#i wonder if he was thinking about albrecht in that first moment when hes all sad and lovelorn

[alteredsilicone]

THE HEX FINALE : LOID (and Drifter, presumably)

[czenzo]

Just an Act

[ao3]

summary: When Lockwood & Co. are called out on a case involving a jealousy-ridden Visitor, Lucy is forced to confront her own tangle of feelings and why it bothers her so much to see someone shamelessly flirt with her boss.

words: 6,360 rating: T

notes: this is my secret santa gift for Mar (@thegirlfromthesea)—I hope you like it! thank you to the Lockwood discord for hosting it again :)

happy holidays!

“So, Mr Lockwood, where’d you learn to use your rapier like that?”

Lucy snorted; she couldn’t help it.

A girl, not much older than Lucy, looked up at Lockwood through thick lashes. She was stereotypically pretty—irritatingly so—and had taken quite the shine to the company leader.

Lockwood smiled politely. “I took lessons as a young boy. Fantastic teachers, they were. Now, er—if you don’t mind, Miss…?”

“Haine,” she said with a smile. “Emily Haine. But, ooh, just Emily is fine.”

Watching Haine stick by Lockwood’s side as he inspected the nooks and crannies of the master bedroom made Lucy think of a limpet. The girl leaned in further and ogled his figure in that slightly too tight suit of his; it negated the explanation she gave of wanting to ‘learn the tricks of the trade’ when they first encountered her. They were only an hour into their work for the evening, and Lucy had already held back several scoffs.

Lockwood awkwardly cleared his throat. “Miss Haine, if you would be so kind as to give us a tad more space so we can work efficiently, that would be wonderful.”

She took a single step back.

George, who had been mid-tea sip, spluttered. “Christ. Lockwood, I’ll go and get a head start on the other room readings while you deal with this. Luce, do you want—”

Lucy scooped up her bag and held the door open for him. “Yes.”

Once the door swung shut behind them, George turned to her with a knowing look. “Not too keen on her, are you?”

She gave him a sidelong glance as they advanced down the hallway. “You don’t seem to be, either.”

“Anyone—or anything—that hinders our work is a nuisance in my book, sweet young girl or not." He paused to clean his glasses on the hem of his jumper then added with a chuckle, "She batted her eyelashes so much I thought she’d fly away any minute.”

Lucy held back what she was sure was a very ugly bout of laughter. “I can’t believe Mr Albrecht is letting his staff run around all willy-nilly while we’re trying to work.”

“I doubt that's the case,” George said. “This place is massive. He’ll have loads of staff, but she’s the only one we’ve come across. There must be a reason for it.”

Lucy’s reply tapered off as she eyed up the closed door they were distancing themselves from. Lockwood was on the other side of it—and now, with a lack of audience, Haine was likely to throw all shame out of the window. Lucy shook away the mental image of her idiotically cuddling up to him. Lockwood had self-respect and at least a shred of common sense, she reminded herself. He would keep turning down her advances despite being alone, surely?

“Luce?”

She blinked and turned to George, only to find they were no longer walking. “What?”

“You trailed off and stopped. Everything okay?”

She looked back to the door again, for what she told herself would be the last time.

“Ooh, she’s really gotten under your skin, hasn’t she? Tell you what, how about we get some recordings of this…” he pushed open the door beside him and it opened with a menacing creak, “lovely little bathroom—god, it looks like it’s never been used—and then we can crack open the biscuits?”

Biscuits were a good solution to (or rather, distraction from) many problems. Not that Lucy had any in that particular moment—Lockwood could fend for himself, Haine’s pursuit of him was not her concern—but she wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to dig into the digestives.

The bathroom wasn’t far from the size of Lucy’s bedroom at 35 Portland Row, and George hadn’t been kidding when he first peered inside: it was squeaky clean. When Mr Albrecht, their filthy-rich client and owner of the property, had given them one last briefing before hightailing it out of the place, Lucy recalled he had mentioned something about eight bathrooms. At the time she’d brushed it off in favour of focusing on the important info—i.e., the Visitor that was disturbing his family and targeting staff—but as she swept her gaze across the pristine porcelain and sparkling tiles, it came back to her with clarity. Eight bathrooms between its three non-staff occupants… no wonder this one looked as if it had been pulled straight from a catalogue.

“I’d bet good money we’re the only human contact this room’s seen, besides the installers,” George sniffed, pulling out his notepad. “I’d bet those digestives that nothing��s here, but we ought to take readings anyway.”

They went through the motions. Lucy checked temperatures (nothing out of the ordinary, as suspected) and Listened for disturbances (the pipes were a bit squeaky, but that didn’t count as a psychical threat), while George jotted everything down. Once they were done, they wasted no time in retrieving the biscuits and thermoses from the depths of their bags.

For the first time that evening, Lucy took the skull jar out. It sat between them in their small iron circle (made more out of habit than necessity) and immediately began pulling faces at George. It had formed an annoying habit of waffling while clients spoke and shouting random numbers as she took readings, so for the sake of her own sanity she’d kept the jar shut tight.

Up until now.

“I reckon if you bludgeon that soppy little fool you could hide her body in this bathtub and it’d be years before anyone found her.”

George looked at Lucy expectantly.

“It doesn’t like Miss Haine,” she translated. George simply nodded and dunked a biscuit in his tea.

“That was some shocking paraphrasing, Lucy. I never said I didn’t like the girl—I said I’d be completely at peace if you caved her skull in and made the body disappear. Two very different things, I tell you.”

Lucy decided that didn’t warrant a reply. “What do you think about the case, George?”

His face lit up at the chance to delve into it again; it was so charmingly George that Lucy felt a sudden surge of fondness for him. “The staff’s reports of a detailed apparition makes a Spectre quite likely. One mentioned it looked like a young man, so I researched deaths on the property while at the archives—and sure enough, a few poor sods have met their end here. An ancestor of Albrecht’s from the 19th century got shot just outside, a lad who used to work here not long ago slipped down the main staircase, and a burglar recently got caught in the act and had a heart attack when the police apprehended him. What a way to go, eh?”

“Would any of them have a reason to return, though?”

George shrugged noncommittally. “In one way or another. The ancestor’s death stopped the ownership of the property transferring to him, the ex-staff might’ve been unhappy with how he was treated here, and the burglar… well, if I died in those circumstances, I’d be pretty miffed. I’d come back to haunt the place as a distraction from that embarrassment.”

“Your whole life’s an embarrassment.”

This time, it was Lucy’s turn to splutter mid-sip.

“What? What did it say?”

She shook her head. “Nothing important.”

George narrowed his eyes, but soon let it go. “Another biscuit?”

“Go on, then.” Lucy reached for the proffered sleeve but froze when an ear-splitting shriek echoed down the hall. She shoved the skull jar in her bag and discarded the tea and biscuits in favour of bolting in the direction of the scream, with George not far behind.

Lucy threw open the door, rapier in hand.

The skull, half-sticking out of her bag, peered over her shoulder and cackled. It let out a comment so crude Lucy would have winced if she weren’t so distracted by the way Haine had her arms wrapped around Lockwood.

George panted heavily beside Lucy. “What happened?”

Haine held on for a moment longer, then had the gall to look sheepish as she slowly pulled away. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr Lockwood! I could’ve sworn I saw something move out of the corner of my eye, and oh, it looked awful, and I knew I could count on you to protect me from it.”

“Pah! What a trollop.”

Lucy, rapier still raised, looked to Lockwood. His face was pointedly blank as he considered the blushing girl beside him. In the blink of an eye, one of his trademark smiles appeared—to Lucy’s relief, it wasn’t one of the charming or flirting variety, but instead one of careful politeness.

“I’m glad you feel you can put your trust in us,” he said, “but I can assure you there’s certainly no psychic activity in this room, according to the readings we got. Not a single death glow, either. There’s a slight draught in here—perhaps the movement you saw was the curtains.”

“The atmosphere seems to be taking a toll on you, Miss,” Lucy said. Her knuckles ached from her grip tightening around her rapier hilt. “We should get you set up to stay somewhere else for the night, so we can work without you getting in the—er, without you being at risk.”

“Nice catch, really smooth. Though personally, if I cared enough about dear old Locky, I would’ve just told the bint to sod off.”

Haine eyed Lucy with disdain. “What on earth is that thing sticking out of your bag?”

“Nothing,” Lucy said, shoving the jar further in and out of sight. She hadn’t the time to flick the lever in the same motion, so the skull’s cries and colourful insults were still audible. She prided herself on her ability to keep a poker face as it described, at length, where exactly Miss Haine should shove it.

Lockwood swiftly moved the conversation on. “Good idea, Luce. Mr Albrecht mentioned he usually has a team of night staff—where are they tonight, Miss Haine?"

“Most stayed home. The few who didn't get the memo in time and showed up anyway were sent to a nearby hotel for the night... But it’s so late now, they wouldn’t possibly take me in.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Why didn’t you join them?”

“Ah, well, when he informed them all of the arrangements, I was preoccupied.”

“With what?”

“I was—er, ah… I was polishing. The bathrooms. You saw how clean they were, yes?”

George peered at her over his glasses. “We assumed it was because no one used them.”

“Oh no, they do. And I clean them—a lot! So I missed Mr Albrecht’s instructions. And then I stumbled upon you three!”

“Four.”

Lucy frowned. “If she gets hurt, Lockwood… We’ll be liable.”

“Yes, that is true,” Lockwood said, his smile now laced with a hint of uncertainty. “Time’s ticking, though, and we need to get a move on. Since we’ve deemed this room safe, we can keep her in here. The two of you can help me quickly fortify the room, and then we can resume work. Is that alright with you, Miss Haine?”

Lucy had never seen her expression look so sour. Her short reply of “Yes” was not convincing at all, but the trio got to work laying out protection for her nonetheless.

“All sorted,” Lockwood said, clapping his hands together. “You shouldn’t be disturbed in here, but just to be safe, don’t leave this circle. If you need anything at all, give us a shout.”

“There’s some tea in that thermos,” George added, “and I’ve generously donated a few biscuits. That’ll keep you going til dawn, I reckon.”

“Thank you,” Haine said stiffly.

Lucy plastered a smile onto her face, though she couldn’t manage the same amount of fake politeness as Lockwood. “You’re welcome.”

Without the hindrance of a fourth unqualified person, Lockwood & Co.’s efficiency skyrocketed. Lucy lost count of how many rooms they took readings in. The place was eerily labyrinthian, and she was grateful that George had the mind to print out a map beforehand.

The evening grew darker, and after locating the area with the most psychical red flags—the staff quarters, a small series of rooms in the basement—set up their own iron circle in preparation for any oncoming manifestations.

After filling Lockwood in on his suspicions, George sat cross-legged and leaned back on his hands. “I’m surprised we haven’t heard a peep out of Haine yet.”

“I thought she’d be calling out for her knight in shining armour in minutes,” Lucy said, an amused smirk creeping onto her face.

Lockwood raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming you’re referring to me?”

“‘Course I am. She was all over you.”

“I wouldn’t say that… ” He averted his gaze. “But she did seem rather fond of me.”

“God knows why. I’d rather neck a street rat than look Lockwood in the eye.”

Lockwood frowned as he watched the skull’s ghostly mouth move. “What is it saying?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Should we let Albrecht know one of his staff’s gone rogue?” George said, straightening to stretch his back with an odd groan.

Lucy wasn’t sure why every fibre of her being was advocating for the girl’s downfall. After a moment’s consideration, she chalked it up to being ‘hangry’—as Bobby Vernon once used to describe George in a heated conversation—and grabbed another biscuit.

“Legally, it would be the right thing to do,” Lockwood mused. “But I’d hate to be the reason the poor girl loses her job. If she keeps shtum for the rest of the night, I’m happy to let it go. Is that fair?”

George shrugged. Lucy made a noise of vague discontent. The skull voiced its own unpleasant opinion.

“Great,” Lockwood said with a grin. “It’s settled.” He popped a piece of gum in his mouth and checked his watch. “Miasma’s setting in. We ought to be seeing activity soon… Have you heard anything yet, Luce?”

As a matter of fact, she had—the skull’s voice notwithstanding. “The occasional word. I can’t make out what it's saying, but it’s definitely a young man’s voice. It’s steadily increasing in volume and frequency.”

“Good, we’re on the right track. George is probably spot on with the Spectre assumption. And considering where we are, it’s likely to be the lad who used to work here.” He eyed up the room around them, and Lucy followed suit. 

Presumably, this was where Albrecht’s staff spent their breaks, away from the demands of the filthy-rich family. They were in the ‘lobby’, so to speak, of the staff area. It was a small room with sparse seating, various mops and brooms propped against the far wall, and an old radio next to some stale refreshments. Branching off from the main room was a restroom and a dingy bedroom containing the flattest mattress she’d ever laid eyes on. It was so far from the life of luxury the Albrechts lived it almost felt like a different building entirely. It meant George was probably correct about yet another thing—the deceased staff member might have returned seeking revenge against his stingy employer.

Lockwood’s narrowed eyes suggested he was having the same train of thought. “What I am wondering, however, is why now? You said he died a year or so ago, George, but Mr Albrecht said his staff only started complaining in the past few months.”

“Can’t say for sure. Maybe someone disturbed his Source while working?”

The skull let out a cackle. Lucy’s gaze snapped to it. “Do you know something?”

“Maybe I do.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. “And?”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“There’s no need to be difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult, it’s just” —it let out an elated cry—“this is hilarious. You’re so close to the truth! I’d bet good money you can’t get it through your thick skull, though.”

“What?” She frowned. “What do you mean?”

Lockwood leaned forward. “What’s it saying, Luce?”

“It knows something. Said we’re close to the truth, but doesn’t have faith we’ll work it out.”

“No no, I said you. Cubbins’ll be on it in no time, I reckon. He isn’t riddled with the same distractions as you are.”

She carefully repeated its words, and George’s face lit up. “Oh, now I really want to know what it’s going on about.”

“Are you talking to a jar?” An annoyingly familiar voice said from the entrance.

Three heads whipped around in surprise, one haunted skull cackled gleefully, and one Spectre manifested in the middle of the room.

Haine screamed as Lockwood leapt forward, rapier slicing through the Visitor within seconds of its appearance.

Lucy and George scrambled to their feet. With the skull as a distraction, Lucy hadn’t noticed the disembodied voice becoming more prominent, but now it had her full attention. The pressure in her head made her wince and let out a hiss of pain. George gently placed a hand on her shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles in a silent moment of understanding.

Lockwood hauled Haine into the iron circle. “What—and I say this out of concern for your safety—the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Miss Haine? We asked you to stay inside the circle. You could’ve been killed!”

Haine was deathly pale, and it took far longer than expected for her to voice a reply. “I… I know him.”

“You recognised the Visitor?” George said. The skull continued to laugh.

She nodded shakily. “His name is Adam. He works—worked here. We… had a thing, so to speak. He was lovely. But one day he… he—oh, god, he—”

“Slipped and fell down that huge staircase in the foyer?”

Haine let out a choked sob.

The voice had quietened; Lucy was able to think clearly again. “You said you ‘had a thing’?”

“His return could have something to do with that,” George said.

Lockwood nodded. “It’s likely. Now, Miss Haine, I beg you to stay inside these chains. We’re dealing with a dangerous Type Two that has personal ties to you. He may target you. Please let us work unhindered.”

“Or, if you do get in the way, at least make your death entertaining.”

“Unfaithful…”

Lucy tried to discreetly whisper to the jar she’d left on the floor. “What?”

“I said, if she does get in the way—”

“No, no, not that. The other thing.”

“That wasn’t me, Lucy. All this time being your partner in crime and you can’t even recognise my voice?” It scoffed. “Those biscuits have a higher IQ than you.”

“Mine…”

The words were a welcome distraction from the way Haine clung onto Lockwood’s sleeve. “I can hear him. I can make out the words.”

“What is he saying?”

“Unfaithful. Mine.” She paused, and then, “Cheat.”

Haine tightened her grip. “Adam said those things?”

“Oh,” George said. “Oh.”

“What did I say, Lucy? I bloody knew he’d catch on first! Oh, I’m a genius. I deserve some kind of award.”

“What?” Lockwood said, somewhat impatient.

“Miss Haine,” George said slowly, “are you naturally flirtatious?”

The sudden change of topic startled her. “Well, I wouldn’t say that… But if a man’s good-looking, I’m not going to ignore it.” She glanced at Lockwood for a split second. “Take Richie, for example—he started here earlier this year, and I know we’re colleagues, but you only live once. I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to—”

“When did he start working here?”

“Er… A few months ago, I think?” Her irritation was visible as she spoke to George; it was a stark contrast to how she behaved with Lockwood. “How is this relevant?”

“There we go,” George said with satisfaction. “Adam still has feelings for you, and isn’t particularly pleased to see you moving on.”

Haine let out a small, dumb, “Oh.”

Lockwood whistled, long and slow. “Visitors with romantically oriented returns tend to be the most aggressive. Stay on your guard, everyone. And once again, Miss Haine, do not—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, though everyone surely knew what he planned to say. They were all too distracted by the Spectre’s return to dwell on it, however.

He stood—or rather, floated a few centimetres off the ground—near the iron circle, and now Lucy could get a closer look at him. He was faded and blurry around the edges, but she could still make out the inner details. He wore a similar getup to Haine, with the dark trousers and a slightly wrinkled white button-up. His attire, combined with his red hair and thin face, made him look alarmingly like a fusion of Lockwood and Kipps. What caught Lucy’s attention the most, however, was the ugly bruising circling his neck. It was a grim reminder of how he met his untimely death.

He was so young. He couldn’t have been much older than Lockwood or George. Emotions were distracting; Lucy let out a shaky sigh and tried to let it wash over her. Meanwhile Haine, untrained and vulnerable, broke out into a fit of sobs.

“How are we dealing with this, Lockwood?” George said, ready to leap into action with his rapier in hand.

“Miss Haine, I’m sorry to ask this when you’re feeling so delicate, but we need to locate Adam’s Source. Do you have any idea as to what it could be?”

Haine sniffed and ungracefully dragged a sleeve across her damp face. “No. I haven’t got a clue, I…”

Lucy felt a pang of sympathy. It was almost enough to make her forget what had irked her about the girl earlier. “It could be anything with sentimental value to him, or something involved in his… passing.”

The skull scoffed. “Don’t start going soft on her now.”

Haine turned away from the Spectre and curled further in on herself. “He wasn’t a materialistic person. Never let me get him gifts. But—oh. Oh! He was working when he fell, he…” Her eyes swept the room and stopped when they found the mops. “He was using one of those! Oh god, you don’t think…?”

Lockwood nodded solemnly. “It could be one of them, yes.”

Adam’s voice was still audible in Lucy’s mind. “He’ll pounce the second we step foot out of these chains.”

Haine moved closer to Lockwood. In the blink of an eye she was leaning into him, one hand resting gently on his arm. “I’m so scared. What if he—”

A cry ripped from Adam’s throat as he rushed forward.

Lucy flinched and stumbled backwards. She crashed into Lockwood, who caught her and set her upright. “Miss Haine, try to keep your hands off our boss. Your late ex isn’t very fond of him.”

“He sees Lockwood as competition? By far the worst case of insecurity I’ve ever seen.”

“He sees Lockwood as competition,” Lucy murmured, then repeated it louder as it dawned on her. “Lockwood’s riling him up. If we can get Adam to disregard him, he might calm down long enough for us to reach his Source.”

“Good thinking, Luce,” George said.

Lockwood took a careful, wide sidestep away from Haine. “How are we pulling that off?”

“You’re a real threat to him if you’re single,” Haine said. “You are single, aren’t you?”

Lucy’s head pounded as Adam’s voice boomed.

“Er,” Lockwood said eloquently.

“Not any more,” George declared, before pushing Lucy and Lockwood together. They collided and instinctively grabbed onto one another to avoid tumbling out of the chains.

As Lockwood looked down at Lucy, George’s intent dawned on her. She adjusted herself so one hand wrapped around Lockwood’s torso, and leant into him like she’d seen Haine doing all evening. Slowly, Lockwood’s hand reached up behind her and rested at the nape of her neck, toying with the hairs there like it was second nature. Lucy’s stomach did strange flips while the skull feigned retching and loudly voiced its complaints.

