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wolfhuntsmoon · 5 years ago

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Sarah Rogers and how Steve inherited ‘stubborn little shit’ from the womb

Okay, so I was noodling on Sarah after reading her Marvel wiki and some extraordinarily good posts about how EG Steve should have gone back to see his mum instead of Peggy etc and the timings of Steve’s early story struck me as... interesting.

Steve is born on 4th July 1918, before the end of WWI, meaning he would have been conceived in September or October of 1917 - that is, if he was born on time or only a few weeks premature. Which, given the tech and prognosis for preemies in the early 20th century, must have been the case because things were grim enough even if you weren’t born prematurely, for both baby and mother. If you were giving birth, you had a 6% chance of dying in Ireland in this period - roughly comparable with the rest of Europe but shockingly high by our standards. The odds were better if you were rich, but not by that much. Childbirth remained the leading cause of death for women worldwide until the late 1940s, remember. And kids fared no better. One in five children born in Dublin in this period died before their 5th birthday. Again, the figures would be better or worse depending on how well off you were, but even the richest still suffered appalling infant mortality rates.

Anyway, depressing history of women’s health aside, this means that Joseph Rogers, American solider, and her, must have been doing the do about then, and probably seeing each other on the regular before that, because believe you me, casual sex in the early 20th century was a big no no. Not to say it didn’t happen, but usually only via prostitution ESPECIALLY in Ireland, because the Catholic Church ruled supreme there even more than the British did and contact between the sexes was very restricted and frowned upon. Sex ed was nonexistent, and women knew that even a whiff of scandal about them was enough to ruin them, their entire family, and the rest of their life. It’s a hackneyed joke because it’s true: Ireland is small and everyone knows everyone. You would get found out and then suffer the consequences - sent to a mother and baby home if you were lucky, and those places were worse than prisons sometimes. That cultural context would carry over even if Sarah wasn’t actually in Ireland at the time.

So, likely they were married by then, because again: social ruin. The Marvel wiki says they were married, but not when. (I know nothing about the comics, I’m sorry) Soldiers and their sweethearts often married very quickly, and there are actually quite a few accounts of nurses falling in love and marrying the soldiers they tended. (More on this later) However, if she was widowed and could have the child respectably, why not return to Ireland? With, presumably, a support network that makes emigrating to America a worse, not better, prospect? This is the crux of my theory: Sarah Rogers was seen as an unmarried mother, and treated as such, because she married Joseph abroad, probably without permission, and when he died, had no social proof of the marriage. And in those days, unmarried mothers either: aborted in secret, had the baby concealed by the church where they were then taken and given up for adoption, or were cast out with nothing and ostracised if they decided to keep the baby. Sarah ending up in America strikes me as her taking the third option, and indeed the only option she could, to keep her baby.

But first: Joseph and Sarah need to meet in order to get down and dirty. How? He’s an American soldier who would never have set foot in Ireland in WWI - the British government kept their troops there, obviously, but the Americans were all put straight onto the continent or mainland Britain once they crossed the Atlantic from 1917 onwards (remember the US only joined in WWI in April 1917). In fact, the US wasn’t able to send significant numbers of troops to Europe until the following spring of 1918, because their army was so small and outmoded for trench warfare they basically had to send a lot of stuff over until they had enough trained bodies, which took about a year to organise. Based on this, if Joseph and Sarah were making baby Steve in September 1917, Joseph must have been in the regular US army before it entered the war, and likely in for quite a long time and experienced, to be sent over so soon. That experience would have been invaluable, meaning he never would have been assigned to stay in Ireland even if the US did send troops there. He would have been deployed straight onto the battlefield.

In which case, if Joseph never sets foot in Ireland, then how does he meet Sarah? Well, we’re told she’s a qualified nurse, and that was a solidly middle class job back then. You needed to have a good education, beyond primary level (which was all that was free for kids back then - you had to pay for secondary or tertiary level) and speak English well. In addition to that, your training to be a nurse took three years, and you weren’t paid or funded at all for those. So I don’t buy the theories that she emigrated to America only speaking Irish and totally penniless. Sarah most likely came from quite a well off family to become a nurse, although it’s not impossible she rose from much humbler circumstances as there were a number of scholarships and the like for the deserving poor set up by rich upper class ladies bored out of their minds drinking endless teas in salons who liked to do things like Help the Poor but only if they’re Pure and Mannerly. Qualified nurses were paid about £40/year in WWI by the British government, when your average domestic maid would have been earning about £20/year - quite a big difference.

Either way, Sarah, as a nurse, was exactly the kind of woman the British government was desperate to recruit by 1915-1916 when the true scale of modern attritional warfare became clear, and no longer pussyfooted around keeping women and their delicate sensibilities away from the battlefield. The Battle of the Somme between July-Nov 1916, for example, claimed the lives of over 20,000 British soldiers ON THE FIRST DAY. The British alone sustained over a million casualties (dead, missing or wounded) across the whole battle. They couldn’t afford to stay prudish. There were just too many casualties to deal with. They even opened up medical degrees to women without restrictions because they were so desperate! Which was a big part of the reason why Britiain introduced conscription for the first time in 1916, including in Ireland (which led to the Easter Rising and Irish War of Independence, hoo boy was that a mistake). Droves and droves of young women were recruited to fill all sorts of jobs while the men were away, but a large number also went overseas to the battlefields of Belgium and France. Sarah must have been one of them. If she was qualified beforehand, she would most likely have been sent to work in a field hospital abroad, because the voluntary members were mostly kept working as assistants on the British mainland. Lots of women joined these Voluntary Aid Detachments (VADs) at the start of the war to nurse wounded soldiers, but the military hated the idea of using them until they couldn’t cope in 1915. Even then, volunteers were only used for the more menial tasks. Professionals like Sarah were what was needed the most.

Now, I’ve said that she likely came from a middle class family, so money probably wasn’t a worry until after she got to America, later on. Why go, given the pay wasn’t significantly more than you’d earn as a nurse at home? Well, the rigid social hierarchy of the time broke down in some pretty major ways out there, and it was likely the only chance an unmarried woman would ever get to travel that wouldn’t immediately ruin her reputation. And if you accept more the idea she became a nurse via scholarship and was poor, the increase in pay working abroad would have been sorely appreciated. And we can also consider patriotism might play a role - not all Irish were rabidly anti-British before 1916. Indeed, many ordinary and middle class Irish only became ardently nationalist in the wake of the brutal repression following the 1916 Easter Rising. And more than that, many Irish, even if they disliked the British, disliked the idea of the Germans and Austrians-Hungarians winning the war even more. Personally, I think Sarah was an adventurer who seized her chance to escape the restrictive social confines of Ireland and didn’t once look back, even if her family disapproved.

I couldn’t find a birthdate for Sarah, or a maiden name to tell me where she might have hailed from (thanks, Marvel. Not.) But let’s say she was part of that first initial wave of volunteers who signed up in 1914 - because it was HUGE. It’s really difficult for us, so jaded now, to get into the mindset of people then, but they did sign up in huge numbers. Partly due to patriotism, partly because they thought the war would be over by Christmas, partly fear of being shamed for not ‘doing their bit’ - there were lots of reasons. But it’s very telling that the British government didn’t feel the need to introduce conscription for men until two years after the war broke out, and they never introduced a civilian equivalent. So Sarah would have been very familiar with the horrors of the battlefield and the war by the time fresh faced Joseph Rogers arrives on the scene in 1917.

How did they meet? Sarah would have most likely been working in a field hospital, overseeing a team of volunteers. Field hospitals were behind the front lines, but only by a few miles, and nurses were killed by enemy shelling and gas attacks. They were the first real point of medical care most soldiers would encounter after having bandages slapped on them at a dressing station in the trenches, before being carted off to the field hospital (if they survived the journey) by stretcher bearers, horses, or increasingly as the war continued, motorised ambulances. So Sarah and her ilk were lasses made of steel, honest to god. They were in the thick of the worst of it, men screaming and dying, and often afraid for their lives while they tried to care for them. A lot of those nurses developed PTSD (then called shell-shock) as a result. Jospeh is most likely to have met her if he was a wounded patient of hers brought in from the battlefield. But only lightly wounded - if he had been badly wounded he would have been shipped straight back to mainland Britain to convalesce as soon as he was stabilised, thwarting any budding romance.

We’re also told that Jospeh dies in a mustard gas attack. So this hospital trip must have been for something different - a broken bone perhaps, or a minor shrapnel wound that would see him off duty for a while but still stationed in the area and therefore able to court Sarah. Young people (Sarah must have been less than 28 because that was the cut off age for nurses to be recruited in 1915-1916) being young people, I imagine they fell in love, fell in to bed, and biology did its magic. The timescale on this is open to interpretation, because the ABSOLUTE earliest they could have met is May 1917 (travel time by ship from America to Europe took weeks during the war), and Steve must have been conceived by October, latest. Which is a pretty whirlwind romance, but not unusual for the time. The Germans first used mustard gas from July of 1917, but Joseph must survive up until September/October.

So, that cause of death as mustard gas? This is strange given how mustard gas was well known at the time to be the ‘best’ gas to have inflicted on you. It produced horrific blisters and burns, particularly on the inside of your throat and airways, but rarely killed. Chlorine and phosgene were MUCH deadlier. So Marvel saying this is more poor research, but let’s go with it - gas affecting you would make it that much more likely you’d be caught by machine gun or shellfire or any of the other myriad ways to die on a WWI battlefield. Here’s where things start to align quite nicely (well, badly for Sarah, but good for fic writers) as mustard gas was deployed by the Germans on a large scale between October 9th-12th to defend the Passchadaele Ridge from a joint British and French assault on the German defences. This was part of the second biggest battle of WWI, the Battle of Passchendaele, notorious for the seas of mud men had to slog through up to their waists, and one of the battles which, like the Somme, gave WWI generals such bad reputations. In three months the British lost 350,000 men and advanced just a few kilometres. They abandoned the battle on November 10th.

So, Joseph Rogers? Must have died between October 9-12th, well before Sarah realised she was pregnant even if Steve was conceived at the start of September. Likely he was caught in a mustard attack, started choking because he couldn’t get his gas mask on/hadn’t got it fitted properly, and then was killed by gun or shellfire after his initial injury. Mustard gas took time to affect the skin and membranes of the body, so if he fell while the gas was still around, it would have looked much worse by the time his body was identified and retrieved from the battlefield. The date, however, means Joseph died never knowing he was going to be a father (sad!), and Sarah, newly widowed, likely didn’t see any reason not to continue working as a distraction until she encountered the first signs of preganancy. The stiff upper lip thing was a real coping mechanism back then. She would have been kicked out as soon as anyone could tell, or she told them and got kicked out, because that was legal and expected then. Pregnant women were fired for being pregnant in any job, and the idea of a pregnant woman working in a theatre of war, as you can imagine, would have outraged everyone.

So, Sarah gets kicked out, has no job. She’s widowed and pregnant. But, the marriage would probably have taken place without her family’s permission (letters were pretty slow and heavily censored on the front lines, the timeframe likely wouldn’t allow for anything except a note telling them she married) and although she would have had a marriage certificate, turning up at home without a husband but with a baby from a military camp? Would have been a deep, deep scandal at the time. Particularly if Sarah came from a middle class family who would have been extremely conscious of their social position and the danger she and her baby posed to it. Catholic mores plus unsanctioned marriage plus Irish social structures equals daughter returning in disgrace to besmirch the family name in a way that is literally unthinkable at the time. Family therefore issues an ultimatum - come back and get rid of the baby and the marriage cert so you can be respectable, or don’t come back at all. I really cannot stress this enough - families would, and did, prefer to say the woman had died and never have any contact with them again, rather than accept an unmarried mother back into their house.

Sarah, being Sarah though, grits her teeth, spits in God’s eye, and packs her bags for the first steamship to New York. She was a lot better equipped than most to make the journey, with some savings from her salary and a profession she could rely on once she arrived. But it was still a recklessly brave thing to do because at this point in time the ENTIRE Atlantic was infested with German U-Boats who were doing their level best to sink any Allied or Allied associated ship they could get in their periscope sights. And they were terrifyingly effective in 1917, although by the end of the year when Sarah would have beeen sailing, countermeasures like the convoy system had greatly reduced this. But still scary as fuck, because by that point the German U-Boats were even sinking hospital ships - until then left alone by both sides.

She probably arrived in the US in January or February of 1918 - it would have taken time to arrange her travel and the journey itself took 3-4 weeks. Little Steven G Rogers came into the world on July 4th, 1918, without a clue as to the sacrifices his mother made to keep him and bring him to America, or the heartache she endured in the previous years. And that, my fellow nerds, is why Sarah Rogers is AWESOME and a sorely underused character and development point for Steve in the MCU. Because to do what she did, and to make it through took more than guts, it took sheer bloody-minded spite and stubbornness, and hey - who does that remind us of? Steve doesn’t grow up and get angry and fighty - no, he’s got that shit in his GENES from Sarah from the beginning.

EDIT: Part 2 is up! Consisting of Sarah’s journey and entry to America, plus how Very Not Good it was to be Irish whilst trying to do so.

#Sarah Rogers #IS AWESOME I WILL HEAR NO DISSENT IN THE RANKS #no seriously #the facts bear it out #fandom meta #captain america #backstory #character development #mcu #she was criminally underused #because you KNOW steve and bucky WORSHIPPED her #steve rogers #bucky barnes #joseph rogers #wwi #ireland #emigration

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bo0zey · 5 years ago

Note

Pick your favorite questions from the list.

i will do them all for u 0.o

1. Name cianna [see-ah-nah]

2. Nationality mexican irish german romanian hungarian french

3. Age 20

4. Birthday december 17, 1999

5. Zodiac sign (or your primal zodiac sign) sun: sagittarius; ascendant: leo; moon: aries

6. Gender female

7. Sexuality uhhhhhhhhhhhh idk but i will willingly kiss either gender

8. Your looks (add a picture or describe yourself) /tagged/my-face or u could just google pictures of fat rats

9. What do you/did you study? I’m currently a sophomore nursing major!

10. What's your current job like?/What job would you like to have? I’m currently a microbiology TA and I love it :) My dream job would be something with animals, like a vet tech or veterinarian

11. Your birth order i’m the oldest!

12. How many siblings do you have? 2 younger brothers

13. Do you have good relations with your family? my mom was my best friend, my dad and i get along better now that i’m in college, my brothers and i get along pretty well & we’re staring to get closer now that they’re getting older n growing up n developing their own personalities lol

14. How many friends do you have? errrr idk this is a hard question. i have a lot of acquaintances but i’d say i have maybe like less than 10 real friends??

