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fuckyeahharryhart · 4 years ago

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KINGSMAN: THE GOLDEN CIRCLE, IN MY AU, HARRY HART WOULD STILL BE A BADASS WHEN THEY FIND OUT HE’S ALIVE. HE’S JUST A BAD ASS WITH NO MEMORY

IN MY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE - this is what happened when they found Harry. And Roxy is alive, cause “what the hell?” And basically is an excuse for me to thirst on Colin Firth as Harry Hart, who will always be a badass gentleman spy, memory or no.

Merlin, Eggsy and Roxy survived the explosions that destroyed Kingsman. Following the clues from their doomsday protocol, the three of them traveled to Kentucky to Statesman HQ.

They are confronted by Agent Tequila where they try to explain what they are doing there. Tequila does not believe them. He disarms and disables them. The scene begins in Statesman underground holding room. Roxy, Eggsy and Merlin wake up to find that they are bound and restrained.

(apologies in advance for grammar, spelling, format. First draft, secondish draft. Just did one quick read-through and fixed most of the glaring errors.

PS I kinda nerded out with the amnesia and weapons research)

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The room remained vague and shadowy. Eggsy fought against a heaviness that kept his eyes closed. He tried again to blink them open. No such luck. They were uncooperative. Moving on. Assessing what little he could, he tested the restraints that bound him to a cold metal chair both at the wrists and ankles. Zip ties. Cheap and easy, but harder to release from than traditional handcuffs. He tried anyway. And then a second time, only with more force. Nothing. He willed himself to relax. If he couldn’t get free with brute force, it was time to get creative. Switch to strategy and problem solving. At least try to figure out what the hell was going on and why a souped up cowboy was holding them hostage.

His training, his instincts wanted to kick in regardless of the fact that he was restrained. He ran through his checklist anyway. Scan and clear the room. Assess the threat. Spot entrances and exits. Locate the nearest weapon. It didn’t necessarily need to be a gun. Any object that could possibly disable an enemy would suffice.

It was infuriating that he was unable to proceed with his training. Like an itch he couldn’t scratch. It was a moot point anyway, nothing of him seemed to be responding to his commands. His surroundings remained a bleary haze. His brain still foggy, was trying to catch up.

The renegade cowboy that had disarmed and disabled Eggsy, Roxy and Merlin, was waiting rather patiently for them to wake up. That is, until the point he was no longer patient and decided to empty a bottle of perfectly good whiskey on Eggsy and Merlin. As he considered himself a gentleman, he spared Roxy.

It was unsettling how he took the three of them down so easily. Eggsy reasoned that they certainly weren’t at their best. Shit had gone down in the last 24 hours and they were damn tired.

Eggsy and Merlin sputtered in protest.

“So good of you to join us.” The cowboy’s tone was relaxed and untroubled.

He took a casual stance and leaned up against the wall like he was just waiting for something interesting to happen.

His head cocked to the right. “Now where was I?”

Nodding to himself, “Oh yeah”, he said, as if he just remembered something fascinating. His fingers snapped together with a sharp click. “You were just about to tell me who ya’ll were and how the hell you found us.” He mentioned this as if he were waiting for them to describe what they ate for breakfast and whether or not they had enjoyed it.

The disparity between his gregarious tone, his friendly manner, and the slightly hostile glint in his eyes was disconcerting.

He crossed his legs on the other side and tipped his head to the left.

“Anytime ya’ll are ready to start talkin’, Im all ears.”

They had already tried to explain what happened to their headquarters. Well, their tailor shop backstop. How likely was it that generations of tailors had passed down a secret doomsday protocol for survivors in case of complete destruction? Of their tailor shop? Eggsy had to admit, as a story, it positively wreaked implausibility. But it was true, aside from replacing their secret intelligence agency with a bespoke suit business.

From the cowboys perspective, it would seem kind of insulting that they expected the him to buy their story. Actually, It would seem pretty insulting to expect anyone with the most basic cognitive skills believe it. The problem was that, as ridiculous as story was, it was, in fact, the truth.

Eggsy didn’t have any more to say. Roxy, who would probably take him down if given half the chance, wisely remained quiet. Merlin’s furrowed brow meant that he most likely had a bloody lot to say, but nothing that would improve their situation.

They had reached an impasse.

The cowboy regarded them thoughtfully from under his Stetson, wide brimmed hat.

“We don’t have folks from your neck of the woods in these parts that often.” His lips pursed in thought.

“I would reckon once every year or so, some might pass through here that sound like y’all. Why,” nodding his head confirming his own information. “I think it was just about a year ago, we had someone drop in unexpectedly.”

He gazed up and to the right, as if recalling a memory. Maybe y’ll know him.” He said, his eyes falling back on them.

Merlin. “I highly doubt that.”

The cowboy drew back slightly, irked by their obstinance. These brits were stubborn as all get out. Did they seriously expect him to believe their doomsday protocol story? What was this? Were they on some kind of scavenger hunt?

“I just find it awfully convenient that you just “happened” to find this bottle of whiskey with our name on it. Right after your entire “shop” exploded with ALL it’s employees and everyone who worked there. Every single person who knows you, gone with it. That would be mighty upsettin’ if I was in ya’lls shoes.” He tried on a little sympathy for size. Nope, didn’t fit. He continued with his slight undertone of sarcasm.

“Can’t even make a call to see if anyone can vouch for y’alls.” Such a shame, he thought. Alrightly, he’d just keep talkin’ at ‘em until one of them slipped up or said something interesting.

He could talk into the night for all he cared. “Not even anythin’ left to take with you. Except a couple of watches that can unlock a biometric security system.” Now this was legitimately irritating.

“Why would some little ole tailors shop need to have a biometric security system? I mean, ya’ll look mighty fine in them suits and spectacles, but sorry to say, not that fine.”

He used this opportunity to break out one of his favourite southern idioms. “You see, that dog don’t hunt.” He amused himself.

“Look.” Said the Scotsman. “We have no idea what you are talking about. The only reason we are here is because we found one of your bottles.”

He nodded his head in understanding, before pressing his lips together, this time doubtfully twisting them to the side.

“See, here’s the thing. Lots and lots of folks have our bottles. Ain’t none of them ever broken into our maximum security “warehouse” before.”

“You’re looking for the Brit, ain’t ya? “His eyes narrowed. “And now why would that be?”

Merlin’s brow furrowed even deeper. “We still don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was reaching the far ends of his exasperation. “We do not know anyone here. Quite sorry to say, but we have never heard of Statesmen before. In our part of the world, we prefer a single malt scotch. No offence.”

“None taken.” He said pleasantly.

The cowboy pushed himself off the wall.

“Well,” he huffed, “It seems we’re at a stalemate.”

The cowboy continued to study them as he spoke.

“Ya’ll telling’ me a story you say is the truth.”

He shook his head in disappointment, feigning sadness. “And I just don’t believe ya. Now we could go round n round like this until we’re all blue in the face. But that sounds like a waste of time to me.”

“If we ain’t getting anywhere like this, might be time to switch things up a bit?”

“Ya’ll say you don’t know the Brit. But I’m thinkin’ y’all should talk to him. Might be able to make some sense out of what’s comin’ out of your mouth ‘cause I just don’t get it.”

Silence from the three of them. Well, weren’t they a stubborn bunch.

The man sighed dramatically and shrugged his wide shoulders.

“Well, it appears you wont be cooperatin’ with me. I think it’s about time ya’ll talk to someone else cause I sure aint getting’ nowhere with ya. But I don’t know if you’re gonna wanna talk to him.”

He regarded them sympathetically. “I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be on the other side of that table when he’s the one asking questions. Ya’ll might be wish’n to see my pretty face again.”

Three almost identically frustrated faces looked back at him.

“Word is round here, don’t matter what you won’t say to me.”

He started ambling across in front of them, from wall to wall in slow, measured steps.

“What matters is what y’all gonna to say to HIM.” He stopped mid-stride, turned toward them.

“Now, I’ve seen him doin’ his thing, right? Believe me, he’ll have ya talkin’ in ways you can’t even imagine.” He continued along his thoughtful line, turning away from them.

He began to let the heel of his boots scuff the floor with every step. “You wont even be able to shut up, ya’ll talk so much.” He spoke over his shoulder. “ Tellin’ him things you ain’t even tell your mama.”

No response from the three Kingsman.

He turned toward Roxy. “My apologies little lady, but here at Statesman? Guys and gals? We’re all on equal footing.” He had the gall to wink at her. “No matter what our name says.”

He hooked his thumbs under this belt and hitched the whole get up, flask holster and all, up his non existent hips.

“I hate to see a pretty miss like you have to go down with the likes of them.” He tilted his head in the direction of Merlin and Eggsy. “But, at Statesman, no special treatment for the fillies.”

Roxy proceeded to murder him with her eyes.

Absurdly, he decided it was a good and proper time to dial up the charm. “Say, you don’t wanna tell me what you and your boys were up to here? I’m pretty sure you’re the one keeping these fellas in line.”

Her eyes were wide and fierce. It turned out that Roxy no longer needed to blink.

“That’s quite a look you’re thrown’ at me.” The cowboy smirked.

“Well, I’m really sorry. I apologise for this, but ya’ll don’t give me no other choice.”

He turned toward the side and pulled out a pair of aviator sunglasses from his shirt pocket. The lenses were shaded to a dusky gold. He unfolded them, put them on and tapped the side of the lens.

“Ya there?” He spoke into the air.

Evidently the glasses were a communications device and he received an answer in return. He nodded to himself. “Yep, affirmative.”

There was another brief pause as he listened to the person on the other side. “Roger that.” He turned off the communication by tapping the side of the lens a second time.

He looked at them almost sympathetically. “It looks we ARE gonna find out what happens when we change things up a bit.”

He walked over to the frosted panel window and flipped a switch.

Roxy, Merlin and Eggsy were momentary blinded by a brilliant white light. So bright and unexpected that they had to turn away. They squinted against the flare as coloured spots tripped behind their eyelids. They continued to blink until their eyes adjusted to the intensity of the new light.

What they saw as the opacity of the glass dissolved… Well, to say they were ill prepared would be the understatement to understate all statements.

It couldn’t be.

It was utterly impossible.

But there he was.

Outlined by a dazzling white light.

Unmistakable.

It was Harry Hart.

—

The agents tried to gather their collective wits like they were trying to herd cats. It was nearly impossible. Harry disappeared from view. Sharp, tell tale footsteps could be heard walking down the short distance from the viewing area to their holding room.

Between the three of them, none had taken a single breath from the moment Harry Hart appeared behind the glass.

For Eggsy, a white hot wave surged through his body and seared him from his finger tips to his toes. He could even hear the heat ringing in his ears. It was a high pitched whine that reverberated from one side of his head to the other. He had no control over his physical response. Any authority that he may have had, dissipated with the frosted glass. Apparently, his body knew exactly what to do, because it was doing its own thing, without any input from him. He set his thoughts aside and let his body do whatever it felt the need to. He was fairly certain he was exhibiting the physical signs of shock. He felt pale, his hands were damp and clammy. He felt weirdly mortified. He might as well be naked, for he felt exposed to the deepest, most secret recesses of his soul. Places that had no business being brought to light.

He felt laughter bubble up through watery eyes he didn’t even know if he could call tears. For joy? Sheer bewilderment? Whatever the reason, his eyes were leaking. The buzzing in his ears wouldn’t stop and he felt sure he was about to pass out. He wanted to drop his head between his legs, but he didn’t dare pull his gaze away from the door he knew Harry Hart would enter from. He didn’t dare blink. Let alone look away.

His ears burned, his cheeks flamed red and splotchy. It was as if he was caught off guard doing the most embarrassing thing he could think of, just times a billion and witnessed by everyone from his mum to his kindergarten teacher, not to mention every famous person that he had a crush on or looked up to and the whole mortifying episode was being televised live around the world.

Whatever he was experiencing, it was nearly unbearable. Like suffocating and hyperventilating at the same time. Was that even possible? His heart had either stopped or was beating so rapidly that it felt as if it was hardly beating at all. Which seemed feasible as most of his blood had pooled in his cheeks and the tops of his ears. Surely, there was none flowing to his brain. It had signed out for the moment. It certainly wasn’t sticking around to see what was coming next.

He tried to arrange his face into the shape he thought would be appropriate for when his mentor, who he saw get shot point blank in the face, a man who died over a year ago, who he had spent what felt like a lifetime grieving, materialise as an interrogator for a covert cowboy secret agency in Kentucky. He couldn’t imagine what an acceptable face would look like in that situation, so he assumed that his face had no expression at all. It was the best he could do.

He didn’t even posses the wherewithal to see how his partners where faring. He hoped that they were in a more presentable state. He moved his mouth to form words, but nothing came out. He tried clearing his throat, but it was dry and papery. Apparently, whatever autonomous system that controlled his salivary glands also decided that this whole situation was bullshit and decided to check out, too.

The track of the footsteps, even now so familiar, paused at the door. The handle turned with a weighty click.

He didn’t have the brain capacity to even imagine what would happen next.

The only thing in his head were three letters. And they weren’t ABC.

They were W. T. F.

The door opened.

They saw the man who had once been the foundation of their agency.

The man who had once been its living and breathing heart and soul.

How long had it been since he last thought of Harry Hart? After the initial grief, the denial, the anger, and finally, the acceptance, the loss became a dull ache. Though tolerable, it never went away. They never found his body, but he didn’t have hope that Harry would ever return. He saw the shot that took his life. Even the best agent had no way of possibly surviving a point blank shot to the face. Harry fell where he had once stood. He didn’t get back up. And like that, Harry Hart was gone.

In the aftermath of V-day, Eggsy and the others didn’t have a chance to even stop and think about what happened to Harry, let alone process the loss. That came after. In the moments when time slowed down, things got quiet, and they no longer had the urgency of missions to distract them from the loss or to use as a vehicle for their anger and rage at the unfairness of it all.

Eggy’s pain was not only due to the loss of his mentor, but also from the fact that he never got to tell the man just how important he was to him. Their final conversation repeated in his head, over and over, on endless loop. The last words that he had exchanged with Harry were harsh and accusatory. How much he wished that that conversation had not been their last. What wouldn’t he give to say the rest of the words that were caught in his throat. To finally release them. To say he was sorry. But the chance never came and the words clung to him, never to be spoken.

A tall man in a dark pinstripe suit entered the room.

At first glimpse, he was their Harry Hart. As perfect as they imagined and just as they all remembered him. Only on closer inspection did they notice small, but significant details that would indicate otherwise.

He was wearing what looked like the exact same suit he “died” in. But this one didn’t show any of the wear and damage that was sure to have happened in that final, brutal rampage. Either Statesman had an excellent tailor repair the original suit, or more likely, Harry had his suit replicated.

The details were exacting as they had always been. The tie with the Windsor knot. The pristine white spread collar and crisp pocket square. French cuffs that were still held by the Kingsman cuff links.

His standard horn rimmed communication glasses had been modified. The left lens was now shaded a solid black. There was an additional piece that covered his peripheral vision from the edge of the lens to the end of the arm on his left side.

How was it possible that he stood before them, as handsome and regal as ever? Hell, the man could even make a blacked out eye look distinguished. It added to his air of gravitas.

A curious pair of black cowboy boots with elaborate stitching, stood out from below the mid-break of his trousers. The footsteps they heard in the hallway didn’t come from his standard oxfords.

Neither did they see the familiar Kingsman standard issue pistol he would always pack without fail. In his right hand, held down by his side, he toted a nickel plated Colt Single Action Army revolver modified with a double barrel. He carried it by its smooth, wooden grip.

But he did walk with the same measured strides, familiar in pace and sound. Harry took his place in front of them as the cowboy found a space off to the side.

They wore their incredulity in silence. Words were insignificant compared to this impossible occasion. Words that would adequately express their turmoil did not exist. Merlin looked like he was trying to deconstruct a complex algorithm in his head. Roxy looked, he imagined bizarrely, like she had just been denied an orgasm. Where the hell did that come from? Eggsy fairly certain he looked like a bloody idiot.

And so they waited.

Familiar, golden brown eyes, well, eye now, gazed over them. Making and then holding eye contact with each of them in the way they had always remembered he would when he required their full attention.

They searched his eyes and face for recognition. To see any kind of dawning realization that he knew who they were. Merely seeing Harry, alive and mostly whole, was something that was unfathomable to them.

Finally, Harry spoke.

The vibration of his voice was able to resonate through their shocked and dampened senses. It was a deep and calming sound. Smooth, measured tones with an aristocratic accent that clipped his words. Vibrant. It was a voice that was warm, safe and familiar. It was a voice that sounded like home.

What was completely baffling were the words that beautiful voice said.

“Please excuse my dreadful manners. But I don’t believe we have properly met.”

They turned and glanced at each other in confusion. What the hell? Surely there had to be some part of Harry that recognized them. At least Merlin, with whom he shared a history going back over twenty years.

“Harry. It’s us.” Merlin implored. “We’re not undercover. Right now, we’re not anything. That’s why we came here.”

“Harry.” Merlin’s voice was touched with sorrow. “Kingsman is gone.”

Harry’s face remained impassive. The spark of recognition remained unfired. There was no hint of softening, no warmth, no glint that told them, “Not to worry. Everything is under control.”

Harry confirmed. “Yes, I had the pleasure of hearing your story.” He leaned back against the wall and took a casual stance. Crossing his legs in front of him much like Tequila did. He placed a hand in a pocket. The other gripped the Colt lightly.

“It’s quite interesting.” He looked thoughtful. “And particularly unfortunate that this Kingsman Tailoring “Agency” that you speak of, was completely and utterly destroyed. How unfortunate that the three of you happen to be the only survivors.”

Time paused with him as he contemplated this thought for awhile.

“It would seem rather convenient, on the other hand, for that gives us absolutely no way to possibly verify your doomsday scenario.”

The disappointment on his face hit them with a guilt that was worse than his impassivity.

“And why, all of a sudden, after a year, would not only one, but three mysterious Brits arrive here at Statesman, of all the places in the world, for no other reason than a bottle telling them to.”

Beseechingly, Eggsy replied. “Harry, we don’t understand what’s happening. We thought that you had died when Valentine shot you outside the church.”

Harry’s face suddenly hardened. Slowly he pulled himself up to his full height.

“How could you possibly know that?” The air around them became sharp with tension.

How did they end up on the wrong side of the interrogation table? They had never seen Harry from this perspective. But they had witnessed him work targets before. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.

As Harry continued, his voice remained very calm and very steady.

“No one. Pardon me. I should clarify. No one alive except Statesman has that knowledge. Not even I had that knowledge in the beginning.”

Instantly, it was crucial that no one speak out of turn. Harry’s voice had taken on a tone that was flat and affectless. They had rarely heard it before, but they knew it was dangerous to be on the receiving end of that dull and indifferent voice.

Harry was walking his edge. And Harry on the edge was not someone you wanted to push. To anyone else, he would have appeared unchanged. But he had the sharp glint in his eye, the set to his jaw, and the steely note to his voice that betrayed he was very, very angry. They only knew this because of their history with him. It was critical to tread very lightly.

Eggsy words were dressed with caution.

“Harry, you were at the church, “he emphasised, “on behalf of Kingsman.” He carefully walked through a minefield of words, wary of any misstep that would trigger Harry’s anger in their direction.

“We knew that Richmond Valentine was up to no good. You were assigned the mission to find out exactly what he was planning. You flew to Kentucky. Valentine was testing his SIM card transmitter on the people in the church. You were there as well. Even though you didn’t have a SIM card, the transmission was strong enough to affect everyone, whether they had a SIM card or not.”

“Merlin and I were on the communication feed. We saw everything…. You were affected by the sound waves, too… You had no control…” He wasn’t sure how to continue, but he definitely didn’t want to mention the number of people Harry had killed.

Merlin spoke on his behalf. “Eggsy’s right. We saw you confront Valentine. We saw him shoot you in the head. We thought that you had died. The bullet destroyed the communication feed or else it would have transmitted…” he paused. “Proof of life, or confirmation of death.”

Harry reflected. “Yes, I did almost die on that day.”

Eggsy and Merlin flinched.

“It was only through, whatever would like to call it, luck, perhaps fate. Regardless, it was Statesman that located me. They were able to save my life. I owe them. I am a man who honors his debts.”

The room prickled with silence. They dared not say more until they were able to see more of the landscape they were trying to traverse. It was littered with threats.

Harry, now pacing in slow, steady strides, continued. “With all the resources you say this Kingsman agency had, how surprising that it had to be strangers that came to my aid. Otherwise,” he recalled, “I would be, quite dead.”

The three of them realised they were on eggshells atop a minefield. Never before had they been confronted by Harry in this manner. Never before had they even witnessed Harry in this state. They were uncertain of what to do when faced with this degree of suspicion and mistrust from a man, who in the past, would have given his life to save any of theirs.

When no one spoke, he began to ruminate. “At Statesman, we knew that it was Richmond Valentine who shot me. Confirmed by two of their agents.” He turned back toward them. “Though the question of why still remained unsolved.”

Coming closer. “But you three, now, are here with that answer,” He paused in-between his points for effect.

“But you are here, completely by chance.” pause

“Only because of a doomsday protocol scenario.” pause

“A scenario that led you to Statesman.” pause

“And I just happen to be here as well.” pause

“Do you know what the odds are of that happening?” pause

“Rather extraordinary, don’t you think?” pause

“I must say, you are quite the interesting trio. Unassuming. Not quite what one would expect for this sort of operation. Perhaps that is the point. Disarm me with your improbability, with your accents, so familiar to my own. Here to deliver stories of how I was part of an organization that no longer exists. And you are the only other individuals who know what occurred the day I was shot.” He stopped in front on them. He turned to face them and drew tall once more.

Looking at each other was a dare none of them were willing to take. They knew that the most important thing at that moment was to maintain eye contact with Harry anytime he looked in their direction. If they couldn’t offer him any answers, at least they could show him that they had nothing to hide. Now was not the time to look or act guilty.

No matter how many tactics he used, regardless of how hard he pushed them, their story would be the same because they had no other story. Was there no memory of Kingsman at all? What about Harry’s moral code, that Kingsman only risked a life to save a life. Was that a credo he still followed? The did not know what to expect.

“Regardless. Questions for another time I suppose.” He waved his hand as if brushing them away.

“The pressing issue still remains.” He was firm and unyielding. “Who are you and how did you find us.”

What could they possibly say at this point? They remained silent.

“We welcome our visitors and our guests. However, we do not take kindly to trespassers. You say you have nothing to protect, but your honor. If the three of you are the only survivors of your organization and you are as close as you say, I would assume that you would, at the very least, protect a third of what remains of your agency.

Eggsy suddenly found himself on the business end of a Colt Single Action Army revolver.

Staring down the barrel of the gun, he felt drunk, off balance, like he had fallen into an alternate universe. Where the laws of physics no longer applied.

“Harry, it’s me.” The only thing he could think of that could reach Harry was the guilt he had carried with him for over 17 years. The guilt that made him reach out to Eggsy in the first place.

With self-possession he did not have, he composed himself as well as he could while being threatened by the mentor he once thought was dead.

“My father saved your life.” He spoke quietly and deliberately and without hesitation. “But you had made a mistake that cost him his. You were trying to repay him by helping me find purpose, to do something good with my life. You recruited me to Kingsman. You changed everything for me.”

The look Harry returned for these words was almost kindly.

“I’ll give you the following three seconds to prove that to me.”

Fuck. Eggsy was drawing a blank.

He could hear Roxy and Merlin, as if they were underwater yelling to Harry anything they could to make him stop.

What felt like a lifetime later, the door burst open. Apparently, he had lost the ability to count, because that brief passage of time felt like much longer than three seconds.

“Stop!” a woman yelled urgently. She tossed Harry a black umbrella. He caught it deftly with one hand.

“Their story checks out.” She held her palms out toward Harry. Please stop.

“I checked our doomsday scenario locker.” She explained. “Only to be opened in the case of a catastrophic event that cripples the agency to the point where we cannot rebuild on our own. It was established by a network of international intelligence agencies, forged when they first began. Since autonomy was the goal for each agency, once the protocol was put into place, no agency was to uncover it unless absolutely necessary.”

“Take a look.” She nodded to the umbrella in his hand. “Kingsman. It has our logo on it.”

Harry paused to inspect the handle. Sure enough, the Statesman logo replaced the “s” in Kingsman.

He handled the umbrella in a way that seemed familiar to him. It almost seemed like he was looking for other recognisable features. Eggsy has seen plenty of Harry handling the umbrella like it was an extension of himself. He had saved Eggy’s life with it. It looked so natural in his hands. Like it completed the final picture of their Harry Hart and he was hopeful that this might be the final piece of the puzzle.

Harry looked at the umbrella thoughtfully. It was difficult to read his face if he didn’t want it to be read. After a pause, he tossed it lightly back to Ginger.

“Not good enough.” The gun swung back toward Eggsy.

They froze, unable to move, speak or even breathe. They were at a loss, nothing in their training prepared them for this. Roxy and Merlin could only watch helplessly as Harry cocked the revolver at Eggsy. Was it a live round? Or was it blank?

What kind of FU world would allow something like this to happen? Eggsy thought. He grasped for any hope, any last play that he could make, but the only thing within his reach was empty space. It simply slid through his fingers, without purchase, without substance. There was nothing that he could hold on to.

BUT… his eyes darted towards Harry’s right hand. The gun in his face was blocking his view… Fuck it. He squeezed eyes shut as he opened his mouth. The words ran together and toppled over each other as they spilled out without pause.

“you wear a gold signet ring on your right little finger gentleman are traditionally supposed to wear the ring on the left hand but you wear yours on your right because a Kingsman always wears it on whatever hand happens to be dominant and you are right handed”

Nothing happened. And it was quiet.

Cautiously, Eggy peered from one eye. He wasn’t dead. He opened the other eye.

Harry regarded him from along the barrel of the revolver. Eggsy flinched away from its deadly mouth.

Harry deliberated. His mind took a step back and a step to the side. He looked at the situation from a different perspective. Because he was wearing a signet ring on his right hand, not on his left, as was the gentlemen’s tradition. He was wearing it when he was shot. He could not recall where the ring came from, or its significance. Researching the insignia came up with no leads. But he continued to wear the ring, for no other reason than it felt right to him. Like he insisted on wearing his suit, rather than Statesman’s tie and jacket.

His eyes let go of some of the hardness. Eggsy hoped that he saw a little softening at the edges.

Harry’s voice, so familiar it made his heart hurt. Not accusatory, but with interest, he asked, “How do you know that?”

Eggsy, with great effort willed his gaze to leave the barrel of the gun and meet the face that had once meant so much to him. He caught Harry’s eyes and didn’t flinch.

He took a deep breath. “I know,” he said with a calmness and a clarity he did not feel, “because I’m wearing one, too.”

Harry, without breaking eye contact, nodded to Ginger. She hurried to Eggsy’s side. After a quick glance, she confirmed, indeed, he was wearing a signet ring exactly like Harry’s.

Harry lowered his gun. There were three consecutive sighs of relief.

“My apologies.” He said as he holstered his weapon.

“It seems as if we have much to discuss.”

———

They found themselves in a massive great room at Statesman HQ, the top floor of a huge structure the shape of the Statesman signature whiskey bottle. Floor to ceiling windows circled the entire room, providing a 360 degree view of the rolling hills of Kentucky from every vantage point.

The centrepiece of the space was a leviathan of a conference table. Elaborately carved, solid hard wood. The trees that created that table must have had lived for years to grow to such a substantial size. It had space to sit 12, but only few of the spots were occupied.

One of which by a larger than life, genial, vintage cowboy of a man. A little flashy, a little ostentatious, more than a little gregarious, he was the head of the Statesman outfit. With a place at the head of the table, he leaned back in his plush armchair with aplomb. He introduced himself as “Champagne” or Champ as he was known affectionately by his agents.

Roxy wasn’t surprised that, aside from Ginger Ale, she was the only female present. Hell, Ginger was the only other female that she had seen since they had entered Statesman HQ. Well, technically ‘broke in’, but still. They had an invitation, even if it was only in the shape of a whiskey bottle. A bottle that they had emptied while wallowing in self pity. Even Merlin was a bit maudlin, at one point, sobbing into his whiskey and singing Country Roads a little off key. Roxy had side-eyed him until Eggsy spotted the secret message hidden behind the label. She wondered they they had made the clue unnoticeable until the bottle was emptied. They could have quite possibly missed the hint. Being under the influence of, admittedly, very smooth whiskey did not enhance ones ability to spot decades old subtext on the back of whiskey labels. Whose clever idea had that been?

Once again, she found herself in the odd situation where she wanted to be taken seriously as an agent, but Agent Tequila’s insistence on calling her sweetheart, miss, darling, filly of all things didn’t give her much confidence that Statesman would be any different from the old boys club that was Kingsman.

Even back at HQ, she was often, dear, dearest, or darling. The only person that she tolerated those endearments from where Eggsy, who used them in jest, and surprisingly Harry Hart. But Galahad, and Galahad Sr. calling her dear was much different than a two-bit, over the top, slick cowboy secret agent she had just met calling her something as intimate as “darling”.

Would it kill him to call her Lancelot? It miffed her that he used Eggsy’s handle and not hers. Looking at the head of their organisation, she didn’t expect him to be much different.

She took a seat the near end of the table, between Eggsy and Merlin. Agent Tequila walked in with Ginger, followed by Harry. She was surprised when he continued past them and walked around the head of the table to the other side, the Statesman side, and took a seat next to Ginger. He pulled out his chair, as smooth and as graceful as he sat thousands of times at the head of the Kingsman table. Even unbuttoning the last button of his suit so it wouldn’t crease and smoothing the back of his jacket before he leaned into his chair. The crossed legs, the hands folded on the knee. The authoritative, yet relaxed posture. It was all so familiar. What she couldn’t reconcile was the inscrutable, impenetrable expression that fell over his face every time he glanced in their direction. There was no warmth, no familiarity, no flicker of understanding. It made his face look unfamiliar and she did not like it one bit.

To add insult to injury, Ginger had leaned over and whispered something in his direction. The small hint of a ‘not quite smile’ that pressed his lips together, his mouth just barely turned up at the corners, meant that she had shared an observation that confirmed something in his mind in a bemused sort of way. It was the look Harry had once made, when inquired about Eggsy’s tardiness, she revealed that he was running late because it was JB’s birthday party later and he wanted to get the dog “pupcakes” to celebrate. The memory tugged at her heart.

