after her grandmother, Artemisia Westfield, she just retired as Astronomy Professor at the Salem Witches Institute."

"She has written a few articles on astronomy that were featured in the Daily Prophet."

"Artemisia raised Maggie, Maggie's mom took off with a boyfriend when Maggie was 3. She came back a few years later to drop off another daughter and left for Las Vegas. Maggie and her sister, Megan, haven't seen their mother in years."

"This is your friend who has the child?"

"Yes, Maggie is Caleb's mom." Sinead summoned a picture from the mantel and looked at it with a grin. "This is a picture of Caleb and I with Mickey Mouse in Disney World." Severus looked at the picture as Sinead continued. "Caleb loved it there. I was five the first time my parents took me and I thought he would have a good time. The little guy didn't want to leave. Caleb's dad is not around, he started beating on Maggie while she was pregnant. I miss having Caleb around."

"He is lucky to have you." Severus said as Sinead used a spell to put the picture back then the photo album. "I mentioned to you before that I was friends with Harry's mom, Lily. I want to tell you a little more." 

Sinead gave him a reassuring smile and let him continue.

"Lily and I met a few years before we both started at Hogwarts. Her family lived not far from Spinners End in a much nicer area. Lily showed signs of being a witch right away and I was happy to have someone around who was like me. Her horrid sister, Petunia, gave her a difficult time but Lily was so kind. She didn't care my family was poor and she wasn't scared that I had learned all of the hexes from my mother's old books. I told her all about Hogwarts and we spent a great deal of time together. Her parents were also nice, they had me over for dinner often. Petunia started to come around asking about magic and if people could ask to attend Hogwarts. On her 11th birthday Lily got her Hogwarts letter, I had gotten mine earlier the same month. When we got there she was sorted into Gryffindor and I was sorted into Slytherin. Right away James Potter had made friends with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Petter Pettigrew. Lily and I continued to be friends even when James and Sirius tormented me. James's attention was focused on Lily but things changed during our fifth year. During one fight Lily stood up for me and I was embarrassed so I lashed out and called her a mudblood. From that day on Lily never spoke to me again. James ended up winning her over and within weeks of graduating they were married. I had already been drawn to the dark arts since before starting at Hogwarts. During my years I met many of the Death Eaters. Most of them assumed I was pure blood since I was in Slytherin. Since I lost Lily I figured the best choice was to join the Death Eaters. I didn't see eye to eye with Voldemort but I was so angry. When I knew that he was going to kill the Potters I changed sides." Severus became silent and Sinead turned to face him.

"You did what you thought was right. You tried to save them."

"But they died anyway." Severus was quiet as Sinead tucked her legs under her and faced him.

"I think you’re a good man, your risking your life everyday to defeat Voldemort." Sinead said softly and Severus was about to reply when she leaned forward and kissed him. 

The kisses became more urgent and Sinead swung one of her legs over so she was sitting on Severus's lap. He seemed to get tense and Sinead moved back breathlessly. 

"Sorry, I-" She started to move when he pulled her back to him. Sinead and Severus remained in a heated make-up session for sometime until Sinead's legs started to fall asleep. Sinead finally moved off Severus's lap with a small smile.

"Sinead, I-I've never really done this before...the whole relationship thing." Sinead bit her lip and nodded.

"I shouldn't have rushed you-"

"No, that was amazing." He said his cheeks flushed.

"Good, it was amazing for me too." Sinead said grinning.

[alleys-mitt-blog]

Closer To God

Some things are better left unexplained. People like to draw their own conclusions, especially about strangers, those who don’t belong. Those who aren’t from around here. The locals had already made up their minds about me before I ever climbed up the stairs to the stage. I noticed their stares as soon as I walked through the front doors. As I perched upon an empty stool and waited to order a drink I could hear their drunken whispers. Who’s this guy? Where’d he come from? What’s he doing here? The barkeep shot me a glance and then went back to drying the glass in his hand, a more important task than serving a stranger. Surely, I was only there to cause trouble. I creased a fresh blue hundred lengthwise and sat it upon the bar top. The tender snarled as he sat down the extremely dry glass, slung his towel over his shoulder and finally approached.

“Bourbon on the rocks, any kind will do.” I never drank bourbon, or any liquor for that matter. Truth was I didn’t drink much at all, and when I did I preferred a cold draught to the burning of a higher proof. But this was a special occasion.

Without saying a word, the dubious publican grabbed a familiar, black-labeled bottle with a large No. 7 printed on the front. Since we were a lot closer to Tennessee than Kentucky I felt it wise to not correct him.

“Ice machine’s down.” The bartender filled a shot glass and sat it down in front of me, careful not to flatten the blue tent. Without touching the money, he asked if there was anything else I needed. I flashed him a peace-sign and he filled 2 more jiggers.