15. Your relationship status single :D

16. What do you look for in a SO? funny!!!!!!!!!must be humorous!!!!and sarcastic and a little weird w darker sense of humor so we can laugh n be dumb together!!!!!!! also i would like them to be kind to me and those around them bc mean ppl suck. also they have to like animals. also i would like them to be loyal and trustworthy and 110% in love w me. and for physical stuff idk kinda attractive but NOT CONVENTIONALLY ATTRACTIVE like i personally don't really like the typically ‘attractive’ person???

17. Do you have a crush? currently in love w the cute chinese boy who lives across from my dorm room even tho i have never even spoken to him n he is totally unaware of my existence!!!!!!!! hahah oops :D

18. When did you have your first kiss? i mean technically 3rd grade i think but that doesn't really count so like maybe 16????

19. Do you prefer serious and meaningful relationships or casual dating/one night stands? i mean in the long term i would definitely like to have a serious relationship but at the moment i’m only into casual stuff bc my heart isn't ready to be broken again sknfkjdbnkjd

20. What are your deal breakers? errrr i’m not sure....cheating is a no no, ppl that are interested in fucking every single person they see is a turn off, DUMB PEOPLE like ppl you can't even have a proper conversation with bc they're so DUMB, and ppl who r mean/judgmental/arrogant

21. How was your day? ok! accidentally slept thru my math class but caught a glimpse of my crush across campus when he was abt to smoke a cig and i got chipotle n i online shopped a ton from shein

22. Favourite food & drink deep dish spinach pizza from giordano’s & orange vitamin water

23. What position do you sleep in? i fall asleep on my left side hugging a body pillow

24. What was your last dream about? ate a braid of hair and inside the braid was bacon

25. Your fears not going to make it thru nursing school, not being financially stable as an adult, not having a family of my own, probably more but those r currently top 3

26. Your dreams i don't have any idk....maybe having like a house of my own and having as many animals as i want?? and i would like a loving partner with a daughter of our own

27. Your goals survive nursing school and lose 40 pounds and don't die before my cat

28. Any pets? i have a dog named cherry Cola, a cat named Leto, and a betta fish named Perc

29. What are your hobbies? writing stories about people in love, listening to music

30. Any cool places in your area? in my college town??? NO it sucks. in my hometown??? Not really it’s a small lil village with only restaurants and parks. but at home i’m near downtown chicago so that’s cool i guess

31. What was your last awkward situation? the first thing that comes to mind is my FIRST and so far ONLY encounter with my crush. we live in the same dorm building and i was wearing my nursing scrubs and had no make up on and about to go upstairs to my dorm, and then i heard footsteps and i was like ‘hahaha what if its my crush’ AND THEN HE FUCKIGJNG appeared from down the hallway to go back to HIS DORM [which is RIGHT ACROSS FROM MINE] and i literally STARED at him, then threw open the door and RAN UP THE STAIRS LIKE I LITERALLY DIDNT EVEN HOLD THE DOOR OPEN FOR ME AND HE WAS LIKE SO CLOSE BEHIND ME I WAS JUST SO NERVOUS MY FLIGHT OR FIGHT RESPONSE TOOK OVER AND I FUCKING FLED I LITERALLY RAN AWAY FROM HIM I AHTE MYSELF SO MUCH IM SUCH AN IDIOT!!!!!!!!!

32. What is your last regret? errrrr idk i regret a lot of dumb things.......

33. Language/s you can speak English n a LITTLE bit of Spanish

34. Do you believe in astrological stuff? (Zodiac, tarot, etc.) i’m really into zodiac stuff and i have got to say they are pretty spot on in accuracy idk

35. Have any quirks? ummmm ofc!!i am the quirkiest person i know hajnjfxbkjx like if u asked my roommates/friends they’d probably be better at answering this than me bc i don't see anything abt me as quirky but they always tell me i am quirky and do weird things but idk man I'm just existing

36. Your pet peeves err idk currently its ppl that constantly brag about dumb shit

37. Ideal vacation somewhere warm with me + the ocean + the loml + unlimited alcohol

38. Any scars? yeah :D both emotional AND physical!!!!

39. What does your last text message say? ‘ok thats a more than fair statement’

40. Last 5 things from your search history how many carbs should i eat, chipotle bowl calories, is the grim reaper the angel of death, ceftriaxone adverse effects, red man syndrome

41. What's your [device] background? lockscreen is a peach-theme background i made and home screen is my weight loss goals

42. What do you daydream about? the characters in my stories.................and being skinny

43. Describe your dream home pretty brick house??? flowers outside??? 3 floors--main floor, basement and upstairs??? 3 bedrooms n 3 bathrooms maybe??? master bedroom has its own bathroom!!! and open concept main floor. big kitchen and very homey n warm all around. as for like an apartment i want something cozy and aesthetically pleasing and warm

44. What's your religion/Your thought about religion i don't have a religion but if ppl do have a religion then thats not my business

45. Your personality type entj but only bc i got 3% extraverted; i am very closely related to intj tho n i think i fit that one better

46. The most dangerous thing you've done uhhhhhh probably operating a vehicle while high out of my mind. definitely the dumbest thing i ever did 0/10 would recommend anyone ever doing that

47. Are you happy with your current life? its ok but it could probably be better. i want to be done w college and skip to the part where i have a successful career and my own home and i can lay up w the loml every night

48. Some things you've tried in your life alcohol???weed??gummy edibles....

49. What does your wardrobe consist of? sweaters/sweatshirts/leggings

50. Favourite colour to wear? black, maroon, peach, purple, gray, idk

51. How would you describe your style? oh jeez idk i wear whatever i want so like e-girl when i really try and basic white girl when i don't care

52. Are you happy with your current looks? no i hate everything about myself lol

53. If you could change/add something to your appearance - impossible or not - what would it be? more freckles on my face....also be thinner n have longer hair

54. Any tattoos or piercings? my nose and septum are pierced!

55. Do you get complimented often? kinda by my friends but i always yell at them to stop so they don't compliment like as much bc they know i hate it but they still do it sometimes idk

56. Favourite aesthetic? i wanna be an e-girl yo!!!!!!!!!

57. A popular trend that you dislike nobody has a crush on me and i hate it

58. Songs you're currently obsessed with? pied piper by BTS

59. Song you normally wouldn't admit you like. anything by BTS lol i used to like be embarrassed for how much i like k pop but now i don't really care lol #stanBTS2020

60. Favourite genre? rap/r n b/alternative

61. Favourite artist/band/genre? i listen to every genre except country sooooooo yeah i really like billie eilish, BTS, the weeknd, juicewrld, lil nas x, trippie red, post malone,

62. Hated popular songs/artists? i don't rlly like selena gomez or justin bieber or taylor swift

63. Put your music on shuffle and list first 5 only - RY X i.f.l.y. - Bazzi novacane - frank ocean jungle - drake bang! - trippie redd

64. Can you sing or play any instruments? no and no

65. Do you like karaoke? no but i like to sing along to songs when I'm alone

66. Own any albums? haha noooo i got apple music son

67. Do you listen to radio? What stations? errr RARELY i used to listen to r n b stations tho

68. Favourite movie/series? idk donnie darko?? i also just finished tharntype n that was really good. also i liked tokyo ghoul. AND GIVEN IS REALLY GOOD

69. Favourite genre of movies/books/etc i like horror/scary/paranormal/funny movies and i like love stories in books

70. Your fictional crush/es danny phantom, ken kaneki

71. Which fictional character is you? uhhhh idk...

72. Are you a shipper? List your otps, if so frerard, ryden, taekook, mewgulf

73. Favourite greek god? idk they all kinda suck but maybe hades

74. A legend from where you live that you like i don't really know any:(

75. Do you like art? What's your favourite work or artist? i like to look at art! i think van gogh is cool

76. Can you share your other social media? ig: ciannnna venmo: ciannnna

77. Favourite youtubers? i don't really watch youtubers but maybe shane dawson and emma chamberlain

78. Favourite platform? twitter

79. How much time do you spend on the internet? too much time

80. What video games have you played? Which one's your favourite? i once played GTA5 that was fun!

81. Your favourite books (manga also counts) idk i don't really read anymore:/ i was into the hunger games and the twilight series when i was young. now i kinda read online manga and i really liked BJ Alex and killing stalking. and like for online books the unholyverse series, a splitting of the mind, the anatomy of a fall

82. Do you play board/card games? no but i like to play checkers and uno and cards against humanity

83. Have you ever been to a night marathon in cinema? nopee

84. Favourite holiday halloween is cool also christmas is alright bc gifts

85. Are you into dramas? i’ve been getting into thai boys love dramas lol sue me

86. Would you use death note, if you had one? um YES.

87. What changes would you make in the world, no matter how impossible, if you had the power to? everyone needs to be a little kinder and have a crush on me

88. Could you survive a zombie apocalypse? absolutely not I'm not physically fit and don't have useful skills

89. If you had to be turned into a paranormal being, what would it be? vampire duh [or maybe ghost]

90. What would you want to happen to you after your death? i want to see my mom

91. If you had to change your name, what would be your pick? idk something cool ... i love the name Daisy

92. Who would you switch your life with for a week? idk probably kylie jenner

93. Pick an emoji to be your tattoo idk the alien? 94. Write 3 things about yourself - only one of them must be true -im very productive with my time management skills -my favorite color is purple -i don't get nervous when I'm alone in public

95. Cold or hot? cold

96. Be a hero or be a villain? anti-hero

97. Sing everything you want to say or rhyme? sing if i’m good at it but if I'm not good then rhyme

98. Shapeshifting or controlling time? shapeshifting

99. Be immortal or be immune to everything aside from natural death?immortal

100. ..... or .....? ......?

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draculalive · 6 years ago

Text

Jonathan Harker's Journal

7 May. -- It is again early morning, but I have rested and enjoyed the last twenty-four hours. I slept till late in the day, and awoke of my own accord. When I had dressed myself I went into the room where we had supped, and found a cold breakfast laid out, with coffee kept hot by the pot being placed on the hearth. There was a card on the table, on which was written:---

"I have to be absent for a while. Do not wait for me. -- D." I set to and enjoyed a hearty meal. When I had done, I looked for a bell, so that I might let the servants know I had finished; but I could not find one. There are certainly odd deficiencies in the house, considering the extraordinary evidences of wealth which are round me. The table service is of gold, and so beautifully wrought that it must be of immense value. The curtains and upholstery of the chairs and sofas and the hangings of my bed are of the costliest and most beautiful fabrics, and must have been of fabulous value when they were made, for they are centuries old, though in excellent order. I saw something like them in Hampton Court, but there they were worn and frayed and moth-eaten. But still in none of the rooms is there a mirror. There is not even a toilet glass on my table, and I had to get the little shaving glass from my bag before I could either shave or brush my hair. I have not yet seen a servant anywhere, or heard a sound near the castle except the howling of wolves. Some time after I had finished my meal -- I do not know whether to call it breakfast or dinner, for it was between five and six o'clock when I had it -- I looked about for something to read, for I did not like to go about the castle until I had asked the Count's permission. There was absolutely nothing in the room, book, newspaper, or even writing materials; so I opened another door in the room and found a sort of library. The door opposite mine I tried, but found it locked.

In the library I found, to my great delight, a vast number of English books, whole shelves full of them, and bound volumes of magazines and newspapers. A table in the centre was littered with English magazines and newspapers, though none of them were of very recent date. The books were of the most varied kind -- history, geography, politics, political economy, botany, geology, law -- all relating to England and English life and customs and manners. There were even such books of reference as the London Directory, the "Red" and "Blue" books, Whitaker's Almanac, the Army and Navy Lists, and -- it somehow gladdened my heart to see it -- the Law List.

Whilst I was looking at the books, the door opened, and the Count entered. He saluted me in a hearty way, and hoped that I had had a good night's rest. Then he went on:---

"I am glad you found your way in here, for I am sure there is much that will interest you. These companions" -- and he laid his hand on some of the books -- "have been good friends to me, and for some years past, ever since I had the idea of going to London, have given me many, many hours of pleasure. Through them I have come to know your great England; and to know her is to love her. I long to go through the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and rush of humanity, to share its life, its change, its death, and all that makes it what it is. But alas! as yet I only know your tongue through books. To you, my friend, I look that I know it to speak."

"But, Count," I said, "you know and speak English thoroughly!" He bowed gravely.

"I thank you, my friend, for your all too-flattering estimate, but yet I fear that I am but a little way on the road I would travel. True, I know the grammar and the words, but yet I know not how to speak them."

"Indeed," I said, "you speak excellently."

"Not so," he answered. "Well, I know that, did I move and speak in your London, none there are who would not know me for a stranger. That is not enough for me. Here I am noble; I am boyar; the common people know me, and I am master. But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one; men know him not -- and to know not is to care not for. I am content if I am like the rest, so that no man stops if he see me, or pause in his speaking if he hear my words, 'Ha, ha! a stranger!' I have been so long master that I would be master still -- or at least that none other should be master of me. You come to me not alone as agent of my friend Peter Hawkins, of Exeter, to tell me all about my new estate in London. You shall, I trust, rest here with me awhile, so that by our talking I may learn the English intonation; and I would that you tell me when I make error, even of the smallest, in my speaking. I am sorry that I had to be away so long to-day; but you will, I know, forgive one who has so many important affairs in hand."

Of course I said all I could about being willing, and asked if I might come into that room when I chose. He answered: "Yes, certainly," and added:---

"You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors are locked, where of course you will not wish to go. There is reason that all things are as they are, and did you see with my eyes and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps better understand." I said I was sure of this, and then he went on:---

"We are in Transylvania; and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Nay, from what you have told me of your experiences already, you know something of what strange things there may be."