She didn’t turn her head to see how Eggsy was faring, but she could almost feel his dejection. She hoped it wasn’t so obvious on his face. Sometimes he was a little too earnest for his own good. Not that her other side was an improvement. Merlin was seated directly across from Harry. Only a distance of several feet, but it might as well have been lengths of the world for as distant Harry was from them. The furrow between the Scotsman’s brows had appeared the moment they discovered Harry alive. It took up residence on his face. Harry Hart, the man who was the only person close enough for Merlin to consider a friend, was now a mystery to him.

The loss, between Eggsy and Merlin, was a cold empty space that Roxy had the unfortunate pleasure to be seated between. She was determined to warm up whatever mood vacuum that had sucked her in. Or at least not make it any worse.

And why did she always have to be the mediator? The men had elected Roxy as their spokesperson as neither of them thought that they would be able to speak without laughing, crying, shouting or hitting something. Predictably, she found herself the voice of reason. To be fair, she WAS the one with the least emotional involvement. Not that she hadn’t adored and respected Harry Hart, like everyone that worked under his guidance, but she had to admit, Merlin and Eggsy must be twice as confused and devastated by the recent turn of events. She mentally steeled herself against any additional revelations that might be thrown their way. But at this point, if there was something that could top this most recent turn of events, they might as well just blow up this joint and let it all burn down, too.

After everyone had settled in, and to her amusement, a pour of whiskey was set in front of each of them. She decided to get this “rodeo” started. She nodded in Champs direction. He tipped his chin, tapped his glass with his pen to get everyone’s attention and announced the opening of the meeting. All the Statesman and Harry, emptied their glasses. From her peripheral she saw Merlin and Eggsy follow suit without hesitation. Did all agencies revolve around the consumption of alcohol? She had already developed quite a tolerance from her brief stint at Kingsman so far. Well, if it brought these two agencies on familiar ground, who was she to argue? She tipped her glass back. And the welcomed the warmth after the initial burn, though still much smoother than could be expected. She appreciated the added touch of liquid courage. She cleared her throat.

“We find ourselves here, under what we,” she gestured to herself and her colleagues, “believed to be the most difficult of circumstances. Only to be faced with another impossible situation. As you can imagine, the revelation that Harry Hart, our Sr. Agent Galahad,” she nodded in his direction, “who we believed had been killed over a year ago by Richmond Valentine, that he is still alive, has been shocking for us.”

In Harry’s direction, she continued, addressing him directly. “Harry. If we had believed there to be even the most infinitesimal chance that you could have survived Valentine’s bullet, we would have not hesitated to garner all the forces of Kingsman to find you and bring you back.”

Harry, respectfully listened to Lancelot, attentive, but without revealing anything aside from simple interest.

She faltered a little under his gaze. And she, too, wished for that little wink, the small tilt of his chin that would encourage her to continue. Just as he first did when she joined Kingsman, nervous over her first debriefing. There was no comfort to be found in his direction. She took a deep breath and continued.

“Both Eggsy - our current Galahad - and Merlin witnessed the events of what we thought was your death.” She forced herself to face him, eye to eye, without hesitation. After all that he had sacrificed for them, it was the least she could offer him.

Her voice was clear and firm, her words meticulously thought out. “They saw you get shot, point blank, in the face, by no more than a distance of 10 feet, by a 9mm semi-automatic Heckler and Koch P30. The bullet destroyed the communication transmission via the left lens.”

Both Eggsy and Merlin were looking down. Both remembering all too clearly the events from that day. The details were painful for them to hear, especially when the man who they thought had died, was in fact, sitting across the table. Even though they had every right to call time of death, they couldn’t help but feel they had left him behind.

Roxy continued. “Merlin, our communications and technology strategist and Galahad, who was at the time, your protege, had witnessed all the events up to the point the bullet severed the transmission. We could only deduce, at that point, that a bullet of that caliber, from that distance, would have shattered the lens.” She took a deep breath, “and continued through the left eye and exited the back of the head. Resulting in immediate death.”

She could sense Eggsy flinch by her side. He had seen the whole thing far too clearly.

“As much as we wanted to, we were unable to collect the body at the time of death. Due to unforeseen circumstances regarding treachery within the highest ranks of our agency, Merlin, Eggsy and I, had to straight away address both the source of our internal corruption and abort the plans initiated by Richmond Valentine. We were successful in both, but not in time to prevent casualties, both enemy and civilian.”

In speaking so intimately regarding what they thought was his death, she decided to switch identifiers from “the” to “your”. The man was sitting right in front of her. She spoke with a new earnest note in her voice. Rather than distancing herself from her words, she decided to speak from the place that had felt the same grief and loss as Eggsy and Merlin.

Harry’s eyes took on a different note as he heard the emotion in Roxy’s voice.

“In the immediate aftermath of V-day, after the initial threat was neutralised, we flew to the States in an attempt to find you, identify you, and bring you home for proper internment, but we were unable to locate your body. We tried over weeks, through every channel, every resource, we followed every lead, with no success. We didn’t hope to find you alive.”

She fought against the wave of emotion that threatened her composure.

“But we hoped that we would be able to properly commemorate your bravery, your integrity, your sacrifice, with the honour, dignity and grace worthy of your life and your legacy.”

Roxy had stop for a moment, but she did not look away. A small tear rolled down her cheek without her noticing or bothering to wipe it away. It was as if the loss was new again. This pain was fresh. For all of them.

Harry’s eyes finally softened and they caught a glimpse of the man they remembered. But whether it was empathy for Roxy, clearly struggling to continue as her emotions caught in her throat, or understanding how they felt and what they had to do in the most difficult of situations, they did not know.

And whatever amnesia he was experiencing had to be temporary, right? Surely Melin could devise a plan to help jump start his memory. Now that the were there, they could help him remember.

—

Roxy was determined to continue until the end.

“After the events of V-Day, we had to recenter and regroup. Our agency had clearly been compromised. We needed to locate and close the leaks and tie up any loose ends. Our losses were felt across the board. We had to rebuild what we could from the ground up. To recapture the integrity of our organisation. The immediate need to clean up the aftermath was one of the few things that we could focus on to help us come to terms with your loss. We knew, that if you had survived, you would have taken the mantle of Arthur. And that it would be your highest priority to rebuild the agency beyond reproach.”

“After several weeks, in which we continued our search for you, we felt that it would be best for us personally and professionally to move on. We held a private memorial for you, and honoured you as best as we could. After that, we could only move forward. It was a difficult time for all of us.”

“We found ourselves here, after our organisation was levelled again. This time with only the three of us as survivors. Our HQ, our foundry, our storefront.” Her eyes flared with anger at this point. “And all of our agents worldwide aside from Galahad and I, were all taken down as targets.”

“Merlin was the only surviving handler and tech strategist and the only one of us that had been with the agency long enough know that a Doomsday protocol existed. With all of our resources destroyed, we had no way of protecting ourselves, to find out who had organised and carried out such a coordinated attack. Our last and only option was to see if this protocol existed.”

“We found the Statesman logo. Located your distillery here in Kentucky. At this point, we really had no plan beyond finding your organisation and hoping that you would be able to assist us.”

“We still had some tech in our possession, which I admit, looked suspicious for a group of tailors to have, let alone know how to use. That’s when your agent found us. We meant no ill will, but we had no other way to get into contact with your organization. We didn’t even know if you existed. We had nothing to lose but to continue to follow any clues that we might come across. We had no protocol for a circumstance like this.”

“You can only imagine our bewilderment to be taken as adversaries when we were looking for help. And then our shock of finding Harry Hart. Finding him, not only alive, but with no memory of the agency he was devoted to over 30 years. It still is an unthinkable situation that we were not prepared for and obviously, are still trying to process.”

She had been speaking for a long time. She paused, took a sip of water, swallowed, before continuing.

She addressed the table. “Everything that we have said is the truth. We were also an independent intelligence agency with headquarters in London.”

She turned again to Harry. “You were an integral member of this agency for most of your adult life. You know each of us well. Merlin has been your colleague for over 20 years. You knew Eggsy’s father, he saved your life in a mission that had gone sideways. That was seventeen years ago. You had recruited him as a way to repay his fathers sacrifice. My uncle was also a long time colleague of yours and our families go back many years.”

“We are so grateful that you are alive. We are sorry that we left you behind. That would never be our intention. We are forever indebted to Statesman for saving your life and taking care of you. But as you can imagine, we have questions of our own. How did you get here? How did you survive? Do you have no memory of Kingsman at all? What can you remember? Obviously, you have retained your skills, but to what extent? If you honestly don’t remember, then we can see how unbelievable our story is. But I think if you are still a man of honour and integrity, then you have to feel that we are not hostiles or adversaries. We pose no threat to you. Your instincts must tell you we are offering you the truth.”

She could tell that Harry was processing the information, she just couldn’t tell whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Roxy concluded. “And that brings us here to the present. I think our most pressing question is “how did you survive?”

Harry nodded to Ginger to answer the question. He seemed to want to observe the conversation. His attention had never wavered from Roxy while she spoke, only widened at times to include Eggsy or Merlin. If he had come to a conclusion, there was nothing that they could see.

Roxy gladly handed off the meeting to Ginger. Harry’s unwavering gaze was getting a little unnerving. Without the added scrutiny, she could get collect her own thoughts and feelings. Kingsman recruitment training had been brutal, but nothing could have prepared them for the last 48hrs. Nothing in the Gentleman’s Guide had a blueprint on how to behave when your agency gets blown up and your dead mentor, comes back to life, has amnesia, and then almost shoots you.

——

Ginger spoke up.

“I would like to confirm that we now have proof that your story is legitimate Which means, Harry, what they are saying about your history with Kingsman is most likely the truth.”

Harry tilted his chin slightly in her direction in acknowledgement.

She spoke in the direction of the three Kingsman. “We have just received corroboration from several independent sources that the events did occur as described and that your agency was the target of a massive strike against organisations such as ours. We are sorry for your loss. You will have full access to our resources to investigate this adversary and we will provide you with support. This is a threat that affects all of us.”

Merlin spoke up. His voice was rough with concern.

“Harry, what happened?”

Harry’s voice, deep and a with familiar, crisp authority, suddenly filled the space.

“At this point, I believe Ginger will be able to recall the events much more clearly than I. I have no recollection of events immediately following the shooting.” He turned to her. “Please, continue.”

Merlin gaze remained fixed on Harry and worried there for several moments, before he turned his attention to Ginger.

“The day prior to V-Day, we detected the transmission of a very low frequency sound wave. Much lower than what is normally used for any legitimate communication. This frequency, for the time and location, was suspicious to say the least and it was imperative that we investigate. Agent Tequila and I helicoptered to the spot, about 10 miles away.”

“The frequency stopped right about the time we were closing in on the location. We had already pinpointed the source so we knew where it originated from. Even though the transmission had stopped, we could still find clues to its origin.”

“We were just flying into the zone when we witnessed the shooting. We saw Valentine and his accomplices depart. They didn’t confirm death. I expect they thought that shooting someone in the face.. well, there are not many outcomes. Our timing couldn’t have been better planned. We had developed what we call “alpha gel” to use on our own agents in the case of a head shot. Previously, a head shot meant immediate death. Body armour can only protect so much. We’ve lost very good agents.’

But depending on where the bullet entered the skull and if there was minimal damage to the actual brain and spinal cord, the gel could potentially save an agents life.

Harry was still alive when I checked his vitals. I applied the alpha gel immediately. It’s crucial to activate the gel to prevent tissue damage and accelerate the nannites that are used to repair neural pathways. I won’t go further in depth at this point. The main issue at that moment was to preserve life.

Of course, because of his glasses, we knew that he was intelligence, we just didn’t know whose and we had no way of finding out without compromising Harry’s safety and our anonymity.

Harry suffers from retrograde amnesia, which could be from the injury. But it can also be a side effect of the alpha gel. However, when life it at risk, the benefits outweigh the possible negative outcomes. This kind of memory loss, you lose existing, previously made memories. This type of amnesia tends to affect recently formed memories first. Older memories, such as memories from childhood, are usually affected more slowly.

She motioned to Harry, while he listened closely to her explanation.

“So while Harry was whole as a person, personality wise, function wise, cognitive and behavioural skills in place, he had no memory of who he was aside from what could be observed. He had no memory of his past, people, places, events. This was an interesting case because usually with retrograde amnesia, there can be the regression to the younger self. The skill set and knowledge and the growth that occurred during the time of memory loss can also be lost as well. Such as, if you learned French while you were in college, but you lost the memories of this timeframe, in most cases, you would no longer be able to speak French. In fact, the whole memory that you learned it to begin with would be gone. In these cases, the knowledge and skill learned during this time would also be forgotten. However, in some rare cases, the ability to remember the skill remains, while the memory of the past when it was learned is lost.

“In Harry’s case, it was obviously the later.”

The slightest shift in the landscape of Harry’s face indicated that we was thoughtful and reflective. How must it be to wake up and not know who you are.

Harry, while still maintaining full concentration on Ginger, set a small part of him free to revisit the day he regained consciousness. Which technically, would not be regaining consciousness, since he had no recollection of losing consciousness to begin with.

——

POV HARRY HART

“My name is Harry Hart.” It was the first thought that went through his head.

Secondly, “Caucasion male, 6’2”, brown hair, brown eyes, 58 years of age. 13.5 stone” That all sounded perfectly reasonable to him.

Thirdly, wasn’t a thought, it was a feeling of emptiness. Not as if he was missing something. It did not feel like loss. It did not feel as if he was lacking. That would imply that there was something present to begin with. It was not a feeling he could identify or that felt familiar or could find a word that was representative. It was unusual for him. He never found his vocabulary lacking. Perhaps if it could be called a non-feeling. He was a vessel. Neither empty, nor full. And no desire to be either or. An interesting sensation.

When he first woke up, he had not realised that he was suffering from amnesia. Due to the amnesia there were no memories that insisted he should be a certain person. That he had to exist in a certain place. Doing something specific. A curious circumstance. There was no sense of surprise waking up in the condition he found himself to be. He did whatever he would do in a circumstance like this. Assess the situation.

As he entered a conscious state, his mind automatically shifted into overdrive. But without moving. Without betraying any kind of change. He felt the need to remain unnoticed. He did this from where he rested. He first determined if he had sustained any injury or damage that had caused permanent physical disability or bodily harm. He had full function of all of his appendages. He did not know how long he had been in this state, but he did not notice any signs of muscle atrophy or joint stiffness. They must have a system that stimulated muscle tissue and nerves to prevent deterioration or he had not been in an immobile state for any length of time. Blinking his eyes was like scrapping sandpaper and his throat was a desert of sand. He attempted to make any kind of noise and found it difficult. That meant he had to have been out for at least some meaningful period of time. His head did ache something awful, and he noted a bandage or some other type of patch over his left eye. The use of only one eye would change his perception of depth, and the range of his peripheral vision, but he did not doubt that he would be able to adjust accordingly.

He had no reason to question his cognitive function. He processed information unhesitatingly and with ease. Without a sense of doubt, without faltering, he scanned the room and began to examine his surroundings. He was being held in some kind of hospital or medical ward. Not civilian. It was either private or for research. Maybe military. Hi tech, advanced equipment. Everything was in pristine condition. Two exits on opposing sides. No windows. A complex ventilation and filtration system suggested an underground location. No immediate threat that he could ascertain, but that could change at any moment. No apparent weapons. Some medical instruments that could possibly work. He was not restrained so he was not being held against his will. Or there was no need if he was unconscious the entire time. He did not feel any urgency or sense of immediate danger, but he did not question his need to assess the situation .

He heard two people approach the door to the left. Judging from the echoing quality and the gradual volume and clarity of their foot steps, from a fairly long corridor.

His eyes remained closed, his breathing shallow and steady, his heartbeat was slow and rhythmic. He concentrated on the sound. One set of footsteps was clearly male. The stride was longer, more pronounced, in heavy shoes, presumably boots. But an easy pace. Most likely 6’, 13 stone, physically fit. His gait was even, balanced and light. Not the walk of someone that led a sedentary life. The second set of footsteps he concluded were female. Lighter, but not timid. A confident woman. Just a smaller stature. Medium height. Slight frame. Like her partner, fit, alert, competent.

He did not know why or how he came up with these deductions, but he did not question them. He held the information in his mind so it was easily accessible. The voices, once they became decipherable, were relaxed and easy. Their tone was jovial and non-threatening. Younger than he was. American accent, with a southern drawl. He could be in the US, but anywhere was possible. While he did not expect danger, he still prepared himself for the risk. Mostly, his need was to understand the where he was, how he got there and have leverage over the situation.

The door opened with a heavy swooshing sound. He did not hear the click of a lock being turned, so he was not being held in high security setting.

The two individuals were still conversing, and he could just almost decipher what they were discussing. The man remained on his right hand side while the woman walked around the foot of the bed to inspect the instruments and diagnostics panels to the left. Her back was turned away from him. The man remained at his side. A quick glance in his direction. A holster was slung around his waist, it held a nickelplated SIG-Sauer P226 with wooden grips. A quality weapon. To his advantage, the strap securing the weapon was not snapped in. That would have been a trickier maneuver.

He guessed the woman was in medical, the man, based on the weapon and the fact that he was not actively participating in the tasks, that he was a guard or protection of some sort. With their relaxed tones, and familiar interactions, possibly a friend or colleague.

Not one to overthink a situation, he decided now was as good a time as any. No use in waiting, expecting a better scenario. Best to address the situation you know rather than wait for one you don’t. Never a guarantee for a better set of circumstances. Only guarantee is time lost.

He waited patiently for the moment to proceed. Just a small distraction was all he needed. It arrived sooner than he anticipated and under better circumstances that he had the right to expect.

“Tequila, would you be able to hand me the print outs right behind you?”

Harry saw him turn away from the bed, his hips rotated in his direction, the angle ideal for him to grab, cock and point. He only hoped that his deductions regarding his physical state were correct, or it would be a moot point. He might not even be able to sit up, let alone hold a weapon. Take the out, the told himself.

These thoughts occurred within fractions of a second. Without hesitation, in one fell swoop, he grabbed the gun, pulled back the slide to load the chamber. Thankfully his body responded without any resistance or weakness and he slid himself back into an upright position.

He judged the distance between the three of them. The man called Tequila, was close enough by his side to possibly disarm him, so he swung the weapon in the woman’s direction. She was far enough away that the gun was not within her reach. He centered the sight at her chest. It was not the aim of a stop shot. It was the aim for a kill shot. Might as well show them he was not a man to underestimate. He did not want to shoot her, but he did want to make it very clear to them that he was a man to take very seriously.

Once he guaranteed that he had their attention. Though he had many questions he wanted answers to, he asked them the two questions that were the most urgent.

His voice was gravelly, but still clear enough to understand.

“Who are you?”

“What am I doing here?”

For having a gun aimed at her chest, the woman was surprisingly relaxed. She held up her palm towards the other man. She would handle this. The man shifted his weight back to a holding posture rather than the offensive stance that prepared him to take action.

“You have a British accent. That’s helpful to know. How are you feeling?”

“My first two questions still stand.” He regarded them impassively, but kept any notes of aggression from his tone.

——

Gingers POV

“My name is Ginger Ale, I’m Head Strategy Executive and Director of Medical here at our outfit. This is Agent Tequila. Welcome to Statesman, our whiskey distillery. You’re at our HQ in Kentucky.”

She handed him a cup of water. “Sip. Don’t guzzle.”

She was succinct. “As for what you are doing here, we were waiting for you to wake up so you could tell us. We found you outside of a church about 10 miles from here. You had been shot in the head. You were still alive, so we did everything we could to keep you that way. You’ve been unconscious the entire time here. Your vitals were strong. We were just waiting for you to wake up. We have some questions for you as well.”

Her voice was gentle, but firm. He did not catch any inflections or hesitations that would indicate she was lying, or with holding information. Her tone was honest, forthright and it put him slightly more at ease.

“I answered both of yours. Would you be so kind to answer mine?” She asked politely.

He did not refuse, but he didn’t say yes.

“How are you feeling.” she asked again.

“Would you care to clarify?” He asked in return. “There are multiple ways I can respond to your question.”

So he was witty.

“Pick one.”

“At the present moment, tolerable. Though this persistent ache in my head leaves something to be desired” He equivocated.

“That’s to be expected with a headshot. You did lose your left eye. There will be residual pain/discomfort until the injury is completely healed.”

“What is your name?

“My name is Harry Hart.”

“Do you feel comfortable enough at the moment to answer some questions for us? Is there anything that you require immediately?

“More water would be appreciated. Otherwise, feel free. Fire away.” He looked amused. He reached over to return Tequila’s gun. “Perhaps a poor choice of words in my case.” He revised his response. “Very well then, proceed.”

She refilled his water and pulled a chair next to his bed. Tequila found a place strategically viable to intervene if things went sideways. He wasn’t one to get caught off guard twice.

“Now, since we are on a first name basis, can you tell us why you were at the church that day? Why would someone would want to kill you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I simply do not know.”

“Why you were there? Or why someone wanted you dead?”

“Neither.”

“Where are you from?”

His face remained blank.

“That may be a little vague.” Ginger specified. “Where do you live? Where is your home?”

No response.

How old are you?

“58”

“Do you know what you do for a living? Where do you work?”

An almost imperceptible turn of the head.

“Can you remember where you went to school? Secondary or university.”

He squinted his eyes. But no answer.

“Do you know who the current world leader is? President? Prime Minister?”

Her regarded her impassively. She started to form her own understanding of how he was communicating. She could play along. Any form of communication was good for her. It didn’t have to be words. There was more than one way to impart information. It would all get her to the same place. Plus, she would have the chance to read his non-verbal cues. That would be a challenge. His expression was nearly inscrutable.

A slight turn of the head meant I don’t know. His impassive face meant maybe, but he can’t know for sure. The blank disinterested stare meant that he had no idea what she was referring to. She was already intrigued by her patient. She was becoming more fascinated by the moment.

Changing tactics, she asked. “Can you play the piano?”

A slight tilt of the head. This was new. That meant the question sparked something in his mind. It was a possibility, but he couldn’t know for sure. Interesting. She went further down her tangent.

“What’s pi to the tenth decimal?”

Without hesitation, he rattled off. “3.1415926535”

“Parle vous français?”

“Oui”

How many languages can you speak?

“Six ”

“What are they?”

English, French, Spanish, German, Italian, Arabic.

Hmmm. Arabic was interesting. She filed that away to look at more closely at a later time.

“Do you know were you learned Arabic or why?”

He was taciturn.

“Are you right or left handed?”

“Right.”

“What kind of car do you drive?”

Impassive.

“Do you own a car?”

Impassive.

“Do you know how to drive.”

“Yes.”

Now they were getting somewhere, she thought to herself.

“What was your favourite game as a child?”

He furrowed his brow but answered.

“Chess.”

Were you good?

“Yes.”

“Did you compete?

No answer.

Hmm. Retrograde amnesia, she pondered.

“Can you shoot a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever killed someone?”

A tilt of the head. Possible, but can’t confirm.

“Do you think you’re a good person?”

“I have no reason to doubt that.”

“Do you know what orange means?”

“The color or the fruit?”

Good. “The fruit, what does it remind you of?

“Winter. Christmas.”

Excellent. “Do you remember a Christmas from your past?”

Blank stare.

“Do you think you’re attractive? Good looking.”

He huffed, amused.

“It’s not a trick question.”

“Not to seem chuffed, but I’ve never had any complaints in that regard.”

“Can you remember any specific compliments that you’ve received in the past?”

Thwarted.

Good. “So you know that other people think you are attractive and desirable. But is that how you see yourself?”

“I was attempting to be modest.”

She waited for his response.

Reluctantly, “Yes.” He admitted. “I know that I am attractive, handsome, good looking. However you would like to call it.”

He continued even though he had already answered the question. It was his first moment of revealing information on his own.

“I would go out with myself if I were able, but unfortunately, that is not an option. I am not a narcissist. However, I would say that I regard myself with a healthy and acceptable amount of vanity. “

Did Ginger just discern a bit of sarcasm?

His good looks have been a point of contention in the past. Not that she could blame him. She was curious to know how his appearance either hindered him or helped him. She did note that there was no wedding ring when they found him. She couldn’t complain. It didn’t hurt her daily check ups that he was extremely easy on the eyes. Even his hospital issue gown made him look handsome.

Ok. Time to move on. She switched her line of questioning.

“Where are you right now?” She asked.

His expression was doubtful. Of her, not of his answer. His face asked the question. “Didn’t we just discuss this?” Nevertheless, he answered her with a bemused sigh.

“Kentucky, United States. Apparently 10 miles away from a church where I was shot in the head.”

Ginger nodded. She was encouraged.

He didn’t see why. It wasn’t difficult to recall. She had only just told him.

“Do you remember our names and what we do?”

He found the helpfulness of these questions debatable, but if it would accelerate his process, he was willing to comply. And participate, if it made this whole interaction a tad more interesting.

“Your name is Ginger Ale. After the beverage, I can only assume. Your colleague, here, is called Tequilla, after the alcohol. I am under the the impression that these are code names that are assigned by the intelligence agency that employs you. Statesman. With a distillery as a backstop. Hence the libation themed code names.

“Ginger Ale, I gather from your code name’s slight variation, you are in an essential, but supportive role. Whereas Tequila, a right tipple, would be classified as an agent. Of your independent organisation. I would believe, comparable to the CIA, but without the restrictions that often hinder government run spy organisations. And with more interesting code names.”

There was just the slightest hint of cockiness in his tone and in his expression. She found it equally amusing and charming at the same time. Now they were making progress. More than she could have hoped for.

He was obviously intelligent, well mannered, well spoken, though taciturn. Understandable upon waking up with no memory of where he was and why he was there. It was a very promising discovery. He seemed to accept his situation without resistance. He was alert. No hint of confusion. Just a desire to understand the circumstances he found himself in.

He was emotionally stable, if not a little irritated, by his current state. He took the loss of his eye as a matter of fact. Overall, his ability to acclimate was nothing short of remarkable.

He folded his hands on his lap, one over the other, tilted his chin in her direction. His posture said. “I’m waiting patiently..” He was throwing shades of a personality she was already warming toward.

There was a momentary pause. They regarded each other with interest.

Finally Harry spoke. “I have amnesia.” He wasn’t asking a question. He was stating it as a fact.

She confirmed. Nodding.

“I would like to perform some additional CT and MRI scans, and EEG, but judging from the traumatic brain injury you’ve suffered, you most likely have retrograde amnesia. Just based on this conversation alone. To be more specific. Focal retrograde amnesia.

She continued to explain. “Focal retrograde amnesia, also known as isolated or pure retrograde amnesia, is when someone only experiences the loss of memories that have already been made. Anterograde amnesia, on the other hand, is being unable to form new memories.

He listened to her with a new interest.

She continued. “So, it appears you have retrograde amnesia, but no anterograde. This means that the ability to form new memories is left intact. You easily recalled information from a short time ago. That is very good news.” She paused, looking for his understanding.

“Please, go on.” He said.

“This kind of isolated memory loss doesn’t affect a person’s intelligence or ability to learn new skills, like playing the piano or affect previously learned skills, like driving a car, speaking different languages. Most likely, if we sat you at a piano, you would be able to play, based on your response to my question.”

“What is the prognosis?”

Ginger, equivocated, a little hesitant “With amnesia, it’s difficult to predict. Retrograde amnesia can result from damage to different parts of the brain responsible for controlling emotions and memories. These include the thalamus, which is deep in the center of the brain, and the hippocampus, which is in the temporal lobe and the cerebellum. There are many variables involved.”

“Thats is all very interesting, but doesn’t quite give me any predictions for my future.”

“To be completely honest, for the injury you sustained, the amnesia is surprisingly less severe than I would have predicted. Most traumatic brain injuries are mild, resulting in concussion. But a severe injury, like a serious blow to the head, or a bullet for that matter, can damage the memory-storing areas of the brain and lead to anterograde amnesia as well. Depending on the level of damage, the amnesia could be temporary or permanent. I know that’s not very helpful.”

“Ginger, there is no need to “hedge your bets” as they would say. I am quite prepared to accept any answer you provide.”

“The fact that you can remember new information is promising. Your cognitive and behavioural skills are, as far as I can tell, excellent. I would be interested to test your knowledge further. You may have skills that you don’t know you have until you have a need for them.”

“If I were to summarise… “ Ginger concluded. “And please let me know if I go too far off the beaten path as I find this area of research very intriguing.”

She stole a glance at Tequila. “Many would find it boring.”

Tequila gestured with a shrug of his shoulders..”So what? I think it’s boring.”

Ginger turned back toward Harry.

“Are you comfortable?”

“As much as one could hope.”

“Please understand that I’m generalising here. Just the fact that you are interested in this subject and can process information is extremely promising. The questions I asked you, though random, I asked for very specific reasons.”

“Our memories” she explained, “can be separated into two groups: Explicit and Implicit. Each of these categories can then be further broken down. If I can use your case as an example?”

Harry nodded.

In the clear and assured tones of a professor, she explained.

“Explicit memories, or declarative memories, are those we consciously try to remember and recall. When I ask you a question, such as, “Where were you born?” to answer, you would navigate through your explicit memory.

“Explicit memory stores events and facts. This is your conscious memory. You know that you have them and can remember them when you need to. In your case, I asked you to recall a derivative of Pi. You did that easily. That would be an explicit memory. Your knowledge of different languages also taps into your explicit memory.”

Harry was still, but receptive.

Encouraged by his attentiveness, she broke the concept down further.

“Of these explicit memories, there are three different types. The first two are episodic and semantic memories. Do you know what semantic means?” She asked him.

“Of course. That which is related to language.” replied Harry.

Ginger was pleased.

“Exactly. Our semantic memory stores knowledge about words, concepts and language-based knowledge and facts. Knowing the definition of “Semantic” is, in fact, a semantic memory. So is your knowledge of Pi in relation to the numerical expression, and the ability to speak different languages. This part of your memory seems to be unaffected.”

She checked in with Harry. She had the tendency to explain way beyond the interest of the listener. He confirmed. Go on.

“The second kind of explicit memory is called episodic memory. This is information about events that you have personally experienced. For example, if something looks or feels familiar, you’re probably trying to pull from your episodic memory. Times in your life, people, places, emotions and context that make up the events in your life. The what, when, where, how and why of your memory.”

“This seems to be a large part of your memory that has been affected and it seems to go back for a very long time. Typically, when you see lapses in episodic memory, it’s usually the more recent memories that can’t be accessed. Memories of childhood are still there. In your case, your entire past seems to be wiped.

He asked his first question. Well, other than the first two, but that was at gunpoint, so they didn’t really count.“Then how is it that I still have all of this knowledge.”

“Yes, just getting to that. Now we move over to your implicit memories. These memories are not part of your consciousness.”

She took a breath. “These memories are based on behaviours and movements. Memories that are retained through practice and repetition. A learned skill would be part of this memory.”