“Where you from, friend?” His sarcasm hung off that last word like clothes on a wire.

“California,” I answered, and he gave me an exaggerated aaahh, as if I had given him a lot more than the state of my origin.  I returned to my booze without any further self-revelations.  Some things are better left unexplained.

. .  .

What if Death held a grudge? What if, upon being summoned, Death would not rest until he had amassed the required allotment of souls? And what if you were able to outrun Death, and in doing so would turn Death loose on your family or friends or loved ones? What if Death behaved like a bookie owed a debt by a would-be cardsharp that found it easier to skip town than pay up, so goons were dispatched to break the arms and legs of brothers and cousins and mothers until the degenerate could be found?

When I awoke in the hospital, there were three doctors standing bedside, all of them peering over a folder in the middle doctor’s hands. Pages were flipped back and forth, beards and heads were scratched, brows furrowed. Once they saw that I had regained consciousness their queries came so quickly I could barely keep track of who was asking which question.  They ultimately attributed my survival to some sort of miracle; surely no human body should retain its functionality after ingesting that many pills. Unbeknownst to them, I attributed it to my previous year of cocaine abuse strengthening my tolerance for all narcotics. All of my tests showed normal brain function and after a few hours I was released.

Two days after my failed attempt my grandmother died. Acute myocardial infarction, my dad had said over the phone, between sobs. Grandma had been a beacon of health. She ran the daily bingo games at her local senior center, still bowled in the same alley my dad grew up in, still waited tables at a local pub not because she needed the money but because she got bored of staying home all day and watching her stories. She didn’t want to be the stereotypical old lady. She didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, she ate all her vegetables. She was as vigorous at 80 as she had been at 40, and I had killed her. My body had consumed the deadly mélange like Children’s Tylenol, so instead, Death took Grandma’s heart as collateral.

It had rained the night of my fruitless felo-de-se and continued to rain throughout the next day, a much needed relief from the drought being suffered all throughout Los Angeles. The cab that picked me up at Cedars-Sinai featured a leaky roof, only above the backseat, and came equipped with manual windshield wipers that were operated by the driver’s pulling and releasing of shoe strings tied to the blades.

The next morning, I was roused from sleep by a woodpecker jackhammering away at the tree just outside my window. Pulling back the curtains I was temporarily blinded by the startling sunshine. It must have been very early in the morning, for my east-facing jalousie revealed the sun barely cresting the horizon. The rainclouds had run away in the middle of the night, and I marveled at the beautiful greenery of the landscape.

I pulled the glass louvers shut and closed the curtains, shutting out the sun’s rays and the bird’s trepanning. My cell phone confirmed the sun’s time-telling, and I noticed I had a missed call from my dad. No voicemail, no text message. I returned the call and was given the grim news. After consoling my dad and offering to help him with my grandmother’s final services, I terminated the call and booked the next flight to Atlanta. Surely Death wouldn’t be so cruel as to take down an entire airbus just to get me.

. .  .

The drive from Atlanta to Helen, GA is about two hours. My grandmother was born and raised in Helen, as was my father. He had gone off to college in Atlanta but moved back home the day he graduated. I was a third-generation Helenite, but I’d left for Hollywood the minute I turned 18 and hadn’t been back to the south since. My hometown now appeared foreign.

The sun had set long before I drove into town. Before going to see my dad, I had planned on visiting Grandma’s favorite places, the spots where she felt most at home. Consequently, Tuesday’s Pub was the only establishment still open for business after midnight. I did not need GPS to find Grandma’s final place of employment. Helen was that small of a town.

“That thing work?” I eventually asked my new friend, downing my fifth whiskey and pointing to the karaoke machine shoved in the corner of the otherwise empty stage.

“It does, but you won’t find anyone in here that knows how to work it.”

“Mind if I give it a shot”? I hopped off my wooden perch and headed for the stage, not waiting for permission. I gave the mouse a wiggle, waking the monitor from its slumber, and fired up the karaoke software, the only icon on the desktop besides defaults. I was amazed at the decent strength of their internet connection, and quickly found the song I wanted to sing. I clicked the right-pointing triangle, the universal symbol for Play, and approached the mic stand.  Two taps from my fingertips reverberated loudly from the subwoofers, echoing throughout the tavern and startling the surly patrons, who all turned their unfriendly gazes towards me.

“This song is for you, Grandma.” I hardly recognized my own voice at that amplification.  After all, I played the drums. I was no singer. But this was a special occasion.

As I sang along with Trent, telling the crowd they let me violate and desecrate and penetrate them, I could feel their anger swell. As I crooned for their help, a beer bottle whizzed by my head and shattered against the wall behind me. By the time I was telling the crowd what I wanted to do like an animal, several large, angry locals were quickly approaching the stage, casting aside tables and stools, leaving splintered wood in their wake.