This led to much conversation; and as it was evident that he wanted to talk, if only for talking's sake, I asked him many questions regarding things that had already happened to me or come within my notice. Sometimes he sheered off the subject, or turned the conversation by pretending not to understand; but generally he answered all I asked most frankly. Then as time went on, and I had got somewhat bolder, I asked him of some of the strange things of the preceding night, as, for instance, why the coachman went to the places where he had seen the blue flames. He then explained to me that it was commonly believed that on a certain night of the year -- last night, in fact, when all evil spirits are supposed to have unchecked sway -- a blue flame is seen over any place where treasure has been concealed. "That treasure has been hidden," he went on, "in the region through which you came last night, there can be but little doubt; for it was the ground fought over for centuries by the Wallachian, the Saxon, and the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soil in all this region that has not been enriched by the blood of men, patriots or invaders. In old days there were stirring times, when the Austrian and the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the patriots went out to meet them -- men and women, the aged and the children too -- and waited their coming on the rocks above the passes, that they might sweep destruction on them with their artificial avalanches. When the invader was triumphant he found but little, for whatever there was had been sheltered in the friendly soil."

"But how," said I, "can it have remained so long undiscovered, when there is a sure index to it if men will but take the trouble to look?" The Count smiled, and as his lips ran back over his gums, the long, sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely; he answered:---

"Because your peasant is at heart a coward and a fool! Those flames only appear on one night; and on that night no man of this land will, if he can help it, stir without his doors. And, dear sir, even if he did he would not know what to do. Why, even the peasant that you tell me of who marked the place of the flame would not know where to look in daylight even for his own work. Even you would not, I dare be sworn, be able to find these places again?"

"There you are right," I said. "I know no more than the dead where even to look for them." Then we drifted into other matters.

"Come," he said at last, "tell me of London and of the house which you have procured for me." With an apology for my remissness, I went into my own room to get the papers from my bag. Whilst I was placing them in order I heard a rattling of china and silver in the next room, and as I passed through, noticed that the table had been cleared and the lamp lit, for it was by this time deep into the dark. The lamps were also lit in the study or library, and I found the Count lying on the sofa, reading, of all things in the world, an English Bradshaw's Guide. When I came in he cleared the books and papers from the table; and with him I went into plans and deeds and figures of all sorts. He was interested in everything, and asked me a myriad questions about the place and its surroundings. He clearly had studied beforehand all he could get on the subject of the neighbourhood, for he evidently at the end knew very much more than I did. When I remarked this, he answered:---

"Well, but, my friend, is it not needful that I should? When I go there I shall be all alone, and my friend Harker Jonathan -- nay, pardon me, I fall into my country's habit of putting your patronymic first -- my friend Jonathan Harker will not be by my side to correct and aid me. He will be in Exeter, miles away, probably working at papers of the law with my other friend, Peter Hawkins. So!"

We went thoroughly into the business of the purchase of the estate at Purfleet. When I had told him the facts and got his signature to the necessary papers, and had written a letter with them ready to post to Mr. Hawkins, he began to ask me how I had come across so suitable a place. I read to him the notes which I had made at the time, and which I inscribe here:---

"At Purfleet, on a by-road, I came across just such a place as seemed to be required, and where was displayed a dilapidated notice that the place was for sale. It is surrounded by a high wall, of ancient structure, built of heavy stones, and has not been repaired for a large number of years. The closed gates are of heavy old oak and iron, all eaten with rust.

"The estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the old Quatre Face, as the house is four-sided, agreeing with the cardinal points of the compass. It contains in all some twenty acres, quite surrounded by the solid stone wall above mentioned. There are many trees on it, which make it in places gloomy, and there is a deep, dark-looking pond or small lake, evidently fed by some springs, as the water is clear and flows away in a fair-sized stream. The house is very large and of all periods back, I should say, to mediæval times, for one part is of stone immensely thick, with only a few windows high up and heavily barred with iron. It looks like part of a keep, and is close to an old chapel or church. I could not enter it, as I had not the key of the door leading to it from the house, but I have taken with my kodak views of it from various points. The house has been added to, but in a very straggling way, and I can only guess at the amount of ground it covers, which must be very great. There are but few houses close at hand, one being a very large house only recently added to and formed into a private lunatic asylum. It is not, however, visible from the grounds."

When I had finished, he said:---

"I am glad that it is old and big. I myself am of an old family, and to live in a new house would kill me. A house cannot be made habitable in a day; and, after all, how few days go to make up a century. I rejoice also that there is a chapel of old times. We Transylvanian nobles love not to think that our bones may lie amongst the common dead. I seek not gaiety nor mirth, not the bright voluptuousness of much sunshine and sparkling waters which please the young and gay. I am no longer young; and my heart, through weary years of mourning over the dead, is not attuned to mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken; the shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements. I love the shade and the shadow, and would be alone with my thoughts when I may." Somehow his words and his look did not seem to accord, or else it was that his cast of face made his smile look malignant and saturnine.

Presently, with an excuse, he left me, asking me to put all my papers together. He was some little time away, and I began to look at some of the books around me. One was an atlas, which I found opened naturally at England, as if that map had been much used. On looking at it I found in certain places little rings marked, and on examining these I noticed that one was near London on the east side, manifestly where his new estate was situated; the other two were Exeter, and Whitby on the Yorkshire coast.

It was the better part of an hour when the Count returned. "Aha!" he said; "still at your books? Good! But you must not work always. Come; I am informed that your supper is ready." He took my arm, and we went into the next room, where I found an excellent supper ready on the table. The Count again excused himself, as he had dined out on his being away from home. But he sat as on the previous night, and chatted whilst I ate. After supper I smoked, as on the last evening, and the Count stayed with me, chatting and asking questions on every conceivable subject, hour after hour. I felt that it was getting very late indeed, but I did not say anything, for I felt under obligation to meet my host's wishes in every way. I was not sleepy, as the long sleep yesterday had fortified me; but I could not help experiencing that chill which comes over one at the coming of the dawn, which is like, in its way, the turn of the tide. They say that people who are near death die generally at the change to the dawn or at the turn of the tide; any one who has when tired, and tied as it were to his post, experienced this change in the atmosphere can well believe it. All at once we heard the crow of a cock coming up with preternatural shrillness through the clear morning air; Count Dracula, jumping to his feet, said:---

"Why, there is the morning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up so long. You must make your conversation regarding my dear new country of England less interesting, so that I may not forget how time flies by us," and, with a courtly bow, he quickly left me.

I went into my own room and drew the curtains, but there was little to notice; my window opened into the courtyard, all I could see was the warm grey of quickening sky. So I pulled the curtains again, and have written of this day.

#draculaLive

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jcylenz · 6 years ago

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....ALL OF THE “IM NOT FROM THE US” QUESTIONS (or alternatively 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 but i’ll come back for more mwhahshs)

1. favourite place in your country?

Balaton without a doubt. It’s the biggest lake of the country and it has such an amazing atmosphere and feel to it, I really love spending my time there. I usually go at least once, if not more times a year and definitely spend some vacation time there, plus my grandma is from a city next to the lake, so really just many ties there.

2. do you prefer spending your holidays in your country or travel abroad?

I love both? I love going abroad and exploring different cultures and seeing the world (I say that as if I’ve been to so many places when I really wasn’t), but there are also so many beautiful places in Hungary so ya know, both. Gimme both.

3. does your country have access to sea?

Nope, but it used to. We were just chopped up and lost 2/3 of our country after the two world wars.

4. favourite dish specific for your country?

Uhhh, SO MANY. Honestly I love Hungarian cousine so fucking much. Gotta love lecsó and pörkölt and Hortobagyer meat pancakes and Gulash and all the Hungarian food, please don’t make me choose.

5. favourite song in your native language?

Tábortűz by Emberek, and you’re just in luck cause there is a youtube video in which you can read the English translation.

6. most hated song in your native language?

I can’t think of any right now most because I just make myself forget about all the stupid songs my country creates.

7. three words from your native language that you like the most?

Szeretlek, which means I love you. Cipőfűzővégcédőpöcök, which is that protecting thingy at the end of shoelaces. And megszentségteleníthetetlrnségeskedéseitekért, which is this.

8. do you get confused with other nationalities? if so, which ones and by whom?

I don’t think as a nation we get confused with others, we have a pretty unique culture and people, but I do know that a lot of people confuse Budapest and Bucharest, if that counts here.

9. which of your neighbouring countries would you like to visit most/know best?

10. most enjoyable swear word in your native language?

“Menj a picsába!“ Which is mostly the same as “Go to hell!” but in the Hungarian version, if you wanna translate it word for word, it reads “Go to the pussy!“ which makes no sense whatsoever in English but it does make sense in Hungarian s2g.

11. favourite native writer/poet?

Géza Gárdonyi, who wrote, among others things, wrote the book called Eclipse of the Crescent Moon. It’s my favorite Hungarian book without a doubt, favorite classic as well most likely. It tells the story of a siege of a Hungarian castle in Eger in 1552. The siege was a really big thing in Hungarian history and the book tells the story of some of its most famous figures, how they grew up, how they actually got to the castle and how the siege went down, and now I really just wanna reread the entire thing all over again.

12. what do you think about English translations of your favourite native prose/poem?

Never really read any of them, so I don’t have opinions.

13. does your country (or family) have any specific superstitions or traditions that might seem strange to outsiders?

Hmmmm. Probably the strangest is that for us, Santa Clause comes on December 6th and then Jesus Christ brings the Christmas presents on Christmas Eve, not Christmas Day.

We also have a tradition on Eastern Monday where the guys go around the houses to “sprinkle” the girls so they wouldn’t “wither like flowers”, which means you either get buckets of water poured all over you or you they pour a bunch of badly smelling parfumes (like REEEEEALLY BAD ONES) onto your hair and it’s such bullshit and I hate that day with a pure passion.

14. do you enjoy your country’s cinema and/or TV?

Lately I’ve been enjoying it more and more. There was a good 15-20 years period when literally nothing was done that was good or even acceptable but now more and more good movies are made and now we have some good tv shows too which is nice. I still mostly watch foreign stuff though.

15. a saying, joke, or hermetic meme that only people from your country will get?

Uhh, can I pass this? I really can’t think of anything.

16. which stereotype about your country you hate the most and which one you somewhat agree with?

I actually had to look up what kind of stereotypes there are about Hungary, but I really didn’t like the one that kept popping up about Hungarian girls being easy. Fuck that shit, that is really really stupid. The one that I agree with is about our food - that we use a lot of fat and paprika in our food. 100% true. Most of our traditional dishes include both of them and a lot of it but not in a bad way? Like ok I get that probably most people would find them too much, but I do believe if they give it a try, they will realize that it’s actually really good and tasty and you can’t actually taste the fat or anything, it just makes it better. People also say because of our dish types that we eat like kings and I am happy to accept thatxD (it’s most said cause we eat a lot of meat, we have fish soup, different meat soups, we eat stuff like stuffed cabage, stuff that used to be at big feasts)

17. are you interested in your country’s history?

YESSS. I love our history, I think it’s incredibly interesting, incredibly rich and full of amazing stuff. Hungary is over 1000 years old, so many things happened during that time - we had our highs, we had our lows, but we always came out on top and survived in the end and I think that is amazing and something to be proud of.

18. do you speak with a dialect of your native language?

I mean, I am not sure? I don’t think so, but I might be wrong. I mean, there are stuff people say differently on other sides of the country, but it’s not that much distinct. It’s more noticable when it comes to those Hungarians who unfortunately don’t live in Hungary anymore (those who live in the neighbor countries because after the ww 2/3 of our country was taken from us)

19. do you like your country’s flag and/or emblem? what about the national anthem?

I love our flag, though then again it might just be that that is what I know. But it’s nice. I am not too happy about the anthem, it’s too depressing to me.

20. which sport is The Sport in your country?

Football (and by football I mean soccer football) which is a shame cause we suck at it. Like, we won 3 olympic gold medals in a row in waterpolo, but ya know, fuck logic. And I could list so many other sports our country is really good at, but people go nuts about football, so what can you do. (And I am not saying I don’t like the sport, I always watch the world cup, but it’s sad to see the country putting so much money into something we are shit in, putting the players up on a pedestal and forgetting about those who actually get really nice and amazing results.)

21. if you could send two things from your country into space, what would they be?

Uhhhhhhhhh. Paprika and a picture of the Balaton.

22. what makes you proud about your country? what makes you ashamed?

I am generally really proud of our history, that despite whatever shit we were put through, we are still standing, after 1100+ years of being here. And I am ashamed of the general homophobia and fatphobia and racism and the way most people handle this topic aside from the youth. We are really behind on this. Also the fact that we actually have a movie that is called “Coming Out” and it’s about the most stereotypical gay man you’ve ever seen getting hit by a motorbike and suddenly turning straight and him coming out as straight cause legit that is the dumbest and most horrible thing I’ve seen on tv and I want to set everyone who worked on it on flames.

23. which alcoholic beverage is the favoured one in your country?

Beer and wine is pretty popular, plus pálinka, which a Hungarian specific really high % level alcoholic beverage (like 45%-60% even) that we drink in shots.

24. what other nation is joked about most often in your country?

Uhhh, probably Chineese people? It’s really bad, really just the usual racist stereotypical stuff and I hate it.

25. would you like to come from another place, be born in another country?

I think every country has its problems and I am glad I was born here because of the places and the language itself - it’s so fucking beautiful and amazing and lyrical. Would I wanna live here for the rest of my life, though? Nope, definitely not.

26. does your nationality get portrayed in Hollywood/American media? what do you think about the portrayal?

Not really. I specifically remember a Gilmore Girl episode where Michel spoke some stupid Hungarian shit, but other than that… most of the time they call our food shit and make fun of us. Which is really not cool and I hate that so much. (B99 did an episode once where Charles was praising a Hungarian restaurant with a sausage platter and I was SO EXCITED but then Jake called it shit and I knew immediately that most people will believe Jake cause they played on Charles’ weird taste and that everyone will think it’s just one of Charles’ ticks again and it made me so sad srsly. STOP TELLING PEOPLE OUR FOOD IS SHIT, IT’S NOT TRUE)

27. favourite national celebrity?

pass

28. does your country have a lot of lakes, mountains, rivers? do you have favourites?