She had vast knowledge of memory loss due to brain trauma and she welcomed the opportunity to share. “There are two types of implicit memories. Procedural and emotional conditioning.”

“Procedural stores information about how to do things. Why you are able to perform actions without consciously monitoring the sub procedures that need to be pieced together in order to perform the task. Or, more simply, it’s the reason you can brush your teeth without a second thought. It is the memory for skilled actions.”

“This part of the memory is why you can do things without thinking about them. You know how to drive a car. But you don’t know if you own one. You can play chess, but you don’t know if you played competitively. Same with the piano. You can shoot a gun, but you don’t know if you’ve ever killed someone. Even something as simple as brushing your teeth is part of this. You don’t have to consciously think about every sub action you have to make, or the motor skills involved. Probably the same way with a gun. If I asked to take apart and reassemble Tequila’s gun, you could probably do so without knowing how or why you possess that skill.”

“Lastly is Emotional Conditioning. This can be a little trickier to identify. I would have to ask you more questions to see how this part of your memory was affected. These memories are made through classical conditioning, associations made through stimuli. You know what an orange is. You know what they smell like. It reminds you of Christmas. This is emotional conditioning. But you can’t remember any Christmas that you’ve had. That is your episodic memory.”

Harry looked openly thoughtful. He was no longer guarding his expression. The softness took years off his face. It was hard not to just stare at him.

“There’s one more category of explicit memories that is important. Autobiographical. This memory system is made up of both episodic and semantic aspects of your memory. It’s a collection of memories specifically related to the self. This could be how you look, your height, specific meaningful points in your life, or the general idea of your concept of self. Which is why I asked you questions not just on how you look, but how you, yourself, viewed your looks.”

“You know what a gun is. Semantic. You know how to shoot a gun. Procedural. You don’t know if you’ve ever killed anyone. Episodic. Killing someone is only acceptable under certain circumstances. Emotional conditioning. But without knowing whether or not you’ve ever killed anyone, you believe you are a good person. Autobiographical.”

“In regards to the actual landscape of your brain, your cerebellum and prefrontal cortex seem to be the least affected. In addition to contributions to implicit memory, conditioned responses, fine motor movements, posture and coordination, the cerebellum also maintains internal representations of the external world, which allow you to move in darkness as long as the room or space is familiar to you, and how you would need to position your self to aim a gun and hit a moving target.”

Harry was still engaged, so she went on.

“It seems the hippocampus was the most affected by your injury. This would make sense based on the entry point of the bullet. This part of the brain processes declarative and episodic memory, people, places, and things as well as recognition memory.”

“I know that’s a lot to take in. I’d like you to rest in the meantime. You’ve only just woken up, in well, less than ideal circumstances. Even though you say you feel “acceptable” you are still recovering from a major injury. We’ll follow up with you more frequently, now that you are awake.” She wasn’t asking.

Harry, for the first time, addressed Tequila. “I take it that she is always the voice of reason.”

“Without fail.”

“And I assume there is no sense in arguing.”

“None at all.”

——

For simplicity’s sake, they assumed that he was from the UK as many of his mannerism and idiosyncrasies were quintessentially British. Tequila had gotten into the habit of calling him Hart, or The Brit for short. Harry, who was not one for such informalities, was amused. He did, however, recognise that Americans, as well as Statesman, were more easy going and relaxed in their word, dress and interactions with each other, overall.

——

“Was there anything, physically, or possessions that I had on my body when you found me, that would offer any clues to my identity.”

Ginger paused. “Well, Harry, we found you in quite a unique state.”

They had already been over the event numerous times. But Harry knew that little details were often overlooked the first time around and could surface after a spell. Ironic, since his own memory wouldn’t be surfacing in any amount of time. He would have rather used a more elegant metaphor, but he was like a top notch computer with nothing to process. All of his files were wiped. Who knew if they were recoverable. No use in wondering.

When Ginger Ale and Agent Tequila found Harry, he had made quite the impression. As the helicopter descended, Ginger and Tequila saw him closely for the first time. He was splayed out, flat on his back, unconscious, with a bullet through his eye, wearing of all things, an impeccably tailored, navy pinstripe double breasted suit. He was fully decked out with all the details. Spread collar, tie with a Windsor knot, suspenders, oxfords, even a tie pin, cufflinks, a pocket square, and a signet ring. It was a sight not often seen in their part of Kentucky.

While Ginger attended to the man, Tequila checked the church. It was the site of a bloodbath. This was no mass shooting. A mass shooting would be clean and simple compared to what he found inside. These people had been slaughtered. Creatively. Luckily, whatever or whoever the threat was that had massacred the congregation, had departed.

Harry had definitely been involved in the bloodshed, but to what extent, they did not know. The tell tale signs were on his suit. It hard to see the bloodstains against the dark wool, but there were unmistakable splashes of red on the crisp whiteness of his cuffs and collar. It was torn in places, whether from a weapon or some other object, one couldn’t tell. But mostly, the proof was on his hands. They were stained with blood and gunpowder residue up to his wrists. He did not have any weapons on his person when they found him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have one inside. Nevertheless, a person doesn’t get that much blood on themselves from using a gun. Even at close range, the blood spatter would spray backward.

Whatever he had been involved in, it was up close and personal. Rage sound waves plus the expert skill and killer instinct of a veteran assassin could definitely equal the carnage that was left behind. He was fitted with a shoulder holster, but no weapon. They didn’t have enough time to search for identifying evidence in the church. The object that they found the most interesting were his glasses. Handsome, squared off, dark tortoiseshell horn rimmed frames. But it was the lenses that revealed the most about him. The glasses told them he was intelligence. They just didn’t know whose.

Intelligence agents, as a rule, never carry anything that can identify them. Harry was no exception. His clothing, even his shoes, though exceptionally well made and no doubt very expensive, bore no labels. It was all bespoke, custom made to fit him, and him alone and as a result, no identifying markers.

They tried to reverse engineer the communications transmitter from the remaining lens. They also attempted to disassemble his watch, but both were designed to withstand and prevent external tampering. Whoever designed them was talented and had the foresight to put anti-tampering mechanisms in place.

Of course, they had run a facial recognition and prints through their international database, but as they expected, there were no matches to be found. They couldn’t investigate thoroughly without compromising his safety. Obviously someone wanted him dead. It could even be his own agency. More than once, had an agent been removed by their own employer. The threat might still exist. Nor could they risk the anonymity of their own agency.

They scanned news for anything surrounding the Kentucky event, who was involved, any unusual occurrences that happened at the same time, but they only found information on Valentine and his cohorts. They even kept their ears open on the secret spy wire, to see if a fellow agency was looking for an operative, or had an agent who had gone rogue, or had one go dark. They didn’t have any luck. It’s not like they could put out an “if missing an agent, please call” flyer. While Harry was recovering, they also put out feelers for possible missing persons that matched his description in the civilian world. Even if he was an intelligence agent, that didn’t mean he didn’t have a cover in place, a backstop that could possible lead to his identity.

His accent immediately suggested he was from the UK. However, his lack of a specific regional dialect, made it difficult to narrow their search criteria. Harry’s accent was that of the Queens English, or RP Received Pronunciation. Which might mean he was from Great Britain, or any of the commonwealth countries. Their contacts at MI6 and MI5 received a little exchange of information to see if they had any leads, of which there were none. Whatever agency that he was with, was not government funded. Of course there was the brotherhood of clandestine intelligence agencies across the globe. But in this circumstance, they did not want to broadcast that they were potentially sheltering an agent that could have possibly blown his cover, been burned, or been compromised in any fashion. The safest avenue for both Statesman and Harry was to remain inconspicuous until a tangible lead was discovered.

Because, at the very least, he was intelligence, and so were they, they were curious as to his specialty, his area of expertise. Handling a gun was part of every agents training, no matter where their loyalties lie. It was no surprise that he was comfortable shooting a weapon. All agents were. It was possible that he could be a clandestine officer, or focus on espionage, recruiting assets. He could be an interrogator. He was intelligent, well spoken, articulate. Psych-ops, psychological warfare or diplomacy could be just as likely. His fastidious appearance, polite manner and gentlemanly demeanour would certainly lend itself to international relations. Certainly a man with his physical attributes wouldn’t be secluded to a desk in analysis. With his charming personality he could possibly be a raven, a male agent employed to seduce people for intelligence purposes. That would be effortless on his part. He would just have to show up. There were many ladies that had taken notice of the handsome figure who was a mysterious presence at Statesman’s HQ.

It was also feasible that he had cross specialties. Some of the specialties would be more challenging than others to assess. Weapons were straightforward. You were either good or you weren’t. Once he felt both physically and mentally up to task, they brought him to their version of Hogan’s Ally or the Farm, the FBI and the CIA’s, respectively, tactical training facilities.

When Harry’s health improved, they discovered the true extent of his abilities. They were far greater than Statesman expected. As Harry’s strength and coordination returned, complex tasks became second nature again. His body began to respond to the stimulus and he gravitated toward the physical challenges that Statesman tested him with. What they learned on the shooting range, then in the Statesman tactical training facility and Special Operations Division, they did not expect and were not prepared for.

Harry found the whole process amusing. If not outright entertaining. Losing ones memory had its advantages. One need not worry about expectations, preconceived notions or judgement. He would either be good, or he would not be. Either outcome would be acceptable to him. No one, not even he, would know the outcome until after the fact. And he knew how useless it was to wish for one scenario or the other when anything was possible.

What did happen, was that the challenges of their tactical installation were not capable of quantifying his ability. His skills far surpassed the most advanced exercise they had.

He proceeded to excel at every exercise, drill, and challenge they placed in front of him. He performed without thought, without hesitation, with the grace and composure they had come to equate him with. First, on the shooting range and then finally on their full scale replicated “warehouse” where they would simulate real life combat situations, including the use of live rounds.

The first test was for speed and accuracy and his knowledge of different firearms. At the shooting range, they laid out a variety of weapons in front of him. The guns were unloaded. He was tasked with loading the ammunition in to the proper clip or magazine and then loading the weapon. He was to discharge the all the rounds at the target at the end of the range. Aiming for a kill shot either at the head or chest, release the clip and return the weapon and then move onto the next weapon he was familiar with.

Statesman didn’t know what to expect, but the certainly didn’t anticipate what they witnessed.

Harry had insisted on wearing his full suit as he did every day. The Brit was calm, cool and composed. He was neither excited nor concerned regarding the proceedings. More than anything, he seemed relaxed, but slightly more interested in the tactical challenges than the cognitive behavioural tests that they had him perform. They explained to him what the task was. One by one, load the clip, load the matching weapon, discharge all the rounds, release and repeat.

Without any visible effort on his part, Harry loaded the first clip, loaded the weapon, and then seemingly without aiming, pulled the trigger. The first several shots landed off mark. He adjusted and then fired the entire clip, alternating between two chest shots, followed by one round to the head of the target at the end of the range, chambering each bullet between shots if there was a slide. It did not go unnoticed that his method was the one used by assassins. They all knew, when eliminating a target, it was without fail, two to the chest, one to the head. He was still completing his follow through on the previous round, while reaching for the next clip, before releasing the clip of the weapon in his hand and switching to the next. He did this smoothly, with ease, dexterity and without hesitation with the entire set of weapons. One after the other, shot after shot, hitting mark after mark without effort. No fancy moves, no showy stance, just incredibly efficient, accurate, skill and technique. With the reverb of gunshots echoing through their ears, Harry laid down the last gun in line with the rest, turned toward the observing Statesman. His precision was astounding.

There was no perceptible change in his demeanour. He could have been doing a crossword puzzle for all the exertion that was evident on his face.

“Does this suffice?” His face was pleasant. There could have also been the tiniest hint of amusement.

It was Ginger that spoke up first. “I do believe, yes, that will suffice.”

Tequila regarded him not only like he was from a different country, but a different species of man all together.

“How the hell ’dya do that?”

Harry gave him a good natured smile.

“Knowledge of the weapons.” He continued plainly while smoothing out the front of his suit and adjusting his cuffs to their proper length.

“One must possess an understanding of the moving variables involved when discharging handguns, especially for a significant number of rounds. One must focus on accuracy, which involves trigger pull pressure and control, proper stance, a secure but consistent grip, taking in to account grip tension and fatigue. Excessive trigger pull weight will cause muscle fatigue of the index finger and can ultimately lead to task failure during pistol marksmanship.”

While opening and closing his shooting hand, he massaged the base of his trigger finger.

“With the variety of weapons that were included in this drill, one must locate the front site alignment based on the make and model and identify the site picture, either combat, center, 6 o’clock hold, if adopting a classic stance. However, front site becomes irrelevant in situations where the target is not in front of you.”

The Statesman were surreptitiously glancing at one anther. Was this man for real?

“And then one must consider breath control, trigger press and reset, and naturally, follow through. Of course, one must account for situational awareness. Needless to say, it is far less complicated aiming at a static bullseye in a controlled environment,” He gestured to the range. “rather than at a moving target under enemy fire.”

He spoke with an easy nonchalance, as if he were describing how to serve tea. Incidentally, last week, Harry had already instructed them on the official rules of how to prepare a proper cup of tea. He had looked vaguely insulted when he inquired about tea and Tequila handed him a cold bottle of sweet tea from a nearby cooler. Following this incident he educated them on the finer points of afternoon tea.

“First and most importantly,” he informed them.” Select the appropriate English tea.”

Harry recommended Earl Grey, Breakfast Blend, or Traditional 100’s black teas. Slightly more bitter than American teas, he informed them.

“Always use freshwater for individual steeping. Boil water between 180-200 degrees.”

Harry stated that it was imperative that the water is at boiling point to properly release the flavours of the tea.

“Slowly pour into a teapot over a single tea bag or loose leaf diffuser. Let it steep for six minutes. Remove the tea bag. Do not squeeze the tea bag. Pour the tea into a proper tea cup, not a coffee mug. At this time, one can add milk, not sugar, unless you want to disrupt the flavour of the tea.”

He was firm on the following point. “Only milk, if you are looking to make a proper cup. The color of the tea with milk should have a dark orange-brown hue, similar to American coffee. Once the milk is stirred, the tea should be at the perfect temperature to enjoy. If feeling especially British, one can pair with scones and clotted cream.”

With the same casual, relaxed ease, he continued. “Naturally, it helps if one is familiar with muzzle velocity, air resistance, barometric pressure, humidity, air temperature and wind speed. The quantity and quality of propellant used in the firearm as well as projectile mass and length of the barrel.”

He saw the blank stares of the Statesman agents. He equivocated, “Or in more simple terms, front site, trigger press, and follow through.”

If he was this level on the shooting range, they were eager to see what surprises he had in store for the simulation. If his performance on the shooting rage was any indication of his abilities, his proficiency on the full scale replica could very possibly be stupefying.

Word traveled with the wind on Statesman grounds. The following day, allowing his shooting hand appropriate time to recover, Harry prepared for the real life simulation. A variety of curious onlookers, from fellow agents, handlers and operations support began to gather in small, inconspicuous groups at the control center where anyone watching would have full audio and visual of Harry the entire time.

The immersive course was situated in two enormous warehouses with an open courtyard area in between. It was devised to test Harry’s technical and tactical skill. So far, he had shown exemplary marksmanship. But like he had mentioned, it was much less complicated to shoot with accuracy in a range under a controlled environment. The ability to perform with the same accuracy and precision under pressure is what separated a good agent from an exceptional one. They were going to find out which category Harry fell into.

Harry, as an operator, would have to perform under the following conditions; unknown target distances that vary from close to extended ranges, identifying threats and non-threats prior to engagement, making decisions under pressure, speed vs. precision shots, tactical movements, utilising different types of cover and tactical shooting positions to accomplish the mission, which was to come out clean on the other side. Firearms ranged from pistol, rifle, shotgun, carbine rifle, AK -47, as well as improvised munitions. There could be an active shooter scenario. A hostage situation. Anything was possible.

The Statesman insisted that he didn’t have to wear his suit during the engagement and offered him combat gear. His suit was certain to interfere with his maneuverability. He showed up to the course, fully attired in his classic pinstripes, down to the cuff links. He couldn’t explain why, but it felt completely natural and at ease.

“One should always be able to engage in life threatening situations while properly attired.” He explained.

Call it vanity, call it pride, but he only felt comfortable in suits when he was in a professional role. Wearing anything else seemed sacrilegious. He wasn’t going to wear any less for an evaluation, no matter what the evaluation entailed. And he was very particular. About his suit specifically. He had several suits tailor made by a firm of Statesman’s recommendation.

The one concession that he did make regarding his attire was to replace his Oxfords with the Statesman issue cowboy boots. Cowboy boots, of all things. But he had to confess, they felt good on his feet. It was easier to cover the unfamiliar terrain of the Statesman property, which included dirt, gravel, hay, barns, and stables and various other interesting outbuildings. At least the boots still made a familiar sound on hard surfaces. He particularly enjoyed the hollow, rounded quality his footsteps made when he crossed Statesman’s many hardwood floors. Particularly in the large storage areas the housed the enormous barrels of whiskey while they aged.

He was also pragmatic. The boots were definitely more appropriate on the occasions they went horse riding, or other “outdoor activities” that his new keepers might engage in. While he might be fastidious in regards to his appearance, he still valued practicality. For the landscape of Kentucky, the boots were more appropriate. And they did indeed, have a satisfying click that was comfortingly familiar.

While the course was being finalised, he tested his right hand by creating a fist and then opening his palm wide. He repeated this several times. There was residual soreness from the prior days drill, but nothing that caused him concern. In the simulation, there would be a wide variety of firearms and weapons available in the course. Not every weapon would be a handgun. A shotgun or a riffle could be braced on the shoulder. Different weapons would require a different set of muscle and therefore prevent repetitive fatigue.

His shooting hand didn’t concern him, he was fairly certain he could fire from his weak hand as well. He was curious to find out. He decided to try even if the opportunity didn’t present itself.

As he entered the course, the Statesman gathered around the monitors.

Even in a suit, he manoeuvred like an elite operator. His movement was refined, graceful, efficient. He held himself tall when he needed to check and clear areas, keeping his spine in alignment. His footing was sure and stable as he maintained a mid-foot drive with every step he took, balancing his weight between the ball of his foot and the heel.

He was not one to peacock. His skills and technique always had a specific goal and end result in mind. Ego had no place in life and death scenarios. But on the course, after he completed a task successfully, he could’t help but push the level of his abilities. Explore his edge. He began following up his kill shots with a second maneuver from a trickier vantage point, or with a more demanding technique, adopting more and more challenging strategies and unlikely scenarios. Each time, giving a little bit more than was necessary. He wanted to discover the full capacity of his skill.

On the course, he felt a new vitality. Whether it be due to the physical exertion of being in the field, or the mental challenges that sharpened the edges of his mind, he did not question. He simply allowed it to flow.

He attempted to fire from his non-dominant hand when the weapon and the cover required it. He adopted a canted shooting stance, firing the gun from a 45 degree angle, aiming for a target that would be impossible in his position with a right hand grip. Well, that was confirmation he could shoot with both hands. When he needed to reload, he also did so with one hand, just to see if he could. He could. With the slide locked to the rear, he placed the gun between his knees with the grip facing upwards. He slid the magazine and then locked it into place and removed the gun from between his knees. His hand hit the slide release and he got back into the fight in a matter of seconds. Some of those watching hadn’t been noticed. His technique and execution was flawless.

He fired on the run at a moving target who was using a “civilian” as cover and hit his mark.

He shot two weapons at a time.

He shot from behind his back.

He could shoot through things and still hit his target on the other side.

He could shoot away from a target, knowing that the force and angle of the ricochet would hit its intended target.

He used bullets as a tool, shooting items into place, to remove barriers, open doors.

He used bullets to adjust a reflective surface so he could see around a blind corner.

It was as if he was mapping the entire course and picturing it in his head while he moved. Once he scanned an area, he was immediately able to place the location in relation to his position and the rest of the course.

Not only was he expert at weaponry, a top notch marksman, his physical capabilities far exceeded their expectations. He was physically fit, but it was beyond that. He was evolved. He had a body awareness, not only in control of his physical actions, but the awareness of his own body moving through space. (He would be one hell of a lover) At times his movements were economical, not wasting a single iota of energy on a motion that was unnecessary.

But the movements that he did come up with were impressive. One motion would seamlessly flow into the next like a dance. A dance with bullets and weapons, but a dance nonetheless.

He could shoulder roll while aiming and discharging a weapon.

He could knee slide to dodge obstacles.

He could position himself to make a defensive position into an offensive one.

He could use a target as a cover, while taking out the target at the same time.

He could practice hand to hand combat for close quarter contact, simultaneously hit targets on the periphery with his weapon.

At one point he threw his gun forward in the air, while on the move, used both hands to catapult himself over a low wall while the gun was still traveling through space. He caught the gun, landed and then swung it around in his hand and used it as a cudgel to incapacitate a target before he had a chance to reload.

Agent Tequila leaned in.

“Holy shit.”

“Mmm Hmm.” Ginger replied.

If they hadn’t witnessed it on the monitors, they would not have believed it.

It seemed like the further he got into the course, the better he performed.

He moved faster, with more precision, solved problems more quickly, took out more targets.

His most valuable asset, even more than his marksmanship and his physical and tactical expertise, would be his sheer creativity and his ability to improvise on the fly. It was as if, when faced with a problem, there was always a solution. You could almost hear him say, “Well, let’s find out.” The methodology that he used could be seen as unorthodox. It often purposely put him in harms way, but that same method enabled him to open a door to a solution that previously had not been possible. It wasn’t that the proposed solution was not feasible. The solution did not even exist until he created it. He was confident enough to trust his own judgement and took risks in only the most challenging situations.

Agent Tequila, “If there was a soundtrack to go with this, that would be some kickass music”.

Ginger nodded. She had to agree. Watching Harry move the way he did in his suit? It might seem silly or old fashioned or traditional to think what she did. He looked noble, gallant, honourable even.

Harry Hart was never one to disappoint. When he was expected to deliver, he delivered and then some. He completed the course while beating Statesman’s record time. To the observers, it felt like he had been in the warehouse for a lifetime. Hadn’t he been moving in slow motion? Some of them even forgot to breathe.

He burst through the exit on the other side. The doors opened to the sound of cheers and applause. The breeze was cool on his skin, while the sun provided an inviting warmth. The air was fresh and crisp. It was a beautiful day to feel accomplished. He left any residual stress or tension behind. He felt light.

This was not a sight that Statesman was accustomed to seeing after a course was completed. More often than not, the agent would appear dazed, distressed, a little shell-shocked, a little traumatised, perhaps even rethinking his chosen career. Not many were cut out for this kind of work. Rarely did you ever see one, not just capable of the work, but made for it, thrive on it. Harry Hart was the latter.

Harry was exhilarated in a way that he hadn’t felt since he regained consciousness. The calm, cool, collected, focused, deadly Harry Hart from the warehouse gave way and a new man took his place. His expression opened up with a vibrant laugh that changed the very structure of his face. Hell, it changed him into a different person. Whatever, walls, barriers he built had fallen aside, revealing his true authentic nature. He was a man who enjoyed being alive. When he grinned, it was easy to imagine that he would have no problem winning hearts. Certainly most of the females that had watched him take the course were left a little breathless, a little enchanted. And actually, the men didn’t look that much different.

Why did he seem so attractive at that moment?

Why did he look so charismatic as he stood, tall and confident in his pinstripe suit, outside the warehouse with an easy smile and warm brown eyes? What had changed from the time he entered the course on the other side?

The man who started the course had been handsome. The man that came out at the end? It would be easy to fall in love with him. That man was beautiful.

They were seeing a man in his element.

They were witnessing a man finding his identity.

He seemed more present, more there, more alive.

He finally felt like he had a place and a purpose.

When he woke up in the medical ward, his first thought had been: “My name is Harry Hart.”

It was different now. There was a connection, a new realization.

Now he was awakening outside the warehouse.

This time around, he thought to himself.

“I am Harry Hart.”

His brown eyes appeared even more golden in the sunlight. They were warm and inviting. No longer cold. No longer closed off. The light wind tossed a lock over his forehead. In a rare gesture he ran his hand through his hair.

He slung the communication headset around his neck, but not before jesting.

“All right.” He said definitively. He paused for a moment.

He grinned. “Would you like to see that again?”

——

What they discovered when Harry completed the course. …Whatever past Harry had come from, he had advanced tactical and technical skills that had muscle memory and strategy so ingrained into every fiber of his being that he didn’t need to think–he simply acted. In the face of immediate life threatening danger, he didn’t merely react to a situation. He took charge. He didn’t make decisions to survive. He made decisions to win.

They had to assume an agent of his caliber would be missed by his organisation. His talent, skill and expertise, if found in an agent, you very well make sure that agent stays in your employ. It was even likely that he was a senior agent or a director. They could certainly imagine him in a leadership role. A complicating factor could be that he was presumed deceased, and therefore, there was no chatter on the wire where you could find information, if only you knew what to look for.

——

After Harry had literally triumphed over the course, there was a new aura about him. Before the trials, though he was always the perfect gentleman, he was reticent, distant, not quite aloof, but definitely keeping himself an arms length away. Both physically and metaphorically.

He wasn’t one to participate in any activities that weren’t directly related to him. He certainly didn’t spend time in the lounge, conversing with the others or stopping in for a cocktail. He didn’t socialise with any of the others. He would politely participate in conversations that happened around him. Could be quite engaging when immersed in a topic he was intrigued with. There was an unspoken invitation that he was always welcome. In addition, one of the Statesman usually asked him to join directly. Harry would always politely decline. Not offering a reason or excuse, but simply turning down the offer in his quiet, but firm way.

He answered questions that were directed to him, but when the conversation took a turn away from work and into more personal areas, he would offer his apologies and depart for a quiet location. He could often be seen a little aways from campus, sitting in the sun, an open book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other.

He never spoke of his past unless he was questioning Ginger or Tequila for any information that they may have overlooked when they initially found him. By all appearances, he seemed to be handling himself well. Especially under the circumstances. But since they didn’t have a frame of reference, they didn’t know if he was usually so reserved, or if this was a result of the situation he found himself in.

They found that he could horse ride. Once he brushed up on tacking and the most basic fundamentals of horsemanship, he was able to recall the rest on his own. He only rode alone. He never left the campus unless it was required by Statesman. He wouldn’t have anywhere to go besides. The only time he was away, was when he was on horseback.

He did make an exception regarding his attire when it came to this activity. The Statesman all rode western style. A suit wasn’t the most appropriate. If they rode English, he would have requested a riding habit. His compromise? A pair of trousers, and a button down shirt. No suit, no jacket, no tie. Regardless, he did make a striking figure on horseback. Once he was, quite literally, back in the saddle, he handled himself gracefully. He was both firm and gentle with the animals and they responded to him in turn. He seemed more at ease and communicate more with the horses than with people. It was auspicious, though, seeing a cowboy hat perched on this head.

They kept an eye on him, at least from a distance. Making sure that they caught any signs of undue stress, mental or emotional problems, disassociation, anhedonia, or displacement. The side effects of amnesia were hard to predict. If a person is unable to reclaim their lost memories, they would have to start rebuilding their history from scratch. This was easier for some than others. The older the person was when they suffered memory loss, the more difficult it became to let go of a past they no longer remembered.

With Harry being older than most of the Statesman, he may be having a harder time assimilating. Even though upon waking, he was coherent, intelligent, adaptive, accepting of his situation, once the realisation sets in that their condition is permanent, there may be a later period of denial that was similar to grief. Suffering the loss of their identity.

Looking at the person that he was before the physical trials was like looking through a window that was covered with a thick film of dust. You might be able to discern that there was something significant, meaningful, worthwhile on other side of the glass, but it would always be a shadowy, vague, dim suggestion of what it actually was.

The tests had cleared away the dust and debris until the glass was clear, crystalline, perfectly see-through. And what had been behind the glass suddenly shone through. That person was the real Harry. Not the shadow form that you would occasionally see, always crossing from one place to the next. Hardly ever still. Never comfortable to remain in one place for long.

After the trials, he was more open, quicker to smile and engage in conversation. Though he would still refuse invitations on occasion, he would be more willing to accept with equal frequency. They discovered he could be quite the conversationalist. His dry wit and biting sense of humour was a welcome change to the often crass or juvenile comments from the male agents.

If he wanted to, he could easily hold court. His accent and his deep voice were as captivating as his words. But never did he dominate a conversation. He always made a conscious effort to include everyone’s remarks and would even ask the opinion of those who looked like they wanted to say something, but were hesitant for one reason or another. He was more than willing to have someone else take the lead in a conversation, but if the conversation veered in an uncomfortable or inappropriate direction, he always managed to guide it back to civility. Not that he was opposed to a healthy debate, but he did believe that some words should be either said in private or not at all.

He was just as expert at navigating social situations as he was the field. This was a surprise to them since he was so withdrawn at first. They discovered that he was just someone who never wasted words.

Not only did he become an increasing part of the fabric of Statesman’s front, he also participated more in the intelligence side of the agency. His insight was valuable, his strategies were sometimes unexpected but always effective, and his analysis sharp and concise. He didn’t go out into the field on operations, but he often assisted handlers and their agents with more demanding, complicated missions. Many times he was able to foresee an obstacle that they could avoid, or lead them out of an operation that had gone sideways. At first, the teams were hesitant to request his assistance, whether they were averse, intimidated or just nervous to approach him. But as he led teams into more successful missions, with less loss, less injury, less risk, he was often sought out, his time claimed in advance.

If he missed the field, it didn’t show. They still didn’t feel comfortable sending Harry out on assignment and he never requested a mission. They feared that the lack of direct action, the kind that he had participated in during his test course, would revert him back to the state where he was listless, closed off, removed. But he did not regress. If anything, he become more. It was difficult to explain to someone who didn’t know him during his transition. But with every passing day, with every new interaction, with every mission that he assisted, with every training session he held for advanced weapon and tactical skills, which he did have to admit, he particularly enjoyed, he just become more himself.

By the end of the year, he was The Brit. Everyone knew him. Everyone adored him. He was free with his smile, his laughter, with a kind or encouraging word. His pinstripe suit was now a common site on campus. He had his own group of women that would pine after him, though he remained firmly unattached. His opinion was respected, his advice valued, his critiques, though sometimes harsh, were always considered constructive.

He was not exactly gregarious, but he was a very skilled conversationalist. He could exchange witty repartee, as well as engage in topics with depth and you could trust that there was always something interesting on his mind. When he excused himself for any reason, you were left knowing more, feeling more, thinking more. However, by nature, they learned, he was a reserved and private person. But whatever walls or fences that he had constructed at the beginning of his stay, had slowly but consistently been deconstructed. On that bedrock, he wasn’t rebuilding his history. Without even thinking about it, he was fashioning a completely new one.