The insults hit the stage before the mob. This faggot wants to fuck his grandma! You ain’t fuckin my grandma, asshole! He’s lucky Carol’s grandsons ain’t here yet, they’d fuck him up! Before making it out of the first chorus I was being carried and drug towards the entrance, fists and fingernails finding my face, steel-toed and high-heeled boots finding my ribcage.

Some things are better left unexplained.

Helen’s Finest had summed me up well before the first shot I took. There was no changing their minds. They wouldn’t be the least bit moved by me telling them how, after my mom ran off to love some man who wasn’t my dad, how Grandma used to drive me to high school. How she used to let me tune the stereo in her station wagon to an alternative rock station, the only other station besides a gospel one and a country western one that we could get clear reception from.  How she used to love when a single by a band called Nine Inch Nails would come on. How she would hum along, not knowing any of the words and not caring to know them. How the FCC was probably always listening and so the songs were all censored, so even if she was trying to learn the lyrics she’d never hear what Mr. Reznor wanted to do like an animal. Know, they could never understand how that song could be attributed to a grandson’s favorite memories of his recently deceased Grandma Carol. How, with their beating and punching and kicking and insulting, they were bringing me closer to God.

It was the bartender who eventually ended the melee. Casting everyone aside until he was the only one standing over me, hands on his hips, staring into my bloody face and toothless grin, looking for a glimpse of someone recognizable.

“Michael?” My name came from his lips in the form of a question, his hand jutted out towards me, offering to help me to my feet. Without any words I accepted his offer, smiling a big bloody toothless grin at him. Some things are better left unexplained.

I brushed myself off, found my shoes and returned them to my feet. The circle of locals had widened at the bartender’s behest. Pushing through the crowd without any words, I ran back into the tavern, jumped onto the stage from the front, foregoing the stairs. I gave the mouse a wiggle, waking the monitor from its slumber, and clicked to replay the last song. I turned up the volume, both for the microphone and the music track.

“This next song is for my Grandma!”

[twodeadchicks]

Meet "TRICK GRIMES"