We have a couple of lakes, two pretty big river and like REALLY SMALL mountains. Most of them I would more likely call them bigger hills instead of mountains tbh. But the biggest geographical thing is definitely the Balaton, which is a big ass lake that most people go to during the summer. It’s also the biggest lake of Eastern Europe which is nice. I love that place, that is definitely my favorite.

29. does your region/city have a beef with another place in your country?

Uhhh, the uni in my city has a beef with the uni I went to cause they used to be under the uni I went to and then they seperated from them and there is some weird who was right stuff going on but other than that not really.

30. do you have people of different nationalities in your family?

Nope.

#kid-gorgeous #answered #answered: ask meme #about #hungarian #LOOK AT THIS #HALF A YEAR LATER #BUT I FINALLY FINISHED THIS

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ksica · 6 years ago

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I’m giving you a big ol’ smooch 😘! I had been trying to explain to key-moochi/skamtrash how her uk POV is not equal to that of the rest of Europe. I’m American but I’m a big history/anthropology/geography nerd and I am so fascinated by different cultures/ societies. And every point I made she just kinda gave me these ‘eye roll’ I’m right your wrong answers, based off opinion not fact. It’s not that she can’t be upset but she doesn’t want to listen to the fact that everywhere is not 1/2

Like the us or the us where we are this big melting pot. In America people are proud of where they come from. You don’t hide it. I’m proud to be Irish, Italian, German, English and polish. But I know in Europe if have recent migration into another country it’s not a good time. So basically she’s not getting that it’s not for lack of a better phrase so ‘black and white’. Any migrant/immigrant is an outsider. 2/3(sorry)

And while I’ve never been to Italy and maybe is just the old Italians but I’ve met Italians who have asked me if I’m Italian and from where I’m from (southern Italy) and they have such fucking weird reactions. Not bad I guess 🤷🏻‍♀️ but like judgmental like oh you are from those poor uneducated crop of Italians. One old man hugged me and said oh it’s ok at least you’re here now. Wha!? I think there is a lot more than just hate and prejudice in general in Italy that skam is a big step. 3/3

——————————————————————————————————

i’m sending one to you too :*

i’ve discussed about this topic a million times.

there are over 40 countries in europe, with different cultures, languages, cousines, history, nationalities, sense of humour… one visiting paris doesn’t mean ‘visiting europe’ as many would say. paris is nothing like bratislava, riga or skopje. europe isn’t the west and europe isn’t the eu; not even eu countries have same laws and policies. in many eu countries same sex marriage is not allowed, in fact, romania is about to have a referendum about banning gay marriages, specifying that marriage can only be between a man and a woman. people on social media only call out russia for their anti lgbt laws but the truth is that all south/eastern european countries are against gay marriages; they’d call us too if they knew we existed.

people have prejudice against foreigners of every colour, nationality, and religion - a foreigner forever stays a foreigner. people have prejudice against people from different regions (generally northerners think they are better than southerners), against people who have fairer or darker skin, against people whose accent is different, who are tattooed or have colourful hair (that is not appreciated here, at all). slavs, who are white, are generally looked down upon; a darker skin italian and black french/american will ALWAYS worth more than a slav, that’s A FACT, but tumblr refuses to accept it because it goes against its “white people cannot be discriminated against” mentality. i obviously need to remind those people that hitler considered us the lesser race (at least 200k of my people were killed in ww2). having said that - black africans have it the worst, they are looked down upon by both white and black europeans (imagine, blacks discriminating against blacks).

“white people” term doesn’t exist, why would it exist in white/homogenous societies. people of colour doesn’t exist too (in my language grammatically correct would only be ‘coloured people’, and i doubt anyone would like to be called like that) (my eastern european pov wonders, who are exactly poc? are chinese in china poc? how would one call black and white people living in china?). we focus on nationality. there’s no african-american, asian-american, latino-american, there’s only american. there’s no latino, there’s mexican, brazilian, peruvian. BUT there is a difference between homogenous and multicultural societies. generations and generations of hungarians, croatians and slovaks who were born in serbia will never be serbs, they will always be hungarians, croatians and slovaks and that’s not discrimination, that’s how everyone prefers them to be identified as (this is no different from japan, white people who were born in japan will never be called japanese). for example, nina dobrev for us, bulgarians and other neighbouring countries will always be bulgarian because she was born in bulgaria. if you wondered how can a white country have white minorities this is your answer.

everyone go to wiki and type the uk, and then italy and serbia: the uk has listed race as ethnic groups, and italy and serbia have nationalities listed.

being mixed doesn’t only mean being racially mixed, in our white european countries it means having two nationalities. in our ‘progressive’ balkan countries being croatian equals catholic, serbian equals orthodox and bosniak equalsmuslim (there are people who identify differently than their ‘assigned’ religion, but we pretend they don’t exist). being mixed could mean having two religions and celebrating different things. (during the bosnian war many was forced to choose their nationality and show what side they were on. those who refused ended up dead.) being a hijabi woman from mixed parents theoretically means being bullied for being a traitor for not identifying with their mother’s religion, but all of our religious muslims live in one country’s region so there has never been any problems. i assure everyone here that a person who is half serbian/half any other (neighbouring) nationality or half muslim/half christian feel the same as a person living in american or british society and being half white/poc (muslim), they feel that they are not serbian/other enough to belong anywhere.

one more thing: 10 days ago two girls tried to educate me on how offensive a term “gipsy” (in my language “cigan”) is. i don’t know how is it in your country but here the term IS NOT OFFENSIVE. we have so many songs with that word, all positive and about love (like this one or this one). sure, there’s huge discrimination against romani people/gypsies and some use it as an insult but it’s all about the tone, the term itself is not offensive, end of discussion.

i have to say i laughed out loud at “at least you’re here now” :D see, a different type of humour :)

#this was long!#skam italia #europe #serbia #race #Anonymous #k text

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qqueenofhades · 7 years ago

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Starlight & Strange Magic, Chapter 2: In Which Garcia Flynn Blows Things Up

Rating: M Summary: Lucy Preston, a young American woman, arrives in England in 1887 to teach history at Somerville College, Oxford. London is the capital of the steam and aether and automatonic world, and new innovations are appearing every day. When she meets a mysterious, dangerous mercenary and underworld kingpin, Garcia Flynn, her life takes a turn for the decidedly too interesting. But Lucy has plenty of secrets of her own – not least that she’s from nowhere or nowhen nearby – and she is more than up for the challenge. Available: AO3 Previous: In Which Lucy Preston Makes An Entrance

For a long moment, even as the zeppelin continues to burn and thunder down in pieces, which hit the grass like meteors just a few feet away from Lucy, the world seems eerily silent. So this is him, the man buying enough guns to start a dozen turf wars, who has just shot down a passenger airship and is a wanted criminal across the city – what the hell is he doing here? Aside from the literally flamingly obvious, and he clearly doesn’t intend to be here much longer, as he’s halfway across the lawn and almost out of sight. There is every good reason in the world for Lucy not to go anywhere near this man, especially given what he has just done. If they can prove it was him, at any rate. He could just be a garden-variety psychopath who enjoys watching the world burn (is he Jack the Ripper?) All of it is very likely. But nonetheless, Lucy starts after him.

She has to weave an obstacle course through the hail of fiery debris, sees someone trapped under a plank, and stops to haul it off them, helping them to their feet and telling them to run while still staring ahead into the darkness for Flynn. He is hurrying across the park, has almost reached the London Zoo on the far side, and Lucy has to outright run, never the easiest feat in long skirts, to keep him in sight. He pushes through the gates of the zoo, as if he’s just going to go chill out in the monkey house and wait for things to calm down, and Lucy fights a demented urge to laugh. Or is he going to make a clean sweep, and blow this up too?

Either way, no time to dawdle. She ducks behind the gatehouse as Flynn, as if sensing he’s being followed, looks around sharply. She draws the Colt out of her pocket, checks that a round is chambered, and debates whether to leave her bag behind, as it’s heavy and will slow her down. As well, it contains the rifle that Karl gave her earlier, which might be an unpleasant tip-off that she has now popped up twice to uninvitedly involve herself in his scurrilous business. But if she drops it here, is she going to be able to get back to it?

Very cautiously, she peers out an inch, careful not to break from cover. Flynn has apparently decided that he’s in the clear, because he starts to jog again, and Lucy decides it’s too risky to leave her bag. So she edges out and stays low, darting through the decorative shrubbery and brick-cupolaed, shingle-roofed buildings. London Zoo in this age is no enlightened model of animal welfare; they’re kept indoors in cramped cages, and Lucy can hear distant howls and gibbers and shrieks as they smell the smoke and panic. With flames still scorching the sky an eerie orange behind her, it gives the place an unsettlingly infernal air, as if she has stumbled down into hell in pursuit of the devil, and these are the torments of the damned. She raises her gun, eyes stinging as she squints. She can possibly wing Flynn from here, but it’s risky. If she hurts him but doesn’t finish him, he will be very motivated to run back and express his displeasure. She is a small woman, and he is a tall and formidable-looking man with clearly extensive experience in this sort of thing. She is under no illusions that she can take him hand to hand.

Up ahead, Flynn alters course sharply, cutting toward a small shed behind the African mammals enclosure that might, for all Lucy knows, actually contain a live lion. She hesitates. She has no obligation to go after him alone; she’s a civilian, he’s crazy, and there will be plenty of awkward questions and red flags raised if she is caught with him. Any chance of decent intel on Rittenhouse while she’s in London, not to mention the rest of it, could go up in (more) smoke. But he’s just vanishing inside, and after a final instant, she flings herself after him.

The shed is low and dim and smells strongly of animal fodder, and Flynn has his back to her, checking what looks like a makeshift electric chair. It definitely is something he is going to tie someone to and commence on further unpleasantness, at any rate, and one of the three crates of guns acquired from Dooley this morning is set to the side. Where the other two are, who knows. Probably distributed to his henchmen, who are – what? Dragging survivors off the airship and shaking them down for all their valuables? Is this the most over-the-top and spectacularly overkill jewelry heist in history? If he wanted that, why not just hit up a bank, or –

No time for that. Lucy has the drop on him for an instant longer, and she had damn well better take it. She raises the Colt, training it on the back of his head, and cocks it with a click. “Put your hands up and turn around slowly.”

There is one brief instant where Lucy has the vaguely satisfying impression that he has been completely taken off guard, is shocked and horrified for it, and is scrambling to think how to respond. Then Flynn does as ordered, raising his hands and turning around slowly, so she looks at him full-on for the first time. A flip of dark hair falls over his forehead, and his eyes glitter in the sharp, angular lines of his face. His nose is long, his eyebrows dark and expressive and somehow managing to communicate a singular amount of sass before he’s even said a word. He surveys her up and down, clearly not expecting to be held at gunpoint by a petite woman in tweed and velvet. “Let me guess,” he says, not sounding terribly concerned. “You’re the one that Karl was complaining about this morning.”

This, to say the least, is a rather blasé reaction to someone pointing a gun at your head, no matter who they are, and the smiling-sociopath theory ticks up a few notches as a possibility. His accent isn’t English, or for that matter Irish; it sounds European of some sort. Slavic, if Lucy had to guess. The Times did say “gipsy,” which could mean anything from Czech to Romanian to Hungarian, though most of that is presently part of the Austrian Empire. Mysteries of origin aside, Lucy can already tell that everyone is right. He’s a terrible pain in the ass.

“You shot down that zeppelin,” she says. “Didn’t you?”

Garcia Flynn shrugs. “So?”

“So?” Lucy takes a few steps closer, can see his eyes following the barrel of her gun, and knows as before that if she does fire, she better not miss. Or for that matter, let her attention slip for a single instant. Despite the faint, stinging residue of smoke, his gaze is almost tocker-level unblinking, until she wonders if this man is somehow also powered by wheels and gears instead of flesh and bone. It’s cat and mouse, but even though she has the gun, she has a strong feeling that she’s the mouse. “Is that just what you do, murder people for fun?”

“I – ” Flynn looks first confused, then exasperated, then angry, as if he can’t believe that this tiny historian can appear from nowhere and think she is entitled to an explanation for his recent spectacular spree of homicidal recreation. “Who the hell are you? You’re no peeler, not that they’d risk popping their monocles and taking on women. Just get out of the way, you have no idea what you’re interfering with. We’ll call it square once, but if you try again – ”

“Why did you shoot it down?” Lucy tightens her grip on the gun and aims it between his eyes. As far as her marksmanship skills go, she is not Annie Oakley, but she can hardly miss a broad target less than three yards away, especially when he’s standing there and staring a hole through her. “What’s this, planning to take someone hostage and torture them – for what? Fun? Information? Feed them to the tigers once you were finished, cover your tracks?”

Flynn raises one of those insolent eyebrows at her, as if to remark that she said all that, not him, and he admires her vivid and gruesome imagination. He takes several steps closer, outright daring her to pull the trigger, until they’re only a few feet apart in the dim, earthy-smelling shadows. “You’re brave,” he says. “Coming out here alone. I can respect that. One last offer. Get out, or I kill you. I don’t want to do that, but I will.”

Lucy raises the gun, as if to remind him that one of them is empty-handed here, and it isn’t her (not that she thinks he’d actually need a gun to do it, and she has let him get within grabbing range without firing, she needs to back up). But just then, the door of the shed bangs open, and Lucy whirls around just in time to see Karl and one of the thugs from this morning, dragging an unconscious man. Her gaze locks with Karl’s, there is a mutual and very unfortunate moment of recognition, and she remembers an instant too late that she should not have taken her eyes off Flynn. But he isn’t quite lunging at her – he’s taken too long to react, he’s still just standing there – and as Karl drops the man’s arm, draws his own gun, and points it at Lucy, Lucy spins and fires at Flynn. It’s a wide shot, fast and reckless, just trying to create enough disruption for her to escape, but he stumbles backward, hand to his neck, and a spurt of blood slaps the dark air. She hikes her skirts, hurdles over the unconscious man in her way, and bursts out into the night. There’s a lot of shouting from inside. Karl and the ancillary thuglet might be after her to pay her back for wounding the boss, and whatever temporary truce she established with them in the Croft is very definitely off. She puts her head down and runs like actual hell.