The last year had been spent laying down the foundation for his new life, accumulating building blocks, each experience a new row of brick and mortar. He had let go, completely, of who he might have been in the past. The exercises that he and Ginger went through to try to recover his memory, from hypnosis, light therapy, trauma induced memory retrieval, did not work. After not even a modicum of success, felt that he spent an appropriate amount of time trying to regain his memory. He accepted the fact that his memory was gone. That he would be best to move forward. Not to look back. It was simple really. There wasn’t anything to look back on. So he began his life at Statesman.

—-

His awareness circled back to Statesman HQ, to their stateroom and fully to the present moment. Ginger was explaining the last of the progress he had made during his year at Statesman. He had finally reached a point of satisfaction with what was his life. Was he looking for more? Perhaps. Contentment wasn’t a natural state for him. There was always room for growth, for learning new things, and having new experiences.

However, ironically, not just because of the amnesia, he was not one for looking back. He felt that he had always been this way. Now, here were three individuals who were asking him to do just that. Asking him very earnestly, sincerely, and genuinely.

Like the girl had said, his instincts would be triggered if they were being dishonest or withholding information. He believed they were telling the truth and had nothing to hide. But for once, he was at a loss. What was he to do with this information? Was it even possible to be the person they wanted him to be? He was looking for an answer, but could find none.

He tested the weight of his questions. Was this a burden that he wanted to carry? Does a past that you can’t remember even matter? Should it even? Perhaps the only reason would be to recognise the relationships with those who still remembered you. Where was the honesty in that situation? Wouldn’t faking a past that you can’t remember be just as bad as pretending that you are the person that you used to be. While organising these questions in the folders of his mind, he kept his face calm and neutral. He didn’t have to decide anything at this moment. But he did need to establish boundaries.

He couldn’t give an answer to these three individuals. But what he could do was help them in their current situation. Help them find out who had destroyed their agency, what they were planning and how to stop them. At least, that he could offer. That, he could do. The rest would still be there. Problems, if ignored, only became more vexing. He would look at them later. Perhaps the answer would come to him.

“My sincere apologies.” He started.

“Ginger is correct. I suffer from amnesia and I recall nothing about my history. Nothing prior to my time recovering here at Statesman. While I retain the skills and knowledge that I possessed in the past, I do not have any memory as to how or why I have them.

“We have tried every means available to recover my memories, with no success.”

“But we are here now.” Merlin interrupted, encouraged. “We can remind you. Perhaps trigger something that makes you remember.”

“We can help. He’s right. “ Eggsy added. “Who knows more about you, than Merlin?”

Roxy nodded in agreement.

It was probably the first time the group looked somewhat enthusiastic.

Ginger interrupted. She was worried about this. She would have to be the one to grab their hopes and tether them back to reality.

“Not to discredit your suggestion. If this were a different case, then yes, there is the possibility that it would work. But when someone is suffering from retrograde amnesia, unfortunately, their memory cannot be recovered by simply being informed about their personal experiences and their identity. What you are referring to is called the reminder effect. This would consist of re-exposing the patient to past personal information. This can work for other types of amnesia, but simply giving Harry details of his life won’t help him retrieve memories.”

Eggsy eyes narrowed. He was dubious. He was convinced something they said or told him could surely open up the gates to Harry’s memory. They just needed to try. They just needed a chance. They hadn’t even had the opportunity to say anything to him at all. They looked toward Harry, imploringly.

Harry was his usual respectful, attentive self. But his expression was guarded and he was quiet.

Their frustration limped across the table in his direction. Ginger needed to redirect.

These people had been through hell and back. But Harry was her patient. And he was Statesman now, regardless of his pinstripe suit, his accent, or his British mannerisms. As much as she sympathised with their situation, there was the risk that Harry’s progress would stall or that he could relapse. The worst thing they could do would be to insist Harry be someone he no longer was under the misguided notion that they were helping him. Harry would be trapped, defeated and they would only face disappointment. Ginger arranged the words carefully before she spoke.

“Memories are exceedingly intricate. But to simplify, making a memory involves storing information in the brain as a specific pattern of electrical activity.” she explained.

While avoiding excess jargon, she wanted to emphasise the complexity of Harry’s memory loss. If only it were as simple as forgetting something and not being able to remember.

“When we recall a memory, we recreate the pattern of electrical activity that formed it in the first place. This information is then distributed across different regions in the brain to retrieve the memory. Injury in any part of this circuit can fracture memory function. It’s not that the synapses, the path, necessary to make these connections, is blocked. It’s much more than that. There’s nothing at the end of the path. There’s nothing to retrieve. It is as if the memory was never made. It’s not hidden. It’s not in the subconscious. It’s not filed somewhere deep in his psyche. It simply does not exist.”

Disheartened. Dejected. Depressed. The three of them were the dictionary definitions. Ginger sighed. Being the bearer of bad news was never a party, but this was less than enjoyable. However, she wanted to explain as much as she could so Harry wouldn’t have to. He had made so much progress in the past year. It had to be unsettling to face an unknown past, when you had made so much effort to be in the present.

Getting to her point. “Unfortunately, there is no established cure for retrograde amnesia memory loss. There’s no magic drug or deep-brain stimulation that jolts memories back into the mind. I wish there were. If recovery does happen, it largely occurs on its own. With amnesia as a result of brain trauma, If you're really lucky, new pathways form among the remaining brain cells, like in stroke victims, or other parts of the brain take over from the damaged areas in what we call neural plasticity. But that is very rare.”

“Sometimes, the reminder treatment is more than ineffective, it can also be harmful. Too often, the stories people tell amnesiacs sound like someone else's life and it can be unsettling to them. Witnessing the disappointment of past friends, colleagues, and family when they can’t remember, or be the person who they used to to be, can be emotionally damaging. Having people tell you how to think and feel, or that you’re not who you are supposed to be can be distressing.”

“I don’t mean to be discouraging or unsympathetic. It’s crucial for us, for our own sakes, but most of all, for Harry’s,” she placed her hand on his forearm for emphasis, “ that we are realistic.” She wanted to be very clear as she drew her hand back and made her final, essential point “Do not make expectations that can only result in disappointment.”

As Eggsy, Merlin and Roxy discussed Harry’s future with the other Statesmen, Harry claimed this time to examine the three faces across the table. He set aside any of their mannerisms, agitations, conflicts that were due to the current circumstance and concentrated on what he believed to be their true and natural state. He didn’t try to analyse them, judge them or question what he saw. He tried to feel them. To feel the look in their eyes, to feel the expressions on their faces, to feel the quality of their movements.

He closed his eyes for a moment and just listened, not to their words, but to hear the sound of their voices. He felt their vibration. Not only to see if anything sparked in his mind, but viscerally. A reflex, an intuition, a sensation that stirred something deep rooted in his bones.

But his mind and his body were quiet and still.

It was time for him to speak up. Before he addressed them directly, sat up even straighter. Tall and silent. He did not make any of the usual gestures he did when preparing to take over a conversation. Familiar movements of brushing something non-existent off his suit, adjusting his cuffs, running his hand along the back of his hair, adjusting his glasses. He was still. His hands were clasped and rested on the table.

Only seconds ticked by until everyone quieted along with him. Their heads all turned in the same direction. Harry could always pull attention to him without saying a word.

He was also not one to hold back words that needed to be said. Time would be lost and nothing would be gained. He did not want them to get their hopes up. He did not want to them to expect something from him that he could not deliver.

For the second time, he opened with an apology. “I’m very sorry.” His eyes were sympathetic.

They had the feeling he was preparing them for bad news.

His words were sure and resolute. There was no hesitation. No wavering. When Harry made a decision, he was firm.

“I do not remember Kingsman.”

He shifted his weight forward in his chair, resting his elbows and forearms on the table and folded his hands together. It was a gesture of familiarity. He spoke directly to them, as if they were having a conversation. It wasn’t just reciting a statement. He knew, full well, they would be affected by his words. He knew that they would not be the words they wanted to hear. He knew it would be painful for them to be on the receiving end of his words, not matter how gently and honestly he delivered them. He would serve them by being unguarded, unreserved and up front.

He paused so they could process what he was telling them.

“Prior to your arrival, I was not even aware of its existence.” He added frankly.

“I do not recall any relationships I may have had currently or in the past.” He spoke plainly.

“As much as you may want me to, and I recognise that you do, and I understand where that need comes from, I cannot say, in all honesty, that I know you.”

Harry was nothing if not direct.

His eyes held each of theirs. He saw the dejection in their faces. He could not help but feel empathetic. It was obvious that, whoever he was in the past, these people cared for him very deeply. Perhaps even loved. But for Harry, he was never this person and he was never one to fake an emotion he didn’t feel.

He was compassionate, but firm. "I’m unable to say I even recognise you. I want to make it abundantly clear that I am not the man you used to know. I may look like him, I may sound like him, at times I may even act like him. But I am not him.” His voice was kind now. His face was gentle. His expression no longer guarded.

“However meaningful your relationship was, no matter how strong the connection, I am unable to reciprocate in a way that would honor that bond.”

With an honesty and an openheartedness that touched all their raw wounds, he offered.

“It’s not that I can’t remember the Harry I used to be. Or that I do not care. It’s obvious that your relationship with this man was very important, very meaningful, to all of you.”

He softened both his voice and his manner.

“It is, that this person you used to know, in my eyes, he never existed.” His face gentled. Became grave and solemn, almost tender.

“Do you understand?”

And for Roxy, Eggsy and Merlin, that perhaps was the most painful moment of all. Because with the kindness they heard in his voice, and the softness they saw in his eyes, the way he held his concern for them, on his sleeve where they could see it, he was in that moment, everything that they knew and loved. He was their Harry Hart. He was their Galahad.

-----

Whew! If you got this far thanks for reading. Let me know what you think, good, bad, funny, dumb, sad, WTF? Whatever.

Always feel free to reblog, share with someone else who thought TGC had sooo much more potential. Or was pissed that they killed off Roxy. And don’t even get me started on Merlin....

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myhahnestopinion · 4 years ago

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THE AARONS 2020 - Best TV Show

It was prime time for TV in 2020, with many more free hours to fill. I managed to get through a lot of my backlog in fact, finally getting around to watching shows like The Strain. It’s a show about a deadly disease that tears society apart because a lot of arrogant people think they are exempt from quarantining. The disease turns people into vampires, so it’s technically escapism. Here are the Aarons for Best TV Show:

#10. The Plot Against America (Miniseries) - HBO

It’s not TV, it’s not HBO, it’s real life. The Wire-creator David Simon’s penchant for illustrating the human fallout of institutional failures made him a perfect collaborator for HBO’s Plot Against America, an adaptation of Phillip Roth’s alternate-history novel. Following a Jewish family in New Jersey navigating the increasingly-fascist America of a hypothetical Charles Lindbergh administration, the show is a terrifying warning of what happens when hatred and conspiracy theories are allowed to accumulate political force. Notably, while the book ends with history back on the right track, the closing moments here are left ambiguous. The show was a limited series, but in many ways, The Plot Against America is ongoing.

#9. Mrs. America (Miniseries) - FX

Its interests are married to The Plot Against America, but Mrs. America traces the country’s rising extremism from a more historically accurate perspective. The miniseries centers on political activists in the 1970s on opposing sides of the proposed Equal Rights Amendment, but its dialogue isn’t a strict dichotomy. The episodic format is expertly utilized to build out intersectional ideas from the likes of Rose Byrne’s Gloria Steinem, Uzo Aduba’s Shirley Crisholm, and Margo Martindale’s Bella Abzug, detailing the difficulties in building a diverse coalition, and the dangers of a single-minded one. Drawing parallels to current debates, its compelling centerpiece is how conservative Phylis Shafley (Cate Blanchett) successfully defeats the Amendment; voting against your own self-interests, Mrs. America says, is as American as apple pie.

#8. The Outsider (Miniseries) - HBO

Societal collapse comes from within in the two shows mentioned above, but the threat in HBO’s adaptation of Stephen King’s 2018 novel is decidedly an “other.” King clearly had his mind on modern manipulations of truth when crafting the ingenious premise: a man is arrested for the murder of two young boys due to irrefutable DNA evidence, only to provide an air-tight alibi for the crime. To match King’s procedural prose, HBO brought on The Night Of’s David Price, who layers the original work with meticulous mysteries. The Outsider has all the pulpy jolts expected of the author, but the show’s true horror lies in its overbearing grief, best brought to life by Ben Mendelsohn’s Detective Anderson. To say more would be to spoil its secrets; you’ll want to be on the inside.

#7. Perry Mason (Season 1) - HBO

Just like the famous fictional attorney, HBO can’t seem to lose, with Perry Mason marking its third entry on this list. The reimagining of the long running court drama actually takes place before the character’s illustrious law career; here he’s a down-on-his-luck private eye caught up in a scandalous child kidnapping case. The result’s a gangbusters production of old-fashioned moody noir: political corruption, femme fatales, and a more morally-complicated Mason, as played by The Americans’ Matthew Rhys. The lavish period details and character-actor cast, including Shea Whigham, John Lithgow, and Tatiana Maslany, will help draw viewers in, but, I’ll confess, I was already hooked by the season’s chilling opening moments.

#6. Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist (Season 1) - NBC

Dour seasons have dominated this list thus far, but Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist sings a different tune. It’s a lovably oddball premise: an accident during an MRI causes a young woman, played by Jane Levy, to hear other people’s thoughts in the form of popular music. It’s all karaoke, but, emphasized by the presence of Skylar Astin, a worthy inheritor to Crazy Ex-Girlfriend’s musical-comedy crown. The tracklist, workplace antics, and love-triangle drama all exist in a comfortingly familiar network TV realm, but the show takes additional steps for inclusion with stories highlighting Zoey’s genderfluid neighbor (Alex Newell) and an American Sign Language performance of Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song.” During a year in need of shuffling off stress, there was no better time to queue up Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist.

#5. What We Do in The Shadows (Season 2) - FX

FX’s expansion of the mockumentary feature film of the same name lit up some of the darker corners of its universe in the show’s second season, transforming mundane-seeming material into something completely, uniquely batty. Each creature of Shadows took their turn in the spotlight this season, from a middle-management promotion gifting energy-vampire Colin Robinson unlimited supernatural power, to undead Nadja befriending a doll possessed by her own ghost, to Matt Berry’s Lazlo forging a small-town persona as a bartender/volleyball coach to escape a vengeful Mark Hamill. As always, it was the sympathetic Guillermo (Harvey Guillén), a Van Helsing descendent desperate to become a vampire, who gave the show its emotional stakes, and the vampires within a different kind altogether.

#4. Stargirl (Season 1) - DC Universe

Shadows was lit, but few things burned brighter this year than Stargirl (perhaps too brightly for the flamed-out DC Universe). The superhero drama is one of several that will outlive its original streaming service - fitting, given its obsession with legacy. Based on a character created by DC Comics stalwart Geoff Johns after the tragic loss of his sister, the show finds a young girl taking on the mantle of a fallen hero after moving to a town run in secret by supervillains. With sprightly fight choreography and an unabashed embrace of its comic book lore, Stargirl outshines the overabundance of small-screen superheroes out there. Its highlight is the bright performance of lead Brec Bassinger; put simply, she’s a star, girl.

#3. BoJack Horseman (Season 6b) - Netflix

Throughout its run, BoJack Horseman garnered acclaim for routinely delivering unexpected pathos, and the final season kept it on that track until the end. ...Get it, because horses run on tracks? The unexpected porter of television’s legacy of antiheroes ended in much the same vein as its sister shows - with consequences finally catching up with its protagonist. No amount of fanciful animal puns could soften that painful catharsis, as the show finally trampled its tricky web of abuse through bittersweet means. The series closed out with an especially thoughtful scene, the kind viewers who looked past the wonky pilot years ago were regularly blessed with; to the very end, BoJack, you were a gift, horse.

#2. Better Call Saul (Season 5) - AMC

As good as Bad ever was and better than ever before, the fifth season of AMC’s spin-off completely upended the world of its eponymous lawyer while bringing Vince Gilligan’s universe one step away from full-circle. Saul Goodman found himself in way over his head, and viewers found themselves way on the edge of their seats, as his first foray into “criminal” lawyering swiftly dovetailed with an escalating drug war. Despite the emotional distress of watching fan-favorite character Kim Wexler placed in perilous situations, there are no objections to be had with the drama’s continued masterful storytelling. Ramping up the slow-burn storytelling, season five saw Kim and Saul’s relationship develop in rich and unexpected ways, while still keeping their final fates unresolved. Fans are thus waiting with bated breath for the show’s final call next year.

#1. The Great (Season 1) - Hulu

Who could be the best but The Great? There was a minor television controversy this year over Netflix marketing The Crown as a historical drama despite its fictional interpretation of events; The Great has no such pretentions. An asterix adorns every title card of the show, letting viewers know that its take on Catherine the Great’s coup against Emperor Peter III of Russia is only “an occasionally true story.” The show indeed is not great for education, but it’s the most entertaining television of the year, locking stars Elle Fanning and Nicholas Hoult in a battle of wits and a fight for the country’s soul under the watch of The Favourite co-writer Tony McNamara. The uproarious comedy slyly collates leadership based in cruelty with leadership based in goodwill in the background of its quite bawdy escapades, a subtle bit of relevant political maneuvering that lets it successfully claim the crown this year.

NEXT UP: THE 2020 AARONS FOR BEST TV EPISODE!

#tv #TheAarons #TheAarons2020 #TheAaronsTV #best of 2020 #the plot against america #mrs america #the outsider #perry mason #zoey's extraordinary playlist #what we do in the shadows #stargirl #bojack horseman #better call saul #the great

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mermaidsirennikita · 4 years ago

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on penelope: the fat girl rep

Okay.

I have seen several people (not calling any single person out, I’m calling multiple people out, thx) in the Discourse of Bridgerton use the “as a fat woman”/”as a big girl”/”as a plus size woman”/”as a curvy girl” label in order to spiel into how Penelope’s attempt at completely ruining not only her pregnant cousin but herself and her sisters is... normal fat bitch behavior. Because you felt unloved as a fat chick, because you felt insecure, because the skinny broads were just so mean to you.

So let’us allow another take, from someone who has been shopping on and off for plus size clothes since I was in middle school. I mean, I think the “as a fat bitch” thing is a bit.... disingenuous and fake an attempt to glom on to the same types of identity politics that people who face systemic political oppression can use because they are people of color or LGBTQ+.... but let’s take it.

Penelope is an asshole, and her age and her fatness is not an excuse for how much of an asshole she is to multiple people. Furthermore, if you really are gonna be all #fatbitchrights about Bridgerton--perhaps focus on critiquing the way that there is one (1) plus size character in the show, who could have had a perfectly lovely and sexy romance, but has instead had her chatty gossip rag plotline transformed into a “I’m jealous of the gorgeous skinny girl and desperate for a man who has never shown an interest in me” plot a la Fatal Attraction.

Nicola is hot. Let’s get that out of the way. She’s a super pretty girl with a beautiful face and a great rack, and frankly? As a fellow pretty girl with an awesome face and a great rack who nevertheless has almost never seen someone with my body type enjoy sex in a bodice ripper style onscreen, I was excited for her plot.

But they take Penelope, who is played by a hot fat actress, and turn her into a character who has been universally loathed by every person I have spoken to who has not read these books and therefore does not have an alternate version of Penelope to care about. Every person I’ve spoken to, several of the reviews I’ve read, have dragged Penelope for filth--and rightfully so. Because while Marina would have (gasp) had a wealthy privileged white guy raising a kid who wasn’t his with a beautiful woman, Penelope had her pregnant cousin facing lifelong ruination, possibly homelessness and forced sex work or God knows what else to support her unborn child (who would have done nothing to Penelope or Colin), and furthermore nearly ruined her sister’s chances of happy, good marriages. A little different, that. And fuck, who cares if Penelope was 17? She was looking for a husband, too. Women grew up a lot faster due to societal restrictions in the nineteenth century, and fuck--I don’t know a single 17 year old in the 21st century who would do something that vile for... a guy? And if they did, I wouldn’t say “hey, you’re a kid, kids make mistakes” I’d say “what the fuck is wrong with you” because what the fuck is wrong with her?

Newsflash here: every woman and girl is going to face insecurities about her appearance and body. That is just the ugly, unfortunate society we live in. Not every fat girl is going to spend her life wishing she was skinny and feeling jealous of the skinny girls around her. Jesus, considering the fact that most American women are around Nicola’s size or at least in its range--there would be a lot of spinsters weeping at the window if that was the case. It is not the case.

Penelope does not get a pass because she was jealous of Marina, or felt insecure or unpretty, and nobody gets a pass for trying to explain her shit away because they’re fat.

Additionally, let’s circle back to one of the most horrendous implications of Bridgerton. That the girl consumed by jealousy and pining after a man who will never want her, oh no, is THE ONE FAT GIRL. Why is this not what y’all are pissed about? Instead of justifying show!Penelope’s horrendous actions, why do you not instead call the show out for this horrible take? Nobody I know who has not read the books wants to watch Penelope fall in love now, and tbh--it almost feels like the show taking a cop out to avoid a hot love story about a fat woman that would have the same eroticism as Daphne and Simon’s story. If they decide not to do it a few seasons from now because the show is its own damn thing and they can and ALSO everyone hates Penelope... Then that’s one less thing to worry about.

Penelope is not your relatable fat rep. And she’s certainly not someone I’d want younger fat girls to relate to. Have a fat girl who sure, has insecurities, but is also flirty and fun and outgoing. Have a fat girl who is lingered on by the camera as sexy, who is desired by the men on the show (and Nicola certainly could’ve been this). Why does the fat girl have to be quivering and jealous in order to be relatable?

#bridgerton #also petition to have barbie ferreira get stolen from euphoria and play a love interest on the show #latinx fat girl rep who maybe sweeps eloise off her feet #or benedict if he's gonna be w a girl (or benedict and his male love interest if we get bi poly benedict like i kinda hope)#OOOOOOOOR kate tho i would kinda prefer kate to be played by a black actress #or penelope gets hit by a carriage and we have her other cousin #jenelope otherwise known as jen #romance the hot colin recast after he return from greece

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dreamerwriternstargazer · 4 years ago

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In Defence of Team Purple Lion

Voltron: Legendary Defender and its final season remains as one of the most poorly received children’s shows in the past decade. The show was a reboot from DreamWorks of the popular Voltron franchise owned by WEP LLC (World Event Productions) who were responsible for the first version of the show Voltron: Defender Of The Universe (1984), an adaptation of the anime show GoLion by Toei Animation. It initially started strong when released in 2016, with a premise that of a typical mech-centric kids’ show; 5 pilots of 5 robot lions coming together to form one big robot (Voltron) to fight against a big bad alien villain in space, however despite the formulaic appearance it proved to be a captivating watch with detailed and beautiful animation as well as surprisingly deep subject matter. The themes and messages of the show touched on darker topics such as racism and genocide with the backdrop of a complex portayal of war while still balancing it with the light-hearted and goofy dynamics of the diverse main characters, played by a diverse cast. Produced by Lauren Montgomery and Joaquim Dos Santos, both of whom had worked on the acclaimed Avatar: The Last Airbender and Legend Of Korra, the story set up promised an equally deep and intricate story for VLD as had been the case for ATLA and LoK, as a result the show attracted a large and varied fan base beyond just children, many fans adults eager to see how the story and darker themes would be resolved as well as how the minority representations would be treated.

The final season released on Dec 14th 2018 came as a great shock to fans, not only were they intensely dissatisfied with the ending, virtually no one from any area or sub fandom was happy with the season as a whole and at the time of this article’s writing it has lower than a 6% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. The show and its producers faced massive criticism over insensitive representations of minorities, an unsympathetic and condemning end for an abuse victim despite redemption for their abusers and a disempowering arc for the main woman of colour character in which she was sidelined and dismissed by her male counterparts up until her sacrifice. The core themes and messages of love, forgiveness and acceptance regardless of race were completely subverted, instead conveying to an impressionable Y-7 and above audience the opposite; heritage and race define a person rather than their own actions. As well as fans, many parents of kids who watched the show expressed unhappiness with the final season due to the toxic and regressive messages it sent. Soon after the season dropped a petition emerged to “free the original season 8 of Voltron” due to the belief that the final season was in fact an edited product of what the creators originally planned. This belief was sparked by visual inconsistencies in the season itself, the audio description not lining up with the action on screen (now fixed), one character not being played by her voice actor but her voice actually another character’s with the pitch turned up as well as comments from the cast and animators, now deleted. The strongest claims of edits were made by Tumblr user Leaking Hate in her initial meta Chasing The Ghosts Of Season 8 and the follow up, a more detailed breakdown, Seek Truth In Darkness in which she presented an alternative story that had been edited and cut down for reasons then unknown, with narrative and visual evidence from the season itself to support her argument. She and a few other fans officially came together in February 2019 to form Team Purple Lion, a team of analysts dedicated to finding the truth behind the disaster of the final season. However, since the fandom had had a poor history of harassing the show’s creators over ships (romantic relationships between characters) most attributed the poor story and resolve to an attempt to keep things neutral romantically between characters in a poor bid to please everyone. As a result the petition and campaign were merely linked to lack of shipping satisfaction for the fandom and dismissed as more toxic fandom behaviour that had been displayed previously by many fans.

Petitions and campaigns like these are not uncommon after a show or film’s ending, similar situations might be the HIMYM backlash in which fans were so unhappy with the ending of the show that there was a petition for an alternative ending, as well as the petition to Warner Bros regarding the Snyder Cut of Justice League. Both of these have actually succeeded with the Snyder cut of Justice League set to release in 2021 and the HIMYM DVD box sets containing the alternative ending, however what makes the Free VLD s8 campaign now led by Team Purple Lion unique is its claim that there’s an original finished product that the creators intended for release but was edited after completion to produce the poor final season that was released on Netflix. Often corporate meddling in creative works is common but it has not been documented before as a post production occurrence changing the finished work, it’s always taken place pre-production as was the case with Disney and Colin Trevorrow’s original script for ep. IX or during production, in the case of Justice League and Zak Snyder.

Since the start of the campaign in Dec 2018 there’s been continuous investigation and action taken by TPL to provide proof for their claims and the movement has evolved into a fight for creators’ rights, still active now a year and a half on. Their investigation early on resulted in discovering the IP holder (those who own the trademark) WEP as the ones with control over the show and therefore responsible for the released edited season 8. They’ve since defended DreamWorks and the showrunners from criticism in favour of requesting WEP and specifically President Robert Koplar, self proclaimed “steward of the property” for the original season 8 by the showrunners that was not released. There’s also been strong advocation from TPL to keep the protest against WEP’s interference with the creative team’s work peaceful to avoid dismissal and belittlement due to prior instances of the VLD fandom’s toxic behaviour that often included harassment of showrunners and toxic fan behaviour ranging from abusive remarks online to death threats, after the final season rumours were flying and the EPs faced abuse from upset fans so there was an active effort to stay civil on TPL’s part.

TPL and the #FreeVLDS8 movement has continuously faced criticism and backlash since its start regardless, the response from fellow fans ranging from supportive to downright disbelief and even the showrunners stating publicly [March 28th 2019 Let’s Voltron podcast] that there’s no “alternate cut of Voltron” branding the idea as a “conspiracy theory”. Claims of harassment have been attributed to TPL and the legitimacy of their allegations questioned, one fan questioning the possibility of the edits’ execution as well as others categorizing them as fans creating a theory based on shipping fulfillment. The controversy and consistent campaign a year and a half on interested me greatly, therefore after being led back to the movement by the very comments discrediting them I approached Team Purple Lion for comment on the aforementioned claims as well as conducting my own research and investigation into them. 3 members of the team, Crystal Rebellion, Dragon Of Yang and Leaking Hate spoke to me openly about their campaign and my own research produced some interesting results as well.

The basis of their argument is set on the show’s final season being an edited product, when I asked about what pushed her to this conclusion and writing her initial meta Leaking Hate explained that a mutual friend of Crystal and her’s drew their attention to it through the story saying:

“It’s interesting, nearly ALL of the episodes had a moment or two in them where Lotor [male villain] COULD have reappeared, and didn’t. Do you think he was written in to be the savior all along, and it was the higher ups that said no, good boy Lance [one of the main characters]? It seems like, given the narrative, and even given this season, it should have been Lotura [Lotor and Allura ship name], and all that wasn’t just feels… off. And not as a Lotura stan, I mean in general.”

“And YES I had. There was a narrative gap where Lotor should have fit, but for some reason wasn’t.” Hate said, “The initial conclusion we jumped to was that Lotor had been removed in the writing stage.”

It wasn’t until another friend mentioned a key scene out of place in the story and she went back to view it that she started to suspect the season had been changed from its original state. The scene in question was one in which Lotor says “Follow me!” at the end of Allura’s dream sequence in s8 ep8 Clear Day, despite his death being established before and after this point in the story. “There was no reason for that Follow Me shot to be there,” Hate explained, “unless the action of the viewer following Lotor had been removed.” Having studied a Fine Art degree and therefore well versed in animation and visual art she was able to recognise scenes that had been edited unusually throughout the season once she actively searched for other visual evidence. The Follow Me scene as well as others she found are displayed in her Ghosts meta, all indicating a different story from the one told in the show, along with the evidence Leaking Hate presented some initial ideas on what the story was (a redemption arc for Lotor and several sub arcs for the main characters that resolved their stories and previously set up story beats).

[Image Description: A close up of Prince Lotor’s face from season 8 on Netflix, staring directly out of the picture at the viewer. There are subtitles showing his speech at the bottom of the image, saying “Follow me!” End ID]

After Team Purple Lion’s formation Leaking Hate went on to publish a part two to her initial Ghosts meta, a 21k word meta entitled Seek Truth In Darkness which contained all visual evidence of edits found in the season as well as an extrapolation of the initial story indicated by said edits. The original story appeared to resolve unfinished narratives and arcs that the released s8 dismissed and the treatment of the representations in the show better, from respect towards minorities to an empowering arc for Allura, the main female character. Despite the original season having a more positive story, negative feedback from fans has been more common than positive. When I questioned the team members on it Leaking Hate mentioned “most people who believe we’re wrong tend to think we’re wrong in our premise” Dragon of Yang confirming that “it’s usually the premise of “VLD was edited after completion” that people disagree with”. However the screenshots they present as visual evidence hint at some truth in their argument, the first screen cap shown below indicative of some poor edits made to the animation since 3 characters are essentially cropped out of the picture.

Likewise this screen cap shows a split screen visually unbalanced with 2 characters at the bottom partially cropped out as well as the character on the left side with a much larger screen space than the other characters.