Haine made an odd noise. George smiled like the cat that got the cream and turned to face Adam triumphantly—only to find he was no longer there.

“Give it a minute,” he said. “Miss Haine, try coming onto Lockwood again.”

“You can’t force those kinds of things,” Haine insisted.

“Try it anyway.”

She rolled her eyes. “Mr Lockwood, you’re looking rather dashing in that waistcoat.”

“Blind as a bat, she must be.”

Lucy turned her head to look at the waistcoat in question and was met by a familiar smell she’d come to associate with the feeling of home; for a brief second, she almost forgot she was out on a case.

The waistcoat did look nice, albeit a bit snug.

“Oh, I’d gouge my eyes out if I had any.”

George was tense in anticipation, but relaxed after a few moments of nothing. “I dare say I think it worked. Adam seems happy that Lockwood can’t possibly be interested in Miss Haine if he’s preoccupied with Luce.”

“‘Preoccupied’ is an odd way of putting it,” Lockwood said. His thin fingers continued to drift along the back of Lucy’s neck, and it was a whole world of distraction. She struggled to think straight and subconsciously tightened her grip on Lockwood’s waist. If he noticed she’d brought him closer, he didn’t let on.

“Stay there,” George said, holding his hands up as if they were jittery animals. “I’ll have a look at the mops.”

“It would be pure comedy gold if Cubbins kicks the bucket while you’re busy fondling each other. God, Lucy, you’re only supposed to be acting. Dial it back a bit, you desperate ninny.”

Lucy watched with bated breath as George cautiously stepped over the chains. He held his rapier aloft in anticipation and in a few large steps reached the far wall where the mops stood. Keeping his back to the wall, George stayed alert as he passed a hand over each mop. He violently flinched upon making contact with the last; it teetered and fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

“Got it. It’s freezing cold.”

Lucy held tightly onto Lockwood. His hand had steadied on her shoulder; the weight kept her grounded as she Listened for oncoming danger. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Haine alternating between giving her strange looks and watching George.

The skull faked a yawn. “Just get on with it already.”

The sound of its voice mingled with Adam’s whispers—he was still present, still watching, and had taken notice of George’s movements.

“Hurry, George,” Lucy murmured. Her hand came to rest on a salt bomb in her belt.

From the depths of his duffel, George had to retrieve one of their largest silver nets. It came out snarled and scrunched, and for an excruciatingly long moment, he stood there untangling it.

“God, this is painful,” Haine said. She watched for a second longer before huffing and stepping out of the chains towards him. “Here, let me—”

“CHEAT!” roared Adam; he materialised mere feet away and wasted no time in rushing towards Haine with outstretched arms.

Lucy and Lockwood moved synchronously. Together they leapt, Lockwood brandishing his rapier and Lucy taking aim with a salt bomb, and landed in the space between Haine and her enraged lover. Lockwood’s blade swung and the bomb soared from Lucy’s hand; both hit Adam with a vicious hiss of ectoplasm and a ghostly howl.

Not a moment later, George unceremoniously dropped the silver net on the mop.

Lucy’s ears popped and her jaw ached as the effects of the Visitor’s presence lifted. She didn’t mean to lean into Lockwood as her shoulders slumped, but neither of them moved away, and at some point his hand had returned to her shoulder.

“That was possibly the most boring outcome,” the skull lamented. “I was hoping to at least see Lover Girl croak. Not you, Lucy, the other one.”

“That was simple enough,” George said, nudging the sides of the net inwards.

Lockwood grinned. “Good work, you two. And as for you, Miss Haine”—his smile faded as he turned to her—“we’ll have to inform Mr Albrecht about what went down here, which means telling him you, er…”

“Went rogue,” Lucy supplied.

“Rogue, yes.”

Haine’s gaze was unflinching. “Perhaps I should tell him the true nature of your company, then.”

He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Being involved with your employee isn’t a good look, Mr Lockwood,” she said, with a hint of smugness.

Lockwood scoffed and exchanged glances with Lucy and George. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Are you kidding?” She nodded to him and Lucy, who suddenly became minutely aware of how much of Lockwood’s body was pressed against hers. The warmth of his hand seeped through the layers of her clothes. “It’s obvious that relationship distraction wasn’t an act at all. Tell Albrecht I was here and I’ll tell him what you two really got up to in his bathrooms tonight.”

“Oh. I’m starting to warm up to her, actually.”

*****

As they waited for a taxi outside Albrecht’s manor, Lockwood shivered and turned up his collar. “I can’t believe she blackmailed us with a complete lie.”

“It was either that, or find yourself on the front page of tomorrow’s Times,” George said.

“Lovebird agents shag in millionaire client’s bathtub,” the skull chuckled. “What a headline.”

“We should have found another way around it,” Lucy said indignantly. “Albrecht deserves to know the truth of what happened tonight, whether Haine threatens us or not. Besides—who’s to say he’d even believe her, anyway? She’s only one of… many staff.”

“We can think of something after a good night’s rest.” George yawned. “All the stairs in that place tired me out.”

He fell asleep in the taxi, notebook open in his lap and pen still poised to continue writing his notes. Lucy carefully placed them back in his bag, then caught Lockwood watching her from the passenger seat. His smile was small but tender. It was the one he usually reserved just for Lucy, the one that never failed to make her heart flutter.

“I need to talk to you before you turn in for the night,” he said. He looked at George, then back to her. “Privately, if you don’t mind.”

She suddenly felt as tense as she had been in the iron circle. “‘Course. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about.” He flashed her one of his bigger smiles, then turned back around to face the roads swathed in the light of the ghost-lamps.

Despite Lockwood’s reassurance, it still niggled at the back of Lucy’s mind the rest of the way home. She gently shook George awake as they pulled up outside 35 Portland Row and bid him goodnight before he began to trudge upstairs.

After dropping the skull jar off in her room, she found Lockwood in the kitchen turning the kettle on. He set out two mugs and turned to lean his back against the counter. When his eyes met hers, he smiled. “Luce,” he said, quietly. “Tea?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Her feet ached from the long night; she hopped up to sit on the counter near him. “What did you want to talk about?”

For a moment his brows furrowed, his gaze drifted to the side, and he seemed as if he were trying to recall something—as if he’d planned out exactly what to say, and was now struggling to find it again. Lucy restlessly shuffled her weight around, trying to make herself comfortable on the cool granite.

Lockwood took a breath. “What Haine said… it bothered me.”

“Well, yeah. She blackmailed us with an outright fib—she’s a nasty piece of work.”

“No—I mean, yes, that was awful, but that’s not what I’m talking about right now. She said it was obvious that us being together ‘wasn’t an act at all’, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Lucy said slowly. “But it clearly was. She’s probably as thick as she is manipulative.”

Lockwood’s gaze flicked up to the ceiling; a subtle wince passed across his face before he spoke. “Was it?”

“What?”

He looked back to her, face utterly sincere. “An act.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at, Lockwood.”

Lockwood’s mouth opened and for a second, he appeared on the verge of saying something uninhibited. The kettle clicked, snapping him out of it, and he got to work putting their drinks together. “It was unprofessional. A complete lapse in judgement. I wanted to apologise to you, Lucy, in case it made you uncomfortable.”

“Er… Well, it’s not like there was an alternative. And George was the one who orchestrated it, anyway.”

“That can’t have been our only option,” he insisted. “I shouldn’t have gone along with it. I should have looked for another way for us to deal with the situation.”

“Lockwood, it’s fine. It was fine.” She leaned to the side, putting herself in his line of sight. “You’re fine.”

“Am I?” His usual smile and bravado were gone, leaving nothing but worry etched into his features. “I’m concerned I’m blurring the lines too much in my relationship to you. Yes, I’m your friend, but I’m also your employer. I forget how much power I technically hold over you.” He let the spoon clatter into one of the mugs. “Accidentally using it against you would be my worst nightmare.”

“You haven’t. And even if you did— though you wouldn’t—we both know I wouldn’t let that slide. If you think I can’t stand up for myself and give you a good kick to the backside if you need it, you’re sorely wrong, Lockwood.”

“No, I know. You’re good like that. I just…” He sighed. “I hate how quickly Miss Haine got the wrong impression of us. We were just doing our job—in a slightly unconventional way, yes, but it was for the sake of the case—and she so easily twisted it into something else. What if she thought I was manipulating you, in some way? What if I was, and neither of us realised?”

“Lockwood, you’re being a bit silly.” She took one of the mugs in both hands and soaked up its warmth. “It’s late, you’re tired, and you’re overthinking it.”

He leaned against the counter and stared into his own mug. “You’re probably right.”

“Besides”—she took a sip, winced at how it scalded her tongue, and surprised herself with the words that fell from her mouth—“I never said it made me uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Stop jumping to conclusions.”

Lockwood’s body stilled, and his gaze flicked to her. “What do you mean?”

She sucked her teeth and decided to throw all caution to the wind. “When George contained the Source, I could’ve let go. I had more than enough space to back away from you. Did I?”

“…No?”

“I held on. I leant into you.”

“You were weary.”

“I enjoyed it,” she said. It was an admission to both Lockwood and herself; part of her wanted to curl up and hide as it dawned on her that she had thoroughly loved being so close to him, and that Haine hadn’t just been annoying, she’d been… competition?

Something clicked, and suddenly Lucy understood Adam.

“You enjoyed it,” Lockwood repeated quietly.

“And hypothetically, if we had to do something like that again, it’d be fine. I’d be fine.”

“On the job, of course.”

The corner of her lip twitched upward. “Of course.”

“And hypothetically,” he spoke slowly, edging away from the counter and closer to her, “if something like that were to happen outside a working environment, how would you feel?”

Her words came out close to a whisper as anticipation flushed her cheeks. “Why don’t you find out?”

“Oh.” Lockwood stopped in front of where she perched on the counter. They were almost at eye level. He held her gaze for a moment before faltering, then spoke with uncertainty: “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never—should we—”

“Me neither,” Lucy said, then pulled him in by the waist to kiss him. He stiffened for a second before melting into her touch; she parted her knees for him to move closer.

Lucy’s grasp softened at Lockwood’s sides when he reached up to cup her face. A small noise escaped her before she leant further into the kiss.

Time seemed to warp—though their lips parted after a few moments, it felt as if a whole hour had passed while they were engrossed in each other. They pressed their foreheads together as their quiet gasps for air filled the otherwise silent kitchen.

Someone cleared their throat by the door.

Lucy and Lockwood’s heads clacked together as they startled, warranting identical hisses of pain as they jerked their heads in the direction of the noise.

George leant against the door frame, clothes rumpled and hair unruly—it was clear he’d fallen straight into bed after coming home.

“Got peckish,” he said, adjusting his crooked glasses. “I see you’ve sorted things out. Took you long enough.”

Lockwood was the first to snap out of the shock. “What?”

“Kipps reckoned it would take another few months, at least,” he said, rummaging through the cupboards. “I had more faith than that.” He poured himself a bowl of cornflakes and drifted back out into the hall. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight,” they both replied, though it came out sounding like a question.

Lockwood caught her eye, and they fell into a fit of laughter. Her head fell onto his shaking shoulder; the rush of giddiness had her feeling wide awake.

For a brief moment, she was not an agent in a Visitor-infested world, she didn’t have to frequently put her life on the line for work, and she hadn’t lost her best friend because of a system that let her down. Instead, she was a normal teenage girl getting flustered over a teenage boy, giggling into the warm fabric of his shirt and hoping he didn’t notice how red her cheeks had become.

Lockwood brushed her hair away with a gentle swipe of his fingers, then pressed a kiss to her temple. “We really are fantastic actors.”

Lucy burst into laughter all over again.

*****

end note: right before posting this I realised I gave Haine almost the exact same name as Metric’s lead singer?? I swear that wasn’t on purpose lol I love u Emily Haines

[landscaping-your-mind]

@a-mag-a-day,

Once again, this is a stream of consciousness ramble as I listen along. All quotes will be take from the official transcript. I have a lot of thoughts about this episode, so this'll probably be a bit more organized than a lot of my other streams of consciousness rambles.

Without further ado, enjoy.

Jonathan Fanshawe is writing such a salty breakup letter and I love him for that.

I could get was a sense of resignation and the insistence that his master, who I took to be Albrecht, wanted the tree dead. I am sure that he used that word, though. Not ‘burned’, not ‘removed’ or ‘destroyed’. Dead. I resolved to ask Albrecht about it when I saw him.

I wonder what that tree was. Like, Albrecht must have had some reason. Maybe it says what it is later, I've forgotten some of this episode.

an errand I remind you, Jonah, I undertook at your insistence.

He sounds so angry when he says that, as he should tbh.

Again, he ignored me. Instead, he took the seat opposite me and started to tell me a story. And then another. And another. A stream of strange tales began to pour out of him, and I just sat there, transfixed, desperately wishing I had the strength of will to stand and leave, but all I could do was listen. He told me of a seamstress who laced her body with fine black thread, and when she pulled it all out in a single swift motion, her skin dropped away like a loose shift. He told me of a man so scared to die he spent a year weaving a rope blindfolded, so that he would not know the length and could not foresee the moment it would tighten around his neck when he finally threw himself into the void. He told me of a fire that burns so hot and fierce that to even know about it is enough to burn a man’s tongue from his head. He told me so many terrible things.

I don't know what to say to this. Spooky? It sure is spooky. Obviously it has some similarities to Jon's whole thing, especially in the eyepocolypse, it's safe to assume Albrecht was an avatar, or perhaps just cursed by these books. The seamstress who laced her body with a fine black thread seems to be the only one that isn't connected to The Eye, however if these books were from before Smirke codified his taxonomy of fears, or at least before it caught on, then they're probably more interconnected, or separated in a different way.

“You do not understand,” he said to me in German, “I do not read the books. They read me.”

This reminds me of one of the books Mike Crew encountered.

I spent some time with a small grey volume, I think it was in Cyrillic, that decided it was at home amongst my bookshelves. I couldn’t read it, of course, but… when it tried to read me back, I buried it on a lonely stretch of moorland.

It's probably not the same book, but it makes sense that Mike's book would have been Eye aligned, in a categorization way to make it comprehendible way.

What shall I tell you, Jonah, about this fool's errand, that damnable journey we embarked upon? Shall I regale you with the awful experiences of transporting a library’s worth of books through the Black Forest? Perhaps I should write you an in-depth account of finding that ancient cemetery, of descending into that bleak and frozen mausoleum? Or would you prefer to hear about the hours we spent placing volume after volume on empty, grey shelves, ignoring how out of place the new bindings appeared against the antique stonework? No. I’m sure all you want to know was how Albrecht died. Why it was that, as I replaced the last book taken from that place, I heard his scream from the top of the stairs and ran up to find him sprawled and dead before the stone coffin.

This reminds me of a couple of statements, what first comes to mind is MAG 38 - Burnt Offering and MAG 102 - Nesting Instinct. The statement giver being angry at having to give their statement, or the person giving their statement. I like that. Anyway, Jonathan, get his ass!!

I hope they bring you much wisdom, Jonah, for the cost was dear enough.

HHHH!!!!

Do I need to tell you what I found, Jonah? Do I need to detail what covered his organs, his bones, the inside of his skin? What clustered together in their dozens, and all turned as one to focus on me as I opened his chest, their pupils constricting in the light, with irises of every hue and colour? Because whatever it was that did this to him, I know in my heart that it is your fault.

Chills. CHILLS! It's just. I love this statement. Love this barely contained rage. Fuck yeah Jonathan!!

Hm. Jonah Magnus. I’ve never really given much thought to him, not nearly as much as I should have. I suppose I had always hoped there was a chance he was… innocent in all this. I know, I know. But I had… I had just hoped that maybe the founding of the Institute was in earnest and not simply the foundation stone for all the terrible things that have happened here. But no. Whatever is happening now has its origins two hundred years ago, in the work of an evil man.

Oh, Jon, you don't know the half of it...

ARCHIVIST Just another scar for the collection.

First of all, Jon please treat your body with some respect challenge. You need to live in it. Being so cavalier about your physical health isn't great! Though, understandable considering your current mental state (bad). Secondly, uuhhhhh yeah sure, just another scar for the collection. Definitely not anything more than that. Don't Worry About It.

BASIRA You were sat on the floor for like four hours. ARCHIVIST Oh. No, I was, uh, I was… listening. You know, trying to see if any of the statements… called to me.

Basira just comes into Jon's office and sees him just lying on the floor lying on the celling and just backs away slowly asdfdaf

ARCHIVIST It’s… hard. It’s like there’s a, a door, in my mind, and behind it is, is the entire ocean. Before, I didn’t notice it, but now I, I know it’s there and I can’t forget it and I can feel the pressure of the water on it. I, I, I can keep it closed, but sometimes when I’m around people or places or… ideas, a drop or two will push through the cracks at the edges of the door. And I’ll Know something. BASIRA What happens if you open the door? ARCHIVIST I drown.

This is such a good explanation! I like how it ties in with some future lines, and all of that. It's got the door stuff, oh boy, and it just really helps me conceptualize what spooky knowledge is, you know? People have explained it better than I have, so I'd recommend just finding those if you want people to wow you with their incredible brain thoughts. This episode is just really good for thinking about.

BASIRA The part where you pretend you don’t spend your whole time watching us? ELIAS Sometimes I’m eating.

ASJSAJDKFA I HATE ELIAS BUT I LOVE THIS LINE

In conclusion, I love this episode, Jonathan Fanshawe my absolute beloved, Basira don't do it don't trust him please. I hate Elias sososososo much and this episode has like all the reasons <3.

Your obedient servant,

landscaping-your-mind

[b3114d0nn4]

[first of all, what an extraordinarily kind response to the inane ramblings of another internet rando! thank YOU!!

and yes you're definitely right about the hex not wearing pants! amir specifically makes references to not wearing pants anymore. i still find it curious that lettie is showing so much "bare" skin and part of that could very well have just been an aesthetic choice on the designers' behalf -- maybe she just looked goofy with longer socks and actual boots, they wanted to show off more of her scarring, etc -- but it still makes me wonder about temperature regulation for her & the other hex. like please lettie i feel bad about about bringing you out in the winter, put on some damn leg warmers or something

and that would be a very interesting little twist! i think that would be very plausible, especially given how the oldest frames generally look very similar to their non-prime counterparts -- excal, mag, and volt prime in particular are near-identical to their base versions, but with a few extra metallics. the transformation for them wouldn't be that much of a leap!

AND SERIOUSLY the lobster tail is weird! it's hard to tell if it's even really attached to her. there's padding around it that isn't present in the base skin, but that could be a temporary thing to prevent chafing, especially since she has all that additional equipment to support. but i DO wonder what the "original" purpose of the tail was, since on her base skin it LOOKS purely ornamental.

and i wouldn't put it past the orokin to add stuff to a frame just because they thought it looked neat! but i think it'd be fun if there was actually some biological function to it. why give her an armored tail instead of making her whole body armored? most of trinity's "skin" is smooth, but her tail is all wrinkled. does it have a relatively high surface area for a reason? is it used for temperature regulation? or if we want to run with the lobster analogy, is there any gill-like tissue in there that allows for gas exchange?

would these be features the orokin "installed" in her genome for some reason (to make her more versatile in extreme conditions, maybe)? features left over from the earlier stages of development that weren't detrimental enough to her effectiveness to be spliced out? features that the helminth evolved independently for some reason or another? much to think about!!

as for the transformation process... i'm reminded of one of ballas' lines from the vitruvian, where he talks about skin "blossoming" into sword-steel. not a lot of reason to take what ballas says at face value, but we do see a lot of scarring on the hex where it looks like their human skin is pretty much splitting apart -- lettie's legs, of course, and amir and eleanor's faces. and the vitruvian DOES show images of someone mid-transformation and that's not very pretty.

so even for very "simple" frames like excalibur, it seems the human skin is sloughed off in some way (this may be how lettie's frame-skin is slowly creeping down her legs), or the new "skin" erupts from beneath it, as opposed to what's already there just being hardened. ouch!! but it could certainly vary from strain to strain, frame to frame, person to person. the subject shown in the vitruvian could have been one from very early trials of the helminth strain. perhaps the process is streamlined later?

this ALSO calls to question the timeline for how quickly the transformation actually happens. i'm under the vague impression that for the hex, the changes from the first injections were more or less complete in a matter of hours at most, though i don't think we get a concrete answer. and in the 99 comic, when they take the serum from albrecht, there's a moment where they're all severely mutated, and then snap back to normal... but that might also be unique to the serum albrecht used and not in line with how a frame is "traditionally" made...

i can definitely see itchiness being a problem where the new skin meets the old. like when you have a sunburn and it gets itchy... i imagine that the protoframes, since they're only partially transformed, would have had generic symptoms of illness or allergic reactions because of their infections as well. at least until the infestation hijacked their immune systems too! fever, swollen lymph nodes, scratchy throat, runny sinuses, rashes or hives... a wide array of problems they could have in addition to just pain!!]