Lucy is winded, gasping, and stabbed agonizingly with a stitch by the time she navigates around the still-burning wreckage of the zeppelin, out a side gate, and into the dark streets of London. This is not a safe time to be wandering around any city, especially this one, and she remembers that the automaton could be waiting for her back at the boarding house. She puts the Colt back in her jacket and removes the tocker dropper instead, checking that she knows how to load and prime it, then pulls the pump to send a crackle of blue energy coruscating in the barrel. If she isn’t careful running with it, she’ll electrocute herself instead, so she dials back the charge, but keeps it tightly in hand. Her heart is hammering, her mouth is dry, and she feels in a state of mild shock. She doesn’t know why. It’s definitely not the first time she’s shot someone.

Once she’s put some distance between herself and Regent’s Park, and because Lucy physically can’t run anymore, she slows to a crawl. Her feet are absolutely killing her, and she might just shuck the boots and walk the rest of the way barefoot, but that is definitely a horrible idea. She limps and labors, wonders if she’s really up to facing that thing if it’s there, and diverts course into one of the narrower, shabbier lanes of Covent Garden. She staggers up to a certain establishment with a red-glass lamp before the door, heads inside, and buys a room with the last of the money she has with her. It comes with a whore named Bella, who is probably about sixteen and looks younger, and Lucy tells her to go to sleep. She pulls off her overskirts and her boots, winces at the mess of her feet, then crawls into the bed and very determinedly does not think too much about what she’s lying on. She wondered if she might lie awake, but instead she passes out to a level barely compatible with continued brain function.

It takes a long time for Lucy to be stirred the next morning, remember why exactly she feels like total death, and why she’s lying in the none-too-clean sheets of a bed in a Victorian brothel. Filmy, indeterminate sunlight slants in the grimy window, and while she will definitely want to wash thoroughly when she gets back to the boarding house, it’s better than being murdered by one of any number of potential culprits. Lucy sits upright slowly, grimacing, and catches sight of Bella digging through her bag, as most whores will when a client (even if, in this case, only in the loosest sense) falls asleep. “Hey. Hey, leave that alone.”

Bella jumps and drops the bag with a clunk. She looks at Lucy guiltily, and with a hint of fear and respect alike. “I’ve never seen a lady as has so many guns, mum.”

“Yes, well.” Lucy rubs her face. “Never mind that. Did you steal anything?”

“No, mum.”

“Are you sure? It’s important.”

“No, mum.” Bella holds out her hands, as if in proof. “Only nick from the ones who deserve it.”

Lucy grimaces. After a pause she says, “Have you heard of the Church Penitentiary Association? It’s for women of your – of your profession. It’s not a workhouse, and it would be better for you than here, could teach you a different kind of trade, if you want. I could take you over there.”

Bella goggles at her as if Lucy’s asked if she wants to walk on the moon. “The what?”

“The Church Penitentiary Association for the Reclamation of Fallen Women.” It’s a mouthful, and Lucy hopes it still exists here, since as far as she knows, William Gladstone established it in 1848. For everything you can justly say about this era, at least the institutional church is concerned with actually helping widows, orphans, the poor, the homeless, prostitutes, thieves, and other members of the invisible underclass, in a way that other incarnations of it could take a lesson from. Protestant evangelism and social reform is very much afoot, in other words, and Lucy just doesn’t want to leave this child here to get brutalized by however many more men. She can’t save all the whores in London, but still (and besides, you won’t want to be a lady of the evening in Whitechapel in 1888). “Look, I know where it is, I’ll take you. Do you want to go?”

Bella looks justifiably frightened, as if this is a trick or test to catch her out or take her somewhere even worse. “Mr. Carr, he who owns the house. I don’t think he’d be ‘appy.”

“Well,” Lucy says, nodding at her bag. “Guns.”

“Why’d you do that, mum?”

“Because I’d like to.” Lucy stands up, and immediately regrets it as her raw-hamburger feet hit the floor. She can’t face the prospect of stuffing them back into her boots, which is a problem, but maybe she can just suffer it for a little longer. “If you want to go.”

Bella considers that. Finally she offers, “I can please you if you want, mum? I know how to do it with ladies.”

“No, no thank you,” Lucy says hastily. “I don’t want that in exchange, or anything else. If you really want to stay here, I suppose I can’t stop you, but… I just thought I’d offer.”

The young whore blinks, still confused and waiting for a catch, but then she looks up and firms her chin. “I wouldn’t mind seein’ you shoot Mr. Carr, mum, and that’s God’s truth. S’pose if them church types are too bad, I can run away again.”

With that, she gets up, puts on her slippers, and grabs a small calico bag out from under the floorboards, which probably contains all her worldly possessions. Lucy wonders what her parents died from – typhoid, dysentery, cholera? Any of the epidemics that still can take out entire tenements, though less so since Joseph Bazalgette finally finished his pioneering outfall sewer system about ten years ago and reduced the virulent pollution and stink of the Thames. Bazalgette is one of the unsung heroes of the Victorian or any era, a civil engineer who saved countless lives and introduced the concept of modern sanitation systems and waste treatment, but as Lucy has noted, even the new technology and science and magic (if that’s what you want to call it) available here has not made the lives of the grindingly poor any more enjoyable. It almost personally offends her. All this possibility, and you still don’t do anything with it?

She sneaks Bella down the back stairs as the rest of the brothel is waking up and doing its morning laundry and shooing out hungover johns who want to stay later without paying. They emerge into the alley without being caught, and walk as quickly as Lucy can, but she gets Bella to the headquarters of the Association on Harley Street and into the care of a pair of ward sisters. Bella squeezes her hand with her small, grimy ones, and solemnly promises Lucy that if she can ever help her sometime in the future, she has only to say. She won’t forget this, mum, she won’t.

Lucy tells her it’s all right, makes her promise not to run off, and then finally departs, feeling like she’s been beaten with a nightstick and desperate for a proper bath and sleep. She can’t help but wondering if she has now added Mr. Carr, who sounds like the kind of well-adjusted, respectful-of-women, and not-at-all-violent man who owns a brothel in Victorian London, to her sizeable list of enemies, once he finds out that some of his property is missing and a funny American woman was the last person spotted with her. Between him, Flynn and his gang, the automaton, and Rittenhouse, it will absolutely be a miracle if Lucy gets out of this city alive. Maybe she should just leave for Oxford today. It seems safer than staying here any longer.

At last, Lucy staggers up to the boarding house, where Mrs. McBride is volubly relieved to see her. “Thought ye might have gotten mixed up in the airship disaster, Mrs. Preston. Hear about that? All over the papers this morning. A zeppelin crashed in Regent’s Park, and Mr. Stanley missing. A terrible shock for everyone, sure. But they’ll sort the villain that did it, you’ll see.”

“What?” Lucy has already decided that she does not need to tell this nice middle-aged Irish Catholic landlady the least thing about how wildly eventful her last twenty-four hours were, nor that she almost sorted the villain herself, but at that, she frowns. “Mr. Stanley?” That name sounds familiar. “Which Mr. Stanley, and why is he missing?”

Mrs. McBride pushes the morning edition of the Times at her. A black-and-white photograph of the burning zeppelin is splashed all over the front page, and the banner headline blares, AIRSHIP TRAGEDY SHOCKS LONDON; FAMED AFRICAN EXPLORER MISSING; CULPRITS STILL AT LARGE. Underneath, the article goes on to explain how the passenger service arriving from Brussels last evening was downed by an unknown incendiary device, crashing in Regent’s Park with considerable property damage and public terror. Loss of life has been thankfully minor, as most people managed to escape in time, but there are still six confirmed dead, as well as ten or twelve unaccounted for. Several dozen have suffered injuries of some degree, and both Houses of Parliament are in an uproar as they demand a full investigation into the outrage and prompt punishment for those responsible. Everyone from Irish republicans to anarchists to Marxists are being blamed, sometimes all at once. To compound the insult, Henry Morton Stanley, famed for his voyages to the Dark Continent of Africa, may be a victim. He was traveling aboard the airship, and has not been seen hide nor hair of.

At that, a bolt of lightning goes down Lucy’s back. Henry Morton Stanley – yes, he’s one of the major explorers of the Victorian era, he of “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” fame, upon locating the lost Scottish missionary deep in the African bush. He goes to find the source of the Nile and the Congo basin and other expeditions to Africa that earn him the pomp and approval of imperial Britain, including eventually a knighthood. He’s also a terrible, terrible person even by nineteenth-century imperial British standards: virulently racist, fond of force, instrumental in opening central Africa to plundering, colonizing, and exploitation, and the right-hand man of Leopold II of Belgium in running his genocidal empire in the Congo. He’s supposed to be in Africa right now, in fact, but if he was returning from Brussels to London, he was probably meeting Leopold on the down-low. As she stares at the photograph of the esteemed explorer, Lucy realizes that she knows exactly where Henry Morton Stanley is right now. Or rather, where he was last night. In a shed out behind the African mammals exhibit at the London Zoo, unconscious, as she jumped over him and ran.

“Mrs. Preston?” Mrs. McBride frowns at her. “You look a bit peaky, if you won’t mind my saying. Perhaps I should put the kettle on?”

“That – that would be nice.” Lucy sits down heavily, still staring at the newspaper, as the landlady bustles into the kitchen. Her head is whirling. Did Flynn shoot down an entire airship just to get his hands on Stanley? He must have been tipped off somehow, learned that he was planning to travel on that crossing, and pulled together this whole operation at extremely short notice. While Lucy can’t say that she disapproves of the irony of feeding Stanley to lions and tigers, as she suggested last night, she doesn’t see Karl and the others going to the bother of saving him from the crash just to kill him outright. Flynn was going to pump him for information, or at least he was. Then Lucy shot him in the neck, which probably threw a wrench into his plans for the evening. What the hell?

Mrs. McBride returns with her tea, which Lucy sips in a state of extreme distraction. Flynn did say that she didn’t know what she was interfering with, and this suggests a considerably more sophisticated degree of strategy and intention than just blowing something up to see it go boom. Knowing Stanley was going to be on the airship. Getting enough weaponry to take it down, and then successfully doing that. Having his men in position to drag the explorer out of the wreckage and convey him to a prepared location for interrogation. Ask him – what? It can’t just be how he sleeps at night, though Lucy wonders that too. Unless –

Oh God. Is Stanley Rittenhouse? He fits the profile a little too well, but not every terrible person in history has been part of a cultish secret society. Sometimes people are just awful dicks because that’s humanity for you; you don’t get the luxury of putting them all in one bad-apple box. But given that Lucy is here because there is reason to suspect that Rittenhouse is trying to expand their operations, and because she was just thinking yesterday that they might target Queen Victoria, they have plenty to offer Stanley. Maybe that is why he cut his expedition short and returned to Europe. Is Leopold part of the package too? You’d hardly think he could get any worse, but if Rittenhouse has promised to make sure that his regime endures –

This is at least plausible, much as Lucy wishes it wasn’t. But the problem is that it would require Flynn to know, or at least suspect, that Rittenhouse had made overtures to Stanley. Which in turn would mean that he knows… about Rittenhouse.

That isn’t possible. That isn’t possible for any number of reasons. He could have been targeting Stanley because he’s actually an ass-backwards vigilante Dark Knight who is giving racist imperial mass murderers what they deserve. And since Lucy doesn’t know if Stanley is in fact Rittenhouse, or even approached by them, this is a lot of conjecture with very little solid basis. For all she knows, Stanley is involved in shady business deals and owes a lot of money to Flynn’s racketeering schemes. Lucy is not about to put her back out of joint rescuing this jackass, but she would be unwise to let this go entirely, and she needs to be careful. People must have seen her around the Croft yesterday, with Dooley and then with Karl, and it must be already whispered in the underworld that Flynn is responsible for the airship downing. They’re not going to take the risk of grassing on him to this strange American woman. (Definitely for the best that they have no idea how strange.)

Lucy is still dangling from the horns of her dilemma when the door opens, Mrs. McBride looks up, and utters a sharp sound of consternation. “Seamus! What happened to you, love?”

“I’m fine, Mam.” Her son in fact looks quite a bit less than fine, as he has a handsome black eye, a cut on his cheek, and blood running from his nose. “Gang of gobshites in the street, they threw a paving stone at me and said it was probably the filthy Catholics had blown the airship up. Scarpered like cowards. I promise, it’s not that bad.”

Mrs. McBride does not appear inclined to take his word for it, and as she is fussing over him with hot water and a cloth, Lucy doesn’t feel that the time is right to butt in and ask if either of them spotted a large and dangerous automaton outside last night. Instead, as she does know exactly who blew the airship up, she can’t help but feel obliquely responsible, even though she isn’t. She gets up, goes upstairs, and has a quick wash. Then she changes out of her bedraggled clothes, forces her abused feet into a pair of much sturdier and plainer shoes, and reloads the Colt. Puts the derringer in her jacket, the tocker dropper in her bag, and thus liable to clank slightly when she walks, heads out.

London is abuzz with nothing else but whispers of the drama. Everyone seems to have their own theory on what has happened, though most of these lack even a vague acquaintance with the truth (possibly for the best). Lucy makes her way back to University College, where – apparently properly chastened by Ada yesterday – Hubert the porter meekly lets her into the Royal Historical Society archives without complaint. The Analytical Engine seems to be running, though there is a weedy undergraduate in a three-piece suit who is instructing it to fetch him apparently everything ever written on Ancient Rome, and who gives Lucy a miffed look that she won’t just stand there and let him hog it for the next five hours. Finally, when she’s cleared her throat for the third time, and he has enough to be getting on with anyway, he scoops his books out of the tray and scurries off, and she waits for the gears to cool down a little. Then, since this time she has a better idea what to look for, she says, “Garcia Flynn AND crime AND London.”