[Image description: A split screen from season 8 on Netflix, featuring from left to right: top left Shiro, below him is Keith in a larger section and Allura in a small triangular section below and to the right of Keith’s section. In the middle is a section showing Honerva’s mech stabbing the Voltron-Atlas mech with purple lightning shooting out. On the top right is Hunk, below him is Pidge, and below her the top half of Lance’s face. End ID]

Seasons prior to the final had always had visually balanced split screens with each character centred in their frames appropriately, indicating these and other s8 shots like them as an anomaly.

Hate reconstructed both screencaps based on what she believed they were originally:

[Image description: A split-screen from season 8 on Netflix, featuring from left to right: an Altean pilot, Merla, Keith, Hunk’s shoulder, Pidge, the top half of Allura’s face, and the top half of Lance’s face. On the top, right, and bottom of this screencap is dark pink background with the black lines of the split-screen extending to the edges of the colors, marking out where the rest of Hunk, Allura, and Lance should be visible if the view had not been cropped. With the lines extending out, Keith’s portion of the screen is also extended, leaving a completely removed section of the split-screen remaining, which is highlighted purple in this image. End ID]

[Image description: A split-screen from season 8 on Netflix, featuring from left to right: top left Shiro, below him is Keith, below and to the right of Keith is Allura in a small triangle section, the bottom of her face slightly cut off. In the middle is a section showing Honerva’s mech stabbing the Voltron-Atlas mech with purple lightning shooting out. On the top right is Hunk, below him is Pidge, and below her the top half of Lance’s face. On the left, right and bottom of the screencap is a dark pink background with the black lines of the split-screen extending to the edge of the colours, marking out where the rest of Lance and Allura should be visible if the view had not been cropped. Keith’s portion of the screen is smaller and a small dark pink section to the right separates his portion from the middle. Below him where his portion originally extended to is a section coloured dark purple that extends a little further to the left of Allura’s portion. End ID]

Other noticeable examples include scenes with the female lead Allura where her proportions do not match with any prior drawings of herself indicating that she was another character redrawn, Leaking Hate suggested Lotor as his proportions fit each instance.

[Image description: 2 pictures of Allura in the Blue Lion from a front and centre angle side by side. On the left Allura has her eyes closed and her arms stretched out holding onto the controls, the entire cockpit is glowing blue. On the right Allura’s eyes are open with a determined look on her face, she’s slightly hunched with her arms gripping the controls, the cockpit is coloured normally. End ID]

The image on the left is of Allura from s8 ep13 and the one on the right from the same episode a few minutes later, scaled so the interiors (which are unchanging 3D models) are the same size. She is notably taller in the one on the right with her head reaching above the seat and her frame bigger, with wider shoulders and thighs.

These are just a few out of the many examples of edits made that Leaking Hate presents in her metas along with her reconstruction of the original season based on what each edit indicates. While the reconstruction is to some point subjective, the visual inconsistencies are clear and can be easily checked by watching the show at each point said to be edited.

The timeframe and possibility for the edits’ execution, called into question by a fan on a twitter thread (now deleted) stating “it’s not physically possible to make that many edits in 2 months and with leftover budget”, was also addressed by the team and their work. Leaking Hate clarified that “it wasn’t 2 months” that they took place in, “it was 6. The edits began in mid July”, a fact determined by voice actor Jeremy Shada mentioning in an interview released on July 23rd that he had gone in to record new lines at the time. Hate also said, “It’s less of a question of would they have time than it is, well. They did do it. It was nearly impossible. But the fact that it is done shows that they did.” She went on, “I think people misunderstand when we claim it was ‘edited’. They hear “it was reanimated”, but it wasn’t reanimated. There is NO new animation in the edited s8 at all. As far as I can tell, 99% of the edits are composed of tracing, clever cuts and sleight of hand.” This is backed up by all the visual evidence they present as well as their work, claiming absence of animation (making the story disjointed and incoherent in places) rather than new, additional animation changing it.

Crystal Rebellion added, “One thing that strikes us (I feel pretty confident speaking for everyone in this case) is that Studio Mir [responsible for animating the show] is impeccably flawless with their work. Their previous work before Voltron: Legendary Defender, and even Seasons 1-6 and most of 7 are beautifully animated. Stunning. Season 8... is not. Studio Mir also had a viewing party for VLD: S8 - and they reported that they loved the final product; so the animators saw Season 8 after it was completed. The season, however, that aired, was really shoddy animation, rough transitions, music mistakes, and what appear to be alterations to still images - it isn't their usual quality of work, and moreover, the animators have stated that they don't recognize what aired. Often we've been asked something like 'Maybe they just didn't know what scenes they were animating' or 'Didn't know the intended finished product' but in this case, it is documented that they saw the final season and that it's different from what was aired. The poor workmanship in what we see from S8 - all the edits Hate goes through to find and explain, coupled with Mir's disbelief, is indicative that the animation studio had no idea this happened. That means it 1) Happened post-production and 2) It wasn't the Studio that changed anything. Dos Santos mentions in an interview [March 4th ABTV] that they were cut and pasting mouths and moving frames around - no time, no budget, and no staff left. It was all them, after it had been completed - after Mir had seen the original rendition and loved it, that all this happened. The parallel point to that to further support it is, had this been written in the script from the beginning, we would've seen a flawlessly animated season with a painful storyline. We don't see that.”

Although Mir’s reaction to the season they viewed in October (before its official drop) has since been deleted, one animator’s response to the season 8 that was released on Netflix is still online, comparing the show to a house and stating that “every single brick of the last season is very upsetting” but “everything else is good” (translation can be found here), making it clear he was not pleased with the final product. Joaquim Dos Santos does also mention in the interview Crystal references that changes were made to season 8 after season 7 dropped, stating, “You can probably see it in the animation. If you really pay attention it’s like, it’s literally our editor cutting out mouths and puppeting different dialogue.” It’s documented that the epilogue was added to s8 late after s7 dropped however it does not have any dialogue, this statement paired with Shada’s about “still recording on Voltron” begs the question, what change was made besides the epilogue? Hate shows in her Darkness meta that Shada’s character Lance was used to replace Lotor as well as Allura in key scenes, if Shada was still recording lines (unusual since audio recording is done very early in animation production) then it would have been for these moments.

Not all criticism has been based on the editing premise however; the story they present as the original has garnered negative comments as well since it featured Lotor, a divisive character due to his moral ambiguity and previous condemnation as a killer, and predominantly focused on his redemption as well as relationship with Allura. The narrative makes it clear that Lance, the blue paladin and one of the main characters popular with fans, would not have been the focus as he was in the released season and would have been replaced by Lotor as Allura’s partner. When I brought up the claims of bias in their reconstruction Leaking Hate pondered on it.

“Do I love the story because it is Lotura, or do I love Lotura because the story makes me love it?” she mused, “I think it's all the same. I was able to pick out the original story because of my bias in favour of Lotor, Allura, and Lotura. Had I not been invested in those characters, and that ship, I would have had no reason to look. I am not reconstructing based on wish fulfillment, or what I want to see,” she asserted, “but the story I am finding happens to be a story that I love.” In regards to Lance and her analysis on him she stated bluntly, “I HATE Lance. Were I reconstructing based on wish fulfillment I would have him alone and miserable. But that is not a good story. The real story of OGS8 has Lance coming to love himself and to learn to accept Allura's friendship as equally worthy as her romantic affection. It has him grow into a good man, and it has him become Allura's right hand when he helps her save the man she loves. It is an uplifting and wholesome message for little boys and grown men alike. And I think it is equally important that we save S8 for Lance as it is that we save it for Lotor and Allura.” When I mentioned that some would find her dislike of Lance an argument against her she also added that “they are right to.”

“I would not trust someone claiming to have found the 'real' story if I knew they hated Lotor or Allura.” However she admitted, “I don't hate him all the time. I think, if the Lance we get in OGS8 is the Lance I believe is there, then I will find him tolerable, if irritating.”

While it’s true that Hate is critical of Lance and his character, the reconstructed story she presents in Seek Truth does reflect her words, giving him an empowering and sympathetic arc growing from his previous immature and womanising character into a selfless, respectful friend. The team have also put their efforts into creating and realising the story in their reconstruction of the original s8, Rise and Atone, and so far it has stayed true to what they’ve promised, addressing characters and their arcs, the only deviation made being a romance free conclusion in a bid to stay ship-neutral. Dragon of Yang explained the narrative decisions they made with R&A stating clearly, “If this was wish fulfillment, we would have stopped at one detail or another. Every character’s arc was halted and destroyed beyond reconciliation or catharsis. Every character deserves their story to be done justice, and open-endings give that catharsis VLD originally had while remaining respectful to everyone’s shipping preferences. VLD is a story of hope and growth, to deny that a character has grown since day 1 is to deny that there is a story there to be told, and that in turn denies a person out there - who likely identifies with that character - the feeling of being seen. The best thing we can do as scholars and as activists,” she concluded, “is try to recreate the vision the staff had originally made and do so with care and attention to the work they put into every line.”

As for the harassment claims attributed to Team Purple Lion by both fans and The Voltron Store on twitter, there’s not much to support them, and in fact a great deal to disprove them. The team has maintained a level of professionalism in both their work and in their conduct online, consistently citing sources and providing proof for claims as well as campaigning respectfully. Hate commented, “they seem to be conflating our protest with the general hatred being thrown around in the fandom. We've made a point to emphasize polite but firm protest and advocate reaching out through official channels.” While there is a lot of anger and hate from fans towards the show and the producers, none of it has been from Team Purple Lion. Their protest has continuously avoided and often defended the producers and voice actors, who have been regularly attacked by other fans during the show’s airing and since due to the poor conclusion, all of whom TPL have made clear are under NDAs and cannot comment freely (although it’s worth noting, they stopped actively promoting the show on their social media after the season 8 release). Instead their questioning has focused on WEP, the company who own the Voltron trademark, after discovering through a meta analysis of a VLD episode signs that they were meddling with the creators’ vision of the show and ordered them to change it against the producers’ wishes. While it was only a speculative piece, WEP’s quick reaction to the release of said meta by claiming through their Voltron Store twitter that they “do not have any influence over the creative direction of the show” despite ignoring fans for months after the season release suggests some truth to it. Twitter user Eros compiled all evidence of their involvement since then in a Twitter thread and the majority of it is damning, their denial directly contradicting statements from the voice actors and producers prior to and after s8 that confirmed they were the controlling party and had creative input, as well as the creators’ desire to tell a progressive and empowering story however not being able to because of “other controlling parties” outside of DreamWorks. WEP have also made contradictory statements to fans about the season, saying that “nothing was edited” yet agreeing with a fan that a lot was left out and a director’s cut would sell well, as well as mocking another who left a Facebook review (March 16th 2019) complaining of being hung up on, replying to them that an “imposter” answered their phones:

[Image description: A facebook review of The Voltron Store. Text from the top reads as:

Reviewer (name coloured out) doesn’t recommend The Voltron Store.

Review reads: Terrible customer service. They literally hung up on me mid sentence and it was clearly not a case of a call accidentally being dropped. Extremely disappointed by the lack of professionalism!

The Voltron Store’s reply to the reviewer: if you actually talked to us you would find we are very nice people! And we never hang up on anybody EVER - unless they make outrageous claims like Power Rangers is better than Voltron!

The reviewer’s reply: The Voltron Store I did speak to a woman who identified herself Stephanie briefly, but I will never speak to your company again. Thank you for the response but I don't appreciate being called a liar. Please see the attached screenshot for proof of my abruptly ended call back in January. I desire to have no further communication with your company now, I simply decided finally other people deserved to know my personal experience.

Below is a screenshot showing the reviewer called The Voltron Store’s number.

The Voltron Store replied: We do not have a Stephanie here. That must be the issue: you dealt with an imposter! We would review the security cam footage but it does not go back 2 months. End ID.]

In stark contrast to WEP, Team Purple Lion has responded to criticism and addressed it, as well as reaching out to media outlets to clarify and correct poorly sourced claims, however have been faced with no response. Their questioning of WEP and their requests for the original season 8 on social media have been civil; their replies to the Voltron Store posts on Twitter containing no insults or cruel remarks, the harshest only critiques on the company’s lack of tact promoting a show and its merchandise that many considered offensive and toxic due to the last season. “At no point did we set out as some kind of campaign to “attack WEP” or “demand a new season”,” Crystal Rebellion said. “We were a handful of people looking at what amounted to, to use a metaphor, a puzzle that had technically been assembled but most of the pieces didn’t match up properly. We eventually decided to take the pieces that didn’t line up and look at what the picture was supposed to be. There was no ulterior motive - we just wanted the truth. When we realised the truth and it became obvious early on that Mir had seen the original season, we became convinced there was an unedited s8, perhaps in Mir’s backup drives. People saw it, which means it was a completed product, so it became a campaign to ask for it, it’s what the fandom wants, it’s what is profitable.”

In the face of all the negative response and disbelief, Team Purple Lion have gathered an overwhelming amount of evidence to support their case, not only from the show itself but also corroborating statements from the production team and cast as well as WEP’s conduct in response to the campaign. As a result TPL have gained a great amount of support and followers from the Voltron fandom, and are still gaining more a year and a half later. “I gotta give a shout out to Cosmic Royalty,” Leaking Hate said, “a group of Russian fans who reached out to us asking if they could do translations of our work. We host their translations on our website now and there’s apparently a group 500 strong on the Russian social media site VK that supports the work we do together!” Violet Howler on Tumblr has also been a big supporter as well as new fans, recently revealing themselves in the wake of good news, the fight to get the original season seemingly won as Leaking Hate displayed in her most recent meta. In it Hate outlines evidence for the franchise’s ownership changing hands from WEP to DreamWorks and therefore the release of the original season, based on the recent repromotion of the show through articles, new merchandise from the store and the new store designs that all suggest the release, since there would be no other reason to promote a show that was a PR disaster, so universally hated. Regardless of all the opposition and discredit they have faced, confirmation of the truth of Voltron’s original season 8’s fate is expected this summer before the official art book is made available, in the form of the season’s release itself. Whether the fans will be happy with it is another story, however Leaking Hate emphasised firmly that fan satisfaction was not the point, or at least not entirely. “Nothing is perfect, and nothing will please everyone. Especially a show like VLD, with almost 35 years of legacy and fans behind it. There are people who will not like the original season, there are even some who will prefer the edited one - I’m sure the WEP executives are some of them. But it will be the season it was supposed to be, the one that was a labour of love. There is so much love and care poured into every frame of VLD, this was a story that the people working on it wanted to tell; it was more than just a job to them. It was created with love, and it was with love that we fought for it, and when it comes down to it that’s what VLD’s meta narrative was about: love.”

#articles #fandom #fandom culture #team purple lion #voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld fandom #freevlds8 #dreamworks

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alternatedoctors · 5 years ago

Text

Timeline

“First” Regeneration Cycle

Body - Title - Portrayed by.... 01 - The First Doctor - William Hartnell (Richard Hurndall*, David Bradley**) 02 - The Second Doctor - Patrick Troughton 03 - The Third Doctor - Jon Pertwee 04 - The Fourth Doctor - Tom Baker 05 - The Fifth Doctor - Peter Davidson 06 - The Sixth Doctor - Colin Baker 07 - The Seventh Doctor - Sylvestor McCoy 08 - The Eighth Doctor - Paul McGann 09 - The “War” Doctor - John Hurt 10 - The Ninth Doctor - Christopher Eccleston 11 - The Tenth Doctor - David Tennant 12 - The "Metacrisis” Doctor - David Tennant 13 - The Eleventh Doctor - Matt Smith

“Second” Regeneration Cycle

14 - The Twelfth Doctor - Peter Capaldi 15 - The Thirteenth Doctor - Jodie Whittaker

Unknown Placement

?? - The “Ruth” Doctor - Jo Martin ?? - The Curator - Tom Baker

Personal Alternate Doctors / Castings / Notes

16 - The Fourteenth Doctor - Gillian Anderson Notes: Short hair, outfit appearing as in Winser London photoshoot. Similar in character to Capaldi’s final season as the Doctor. Generally keeps calms and collected, but with a twinkle in her eyes she takes a quiet enjoyment to travelling the universe. After regenerating from the her previous 13th incarnation, the 14th Doctor takes a more restrained approach to adventure. She now tends to actively seek more quiet and passive locations, after seeing the accumulating effects of her presence across the space and time. She now vows more so to observe the universe rather than get directly involved with action and adventure. This is not to say that she shys away from people in need, indeed her sense of duty is punctuated by a distinct motherly-feel. This is similar to the 12th Doctor’s ‘magician granddad’ take, but she would appear to be less emotionally distant and more have more humanistic qualities. If the more optimistic portrayal’s of the 10th, 11th and 12th Doctors could be surmised as “Romantic Adventurer”, “Cosmic Fairytale”, “Magician Granddad”, then Anderson’s Doctor could be described as a “Dutiful Observer”. The darker sides of these Doctors can be boiled down to “the man who regrets, the man who forgets, and the man who forgives”. Anderson’s darker side could be aligned as “the tainted nostalgic”: She travels the universe, now not only seeking things to appearance things for the first time, but mostly to re-experience them to gain true validation and meaning from these experiences (akin to Donald Gleeson’s character by the end of About Time). Following her realization of the Timeless Child arc, she realizes that she remembers very little of even her most recent incarnations. For most of the season arc, the 14th Doctor consults old diaries (such as River Songs) for inspiration or just to relive the moments. (Indeed, I would love to have an episode in which 14 reads exerts of the diary, or relives adventures with old companions, in a fun, nostalgic wholesome scene inside the TARDIS). Whilst on the surface 14 expresses a comforting, positive outlook on her past lives, but like 10′s explanation of Gallifrey to Martha in S3, this is a choice to remember the good bits. The main arc this Doctor will go through will be seeking both a mix of old and new experiences, but slowly becoming more and more aware that, while her influence on the universe may be good as a whole, or short term, it is often those closest to her who repeatedly suffer. (I know this is an arc that was somewhat touched upon during both RTD’s and Moffat’s eras but I want to take this approach more subtly). The 14th Doctor represents a far more mature realization of a female doctor, and her character arc specifically would delve more into the Doctor’s true self, and the inner turmoil she hides from herself as all of her previous and future personalities constantly bubble away inside. ?? - The “Future” Doctor - Tilda Swinton Notes: Future, edgier, Doctor. Swinton’s Doctor would be cold, sophisicated, and no-nonsense. Tilda Swinton’s Doctor is cold and weathered, more so than even Capaldi’s first season. She is callus and ruthless in saving people. By this point, she admits she does not even have a concept of how old she might be, but at least over 5,000 years. She has shortish hair, a fringe off to one side, a lanky suit and tie - similar to her appearance in Constantine (2005). Swinton’s TARDIS design is similar to Capaldi’s in aesthetic, but dark and dingy. Practical looking, with bookshelves and shelves, without any silly gadgets. She has a very dry, morbid sense of humour, if any at all. At some point in her adventures, the 14th Doctor comes across this future incarnation of herself. Episode outline: We join 14 and compaion mid-adventure, they are aboard some sort of spacecraft. 14 has already done most of the work “saving” prior to the episode opening, but now faces a moral dilemma - save the crew aboard, or kill a new infantile species. Both species require the opposite atmospheric conditions to survive, so the Doctor can only choose one. At the last moment, the Swinton Doctor steps in and immediately jettisons the alien species. 14 is shocked and demands to know who she is, to which Swinton ignores her first, walking swiftly away. “Stop there, I demand you tell me who you are” shouts 14, following the mystery woman down a thin corridor. “Doesn’t matter, you can go about your business now”. “Who gave you the right to commit genocide, that was an innocent species who barely just crawled out of the womb.” Swinton turns “I’m the Doctor. I own those rights.” TITLE SEQUENCE Throughout the early parts of the episode it becomes clear that the future Doctor has no idea who 14 is, but does not dismiss her immediately, but eventually admits that 14 “probably is telling the truth” but she can’t actually remember her, to which 14 replies that is impossible, as she “never forgets a face”, to which Swinton replies calmly that she is so old now, she simply cannot remember everything she has ever done or experienced, or even simply she cannot remember everyone she once was. Eventually 14 and Swinton have a DMC. She no longer travels with companions, indeed cannot even remember who the last one was. Her lust for adventure and optimistic outlook has long been shattered, now instead she is tainted by millennia of saving people. It is routine for her, and she cares not for the people she saves, describing herself as a caretaker who can never quit. (To 14) “I remember being like you. (...) Well, not you specifically... but like you. Young. Optimistic, always looking for the good in the universe. Thinking that travelling through time and space was such a gift, and how lucky I was to have that all to myself. It took me a long time to realise I was wrong. I wasn’t lucky, or special. Not a traveler, or a tourist, or an observer. ... Nope. This is my burden to bear. Do you know how big the universe is. And then the size of that applied through all of space in all dimensions. When yourself make a habit of saving people, it’s no longer just kindness. It becomes expected. It’s like with any hobby; it starts off as such a small portion of your time. You do it every now and again, perhaps when you fancy it or when you need to. But that over time that enjoyment becomes duty. That becomes obsession. Then addiction, until eventually you’ve spiraled out of control and now, this is your life. But with no end to it. Just saving people, forever, like a caretaker who can never quit.”14 is shocked by this pessimistic future version of herself, and whilst her companions try to understand, 14 is very deeply effected by this, realising that despite the fact she is already incredibly old even by Timelord standards, compared to this future incarnation she is nothing. This is a Doctor who has even come out of retirement, now facing the consequences of a life that can never end, realising that even if she were to do nothing for the entire lifespan of the universe, she could just hop into the TARDIS, and do it all over again. Infinitely. The only reason she now saves people is because there is now nothing for her to do. She has lived every experience she can experience, touched every star to have ever been born, and watch them all die too.

#doctor who au #GA doctor #TS doctor #timeline #episode insp

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dvp95 · 5 years ago

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can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 12

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 3,311 for this chapter (53,098 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The last time that Dan was alone with his mum for longer than a few minutes at a time over Christmas, their conversation had felt awkward and stilted. All of the things they had to say to each other lingered right below the surface, sharpening the edges of the conversation in a way neither of them knew how to acknowledge.

That's what Dan expects this lunch to be like. He thinks he's prepared for every option of what his mum might say to him, carefully building up the familiar walls in case he needs them, but.

She arrives late with apologies on her lips and Colin in her arms, frazzled as always, and it's almost comforting to Dan that she hasn't gotten any more punctual since he moved out. That's something they share that used to drive his dad up the wall. Maybe it still does. Dan wouldn't know. The only reason he's on time is that he came straight from work to nab a table at the dog-friendly brunch place that Yelp insists is good, and he's been happily dog-watching since he sat down.

"Sorry, sorry, hi," his mum is saying, dropping Colin on Dan's lap without warning. "Traffic was a bloody mess."

"That's alright," Dan says, but the words are coming out on autopilot. He scratches Colin's fuzzy head and blinks back the wetness that threatens to well up behind his eyes.

It's been a good few months since he'd last seen Colin, and he's as cute as ever. Dan can bet that the collar is brand new, though - the vertical stripes on it are narrow and the hues are garish, but there's no doubt about what it is.

"It's nice, yeah?" his mum asks as she sits across from them, clearly noticing Dan's preoccupation. "I hope I grabbed the right one."

Dan swallows around the growing lump in his throat and lets his fingers brush over the bright rainbow around Colin's neck, making sure it's there and real. It's a gesture that he didn't expect, and one he has no idea how to deal with. He keeps petting Colin absently and meets his mum's eyes.

"It's perfect," he tells her. "Suits him."

"Suits you," she counters lightly. She gives him a soft, sad sort of smile. "Caught you on the telly yesterday. I haven't seen you look this happy in a long time, bear."

Oh, fuck. Dan is not going to cry, not surrounded by dogs and strangers in this weirdly bougie restaurant in Chelsea. He wipes hurriedly at his eyes and feels a rush of gratitude when his mum pretends she hasn't seen, looks down at the menu.

He hadn't expected this. He doesn't know why, since he'd thought about a million and one ways that this lunch could be awkward or painful, but he somehow never thought she'd be so... supportive.

And maybe that's not fair of him. His mum had supported him when he'd dropped out of school, when he'd bought a one-way ticket with his shitty Asda paychecks, when he came home from drinking in the park at three in the morning with a split lip. She hasn't been perfect by any means, and because of that Dan has always assumed that her support was conditional even if her love was not.

Vividly, he remembers the way she'd cheer on the sidelines of any game he or Adrian played - although Adrian had wanted to play, the absolute freak - and how embarrassed he'd felt at the time, hot under the collar from the attention.

"I am happy," Dan tells her. They are both looking at their menus now, one of his hands shaking on Colin's back. "I'm - it feels good to be honest with myself and with you guys."

"With yourself?" his mum asks, her voice softer than he's heard it since he was a child. "Oh, Daniel. You didn't know?"

That's not something he really wants to get into with her, but Dan understands why she's asking. He's almost thirty years old. She'd probably just thought he was keeping it from her, not smothering his own wants for fifteen years. "No, like. I knew. But I didn't want to know. It's not like it's been fucking easy, has it? So I just. Pretended it wasn't there as best as I could, and. I've been pretending for a really long time, mum."

There's more to it, but she doesn't need to know any of that. Dan doesn't want to sit there and tell his mother how much he'd hated himself, how unsafe he'd felt at school and home and out with his 'friends', how there had been a point where he didn't want to live at all if he had to be gay.

Dan had definitely come a long way in the decade or so since then, but he'd done that by keeping a box of feelings locked up tight and ignoring the voice in his head that reminded him how much he wanted men.

Now, he feels... okay. He's going to be okay.

His mum's hand covers his on the table, the size difference between them almost comical.

"I love you," she says. "Blimey, I can't even imagine. I'm so glad you told me, Daniel. I feel like... like we don't really know each other that well."

Maybe a week ago, that might have gotten Dan's back up against the wall. And whose fault is that? he thinks but doesn't sneer, because his mum had put a rainbow collar on Colin and keeps saying she loves him. He can fight past the automatic defensiveness.

Dan runs a hand over Colin to calm himself back down, smiling when Colin licks his hand. Eventually, he feels like he can respond to her without snapping something he'd regret later. "That's true."

Luckily, their waiter stops by their table with three waters - two in glasses, one in a bowl - and effectively startles Dan and his mum out of the very serious conversation they'd decided to have in a public place. The conversation moves on to their jobs, Adrian's various adventures, and how good of a boy Colin is. Dan remembers to ask after his grandparents and his mum snorts into her vegan pancakes at one of his jokes, so. It's all going suspiciously well.

They even have the waiter take a photo of the three of them, which is surreal to Dan. He's not used to this, to wanting to have a physical reminder of any time he's spent with his family, but they're having such a nice start to the afternoon.

There are moments where Dan can feel the gap more deeply, though. Stories that carefully don't include his father. Questions she asks that he doesn't know the answer to.

It gets to a point, boiling up inside of Dan, that he has to ask before he explodes.

"Mum," he says, quiet. They're nearly done eating, which means that if this goes badly Dan can easily hug his mum goodbye and go take comfort in Phil's lap. "Did you... did you tell Dad about my text?"

He's nervous to look at her when he asks, but he's glad that he didn't try to hide. The anger that flashes across her face for a split second is so vindicating that Dan can't even imagine how differently he'd feel about his mother if he'd never seen that.

"I did," she says shortly.

There's a beat. "I suppose you're going to tell me that he'll come around and he loves me?"

"I'm not going to tell you anything of the sort," his mum says. Dan is desperate to look away now, doesn't like seeing that disapproving twist of her mouth even if it isn't directed at him. "You're both grown men and can make your own decisions. I made mine, that's all I can do."

Dan swallows hard and gives Colin a nibble on his bacon so he has an excuse to break eye contact with her. "Adrian's fine with it."

"Well, of course he is. And of course I am too, Daniel, because even if I had some issue with gay people - which I don't," she stresses the words like she's trying to convince Dan, "one of my best friends is a lesbian, she's a lovely woman - I would still prioritize my son who I love over any of that prejudicial nonsense. It takes a very special kind of person to think that anything about their child is worth not speaking to them."

Ten, fifteen years ago, Dan had been convinced that everyone in his life would hate him for this part of him that he kept under wraps. He hated himself, why would other people be any different?

And maybe that could have been the case back then, before society started to get its shit together a little bit and 'gay' stopped being synonymous with 'bad'. There's no way to know for sure, and he supposes it doesn't really matter. That's not the timeline he lives in.

Dan chances a glance at his mum, who is idly folding her napkin into various floppy origami shapes like she needs to be doing something with her hands.

The question sticks in his throat, but Dan forces it out anyway. His mum has said a lot of nice things that he's going to cry about when he's alone, but he needs to know how far that extends.

"And... am I still invited to Christmas?"

His mum blinks up at him, looking a bit startled. "Of course you're still coming to Christmas. My home is your home and always will be, don't be stupid. If your father wants to put his own selfish arse over his sons, then he can be the one to fuck off. We don't need him to have a good holiday."

Dan buries his face in Colin's fur and squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment, letting the gratitude and grief wash over him.

Out of every scenario he'd pictured, Dan never even thought to hope for this kind of unconditional acceptance. He knows that they still have a long way to go, that he and his mum will always have things they can't say to each other and that Adrian will never be his best friend, but. They're trying. All three of them are trying to navigate this so that they can be a bit closer, know each other better, and that's a start.

The park isn't far, but Dan's mum insists on driving so she doesn't have to walk back and get her car later. Dan hates how much he relates to that.

An old CD blares over the car's shitty speakers, knocking Dan back into childhood the way few things can. Some indie punk bullshit from the 90s that he still somehow knows all the words to. They both sing along to it and his mum scream-laughs when Colin barks, coincidentally in rhythm with the drums.

Dan is having fun with his mum, a concept that is so foreign to him he's half convinced it's a sleep-deprived hallucination, and he almost forgets to text Phil that they're on their way.

Ok! We're already here, Thor insisted lmao, Phil sends back immediately, and Dan feels a little bad that he hasn't been keeping Phil updated all morning. Still, he supposes, he was working and then dealing with family bullshit, so he supposes that Phil will understand.

They park a little ways down the road and Dan feels odd in the sudden quiet of the car. The things they don't talk about seem to fill the space between them, creeping in as the nostalgia fades.

"Mum," he says, and she pauses in the midst of opening her door. "I... thank you, for this. It means a lot to me that you came today."

"Of course," his mum says like it really is that obvious.

"You might see more of me soon, if you'd like to," Dan tells her, putting Colin on his lead so he doesn't have to make eye contact. "I'm thinking about moving to London."