[ @heartsnbruises this IS an interesting question, and i hope you don't mind me elaborating way more than is necessary

personally, i think that no, lettie does not favor kneeling on her left knee -- primarily because the knee plate is a bit pointed, and looks like it juts out quite a bit from her shin even when her leg is bent. kneeling on that point seems like it would put a lot of pressure on the underlying bone and not provide a lot of balance.

additionally -- and this is literally just conjecture on my part -- i imagine lettie has crazy shin splint-esque pains in her legs and that that knee in particular is pretty painful, so she tries not to put weight on it. in the backroom she stands with her weight on her right leg; i thought it'd be fun to run with that.

so i can definitely see a different interpretation! but i've already put all my eggs in the "lettie's left knee is the Bad Knee" basket, and by god i'm not taking them out. someone has to suffer knee pains with me and i'm making it her problem.

now... this is going COMPLETELY off topic... but i did wonder for a bit about what the knee plate is even made of, and why lettie has it. i know the simple answer is "it's just a segment of her warframe carapace, whatever that is" but we can get whackier. because it's odd that the progression of her mutation is so asymmetrical, compared to the other hex; and on a meta level, it's odd because base trinity does NOT have pointed knee plates (trinity prime does. did lettie's designer take visual cues from trin prime? maybe!)

personally i think lettie sustained a knee injury at some point and the combination of the serum & her own regenerative powers resulted in sort of a bone spur situation where her body over-zealously started forming More Bone/other tissue to repair the damage done.

so what is the plate made of? if it's an extension of the existing bone, presumably it has a blood supply and nerve endings. is it like a true horn you would see on a goat, with a keratin sheath (or something akin to it) containing a core? can it be used for thermoregulation? is that why lettie doesn't wear any damn pants?? because she's hot all the time??? this is actually fun and i MIGHT run with this LOL

OR is this more of an antler situation? did it grow in with vascular tissue that sloughed off when the bone calcified (metallicized?), like you would see with an antler (sucks to think about)? will the plate fall off eventually? will it keep growing for the rest of her life? does she have to shave it down occasionally? if there's a keratin sheath (or if it's all keratin with no core, like a rhinoceros horn), can it eventually be worn down to resemble base trinity's flatter knee pads? i don't know! when it comes to protoframe specbio i'm flying by the seat of my pants LOL]

[ladyvader23]

Darth Vader’s Unplanned Conversation

Thanks to @kittandchips for the prompt idea: How would Vader handle the twins thinking one of them was unplanned and therefore unwanted? Such delicious angst and fluff put this immediately on the list to write! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was so rare that Vader arrived home before the twins did. But today, he’d managed to sneak away early, and he was home, having just dismissed Miss Laena for the day, waiting for his children’s arrival. He was not a traditional father, by any means, but he still enjoyed family time with his young ones. He didn’t know what they’d do; perhaps he’d take them on a ride in one of his newest ships. Luke would love that, and Leia might even, too, though she wasn’t usually as vocal about it. 

Then again, it was a school night. If he was being a good father, he’d sit with them and help with their homework. 

The possibilities were endless. He just hoped his Master continued to leave him alone for the evening. 

He sensed the twins arriving long before they even arrived on property. Their chauffeur would arrive in the hangar soon, drop them off, and they’d be heading up. He’d surprise them in the hallway, he decided, moving into position. He doubted he’d really surprise them; even untrained, Luke and Leia had a habit of being able to at least know when he was home. 

He continued to keep tabs on them until they were in the lift heading for the apartment. He tried to make himself less intimidating, not wishing them to think they were in trouble, and he’d managed what he assumed was a comfortable pose by the time the lift doors opened and in walked Luke and Leia. 

They immediately paused, looking at him with...admittedly, odd looks. Then, to his confusion, Leia glared, throwing her bag aside. He was about to remind her to put it away in the designated spot when she stormed up to him and crossed her arms. “So. Which one of us did you not want?!” 

Vader blinked down at his little girl, just seven years old, completely surprised by the accusation. Then, he looked up at Luke, reaching out through their bond to try to get more information, only to be flooded with feelings of hurt and sadness. Luke, at least, tried to hide it as he put his bag away in the appropriate cubby. 

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” He replied, finally, looking back at his daughter. “Explain.” 

But Leia huffed, and instead of explaining anything, stormed around him and off towards her room. “Fine! Don’t answer, then!” 

And before he had a chance to react, she’d entered her room, the door swishing closed behind her. 

Vader stared after her, even more confused than before, and turned back to Luke. “Explain.” he demanded. Usually his son was more willing to offer more information--or at least, he was easier to coerce. 

But Luke didn’t reply with anything but a shrug. “Nothing. Just girl stuff, I guess.” 

“Do not lie to me!” He snapped, instantly sensing the lie. “You may not be yelling at me, but I know I have apparently done something to upset the both of you. Now explain.” 

He expected Luke to cave, especially as he pressed along their bond...but Luke shook his head, and he too, walked past him. “I don’t want to know.” Was all he mumbled. 

It was a good thing Vader didn’t have any hair left. He might have started pulling it out. He’d learned long ago that bullying his children into answering him like they were some kind of rebel wasn’t the answer, nor was using the Force on them. Parenting books didn’t exactly say using the Force on children was bad, but based on their guidelines, he’d made the assumption himself. 

Still. It was too bad, especially as Luke too, shut himself in his room. 

Vader stood glaring at the doors, wondering how the fun night he’d had planned for them had turned so randomly...angsty. He tried to wrack his brain for anything he might have done to make Leia think he didn’t want one of them. Nothing came to mind--as far as he was concerned, he’d shown far more affection to them than he had anyone else. In fact, using a rare free evening to want to spend time with them was proof enough that he more than wanted both of his children. But children weren’t logical beings; there was plenty of evidence of that. 

He squared his shoulders, deciding which twin to face. Usually the answer was Luke...but this time, the Force seemed to pull him in the direction of Leia’s room. 

Leia it was, then. 

Yet he paused before entering, taking a moment to make sure he was as calm as a Sith Lord could be. Leia, as much as he cared for her, had a talent for making him angry in the blink of an eye. That never ended well when he was attempting to get something out of her, be it information or cooperation on her chores. As soon as he felt like he could handle anything she would throw at him, he entered the room. 

Surprisingly, the room was dark. She hadn’t bothered turning on the lights. He didn’t need infrared sensors in his eye plates to know she was stretched out face-first on her bed, head buried in her pillow. He could very clearly sense that himself, and the emotion coming from her was no longer anger, but...intense sadness. 

Again he tried to think of anything he might have done or said and honestly could think of nothing. So, tentatively, careful of the toys left on the floor, he made his way over to her bed. Though he usually preferred to stand, he winced as he sat down on the small child-size bed, his joints groaning in pain. 

Something else he’d noticed since becoming a father: children liked it when you got down on their level to talk to them. He rarely did it, but this seemed like the appropriate moment for it, though he still didn’t know why. 

“Leia.” 

He wished his vococorder allowed for him to speak gently to her. 

She didn’t stir. The only response was a muffled, “Go away.” 

“I will not. Not until you tell me what is wrong.” Silence. Wishing he could sigh, he looked up at the ceiling, trying to maintain control of his impatience. “I cannot help unless you tell me what the problem is.” 

Suddenly Leia sat upright, whirling to face him, and he was startled to find tears running down her face as she shouted, “I know you only wanted one of us, okay!” 

That statement did nothing to clear up Vader’s confusion, but her tears...Force, he hated it when she cried. He was reduced to feeling helpless, like anything he did would just make it worse. He doubted she knew the effect her tears had on him, and he hoped she never figured it out or he was doomed. 

Hell, he hoped the Emperor never figured it out. 

“I do not understand what you mean by that. You...can you explain?” 

It was so rare that he asked for information instead of demanded it. It seemed to be the right choice of words, however, because though she glared and looked away from him, she elaborated. 

“Kenny asked which one of us you didn’t want because mommy’s and daddy’s only plan for one baby.” 

Vader frowned, still trying to figure out the logic, then when he did, hot fury flashed through him, fury that he had to clamp down on to keep from scaring his daughter, or worse, giving her the wrong impression. 

“Kenny who?!” 

“Kenny Albrecht.” Leia replied glumly. “Is it Luke? He likes more of the same stuff you do.” 

He...had murdered children before, but he was far less likely to do so now that he had his own. As soon as he was done fixing this mess, he’d definitely be giving Kenny’s parents a surprise call. The thought of their faces when they realized who was calling was almost enough to cheer him up. 

Almost. 

“Come.” He stood, again wincing at the strain on his joints the movement caused. “It would appear this is a conversation for the both of you.” 

He expected Leia to resist, but she thankfully followed, her head hung as if she were somehow in trouble. He did not miss her sniffles, and each one was like a knife to his chest. 

Yes. He would definitely make sure Kenny Albrecht knew never to bother his children again. 

They entered Luke’s room. Luke, at least, had turned on the light, and he was building a toy ship model, though not very enthusiastically. He looked up when they entered, and Vader felt the normally cheery attitude of his son plummet further. 

Vader crossed over to the bed and again sat down, facing both of them. “Come here.” He pointed at the spot in front of him. They were so small, even sitting down he towered over them. 

They thankfully complied, though Luke shot Leia a look. “I don’t want to--” 

“You will listen carefully. Both of you. Am I clear?” He waited until they nodded, though Luke did so reluctantly. To even think his children had been so affected by stupid Kenny who was far beneath them--

“It is true that your...your mother and I did not know we were expecting twins.” He didn’t want to talk about Padme, not ever, but he found his children forced the subject more often than not. He would never get used to the pain it caused him, but if it helped them… “We...wanted to be surprised when you were born. I did not know…” he hadn’t yet told them the circumstances surrounding their birth and how he’d almost lost them. He wasn’t about to tell them now. “I did not know until you were born. But not for one moment did I ever consider not wanting either of you. In fact, the moment I laid eyes on both of you, I knew you were meant to be mine.” 

He couldn’t help the fierce possessiveness in his voice. They were his. How dare anyone suggest he’d ever want otherwise?! 

“While our interests may be different, you and I do share many similarities in our personalities.” He told Leia specifically. “I do not need nor want you to like everything I like. You are perfect the way you are.” 

Leia’s lower lip trembled, but she nodded and he sensed her calming down. 

“You do not need to know who it was I didn’t want because there is no such thing. I want and need both of you.” He told Luke. Luke let out a breath, his shoulders slumping in relief. 

“This Kenny Albrecht is an idiot...and yes, I know that is not a nice word, but it is true!” He had to be careful what language he use around the twins because otherwise they’d use it at school and he’d get phone calls from their teacher. It was stupid, and he doubted the teacher liked calling him, but there must have been some rule at the school requiring it. 

Carefully, he opened up his bond with both of them so they could feel his sincerity and the genuine fatherly affection he had for both of them. He paused, marveling at how bright and innocent they were as they clumsily probed the emotions he allowed them to see. It was clear they didn’t understand all of them, being so young, so he bit back his pride, and said, “There is nothing and no one else in this galaxy that I love more than the two of you. Do not ever let anyone make you forget that.” 

He very rarely ever said the “L” word. It was not in the nature of the Sith to do so. If the Emperor ever found out, there would be trouble. But when there were important moments when he needed his children to understand the severity of what he was saying, he would say what was necessary. 

Tonight, it was necessary. 

Immediately, the twins launched themselves into his arms, and he held them close as they grasped onto him for dear life, as if they had genuinely been afraid that somehow Kenny’s idiotic comment would make him remember he didn’t want one of them and give them away. The thought made him clench his teeth, and absently he ruffled both of their hair to calm himself down. 

“Now. I am home early. I wished to do something fun with the both of you.” 

Luke perked up, looking hopeful. “Like fly?” 

He couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, son. Like fly. Maybe we can pick up some treats on the way home.” 

The thought of him walking into a treat shop with his wide-eyed children was a bit ridiculous, but if it meant making his children forget about Kenny and his stupidity, he’d make it happen. 

“Okay!” Leia grinned. “I want Jogan ice cream!” 

“It will be done.” He stood. “Now go and get ready. I have a call to make.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I take prompts! <3 

[revchainsaw]

The Crow (1994)

Alright Cult of Cult. Do I really need to introduce this one? Let's get all 90s and gothy and maybe brace ourselves for a bit of cringe, but like in a fun way. It's the Holy Grail of Hot Topic, 1994's the Crow Starring Brandon Lee.

Sermon

Apparently before the auto industry totally crashed Detroit was already a total fucked to death pile of burning shit, or at least that's what the crow would have you believe. Sorry Bruce Campbell, and other people from Detroit, but mostly Bruce Campbell. According to the Crow the city of Detroit is the kind of place where gangs of warlock anarchist arsonists will bomb buildings, and murder and rape whoever they feel like and then walk around bragging about it the next day with absolutely zero consequences. Funny then that if Detroit was so bad they had to go to film this movie in Wilmington North Carolina which is definitely a fucked to death pile of burning shit. I can say that, I'm from there and I got the fuck out. My brother is going to kill me if he ever reads this. (It's okay, these are all jokes people). Did you know they also filmed the Super Mario Bros movie there ... also cuz they needed a really shitty looking distopia. Moving on ...

The ludicrous criminality of the Crow's Detroit is particularly on display on Halloween. In Detroit (apparently) Halloween is known as Devils Night and it's legitimately just a night of pure lawlessness and chaos and kids aren't even safe to get candy, except later when we do see trick or treaters. Eric Draven, hunky goth rocker who sort of looks like he could be Bruce Lee's Kid and his fiance are murdered by a gang of vicious criminals. One year hence, Eric is resurrected by a mystical crow (that is actually a Raven), to exact his revenge on the gang that murdered him.

He paints his face like sad Alice Cooper and refuses to listen to Joy Division, just covers. He murders Tin Tin (a knife guy) just for his long gothy duster, he murders Fun Boy and forcibly ejects heroine from her arms and tells her "Go be a good mom now" which actually works. (have I told you about our Lord and Savior Sting? He gave me the strength to get off drugs), he blows T Bird up dick first, and then comes for Skab? Scraap? Scooby? in a meeting of all of Detroits villains and just about kills them all.

He is supported by the most 90s little girl to have ever graced the screen, and I am here for it, and Officer Albrecht, who's played by Ernie Hudson but I like to call him Zeddemore: The Most Underrated Ghostbuster. The leader of the bad guys, who I cannot beleive wasn't played by Brad Dourif or Tom Waits, is pretty interested in the occult. He keeps his witchy girlfriend around and she makes him fun dishes like smoked eyeballs, and her main use is that she knows that the Crow is the Crows weakness. They set Tony Fucking Todd on the bird, and I guess you just have to hurt the bird and not kill it, and Eric loses his healing factor and other macabre undead powers.

The Crow, Jimmy the Raven, pecks out Dr. Girlfriends eyeballs, I honestly forget how Tony Todd gets offed, and Top Dollar gets Gargoyled (that is impaled on a gargoyle). Funnily enough that is more Gargoyle related impaling on screen then in the actual movie Gargoyle: Wings of Darkness where a Gargoyle is supposed to have impaled a guy.

The Benediction

Best Feature: Injustice League

In the Crow we have not only a set of super memorable villains but they are played by the bad guy all stars. John Polito as the most lowly of the bad guys as a kind of sleazy pawn shop owner who buys ill gotten gains. Tony Todd, who's size is really on display here, the freaking Candy Man is in this movie. T Bird is the head of Top Dollars goons and is played by David Patrick Kelly, you might know as the "Warriors Come Out and Play!!" bottle guy from the Warriors, or as Jimmy Horne from Twin Peaks, and of course Top Dollar himself is played by Michael Wincott. Wincott is not a particularly celebrated actor but has played villains effectively in Robin Hood, the Three Musketeers, and Dead Man.

Best Set Piece: Detroit Style Hot Dogs

The Set design of the Crow is perhaps one of it's most fantastic features. It's very moody and ethereal. It's just real enough to not take you out of the film, but fantastic enough to set mood and theme above realism. From Eric Draven's apartment, to the church where the final battle occurs they are all fantastic. I think that's why I really wanted to shine the spot light on a very minor set piece that would get nary a mention but just as effectively represents the qualities I was just talking about and that is the Maxi Doggs Hot Dog Stand, where a lot of the films exposition for audience surrogates takes place.

Worst Effect: Freeze Frame

At a few points in the movie the film makers made a strange decision to do these freeze frame transitions. I only noticed it twice in the movie where it was particularly stupid. I'm sure the film makers at the time thought it was a moody and atmospheric choice that highlighted the suffering that Eric Draven was going through, but it didn't age well. If you don't have the sensibilities of a goth girl from 1994 then it's very very hard not to laugh at just how self involved the movie is about it's super sadness.

Worst Feature: Tragic Accident

Solely based on the film itself, it is that very gothic and dated sensibility that hurts the Crow. The little sarcastic dance he does when he flees the police, quoting Edgar Allen Poe, and bowing to Albrecht. These affected behaviors that I'm sure seemed snarky and right on to the target audience only serve to make Eric Draven seem like an unbearable neck beard edgelord and not the troubled dark soul he's supposed to be. I'm sure at the time it seemed unique and gothy but that shit went out of style for good reason, people could see through it. It's a shame that the Crow himself was some of the cringiest parts of this movie now that I'm seeing it as an adult and not a 13 year old middle class boy with no real problems.

This however is not the low point of the movie. It's not news now and if you're reading some dudes review of The Crow on Tumblr then you probably already know the story. The worst thing about The Crow is that Brandon Lee was horrifically killed on set while filming this movie due to some negligible prop malfunctions. A series of unfortunate events that lead to the actor spending 6 hours in surgery fighting for his life before eventually passing. It was not a quick or painless death and it's really impossible to watch the movie without an appreciation for the fact that this kind of fun dark adventure was going to be a vehicle for Brandon Lee's career wound up taking his life. He was 28. I really wish I could have just bitched about the goofy goth stuff and moved on, but that's not the world we live in.

Best Effect: The Gargoyling

Maybe I should have called this best kill. But I'm not sure which it is. The slaying of Top Dollar at the Climax of the film was just super effective. The pointed wings impaling his chest and that horn coming out of his mouth, it was morbid and excellent and just fit the tone of the movie perfectly. I mean how many other movies can you say Cause of Death: Impaled on a Gargoyle.

Best Bird: The Raven

I tried very hard to look up the name of the bird that primarily performed in this movie and could not find anything. There was a Raven once upon a time called Jimmy the Raven, but that was in the 50s and I don't think birds live that long. There was a team of Ravens performing as the crow, they were chosen over crows for their larger size, and more imposing silhouettes. I just think it's so wonderful to see these often maligned birds get a chance to show off their talents. Corvids of all kinds are incredibly intelligent creatures. Im a sucker for animals, if you haven't already figured that out. I really liked seeing the ravens hit their marks, particularly the one whos job it was to drop the wedding ring into Sarah's hand at the end of the film. You can see that greedy little bastard do his trick and then look of camera at his trainer like "treat please!". It's very cute.

Best Actor: Top Dollar Performance

I'd love to take this opportunity to just put praise upon Brandon Lee, he truly gave everything for this role, but unfortunately with what was put to film we actually have very few character moments with Eric Draven. Stuff happens to him, and he does killings and fights. There's definitely some personality, but I felt like I walked away knowing almost nothing about who Eric Draven was. He was clearly a good dude but that and a few hobbies and a relationship and you don't really have a character yet. He's unfortunately not given a lot of acting to do, instead just relegated to stunts and action sequences. That were notably cool.