It’s known as a Boolean search (George Boole was another contemporary of Ada and her intellectual circle, a mathematician and logician who helped establish the technological information age) and Lucy figures it will work here. That way, she won’t get results about every godforsaken Flynn that has ever been written about, but just whatever contains Garcia Flynn, crime, and London together. That should make it a lot easier to sift through.

Indeed, the stacks of newspapers and a few booklets that roll through the trapdoor are much less intimidating in size, and Lucy scoops them up. She will only be able to access information in the public domain, and which University College owns a copy of – in other words, she won’t get any secret state papers or private dossiers that the Government (she has found out that Gladstone is still prime minister, doubtless Not Amusing Victoria, who famously complains that he speaks to her as if she was a state meeting and not a person) might have compiled on a known threat. But maybe it will get her started.

It does, at that. The first reference she can find to Flynn’s presence in London is in February 1885, just after the end of the Berlin Conference – a three-month-long event where the European powers formalized the “Scramble for Africa” and all staked their claims as to who got what piece of it. Lucy recalls that Stanley was there as an American delegate, even though he’s English (or strictly speaking, Welsh) by birth. Otto von Bismarck chaired the whole thing, and among other things, it’s where the gathered European powers confirmed Leopold of Belgium’s right to his “Congo Free State” (viz., murdering up to ten million Africans for rubber and ivory). Has Flynn been hunting Stanley, or other attendees of the Berlin Conference, all this time? Yes, that is the kind of sordid and evil world-domination event that Rittenhouse would want to get in on, and there could have been all kinds of potential recruits that they might have tried to tap as a result, but that still assumes that Flynn knows about Rittenhouse. He can’t.

Lucy rubs her eyes, trying to focus on the lines of smeared old type. The papers, when they mention Flynn’s activities at all, do so in the disparaging tone of the establishment who can’t understand why this upstart doesn’t see that society is perfect the way it is, and it’s not very informative. There are dark rumors. In January 1886, one of the more sensationalist newspapers, the Daily Trumpet, informs its readers that the mysterious crime lord Garcia Flynn killed his own wife and child, which Lucy takes with a considerable grain of salt. However, the claim is then repeated in the Telegraph, with somewhat more information: the murders took place in 1884, in the Kingdom of Dalmatia, the coastal sliver of Croatia that is presently part of the Austrian Empire. Flynn ran for it after that, and has otherwise not behaved like an innocent man.

Considering that he threatened to kill her when they were face to face at the zoo, Lucy has to admit that it doesn’t seem out of character. She puts the papers down with a frown, thinking that the last thing she needs is a repeat engagement with this man, especially after she shot him and disrupted his carefully planned capture and interrogation of Stanley. But she also has questions that she can’t see an easy way of getting an answer to, and she doesn’t want to leave London, wise as it may be to do so, without them. Assuming that she’ll still be alive in a fortnight to go up to Oxford seems like a gamble, but as Bella said, she does have guns.

Lucy gets up, puts the newspapers back in the tray, and leaves University College, stepping out and trying to decide on her next move. She could go back to the Croft, as Flynn is clearly well-known and infamous there, but good luck trying to get someone to talk, and Dooley, if he just sold three crates of weapons used in the scandal of the decade, has probably packed his bags and gotten the hell out of Dodge. Finally, Lucy remembers that there’s a pub on Tower Hill that caters to the same general clientele as the Croft, and indeed is informally known as Traitor’s Gate, after the portcullis in the Tower of London where condemned prisoners entered by boat from the Thames. Someone there has to know something. She can try.

Traitor’s Gate is not the kind of place that should be visited by night or even, for that matter, by day, but Lucy is armed, and she is used to people underestimating a small and outwardly not-frightening woman. She takes a hackney to Fenchurch Street, then gets out and walks. It’s a cold, sour-looking day, wind whipping hard off the murky Thames, and she claps a hand to her hat to stop it from blowing off. A few passing gentlemen give her odd looks, as if an unescorted lady is a terrible affront to their patriarchal sensibilities, but at least they don’t push it.

Lucy reaches All Hallows-by-the-Tower, an ancient Saxon church where William Penn was baptized in 1644 and John Quincy Adams got married in 1797, crosses the garth and looks for the door at the bottom of the steps, and uses the same key she did for the Croft to open it. There’s a long, low tunnel that briefly forces even her to stoop, and then she emerges into a taproom built into the ground. She can hear the thump and treadle of steam pumps rattling through the pipes in the brick walls, keeping the Thames from flooding in. It’s warm and dim and smells like tobacco and cheap alcohol. There aren’t many patrons here in early afternoon, but all the heads that turn toward her wear expressions that are far from friendly.

Lucy takes a deep breath, reminds herself that she has as much right to be here as anyone, and touches the Colt in her skirt pocket, reminding herself that it’s there. She strolls up to the counter and leans on it. “One whisky, please. Neat.”

“We don’t serve ladies.” The barman, sporting an impressive set of mutton-chop whiskers and a stained serge waistcoat, doesn’t even turn around. “Especially not strangers. Suggest you leave, mum, before it’s difficult.”

Lucy grits her teeth. Slightly louder, as if he might not have heard her the first time, she repeats, “Whisky. Neat. And I’m not a stranger, by the way. What exactly would Flynn think, if you didn’t serve me?”

This, obviously, is an utter bluff – Flynn is the last person in the world who would care whether or not she got served in a bar, given that she, you know, shot him – but she intended to make the barman panic, and it works. He whirls around, stares at her up and down as his brain clearly cannot quite process how she might know Flynn, but can’t take the risk that she doesn’t. He grudgingly pulls one of the whisky bottles off the rack and decants it into a glass, and Lucy pushes a few coins over the bar. She takes a very small sip, as whisky isn’t her usual tipple, but it’s rare enough to see a lone woman drinking in public at all, let alone such an uncultured working-stiff libation as this, that she’s definitely drawn notice. Good. She can’t really find Flynn herself, so the best option seems to be to let him find her.

Lucy nurses the whisky in brief, burning bits, supposing that they probably don’t have a kitchen here to order late lunch, and wonders how long it’ll take. Depends on how angry Flynn is, most likely. She has seen a few men whispering in the corner and glancing at her, and one of them gets up and casually drifts out. A faro game has been abandoned, and the glowing green dregs in a glass, along with the distinctive whiff of anise, means that someone has been drinking absinthe. Lucy almost wants to try it, just for the experience, but she needs to keep a clear head right now. She hopes this doesn’t turn into a shootout, but she has to be prepared for anything.

At length, the man who left reappears, as Lucy has mostly finished the whisky and feels just buzzed enough to be fearless. He goes back to whisper to his comrades, and then they all stand up, crack their knuckles, and start toward Lucy. She lets them think she hasn’t noticed for a moment longer, then gets to her feet, draws the Colt, and turns around. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”

There are startled looks at the presence of a firearm, which strikes her as stupid – she had one yesterday, she nailed their boss with it, did they think she suddenly forgot? There seems to be a brief discomfort with the idea of getting rough with a woman, but the one nearest to her appears to feel that he can shoulder the noble burden. He makes a grab for her, Lucy whirls aside, and the barman squawks in distress. “Mulroney, don’t, she’s one of – ”

Mulroney is clearly about to inform this idiot that no, she definitely is not one of theirs, but at that moment, a door swings open with a bang, a hush falls over the entire taproom, and Lucy doesn’t even need to look around to know who just entered. A chill goes down her back – yes, she wanted this to happen, but she’s now officially on extremely thin ice – and she knows that this coterie of experienced criminals are not scared of Flynn just because the Daily Trumpet prints hand-wringing articles. That is a certain and definite power, to silence an entire bar when you saunter in, and she turns her head, though she doesn’t need to confirm, to see.

Garcia Flynn looks much too tall for the low-ceilinged room, and has inclined his head slightly so as not to hit it on the mossy bricks. The side of his neck is clumsily stitched up – it looks like he might have done it himself – and he’s wearing a white shirt, suspenders, and crisp pinstriped trousers that look too nice for these breeds of ruffians. His suit jacket is slung over his arm, and he throws it over the back of the nearest chair; the other man who was sitting at the table grabs his drink, jumps up, and vacates it at high speed. There’s a holster strapped over Flynn’s left shoulder, containing a heavy Prussian revolver, and that’s only the gun Lucy can see. He probably has half a dozen more God knows where.

“Afternoon,” Flynn says, once he has deigned to break the silence. Even without the smoke, his voice is gravelly, rough and intense. “Anybody going to buy me a drink?”

There’s a collective scramble as the patrons hurry toward the bar, the barman is already pouring something, and Flynn reaches over for it with the same cool, unhurried demeanor. He takes a sip, staring straight at Lucy. With a graceful, sarcastic gesture, he says, “I don’t believe we have been formally introduced, madam. You are – ?”

Lucy hesitates just long enough to make it obvious that she’s fishing for a lie, and Flynn gives her a warning look. “I wouldn’t.”

“Lucy.” It feels kicked out of her, but she draws herself up and stares at him as defiantly as she can. “Lucy Preston.”

“Lucy Preston.” He repeats it, his accent giving it a particular lilt, then jerks his head at the table. “Well, Lucy. We have to stop meeting like this, don’t we?”

It’s on the tip of Lucy’s tongue to ask him where exactly he gets off saying that to her at their second meeting, but since the choice is clearly either to sit down by herself or have the goons drag her, she makes her way over and takes the chair with cool, icy dignity, smoothing her skirts. Flynn sits across from her, which doesn’t really reduce his size. He solidly blocks out the air around him, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, and arms heavily muscled, and he could clearly snap her like a twig if he took a mind to it, even if she might be able to get a few shots off first. She instinctively shifts back, trying to establish more space, but it doesn’t work. She just has to stare at him, as everyone makes a valiant effort to look as if they’re going back to their business and have just made a tactical decision to become abruptly blind, deaf, and dumb. Then, plucking up her nerve, she says, “Where’s Stanley?”

One of Flynn’s eyebrows raises. Then he shrugs. “Read the newspaper this morning, then?”

“That and a few others.” Lucy clenches her hands in her lap. “Apparently you have a reputation.”

Flynn grins, as if he doesn’t see why he should bother denying it. His teeth are very white and straight; he probably has a nice smile when he isn’t, you know, being psychotic. “What do you want, Lucy? Turning up here after what happened last night? That is very foolish, don’t you think? Especially now that I know your name. I already told you once to get out of my way. You should not count on there being a twice.”

Lucy has no reason to believe he doesn’t mean it, and is well aware that she is already playing with fire (literally, given his apparent propensity for explosions). She needs to choose her next words carefully, and he lifts his glass for another drink, never taking his eyes off her. She did shoot him last night, he’s not about to underestimate or laugh off her danger, and though she senses he might be genuinely impressed, it’s not enough on its own to protect her. Finally she says, “I’m not interested in rescuing Stanley. I was just wondering why you wanted him.”

“He is a dick.” Flynn still appears to be enjoying this somehow. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Yes, he is, but no, it’s not.” Lucy holds his stare. “How long have you been trying to get your hands on him? Since Berlin?”

That, finally, catches Flynn off guard. He glances away, and his eyes have lost their amusement when they flick back to her. “So you have been reading up, haven’t you? What else did you find out about me?”

Lucy hesitates, but only briefly. He has to know, or at least guess, that she’s come across it. “You killed your own family.”

Flynn’s mouth twists. He doesn’t answer at once to confirm or deny it, though he polishes off his drink in a long slug, throat muscles working, then shoves the glass aside and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Who are you?” he says instead, low and sleek. “Some plucky American lady detective who has read too much Arthur Conan Doyle? You walk in here – in here – and think I’m going to tell you what I’m doing. . . why?”

“Because.” Lucy really isn’t sure if she should do this, but she’s backed herself into a corner now, and sometimes the only way out is through. “I’m wondering if it has anything to do with Rittenhouse.”

There’s a moment of total, stunned silence, and then Flynn’s eyes flare like West End floodlights. His hand flashes out, fast as a viper, and snatches her wrist, half-dragging her over the table toward him; she knocks his glass off and it falls to the floor with a crash. “What,” he breathes in her face, half a whisper and half a snarl, “do you know about Rittenhouse?”

Lucy would normally be too busy being floored that he knows about Rittenhouse, but he still has hold of her wrist, and his grip is bruisingly strong. She pulls at it to no avail, trying to loosen his fingers, until he finally looks at her face, seems to decide that she won’t run, and lets go very slowly. “Is that why you were there last night? To kill me and rescue Stanley? You’re one of them, aren’t you? Of course. That explains it. Well, Lucy Preston, I’m very sorry, but as that’s the case, I am unfortunately going to have to – ”

“I’m not one of them anymore. I used to be.” Lucy can feel her pulse hammering in the indents of his fingers. “They took everything away from me. I’m – I am not loyal to them.”

If Flynn doesn’t believe this, she’s toast, but something about the rawness and anger in her tone catches at him. He sits back and stares at her as if the Rosetta Stone has just dropped into his lap, as if this might be a new and exciting opportunity he has never considered. Lucy’s head is still spinning, because – how? To put it in the simplest possible terms, Rittenhouse is not from his reality. There is no way, at least that she has ever encountered (and that is a lot) for him to know.

There is a very, very tenuous pause as both of them size each other up. Flynn licks his lips, looking as if he’s on the verge of marching her off to continue this conversation somewhere more private, and Lucy is pretty sure she’ll have to put up a struggle if that happens. Then the door bangs again, making everyone’s heads swivel once more, and a large, red-faced man storms in, waving a heavy stagecoach pistol. “Where is she?” he bellows. “Where’s the American bitch? Heard she was here, bring her out!”

Lucy has just enough time to consider that her plan to reveal herself to the underworld has really gone far too well, but she has no idea who this man is, much less why he would be looking for her. But as she jumps up, Flynn grabs her adroitly from behind and spins her around in front of him – evidently he feels that if there’s any chance of shooting, it’s her turn to catch a few bullets, especially since she was the cause of him doing so last time. He also seems interested in discovering the source of the commotion, and calls over, “You mean her?”