"Oh, Daniel, that's wonderful," she says, warm, and Dan's heart hurts so fucking much. Their relationship has always been a bit complicated, strained, but he's willing to make an effort if she is.

He gives her a small smile and gets out of the car with Colin, the sincerity in her voice suddenly too much to handle in such a small space. While they walk, he chats to Colin about how nice the park is and how there are a lot of new friends for him to play with. He likes to think that Colin's tail wags faster at the information.

The sound of the gate opening makes a bunch of dogs look over, the way it always does, and Thor starts bounding toward Dan as fast as his stubby legs can carry him.

"Thor, you can't just - oh, Dan!"

Phil stops chasing after Thor and just approaches them at a regular pace, grinning.

"Don't worry, he's not making an escape," Dan laughs, crouching down to greet Thor and holding tight to Colin's lead just in case.

Thor licks at Dan's free hand and then sniffs at Colin, who seems chill with it. He's such a calm dog, Dan loves him so much. Dan is so busy overseeing this introduction that he nearly misses the humans above him introducing themselves to each other.

"Hi, I'm Phil, and this is Thor! You must be Mrs. Howell."

Dan's mum pulls a face, and for a terrifying second Dan thinks she was all talk after all, that she really does care now that she's faced with a man, but she just says, "Not hardly. Call me Karen or call me nothing."

The problem, of course, is that Phil is predictable. Dan knows the joke is coming a split second before he brightly says, "Nice to meet you, Nothing."

Thankfully, his mum laughs.

"Cheeky. This young man here is Colin."

Phil crouches down too, his eyes meeting Dan's for a brief, nervous moment before he's holding out his hand for Colin to shake. Colin, the very good boy he is, sits down and shakes paw.

"And very nice to meet you," Phil says solemnly. Dan had no idea his heart could fit any more of Phil in it, but it swells three sizes like the fucking Grinch. Dan's sure it's written all over his face, but he doesn't need to hide that from anyone here. He's allowed to be obviously smitten over his boyfriend. "I've heard so much about you."

It's all far too genuine for Dan, suddenly, this whole thing, so he snorts and unhooks Colin from the lead.

"You're such a dork," he tells Phil as they both stand, the dogs chasing each other around now that they've both been released. Phil just shrugs and grins, hands in his pockets.

He looks nice in his buttoned shirt, short sleeves showing off his arms and a headache-inducing print enough to make Dan ridiculously fond, but he also looks a bit anxious. Dan knows the feeling.

"Wanna sit?" he asks his mum, gesturing to a picnic table. She rolls her eyes.

"I've been sitting all morning, Daniel," she says lightly. "I think I can handle craning my neck to look at you lot."

Quick getaway, Dan's depression gremlin shouts. She doesn't want to be here, she's just acting nice because she's afraid you're on a ledge, just like Adrian was, none of them actually accept you or want you to be around...

It always gets harder to shut up the less he's slept, so Dan has to ride the wave of self-hatred until Phil smiles down at his mum and starts making easy conversation.

Phil is so good at this part. He's not relaxed, Dan can tell by the set of his shoulders and the awkward way his hands are sticking out of his jean pockets, but some combination of radio training and natural charm make him seem like nothing is more thrilling than hearing about Dan's mum's drive to the city.

Dan isn't good at this part. He tunes out a bit and starts taking photos and videos of the dogs whenever they come close enough. They're fast friends, and Dan likes the idea of orchestrating puppy playdates when he lives here.

He zones back in when he hears his name, blinking over at them like he's fallen asleep standing up.

"What?" he bleats.

"We weren't talking to you," Phil informs him, his lips twitching.

"You're talking about me, then?"

They exchange an amused, exasperated sort of look. Dan suddenly isn't very sure at all that this was a good idea. Of course Dan's mum likes Phil, it's impossible not to like Phil. Now they're just going to gang up on him all the bloody time.

Even in Dan's own mind he can't pretend like that's a bad thing.

"I was just saying," Dan's mum says, "that I wanted to thank Phil for bringing you back to England. I know you've been talking about doing it for years, kid, but you do tend to put things off."

"Like I said, Karen," Phil says with a level of familiarity that Dan isn't sure how to feel about. It's just the way the Lesters act, but it isn't the way the Howells are. It's strange to watch his mum try and keep up with the vibe of a man who's talking like he's known her his whole life. "It's really nothing to do with me."

"Oh, bollocks," his mum says. Dan laughs.

There's still so much he and his mum don't know about each other, things they need to reconnect on, but that doesn't mean it isn't obvious to anyone with eyes that Dan's plan is only changing right now because of Phil coming into his life.

"Well, can you blame me?" he jokes, some of the knot in his chest easing. She really doesn't mind, does she? Not the way he thought she would.

"Not at all," she says, and Phil ducks his head with a stupidly shy sort of smile. Dan wants to kiss it off his face.

Colin trudges up to them then, panting and whining a bit, and they all coo nonsense at him. He's always so lazy and chilled out over Christmas, Dan bets he doesn't do the zoomies with super excitable dogs very often.

"Seems like Colin's done for the day," says Dan. He leashes Colin and hands the lead to his mum. "It was really nice to see you both. Like, really. I had fun."

"No need to sound so surprised about it," his mum says dryly. They aren't huggers, really, not unless some traumatic shit is going down, so it doesn't surprise Dan when she just blows him a kiss goodbye. "Hopefully I'll see you both soon, yeah? Don't be strangers."

"Wouldn't dream of it," says Phil. He shifts closer to Dan, their shoulders knocking lightly together.

"Love you, mum," Dan says, because he feels like he has to after everything, and because it's the truth. She smiles up at him, so warm that something in Dan settles into place.

"Love you too, honey. It was really nice to meet you, Phil."

"Likewise," says Phil. He bumps into Dan again as they watch her and Colin walk away, the solidity of his shoulder keeping Dan grounded. Dan has had a very long, very emotionally taxing day, and that small bit of contact makes the stress of it all seep out of him at once. "You okay, Dan?"

The sleepless night is catching up with Dan, now that the anxiety is dissipating, and all he wants to do is melt into Phil's chest and take a long nap.

"I'm very okay," he says, surprised by how much he means it. "Let's go home, yeah?"

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #can't breathe when you touch my sleeve #words words words

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lyouna · 5 years ago

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The story of Josh Dun

Joshua William “Josh” Dun is an American musician. Best known for being the drummer for the band Twenty One Pilots. He was born in Columbus, Ohio, on June 18, 1988. His star sign is Gemini. He has two sisters named Ashley and Abigail and a brother named Jordan.

Since his childhood, he was always terrified by talking in front of people even if it was a small group of it. However, when he is playing drums he does not feel that way, he is not as vulnerable as that when it comes to talking.

He self-taught when he was around 12 how to play drums, and worked at the Guitar Center for 3 years. He also worked with former Twenty One Pilots drummer Chris Salih, through whom he would eventually meet Tyler Joseph.

Dun's first foray into the music industry was with an alternative/Christian rock band House of Heroes. He joined the band through their drummer, Colin Rigsby, who was taking a break to spend time with his family. Dun played alongside the band on tour from March to October 2010 when Rigsby returned to his role.

"I would lay in my bed every night with sticks and hit my knees trying to figure out what they were doing, like, 'Okay, now they're hitting the ride cymbal, and now it's the snare and now the crash.' I would dissect everything that I watched or listened to. Every day I would walk to the local music store and play their electronic drums until one of the workers would be like, 'Hey, we have people in here that actually want to buy stuff so you've gotta go.' I did that for about a year and that's essentially how I learned to play some basic beats."

Throughout both middle school and high school, he didn't have a lot of money and it helps him to be more creative. He even thought about finding pieces of wood and figure it out how to make them in a drum. Figure out how they would sound with different holes in it, with different types of wood... Nevertheless, at this end, he said that the best drum set he had was one of SJC Drums.

He likes nothing more to do than to play drums; in fact, he plays the exact same way when he is in a dark room by himself and when he is in front of thousands of people. He said that he wants to be creative and just to get outside of the box even if that sounds weird.

He said that although his inspiration comes from some drummers, his greatest inspiration is his parents. Indeed, he starts playing drums in a sort of rebellious state again them and that turns into them being more than supportive.

In 2011, upon the invite of co-worker and the band's drummer Chris Salih, Dun attended a Twenty One Pilots show after listening to their original demo CD. Josh first saw Twenty One Pilots at a club on the Ohio State campus. “I loved everything about the show except for one thing: I wasn’t onstage playing also,” he says. After the show, he met lead singer and future bandmate Tyler Joseph, and a couple of days later began to build a friendship with him. It would be another year before Joseph’s original drummer quit and Dun got the job, but they had become best friends in the meantime.

By 2012, Joseph had grown into a ferocious performer, climbing the scaffolding and diving into audiences. The duo became the biggest band in central Ohio, putting every spare penny into the band and focusing intensely on their local fans. They filmed much of the “Stressed Out” video at Dun’s childhood home, so it has become a destination for Twenty One Pilots fans.

The highest point of his sort of musical journey was (according to his words) when he played for a college show at Ohio University. It was full of drunken kids, one of them even tried to pee on his drums and then on their merch. They eventually played one song and after it, the police shut them down. However, he said that it was the first show that he played with Tyler Joseph. He realized during this one song that he was playing with his best friend and he will never forget that.

The duo then released the band’s second studio album, Regional at Best. It was self-released on July 8, 2011. Regional at Best is a discontinued album. It is the last album released by the band prior to signing a record deal with Fueled by Ramen, and it is the first album to feature the talents of Josh Dun.

Josh Dun was raised in conservative, religious households. Video games and most rocks or hip-hop albums were banned. "I’d hide albums like Green Day’s Dookie under my bed," Dun says. "Sometimes they’d find them and get real mad. They’d find a Christian alternative, like Relient K, and make me listen to that."

For a while, the only movies allowed in the house came from CleanFlicks, a Christian company that took Hollywood movies and edited out all the profanity, sexuality and violence. For a young Dun, it made watching movies like The Terminator quite confusing. "Some scenes they’d remove entirely," he says. "Watching those movies was an absolutely awful experience."

By the time he was a teenager, Josh was rebelling hard. "I just had this aggression," he says, noting that his parents nearly kicked him out when he was 14. "They almost sent me to a military school. They did not know what to do with me, and I was always in detention. I never got into drugs or alcohol, but I would yell at my parents and just treat them terribly. Everything was an argument. Looking back, they were trying their best."

When his parents fell asleep, he would break out his punk-pop CDs; eventually, they softened up on rock music, allowing him to assemble a drum kit in his basement piece by piece with his own money. After he said this to some interviewers, he called his parents to explain himself.

"I actually called my parents after some articles came out – I never wanted for them to be painted in a bad light.

‘I’m so thankful for the way that I was raised. Ultimately, the idea of parents being strict or having rules, looking back, I did have a really rebellious phase and did whatever I could to do the opposite of what they wanted.

‘That’s all on me. For them, I think they were trying to do their best to raise me as best they could. They were trying to make the best decisions for me, and looking back, I can see they were the right decisions.

‘As I look at the rules I had, I wasn’t allowed to play video games or watch TV, so I went outside and made up games with my neighbourhood friends or built dirt ramps and rode our bikes over them.

‘I would be out from morning to night. I look at that, and I can’t imagine it if my parents had let me sit in and watch TV all day – I’d be a different person to who I am today, it’s thanks to them saying ‘‘get out and go do something"

He did not go to college, moving in with a bunch of buddies instead and playing in local bands while scraping by working in the drum department of Guitar Center. "I was going nowhere," he says. "One day I said to my dad, ‘Are you disappointed that I’m working a minimum-wage job and I didn’t go to college?’ I’ll never forget his response. He said, ‘It’s not about how much money you make or what your job is, but it’s more about your character. For that, I’m proud of you.’ It gave me motivation."

During an interview, Josh said “We’re always questioning things,” he says, “but I guess it’s safe to say that we’re both Christians.”

Although Columbus is still very much the Pilots’ base, Josh actually moved out to L.A a couple of years ago in pursuit of more sunshine while Tyler remained there. However, he says it has not made them working together any more difficult. “I’m equally in Columbus as much as I am there. We discussed this a lot before I moved out there. I always feared talking about us being in different places because I think that can be confusing to people from an outside standpoint - like are you guys still friends? Are you still in the band? We had so many conversations about logistics, but first of all, we’re together more than we’re not together over the course of a year. We’re on the phone every day and with technology, it’s so easy to get things done.”

On January 8, 2013, Vessel was born, it was their first album after signing with Fueled By Ramen and it received mainstream exposure. On May 17, 2015, Blurryface was released and the band received international success.

In July 2017, Twenty One Pilots went on hiatus for a year whilst they worked on their next album. On October 5, 2018, Trench was released, it was also a commercial success, reaching number one in six countries, including Australia, New Zealand, Spain, and the Netherlands and number two in several countries, notably the United Kingdom and the United States, as well as selling more than a million copies worldwide.

Therefore, he needed to learn how to deals with notoriety, he had the help of Tyler Joseph (of course), his family, and Debby Ryan. Indeed, from May 2013 to September 2014, he had a relationship with her. They got back together a few years later and in December 2018, Josh posted on Instagram his engagement to Debby in New Zealand during the second leg of The Bandito Tour. He wrote, «I found a tree house in the woods in New Zealand and proposed to my girl. She my dude for life. I love you Debby".

She also posts about it «My dude asked me on a date. I said yeah because I always want to go on dates with him. Then he asked me to be his forever dude. He does things well, and right. His timing has pressed us and never failed us. He's sincere and fun and disciplined and strong as heck and a nerd and a rockstar and a good midwestern man and a silly shirtless boy, and his family is endlessly warm and delightful and are such champions. I have two parents and a brother; they're superheroes and they're my home. They've been the only thing that moves my needle with the fierceness of deep empathy. I have never that out in the world. I guess I figured it wasn't a connection you could stumble upon, only something you could only be born into. Falling in love with joshua was discovering it in the wild. Building it with him, building in certainty, infinite in wonder. Our own lil family. Feels like growing up and moving through life is just evolving through different types of complicated. He is where all the voices narrow into one sound. My only simplicity, where the important things are clear and the other things aren't that important. He's my heart outside my body. He's a cold water awakening a warm bed; he's the place I can rest. Dudes for life. It was a really good date."

Josh has many tattoos and every single one have a strong signification. Firstly, John Graefe tattooed his right arm and then tell the story of it. “I was tattooing in Hollywood and he came in with bandmate, Tyler. They weren’t half as big as they are today and I had no idea at first. I just asked him the whole meaning behind his tattoo and he asked me to come up with the vision.”

The tattoo on his right arm had a blue geometric-like image or something that looks like a galaxy. Below is the image of nature. The musician mentioned that he would share this if it’s personally asked, but he did not want it spreading all over the Internet.

Both he and Tyler have an "X" tattoo on their body symbolizing their dedication to their hometown fans in Columbus, Ohio. They received it on stage during their hometown show at the Lifestyle Communities Pavilion on April 26, 2013. Dun's is located on his neck behind his right ear.

In October 2015, Tyler and Josh asked their fans to choose one of them among themselves via a vote on Twitter. The winner should have his name on the loser on stage. For 24 hours, the two boys shot several videos parodying the presidential debates on topics such as Christmas music or their favorite drink, the Red bull. The results of the vote were equal. Therefore, Dun sports the name "Tyler" above his left knee.

Josh has a tattoo on the inside of his left arm dedicated to his mom. A heart with "mom" written inside of it. Which she answers on Instagram by “These past few months have been exciting seeing how far Josh and Tyler have gone. But it’s been a little hard for me as a mother to feel like I have to share my son with the world. Josh, you getting this tattoo means so much to me. I love you and now your stuck with Mom forever! <3”

He has a drum tattoo on his left arm.

Chantelle Thong made his last tattoo during the Bandito Tour, on December 2018. It represents an astronaut/spaceman flipping, while simultaneously being abducted or levitating into a spaceship. It might be a reference to March to the sea. Fans assumed that the spaceman is Josh Dun.

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spamzineglasgow · 5 years ago

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(ESSAY) “One hasn’t caught a poem” – joining Alice Notley For the Ride, by Colin Herd

In this essay, Colin Herd writes from the side of dogs and car alarms and the everyday detritus of living in these ‘soupy’ times, where language draws us endlessly towards the possibility and withholding of more knowledge, more prediction, more answers and meaning. Exploring the rich, knotty and exhilarating poetics of Alice Notley’s recent book For the Ride (Penguin, 2020), Herd takes us on a jaunt through the ‘imaginative space of non-being’, zooming through windows and many portals of a rippling language, leading us into the shapeshifting realm of love, rebellion, tyranny, repeat and willowing new forms of (un)knowing.

“mebbe we’re just birds, orphic ones means, articuli of the blank” (92)

> This is an aside before I’ve even started but in my neighbourhood dogs are barking all the freaking time right now. Maybe it’s always like this and I just don’t notice because I’m usually at work during the day, or maybe it’s that they realise that stuff is screwed and weird right now… but wow… all these dogs wildly poeticise all day all night every day/night. Plus car alarms and house alarms which are of course dog-poets too as everyone knows, attuned to bewilderment as much as the next being.

> When things are trippy and scary, why not read something that’s even more so? And in the current Covid-19 crisis, I’ve been drawn to reading those poems that demonstrate an uncanny ability to know more always, to predict, to bring things into being, to foreshadow and foretell. I’ve been reading works that disrupt and destabilise, not to provide comfort in the disruption and instabilities of the present moment but to find ways of thinking disruptedly and divergently. One of those texts, a kind of prototext for that kind of thinking, is ‘On Notbeing’, one of those great lost works of presocratic philosophy that reminds us the best things in life are partial, basically unknowable & fragmented. In what we have available of ‘On Notbeing’, the poet-critic Gorgias zones out into the following elusive statements in a shadow-text, unpicking Parmenides’ ‘On Being’:

“Nothing exists; Even if something exists, nothing can be known about it; and even if something can be known about it, knowledge about it can't be communicated to others. Even if it can be communicated, it cannot be understood.”

As Barbara Cassin puts it, these statements “knot together” being and saying – existence and language – constructing politics and society in poeisis; but it isn’t just being and saying that are linked, it’s also being and non-being. Gorgias constructs the “city as an ongoing creation of language” by thinking logically through to a point where it’s impossible to imagine any stable “being”, that isn’t artificially constructed in the soupy language through which we experience it. Gorgias is on the side of the dogs and car alarms signalling their objection to any stable objective being, the “articuli of the blank”: sheer barking poetic insistence. It’s almost time for us to clap again.

> This imaginative space of non-being, this thinking-through of what it would be like not to exist, is exactly the space that Alice Notley’s new book For the Ride takes the reader, carefully lowering us down like a figure being dropped from a great height into a game, but the game is what feels like a live unfolding Zoom transcript of ghost-Gorgias-as-babysitter-to-zoom-bombing-baby-ghost-Derridas caught in self-isolation with endless versions of themselves. And Gorgias seems to be asking how many Zoom windows it is possible to open up at once to short-circuit the tech. And how exhilarating is this poem which takes poetry to breaking point! It’s a roughshod exploration of languages rippling and ripening around the questions: what might language be like if humans don’t exist? What worlds would language create if we weren’t around to limit, define them? Is posthuman talking / narrativizing / language possible?

> The actual agon / arena for these questions in For the Ride is “the glyph of chaos with willows”:

Oh but One’s not in time, what’s One in? Chaos, beautiful chaos – But, too, One’s in glyph and it’s hard; learning a new way to go, that is, Talk? proceeding on through… oh this might be round, rounded. (1)

Notley’s poem creates spaces for us to imagine coming-to language. It’s a plant-like willowy coming-to language: “There are transversals, blurry poles—no they are lines” (1). The speaking here is plant-like in the way that Cassin reminds us Aristotle categorieses poets, those who speak nonsense: “Strage plants really, since like animals they make sounds with their mouths. Homoios phutoi, you are like a plant if you speak without meaning” (68). Notley’s text grows, abundantly. And reproduces almost magically – little branches of language falling – even upside down – and generating new growth. Notley’s is a coming-to language that might open up alternative spaces for being that don’t require us to situate ourselves and our egos in the same ways we’re accustomed to. Or, as it’s exquisitely put elsewhere: ”No way to evolve without pre-existence, assholes!”

> Oh just absorb us all with poetry like that! What else is poetry for but to swallow us up and then expel us somewhere we could never have been. This is a disorienting book, spinning the reader into all these different rooms of language, orienting us around characters – One, Wideset, France, Shaker etc – characters that are also spatial. In Queer Phenomenology: Orientations, Objects, Others, Sara Ahmed asks “How is it possible, with all that is possible, that the same form is repeated again and again? How does the openness of the future get closed down into so little in the present?” Notley’s poem lets us glimpse “the openness of the future”:

By changing this here langue. Whut evir’s done’s now diffirint words to. (117)

Yes it will come to you, is already maybe seeping into. It’s like you do and more. No vocal cords? All’s a big vocal cord. (104)

And Notley’s poetry takes new shapes: calligrams of coyotes, arks, stars, bodies. This is such shaky & jittery poetry, more beautiful than I can swallow, such ground-shaking, tremulous, trembling, aquiver poetry. This is love poetry. Of course it’s fucking love poetry!... “loving it the langue” (48) … it’s love poetry because of the love that courses through every weird-ass overflowing sentence, “Step into this poem-scene, O one!” (105) It’s a love poem because it is so seeped in pleasure and because it rattles us in the s&m cords of its vocalities.

> Gorgias and Notley are scary and chilling and thrilling because they think past kill-joy-ing and administrations of bureaucratic humanity to glyphic hauntology, logocentricity, to language, to “someghost of langue” (102). Would language exist if humans weren’t around to think they made its rules up and got to police it? Maybe it would, maybe language branches would do their willow-thing. This is a poem that you want to bathe in – by cutting it out line by line and mulching them or something and wearing it around town like a mummy in a world you don’t exist in any more.

> This feeling isn’t that unfamiliar to those who are already in love with all the things a word can do when Alice Notley’s driving. And when I say driving I mean writing the most spooky, epic, eery poetry everwritten. The poet who takes us to places like this:

Where we except for those in charge are drained from giving ourselves to each other until there’s nothing left. (In the Pines)

You, dreaming about crazies, fearful of becoming one. What if your yellow enraged aspect gets activated again, screaming out your anger in a world that’s bizarre enough to have invented it. (Culture of One)

I thought of words breaking open in the mouth but also as jewels of old sexless poets, of the dead dessicated except for those emeralds or topazes I still get a thrill when I say, emeralds and topazes. (Mysteries of Small Houses)

No world is intact and no one cares about you.

I leaned down over don’t care about, I care about you I leaned down over the

world in portrayal of carefulness, answering

something you couldn’t say. (Songs and Stories of the Ghouls)

Anything that comes into my mouth is what I say. From where? I scream for you what you don’t dare know. Saying I’ll know it for you even though you don’t want me to (Negativity’s kiss)

“shifted” “& changed” “to spell Poverty” “instead of Presence” “He didn’t need” “to ride the train” “He’d made us poor” “in an instant” “They walk by” “& make you poor” “They look at you & make you poor” “Surreptitiously I began” “to remove my” “bits of jewelry” “my earrings” (The Descent of Alette)

as warriors take position thousands of them as leaves and flowers appear in their season hearts burning to break them singers without memory (Alice ordered me to be made)

Why does poetry that makes you want to ball your eyes out make you want to ball your eyes out?

> Alice Notley’s poetics always feels like what she wrote about in ‘The Poetics of Disobedience’ as “an immense act of rebellion against dominant social forces”, because her books are always so attuned to what those dominant social forces do and how they operate to delimit and reproduce the same-old same-old with all its deep political inadequacies. For the Ride feels like as well as pointing to dominant social forces also posits ways to imagine ourselves outside of them, even within the language-worlds of poems. In an interview with Shoshana Olidort in 2016 in the LA Review of Books, Alice Notley said:

“In The Descent of Alette, the tyrant is us. The tyrant is what enslaves us to our forms. The tyrant is the form of our life, the form of our politics, the form of our universities, the form of our knowledge, our thinking we know something. All of that is the tyrant. The tyrant is a liberal. The tyrant isn’t Trump. He can be part of it, but this tyrant is an extremely accomplished man who can do anything. Alette’s about the liberation of women, but it’s also about the liberation of everyone. If you keep half of humankind down, then everybody is oppressed.”

Can poetry actually be the willowlike language that grows all around and over the tyrant? Tonight (after a day of running classes and conducting meetings and participating in discussions) I joined my street clapping NHS workers. And in doing so I did the same thing that Boris Johnson is doing in Chequers. And all these weird Military-Parade like things just suddenly got started around the ritual. Police etc joined in with their gruesome show of “we got this”. I got an email from a new friend recently: “why is Britain so in love with the second world war”. This act of clapping - I should have just made car alarm noises and barking noises and so on. Or beeping noises. Or whatever noises my grandmother is making in her carehome right now where she’s not at all well. I’ll just do barking noises. Reading those statements, “the form of our politics, the form of our universities, the form of our knowledge, our thinking we can know something” basically makes me want to cry, which I know is soppy. We need to change all of these things but not in the ways that are being posited in this new Zoom Hell we’re careering towards. This by the way is also what the sophists, including Gorgias, were up to: destabilising all the certainties when we think we know things so as to suggest alternative forms of knowing and unknowing.

> Famously, Frank O’Hara poem-berated Marino Marini for not picking the rider as carefully as the horse. In this book Alice Notley suggests maybe they both got it mixed up and it’s the ride we should all be hung up on: “O ride it! Whut’s writin? Usin tentacle wavelets to scrawl these”. Maybe it’s whatever that ride is that might enable us to find willow forms of our knowledge, willow universities, willow forms of our thinking we know something. It’s not a horse we’re being asked to ride though but a ton of floating signifiers, floating poems within the poem-scene. And a harness would be a hindrance.

Cassin, Barbara, Jacques the Sophist: Lacan, Logos and Psychoanalysis (Fordham University Press, 2012)

Cassin, Barbara, Sophistical Practice: Towards a Consistent Relativism (Fordham University Press, 2014)

Dillon, John, The Greek Sophists (Penguin, 2003)

Notley, Alice, For the Ride (Penguin Poets, 2019)

Notley, Alice, Songs and Stories of the Ghouls (Wesleyan, 2011)

Notley, Alice, Negativity’s Kiss (Purh, 2014)

Notley, Alice, Alice ordered me to be made (Yellow Press, 1975)

Notley Alice, Descent of Alette (Penguin Poets, 1992)

Notley, Alice, Mysteries of Small Houses (Penguin Poets, 1998)

Notley, Alice, Culture of One (Penguin Poets, 2011)

Notley, Alice, In the Pines (Penguin Poets, 2007)

Notley, Alice, ‘The Poetics Of Disobedience’ | Poetry Foundation: <https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/69479/the-poetics-of-disobedience> (2010)

Olidort, Shoshana, ‘Between The Living And The Dead: An Interview With Alice Notley’ - Los Angeles Review Of Books <https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/between-the-living-and-the-dead-an-interview-with-alice-notley/> (2016)

For the Ride is out now and available to purchase via Penguin Random House.

Text: Colin Herd

Published: 24/4/20

#poetry #essay #essays #poetry essay #Colin Herd #Alice Notley

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jashasedai · 5 years ago

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Tame AU- Asking Questions and Getting Answers

Asking Questions and Getting Answers

Alternate Universe- Tame Racing Drivers

Fandom- MotoGP, Indycar

In an AU where a secret species is used as Racing Drivers, sometimes Racing Drivers and their human matches have conflicts that are too big for them to solve by themselves.

Colin goes to visit to a little Racing Driver who is having a BIG problem.

Tags: MotoGP, Indycar, Colin Edwards, AU Tame Racing Drivers, Alternate Universe, Mentions of Racism

Asking Questions and Getting Answers

Haas Motorsport Compound- Post Season 2014

In some ways, Valentino had power that made Colin afraid. He could call Ferrari and tell them he was walking into their stable in an hour and would be walking out with as much of their prime stock as he wanted. He could arrange for Honda to divert funds into building a state of the art medical center, or a test track.

In some ways, Colin had things that made Valentino sick with envy.

He could walk into any grocery store in the world, wearing regular clothing and sunglasses, and walk out without being recognized, hounded, or groped.

He could travel to races where ever he liked, and no one asked him why.

He could meet people Valentino would never be allowed to lay eyes on.

He drove down to Haas headquarters in North Carolina and asked to be taken on a private tour. He had Jake with him, and Mike, but no cameras, no publicity. Tony Stewart wasn’t onsite, which Colin didn’t feel sorry about, he’d gone head to head with Smoke twice when Ratchet had been driving NASCAR, but Danica Patrick happened to be there. She met them and invited them to see the informal part of the facility.

“Colin just loves lawn mowers,” Mike commented, slapping Colin on the back so hard he staggered.

It made Colin happy when he saw Danica’s eyes narrow at the demeaning nickname for young Racing Drivers. It was a little test Ricky had taught him for determining who believed in Racer’s rights and who didn’t. Apparently, Danica was on the same side as the Riders.

She took them down to the newly matched wing, anyway.

America matched early these days, Valentino had said.

Jake grunted when they walked into the mess hall.

Haas didn’t own a stable, just a team, but in addition to their team Drivers, they owned several dozen prospective team members. These lived at the GMC stable most of the time, but were sent to Haas for off season training.

It was easy to find the Racing Driver Colin had come here to see.

He had his mother’s smile. The same wicked grin she leveled at the Riders who thought because she was a small class champion, she did not know how to be responsible for a herd.

No one made that mistake about Winter Spark twice.

[Hello, what is your name?] He sat down at a table next to a foal with fluffy brown hair.

[Ferret, what is yours?] The foal answered, one handed, pushing food onto his spoon at the edge of his tray. He put the overcooked greens into his mouth and then looked up.

[My name is Colin, I work with deaf Racing Drivers.]

Danica must be onto him by now. A glance told him she wasn’t going to interfere.

[That is cool,] Nodded Ferret.

[I do not just work with deaf Racing Drivers, sometimes I help Racing Drivers who are having a hard time making good times,] He said, watching the young stallion push another bite of food into his mouth.

Ferret turned and put his left elbow on the table, chewing and considering Colin. [Can you help a Racing Driver if he is confused?]

[What are you confused about?]

His elbow dropped off the table and his turned, hanging his head over the tray, with a sad expression. [I think there is something wrong with my match.]

That could mean almost anything. Colin waited.

There was a long wait, and nothing more was said, so he asked, [What do you think is wrong?]

Ferret pinched his lips together in the Racer gesture for confusion and disgust. It didn’t mean a word, it meant a feeling, the gesture equivalent of a human watching someone pick up and eat a live spider.