The bad guys in the Crow have a lot more character and among this who's who of character actors, Michael Wincott takes the cake. Hell he was standing next to Candyman himself, Tony Todd and still stealing the scenes.

Best Character: A Few Good Apples

Is the best character in The Crow really going to be the cop? The commissioner Gordon stand in? yeah, it is. Not to be political, but I don't like cops, but I guess in a world with magical birds and eyeball smoking I can suspend my disbelief and let Ernie Hudson be #1 cop dad. His character is really the heart of the film, since all Eric can do is brood and fight, we have to care about someone in this movie.

Best Sequence: Halloween Party

The best sequence of the movie is of course the scene where Eric Draven busts in on the Devil's Night party planning commission. I think Top Dollar brought Scrappy Doo there just so he could lure out the crow, knowing the baddest assholes in all of Detroit would be gathered it was likely that somebody was going to kill the beast, or if they couldn't at least Top Dollar could get a feel for his enemy. It's a bullet flying action sequence with a ton of weight. I can't put my finger on this all to common weightless third act problem that big budget super hero and action flicks have nowadays, but whatever that issue is, the Crow does not have that issue. From this point on the Climax feels earned and I am invested. For that reason, The Crow is honestly better in spite of its awkwardness, than many of the super hero movies out today.

Worst Sequence: My Guitar Gently Weeps

Speaking of brooding or fighting. The best sequence was fighting, the worst is brooding. I get that Eric was in a band or something, but didn't he have shit to do. It seemed like it was a cool idea for a shot, but for like a whole seen, watching somebody play an 80s guitar solo, that stood out so brazenly from the choices of music in the rest of the movie was extra corny. It felt like someone's( dad trying to relate to their kid. Oh you like Music. The Dresden Dolls eh? Oh man, then you're going to love Slash's Snake Pit!

Summary

The Crow is dated. It is iconic but I wonder how many of the people that hang that poster on the wall have watched that movie since they were kids. It's interesting how what i've liked and disliked about this film have changed so much sense I was a kid. It's a cheeseball fiesta. If you have matured at all beyond thinking that being sad is the same as being deep then you're going to like it a little less than you did when you were younger, but it is still solid. There's not much to hate on. I'd watch it over and over again. I was really afraid it would not hold up at all, but returning to The Crow was a completely positive experience.

Overall Grade: B

[shortredselfships]

Is That a Threat?

Warning: There is implied child abuse, hints of violence, and suicidal/negative thoughts/ideation so if it ain't your thing, don't read it!

Nothing seemed to be going right for Mehra and if she were back home, there is no doubt her parents or her employer would call her something harsh. Maybe hit her for being so clumsy and stupid. And she would have deserved it.

First she had overslept, leaving Nader- no Nardel (she still thinks it's a stupid name and people are just biding their time, there is no way in hell they are this stupid, Claude-)- to handle inventory reports given by houses Ordelia, Edmund, Daphnel, Albrecht and a few others she couldn't think of at the moment. In being late to do that, she would have to make it up to him. Not only that, but Nebula missed out on his lunch and bonding time with her since she was unable to get him enough time in the forests to hunt because that's when the Immortal Corps did flight runs and they don't need a hungry white wyvern distracting them. Fortunately, Claude handled that, according to Nardel.

To make matters worse, she tripped grabbing materials for the next Alliance roundtable, getting some very precious books scuffed in the process.

Useless girl like you is better off dead, she could hear someone say. At twenty-one years old, this level of forgetfulness was simply unacceptable, especially with the war going on. One misstep and the Empire could be knocking on their door any minute.

The whole point of her leaving Almyra to help Claude was so that he wouldn't be so stressed doing it all on his own, not make his job worse.

"Maera?" Nardel's voice cut through the angry tide her thoughts had become, and she held the now slightly damaged books closer to her chest. "Master Claude wants to see you."

"Oh. Did he say why?"

"No idea. I can take those-"

"No, no, let me. You've done enough for me for today." Nardel gave her a look of concern before going on to continue with his day.

Claude was hidden beneath stacks of books, making her wonder if her hunch was wrong. "Claude?"

"Yes?" Oh. There was a tone to that. He's probably in a very bad mood. "Maera?" His head looked small peeking out from all the work and if she didn't think he was angry with her, she'd laugh at the imagery. Talk about being buried under paperwork. "I see Nardel managed to find you. And you got those books I asked for?"

"Mhmm."

"Just put them on that end table to your left." He doesn't sound as irritated as when she first stepped in the office, but it was common for authority to mask their irritation long enough for their target to get close. Claude may be one of her best friends, but he was still her former house leader, now her duke and prince. If he wanted to punish her for any little misstep, he was well within his right to do so, crest or no crest. "And can you make sure the door is locked?"

He's going to hurt me. He's going to beat me senseless for all my blunders today and toss me out by my hair, then beat me again when he sees the state those books are in. Where is my dagger? No wait-

"Earth to Maera?" Maera didn't mean to jump like she did, nor flinch, but she did, and now she has another thing to envision her beating herself for. Claude's expression softened. "Is everything ok? You've been acting weird all day."

"I am weird. Your point?" Whatever softness was there disappeared quickly as his gaze hardened. He didn't look like a tired, overworked twenty-one year old even if the dark circles and scruff said otherwise.

"Weird is preferring Derdriu's Mystery Seafood Boil over fried pheasant. Weird is thinking plain lip balm tastes good. Weird is brushing your teeth immediately before eating breakfast." He grips her shoulders, and it hurts. It hurts and it takes more strength not to react than it would to push him off. Not that she should or could in the rare moment he got like this. But it wasn't towards her before. "What isn't weird, is saying you deserve to die because you're having an off day!" How did he even know she was thinking that?

"Claude, I am twenty-one years old, not twelve. These are rookie mistakes and those can cost us! I don't want my forgetfulness to launch us further into a war you aren't ready for! I came to help you, not make things worse!" Now he was shaking her.

"I- Are you insane?! We've had this discussion before!" Ah yes, when he threatened to kiss her for insulting herself back during their Academy days, then making good on that threat about a year ago. "You're not expendable, you know!" She should, but she doesn't think she matters unless she is being useful. Sleeping in is to be useless. Forgetting to feed the wyvern you both are raising is to be useless.

"..." There were no words to said, but Claude's grip was starting to really hurt, and she can feel her fingers getting tingly and weak. Before she can comment, his grip loosens and he runs a hand through his hair. "Cla-Kha-..." There is so much she wants to tell him but the boulder in her throat makes it impossible to speak.

"You have got to stop thinking this way or-" Maera's sarcasm couldn't be held back anymore.

"What, you'll kiss me again?"

"No, worse: I'll marry you!" Maera stared at him in utter disbelief. If he was serious about marrying her, that seemed less like a punishment and more of a twisted reward. Unless he meant he wanted to have sex with her until those bad thoughts went away. Which still seemed more like an reward than punishment.

"That seems like an excuse to kiss me, anyway! You might as well become my boyfriend if that's the case!"

"But I don't-"

"Oh, so now you don't want to take responsibility for what you just said?" She's teasing now. "Claude von Reigan, you scoundrel." What looked to be another retort morphed into a sly smile.

"Ahh, no, you're trying to get me. I'm onto you." He does reach out and pull her into a hug. "But seriously though, please don't do that again. Teach would hate it if you didn't make it.." And many others. Maera returns the hug, but now her cheeks are tear-stained.

"I know. I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'll try to do better." After a beat, she looks up at Claude, but she can't see his face.

"Please don't make me think of a life without you in it. Please..."

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Taylor!

You have been accepted for the role of non-biography character LYDIA AVERY with the faceclaim of Margot Robbie! We were excited to see your discussion of nice doesn’t always equal right and how Lydia’s motivations throughout her life stem from this constant need to be liked. We love a good underestimated character and we think Lydia will be able to help the Order immensely with her knowledge! So happy to have you apart of this roleplay!  

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Taylor

AGE: 28

TIMEZONE: EST, Toronto time

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I try to check the dash and discord every day, but I’m probably low to mid activity. I usually post one or two times during the week and then catch up on the weekends.

ANYTHING ELSE: I’m pretty good about all triggers, though I would appreciate a heads up with any suicide mentions. As long as it’s tagged or I’m prepared I’m good though!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Lydia Augustine Avery

AGE: 25

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis Female, She/Her & Lesbian

That doesn’t mean she won’t flirt with a man to boost their ego. Men treat you so much nicer when they think you might sleep with them! Sometimes she wonders why that is, but then she remembers it’s probably one of the reasons she loves women so damn much.

Her sexuality was never exactly a secret, though it’s not something she flaunts in this day and age. Though as a teenager she had been a bit confused about her lack of interest in the men who thought she was so lovely. The hands she’d let grope her as a teenager, the cocks she’d found mediocre. She figured that her preference was as fluid as her personality; she wanted to be liked by everyone, and therefore she must like everyone, right? It took her a minute (she’s a bit slow in most things), but eventually she realized that she really only liked women. They’re truly lovely, aren’t they?

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood Half-blood.

Lydia’s mixed wix and muggle heritage means that she is not biologically related to the mother that raised her, Colette Avery, and is a half sister to Margaret. But while Lydia knew she was a bastard child, she didn’t realize she was a half-blood! Even Colette was unaware until recently that her husband was unfaithful with a dirty muggle of all things! Alphonse’s affair lasted more than a few weeks while travelling with a woman in France named Delphine Marchand. She worked in a bakery and loved to figure skate. Her pureblood father knows nothing of her muggle mother’s heritage, or much of her history in general - and when she finds out he gives Lydia next to nothing in terms of knowledge of her mother, in fear that Lydia would have the urge to venture into the muggle world he saved her from to find her.    

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

“What? A nice girl like you, you’re not from Slytherin!”

“Slytherins can be nice! I take offense to that, sir.” Lydia grins back, her face not showing an ounce of what she claimed - though she had a skill for always appearing unflustered and approachable. A thick skin was needed when you were kind to everyone, a strength that people often forgot. The man takes her charm as flirting, a common occurrence and leans against her desk.

“Really, I can’t name a single Slytherin I’ve known for being so sweet.”

“Well then you haven’t been hanging around the right people. Besides, now you know me!”

ANY CHANGES: Nope

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Without knowing Lydia you may assume she’s unapproachable. The perfect poise, plush pout, sacred name, and during school her emerald green banner colours, tend to give the stereotypical impression of a mean girl. But Lydia Avery is far from it.

One of Lydia’s key goals in life is to be liked, and in her experience growing up, the best way to be liked is to be kind. She genuinely enjoys making people happy, and through this has gained a warmth and a charm that disarms many. Not a stranger to compliments or generous acts, she’s the first to make a pot of tea for a group or start doing dishes as a guest.

Many have taken advantage of Lydia through the ages, as along with her kindness she has a dislike for confrontation and will rarely call someone out as being rude or manipulative. In her teenage years she was the seat warmer or the errand runner, and as a secretary for a powerful Ministry man she hasn’t really grown out of this just yet. There’s a meekness to her willingness to do someone else’s dirty work, and she’s easily talked into situations that she might not be if she had a stronger backbone.

Despite her lack of confrontational skills, she’s grown a thick skin. A bit of I’m rubber and you’re glue inner philosophy, she tends to take words as just words. With snarky comments given to her over the years from her “mother” Colette she has an inner belief that insulting people don’t actually dislike you and almost anyone can be won over. It’s naive, but it’s helped her stay relatively optimistic! While insults like Lydiot are demeaning and she definitely doesn’t like them, she’s a fantastic actress and it rarely shows on her face when she’s upset or thinking negative thoughts. Her self-consciousness is internal and there’s power in appearing unphased by cruelty (though some may think she’s just too dim to understand it was insulting in the first place - and to be frank, sometimes that is the case).

This ability to hold a facade is one of her greatest strengths. Lydia has been acting her entire life! A family secret since she was born, allowing Colette to bounce snarky underhanded comments at her with the appearance that she was unphased has set her up as unexpectedly valuable. She’s able to charm the right people, and quietly observe unnoticed. She’s able to keep a straight face with a creep’s hand on her knee, and recite lines without stumbling. Her charm, mixed with her attractiveness, work as a glamour and despite being someone in the room that almost everyone notices - most of the time she’s hidden in plain sight.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Alphonse Avery, Father - Shopkeep, A Very Spellbinding Book Shop

Alphonse Avery is a proud man. Not because of his riches, but because he’s built what he has from the ground up, no thanks to his drunken, gambling father. Raised in a wealthy home, he remembers what it was like to be waited on by house elves and invited to banquets, but also recalls losing it all during his days in Hogwarts. Sometimes he is even still bitter about it all, he often butts heads with his father whom he rarely speaks with anymore, and sometimes with his brother Albrecht who still puts Lydia’s grandfather in high regards. Though he isn’t a muggle sympathizer, Alphonse thinks there’s more than just pure blood that makes someone worth looking up too.

Colette Avery, Step-mother - Shopkeep , A Very Spellbinding Book Shop

Colette is not an unreasonable woman. Honorable even, raising the outcome of her husband’s affair. She loves her husband, but it wasn’t to say they always saw eye to eye. Their marriage was an arranged one, and therefore they don’t particularly show the chemistry expected of a loving partnership, but when it comes to supporting her family she’ll do what’s best for them. Even when Lydia is looking up at her with blue eyes that don’t match their own, a sharp reminder that at one point in her life she hadn’t been good enough. She’s curt with Lydia, and never shies away from constructive criticism or feels the need to sugarcoat. The fawning she does over Minnie is something Lydia has always longed for growing up and when she can please Colette it’s a good day.

Margaret “Minnie” Avery, Half Sister

Minnie has alway been the pet of the family. Colette’s true born daughter, the favourite, the rightful Avery. While this might make any other person resent their sister, Lydia adores her little sister. While others may call her mousey in her looks, she’s wickedly smart and can always make Lydia laugh with her slightly dark humour. She has the same eye for politics, but while Lydia had always been one for schmoozing, Minnie never bothered and instead has always had a sense of self worth that Lydia has been proud of her sister for.

Albrecht Avery, Uncle - Death Eater

Alphonse’s younger brother. A true believer in his father’s beliefs that everything bad that has ever happened to them is because of muggles or muggle borns, and doesn’t understand Alphonse’s lack of sympathy towards his father. It wasn’t a crime to gamble, after all! The mudblood that won their family fortune was a no good, rotten thief. He had to have cheated, after all. How else could he have won that game? No way he’d been more talented or intelligent then an Avery! While Albrecht and Alphonse don’t always see eye to eye, Lydia has known her Uncle Al her entire life. Loud, outgoing, demeaning, and cunningly cruel with underhanded compliments. Lydia and her sister have rarely felt comfortable around their uncle - who found the fact that his brother had daughters just another point to why he’d done better than him.

Arcturus Avery, Cousin - Presumed Death Eater

Arcturus and Lydia were always the closest in age. She’s always seen him as the closest thing to a brother she’s ever had, and when she finally reached the age to attend Hogwarts she’d been delighted that she’d made it into his house too! Her older cousin always had the confidence of his father, and as he aged, his bossiness grew more and more. He knew all of the tricks to get Lydia to do his bidding - though it didn’t take much really - and his treatment of her resembles gaslighting. Cute nicknames one moment, insults the next. Building her up just to knock her down. Leaving her out of the fun just to make her want to be included. As she’s aged she’s grown less comfortable with his values, but she doesn’t realize that Arcturus or his father are Death Eaters.

Delphine Marchant, Biological mother - Muggle

There’s not much to be said about Lydia’s birth mother. She doesn’t know anything really at all. The woman is a faceless entity, but Alphonse has been smitten in his short time trying to woo the french woman in the bakery, who always smelled of cinnamon. She doesn’t remember Alphonse, or even Lydia - for he’d done her a kindness and wiped her memory clean before stealing her child.

OCCUPATION:

Formerly a washed out actress, she now works in the Ministry as part of the Wizengamot Administrative Services as secretary for the honourable Wizengamot Judge Perryweather, a member of the High Court of Magic

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

It’s all so new and fresh, she’s barely a member - still in the affiliate stage. This is the closest Lydia has ever been to having a mind of her own and standing up for her beliefs. Honestly, this is the closest Lydia has had to realizing she truly has beliefs! It hasn’t fully clicked what exactly she’s doing and what sort of risk she’s taking. That being said, I think she’s going to be intoxicated by the sudden realization that she can make choices and have thoughts that don’t simply parrot what she thinks other people want to hear, and when that starts to unravel who knows what’s going to happen??  

That being said, it’s going to take something big for people to take Lydiot Avery seriously in The Order!

SURVIVAL:

Lydia is lucky enough to have a good family name and a Ministry job. Her heritage is a secret, and as Judge Pennyweather’s beloved secretary she’s practically invisible. She resides in a small studio flat in London, not far from the Ministry where she lives alone and sometimes

RELATIONSHIPS: I’m not exactly sure what people have in mind but here are a few possible ideas!

Maurice Creevey

A person who is practically the opposite of people-pleasing Lydia, it was Maurice’s pirated broadcasts that brought the fact that there was truly a rebellion fighting against everything that is happening without waiting for the slow-moving and corrupt bureaucracy. Lydia rarely says anything that might upset anyone, but when she meets the muggleborn who fights it all with words broadcasted out to the world she can’t help but like a moth to a flame. She could learn a lot, but it also might get her burned.

Branwen Yaxley

Branwen scares the shit out of Lydia. In your face, opinionated and bigotted, she’s not exactly Lydia’s cup of tea. Her worst fear is that Branwen (or anyone really) truly finds out about her muggle mother, but it doesn’t stop her from treating the woman with the same kindness and showers her with the same amount of compliments that everyone receives. Though Lydia’s sure that one of these days a comment on how lovely her hair looks today might end her up with a black eye.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

I don’t have any particular ships in mind, but I’m personally open to anything. Lydia is a sucker for attention, and takes any form of it as good. She wants to be liked by as many people as possible, which means she’s a bit of a pushover and can be easily taken advantage of. I’d love to see this either taken advantage of, or for once someone to stick up for her and show her that she’s worth more. Or both? Both is good! I’m down for it all. Unrequited love, heartbreak, fluff (though not too much fluff that’s boring!)

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Despite the new found information that Lydia is not actually a pureblood, she has lived her entire life with the privilege of being one. A strong family name means something in wizarding Britain and up until recently she could stay safely on the sidelines without worrying about who won the war. She’d still be safe and sound no matter what. But now her sense of self is dwindling even further, fragile as it already was with the title of bastard in her mother’s eyes, Lydia is now seeing the world as what it truly is - and realizing why her father had kept it such a secret for so long. Not even his family would really understand, would they?

And while Lydia is kind to everyone she meets, it doesn’t necessarily mean she’s always understood her privilege and can be rather dim in the area of realizing how truly well-off she’s been all of these years. Her Slytherin school mates, mixed with her pureblood family, and her lack of heroic or confrontational nature means that up until now she’s never stood up for her beliefs - and she’s been in a place where she’s never had to really have them. It’s selfish, that she’s suddenly turning to the “good guys” as a mix of self-preservation and a realization that there are no innocent bystanders. This war affects everyone, and she had to be a sudden target to realize it.

Also, unrelated to blood, but Lydia has always had the privilege of being pretty. It’s vain, she knows, but as far as she is concerned listening to a pretty girl try and be humble about their looks makes you want to punch them in the nose - so she isn’t going to point at hidden pores or say she needs to lose weight when she knows she doesn’t. Lydia learned very early into puberty that there is a sort of power in being attractive. People like you more, it’s just a simple fact, and Lydia wants to be liked! And so she’s always used this key attribute to her advantage. Batting her eyelashes, sending a splendid smile, and maybe wearing a low cut top if she really wanted to distract you. It’s unfortunate, and she doesn’t believe she’s really more valuable than anyone else for it, but hey! If it works, it works.

And history told her, it usually did. Sometimes too well. Lydia’s keen ability to read a room and be able to charm people sometimes works a little too well, and men often can’t keep their eyes off of her assets. While she sometimes uses this to her advantage, it’s also fairly revolting that many men treat a woman more kindly if they’re attractive. They’re pigs. And while she doesn’t think all men are that way, she’s met enough to be wary of them until they prove their respectability!