The angry bloke wheels around, spots them, and comes charging over. Lucy is starting to have a bad feeling she knows who he is, and in another moment, that hunch is unfortunately confirmed. “You! Are you the bitch who stole my working girl? You’ve robbed me, thieved me! Either we go right now and fetch her, or I’ll make you go back in her place!”

“Mr. – Carr?” With him in front of her, spraying spittle, and Flynn behind her, arm still around her neck, Lucy is honestly terrified, and her knees feel like water, but she struggles to lock them and speak as calmly as she can. “I presume?”

“Yes, you bloody well presume, bitch. What did you do with my Bella? The girls said she vanished from the house this morning, with some meddling American cunt. You fetch her bloody back, I said, or you can – ”

“Mr. Carr, you have absolutely no right to Bella, or for that matter, any of the other women.” Lucy wonders if she can get to her gun, but her arm is awkwardly pinned to her side by Flynn’s grip and she can’t solve all of her problems by shooting them. There are too many witnesses, and to say the least, she’s already in enough trouble. “I’m not going to tell you where she is, and I’m certainly not going to take up her former employment, so why don’t you just – ”

At that, several things happen at once. The first is that Mr. Carr spits full in her face, thick and phlegmy and whiffing vilely of tobacco, the second is that she lets out an involuntary squeal of disgust and struggles to get it off, and the third is that Flynn, never letting go of Lucy, shifts his grip on her to the other arm, draws his revolver, and shoots Mr. Carr point-blank in the head. The report, directly next to Lucy’s ear, is deafening, and she can only hear a muffled, tinny ringing on that side, in a way that means it’s going to take a while for it to come back. There is an explosion of blood and brain and broken skull, and Mr. Carr goes down cold.

In the split second while everyone is staring at the dead brothel owner, Lucy moves. She jabs an elbow ferociously into Flynn’s gut, stamps on his foot, and twists herself out of his arm lock, punching him hard in the face as he lunges at her. He drops the gun, she grabs a drink from a nearby table and throws it in his eyes, then vaults over it, tearing her petticoat on a loose nail. The crowd is already pushing and jostling to every side, some toward Flynn and some toward the dead man and some for the goddamn exit like sensible people, and he can’t catch up to Lucy, especially as she reaches the passage on the far side and runs flat-out. Oh God. She doesn’t know why Flynn shot Carr, aside from the fact that he was clearly a mad dog and was going to make trouble, but she certainly isn’t staying to ask. Oh God. Flynn knows about Rittenhouse. How, how does he know about Rittenhouse? More than that, he was ready to kill her if she was working for them, and does that mean –

Lucy doesn’t know. Right now, she just wants as much space between her and this place as possible, and she doesn’t dare look back. Finally reaches the end of the tunnel and scrambles up the stairs on all fours, scraping her palms, and staggers out into the cold dusk. Shit, it’s past sunset, she’s too late. She can’t go back to the boarding house now (and it might not be smart to go back for a while, what with the draco dormiens she has sharply and repeatedly titillanded in the oculus). It might have to be Harley Street after all. Maybe she and Bella can be roommates.

There’s a crash from the tunnel below, and distant shouting. Lucy doesn’t wait around for further inspection. Once more, like escaping London Zoo last night, she runs.

#timeless #timeless ff #garcy #garcy ff #lucy x flynn #starlight & strange magic #steampunk au

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groupbread · 3 years ago

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Introduction, Reading II, (Design and knowledge) by Petra, 30 Sep 2021

We experience not just design but everything in an immensely different way. As Mills suggests in his writing, The man in the middle, not every experience comes from within us, because we get so much impact from around us. With these “secondary experiences” we are aware of much more than we can actually experience.

Mills’ writing, exceptionally the first part, was kind of alienating for me. Equalizing terms such as art, advertisement and the confusion of the consumer, selling lies. I’d like to think that this is not the whole truth when it comes to graphic design and art. I can however very much agree with Mills on the fact that if you put part of yourself on the market in the form of a specific style and it’s constantly generates profit it can be really hard to change and experience with different methods and visual narratives, even if everybody is aware that one person does not equal one style. This is a common problem on social media and freelancing, when the next client just asks for another “copy” of your previous work.

In my opinion Mills puts a heavy burden on graphic designer taking part in the capitalist concept and feeding it constantly. I don’t think this is not true, however I don’t think it is a bigger role, visual language, than other aspects often used in consumerism.

On the other hand craftsmanship is described too pure to be true in practice. When reading about the master of the “activity” and this kind of human ideal in the “craftsman” it reminded me of the practice of Company, the studio of a Finnish design duo. More precisely Company’s exhibition in the Design museum called Secret universe (2019). It was an ode to craftsmanship through different small examples in a playful and visually pleasing way. Aamu Song and Johan Olin travelled though countries to meet with these makers and collaborate with them to make something new using traditional methods. Is this exhibition giving a platform to the makers or exploiting their knowledge as a tool to gain more costumers for Company? In one of the rooms short looped videos were shown introducing the craftsman. Do these people want to be recognised? Or do we want to recognise them? I think this topic also turns back to the question of authority because when visiting we see the works of Company but those works would not have been possible without the makers. So who’s the originator of the exhibition?

During my bachelor studies I also did a research on a small segment of craftsmanship, wool spinning, focusing on the communities around it. As I was thinking back to the content of the book I made from my research, I found lots of similarities with how Mills describes craftsman. Most of the time there was no split between work and play, also I found lots of joy in their way of doing what they do which is actively shared in the communities of makers. Johanna Drucker’s graphesis focuses more on acquiring the visual knowledge, the possible methods of teaching/learning through various examples. Drucker in the beginning mentions the data art, as a trend and the appearance of it in art, not just design. For this it is also a great example when artists create pseudo data art purely for aesthetic reasons map illustrations which are just subjective personal representations of an area, like in the work of Paula Scher.

If we assume that the world we see is made by our cognitive ability, we also have a tendency to label unknown object to us with our classification system. Plant names and decolonisations is a recently conducted research by Hey Lane Gardens aiming to restore massive loss of indigenous plant names, histories and eradication of some pieces.

Drucker also writes that what constitutes likeness is changing constantly. There are so many things that we can like, so it’d be impossible to see everything. This also links back to Mills’ idea of the second hand world. We get this personalized curation of visuals everyday by algorithms based on what we know and what the algorithm thinks we want to know in the future. Are we the ones shaping our received data or not?

Can we trust the visuals? Can we trust graphic designers? Ducker suggests that graphical explanation is unreliable, one of the reason for this is that a code it convey can be deciphered in many ways. Although it might be true in some cases, I think people need to be better trained to decipher visual language the same way they do with mathematics and language. Just because seeing something comes naturally it doesn’t mean that the visual knowledge comes naturally as well. We don’t really have for example graphic design history books written in Hungarian and most often use English books. I think this is what started the research work of Dóra Balla, who is a teacher at MOME university in Budapest. She is giving a translation to graphic design history, finding the right terms and expressions in the Hungarian language to assist designers and make discourses more open and accessible.

What works is truly relevant for learning the visual language of today? In Hungary we seem to cannot let go of Péter Virágvölgyi’s book titled “A tipográfia mestersége számítógéppel” which translates as: The practice of typography with the help of the computer. If you start your studies to became a graphic designer you are going to be recommended this, for sure. If one book helped generations to decipher visual language and make graphic design, how can we move on and what to? Who has the authority to make the new book?

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theworldsmosthatedakacr7 · 7 years ago

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Cristiano’s interview with France Football

I translated this from penamadridista.hu, from their translation of the original interview. If there is any mistake, I’m sorry, you know English isn’t my first language. I know this is going to raise attention (the only thing I believe), so I say it now, in the Hungarian translation they refer to Gio as Cristiano’s fiance. I have not seen the original interview so if someone read the French version, feel free to tell me if it’s a mistranslation of the middle person.

The five times Ballon d'Or winner doesn't plan to lay back and do nothing while admiring his collection of trophies. Besides already concentrating on 2018, he brings back the memories of the recipe of his success.

The date is Monday, 4th December, the location is the training center in Valdebebas. The shining sun and the light blue colour of the sky gives a special brightness to the place. The training is over. Raphael Varane who is on his way to his invidual lesson with an English teacher welcomes us, just like Karim Benzema. In the lobby, staff of Real Madrid is decorating the Christmas tree, that later gets white and purple decors, and they put packages under the tree. It's 13:10 when Cristiano Ronaldo finally arrives. He wears black shirt and black jacket that give him a prince like elegancy, he's company is his old time friend, Ricardo. The rest only takes 40 minutes in a room that gives perfect view to the training pitches. During this time the five time Ballon d'Or winner never looks at his watch, just takes a few sips from the water bottle placed on the arm of the sofa, stopping the interview only for a couple of moments. In previous years, when we asked him, when we've made interviews with him, he's never talked to us this way never had an interview like this with him but the readers shall decide themselves.

You're about to receive your 5th Ballon d'Or. Do you feel like this award became somewhat too ferial, plain for you?

Ferial? No, never. When I started my career, I didn't dream about more than to win one Ballon d'Or. With signing to Manchester, I believed my career got to a turning point and it wasn't impossible anymore to reach this aim. I felt that I got a chance to make my dreams come true, I made up my mind that it was realistic to win. As the years have passed, my opinion changed, and I knew one Ballon d'Or wasn't enough. Simply because too many has had the same recognition and I'm telling this with the utmost respect, most weren't on the same level with me. There's a huge difference between those who only one the Ballon d'Or one time and those who were able to win it twice, three or four times. I didn't want to belong to the group who only won it one time. Considering the potential I have, the talent and my hard work, I knew I'd be able to succeed again.

Which moment was this year when you said “Alright, I won the award.”?

I knew if I won the Champions League, I'd get one step closer to the 5th Ballon d'Or. In the end we won the series and I ended up as the top goal scorer of Europe most prestigious competition again. Besides, I scored twice in the final. I think, this was that moment.

5 years ago Messi was five Ballon d'Ors ahead. Did you think back then that you'd be able to achieve the same?

Funny story, isn't it? I didn't think I'd be able to catch up with him because after I won the first, he won four in a row. I'm not going to deny, I was angry and sad. I attended the award shows but never won anything. I was demotivated. I didn't want to go to just get my photo taken. And then step by step, thanks to the help of those around me, I told myself, everything has a beginning and an end. And in football, it's the end result that matters, not the beginning. I remained calm, kept on working, and won new Ballon d'Ors. Today, I won the 5th that makes me want to fight further, and stops me from thinking about my age. Who was the eldest player who won a Ballon d'Or? Cannavaro?

Stanley Matthew was 42 years old when he was given the award for being the best, in 1956...

(His eyes go wide.) 42? Did he play alone or what? But seriously, nowadays that would be unimaginable. There's no way to play football for that long. When I see 24-25 years old players getting injured frequently, I remind myself how lucky I am to be in this physical condition at 32.

When you received your first Ballon d'Or in 2008, did you hope you'd overcome Zidane, Ronaldo Nazarió, Platini, Van Basten or Cruyff?

I always believed that I'd only be able to win one. Two? Why not! Five... I'd have never believed it. As they say: Much will have more.

Are you aware what position you have in the history of Ballon d'Or?

If I think about it calm, I believe so, yes. No player has as many individual awards as me. And I'm not talking about the Ballon d'Or. All of this must mean something, right? This is not simply about the work done in the gym as people often like to think. There are many other factors. Exceptional people like Floyd Mayweather or LeBron James also didn't get where they are by mere chance. Everything has it's significance. In order to get to the top and be able to stay there you need way more talent than others.

Five Ballon d'Ors. We can say regarding this award, this is the first time that no one is ahead of you.

You know well that I respect other's opinion but right now I don't see anyone being better than me. And I've always thought this way. There is no football player who would be capable of anything that I couldn't do as well. Meanwhile, I see that I'm able to do things that others aren't capable to do. There is no more complex player than me. I play well with both of my feet, I'm fast and strong, I'm great with my head, I score goals and hand them out as well. People have a right to prefer Neymar or Messi. But I'm convinced that there is no more complex player than me. I'm sure everyone is going to say I'm an egoistical dick... But when you are on the top, it's natural to get criticized. As a journalist, I'm sure it happens with you as well.

Do you think you are the best player in the history?

Yes! I'm the best player of history, both with my greatest and worst moments. As Zidane said today during training: We have to face difficulties in order to be able to value the success later. The bad moments push us to work harder. It's normal to be angry and frustrated because you weren't able to score. If that didn't happen, it'd mean you don't even care. So yes, if I don't play well or the training doesn't go as I want, I end up angry with myself. However, when I leave the training pitch or the stadium, I also leave whatever happened behind and my life goes on in a normal rhythm.

You have some great expectations towards yourself... Isn't this too much?

One time the fitness coach of Real Madrid, Antonio Pintus said laughing that I was a real psycho. He's never met anyone like me before, someone who works as hard as I do. When I step into the gym, I don't talk to anyone, I only concentrate on the work to be done. I admit, I put more pressure on myself many times than it'd be necessary. But I'm not regretting being like this. Maybe it'd be better if I got a bit more laid back and relax but that isn't how I live my life. I have no intention to change anything 15 years into my career. I wouldn't have won so many things if I hadn't been unsatisfied all the time.

How much chance do you see for a 6th Ballon d'Or?

I couldn't tell in this moment. We're still in many competitions with Real Madrid next year and we'll go to the World Cup with Portugal. I think next year's World Cup is going to be crucial in the race for Ballon d'Or. Imagine that we win the Champions League where I'm the top scorer at the moment with Real Madrid and I have a not so good World Cup behind me. Or reversed. In 2018 there will be many deciding factors but I don't think Champions League is going to be one of those. The bar is definitely going to be raised.

Close to 33 how are you able to remain at the top?

It's all in the head. The key to everything is motivation, and the most important for that is the decision to be made. If you lack that, things get more difficult. Personally, I'm a positive man. I love football, I love extra practices at trainings. The real problem appears when we don't have enough motivation. Because this (points at his head) commands this (points at his right leg). There's no exception. If you are not alright in the head, you can't feel good in your own skin either.

A year ago, more or less at the same time you said you weren't the player as you were before. Is this true today? Is the body still at the level of the mind?