[Santino is not always kind to the other Racing Drivers. He got very angry at Kembar, and said he should not be the color that he is.]

Colin had no idea who’s Racing Driver’s name was Kembar. [Why, what color is Kembar?] Red, probably, that color affinity tended to draw ire, sometimes on reputation alone.

Ferret made the confused face again. [Brown.]

That was ridiculous, only baby Racing Drivers wore brown. It wasn’t even a color affinity.

Colin’s stomach dropped.

Some idiot had matched Rasoio’s son with a racist.

And now Ferret hoped Colin was equipped to help him.

To change Santino’s mind.

Colin turned around. Mike and Jake were wide eyed. Danica looked like she’d run into this problem before.

“Do you think you can help?” She asked in a tired voice.

“Take on white supremacy single handed?” Colin said. “I think if it were that easy it would be taken care of already.”

“Not everyone who is...like that...is a match. Racing Drivers can have a big influence.”

“Bigger than society?” Colin asked. “Why did you match him to someone like that in the first place?”

“It’s not alway apparent with 13 year olds.” She put her hands on her hips. “Besides,” She waved a hand to indicate Ferret.

He was fast.

Of course he was.

He had a career ahead of him. The company wasn’t going to waste that profit.

“I can teach his boy how to ride, that’s hardly going to make him accept all mankind as equals.” Colin threw up his hands.

[You cannot help,] Ferret said, lowering his eyes. [There is something wrong with him, and you cannot help him.]

He looked so much like Rasoio when he was sad.

[I will try,] Colin said.

Mike snorted. “Anyway, this one’s a cake walk.”

The other humans looked at him in confusion.

[Hello, colt!] Mike gestured to get Ferret’s attention. [Where is Kembar from?]

How was Ferret supposed to know the names of countries?

“Sean is Indonesian,” Danica started.

[Kembar was born at the Redbull stable,] Ferret answered promptly.

Oh.

“See,” Mike said, “With Racers, it’s all a matter of perspective.”

#motogp fanfic #Indycar fanfic #AU Tame Racing Drivers

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bonyarishitafuan · 5 years ago

Link

Fandoms: Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), DCU, Batman (Comics), Batman: Under The Hood (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days, Batman: Streets of Gotham (Comics), Batman and Robin Vol.1 (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types, Green Arrow (Comics)

Relationships: Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Past-Roy Harper/Jade Nguyen (Mentioned), Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Lian Harper & Roy Harper, Kate Kane/Renee Montoya - Implied, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel - Mentioned, Past-Essence (DCU)/Jason Todd, Past-Roy Harper/Other(s), Past-Jason Todd/Other(s)

Characters: Jason Todd, Roy Harper, Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Colin Wilkes, Professor Pyg (Lazlo Valentin), Scarlet (Sasha), Artemis Crock, Lian Harper, Renee Montoya, Harvey Bullock, Helena Bertinelli, Jade Nguyen, Arnold Wesker, Essence (DCU), Cassandra Cain, The Joker, Barbara Gordon, Grace Choi, Leslie Thompkins, Grant Emerson

Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - No Capes, but With As Much Dramas As The Cape World, and Probably Some Capes I Donno, Roy is a Detective, Jason is a Detective, and Also the Red Hood in The Before Part, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Adaptation of Canon Events, Police Brutality from Det. Jason, Past Drug and Alcohol Addiction, Past Physical Traumas, Angst, Established Relationship at Present, Non-Linear Narrative, Workplace Relationship, Past Psychological Traumas, I don't really know how cops and lawyers work, Morally Ambiguous Character, Moral conflicts, Roy's only just known his daughter, The Joker is dead, Things Aren't Off To A Great Start, But They'll End Up Better Than How They've Started, Pre-52 Characterization, The Canon Roy Who is a Hero, and a Buddy to Everyone, and a Total Slut, Jason Having The Someone He Feels Easy to Talk With, who is a Great Friend to Him and Accept Him For Who He is, and Could Help Him to His Best, Just as He Needs and Deserves, Crime Alley Kid Jason with His Controversy, cuz That's the Jason I Love, Artemis Is More Like Lian's Big Sis Than Her Aunt In Here, off-screen sex, Closeted Character, Bats Dysfunction, Mention of Teenage Drinking & Drug Use

Summary:

The prequel and also sequel of The Thin Red (Blue) Line, which can be considered as a standalone story and I don't think is really necessary to read first in order to know what's going on in here. You could read it anytime if you'd like to know more about this AU (which would be much appreciated), but if you don't want any spoiler, you could just leave it until this whole story is finished.

In a universe which is quite like the Pre-52 comicverse but without (or with a lot less) super people, instead of dressing as a Bat, Bruce has joined the law enforcement in order to protect his city from crimes and is now a police commissioner; "Under the Hood/the Red Hood" isn't so much as a Batman's story but a Jason Todd's story co-starring Roy Harper, who is a great many things: an orphan, a Navajo, a former junkie, a cop, a very good friend and partner, and also, a father (to be).

The JayRoy cop AU absolutely nobody ever asks for and very few people care about, with loads of heavy elements and the nasty things everyone wants to forget about and the good things everyone actually seems to forget about from the Pre52.

I’m putting it here just in case anyone out there may be interested. There’s only about a part and a half left before it’s completed, and I’ll probably still finish it one way or another, it just really makes me sad seeing how little people are reading it.

#jason todd #roy harper #jayroy #my fic #in case there's any confusion:#there won't be any sweet poor baby jason in this story #just...no

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midzelink · 6 years ago

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fic rec masterpost

I finally have enough fics to start compiling them in one place! Just a few notes before we get started:

This list will be updated in the future! I’m putting everything under a cut, so I can add, edit, and remove things to my liking.

All fics are complete, unless otherwise noted.

Feel free to send in your own suggestions for additions!

Some of these fics didn’t have proper author-ordained summaries, so I wrote some of them up myself, or edited them to be more summary-like.

No matter how good the plot, dialogue, or prose is, no fic containing explicit sexual content (read: smut) will make it onto this list. Sorry! I’m not into that sort of thing.

————

And now: to the fics!

(Re: the “relationship” segment - I’ve taken to using AO3′s tag system here, so a forward slash ( / ) indicates or hints at a romance, while an ampersand ( & ) is meant to be more familial or platonic. And don’t worry - if there’s a slash between two characters who are children, there won’t be anything nasty in there. They’re just kids!)

twilight princess

title: Chiaroscuro

author: Xekstrin

words: 1,861

tags: Post-Canon, Drama, Bittersweet

relationship: Link/Midna, Link/Zelda, Midna/Zelda

summary: Zelda and Link learn how to talk to each other. They paint a picture of someone they miss.

notes: Don’t shy away from that weird title! A beautiful depiction of Link and Zelda’s life after the broken mirror that involves them continuing to live their lives. And not, y’know, wallowing in angst.

————

title: From the Shadows

author: Ophelia_Black

words: 59,438 (**ONGOING**)

tags: Post-Canon, Alternate Ending, Marriage of Convenience

relationship: Midna/Zelda

summary: The Shadow Invasion left wounds across both Hyrule and the Twilight Realm, and neither Zelda nor Midna are eager to face the task of binding them up. Old prejudices and weaknesses are laid bare, and the idea is posed of reuniting the two realms to prosper together. Is their plan a folly born of desperation, or the most revolutionary undertaking either kingdom has seen in centuries?

notes: After putting it off for a long, long while, I finally dipped into this bad boy, and man oh man, I was not disappointed. There is so much attention to detail and care that has gone into breathing life into a world we get such a small glimpse of in the game, and Ophelia kicks ass at writing even the simplest of actions. Did I mention Midna and Zelda are gonna get married?

————

title: Fairytales

author: UnderTwilight

words: 515

tags: Humor, Fluff

relationship: Link/Midna

summary: Link believes he has the solution the imp-sized problem his companion faces.

notes: Short, sweet, and not as incredibly out-of-character as so many other fics like it. Worth a minute of your time.

————

title: not irreversible

author: Elendraug

words: 3,603

tags: Post-Canon, Happy Ending

relationship: Link/Midna

summary: The Mirror’s destruction was not inevitable, but destroyed it very much was. He’ll find his way back to her. No matter how long it takes.

notes: The very first Midlink fic I had the pleasure of reading, and still one of my favorites. As of this writing, the only reunion story I’ve read that didn’t feel cheap and lazy.

————

title: Bartending 101

author: khaki knight

words: 2,538

tags: Post-Canon, Drama

relationship: Link/Midna, Link/Ilia (Implied One-Sided)

summary: “A bartender is only ever as content as her customers…” In the aftermath of Twilight, Telma receives an unexpected guest in need of some guidance.

notes: What can I say? I love me some Telma. Is it because she’s a bartender? That’s it, isn’t it? I blame the DnD lover in me.

————

title: Seeing You

author: KaeStela

words: 840

tags: Post-Canon, Bittersweet

relationship: Link/Midna

summary: Maybe "see you later" can happen after all.

notes: Who knew that first-person could be written well after all? This is the kind of stuff I live for. Thematic, succinct, mute Link, happy but not “she found her way back after like a year and they got married and had babies” happy. Simply beautiful.

————

title: The Ever Under

author: AzarDarkstar

words: 2,031

tags: Alternate Ending, Drama

relationship: Link/Midna

summary: In a world where Link followed Midna through the Mirror of Twilight, now shattered beyond repair, happy endings are what we make of them.

notes: This one hits hard. That’s all I’ll say.

————

title: No Such Counsel

author: Guardian1

words: 2,753

tags: Post-Canon, Drama

relationship: Link/Midna, Link/Zelda (Implied One-Sided)

summary: “Wolf or dog, what does it matter?” “Dogs, Princess–dogs wait forever!”

notes: Admittedly, I don’t much like the way Zelda is characterized here (TP Zelda is obviously a lesbian, and damn, leave poor Ashei alone!), but I’m including it because it’s written fairly well and the ending is humorous and clever.

————

title: You

author: godtierGrammarian

words: 4,272

tags: Alternate Universe (Modern), Happy Ending

relationship: Link/Midna

summary: When Link is eight, new neighbors move in across the street, and so begins the greatest adventure of his life.

notes: This fic was so damn good I made a FF.net account right after I read it for the first time just so I could review it. Can you believe that? Making a FF.net account in 2019? I didn’t even think a modern AU could be good!

————

title: no matter how long it takes

author: Elendraug

words: 1,128

tags: Mid-Canon, Fluff

relationship: Colin/Ralis

summary: Colin promises to watch over a sick Prince Ralis after he is brought to Kakariko.

notes: This is one of the first rarepairs I ended up getting swept up into around the time I first started this blog. I am eternally grateful that even a single fic exists, and that is was written but the same person who wrote not irreversible, because that’s just damn good writing. Anyways, Colin is a Young Gay, change my mind.

————

majora’s mask

title: King of the Fishing Hole

author: Ibijau

words: 4,281

tags: Alternate Universe, PTSD

relationship: Link & Ganondorf

summary: Ganondorf owns the Swamp Fishing Hole, a good way to stay near his aging mothers. It's quiet work. Until the moon starts falling, and an odd child comes visiting.

notes: Ganondorf is just A Dude in Termina - honestly, this is how the game should have been. A real missed opportunity there. This was such a fun and interesting read, so much so that it earns its spot as the first non-TP fic on this list!

————

minish cap

title: Stoneheart

author: Ophelia_Black

words: 6,675

tags: Canon Compliant, Angst with a Happy Ending

relationship: Link & Zelda

summary: The prophetic visions and blind musings of Princess Zelda as she waits, sealed in stone, for a rescue that might never arrive.

notes: I’ve never given Minish Cap much more than a single playthrough without a spare thought, and this made me cry. You’d think a story told from the point of view of someone who has been turned to stone would be boring. You’d think wrong.

————

other

title: Don’t Say That I Didn’t Love You

author: Ophelia_Black

words: 4,000

tags: Canon Compliant, Angst & Hurt/Comfort

relationship: Midna/Zelda, Link/Midna, Hilda/Zelda, Link/Marin

summary: It’s hard to say goodbye. A series of 500 word drabbles, in which final farewells are said to Fi, Ezlo, Navi, Tatl, Midna, Aryll, Marin, and Princess Hilda.

notes: Like it says on the tin. There’s not much I can say here, except, y’know, read it, because everything Ophelia puts to paper is pure gold. Spoiler alert: the Link’s Awakening one hurts the most.

#midlink #loz #twilight princess #fics #masterpost #myposts*

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quilloftheclouds · 6 years ago

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11/11/11 (... x7???)

You guys really love this tag game, huh? XD Tagged by @madammuffins, @bigmoodword, @shadeshadow234, @writeouswriter, @bookenders, @kaisha-writes, and @penzag.

Rules: Answer 11 (77 in this case??) questions, tag 11 people, write 11 new questions.

Taggin’ taggin’ @scottishhellhound @i-rove-rock-n-roll @capricious-writes @writerlyclaire @bookenders @kidsarentallwrite @inexorableblob @vieliwrites @abalonetea @runningonrain @candy687

Oof. It’s my own fault for letting these gather dust for so long. QUICKFIRE QUESTION ROUND. (And super duper long post below the cut.)

Okay first up I’m gonna post up my 11 questions for tagged people to complete up here so y’all don’t have to scroll all the way through my nonsense:

1. Put yourself in your wip(s). Are you dead? Why or why not? 2. What is your favourite kind of scene to write? 3. What genre is your favourite to write in? 4. What genre do you want to/wish you could write in? 5. Which of your ocs outfits would you consider wearing yourself? 6. What’s the worst thing you’ve done to your ocs (out of context if spoilers)? 7. What’s the nicest thing you’ve done to your ocs? 8. Does your writing style have any characteristic traits? What are they? 9. What are three things you think you’re good at in writing? (NO SKIPPING OF THIS QUESTION ALLOWED) 10. Do you listen to music/white noise while writing? What kind? 11. Come up with joke titles for your wips. What are they?

And now let’s get started!

Do you title your chapters, why/why not? Do they pertain to what happens in the chapter or are they random? I do! I may actually post them all up at some point, I had a lot of fun coming up with them, and I find them clever? A lot of them are puns, it’s great. All except the first and last chapter are titled with one word, related to the ocean or ships, alluding and symbolizing something that happens in that chapter. I made it a sort of word search, too, since every chapter title appears somewhere important in that chapter! As for why? I think it adds to the reading experience, especially with the way I employ them!

Do your main characters seem to have common traits or characteristics? Uhhhh, uh? Huh. Lemme see. I tried to be pretty creative and use a lot of variance in my characters, but sometimes they just... end up that way, whether I want them to or not. Dione and Phoenix are both tall? Both Phoenix and Colin can be pretty friendly and have the same sort of attitude towards certain things. Other than that, I’m not sure!

Why do you think this is? Honestly, it’s likely more coincidence than anything. Also because Phoenix and Colin both work on a ship’s crew, and they have to work well with other people because of that.

Do you borrow real life people or parts of real life people to insert into your novels? Why/why not? Yes. From me especially. Probably subconsciously from other people. It happens! But also, relatability. Accuracy.

Do you stick to a word count in your novels/chapters? Why? Used to, don’t now. It can really add to the tension if a chapter is very short. It can hold the reader in suspense if it’s very long!

What do you want your book to say to those who read it? What do you think your book says about you? Uh. I mean. I’m a simple writer who just likes sharing my worlds with the world, yunno? Maybe when I get further into writing it, I’ll realize what. (But I hope it shows I’m an interesting person that cares about representation and sharing exciting stories??? Mebe?)

If your WIP gets published and goes far would you sign over your rights for a movie adaptation, even if it means it gets butchered like the Eragon (or similar) series did? Ohhh gosh. Yeah no. I’d wait until I was sure it wouldn’t be. I’m not in this for the money or fame, I’m here for the enjoyment of it and the helping others through sharing stories with people they can relate to. Especially those that don’t have much to relate to already.

What is your favorite kind of character chemistry to write? Sexual tension, anger, resentment, jealousy? What about it do you like so much? I really like softness. Someone trying to cheer someone up, nice caring-ness and encouragement through humour and inside jokes. Gives me warm feelings. Oh. That sounds a lot like Colin.

Which settings are your favorites? Chill cafe, Gorey battle field? Why? I like natureeee. A lot. IRL and in writing. I especially enjoy fascinating, eccentric and magical seeming places even if they’re not magical! Think the Giant’s Causeway in Ireland, or the Ice Caves of Baffin Island. That sort of thing.

What element represents your main character and why? HAH SPOILERS. Elements play a major part of OSS, my friend. How about I just put the elements, and you decide who’s who. Earth, Fire, Storm, Forest.

If you could pick an AU for your WIP (alternate universe) for a fan work, what au would you choose and why would you choose it? AKJHKDJSH I’VE ALREADY PLANNED OUT MY OWN AUs, MY FRIEND. My fave at the moment is magical modern spies. Because a lot of my characters are immortal and I love to imagine what they would be like in modern times! ...Oh wait, that’s not what au means. -u-

1. Who was your first OC? Of One Siren’s Soul’s cast, Celestine! Overall, that I can remember... a German scientist/mechanical engineer named Suin Omera. Ah, so many memories. 2. What was the first story you ever wrote? That I can remember... a little short story for school about a girl who lost her dad and discovered he had been secretly living in the arctic for a long time so she goes to try and find him? I don’t remember much about it. ^^’ 3. What book (or other piece of media) has most inspired you? AH. Most??? Literally the unpublished books of my two closest friends. @waterfallwritings, I’m looking at you. >u> 4. How do you fight writer’s block? Badly. 5. What is your favorite genre to write in and why? Fantasy and sci-fi! Or a mix. You can find a more full answer here. 6. How would you describe your writing style? Uhhhh, I have a very action-y writing style? Unless the sort of mood requires, I don’t tend to use a lot of description and I more often focus on action and dialogue and character thoughts/narrative. It’s fitting to what I write, I suppose, because it’s an action packed pirate adventure, with a lot of focus on character. 7. In general, do you think you’d get along with your protagonists? Phoenix and Colin are nice. Dione maybe after a long while, since we both like literature and plants. Celestine... no one ever gets along with Celestine. 8. What do you love most about your WIPs? Oh. I uh. Wow. I only have one right now, but I like characters and their interactions and their thoughts on each other. But mostly I just love how far I’ve come already. That the wip even exists. ^^’ 9. What is your favorite character trope? Ah. Not good with tropes... I reblogged something on this a while ago, but that scene where someone spends forever taking out a comically massive amount of weapons from unexpected places on their person? That’s fun. 10. What is your least favorite character trope? Mmmm hmm. Hm. Mostly ones that discriminate or are based on negative stereotypes. Some of them can be done well, but not... many. 11. What’s an upcoming scene you’re excited to write? Someone’s gettin’ STABBED.

What was your first character like? See in an earlier question ^^^

What’s your most recent character like? Oh, this is neat. Who’s my most recent character? Uhhhh, um. I think it’s actually... I don’t have a name for them yet, but it’s a young siren that appears in book two that helps our main cast on their adventure!

Out of all of your characters, who’s the least human in appearance? Hehe. HEH. Oohhhh, this would definitely be Light. You don’t know who that is yet.

Who’s your worst character, and what would you do upon meeting them? Worst? The Scientist. Punch to the face.

If you could meet any of your characters, who would you choose? Uh. It’d be really cool to meet Forest! You don’t know who that is yet, either. ^^

Two of your characters from different WIPs meet! How do they get along? I don’t currently have another wip, but from my prospective wip at the moment, meeting... Celestine. Surprisingly it wouldn’t be the worst, because both would just start nerding out about each other’s technology.

Which out of your OCs just wants to live life out peacefully? George is so done with this trash.

Which one of your OCs is most definitely not living their life out peacefully? I want to say George again for the jokes, but the worst off at the moment is probably Dione. Sorry, Dione!

Is there any songs that make you think specifically of any of your characters? Ohhhh yeah. I’ll likely be making a full post for that at some point, and that’s also on each characters part of the wip page, but to save time, have this.

Which one of your OCs actually had a pretty good childhood? Dione had a relatively normal childhood, for the pretty-near equivalent of a princess. That is, of course, until she turned 24.

Who would have a fistfight with god out of spite? This actually happens. This ACTUALLY HAPPENS IN MY WIP. It’s Celestine.

1. What’s the weirdest thing you were ever inspired by for one of your WIPs?

Hmmmm, I mean tardigrades are pretty weird, right? Also awesome. They’re one of the most resilient known animals, able to survive both some of the highest AND the lowest temperatures known to have ever been survived by an organism? Awesome.

2. Do any of your OCs have famous face claims? If so, who are they?

Colin’s face claim is Booboo Stewart! He’s pretty famous?

3. What’s your favourite season and why?

Autumn. Pretty colours, perfect temperatures with a small jacket/sweater, and you get to experience the whole range of seasons from early Fall to late!

4. Do you have any superstitions?

Despite being a very logically, scientifically minded person... I am a Maritimer, and superstitions are huge. Never ever say before you go fishing that you’re definitely going to catch something. You’ll be skunked.

5. Rural, suburbs, city, in which do you live and which do you most often write about?

I guess I most write about rural, since... wait, what does the open ocean count as?? Anyways, I live in the suburbs.

6. What’s your favourite book series?

I dunno ‘bout favourites, but I like The Edge Chronicles by Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell.

7. Is there a book/series that ever left you intensely disappointed? (Or one that left you pleasantly surprised?)

Uh... I mean, The Hunger Games was actually really good, but I was disappointed by the public’s focus on the love triangle?

8. What’s one of the weirdest/funniest out of context lines from your WIPs?

“Don’t tell me the boatswain has got ‘imself into the rum store again.”

9. A movie/show that made you cry? (Unless you’re dead inside)

AHHAH I AM DEAD INSIDE AND TRULY A FICTIONAL SOCIOPATH. But, I think Simon Birch is one I can recall getting misty eyed from.

10. What movies or books or shows do you think are criminally underrated?

Uuhhhhhh Treasure Planet is one? I’m not good at this one. OH. You wanna know some shows I loved way too much from my childhood? Hot Wheels: Battle Force Five, and Storm Hawks. I was a terrible nerd.

11. Which fictional character would you like to steal borrow from any world for a crossover with your own WIP?

Ehheee, honestly, I could work with anything, pretty much. But the magic system colliding with the Avatar from The Last Airbender? Ehehehe, that would be hilarious.

Do you own and fun socks? What are they? My best friend love fun socks, and for my birthday she got me some: I have two pairs, a black pair with colourful gardening tools on them, and one with little labelled garden herbs on them. They’re adorable and I love them. ^u^

How many notebooks do you have? What do they look like? How full are they? HAH. SO MANY. Most are sketchbooks, but out of notebooks, I have... three? One’s for schoolwork, one’s full of old writing, and one is for OSS notes.

Grab the book nearest you. Turn to page 70 (or 16 if it’s a tiny book). What is the 8th line on that page? How do you feel about it? Brown Girl in the Ring by Nalo Hopkinson: I haven’t actually had the opportunity to start reading it yet, but here: “She’d never seen him at work, never experienced him as the type of person who could tend to another’s needs.” Considering I have no idea what’s going on... I have no idea?

Have you read any short stories? What’s your favorite? I’m not much of a short story reader, but there was a really cool one from a sci-fi compilation (that I can’t remember the name of). It was about time travelling and how it had already been invented, but because no one could ever go back in time, they could only go forward, no one had realized. It was kind of sad, now that I think of it, since the MCs ended up trying to travel back to their time when warned against it and they end up alone in the far future. Whoops.

Have you ever tried knitting? Do you still knit? What about other crafty things? What do you make? I tried it when I was back at home, but at the moment I don’t have the materials! As for crafts, I’m trying to get into bookbinding, card making... other sort of paper crafts. ^^

Of the books in your living space right now, which has the coolest cover? I’m sad now because I basically have no physical books here... aw. Um, The Cloud Collector’s Handbook by Gavin Pretor-Pinney is really pretty. Pastels and colourful skies and clouds are my favourite~

Do you know any camp songs? What did you used to sing in school, or at recess? Oh stars. I’m a Cub Scout Leader, my friend. OF COURSE I know camp songs. What did I used to sing in school? What’s the one with the “That’s the way, uh huh, uh huh/I like it, uh huh, uh huh” with the special clapping? That one. What’s that?

What’s your favorite fairy tale? How would you twist it? Well technically OSS includes some twists from The Little Mermaid, so does that count?

Are there any cool local events where you live? Ah, well daily we have the highest tides in the world. That’s pretty cool, huh?

What’s your favorite sea creature? Sea snakes. They’re deadly and pretty.

Do you like turtles? Why? Yes! YES! Turtles are adorable. Don’t put your finger near a Snapping Turtle’s mouth though.

1. If you could meet one author for lunch, who would it be?

Ooh, I’m bad about this. Say time travelling is an option: Roald Dahl. That would be amazing.

2. What are your thoughts on visual stories? (apps like Choices: Stories You Play, Episode, etc.)

Ah, I don’t really have much experience with them at all, so I can’t really say anything!

3. What was the first book to make you cry?

Have I ever cried at a book? Uhhhh... I may not have. Whoops.

4. Do you ever base your characters on people you know?

I mean, subconsciously probably? But I don’t typically think about other people when creating characters.

5. Name the worst book you’ve ever read, and tell me why it was bad.

Iiiii did not like Divergent. Sorry, that’s just a personal opinion. I guess it was too... dependent on a system that didn’t really make sense to me? I dunno, mate.

6. Do you have a trademark writing ‘quirk’?

I like short sentences in action-y scenes. Maybe that? I also really like using way too many em dashes and double line breaks to emphasize something.

7. Do you have any (un)helpful pets? (I couldn’t resist asking this one. Also, if the answer is yes, please send me photos.)

I don’t have any pets! I have planties though. Cute lil’ succulents.

8. What advice would you give to a person who is new to writing?

There are going to be times when you’re not happy with your writing! But any writing is helpful, because no matter what you write, you’re improving your skills to be better the next time. Plus, a first draft can be edited later! You can’t edit what’s not there~

9. Tell me your ideal writing environment.

My family partly owns a lake cabin out in the woods which we go to every summer. It’s so peaceful to sit in the hammock chair on the porch and write to the gentle lapping waves on the beach, the birdsong, and the swish of the tree branches around me. On a day with a perfect not-too-hot warm temperature, it’s very nice.

10. Sad endings: realistic, or unnecessary?

It depends how it’s executed! I prefer bittersweet ending to sad ones, since those tend to give me the most effective emotions. Certainly I tend to seek out happier endings instead, though!

11. You’ve decided to write under a pseudonym. What is it?

Ooh. Oohhhh, well. I’m actually thinking of changing my name legally. So that’s a thing. For a pseudonym, I think I would love to go with... hm. Gale Silver. Because I love puns and that hits on two major nature aspects I’m a nerd for.

what’s your favorite movie from your childhood? has this movie had an impact on your writing at all? have any movies had an impact on your writing? Hands down How To Train Your Dragon. I am a nerd who loves dragons and the music and scenery is gorgeous. Also just... so many of its themes snuck into my wip and I didn’t even realize until just recently. Whoops.

do you struggle to write for any ocs? why? are any of your ocs really easy to write for? Io is a little hard for me to write sometimes just because she’s so darn cold. Just. Apathetic towards everything, and super formal, yet at the same time very curt and to the point. I’m used to writing either a “formal” through super flowery language or a “cold” through Celestine’s mean snark, not just... Io.

do you have any big milestones coming up for your wip? (or blog? or work? or whatever?) I’M LESS THAN 2,000 WORDS AWAY FROM 50,000 IN MY FIRST DRAFT. YEAH MATE

what are your favorite writing resources for face claims, picking first names/surnames, etc? (feel free to just pick one resource to share but you’re welcome to share as many as you’d like!) Oh! I’m still pretty new to finding face claims and what not, but naming wise Wikipedia can cover all your bases sometimes. As I’m writing a historical fantasy, to find names that fit the time period, I’ll sometimes use this site.

if your ocs had a name for their group of friends, what would it be? (for example, most of y’all have noticed by now that the friend group for b’tzelem elohim is nicknamed “shalomies”) Okay but I still have such a love for that name. XD I call my group simply The Crew! Since, you know. They’re in a pirate crew by the end of the book. (My creativity knows no bounds.)

on a similar note, would they have a groupchat? (if your world doesn’t have technology, pretend it does!) Modern times, yeah prolly. Dione and Celestine would just have it muted except for emergencies, and Phoenix and Colin would just constantly be sharing memes and terrible puns.

how many languages can you speak, if any? how many can your characters speak, if any? I speak English and (Acadian) French! Trying to learn ASL at the moment. As for my characters? Hoo, boy. Without spoilers, Celestine is multilingual with four languages, Colin is almost trilingual, Dione is trilingual, and Phoenix... I think Phoenix can only speak English. Yeah that may seem like overkill, but in context it makes sense. ^^’

how much time do you spend planning/researching before starting your wip? Fun story about that! For one of my first serious wips, Soul Tied, I first came up with the ideas perhaps... six years ago? And I have yet to write a single thing. ^^’ For OSS, the story took maybe a month to completely plan out and outline, though I still do a lot of research and planning ahead as I write the first draft, too!

do you have a preferred area to write? (ie your bedroom, the coffee shop, the library, your kitchen, etc.) My desk in my bedroom!

what’s your favorite writing snack or drink? Ohh, I don’t eat while I write ‘cause I’m actually incapable of focusing on something while I eat, but I normally really like having apple spice tea or some other kind of herbal tea!

lastly, what should you be doing right now instead of this tag game? (ps: stop procrastinating even though, as i type this, i’m currently procrastinating) HAH. STUDYING FOR MY CHEMISTRY MIDTERM. IT’S FINE. NO.

Well that was long!

#oof #this is why you shouldn't procrastinate so much Quill #will i ever learn my lesson?#no #it was fun tho #oss #one siren's soul #tag game #writeblr #11 questions #11 questions tag game

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ironemrys · 6 years ago

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The Mission Chapter Four

Pairing: Tom Holland x OC

Word Count: 6.8k (wow what happened?)

Tags: #OC x Tom Holland, #Secret Agent AU, #loosely based on Taken, #tom holland fanfiction, #there’s also characters from different fandoms, #and other artists that I used as characters, #you’ll know them when you read ‘em, #Tom Holland, #Alternate Universe, #again

Warning: There’s a lot of cursing. Possible lemon. Violence and drug use. This is just a story so please treat it as such.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

“When she was just a starting agent, she had a partner.”

Colin’s words echoed in Tom’s head. Catherine had a partner before? Who was it? And what did this partner of hers do to make Catherine loathe the thought of working with other people? What did this person do to make Colin and Bradley act like they’re about to murder someone just by talking about them?