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

The most job interview of job interview questions! I’m just looking forward to being in a group that I’ve been told is so creative, fun and accepting. I’ve heard nothing but good things for months but wanted to make sure I had an idea for a character that would give me the muse to do this place justice!

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

Lydia isn’t the type of person to see her value in a fight or organization like the Order’s, so I don’t see her as being a fully fledged member right away. Her just trying to reach out to someone being like “Hey, I know a thing! Maybe it will help!” is a big step for her, so I think it might be a gradual initiation that makes her a full member after a few intel drop offs.

That being said, I think once she’s done a few intel drop offs, Lydia gets hooked on being valuable and important and having morals and beliefs, and I would love for her to prove her worth or someone to challenge her place. Lydia is not someone you automatically see as valuable or a team member worth having so making her step out of her comfort zone and show her worth in a situation like that would be super fun! Risky initiation anyone??

ANYTHING ELSE? Nope!

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:

PAST:

Lydia Avery has almost always had a secret. From the day she was born, her secret had been kept; or as her father would put it, their family secret. You see, while her father Alphonse loved his wife Colette dearly, it did not mean that he had always been faithful. So when he brought home a beautiful baby girl one stormy evening from his ventures in France - freshly plucked from her mother’s arms (a well casted obliviate to spare her from the heartache) - Colette was less than enthused.

“She’s an Avery!” Her father had argued. His duty to take care of his own. Colette allowed it, she was a reasonable woman after all, and wouldn’t flaunt the embarrassment of infidelity. Therefore Lydia was raised as Colette’s child, and the rest of the world knew nothing different - but as much as she wasn’t a cruel woman, Colette also didn’t want Lydia to believe that she was hers. And so Lydia, and eventually her half-sister, had always been aware of where she’d come from and that no one else should know.

Lydia’s childhood wasn’t an unhappy one - she adored her sister, and until school longed for nothing because she didn’t know anything was missing from their home on the side streets of Diagon Alley. At least nothing material. It was her “mother” who Lydia longed to impress, overly eager to please Colette in an attempt to gain maternal love. It came easy to Margaret, the polite, quiet & smart girl who never had to lie about whose womb she came from. Colette’s affection for her real daughter was like any mother’s, and Lydia would do anything to gain the same. Set the table, clean the dishes, lay her slippers at her feet. It wasn’t expected, but when she could gain a smile from Colette it was worth it! She loved making people happy, and when she made people happy, they liked her back.

People pleasing became a trait that eventually embodied Lydia, and by the time she was at school, she was eager as ever to make friends. Her passion for people to like her was her greatest ambition, and it landed her into Slytherin. Despite her lack of new robes or fancy jewellery, even for the most inconsiderate people it was hard not to like Lydia’s happy-go-lucky energy - but it also allowed her to be taken advantage of quite a bit. The pushover of the group, she was often the friend who went to save seats in class or for dinner, or fetch forgotten items that weren’t even hers in the common room.

While some of her housemates were cunning enough to use Lydia to their full advantage, her friendliness didn’t center around just them, and many of her other classmates didn’t mind her company or a friendly hello! She had a knack for making them feel special, noticing things like their artistic abilities or the lovely colour of their hair or jumper. She was also smart enough to distance herself from her friend’s bad behaviour. While Lydia didn’t excel at school (something her mother would later blame on her heritage), she’d inherited a keen eye for personal politics - and could do simple math. Most of the school (and world) liked Gryffindors, and so despite Slytherins disliking Gryffindors, she didn’t need them to dislike her back. Especially if it would mean other people would dislike her too!

And so as the years passed, she became good at slipping away or keeping her distance when her cousin Arcturus would snark insults to young muggleborns, or the other kids would pick on the Hufflepuffs. Not noticeably of course, and she wasn’t any hero who’d come to their aid - she didn’t need that target after all. No she was simply neutral, because if she was neutral then no one could dislike her, could they?

PRESENT:

One of Lydia’s great loves in magical London was the infamous Moonlight Theatre. With moving pin-ups of glamourous actors and actresses, theatre elves ushering fabulously dressed couples to their seats, and wonderfully acted performances of “Walburga & Hortense, A Tragedy In Three Parts” and “Death of a Broomsmaker”, Lydia was intoxicated.

And some of the casting agents were intoxicated by her as well. A Marylin Monroe-esque soft and breathy voice, doe-eyes and an hourglass figure, some thought Lydia was made for an audience. Even her charm translated to the stage! What better career for a woman wanting to be adored then that of one in the spotlight?

But while Lydia had been willing to kiss a few frogs, and let men do what they want with her in her younger years - the pushover side of Lydia Avery grew a bit more and more of a spine as she aged. Lydia didn’t want to let every man’s hands wander, or go on dates with the director so that he could show her off on his arm and push her into bed later that night. She wanted to steal kisses from her co-star Tabitha Bradford and slip her own hands under her skirt with permission. She wanted lipstick stains on her skin, and the smell of fresh perfume instead of cologne.

And when she finally stood up for herself, she was left re-casted and jobless - her reciprocated crush suddenly silent in fear for her own unemployment.

“It’s for the best.” Her father says, never liking the sight of his eldest daughter’s moving pictures on theatre posters or the odd tabloid. It’s the first time Lydia truly gets angry with him in a long time, another parent who isn’t proud of her, but the spat causes a slip-up that stops the girl in her tracks. “It’s better that you keep yourself out of their heads! No reason to pry, no need for them to find out what you are.”

A half-blood. Dirty. The affair he’d claimed was with at least a witch wasn’t that at all! Even Colette was unaware that while he was dilly-dallying about in his younger years, it hadn’t just been with another woman. It had been with a muggle woman. A pretty girl who worked in a bakery and knew nothing of his life back home with magic.

“A harmless romp.”, Alphonse claimed, but the look in his eyes was one with shame and a bit of confusion. Even he doesn’t fully believe it but when Lydia begs to know more he pushes her away. Force he’s never used on her before. “Get it out of your head! It’s nothing. You’re a witch and if anyone asks your blood is pure. You’re my daughter and that should be good enough.”

It’s the last they speak of it. It’s for her protection, after all. Before she thought this half-secret she’d lived all her life was for pride. At least part of it is. For Colette to not have to explain to her circle what she’d lacked. But truly he’d done it to protect her, hadn’t he? Stolen her away from the family her grandfather would loathe. He’dhidden her with a shiny pureblood status to stop those like her uncle from erasing her completely.    

Eventually she finds a position she’s good at. Simple work, taking notes and fetching lunch and running errands for Judge Perryweather. A very important man, so she was told! A person who knows all the ins and outs at the ministry, and therefore Lydia has learnt quite a few things sitting at the desk in front of his office. A smile always on her face and a kind word to the right person, and they tended to tell her things she really wasn’t supposed to know. Who was having an affair, policies they were trying to push, charged witches and wizards they had on trial. From the delivery wix to the other judges, they all know her now and she knows them! And while she’s not exactly cunning, she isn’t as dim as everyone makes her out to be! She knows when to smile and charm, when to be quiet and listen, when to pretend to be invisible. It’s an interesting job, in an interesting place - and maybe if someone saw her potential she could be useful with everything that’s happening lately.

But then again, she’s not going to overstep if she’s unwanted in that area. It’s not as if someone would ask Lydia about anything. Why would they expect her to be an expert on Perryweather’s close friendship with Lucius Malfoy, or the fact that, despite him being a proud, public supporter of the Ministry of Magic, every 2 weeks an envelope filled with gallons and a list of Muggle Sympathizers names landed on her desk for her boss.

And if she offered the unwanted information, well who would take someone like her seriously?

FC CHOICES: Margot Robbie please! If she doesn’t work Blake Lively or Meghann Fahy

[swanlake1998]

Dance Magazine Article: The Singular Elegance of American Ballet Theatre's Calvin Royal III ​

Date: June 11, 2020

By: Marina Harss

In an iPhone video of a Romeo and Juliet rehearsal made in early March, Calvin Royal III stands in a corner of an American Ballet Theatre studio, arms reaching far into space, chin slightly raised in welcoming anticipation. There is such warmth and openness in his stance, you can understand why Juliet would want to hurl herself halfway across the stage into his arms. He looks directly into the eyes of his partner, Cassandra Trenary, and then lowers her into a swoon.

"He approaches everything with a sincerity that I love," Trenary says later. "No matter what he dances, he is always authentically himself."

Royal and Trenary were meant to make their debuts in the ballet on April 4, in Abu Dhabi. The following month, he was scheduled to perform as Romeo to Misty Copeland's Juliet, and make his Albrecht debut, at New York City's Metropolitan Opera House. But then the COVID-19 crisis hit, bringing the entire world to a halt and putting all premieres on an indefinite hold.

Royal—tall, lanky, with a silken, elegant way of moving and a gentle and open stage manner—would seem ideally suited to play Romeo. There is a quiet persuasiveness to his dancing. He doesn't show off. Instead, he imbues each movement with an aura of beauty and lyricism. As Kevin McKenzie, the artistic director of the company, puts it, "Calvin has an inner light."

Romeo is a role Royal has craved since he began to study dance. At times, though, he has wondered whether the opportunity would ever arrive. Royal wasn't a prodigy. His ascent has been gradual, even painstaking at times. You get the feeling he has earned every role, every opportunity through determination and the integrity of his dancing, but without ever losing that grace that makes him such a joy to watch onstage. He is hungry without being driven by ambition.

His quietly serious way of working has been one of the constants of his career. "Slow and steady, every day a little bit better, and absolutely consistent," Raymond Lukens, who taught him at the ABT-affiliated Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis School, says of his approach.

Royal didn't get his start in ballet until age 14, at the Pinellas County Center for the Arts at Gibbs High School in St. Petersburg, Florida. Before that, he had been a serious piano student. It was his grandmother Linda, a social worker and a lover of classical music, opera and dance, who first encouraged his artistic tendencies. When he was 10, she bought him a Yamaha electric keyboard for Christmas. "I'll never forget it," she says. "He called me one Sunday morning and said, 'I want you to listen to something.' " On the other end of the line, he started to play Beethoven's Für Elise. He had learned it by ear.

Royal excelled at his piano studies, but also loved to move. For a few years, he took part in a local production called The Chocolate Nutcracker, which included hip hop, West African and other styles of dance. One of his fellow participants encouraged him to audition for the high school dance program. Without ever having taken a formal dance class, he was accepted.

There was so much to learn, he sometimes felt he might never catch up. "I think it intrigued him that ballet took so much effort," says Suzanne Pomerantzeff, his main teacher at Pinellas. The intellectual challenge drew him in as much as the physical.

That focus carried him through some difficult times at home. In his sophomore year, he injured his back in a car accident and had to sit out ballet classes for several months, excruciating given he had only just begun to make progress. He would take notes on the side, "visualizing dance in my mind," as he puts it. Dance became a lifeline, a source of steadiness and hope.

In his junior year, he competed in Youth America Grand Prix, where he was spotted by Lukens and Franco De Vita, of the JKO School. "I was immediately struck by his elegance, his musicality and his coordination," remembers De Vita, who offered him a scholarship.

After a year in the school and two and a half in ABT II (now the ABT Studio Company), he got into the main company, initially as an apprentice, at 21. He was still getting his technique where he wanted it to be—quick footwork and beats were a challenge for his long, lithe physique. ("I wanted to move like those little guys," he says, "but it wasn't easy with these legs.")

But he also wondered whether he fit the typical mold of a principal dancer at the company. "It was only when I came to New York that I started to become more aware of race in ballet," says Royal. In Florida, his ballet classes had been mixed. In New York City, less so. When he first joined ABT II, he overheard other dancers from the company making snide comments about a fellow African-American dancer there. "Oh, well, I guess they needed a black girl,' " he heard one of them say.

He began to wonder whether he might never be given the chance to prove himself as a leading man by McKenzie and the rest of the artistic staff. "Will they see me as Romeo or Albrecht? Not only because I'm black, but also because I'm gay?"

At the time, he says, the company culture was different: "There was this sense of machismo, and this idea that the guys had to look sort of like football players." Ethan Stiefel, José Manuel Carreño and other powerhouses in that vein were company stars. Just a few years earlier, in 2003, the company had put out a video, Born to Be Wild, that depicted its male dancers as testosterone-driven guys who rode motorcycles and posed as matadors.

Since that time, much has changed. Fewer international stars come through ABT; a new generation of home-bred principals has risen to the top, and they are anything but cookie-cutter. (Only one, however, is black: Misty Copeland.) Rigid notions about what Romeo or Siegfried should look like have finally begun to relax, to the benefit of the dancers.

Royal's particular qualities have been recognized and put to artistic use, especially by choreographer Alexei Ratmansky, ABT's artist in residence. In 2013, Ratmansky gave him a major role in his evening-length Shostakovich Trilogy. Three years later, he created an extra-ordinary, melancholy solo for him in Serenade after Plato's Symposium. The solo showcased the gracefulness of Royal's port de bras, the inwardness of his dancing, and his capacity to communicate thought and emotion through movement. Others have danced it, but none with the same poetry.

Royal also leads one of the three debut casts of Ratmansky's newest ballet epic, Of Love and Rage, originally scheduled to have its New York premiere during the company's spring season at the Met. That too will have to wait, for now.

The poetry in Royal's dancing is related to his deep, subtle musicality; music flows through him. It's not surprising that his partner, ABT pianist Jacek Mysinski, is a musician. Their work spills over into their downtime; Mysinski practices at home, and they talk about the ballets in the rep. When Mysinski is playing from the pit during a performance, Royal can feel his presence, he says: "It's almost like having him at my side, almost like a partner."

Royal was promoted to soloist in 2017, nearly seven years after joining. At some point along the way, he admits, he had begun to spin his wheels. "I got my hopes up and then I got my hopes shattered. I even started thinking about exploring other options, maybe another company or something completely different."

What kept him going, he explains, were outside projects that fueled his creativity and imagination, as well as his confidence. He danced for several seasons with Daniil Simkin's touring group Intensio. And, perhaps most meaningfully, he became a repeat visitor to Damian Woetzel's yearly Vail Dance Festival in the Rockies, where he got to dance a completely new repertory: works by Balanchine and Merce Cunningham, new creations by Pam Tanowitz and others.

"Year after year, he has become ever more himself onstage," says Woetzel, who has become an important mentor. "His level of comfort in everything he does has become expansive." This year, he selected Royal to be the festival's artist in residence, leading workshops, performing in various premieres and taking part in initiatives related to the challenges boys face in ballet. "I see a real leadership quality in Calvin," says Woetzel.

Last summer at Vail, Royal danced excerpts from Apollo, one of the pinnacles of the male repertoire. A few months later, McKenzie asked him to make his debut in the full piece in New York, with ABT. It was a remarkable moment—he looked completely at home in the role of a young god. He may have to wait a little longer for his debut as Romeo, but his time, it seems, has finally come.

[angeluschorus]

‘Annus horribilis’

I wanted to post more information on the latin phrase and HMTQ.  Wikipedia:  “Annus horribilis”, last edited July 1, 2019

November 24, 1992

The Queen gave a speech at Guildhall to mark the 40th anniversary of her Accession.  The Queen referred to recent events as part of an ‘annus horribilils’. 

“1992 is not a year on which I shall look back with undiluted pleasure.” - HMTQ

Some of the factors that caused HMTQ to use this phrase are listed below (from Wikipedia)

1.  The separation of Prince Andrew and Sarah Ferguson.

2.  Death of HMTQ’s nephew, Prince Albrecht of Hohenlohe-Langenburg.

3.  Princess Diana’s tell-all book was released.

4.  Embarrassing toes photos of Sarah published via tabloids.

5.  Windsor Castle fire.

6.  Di and PC formally separate.

HMTQ’s speech regarding the ‘annus horribilis’ (horrible year). - from royal.uk website.

My Lord Mayor,

Could I say, first, how delighted I am that the Lady Mayoress is here today.

This great hall has provided me with some of the most memorable events of my life. The hospitality of the City of London is famous around the world, but nowhere is it more appreciated than among the members of my family. I am deeply grateful that you, my Lord Mayor, and the Corporation, have seen fit to mark the fortieth anniversary of my Accession with this splendid lunch, and by giving me a picture which I will greatly cherish.

Thank you also for inviting representatives of so many organisations with which I and my family have special connections, in some cases stretching back over several generations. To use an expression more common north of the Border, this is a real 'gathering of the clans'.

1992 is not a year on which I shall look back with undiluted pleasure. In the words of one of my more sympathetic correspondents, it has turned out to be an 'Annus Horribilis'. I suspect that I am not alone in thinking it so. Indeed, I suspect that there are very few people or institutions unaffected by these last months of worldwide turmoil and uncertainty. This generosity and whole-hearted kindness of the Corporation of the City to Prince Philip and me would be welcome at any time, but at this particular moment, in the aftermath of Friday's tragic fire at Windsor, it is especially so.

And, after this last weekend, we appreciate all the more what has been set before us today. Years of experience, however, have made us a bit more canny than the lady, less well versed than us in the splendours of City hospitality, who, when she was offered a balloon glass for her brandy, asked for 'only half a glass, please'.

It is possible to have too much of a good thing. A well-meaning Bishop was obviously doing his best when he told Queen Victoria, "Ma'am, we cannot pray too often, nor too fervently, for the Royal Family". The Queen's reply was: "Too fervently, no; too often, yes". I, like Queen Victoria, have always been a believer in that old maxim "moderation in all things".

I sometimes wonder how future generations will judge the events of this tumultuous year. I dare say that history will take a slightly more moderate view than that of some contemporary commentators. Distance is well-known to lend enchantment, even to the less attractive views. After all, it has the inestimable advantage of hindsight.

But it can also lend an extra dimension to judgement, giving it a leavening of moderation and compassion - even of wisdom - that is sometimes lacking in the reactions of those whose task it is in life to offer instant opinions on all things great and small.

No section of the community has all the virtues, neither does any have all the vices. I am quite sure that most people try to do their jobs as best they can, even if the result is not always entirely successful. He who has never failed to reach perfection has a right to be the harshest critic.

There can be no doubt, of course, that criticism is good for people and institutions that are part of public life. No institution - City, Monarchy, whatever - should expect to be free from the scrutiny of those who give it their loyalty and support, not to mention those who don't.

But we are all part of the same fabric of our national society and that scrutiny, by one part of another, can be just as effective if it is made with a touch of gentleness, good humour and understanding.

This sort of questioning can also act, and it should do so, as an effective engine for change. The City is a good example of the way the process of change can be incorporated into the stability and continuity of a great institution. I particularly admire, my Lord Mayor, the way in which the City has adapted so nimbly to what the Prayer Book calls "The changes and chances of this mortal life".

You have set an example of how it is possible to remain effective and dynamic without losing those indefinable qualities, style and character. We only have to look around this great hall to see the truth of that.

Forty years is quite a long time. I am glad to have had the chance to witness, and to take part in, many dramatic changes in life in this country. But I am glad to say that the magnificent standard of hospitality given on so many occasions to the Sovereign by the Lord Mayor of London has not changed at all. It is an outward symbol of one other unchanging factor which I value above all - the loyalty given to me and to my family by so many people in this country, and the Commonwealth, throughout my reign.

You, my Lord Mayor, and all those whose prayers - fervent, I hope, but not too frequent - have sustained me through all these years, are friends indeed. Prince Philip and I give you all, wherever you may be, our most humble thanks.

And now I ask you to rise and drink the health of the Lord Mayor and Corporation of London.

A point of interest, from my perspective, is that the term used by HMTQ wasn’t a common one, and certainly not as common as the opposite latin phrase, “Annus mirabilis’, meaning “wonderful year”.  The term was used in the late 1800′s, but was brought to modern prominence by HMTQ, via this 1992 speech.  Also of interest, the “sympathetic correspondents” refers to HMTQ’s former assistant private secretary, Sir Edward Ford.  The phrase was later used by notable figures, but HMTQ was the definite “trendsetter”, for lack of a better term.  I find the entire coinage and speech to be just one more thing to learn about HMTQ and another reason to admire her.  