At first glance your heart might plummet to your stomach. You might think to yourself, "It can't be him, right? There's no way! IS THAT ANDY LINCOLN?! IS RICK GRIMES REAL?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!?!' These are all thoughts I had when I saw Rick Grimes cosplayer Trent Roberts at Walker Stalker Nashville. Though I can assure you, after careful inspection, he is in fact NOT Rick Grimes. But he's pretty damn close. First, tell me a little background on you. What is your day job? How did you get into cosplaying as our favorite python wielding badass? [caption id="attachment_21760" align="alignright" width="225"] Roberts with his sons Josh and Zak[/caption] I live in the Dallas area but [am] originally from Louisiana. My "real" job is Regional Sales Manager for a Whiskey company so I stay very busy with a lot of travel. That's why I have to be selective on how many events I can do as a cosplayer. As for how this started, I have been a fan of the show since day one. From the age of about 20 or so I've always had a beard and longer hair. Every once in a while I would change up and shave but it wouldn't last long, so I've looked like Rick way before there was a Rick. Starting about season 3 I started having people notice and comment on my resemblance. Then early in 2016 my sons wanted to go to a comic con in Dallas and suggested I dress as Rick and they ended up regretting the suggestion. We started getting stopped for pics in the parking lot and once we entered we couldn't walk more than 10 feet at a time before getting stopped for another picture. It didn't help that my youngest son dressed as Carl. He quickly got tired of hearing "Ccooorrallll". This is where someone mentioned to me that I should go to a Walker Stalker Con. I had never heard of it but went home and looked at future dates. How many Walker Stalker conventions have you attended? [caption id="attachment_21763" align="alignleft" width="300"] Roberts in Trick Grimes mode[/caption] The first one was Dallas last year and then Atlanta last October. Nashville was my first working WSC. I did attend Dallas FanExpo twice and another smaller con or two in the Dallas area. Megacon the week before was my very first con to work. I will be attending A-kon this weekend but not cosplaying because I want my boys to be able to enjoy themselves even though they realize even in regular clothes I will probably still get stopped some. Oh and I forgot one of the most fun things I've done with this, the cruise. Do you have any memorable moments from this past weekend's convention in Nashville? Too many. Even though I am working some of these now I still have a hard time thinking of myself as a professional cosplayer. This is for fun and to give fans a great experience. I guess a couple of times this weekend we had fans with either physical or mental disabilities and to see their faces light up makes it all worthwhile. Also, it's funny how many of the fans that I have to actually convince I am not Andrew.  What's been the best part of attending WSC? The fans. I didn't realize how close knit a family this was. I have started seeing the same people now at multiple events and started forming friendships. I also have to say that through this I have had the pleasure to meet many of the stars of the show and they have all been incredibly nice. [caption id="attachment_21762" align="alignright" width="262"] Roberts with Michael Cudlitz, who played Abraham on The Walking Dead[/caption] Which ones did you meet and what was their reaction to you? Have you met the elusive Andy Lincoln yet? I've met Steven Yeun, Scott Wilson, Greg Nicotero, Michael Rooker, Michael Cudlitz, Chandler Riggs. In Nashville, Irone came up to me hugged me and complimented me on my resemblance as did Chad Coleman who I happened to run into in the restroom of all places. I was lucky enough to get to ask Andrew a question at his panel in Atlanta. Norman was on stage and saw me first and said to him "he looks just like you" and then Andrew asked if I could fill in for him at work on Monday. It was nice to get the acknowledgement. I have also met a couple of the saviors and they have said the resemblance is uncanny. Norman passed me on the walkway as we were boarding for the cruise and even he did a double take when he saw me then even in street clothes. Gave me a thumbs up. Kia and I were majorly creeping on you in Nashville because you look SO much like Rick. All the way down to the swagger. As someone who has met Andy in person, the swagger is an integral part to being Andy/Rick. Is the swagger learned or is that just you being you? I've had people say I even walk like him but that is just my normal walk. For most of my life I have worn cowboy boots almost daily, so I'm sure that is part of the natural walk. I'll admit though that once the jacket and gun belt go on it probably amplifies it a bit. So, be honest, is it weird when people stare you down (*ahem* kind of like we did?����)? Sometimes. I'm still wrapping my head around all this. It is weird to me the way people act towards me and I'm not even the guy. I just look like the guy. The one thing I want to make very clear to everyone, I am not the celebrity here. Even when fans know I'm not him they get all emotional around me or are afraid to approach me. Please don't do that. I'm just a regular guy who happens to look like someone famous. That doesn't make me famous. I have been around enough cons now to see that there are too many professional cosplayers who think they are celebrities and have the attitude to go with it. That's not why I'm doing this. I enjoy cutting up and having fun with everyone and I hope that if nothing else people will know me as the fun, nice Rick cosplayer. How difficult was it to acquire the Rick Grimes wardrobe (including his famous murder coat)? [caption id="attachment_21759" align="alignleft" width="225"] Roberts showing off the infamous Murder Coat[/caption] I'm kind of a perfectionist about this. If I'm going to do it I have to be true to the character. There are a lot of Rick coat options out there but I wanted to make sure the collar was the right color and pocket zippers were at the right angle. I also had a few comments early on that my wardrobe was to new and clean so I took the jacket with me to my deer lease and drug it down the gravel roads behind my 4 wheeler. I also would freeze frame the show to see exactly where there were rips or fraying on his shirts and pants in order to duplicate as accurately as possible. The only other two significant expenses were the gun belt and Colt Python. I ordered the exact Tex Shoemaker holster that he uses in the show and again made sure I had all the accessories on the belt exactly as he does. The Python was a CO2 pistol that I modified the grip and replaced with actual Colt grips. It looks and feels just like the real thing now. The beat up boots, jeans and tshirt were obviously easy. Do you have a favorite wardrobe item? The gun belt. I grew up watching westerns and reading Louis Lamour books and always said I should have been born in the 1800's. When I put that on I just feel like the sheriff getting ready for a gun fight. Do you ever get stopped when you're out and about because people think you're Andy Lincoln? Everyday. Especially because I do spend a lot of time in airports due to my real job. It always happens when I'm walking through and out of the corner of my eye I see people sitting at gates tapping the person next to them and pointing at me. Or, I walk by a group and over my shoulder I hear " OMG that was.....". It was just funny to my friends and family but now it's kind of like, can we not go anywhere with you that someone doesn't come over. We were at Universal Orlando for spring break and my sons wanted pics with they people in the Bart and Homer Simpson costumes. Now I'm on vacation in shorts, flip flops, tshirt and sunglasses. When my boys were finished and we were about to walk away we hear Homer say "excuse me but can we get a picture with Rick". I've been to Senoia) about 3 times now and have had interactions with people there who have been face to face with Andrew, sometimes on a regular basis. They have approached me and started a conversation as if I'm him. I've had to stop them and identify myself. [caption id="attachment_21761" align="alignright" width="284"] Trent Roberts (left) side by side with Andrew Lincoln (right)[/caption] What do you love most about cosplaying as Rick Grimes? Having the opportunity to due some charitable work due to this resemblance is great. I have committed to due an event for a children's charity in Vancouver this October and hopefully this will open doors for more. Talking to fans and hearing that I may be the closest they ever get to meeting Rick is another motivation to make sure they have a memorable experience when they meet me.   Make sure to follow Trick Grimes on Facebook and Instagram.