“She was young,” Colin started, “And here in the American Department, we usually pair the younger ones with the senior agents for one to two years before letting them go to missions on their own, it’s just a precaution and the senior agents teach the junior agents some of the ropes that the academy didn’t bother to teach. I know this isn’t the case in the English Department?” He asked and Tom gave a nod since he remembered the first time they stepped in SHIELD and their files were evaluated, he and Harrison were put together as partners even though they were both new graduates and Jacob was scouted by the Weapons Department.

“Anyway, I paired her with one of the best agents in the field; Agent Wilson,” At just the mention of the name Tom noticed Colin’s body language change, he appeared stiff and his jaw clenched as his fingers gripped tight on the armrest of the chair he was sitting on, “He was at least four years her senior and they immediately hit it off as partners.”

Colin continued, “Their dynamic was amazing, we’ve completed cases faster than any agency could ever hoped to do. Have you heard of the St. Nicholas Case?” He asked.

“Yes. Of course. The terrorist know as ‘St. Nicholas’ had hidden bombs all over Queens and Manhattan that was a big case. It caused quite a chaos even in England.” Tom remembered. He and Harrison had just gotten back from a different mission and when they returned to base, they were informed that Ethan had joined the American Department to deal with grave matters.

“Well, the ones who solved that case were Catherine and Wilson.” Colin said and Tom whipped his head back to where Catherine was sleeping. She finished that mission? That mission was highly regarded, it was talked about for months at the agency, no one knew who the agents that helped were for security reasons but they were considered to be heroes at SHIELD.

If Tom remembers correctly, the bombs were hidden in places with so many people that it was impossible to evacuate on time and to not cause any panic that might trigger the bomb, they had to use search dogs for it. While they hunted for the bombs, St. Nicholas and his followers managed to take hostage an entire corporate building, threatening to detonate the bombs if they were confronted. They heard two agents snuck inside the building and they managed to apprehend the suspect without triggering any bombs or having any casualties.

“What happened after that?” Tom asked and this time he noticed Bradley, who had been staring at the window all this time, his eyebrows were so scrunched up and the grip he had on his jacket was so tight his knuckles turned white.

“Agent Wilson,” Colin then said, earning Tom’s attention. “He suddenly disappeared.”

“What?” That was the only thing Tom could come up with after hearing the end of that sentence.

“Agent Wilson suddenly disappeared. He didn’t notify anyone about his whereabouts; he suddenly vanished without a trace. Suspicious about his sudden disappearance, Catherine decided to track him down. And…” Colin stopped, he swallowed hard and closed his eyes before running his fingers through his hair in a frustrated manner and Tom was a bit anxious about what he was going to hear next.

He waited for Colin to speak and when he opened his eyes Tom swore he could see tears forming. Maybe having them tell this story wasn’t such a good idea, Tom thought. It seems like it cuts deep and he may have just reopened a closed wound.

Bradley turned to them and his face was still the same, full of anger and contempt. His nostrils were flared and Tom could tell that while Colin was feeling so much sadness and regret about whatever happened Bradley was feeling rage and scorn.

“She found him, eventually.” Colin finally said after regaining his composure. He hated this story. He blames himself for what happened to her and he hated the fact that he didn’t see what was going on until it was too late. He hates remembering it, he hates remembering Catherine’s face when she was rescued; it wasn’t of relief, it was of pure pain, terror and trauma. Catherine was close to Colin and Bradley, more so than others, she became like a little sister to them and they didn’t mind since they do think of her as family. Seeing her so vulnerable, broken and scared destroyed them and Colin feels all the responsibility of it because the one who caused her so much pain was one of his own.

“She found him.” Bradley continued for Colin. He knew how difficult it was for his boss, his friend, to tell such a story. It took a toll on all three of them. No one else knew about what happened because Colin didn’t want the situation to get bigger and worse. Only the two of them witnessed the lies, the torture and the rescue.

“She found him, working for Syndicate,” Tom’s breath got caught in his throat since he knew what Syndicate was, “The number one terrorist and assassin group that SHIELD’s been hunting down for years.”

“Wilson was a double agent. He has been lying and tricking SHIELD for years and the reason Syndicate always had a head start was because of him. He fed them information; he even helped in assassinating some of the best agents that we had.” Bradley said through gritted teeth.

“When Catherine found out she didn’t believe it. She thought it was some kind of hoax. Of course, how could she believe it? Wilson was SHIELD’s second in command before I was granted the position. How could she believe that the person she’s trusted, the person who trained her and thought her so much and saved her a few times when they were in a pinch could ever betray her? How could she think that someone she deemed loyal to no end was false?” Bradley’s word seethed like fire. He can’t stand remembering this story; he can’t bear the thought of even remembering what it did to the two most important people in his life.

“When Wilson was left alone, Catherine confronted him and Wilson led her on, saying he was acting as a double agent for SHIELD, that it was his special mission to infiltrate Syndicate and see what they were up to. But Catherine wasn’t a fool, she knows that even with how secret the Syndicate case is, Colin would’ve known and informed her about where her partner was going. Her suspicion grew but you know how Catherine is, she acts on impulse and doesn’t think. She made Wilson believe that she believed.” Bradley continued and there was stillness in the place.

Tom was taking all the information in. Of course, Catherine is smart but she’s also reckless. It’s just like her to take matters into her own hands before calling for backup.

“She contacted me when she was on her way back to base after convincing Wilson that she believed he was in a secret mission, she of course told me of her suspicion and I only fueled it when I told her that I didn’t have any undisclosed missions lined up regarding Syndicate.” Colin finally said after being silent for quite a while.

“I told her to wait for backup, I told her to not engage on her own but we didn’t even get to finish our conversation when I heard a gunshot from the other line.”

Tom’s eyes widened. He remembered the gunshot wound he found near Catherine’s shoulder. His hold on her hand became tighter and his own shoulders tensed at what he heard.

“I called Bradley, we were out of the agency as quick as possible but we didn’t get to trace her phone. Of course, Wilson knew what he was doing,” Colin continued, “it took us days before we could track her down.”

“Why didn’t you call anyone? Why was it just the two of you? You would’ve found her sooner if you did.” With every question, Tom realized he was getting louder. He was mad, he was feeling the same thing Bradley was feeling but he was also confused. If they found out Catherine had been captured or possibly killed by Syndicate then wouldn’t it be better to have the cavalry storm in on them?

“We wanted to.” Colin answered, “But after we got cut off, I received a message from Wilson himself using a burner phone. He threatened to kill Catherine if we ever even think about looking for them. We had no choice; we had to lie low.”

“How long did it take before you found them?” Tom asked.

“Ten days.” Bradley answered.

“And in those ten days,” Tom stopped, he already had an idea of what the answer might be and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it, “What did Wilson do to her?”

Colin took a sharp intake of breath, his feet were solidified on the ground and he gritted his teeth. Tom could see him scratching the armrest of the chair he was sitting on in an attempt to calm his mind.

“He tortured her,” He finally said, “As much as Wilson is the second in command, there are things I didn’t tell him, things much more delicate that only bosses are allowed to know.” Tom of course knows this, Ethan was the same with his second in command; Ilsa Faust.

“But you told Catherine some of these secrets, didn’t you?” Tom asked and Colin looked back at him, there was so much guilt and pain in his eyes that Tom had to avert his gaze.

“I trusted her more than I trusted him. Catherine has this certain quality to her; you know she’s loyal, you know she’s honest and you know that you won’t regret putting your faith in her.” Tom nodded at this and let Colin continue.

“I had my suspicions on Wilson before but I didn’t say anything about it, he was being too involved with the Syndicate case and maybe it was normal for others but with SHIELD, only the commander in charge are allowed to know about such delicate matters, that’s protocol and Wilson asked question after question about them so I was having my doubts.” Colin added.

“But I was too blinded by my love for him that I didn’t immediately act on it until it was too late.” Colin said under shaky breath and Tom whipped his head back to look at him.

“What do you mean?” He asked, confusion written all over his face.

“Wilson,” Colin closed his eyes and took a sharp breath, it was getting harder and harder to admit this fact as the years went by but he knew he couldn’t escape the truth, “He was my brother.”

Tom couldn’t imagine the look on his own face once Colin uttered those words. Wilson was his brother. It all made sense now. Now he understood why Colin looked more disappointed than Bradley, why he looked poignant instead of angry and why he looked back with so much regret and shame in his eyes rather than contempt.

“I - ” Tom couldn’t say anything, he didn’t know what to say. He also had brothers and he couldn’t imagine what he would do or how he would feel if one of them betrayed him.

“What did you do? You know, once you found them?” He finally asked and regretted it when Bradley clicked his tongue.

“It was… It was unavoidable I did what I had to.” Colin quickly replied and Tom knew better than to press on further. He already understood what he meant.

“I’m sorry.” Tom answered and he meant it. It must’ve been hard for Colin to do that to his own brother, it must’ve been hard to admit to himself that his own brother was a traitor.

“I couldn’t forgive him for what he did to her, what his memory is still doing to her. The things he did to get her to talk about what she knows that he doesn’t were unforgiveable. The wounds healed except for the gunshot wound, the bullet was inside of her for ten days, he didn’t bother to remove it, and he just… left it there and sewed her wound shut. It was a miracle she survived.” Colin took a breath and then there was silence.

Nobody talked for minutes. Tom wasn’t sure if he wanted to ask if there was any more about what happened or if that was the end to it. Colin and Bradley were both too deep into their own thoughts upon remembering the incidents. They both swore they wouldn’t talk about it ever again but this time they didn’t have a choice seeing as Tom is now somewhat involved with Catherine.

Colin’s phone ringing broke the silence.

“It’s Katie.” Colin said and Bradley nodded, knowing who it was. Colin put the call on speaker since he figured it had something to do with the case.

“Yeah Katie, you’re on speaker.” He answered and there was a few seconds of quiet before a woman’s voice was heard on the phone.

“Hey boss, I was hoping to get an audience with you since this is pretty important and I need you to see the files for yourself but I heard you left the base. Got a laptop with you?” Katie asked and Colin turned to Tom who nodded and as much as he doesn’t want to, he let go of Catherine’s hand and walked over to the table where his laptop sat.

“Send the files and connect a video call to Agent Holland.” Colin addressed.

“Sure thing. What’s his agent number?” Katie asked and they could hear the clicking sound of a keyboard on the other line.

“101001.” Tom replied as he opened his laptop and connected to the secured video call application provided by SHIELD. A few seconds later and he received an email and it was followed by an invitation for a video call by a Dr. Katie McGrath. Tom answered it immediately and he was greeted by a beautiful woman with dark hair and green colored eyes.

“Katie.” Colin acknowledged and Katie smiled but it was just out of politeness, they could tell.

“What’s the news on the bottles in the case?” Bradley asked and Katie’s smile turned upside down as she reached for a bunch of papers on her desk.

“Open the file I sent Agent Holland.” Katie said and Tom did as he was told. The files contained lab results of different kinds and there was one word that caught Tom’s eye the moment he scanned the documents.

“The liquid in the bottles is a mixture of four things,” Katie started, “First there’s Maca – also referred to as Peruvian Ginseng. Maca has been shown by studies to enhance sexual performance and fertility, and to increase overall sexual desire.”

Tom’s face flushed and he avoided direct eye contact with the doctor in front of him. He felt his ears and cheeks burn and he swears his palms were starting to sweat.

“An aphrodisiac.” Colin then stated.

“Sort of.” Katie replied and then continued, “Second we found traces of Theobromine, it’s an alkaloid that comes from the cacao plant, and it increases serotonin levels, which enhances feelings of sexual desires and sexual responses.”

Again, Tom felt heat rise to his face and he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. This conversation was probably the most awkward conversation he’s ever had in all his life.

“Next we found Longjack, which is weird since most of what we found usually is only effective on women but Longjack is more effective for men.” Katie then said and caught Tom’s eye but he immediately looked away.

“Longjack produces aphrodisiac effects while also increasing sperm production.” Bradley choked on air at this and he coughed uncomfortably.

“The last chemical was the most peculiar one. We don’t know what it is, we tried different kinds of tests in order to analyze it but the results were inconclusive. But I have a hunch.” Katie continued and Colin raised a brow.

“Which is?”

“Well it’s just a hunch and we can’t prove it without testing it on a human being, animals won’t help, we know, we tried.” Katie answered, “I think that this unknown chemical increases the potency of the others which could be dangerous.”

Colin and Bradley looked at each other while Tom listened, his mind wracking with the various scenarios that happened earlier on that day.

“If this chemical does what I think it does, then whoever takes even just a sip of this will be greatly influenced by the other chemicals. All the other chemicals are some sort aphrodisiacs which is understandable since we are going after people who participate in illegal prostitution.” Katie added, “The other chemical will increase the influence of all three aphrodisiacs and that much aphrodisiac is very much harmful to any human being, their bodies could shut down, their vital organs would – why are you all looking at me like that?” Katie asked when the men in front of her all looked like they were about to go ballistic.

“FUCK! CATHERINE TOOK THAT DRUG!” Bradley shouted and Katie put a hand over her mouth in shock.

“Bradley you have to get that out of her! How long ago was it when she took the drug?” She worried.

“About six to seven hours ago.” Tom replied and stood up from his seat before stalking over to where Catherine was sleeping. She was breathing normally but based on what Katie said, who knows how long that will last?

“Shit. You have to extract the drug out of her right now. We don’t know how long it will take before it takes effect on her.” She said and Tom closed his fists.

“Two hours after intake.” He replied and they were quiet.

“What?” Katie asked.

“Two hours after intake the drugs took effect.” He cleared and there was another uncomfortable silence in the air before Katie muttered “Oh”

“Is it possible, doctor,” Tom then said with his back still facing the others, “that these chemicals could also affect whoever the person influenced with it comes in contact with?” He asked and Katie thought for a while.

“It’s possible yes, possible orally but the effects would be worse if transmitted sexually.” She replied and Colin let out a breath. He knew what happened between Tom and Catherine and he was thankful it wasn’t worse.

“There’s no time to waste. The drug is still inside of her. You need to get that out now, all of it, with the chemicals not doing what they’re supposed to do to her body it could affect the rest of her vital organs and I’m not exactly sure what’ll happen if it gets to that point.” Katie said and they all nodded as Bradley took out his phone.

“This is Agent James, we need a medical team.” He said on the line and then they waited.

The medical team arrived a few minutes after the call and they immediately set to work. They transferred Catherine on her bed at the hotel and set up the supplies they needed in order to extract the chemicals out of her body.

Tom paced back and forth in the living room while the operation was in motion. He couldn’t think straight and pondering about Catherine’s life being on the line didn’t help calm him either. He called Harrison when he couldn’t stop pacing and he told him everything except about Catherine’s past.

“I knew it.” Harrison said, “I told you it wasn’t your fault mate.”

“I know but I still feel like it is, if only I was quick enough to stop her from going in the casino alone and pretending to be one of the victims this wouldn’t have happened.” Tom replied and Harrison sighed in response.

“You need to stop thinking about what was and start focusing on what’s to come. What’s done is done, Tom. The only thing you have to think about now is how you’ll face her once she wakes.” Harrison replied and Tom pressed the bridge of his nose in annoyance. That’s what he was worried about the most.

The operation lasted for two hours and Colin and Bradley had left despite their unwillingness to do so but they were needed in the agency. They instructed Tom to tell them immediately if there were any changes in Catherine’s condition, of course, Tom obliged.

The medical team also left a few minutes after Bradley and Colin did, saying that there was nothing more they could do for her and that they would just have to wait for her to wake up. Though they assured that all of the chemicals were out of her system now and that helped Tom breathe and relax a little.

He called Doctor McGrath after the medical team left and she ensured him that she’ll examine the results of the operation to see if there was any more threat to Catherine’s life that the others might have missed. This helped ease the tension Tom was feeling and now all he had to do was wait. He sat near her bed and watched as Catherine breathed slow and steady. There was still an IV drip connected to her right arm and the medical team said it was full of fluids that’ll help her recover quickly.

Tom sighed. It’s only been hours since he started working with Catherine and all different kinds of strange shit had happened. But now that he knows about Catherine’s past, he became more understanding of her behavior.

The next day Tom woke up to someone screaming. He opened his eyes and noticed Catherine awake and she was staring horrified at the IV drip beside her.

“WHAT THE FU – GET IT OFF ME!” She screamed and tried to pull out the needle and she would’ve succeeded if Tom didn’t stop her.

“Catherine, no! You need that to recover.” He said and Catherine turned to him. Her vision was a little foggy and she had to blink a couple of times before recognizing Tom’s face.

“What the fuck Holland what are you trying to do to me get this blasted thing off me!” She yelled but Tom shook his head.

“You can’t. It’ll help you recover and regain whatever energy you lost because of the drug.” He replied and struggled to keep her at bay.

“I don’t care, I’m fully recovered as far as I can tell now get it off!” Catherine still insisted and when Tom didn’t budge at all she pinched his arm.

“OW! Hey! I said no!” He pulled his hand away but was quick enough to catch hers again and pin both her arms on her sides. Catherine struggled and whined when the needle moved in her and she gasped in pain.

“Stop moving or you’ll hurt yourself.” Tom ordered and thankfully she listened. There was a sudden silence and they both looked at each other before averting their gazes at the same time. It was an awkward position; Tom was hovering over her, keeping her arms pinned down on both sides of her body to make sure she doesn’t make any rash movements.

“So that happened.” Catherine started after a few minutes and Tom tensed, Catherine felt it since his grip on her arms tightened. He was not yet ready to have this conversation.

“I’m sorry.” Was all he could say and Catherine looked at him before sighing.

“Don’t be. It was my fault. I took the drug without knowing what it was,” She said then her nose scrunched up “What was it anyway?”

“It’s complicated. It’s like a mixture of different types of aphrodisiac and some other thing that increases their effect.” Tom replied and Catherine huffed.

“Figures. Who came by and took the case?” She asked.

“Bradley, then Colin followed when I told Bradley what happened.” With this, Catherine’s eyes went wide.

“YOU FUCKING WHAT? YOU TOLD BRADLEY?!” She yelled angrily and she unconsciously kicked the air in annoyance.

“I had no choice! He saw you asleep on the couch and apparently that’s a dead giveaway that something was wrong and so he asked, what was I supposed to do?” Tom retaliated.

“LIE! You could’ve told him I was so exhausted I passed out on the couch without a care in the world.”

“Yeah right. As if he’s gonna buy that. And your shirt was on the floor.” Tom replied as he rolled his eyes and Catherine looked down on her body but she was wearing her shirt.

“Medical Team dressed you up before transferring you here.” He explained.

“I assume Bradley ratted out to Colin then.” Catherine said and Tom nodded.

“Wow. I’m surprised you’re still alive.” She grinned and this made Tom smirk.

“Guess I’m lucky.” He shrugged when Catherine moved uncomfortably under him.

“Can you let me go? I won’t try and take this thing off.” She said but Tom looked at her suspiciously so she rolled her eyes.

“I promise I won’t take it off.” She repeated.

“Funny, I don’t trust you when you say that.” Tom grinned.

“Oh really? You trusted me enough to touch you not too long ago, what changed?” She teased and Tom’s face flushed before he frowned.

“That was… That was different! You were drugged and the drug affected me too in some way that’s why it happened!” He defended. He was more embarrassed than angry at what Catherine had said, he knew she was just trying to ease the tension but Tom’s feelings were certainly getting in the way of his humor.

“Really? So it was the drug then? You sure it wasn’t me? You sure it wasn’t the thought of my performance in the auction house that made you trust me to do all those things?” She continued.

Catherine loved the flustered look on Tom’s face and she’s sure as hell gonna drag him down for it. It was so easy to tease him and Catherine, despite being such a hot-head, still had a playful and humorous side to her that only a few select people know. She’s not sure why she’s showing this side of her to Tom but she doesn’t mind it at all.

“You sure it wasn’t my lips that kissed you so hotly and roughly out of the blue? You sure it wasn’t my hips that moved on top yours?” She grinned and when Tom’s face became the shade of an apple he pulled away from his hold on her and she laughed before sitting up properly.

Tom grunted in frustration and left her room while slamming the door shut.

“Oh come on Tom I was just teasing!” She laughed but didn’t hear anything as a response. Catherine just shrugged it off and removed the IV drip from her arm before placing a gauze and wrap over the wound and changing her clothes.

She went out to the living room to find Tom gone.

“Maybe I teased him a little too much.” She said to herself and walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

A bell sound suddenly came from the laptop in the living room and Catherine walked over to it and saw an email from Doctor McGrath. She clicked on the link and read the message.

Agent Holland,

You asked me to personally check on Catherine’s medical results right after the extraction and I am pleased to tell you that you don’t need to worry anymore. Catherine is going to be alright. With the rest of the drug extracted from her, her life is no longer under threat. I found nothing more in the operation results that the medical team has given me. You can rest assured she’s going to be okay.

Sincerely,

Dr. Katie McGrath

Catherine felt her heart swell a little upon reading the message. Tom was that worried about her? She didn’t think he would be since she thought unexpected circumstances were normal for agents like them, why would Tom worry so much about her to the point of asking Doctor McGrath to personally check her operation results?

The door suddenly opened and there Tom stood with his arm wrapped around a huge brown paper bag. Their eyes met but Tom was the first to look away. Catherine followed his movements as he walked to the kitchen.

“So… you got an email from Doctor McGrath.” She started and Tom stopped from pulling out whatever it was that was in the bag and looked at her.

“What did she say?” He asked and Catherine can clearly see the curiosity and concern in his eyes.

“She said that I’m going to be fine. You don’t have to worry.” She replied and stood up before walking over to where he was standing.

“Oh.” Came his reply and they stood there in silence.

“Didn’t know you were that worried about me.” Catherine then said, “Thanks. I… uh… appreciate it.” She added and cursed at the way she stuttered.

“It wasn’t me that was worried… Really, it was more Colin and Bradley.” Tom tried to play out but his aversion of her gaze gave him away and she raised a brow.

“Okay, maybe I was a little worried, like chipmunk sized worried.” He blurted out and Catherine doubled over in laughter.

“What the hell is a chipmunk sized worried?” She laughed and Tom felt his face flush again.

“It’s like… it’s like worried but only a little… like the size of a chipmunk.” He explained in a flustered tone and Catherine laughed even more at his analogy. Tom couldn’t help but be embarrassed but he also felt relieved when Catherine laughed, he felt himself smiling and chuckling a little.

“That was probably the best joke I heard all day,” Catherine admitted and wiped the tears in her eyes, “So what’s in the bag?” she asked and Tom took a while to snap out of his thoughts before dragging out the big tub of ice cream.

“What’s that for?” Catherine asked. She didn’t think Tom was the ice cream type of person, he seemed a little too mature and serious for that.

“For me. I eat ice cream when I’m annoyed and when I can’t think straight.” He replied and opened the tub before taking out a spoon. He sat on the counter and started wolfing down the ice cream to which Catherine found amusing.

“I didn’t know you had such a childish side to you, Agent Holland.” She grinned and Tom continued eating before he stopped and held on his head.

“Brain freeze?” She asked and he nodded.

“You also have an idiot side. I thought you said you like thinking things through?” Catherine asked and Tom shot her a look and she raised her arms in defense to which Tom finally realized that something wasn’t right.

“HEY YOU TOOK OFF THE IV DRIP I SAID DON’T!” He yelled.

“Oh please the bag was almost empty anyway, I’m fine. Doctor McGrath said so remember?” She asked and sat on the other side of the counter and gesturing for Tom to hand the ice cream over.

“You couldn’t wait a few more minutes till it was completely empty?” Tom shot back and gave her the tub. Catherine took his spoon and dug into tub before eating a piece.

“Wait…” Tom whispered and Catherine looked at him confused then later realized that they just shared the same spoon.

“Oh come off it, we already kissed, it’s the same.” She just said and shrugged.

“Will you stop reminding me about that?” Tom replied.

“Why? Was it bad for you?” She asked just to tease him again.

“What? No! I mean… It was…” Tom was at a loss for words again. Why was he behaving like this? It was infuriating!

“No? So it was good then.” Catherine smirked before taking another bite of the ice cream.

“What? No! I don’t know! Just… shut up and give me my ice cream back!” He yelled like a bullied child and walked over to Catherine’s side and grabbed the tub away from her hands.

“Come on, was it good or bad? It’s just those two options.” Catherine chuckled at his behavior. She said to herself earlier after reading the email that she wasn’t going to tease him anymore but she couldn’t help it. There’s something about Tom that was just worth teasing, something about him that makes her forget that they’re two professional agents out on a very dangerous mission.

Tom ignored her and walked back to his side of the counter and continued to eat. Catherine watched as the frustrated agent dealt with his inner battle while shoving a mouthful of ice cream to help him calm down.

Tom noticed the silence and he looked up to see Catherine just watching him with a silly teasing grin on her face.

“Shut up.” He spat and her grin grew wide.

“I said shut up.” He repeated.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” He replied.

“Wow. Reading my mind? We really made a connection there huh?” At that Tom choked on what he was eating and Catherine had to go over and pat him in the back while laughing hysterically.

“Okay, okay… I’ll stop. Geez you’re so fun to tease. Haven’t had this much fun on a case in years.” She laughed quietly and turned away to go back to her room but Tom grabbed her by the wrist and spun her around.

“You think this is funny?” He asked in an intimidating tone.

“Isn’t it? You’re so tense Agent Holland you need to relax.” Catherine said ignoring the slightly faster beating of her heart when she realized how close Tom was to her own person.

“How can I?!” Tom suddenly shouted, his eyebrows furrowed and his pupils shook as he stared back at her, “How can I relax knowing that it was my fault that you almost died?! Knowing that if we didn’t take those drugs out of you in time you’d be a corpse right about now?! How can I relax when I’m suddenly feeling all these stupid things for you after just one night and you’re treating it like a joke?!”

Catherine was stunned. She didn’t expect the sudden outburst. Tom was shaking in anger and she could feel it as he gripped her hand tightly. She didn’t think Tom had so much guilt in him about what happened. See that was her problem, and she knew it, she didn’t think.

“Tom.” She finally called when Tom wasn’t looking at her anymore but down on the ground. He didn’t expect to lose his cool but he couldn’t hold it in anymore, his guilt about what happened and how he felt after was eating away at him.

“Look at me.” She said and when he didn’t move she grabbed his chin with her free hand and lifted his face up. “It wasn’t your fault.”

But Tom shook his head and Catherine sighed.

“You have to stop bearing the responsibility of what happened to me on your shoulders. It wasn’t your fault, it was mine. You couldn’t have stopped me from what I was about to do even if you wanted to.” She added.

“And whatever stupid thing you felt right after what happened between us…” She stopped and Tom caught her gaze before he blushed furiously and looked away.

“I’m sure it was just a spur of the moment.” She suddenly said and dropped her hand from Tom’s chin which made him look back at her in surprise.

“I’m sure it’ll go away. It’s not a big deal. It didn’t mean anything. It was just the drugs. You said it affected you too right?” She asked with a wary smile but Tom couldn’t smile back or even answer. He didn’t want to. Why did her response suddenly change? Or was this how it was supposed to be and he was just holding on to something maybe different and impossible?

“It’s fine. It’ll go away. We have a job to do.” She muttered and turned away but before she could Tom pulled her back and crashed his lips onto hers.

The kiss was hard at first, full of frustration and desperation but then it turned soft and calm and nothing like the kiss they’ve had before. Tom wrapped an arm around her waist as she tangled her fingers in his hair. They both melted into the kiss and when they pulled away breathless, Tom rested his forehead on hers.

“I don’t want it to go away.” He mumbled and heard Catherine take a sharp breath.

“I can’t.” She whispered and Tom looked at her. She wasn’t meeting his gaze but she held on to him like her life depended on it. It was just like the drug, her mouth said something completely opposite to how her body was reacting.

“Is it because of Wilson?” Tom asked and Catherine’s head shot up to stare at him in horror and she tried to take a step back if not for Tom holding her in place.

“Who… How did you know about that?” Her voice shook along with her now tense figure. She felt like she was about hyperventilate then pass out. No one besides Colin and Bradley knew about the asshole that betrayed the agency and tortured her for ten days leaving her bruised, dehydrated and traumatized.

“Catherine calm down,” Tom soothed her arms when he noticed the panic in her face and the sudden change in her breathing pattern, “Colin and Bradley told me when you suddenly started to talk in your sleep. Or more like, scream in your sleep.”

Catherine shook and looked away. She felt tears brimming in her eyes and she dug her fingernails on the palms of her hand. She thought after all these years she’s forgotten all about that incident, she thought that if she focused more on work and just let loose she’ll forget about the torture, the blood, the wounds, the needles, the knives. But it’s not how it seems. Somewhere in the back of her mind that memory is still there.

Tom brought her closer to his body when she suddenly looked down and shook like a scared child. He brought his hand to rest on her hair and he kissed the top of her head and his lips didn’t leave that spot until she finally calmed down.

“I would never…” He started and pulled back to look Catherine in the eyes, they were close to tears but she still had enough strength in her to draw them back, “Ever, hurt you.”

He softly and hesitantly brushed his lips on hers, he was about to pull away when Catherine’s hand held him in place and deepened the kiss. The built up tears in her eyes fell and Tom brushed them away with his thumb before pulling her closer. As they parted, Tom looked at Catherine, there was still a bit of hesitation in her eyes but there was also acknowledgement and that was a good enough start for the both of them.

There was just silence between them as they held each other close. Catherine had never felt this way before, she felt safe, protected and all the negative feelings at the back of her head started to subside. Tom on the other hand felt relief wash over him when Catherine relaxed in his hold. He felt protective of her, now more than ever and he was damn sure he’d never let anything happen to her.

“Oh yeah, before anything else,” Catherine suddenly said and pulled back from his embrace.

“You gotta talk to Colin and Bradley about this since those two are like my brothers. Pretty sure you just got lucky last time.” She grinned and Tom groaned in frustration before running a hand through his hair.

“Do I have to?” He asked.

“Hey, if you wanna be my lover you gotta get with my friends.” Catherine said and the playful smile on her face was back that Tom couldn’t help but smile back and laugh.

“Fine. But if they kill me I’m blaming you.” He replied and Catherine chuckled.

“That’s just the way it is.”

A/N: OKAY. WHAT? I totally forgot this was supposed to be a serious fic it suddenly turned a little domestic wth.

Tagging: @silverofthunder - I didn’t get to reply to your reaction to the third chapter and believe me I was going to but I forgot hahaha! THANK YOU FOR CONTINUING TO READ THIS.

@empressdreams - you requested for more as I hit you with a sea of feels so here it is :D

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