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Obi is having a difficult time concentrating on the dance he's supposed to be performing - convinced that he is ill-suited to a dance in center stage as primo, to be anything other than broken and tossed away. Shirayuki, frustrated that he won't give more than a token effort to the steps, takes up the pointer stick of sex and gives Obi a taste of his own medicine, determined to prove to Obi that he is worthy.

Shirayukiextends her arms upward, closes her eyes, and falls back into the broad hands that span her rib cage. Obi grips her a little too hard and she winces as helifts her into the air. Moving just a couple ofbeats too fast, Shirayuki slows her motions upon descending, but Obi drags her to her next movement. 

His motions are stiff and jerky, as if his joints hadrusted over somewhere in between La Bayadère and Giselle, and it makes her fall over her own feet. He catches her, tries to steer her into the correct pose, but-

“Stop.”She places her hands on top of his. “Stop. We need to take a break.”

He stills, the song continuing to play around them. His hands slowly slide out from under hers and she watches the way his throat works, how his eyes won’t meet hers. 

“Is there a problem?”

Shebreaks away, crossing towards the water cooler. “Just need a drink, is all,” shesays, smiling over her shoulder.

Heraises an eyebrow. “So you stopped us mid-dance?”

Waterbubbles rise to the surface as she fills her cup. She lowers her head and her voice. “You’re timing is off.”

Inthe mirror, he squares his shoulders. “How bad?”

Shehums. “Not as bad as I was with the fuescene, but,” she takes a sip, “it needs improvement.”

Hislips quirk to the side. “Next time just say ‘really bad’.”

Hereyes slip away from his. “We’ll just have to dig a little deeper,” she mimicsand he makes a noise at her as she fills up another cup. Laughing, she hands him a drink. “We have time.”

Hesighs, scratching the back of his head, and takes it from her. “I hardlybelieve the audience will believe I am worth redeeming,” he laughs. “More likea they’ll want you to let the Willis dance me to death.”

Sheexhales out her nose. “Why are you being like this?”

Hegrins down at her, but the skin around his eyes are pulled tight. She wonderswhy he thinks he can hide when he looks at her like that. “Like what, Mademoiselle?I was just offering an alternate ending, giving Albrecht the send off hedeserves. If I can’t manage the right note, maybe Maestro will be open to a newinterpretation.”

Shethrows her cup in the garbage. “You’ll manage the right note. I’ll help you likeyou helped me.”

“Asyou say.”

Shirayuki’slips press tight and she huffs, eyeballing the storage room door. 

“Justa minute,” she says, turning away. “I have just the thing.”

Thestorage room is colder by several degrees and she rubs her arms, perking whenshe sees the thick rounded block of wood nestled against the yardsticks in the corner. Herhand lingers over worn handle before sliding past. With his height compared tohers, she grabs the one with the longer reach.

Whenshe emerges with a smile on her face and a yard stick in her hand, Obistraightens, spine ramrod straight. His mouth spreads in a thin smile.“What are you going to do with that?”

“Ithought you needed alternate motivation.” Shirayuki comes up to him slowly, taps him once against the thigh. His whole body flinches.

Shefrowns, but he’s still smiling, circling out of her reach.

“Obi?”

Thelaugh that comes out of him is high pitched, nervous, and bordering on hysterical.“Mademoiselle,” he coughs, body hunching down to hide more of himself,rearranging his back towards the wall. “You don’t plan on being too harsh withme, do you?”

Something is… off. Shetilts her head. “Do you want me to be harsh with you?”

Hissmile twitches, too distorted to even be pretend anymore. “Now, now,” helaughs, holding up his hands. “I’m very fragile.”

Shirayukilowers the yardstick, and his eyes follow it like it’s a venomous snake. Her hands flex around it, the sharp metal edge digging into her palm and it’s thatslight sting, the way that it fits against the skin of her memory, the way thewidth of that pain matches those thin lines against his back and arms. She knows them well enough, the way they slide under her hands when he’s over her, inside her, and it makes her pull up short,makes her remember his voice when he told her that first lesson that he doesn’t hit.

Hispupils are mere pinpricks, breath caught shallow in his chest and- and it’s there, thepanic about small things she doesn’t understand - not as violent as when a tireblows out on the street at night or when the city lights up with fireworks, but it is still there.

Shirayukikneels, laying the yardstick on the floor and slowly coming back to standing.He watches as she rests her foot on top of it and then pushes, sliding it across the floor.Somewhere behind her, it thuds gently against a wall.

“Obi,”she says softly, closing the distance. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you, right?”

Obilicks his lips, eyes locked towards where she assumes the objectlay. “Yea,” he breathes. “Yea, I know.”

She doesn’t touch him. “Obi-”

“Ijust remembered,” his eyes snap back to hers, every line of his body tense.“Maestro needed to talk to me before the end of the day. I’m going to go catch himbefore he goes home.”

She’snever seen him move so fast. He’s always halfway across the room before she’sdone turning on her heel. “Wait-”

“I’llsee you tomorrow,”  he calls.

Thedoor clicks shut behind him before she can stop him.

~~ ~

“Obi?”Suzu scratches his head. “I thought he already left.”

Shirayukisucks her lips between her teeth, staring at the front door as if it hadpersonally let her down. “When?”

“Abouttwenty minutes ago. Right after you called back that Studio A was vacant and-” he pauses, rubbing his face. “That’s not important. Um. Look, it’s none of my business, but... is he okay?”

Shedoesn’t look away from the door. “You’ve noticed it too.”

“Yea.At first I thought it was me, but-”

“Metoo,” she says softly. “But it’s not.”

“Thenwhat is it?”

Shirayukibites her tongue. She wasn’t sure if it was for her to say the way he slowed every time they passed a television display on the streets, or that he poured over the international section of three separate newspaper in themorning. Nor was it Suzu’s business to hear the way that Obi had been waking her in the night like a desperate man, drowning her in open mouthed kisses and grasping hands, robbing her of thought until well past sunrise.

“It’sthe news,” she admits finally, because that seems safe. “He won’t stop reading thepapers.”

“Why?”

Shepauses, the memory of a paper left open on abyline regarding a land dispute between China and the Soviet Union north of theKorean peninsula still as fresh as the coffee he abandoned while he was reading it.

“Areyou going over to our place tonight?” she asks suddenly.

Suzublinks. “Yea. I was planning on it.”

Shirayukiswings her purse over her shoulder. “Tell Yuzuri to not wait up for me.”

~~ ~

Theapartment is dark when the door swings open, Obi’s body bathed only with thedim light of the hallway. The plastic bags are heavy in her hands.

“Hey.”

“Hey,”he says, shifting.

Sheholds up the plastic bags. “I brought beer and chicken?”

Hisface is unreadable and for one single, terrifying second, she is worried heis going to send her home. That he’ll run. That she’ll close himself off even more.

“Comeon in,” he says instead, taking the bags and turning his back on her. “I don’t know why you didn’tjust use your key. That’s why I gave it to you.”

Shefollows, watching him set the food on his new kitchen table, watching how he immediately grabs for a beer. 

“You left without sayinggoodbye,” she says, eyes following the lines of his bare back, crisscrossedwith marks and knowledge. “I thought it would be rude for me to just come in.”

Hedigs through his kitchen drawers, pulling out a beer bottle opener, and saysnothing.

“Obi,”she says, earnest. “I’m sorry. I don’t know exactly what I did, but I’m sorry.”

Heexhales slowly, bracing his hands against the counter. His face is in shadows,eyes locked on the screen of his television stuck on the news in the otherroom. She gets the feeling he isn’t even really looking at it.

“Areyou going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Hedraws himself up to his full height, still so familiar but he might as well beanother person for how much a strangers his voice seems. “Don’t act like you’venever heard what the Russian Ballet is like,” he says, popping the cap of the bottle. The metal tab clinks against the countertop.

Sheswallows hard, her arms tense. “But I’ve never heard it from you.”

“Doyou need to?”

Sheflinches, shame roiling in her gut.

Hiseyes are still locked on the screen in the other room.

“Whatam I, Shirayuki?” he asks softly. “It seems like even the governments can’tcome to an agreement.” His chin nods towards the television, playing recordingsof tanks and soldiers with rifles. “Why should I expect Ballet Masters totreat me like one of their own when even the map makers don’t know?”

Her heart breaks. “You’reObi.”

“Obi?”His laugh is dry. “Obi’s just a name that will be forgotten in a single season.”

“That’s not true. You know it’s not.”

He takes another drink. “You read the reviews. Stunt-casting. That’s all we- all I am. Just something of interest to draw attention to Maestro’s company before they switch back to traditional ballet.”

She shakes her head. “What about Izana tells you for a moment he wants traditional?”

The bottle hits the counter so hard foam starts to pour from it’s neck. She roots herself to the ground to not flinch back, and she can see every muscle in his back strained into stillness. “What about him says he can sell me as the primo in Cinderella? In Sleeping Beauty?” His voice is gravel. “They don’t even know what to call me in the papers. Korean? Russian? Chinese? Man-chu-kou?”

Shedraws in a sharp breath, an ugly knot gnarled in her chest. “It doesn’t matter. You’re my Obi,” she repeats, taking firm stepsforward. “And I think your name alone would sell out the theater. Anyone who says otherwise isn’t worth the air they’re stealing from the rest of us.” 

His jaw works, staring hard at the puddle pooling on the countertop.

Shereaches out, taking his wrist in her hand. Her thumb runs across the jut of bone. “You don’t need to worry,” she whispers, then smiles, wry. “Not more than any other dancer with a contract.”

His face twists, eyes screwing shut and she takes a chance. She moves closer.

“You can keep what makes you this angry to yourself if you want. If you tell me or if you don’t tell me - it doesn’t change my place at your side. But please,” she takes a deep breath, daring to touch his cheek, to force him to turn back to her. “Please just tell me how to nothurt you like this again. Is that too much?” 

Obistares at her, the aggression slapped so cleanly off his face all that is left is a deep, impenetrable sorrow. Then it is gone; he turns back, staring at the soft glow of the television.

“Isuppose not.”

[gramilano]

Giselle with Alexander Campbell as Albrecht and Francesca Hayward as Giselle. © ROH, Helen Maybanks 2018

Francesca Hayward and Alexander Campbell are quickly becoming The Royal Ballet’s ‘couple to see’. After recent successes dancing Clara and the Nutcracker, as well as the Sugar Plum Fairy and her Prince, over the Christmas season, they have just debuted in Giselle. An important moment in the career of any dancer.

The Guardian said that Hayward was “nothing less than exquisite” and remarked on the “illusion of spontaneity” she brings to the choreography, while The Telegraph was blown away by Campbell’s “immersion in character” and the “punch of his dancing”. Another test passed triumphantly. Facebook was awash with appreciative comments the next day: critics are useful; a fan-base is indispensable.

The Nutcracker with Alexander Campbell as The Nutcracker, Francesca Hayward as Clara © ROH, Tristram Kenton, 2013

Hayward and Campbell first danced together when she was a last-minute substitute as Clara in December 2013.

It was seeing The Nutcracker that set Hayward off on her ballet journey, though she saw it on video. Her grandparents, wanting to keep her occupied, bought her a copy “on a whim”.

I still feel emotional every time I dance Clara and the Sugar Plum as they are definitely a realisation of my dream. Two of my favourite and most emotional moments are Clara and Hans Peter’s pas de deux in Act One and the Grand Pas de Deux of the Sugar Plum Prince and the Sugar Plum Fairy in Act Two. They are probably the two parts I danced the most from the whole ballet when I was little, dancing them at home by myself, and the music always gives me goosebumps no matter how many times I hear it.

Last season, soon after the end of the The Nutcracker run came The Sleeping Beauty and during that period Hayward and Campbell performed together as Clara and the Nutcracker/Hans-Peter (in Peter Wright’s version of the ballet, Drosselmeyer’s nephew, Hans-Peter, has been transformed into a Nutcracker Doll), the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Prince, Bluebird and Princess Florine, and they debuted together as Aurora and Prince Florimund.

It was probably about three or four months in total rehearsing and performing together — says Campbell — and I feel like it was hugely beneficial to us, as it gave us a lot of time to get to know one another. It felt as though we were able to take things from each of the performances and build on that as we worked towards the next one. It was one of the most enjoyable times in my career.

Hayward adds,

It’s been great to have a consistent partner to learn the art of pas de deux a little better and I think we have a lot of respect for each other. We’ve shared some important debuts and daunting first night shows together!

Made it through today’s matinee! Thanks to my fantastic prince @acampbell_1 for getting me through this afternoon’s Sugar Plum marathon & to our incredible coach Lesley Collier 💕 H a p p y N e w Y e a r 💕 #sugarplumfairy #nutcracker #ballet #royalballet #exhausted #butlovedit

A post shared by francesca hayward (@frankiegoestohayward) on Dec 30, 2017 at 3:24pm PST

So, what makes the partnership work?

Francesca is a very intelligent performer and her approach to performances and to developing a character isn’t too dissimilar to mine. I think we both like things to make sense in our head when we are out there on stage. When it comes together and works well it is a really satisfying feeling.

Hayward senses that she is “very calm and safe” dancing with Campbell:

Most importantly we hear and feel the music with the same musicality. This is great as it means we can be more flexible and adaptable with our steps together. If the music’s faster or slower, I can take a little longer or make a step a little quicker without panicking him as I know he is with me and won’t be surprised! I have complete trust in him to always have my back… quite literally!

An excellent coach can make the difference between a series of steps and a dance, between approximated moves and those executed with all nuances the choreographer intended. None is better than The Royal Ballet’s Lesley Collier, who was a Principal Dancer with the company from 1972 until her retirement in 1995 and has been a répétiteur at Covent Garden for almost two decades. She also happens to be the Sugar Plum Fairy in the video that inspired Hayward to start dancing.

Lesley Collier has coached us for nearly all our roles together. I think she’s a wonderful coach as she has always learned the steps through the music and the story, and the thoughts and feelings that go with marrying the two. I personally find it really hard to be inspired when I am taught something by being given rigid counts.

The Sleeping Beauty with Francesca Hayward as Princess Aurora and Alexander Campbell as Prince Florimund © ROH, Bill Cooper, 2017

The Royal Ballet’s practice to invite its retired stars to coach carries on through the generations; former Royal Ballet Principal Jonathan Cope became a répétiteur immediately after he stopped dancing in 2005.

Alexander and I were also coached for The Sleeping Beauty by Jonathan Cope which was immensely helpful for the technical aspects like lifts and grips. It was also an amazing chance to dance with him — he would often lift me and partner me to show us how to do it!

Campbell says that he feels “inspired” by having Collier in the studio with them:

It took me quite a while not to be star struck by her – this was the ballerina who created Rhapsody with Baryshnikov after all! But, that aside, she is incredibly caring and knowledgeable, and it’s been a real pleasure getting to work with her. I have a real appreciation for Lesley’s commitment and eye for detail and I know that Francesca looks up to Lesley a great deal.

Yet not everyone looks up to Collier — one Royal Ballet Principal famously does things her own way, throwing out many of the choreographer’s intentions in doing so. But Hayward’s eager to learn and learn well:

It’s great to have Lesley pass down comments and notes from Ashton and Macmillan. Lesley was the first Sugar Plum Fairy and Lise from La fille mal gardée that I watched on a video as a child, so it’s incredible to be in the studio being taught these ballets by her.

Not every little girl who watches a ballet video starts taking ballet classes, and very few young dancers get into a company, but for Hayward there was to be a promotion every year with The Royal Ballet from 2013 until she became a Principal Dancer in 2016.

When Kevin O’Hare [Director of The Royal Ballet] promoted me I hadn’t done any big tutu roles yet — The Sugar Plum Fairy and Aurora were yet to come — so I think he saw the potential for that, but really I think he saw that I was capable of dancing the bigger roles because I could convincingly tell a story which is essential to nearly any ballet.

I think he also knows that I’m generally pretty calm and I take everything in my stride both on stage and off.

Giselle with Alexander Campbell as Albrecht and Francesca Hayward as Giselle. © ROH, Helen Maybanks 2018

Giselle with Alexander Campbell as Albrecht and Francesca Hayward as Giselle. © ROH, Helen Maybanks 2018

Giselle with Alexander Campbell as Albrecht and Francesca Hayward as Giselle. © ROH, Helen Maybanks 2018

Campbell’s story started in Sydney, Australia, when he was so excited by what he saw at his grandmother’s dancing school, that he began studying there when he was just five. Inspired by Baryshnikov, he chose ballet over cricket as a teenager:

One of the qualities I most admire about Mikhail Baryshnikov is the sense that he performs everything with real commitment and sincerity. It is something that I try to bring to my own performances and I believe it is a quality that really stands out. I certainly appreciate it in others when I see it.

He crossed the globe to study for a short while at the Royal Ballet Upper School before joining the Birmingham Royal Ballet. In 2011 he moved to The Royal Ballet as was promoted to Principal Dancer in 2016, the same year as Hayward.

I would say that my versatility has probably helped me get to where I am. I think that the biggest joy and challenge for the Principals of The Royal Ballet is having to perform the vast amount of repertoire we have here, often with conflicting styles and demands, at the highest possible level.

Becoming a Principal and being entrusted with roles such as Prince Florimund in The Sleeping Beauty and Albrecht in Giselle has widened his horizons even more.

Both these roles have allowed me to work really hard on my classical technique and it’s forced me to examine the way I do certain things. My aim is always to work hard on the technical elements in class and rehearsals so that by the time we get to performances the steps are just an extension of the character I am playing as opposed to a series of steps and enchaînnements. It’s a lot easier in theory than in practice but that is the aim!

Last night after our official debut in Giselle. So glad @katchkadeem was on hand to snap this picture! Thank you! Thank you also for all the wonderful support we have received, especially on Instagram. Knowing so many people were rooting for us was a special feeling. I also have to thank my beautiful partner @frankiegoestohayward – I feel very fortunate to have been onstage with you for your first Giselle and thank you for being such a pleasure to perform with ⭐ – – – – #royaloperahouse #royalballet #giselle @royaloperahouse

A post shared by Alexander Campbell (@acampbell_1) on Feb 10, 2018 at 3:17am PST

After Giselle, Hayward and Campbell will both be dancing in The Winter’s Tale, though not together, but then will team up again for Manon in April.

Campbell says,

I’ve enjoyed everything we’ve worked on together so far and I hope that we will have the opportunity to develop this relationship further as I feel it could be something quite special.

One ballet to add on to the list of possible future collaborations would be Romeo and Juliet.

I saw Francesca perform Juliet for the first time and I thought that it was a really beautiful interpretation of the role — I’d love to play against it because I think she gives her partners, and all the cast members around her, so much to work with. Here’s hoping!

I mentioned sincerity on stage as something that I admire in performers and I think that Francesca displays absolute sincerity whenever she performs. It makes it very easy for me to play off and it is genuinely exciting to be onstage with her.

Hayward quips,

Who knows what the future’s got in store, but I hope we have a lot more Nutcrackers ahead of us!

END

The Nutcracker with Francesca Hayward and Alexander Campbell. © ROH, Helen Maybanks 2016

The Nutcracker with Francesca Hayward and Alexander Campbell. © ROH, Helen Maybanks 2016

Interview with The Royal Ballet’s hot couple: Francesca Hayward and Alexander Campbell Francesca Hayward and Alexander Campbell are quickly becoming The Royal Ballet's ‘couple to see’. After recent successes dancing Clara and the Nutcracker, as well as the Sugar Plum Fairy and her Prince, over the Christmas season, they have just debuted in…

[onegrayhair-blog]

Final say

Language is one of those things that I have personally never given much thought about in regards to its origin. This class was such an eye opening experience to the world of design and to the people that have created everything from the basics of language and speech to the font that you see on this document. To have innovated so quickly from the Industrial Revolution to now, in a little over a couple hundred years is truly amazing.We live in a time where information is readily available at any given moment. We literally have the freedom of knowledge in our pockets and also the freedom to say basically anything we want, no matter if it’s true or relevant. The desire to create and share information is what I believe started humans on the path to where we are today.

The earliest known form of written communication was discovered in caves, much like the caves in Lascaux, France. The earliest known writing was known as Cuneiform and was created by the Sumerians and ancient Mesopotamia. From the Sumerians, language and writing changed at the hands of the Egyptians and their hieroglyphics. For the first time, we had pictures and shapes that could be determined to be a language spoken by an ancient civilization. This wasn’t the only great innovation by the Egyptians as they were master architects and savvy business people, thanks to the near by Nile river. Waterways played an interesting role in the expansion of language, culture and graphic design as a whole. Another masterful civilization, and one that is known be one of the greatest era’s in mankind was the Greek innovations for language, and letters. Specifically, a written alphabet known as the Phoenician alphabet. This alphabet coincides with the North Semitic alphabet of the same time period.

After the fall of Greece, the spread of cultures was reaching far and wide, soon reaching a place Italy, or the Etruscan people which lead to the creation of the Latin alphabet. The latin alphabet is was most closely resembles the alphabet we know today, and is what allows for us to read the words I’m typing. Originally the Latin alphabet had 21 letters, but advances and adoptions from other cultures stolen by the Romans in their rapid expansion grew the alphabet to the letters we have today. Roman letters also had a major influence on the creation of typography and the beauty that most would try to achieve. One area that I never realized was such a large contributor to the world was China. The Chinese invented paper. Paper may be obsolete by the time I’m an old man, but the creation of paper is one of the most important inventions to ever be created. Chinese Calligraphy played a major role in what it means to create words and sounds and what it means to create art as calligraphy was an art form, not just a means of communication. According to our book, Megg’s History of Graphic Design, Chinese calligraphy had 5 stages: Chiaku-Wen, Chin-Wen, Hsiao-Chuan, Lu-Shu, and Chen-shu. An amazing exmaple of chinese calligraphy can be seen in the Album of 8 Leaves by Li Fangyang.

Along with the creation of paper, the next major innovation that would be the catalyst for hundreds of years of artists and educators was the creation of printing. Done with wooden blocks, printing was a way to replicate symbols and characters and not have to write them over and over, one could simply stamp them. Of the earliest known graphic design examples is of Chinese scrolls and playing cards.

Following up and building upon the Chinese printing invention, illuminated manuscripts were now present in Western Europe and Eastern Islamic areas. A wonderful example of the these illuminated manuscripts were the Book of Kells and the Qur’an. Also the medieval manuscripts are most likely what most of us think about when we hear manuscripts, at least that’s what I thought of, that could possibly be Monty Python and the Holy Grail’s fault though.

The next innovation that truly had the largest impact on the history of graphic design was the innovations of typography. Block printing was now the means of creating books, and general communication for the public. But it wasn’t moving fast enough for the expansion of the languages. That’s when Johan Gutenburg created the movable type for block printers. There is a theme that I’ve learned about graphic design and it is that every country and every generation seeks to take what the previous innovators have done, and improve upon them and make them more concise and more importantly make them their own. Albrecht Pfister was the first to print illustrations with typography. Soon Nuremburg would become the printing capital of the world. During this expansion of typography, the Italian Renaissance was going on at the same time and people like Johannes da Spira were able to take advantage of the slow acceptance of this new method of printing as many believed it wasn’t as great at manuscripts but arguably the most influential typeface designer came out of this era and that was Nicolas Jenson. Jenson was the subject of numerous typeface inspirations for generations after he created over 150 books and he opened a second press as da Spira died. Other notable designers were Aldus Manutius and the Italian writing masters: Arrighi, Sigsmondo Fanti, and Giovantonio Tagliente.

There was a bit of a lull in designer innovation for a while, but in the 1700’s France’s Louis the XIV commissioned a new typeface. William Caslon took the task and created the Romain Du Roi. Moving over to the other side of the pond with a more familiar name. Benjamin Franklin, yes that one dude on the bill that I never have, printed Cato Major which was to be one of the first writings distributed among the new colonies in a tiny place called America. With these innovations in art, it is no surprise that others were excited about this technology and were looking for ways to use it for their own purpose. William Playfair was a scientist and created one of the first information graphics about his work. Another prominent designer was Giambattista Bodoni. Bodoni also has numerous typefaces to his name, and also a typeface named after him.

In the late 1700’s things changed. The birthplace of the Industrial revolution is said to be in England. This expanded to other areas and this growth came with both grand vision and terrible downturns. The grand vision was to create mass produced goods for people, the issue was now with mass production the need for graphic designers was basically non existent. They had machines doing everything and artists were scarce and frankly not wanted. This did however drive a need for mass communication among the people that went from working in fields to working in factories in terrible conditions. This need for mass communication was met by a man named William Cowper. Cowper patented a machine that could be mounted to a cylinder and rotate creating impressions on paper. This first invention was revolutionary in the creation of mass production. It would make 2,400 impression an hour and use 1,200 sheets of paper. As the demand grew so did the machine. Soon his printing press could create 4,000 sheets of paper an hour. That’s insane.

The first person to take a photograph was credited to Frenchman Joseph Niepce. This was deemed to be the end of printed word, much like the quartz crisis that hit all major wristwatch brands in the late 70’s and early 80’s. Nobody was going to want a mechanical watch after a battery operated one hit the market. Luckily for graphic designers everywhere, it was just another medium to create art with. Probably my favorite photographer is Eadweard Muybridge, not only because his name is impossible to spell, but because he is credited with creating the first moving picture of the running horse.

Soon after photography was created, lithograhy took off as the main source of creating images. All those PT Barnum circus posters, and Annie Oakley and Wild Bill Wild West Show evoke this short of wild west, lithography rough and tumble kind of world. Things were simple and yet not everyone was excited about lithography and chromolithography. Letterpress was still holding strong against the chromolithography craze that lasted 40 years from 1860 to 1900. Once 1900’s hit, everything just went wild. Graphic Design was really now turning into an artform and was no longer just letters. It was wild pictures seen in Harper’s Bazaar and William Morris was heading up private presses to create beautiful book designs. It was no longer a means to create mass communication, now it was that PLUS being able to do it in the most beautiful way possible. Art nouveau took hold and always evokes a sense of Victorian propriety and elegance. But North America wasn’t the only place having an art renaissance. Back in Europe…

Germany had the Jugendstil, or young style or art. It was a new movement that sought to learn from the past but to create new and exciting art, you know until World War 1 started. With these art movements you had some of the most famous names in all of art history arising during this time. Frank Lloyd Wright was a magnificent architect who would use nature as inspiration and decide how architecture could move with, not impede nature. There was a revolution of the arts in Vienna known as the Vienna secession where Peter Behren’s started his own movement. With these movements came cubism with Picasso as the most famous innovator, futurism, Dada which gave birth to surrealism for which Salvador Dali was it’s most well known contributor. I once heard a story that Dali would stay up for a few days and then paint his hallucinations. I don’t know how true that is, but I figured a final paper would be a wonderful place to mention that!

Circling back to photography, it was now just part of the movement that photography could take a more centralized role and could be manipulated. War posters were extremely popular and really weighed heavy on America and heavily influenced how people felt about the war. They didn’t have Twitter, they just had birds. Of this time period however one of the most iconic American symbols was born from James Montgomery Flagg, Uncle Sam saying “I WANT YOU!”

Powerful image. That was copied by the English with Britons Wants You. Get your own mascot!

Bauhaus was huge movement after World War 1 ended. There was a call for unity among artists and the idea was to create a Utopia of peace and everything would be great. Which really caught on, especially among Laszlo Moholy-Nagy and his belief of technology and the arts living together. He believed that when applied in the correct way, they could compliment each other and not be mutually exclusive.  Then World War 2 happened, and at this point you really saw graphic artist taking liberties with their art. John Heartfield, who took an English name because he wanted to boycott his German roots, depicted Hitler on a poster under an x-ray that showed his spine and stomach were full of money and his heart was a Nazi symbol. Anti-Hitler poster is an interesting search on Google.

After the war, Jan Tschichold was experimenting in new typography. Arranging words and graphics that hadn’t been done in such a way before. This was another turning point for graphic designers. Along with this was the creation of people targeted advertisements in America. Companies like Doyle, Dane and Bernbach ads were really on the forefront of advertisements in the post war years. This advertising blast was also helped by magazines such as Eros, Avant Garde, Esquire, and Playboy to name a few.

Another movement was the International Typographic style which found its base in Basel at the School of Design and Hermann Zapf was a proprietor of this style. Many people rejected this style as their own movement and would allow them create something different from the norm, which I feel is the basis for really influential design work. No one is different if they’re all the same! These graphics lead to logo designs, simple easy to remember emblems for a company, Paul Rand was a major contributor to this type of design. The determination to be different than the Swiss style gave birth to conceptual style like Milton Glasser who designed the Bob Dylan cover to our book or Wes Wilson who created the psychedelic typeface we see plastered all over San Francisco on Haight and Ashbury.

Post Modern, or Modernism as some would say because post-modern doesn’t make any sense is probably coming to its end soon but it really took off with people like Dan Friedman and April Greiman. Modernism can now run side by side with the digital revolution. The digital revolution changed mankind forever. Is it for the better? Probably not, because who knows what waste is created by technology, but it does make life easier. It’s the reason I’m able to write this on a laptop on a screen instead of in person and having my hand cramp until it only makes a claw like shape due to holding a pencil for 47 hours. With the combination of computers, painting, photography, and writing graphic design is at an all time diverse point I believe. As I stated before, people can create apps and website and user interfaces. Everything we look at now has a graphic designer behind it saying this could look good, this could look different, this could be cool. People like Matthew Carter who is responsible for creating a lot of the fonts in word processing programs  to Paula Scher who has done everything from book design to interior design and decoration. The possibilities are endless with technology. I feel the biggest takeaway from this class is my appreciation for all that have contributed to make graphic design what it is. It’s a culmination of human ingenuity, discipline, craziness, critical thinking and social awareness that has beckoned all of us to respond to art in a manner that we can appreciate it yet want to change it and make it better for the next generation to make it even better than we did.

Meggs’ History of Graphic Design, 6th Edition. Megg’s, Philip. Purvis, Alston.

[thehappyaccidentsteamblog]

Chapter 1: A Group of Happy Accidents

“Where did you find this guy, J.?” Tom asked, nodding across the bar to the elf in question. While the rest of the team had downed maybe a drink or two, Gilbert Stuart had four empty glasses sitting in front of him. The elf was engaged in animated conversation with two of his fellow linemen. And by conversation, it looked as though Gil was talking at the other two while they looked on with mixed emotions. Louise, Leyendecker recalled one’s name, looked highly amused, eyes bright and nodded along to prompt whatever story Gil was telling. The other, Albrecht with his bright red hair, visible even in the dim bar, squinted at the talkative elf, as if a furrowed brow could impress meaning into drunken slur.

 J.C. Leyendecker, perched on a stool between his two old friends Tom and Robert, found two incredulous expressions turned on him. Leaning back from the bar, Leyendecker regarded the less than model exemplar of an elf, not to mention professional athlete. But there wasn’t much to be done now was there? It was too late to change the roster. With a sigh, Leyendecker hung his head.

 “We played college ball together. Best line elf I’ve ever known.” 

Both other elves raised one eyebrow each. 

“Well until he was kicked out…” The other eyebrows went up and Leyendecker slumped, defeated. “...For drinking and partying…” 

There was a beat of silence, in which Tom and Robert surveyed the scenes unfolding at the bar. Gil was still talking at Louise and Albrecht. Three other linemen, Rosa, Fragonard, and Elizabeth drank peacefully at the bar, ignoring Gil best they could. One of the blitzers, who refused to answer to any name but Edgelord, was arm wrestling with their fellow blitzer, Frida. There were shot glasses marking losses, but neither seemed yet affected by the alcohol.

“At least the rest of the team looks solid,” Robert observed. Tom nodded sagely and the three of them took simultaneous sips of their respective drinks. 

~~~

 Louise had exchanged a handful of sentences with her new teammate Albrecht, when a third new team mate had wedged himself between them. At first, Louise and Albrecht exchanged confused glances, but the new addition introduced himself as “Gilbert Stuart, the longest compatriot of Captain Leyendecker, here to throw some blocks, duck some pows and maybe, just maybe have some fun in the downtime.”

The final proclamation was accompanied by a literal wink, wink and a nudge with Gil’s elbow. “And call me Gil! None of this last name nonsense,” Gil concluded, nodded in satisfaction. “Pleased to meet you!”

As much as Louise wanted to be slightly annoyed by this Gil fellow, his smile was infectious and his manner indicated he hadn’t interrupted them to be rude - his manner indicated all he really did want was some fun. 

Albrecht exchanged a look with her, then she shrugged and laughed. “Then let’s start having fun with a drink!” 

Four drinks later she found herself nodding along with many a tall tail, wondering just how many words could possibly tumble from this man’s mouth.

~~~

“So what did you do before Coach hired you?” Rosa turned to a larger elf, who’d previously introduced himself as Fragonard. He hadn’t gone on to indicate a first or last name, so Rosa hadn’t asked. 

 Settling himself more comfortably on on the barstool, Fragonard took a drink. “I was an adult film director. And an actor before that,” he replied as casually as if he’d been discussing the weather. 

Rosa blinked at him and she felt Elizabeth’s attention shift to Fragonard over her shoulder. They both looked him up and down, while he returned their gaze passively. He was indeed one notch more attractive than the average male elf, but the sudden shift of careers just wouldn’t click in Rosa’s mind. 

“How did you go from that to Bloodbowl?” Elizabeth asked what Rosa was thinking. 

“I played in amateur leagues for several years in my youth and made money on the side by acting in films. When the time came to choose acting or a professional play, I decided I wanted to do films,” Fragonard shrugged. “And then as things go, I was looking for a career change about the same time Coach was hiring and so I took the opportunity.”

“You know I’m not really sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that,” Rosa joked. That evoked a laugh and some of the awkward seemed to expunge from the air around them. 

“Life’s funny like that,” Fragonard grinned. “What about you? Rosa and Elizabeth right?” 

“I played in college and needed a job after I graduated,” Rosa admitted. “I rent from Edgelord and Frida over there and they pointed me to this opportunity.” 

“I’m usually just a journeyman, but Coach said she had to fill out the roster, so I took the full time gig. Risk is higher, but the benefits are better,” Elizabeth replied matter-of-factly. 

“Fair enough. It’ll be my pleasure playing beside you,” Fragonard nodded firmly and raised his glass in a toast. “To a glorious bloodbath.”

Rosa and Elizabeth chuckled and smiling, clinked their glasses against his. 

~~~

“Best three out of five!” Edgelord challenged, running a hand through their faux-hawk. 

Opposite them, Frida leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “No, Alex, we are four drinks in and we have to train tomorrow. We’re done.” 

With a dramatic flail born of lowered inhibitions, Edgelord recoiled, shielding their face with their hands. “You used my naaaaaaame! These plebs only need know me as Edgelord!” 

“Whatever you say, Edgelord,” Frida replied in a monotone, completely unphased. “But we’re still done drinking. I’ll beat you in another arm wrestle though.” 

~~~

“So that’s her-his, their, real name?” Leyendecker mused as he pulled his attention away from eavesdropping on the conversation. 

His conversation with Tom and Robert had come to a natural conclusion and Tom and Robert were discussing if they wanted to head back to the team house early. 

“Why don't you go ahead,” Leyendecker offered. “I'm going to see what Gil is up to.” He'd seriously considered leaving as well, but morbid curiosity got the better of him.

His friends smiled at him and nodded, linking their hands as they left the bar. 

Taking a deep breath, Leyendecker readied himself for whatever type of mess Gil had managed to make of his first impression on his new teammates. Leyendecker slipped from his stool and rounded the bar to where Gil sat, coming up by his elbow. 

Gil continued to speak as if he hadn’t noticed Leyendecker there. “And so there I was, face-to-face with the absolute, largest - “

At about that time, Leyendecker loudly cleared his throat, as he had heard this story before, and it was not one he cared to hear again. Albrecht and Louise seemed to notice Leyendecker for the first time as well and suddenly three sets of eyes were on him. Rather two sets of intelligent eyes and one set struggling to focus. 

“Okay, Gil, that is enough drink for the evening,” Leyendecker slid a half-finished beer out of reach. When he’d walked over, he hadn’t intended to necessarily remove Gil from the bar, but it seemed old routines died hard. “I am sure Mr. Albrecht and Ms. Louise have things they wish to do yet this evening besides listen to your stories.” 

If Leyendecker had been looking at Gil, he might have said the man looked almost hurt, but Leyendecker was currently eyeing the other two with an apologetic expression. “Please excuse us…” 

Albrecht and Louise nodded as Gil obediently followed Leyendecker out into the street. It was a warm evening with a light breeze that kept the air from becoming muggy. Gil leaned heavily on Leyendecker’s shoulder as they made their way down the street and around the corner to the house. Leyendecker questioned the rationale in having the team house so close to a bar, but Leyendecker had a sneaking suspicion it was for Coach’s benefit more than the players. 

The house itself sat on a corner, three stories high and not as rundown as the budget Coach had shown him led him to believe they could afford. Nevertheless, Leyendecker was grateful for a place to crash, down on his luck as he was. Even if the house bore more than a passing resemblance to the fraternity house he’d lived in back during his college days. He and Gil’s college days actually. As they entered the house, the soft glow of the television filtered into the entryway from the common room. Leyendecker figured Tom and Robert were settled in and so pointed Gil upstairs. Again, Gil followed his instructions without protest and Leyendecker followed Gil up the stairs. 

At the first landing, Gil paused, turning to Leyendecker. “Hey...uh...we haven’t said two words to each other since we both got hired.” 

“There is a reason for that,” Leyendecker gestured further up the stairs. “Keep going.” 

Gil’s shoulders slumped slightly, but he turned and proceeded onward, gripping the railing as if his life depended on it. His footfalls fell heavily and the progress was slow, but they eventually made it to the second floor, then to the door to Gil’s room. 

“Please J.,” Gil turned again, using the doorframe for support. “I owe you. We’re still friends aren’t we?”

Stepping back, Leyendecker folded his arms across his chest and regarded Gil with a passive mask. The hallway was dark save for the light which filtered in from street lamps. Each of them hid in the darkest shadows cast at each wall. The floor between them comparatively bright, a stark yellow shape which divided them. “I did you a favor, that doesn’t make us friends.” Leyendecker replied simply. 

There was silence a moment. Gil hung his head and uttered a small sound that seemed to be a protest. 

Despite how Leyendecker wanted very much to turn and walk away, something nagging kept him there. They were on the same team again, after all. And though it had been years since they were close, he knew a certain familiarity would have to exist for the team to be functional. Maybe he did owe Gil some sort of explanation. For the good of the team of course. “Let me put it this way then. And hopefully you’ll remember what I’m about to say in the morning.”

When Gil didn’t respond, Leyendecker continued. 

“I am hoping that having a career again - having a team you can’t let down and some clear attainable goals in your life again - will do what my friendship could not.” Gil stared openly at him and Leyendecker’s heart sank as he gazed back, truly seeing how glassy and unfocused Gil’s eyes had become. 

Leyendecker’s chest felt tight as his eyes dropped resolutely to the floor. This was why he’d let Gil go from his life in the first place - it had been too painful to watch Gil self-destruct over and over again. He couldn’t help Gil and he knew it and he knew the want to do so was futile. But yet a part of Leyendecker couldn’t accept that. Now that they were living in the same place, working in the same place, Leyendecker knew he wouldn’t be able to stay neutral if Gil’s vices dragged him down again. But this was the last time, Leyendecker promised himself as his gaze flicked back to Gil. The absolute last time.

“I understand,” Gil’s surprisingly clear voice broke into Leyendecker’s thoughts. 

“This is your last chance,” Leyendecker’s words came out raspy and he quickly clamped his mouth shut. 

Gil was silent as he turned his back to Leyendecker to fiddle with the door. It opened with a creak and Gil stepped through into the darkened room beyond. “I know…” he whispered. The door shut softly behind him and Leyendecker remained in the hallway outside until he heard Gilbert snoring softly. 

~fin~

[chocolate-brownies]

As I start out on one my favorite trails, it takes a while for my senses to open up, but soon I feel embraced into a luminous world, welcomed by innumerable shades of green, tall grasses shimmering, trees swaying in the breeze, and shafts of sunlight peering through the thick canopy. Below me, a family of quail dart in and out of the bushes. 

As I crest the hill, I feel the invigoration of the cool wind, blown in fresh from the Pacific. I inhale deeply and smell the bite of the salty ocean air, which feels like a homecoming, familiar and welcoming. It seems to blow the dullness from my mind, and I sense how nature invites us to connect and feel our way into a larger sense of self. 

We tend to think of consciousness as skin bound, brain tethered. However, in nature we can sense something vaster—and that something larger senses us. And from here our perception and understanding transforms: We start to think from this bigger perspective. 

Mindful Awareness in Nature

For over 15 years, I have led Awake in the Wild retreats in places such as the islands in the Sea of Cortez in Baja, Mexico, the Sierra Nevada mountains in California, and the red rock canyons in Arizona. Participants immerse themselves in the beauty of wilderness for a week of silence and meditation and become transformed by the process. Through the portal of mindful awareness, they are developing an intimate connection with the natural world that is both sublime and insightful. They come to sense how embedded they are within the fabric of life and its ecosystems.

I teach my nature-based meditation work, in part, because we have lost the art and ability to know how to be in nature. We are mostly busy doing nature. We are conquering the mountains, beating our best time on a run, chatting with friends on a walk, listening to music on headphones, or simply spaced out, daydreaming or lost in thought. 

Although I believe any time in the outdoors is time well spent, what we do with our mind while we are outside is significant. With mindfulness training, we learn that in any moment we can shift attention from the stress-inducing thought realms—the brain’s default mode network—into the visceral present. We can attune to our senses and see how they support present-moment awareness. We realize the body and its sensory nature are always present. By practicing outside, we discover how nature constantly allures our awareness to its beauty, complexity, diversity, and simple miracles. Or we can discover what Wendell Berry notes in his poem “The Peace of Wild Things” as he steps outdoors: “For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”

Nature’s Invitation 

Nature also provides innumerable counterpoints to stress. For our cramped, pressured, cubicle lives, we can feel a magnificent sense of space as we behold the boundlessness of the night sky or the vastness of the ocean. For our senses—dulled by screens and monotone offices—we can drink in a thousand colors of the pebbles and sands at the beach or shades of green as we walk in the woods. 

For the pervasive anxiety and stress that runs through our nervous system, we can access the tranquility of trees, streams, and wildflower meadows. We can attune to the gentle deer who embody a grace and dignity as they move through a landscape. For our heart made heavy by sadness and grief, we can be touched and comforted by the simple joys of bluebells blooming in woodlands, the fleeting hummingbird as it floats by, or the billowing clouds lit up at sunset.

Nature’s teaching also provides a perspective that we all too easily forget. As we watch scarlet maple leaves drop in the fall, it reminds us of the importance of letting go, of release. Walking in a woodland in the dead of winter, we behold the natural rhythms of dormancy, and remember there are seasons of flourishing and times to rest and rejuvenate. Seeing fields of once-golden blooms of sunflowers now withering in autumn, we remember that beauty and joy also have their seasons, their ebb and flow. 

Nature always invites our attention and offers so much to our depleted hearts and minds. The question now is: Will we accept the invitation?

Nature always invites our attention and offers so much to our depleted hearts and minds. The question now is: Will we accept the invitation? What’s at stake if we don’t is not just our personal well-being. Our collective health—and perhaps even the survival of our entire species—seems to hang in the balance. 

Feeling the Reality of Change 

As I continue my hike along the crest of the hill, I suddenly realize the view is not the crystal clarity I have come to expect. There is a haze in the valleys below, blurring boundaries and obscuring the horizon. I begin to smell an acrid smoke that strangely blows in from the ocean. The smoke comes from the raging fires further north, burning in the Pacific Northwest and British Columbia. Although originating more than a thousand miles away, these plumes, carried by Pacific thermals, blow into California. It is the all-too-constant reminder that not all is well in the world, however beautiful the nature that surrounds me.

Today, because of climate crisis and changing ecology, the sense of finding nature as source of nourishment is changing. We now live in an era where the impacts of global warming—unprecedented forest fires, species extinction, coral reef deaths—are impossible to ignore. Our very experience of nature is tinged, if not marred, by these looming realities. 

I have hiked in three mountain ranges in 2018: in the Rockies, the Sierra Nevada, and the Alps. In each place I walked, visibility was affected by a smoky haze from nearby or distant forest fires. In the same year, California witnessed two utterly tragic fires. One, the Camp Fire, incinerated the entire town of Paradise, destroying up to 18,000 homes, forcing more than 52,000 people into some phase of homelessness. Simultaneously, the Woolsey fire, near Malibu, ravaged hillsides and homes alike. The Camp Fire spewed smoke that stretched for hundreds of miles up and down California, blanketing entire cities with toxic smoke. It was described as the hottest and fastest moving fire in history. The intensity fueled by the drought conditions were a direct result of climate change.

Similarly, friends who like to snorkel and dive lament the diminishing coral reefs. Alpine climbers witness the high mountain glaciers disappearing year after year. Oceans that were once teeming with fish are now depleted. The remaining fish drift in gigantic garbage patches, some as large as the state of Texas.

Our grief and pain about such things is harder to push aside. The results of the climate crisis are mounting, becoming an enervating presence where once we drew pure pleasure and deep replenishment. Instead of relishing the majestic trees, abundant wildflowers, or breathtaking views, we confront drought conditions, flooding, or the smoky haze of distant forest fires. Our heart may feel heavy and weary or helpless at the scope of the problem.

The Australian eco-psychologist Glenn Albrecht coined a new term for this: solastalgia. It is a part of an emerging lexicon in the mental health field that endeavors to address the distress and anxiety that occurs in relation to the ecological crisis. Solastalgia, composed of two Greek words, solacium (comfort) and algia (pain), refers to the distress caused by environmental damage and speaks to the grief, sadness, and despair that arises in response to the current environmental devastation. Instead of joy there is a hopelessness, a knowing that what is loved is now under threat.

People feel solastalgia in response to mountaintop mining from the Blue Ridge Mountains to Western Australia. It is felt when one sees the vast forests in the West scorched by fires. It is stirred when there are mass beachings of dolphins or whales or when blooming red tides in Florida stifle marine life. Sailors feel it when drifting past islands of plastic in the Pacific. Farmers know it in their bones when droughts crush their wheat harvests.

When I recently came across this term, it articulated something I’ve felt for some time. It speaks to my changing experience in nature. In the past, nature had always been an unending source of nourishment, joy, wonder, and love. Now it is often tinged with sadness, grief, or loss at what is happening to species, habitat, oceans, and rivers. It is now impossible to ignore. What does this mean for countless people who have gone to the woods for refuge and resilience? What are the dire consequences for vulnerable peoples and species the world over?

Of course, I am also aware this grief is not new. Indigenous cultures and First Nations  peoples have felt it for centuries. They have and continue to witness ecological devastation of their homelands through land confiscation, drilling, mining, deforestation, and the monocrops of agribusiness. They perhaps are more vulnerable to the consequences of climate change, whether that be declining fish stocks, melting ice in the Arctic, or changing migration patterns. Our current tears are part of a river of tears that has been flowing for a long time.

Practice with Paradox

For me, as for any nature-loving meditator, this presents a challenging dilemma. How do we continue to open our hearts to the beauty of the natural world when doing so means we also feel the deep pain of losing what we love?

As I sit by the ocean, I can revel in the silky surface of the water, the light catching the crest of waves, and be mesmerized by its restless beauty and vast power. Yet I also can’t help thinking of the creatures that lie within it: the diminishing shoals of tuna and dwindling populations of porpoises. 

Whenever my heart feels torn in this way, I remember that where we habitually place our heart and mind becomes our natural inclination. What we focus on determines to some degree our sense of well-being. We can’t ignore the ecological crisis. We are here because society has refused to look squarely at this complex problem. However, does it serve the greater good to dwell only on the catalog of data about climate change? Such single-pointed focus can lead to despair, hopelessness, and worse.  

On my walk I can dwell on the smoke, the acrid smell, the diminished visibility, and the destruction those fires bring. Or I can shift my attention to what is not burning up. To the Indian paintbrush flowers at my feet on my walk, or to the wave of pelicans who fly in exquisite formation along the coast. I can take in the elegant trees that reach their limbs skyward and the beautiful eucalyptus bark that peels like skin, while their leaves cast a dreamy, shadowy light upon the lush undergrowth. 

Mindfulness teachings point us to meet the present moment as it is: We behold both the beauty of nature and the devastation that is occurring. We see the folly of overly romanticizing the past or drowning in doomsday scenarios of what’s to come. We hold predictions about the future lightly, however certain they’ll appear, as we can never know for sure what may unfold. 

The question I hear from many people is: How do we hold the pain of the earth at this time? My answer is simply to grieve. To let yourself feel the depth of the pain and let the tears flow.

In learning the power of inclining our mind, we can also turn our attention to the tremendous number of constructive solutions that millions of people around the planet are working on. Organizations around the world are figuring out how to remove plastics from the ocean, draw carbon from the air, restore habitat for tigers in Nepal, and clean up the Ganges river. The list of businesses, municipalities, and nonprofits crafting creative solutions to the climate crisis is vast and increases every day.

These times require our mindfulness practice to hold a wide view. It asks that we hold the harsh reality of the eco-crisis, the beauty of what is still here and thriving, and simultaneously the uprising of ordinary people working all over the planet to steward, protect, and preserve the earth in sustainable ways. I have walked through scorched forests. I can look at the blackened trunks and feel a tender grief. And I can also focus on the emerald green shoots that rise out of the ashes. Both are true. Both demand our attention.

To be awake today is to learn how to hold paradox in your mind and to dwell in ambiguity. Indeed, the question I hear from many people is: How do we hold the pain of the earth at this time? My answer is simply to grieve. To let yourself feel the depth of the pain and let the tears flow. Allowing grief to move through allows movement and a responsiveness to rise out of those tear-stained ashes. It helps melt the frozen numbness that thwarts effective action.

We Protect What We Love

On my wilderness courses, I tell attendees that the basis for the Awake in the Wild meditation practice is summarized in the phrase: “We protect what we love.” When we bring meditative awareness to something in nature, like a baby sparrow in her nest or the first snowdrop flowers emerging from a long winter, we can discover our heart blooms with tenderness. It is sometimes what restores our humanness.

It is precisely this love, this open-hearted connection that is the basis for personal resilience and sustainability on a macro level. When we see how this beautiful planet, its creatures, and ecosystems are threatened, our heart galvanizes an active and sometimes fierce response, in the same way a mother bear will fiercely protect her cubs against threats. It is love that helps summon strength and passion to steward the earth. However, to feel that love necessitates we have intimate contact with the natural world. And it requires that we listen to the pulse of our own heart.

This reminds me of the story of John Seed, the Australian author and activist. He received a call some years ago from a friend inviting him to join protests in a section of rainforest near his house in New South Wales. A timber company was trying to clear-cut old-growth forest, and people came to stop the loggers until a court order could take effect.

Not being a natural protester, John found himself at the front of the demonstration facing huge bulldozers and logging trucks. What happened next surprised him and radically changed his life. Rather than thinking it was he, John, who was protesting, he realized it was the rainforest moving through him that was protesting the logging. The forest was acting through a larger ecosystem—via John—to protect itself. Such moments of insight shatter our illusion of separation and individualism.

My hope is that perhaps as we spend more time in the wild, attuned to the beautiful yet fragile natural world, we will, like John, be moved and feel the earth moving through us as part of a healthy ecosystem, to protect itself. And that, perhaps, we will learn to explore the paradox and ambiguity, to feel both the beauty and fragility, our deep nourishment and devastating losses—as we grow an inner resilience and outer sustainability to support what we love. 

Five Ways You Can Help Counter Climate Change

Switch to a plant-based diet, cut down on dairy, and buy local

Raising livestock accounts for around 18% of greenhouse gases emitted globally each year. If the grain fed to livestock were fed to people, we could feed 800 million! Support your farmers and buy local—American food travels an average of 1,500 to 2,500 miles from farm to table. 

Rethink transportation 

Air travel contributes up to 9% of human activity on climate change. Take ground transportation as much as possible. Bike, walk, or take public transit. If you need to drive, upgrade to a fuel-efficient car, a hybrid, or even better, an electric car—and carpool. 

Green your home 

If every US home replaced a single incandescent lightbulb with an energy-efficient lightbulb, it would reduce CO2 emissions by the same amount as removing one million cars from the road! Install solar panels on your house. Buy high-efficiency appliances. Insulate your home properly. Wash clothes in cool water and hang-dry them, old school.

Think smaller

Perhaps the most significant factor in our individual contribution to climate change is the number of children we have. Consider having smaller families.

Vote

Elect officials locally and nationally who support green, sustainable policies to counter climate change.

The post Grieving For and Loving Our Planet appeared first on Mindful.

[gossipnetwork-blog]

A Timeline of Sarah Jessica Parker and Kim Cattrall's Never-Ending Sex and the City Feud

New Post has been published on http://gossip.network/a-timeline-of-sarah-jessica-parker-and-kim-cattralls-never-ending-sex-and-the-city-feud/

A Timeline of Sarah Jessica Parker and Kim Cattrall's Never-Ending Sex and the City Feud

We couldn’t help but wonder…will Sarah Jessica Parker and Kim Cattrall‘s “feud” ever really go away?

While the Sex and the City co-stars have spent more time denying rumors of any animosity than actually playing Carrie Bradshaw and Samantha Jones in the last decade, there’s no denying there’s definitely some bad blood between them after plans for a third Sex and the City film fell through.

Sure, the media does have a tendency to pit women starring on TV shows against each other (see: SATC, Gossip Girl, The Good Wife, etc.) but where there’s smoke there’s a fire. Sometimes, co-workers just don’t get along (like the person in E! News’ offices who likes to heat up fish in the kitchen for lunch every day. Ahem.)

But with this latest installment in SJP and Cattrall’s “feud,” we decided to take a stroll down memory lane to see all the times they’ve addressed the headlines since SATC debuted in 1998. Grab your rental…

December 2004: While there were always rumors of cat fights quietly plaguing the set of Sex and the City throughout its six-season run, things came to light in 2004 as the show was ending after Cattrall told British talk show host Jonathan Ross that she had demanded more money.

“I felt after six years it was time for all of us to participate in the financial windfall of Sex and The City,” she said on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, adding she asked to be paid $1 million per episode (up from a reported $350,000) if the show were to continue. “When they didn’t seem keen on that I thought it was time to move on.”

Parker was paid more as she was an executive producer on the series (and later the movies).

May 2008: Four years later, fans were delighted when SATC returned, bringing the ladies to the big screen. But the movie, which was originally supposed to start filming right after the series wrapped, was delayed due to ongoing salary negotiations.

And Parker addressed the money talk and defended Cattrall when The Telegraph visited the set of the first movie.

“She mentioned money and no one should vilify her for it,” she said. “People made a decision that we had vilified her. No one bothered to say [to the rest of us], “Are you disappointed by not making the movie?’ Yes. “Do you respect and support her choice to not do it?” Absolutely.'”

In Marie Claire’s cover story ahead of the film’s premiere date, former HBO CEO Chris Albrecht weighed in on the salary disputes. “When you’re keeping people for years, you have to continue to pay them more money,” he said. “Sarah was becoming more and more famous, and her salary increased beyond what was contractually committed, which is normal for hit shows. The other actresses wanted to keep up.”

December 2009: In a show of support, Cattrall and Nixon attend the NYC premiere of Parker’s new movie, Did You Hear About the Morgans?

In the same month, Parker was on the cover of Elle, and once again talks about Cattrall and the alleged salary disputes that delayed the first movie. “I don’t think anybody wants to believe that I love Kim,” Parker told the mag. “I adore her. I wouldn’t have done the movie without her. Didn’t and wouldn’t.”

In the article, Cattrall compliments Parker, saying, “She shines and she allows you to shine as well.”

January 2010: In an in-depth interview with The Daily Mail, Cattrall expressed her exasperation over the never-ending feud rumors.

“People don’t want to believe that we get on. They have too much invested in the idea of two strong, successful women fighting with each other. It makes for juicy gossip and cop,” she said. “The truth of us being friends and getting along and happily doing our jobs together is nowhere near as newsworthy. I think Sarah is fantastic. She is a born leader and she guides the crew and the cast in such a strong but gentle way. She and I are sick of this. It’s exhausting talking about it, and a real bore. Next?”

May 2010: The four ladies once again posed for Marie Claire ahead of the second film’s premiere, and once again, they addressed the feud rumors. 

Parker admitted that sometimes “feelings get hurt” due to how much time they spend filming.

“You’re on set, you’re working 90-hour weeks, you’re never home, you’re exhausted,” she said. “There are times when all of us have been sensitive and sometimes feelings get hurt. But I don’t have any regrets about how I’ve treated people.”

Cattrall also spoke to the “stressful” says on set, telling the mag, ‘Nineteen-hour workdays are stressful, whether you’re driving a truck, working in a coal mine or on a set and trying to be your brightest at 4 o’clock in the morning. But there’s a camaraderie that happened through all of that..the chemistry among the four of us is very strong.”

She then said, “Because the press has to put women in these boxes, rather than show them as the movie portrays them: working together and being powerful. Things just have to be explosive for no other reason than for people’s imaginations.”

Cynthia Nixon also weighed in, adding, “It hasn’t always been smooth sailing. But the idea that we’re somehow adversarial is ludicrous.”

August 2016: Parker takes to Instagram to post a message to Cattrall on her 60th birthday. “Sending love and the very best for a perfectly marvelous, joyous, healthy and adventure filled birthday year,” she captioned the pic. “Your ol’ pal, fellow mischief maker and ‘sister’, Sj xxx.” 

September 2016: The next month, SJP talked to Time about the response her birthday post received from fans and the media. 

“I posted something on Kim’s birthday and people were like, ‘Oh my God, I didn’t know you liked her!'” she said. “What? We were all at liberty to walk away at any time! But nobody asked those questions of shows with men. Isn’t that interesting?”

October 2016: Parker is asked about the feud rumors when she goes on Howard Stern‘s radio show, and brought up society’s tendency to pit women against one another.

“It used to really confound me and really upset me because we were part of a family of sopranos and no one ever questioned the relationships of the men on that show and no one ever said to them, ‘Did you hang out this weekend with each other? Did you give each other Christmas presents?'” she said. “These were my sisters, these were people that I grew to love and admire.”

She continued, “Was every day perfect? Were people always desperately, hopefully in love with each other? No, but this is a family of people who needed each other, relied upon each other and loved each other. This sort of narrative, this ongoing catfight, it really upset me for a very long time.”

Ron Galella, Ltd./WireImage

September 2017: SJP confirmed that a third Sex and the City movie was this close to happening before. “It’s over…we’re not doing it,” she told Extra. “I’m disappointed. We had this beautiful, funny, heartbreaking, joyful, very relatable script and story. It’s not just disappointing that we don’t get to tell the story and have that experience, but more so for that audience that has been so vocal in wanting another movie.”

Wille Garson, who played Carrie’s BFF Stan, cryptically tweeted, “Disappointed for all crew holding on for negotiations to conclude for their jobs, and of course, for the fans. Leave it at that. #Truth.”

Reports then cited Cattrall has the lone hold-out, something she was quick to deny on Twitter, shooting down rumors of her alleged demands. “Woke 2 a @MailOnline [poop emoji] storm! The only ‘DEMAND’ I ever made was that I didn’t want to do a 3rd film….& that was back in 2016.”

October 2017: But Cattrall wasn’t done talking, going on to tell Piers Morgan during an appearance on his ITV show, Life Stories, that Parker “could have been nicer” about the demise of SATC 3.

“And now, now at this very moment it’s quite extraordinary to get any kind of negative press about something that I’ve been saying for almost a year of ‘no’ that I’m demanding or a diva,” Cattrall said, according to The Daily Mail. “And this is really where I take to task the people from Sex and the City and specifically Sarah Jessica Parker in that I think she could have been nicer. I really think she could have been nicer. I don’t know what her issue is, I never have.”

What do you think of SJP and Cattrall’s comments over the years? Did you want a third SATC movie? Tweet your thoughts at @tbrick2 and @eonlineTV.

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