I think my body is in a better condition than it was one or two years ago. I feel fine, and I feel stronger.

What is it that really bothers you?

If I don't feel the support of the club or the fans. People have a very short memory. The other day at the airport about 5 meters from us a guy recorded us with his phone when I was with Carvajal and Ramos. And then he tells us “Hey, maybe you should wake up, you fuck everything up.” I thought to myself: “Hey, only 3 months ago we won the European and the Spanish Super Cup.” See, I don't know what to do with such horrible things. This type of amnesia bothers me a lot. Football works in cycles. When things don't go well, people should support us, the fans should stood by the players. In four years we won 3 Champions League trophy what – from that point of view – can seem to be easy but Real Madrid had to wait 12 years to win the La Decima. I know how hard I work and still sometimes things just don't work out the way I want them to. It happens that the ball bounces off the goal or the keeper stops the ball. I only ask everyone to trust us.

Could you tell me what do you do in order to keep up your physical level?

I do the same for years now. Maybe more thoughtfully than before. A couple of years ago I spent 40 minutes in the gym, now I only do 20 but with more special practices.

Do you think this work invisible to others is the secret of your success?

This is all very important but only just one part. What is even more important is talent. I can give you the book of my daily routine, the recipe of my success. I can tell you about my eating habits, how I train, everything that helped me to get where I am now. Then we'll see if you'll be able to win 5 Ballon d'Ors. I will tell you: without talent you can forget about it. Give the recipe for success to a 15 years old kid and in 10 years we'll see if they deserve the recognition. Do you get what I mean?

Carlo Ancelotti told us one time that he'd never in his life met a player before who would have an ice bath 2:30 in the middle of the night after a Champions League game. Why was that necessary?

That's a crucial part of my routine. Because of the 2-3 hours long plane trips, and the changing pressure, legs swell up. Cold water is a natural painkiller, and I enjoy it. Sometimes I also sit into hot water. These are small things that make me feel better and make the difference. I'm aware that after a cold bath, I sleep better. Do you know why after games some players have restless nights? Because they don't have a release. There's still adrenalyn in their system. I'm looking for ways that help me to come down. 95% of times I sleep perfectly at night, and the rest is also good. People aren't aware how important sleeping is. I am. The same is true about working and eating. These details make me better step by step.

Do the success by winning the Ballon d'Or help to forget about previous years?

Success is always a bonus for the mind, a psychological one. You know that you worked for something. And this pays very well. If you worked hard through the year and in the end you achieve nothing, that can be very frustrating. I feel lucky that year upon year sometimes more, sometimes less but I always win something. This gives motivation to work even more and win even more.

You have four children in your home now, does that change getting prepaired in any way?

My routine hasn't changed at all though, unquestionably, the presence of my four children has an affect on my life. Regardless, I do my job without interruption, and I spend enough time to rest. It doesn't matter whether there is one or four children. The only difference now is that my attention is divided more. I give all my generousity to my children but I pay attention to do my job professionally.

Can Cristiano, the father, the head of the family replace Cristiano, the footballer?

No. Whilst my three children who bornt recently means more responsibility, my professional life has changed nothing. As I said before, I always dreamt about having a big family and I'm doing everything I can to have that. Family is the most beautiful thing in the world. After the experiences and joy that I've had as the father of Cristiano Junior, I wanted to have more children. And so now I'm very happy. My children fill me with pride. And I'd like more kids in the future.

Are you so keen on having moments alone as well?

Being alone... I don't really have a need for that. Sometimes I am alone at home, even with so many children, I have my personal space. Fortunately, my home is big enough. (smiles) There are enough places where I can go away if I want to or need to be alone. This isn't a problem. I'm also alright when my partner (girlfriend) goes to classes or my kids go for a walk. But I don't need long hours alone.

Do you get up at night to feed the children?

I'll be honest: no. If I had to, I would, without complaining. I love my kids and I make sure they aware of this, for example every single time when I get home from training. However, I have a partner (girlfriend) and two other people who help to take care of the little ones. I need to rest during the night. And of course, it doesn't mean I don't love them, it merely means that I'm responsible for my family, I'm responsible for my job that demands a lot of me. Afterall, who is the breadwinner in the family? I try my best to give everything for my children, to ensure they have a dream life and they get everything they need. Everyone has their job in our family. Mine is to be generous with them and to educate them. The night is saint and not to be disturbed though. Next day I have to go and run and I have to do my job well.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

The same as today. I'd like to play as long as possible but I can't guarantee that I'll be mentally alright. No one knows what tomorrow holds. We shouldn't think too much about the past or wonder too much about plans for the future. We have to live the here and now because this moment is beautiful and sweet. I'm happy because I win titles because I'm healthy and my family and friends are alright. You have to draw from this and enjoy it. If I don't feel well anymore, my career might end in 5 years. This is exactly why I put effort into other projects as well. I have sponsores, hotels, gyms and a fashion company... I won't have existential problems.

Is there a chance you'll be a manager one day?

At the moment no. Honestly, I'd like to spend more time with educating myself, studying. I'm thinking about acting for example...

Acting?

Yes, I'd like to give it a shot. Year by year, they offer me the chance to participate in films but besides football I have no time for it. You know, it's almost certain, I'll struggle terribly when finally I put the boots down. Football is going to remain my passion forever. Of course, I'm also certain that I'll live my life as a happy man.

#cristiano ronaldo #cr7 #real madrid

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wickymicky · 5 years ago

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i got tagged by @chuukitten like a month ago lmao oops

rules: answer 21 questions and tag 21 people (im too lazy lol im sorry i just like to talk about myself so thats what im gonna do HAHA)

im gonna put this under a read more cause it got long

1. nickname: my bf calls me cube

2. zodiac: i dont do zodiac shit lol sorry

3. height: i dont actually know, im bad with remembering things like that

4. hogwarts house: the “fuck jk rowling” house (okay fine im hufflepuff)

5. last thing i googled: farmersonly… dont worry about it

6. favorite musicians: i mean yall know my kpop ones haha… loona, dreamcatcher, fromis 9, pentagon, exid, red velvet, twice, eyedi, weki meki, etc……. outside of kpop oh man where do i begin… its tough cause ive basically only listened to kpop in 2019 but okay so i’d say the band idles, death grips, grimes, streetlight manifesto, huh idk i have a lot that i like but i dont know who else i would consider my “favorites” at the moment

7. song stuck in my head: right now its pirate king by ateez

8. following: 1800 lol

9. followers: on this blog 264, but 724 on my main

10. do you get asks: occasionally

11. amount of sleep: i should sleep way, way more than i do

12. what are you wearing: pajamas

13. dream job: hmmm. i mean i dont dream of working, i dont have a dream “job”, but if the question is about my dream “thing i wanna do a lot of in my life” then i guess my answer is… idk… something where i can just engage in whatever is interesting to me at the moment. like in the vein of my tumblr blogs where i can just post and talk about stuff im interested in. idk if that means being a youtuber or journalist or just someone who does something else and engages in my interests as a hobby, but yeah. or something to do with linguistics of course. though like i dont wanna be a teacher and thats basically the only path lmao (that i would even consider, anyway)

14. dream trip: you know i dont actually have a lot of interest in travel. idk, it stresses me out. i cant think about going places without worrying about how i’ll get around, what i’ll be doing, what i’ll be able to eat since i have a lot of food anxieties… idk. if someone i love wanted to go on a trip with me i’d probably be down, but i dont really know on my own.

15. instruments: i wish i could do music lol

16. languages: are amazing and i love them. okay fine lol i only speak english, but i took german in middle and high school, i took latin in high school as well, then took latin and ancient greek in college, and then after college i did a lot of looking into hungarian, vietnamese, a little bit of indonesian, turkish, and polish, and then recently i’ve been pretty focused on korean for obvious reasons. i speak none of those languages tho, lol. if i heard someone speaking some of those i could get the gist of what types of things theyre talking about most likely, but honestly my whole thing with languages is that im more interested in learning about the intricacies of how languages work and especially how they change over time than i am in actually learning the language. i’d love if my dumb adhd brain allowed me to focus hard enough and really commit to becoming fluent in a second language because so far i’ve only steadily approached being barely conversational, i’ve never actually reached even that point yet lol. and being only fluent in english makes me feel like a stupid american lol. i pick up bits of language really easily, but the rigor of learning ALL the vocab and ALL the little details you need to become actually fluent is where i fall off.

like whenever i go through an anime phase, i pick up lots and lots of japanese. like if they keep using a word i’ll see it in the subtitles and figure that it must mean that, and then i’ll pay attention to the endings they use and how they inflect it and i’ll make little inferences about what those signify, so then when i hear a word that i dont recognize but it has a grammatical ending that i know, i can infer the meaning of the word from context, and im going through this same learning process with korean now and it’s super super fun and i’m loving how much progress ive made (though i could have been making progress like three times as fast if i was actually taking a korean class)… but the actual work of learning common phrases, learning the sheer volume of vocab, all that stuff… yeah that’s where i fall off. so idk how fluent i’ll get in korean, but i’m down to find out, lol. maybe this is the one i’ll really try to focus on and achieve it with!

17. 10 favorite songs as of now: of all time????? um okay i cant possibly do that without spending a looong time thinking about it, so i’ll just do the first ten songs that come to my mind when i think of songs that i adore more than most others

keep the streets empty for me by fever ray

colossus by idles

watch it crash by streetlight manifesto

lucky girl by fazerdaze

realiti (demo) by grimes

egoist by loona (olivia hye)

picky picky by weki meki

mother by idles

peekaboo by red velvet

hi high by loona

18. if you were an animal: red panda maybe haha

19. favorite food: pizza cause im a garbage trash person

20. random fact: idk... if yall couldnt tell and didnt already know this, i’m a linguist haha. i went to school for linguistics, i majored in linguistics and classics (latin, ancient greek, etc) though honestly i was only into the languages, roman and greek history is cool and all but not really what i’m most into. majoring in classics was a mistake lol but oh well. i didnt end up graduating though because of unrelated reasons.... adhd, depression, just a general sense that the way the whole system works just wasnt made for me and it didnt click with me and ive never been good at forcing myself to be good at school... and like i was tired of hearing from professors that i have “a very organized mind when it comes to linguistics stuff” (something a greek professor said that meant a lot to me) or that i “understand how language works better than most other students my age” and that im a natural and that its impressive how nuanced my understanding of these concepts is.... while also failing or almost failing all of the classes whose professors said that about me. like basically all those statements were followed by a “, but” or a “, so if you just-”.... sigh. so i guess i’m not “actually” a linguist. whatever “actually” means there.

so other random fact i guess, which is still related but anyway... i have a conlang! that’s a constructed language. ive been working on a language for like 6 or 7 years. its at a state right now where it’s not really something i can just like... speak? it was at one point, maybe. but basically what i like to do is try out various ideas i have about language and phonology and morphology, so my language is kind of like a sandbox lol. if youre a scientist you conduct experiments, if youre a linguist i think you should try making a conlang. its not a common hobby but its something i spend an unconscionable amount of time thinking about lol. like basically 24/7. i’m almost always thinking about my word for x thing im seeing or thinking about, or like some sound change i heard that some language had, and how that would sound if applied to the words in my language...

like the reason my language isnt at a point right now where i can speak it is because getting into korean has made me think about massively reconfiguring how the grammar works. its always been kinda like latin and german, cause those are what i was taking when i started, and then it got kinda like ancient greek, so the grammar has/had a lot of complicated conjugations that are just honestly so superfluous... its such a mess lol... i have a much better understanding of how those systems come about in language now, so even if i remake my language to have verb conjugations like latin or greek, it’d be a much more coherent and natural system than the one thats existed in my language for years... but after learning about hungarian and korean in particular, i really wanna try making it a lot more logical like those languages are. but my big thing is phonology (speech sounds), so i just get hung up on sound changes and cool new consonants and vowels to add, so i keep putting off actually fixing my language lol. also ive become attached to my awful, amateurish words haha. im so bad at this... a real conlanger like tolkien or the dude who made the languages for game of thrones would look at mine and scoff haha. most of my words are just straight up stolen from words in latin, german, many others, but predominantly... english. i just mangle english words and call it my own lol, and ive been trying to replace those words with original ones that i made up arbitrarily... like my word for nose is just “nass” and my word for dog is “handir” which is just based on english “hound” and german “Hund” and stuff lol. i wanna change those

21. my aesthetic: if you actually read this long ass post, you know that my aesthetic is just “too much information” but not in a sexy way or even an interesting way

#personal #kitty #long post #writing #idk i should have a tag for stuff people tagged me in #tagged

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kirukkals · 5 years ago

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BiH - War-torn yet enigmatic

Sometimes we happen to end up on a holiday to a never 'on the bucket list' country and still feel 'Wow! What a holiday!'. When my husband mentioned the name Bosnia & Herzegovina (BiH), I had to ask twice, repeat thrice to get the name right and then run to the world map on our wall to check out where this place was hidden. An European country, no visa required if we have a valid US visa on our passport and direct flight from UAE, made the travel look very tempting.

Before you read further, a 360 degree tour of Bosnia and Herzegovina made by us during the trip is here below.

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We were all set for a 5 day holiday, but what we didn't expect was that heat wave in Europe would strike even BiH. August 2nd week and it was scorching hot (lesser than back home in Dubai), thankfully we rented a car to drive around and we hit the mountains. But global warming and heat wave in Europe is real for sure, let us all keep that in mind and do our part for this Earth. On that note, let me start writing about the trip.

The most important thing to note while reading further, Bosnian English requires us to pronounce 'J' as 'Y' in all nouns, as in, the capital city Sarajevo is actually called Sarayevo. So gear up for some tongue twisters.

We had 5 full days and did 5 main cities. Day 1 begins with a trip to Jajce (remember to say 'Yayce'). A beautiful drive up hill and we reached Pliva waterfalls. We can't really stand under the falls, but the spray is good enough to make you completely wet. A lovely view and walk it was, easily one can spend a few hours in the place. Close by are the wooden watermills, a collection of about 20 little huts that once served as watermills for local farmers, dating back to the Austro-Hungarian Empire. They give the impression of a little storybook village. And the evening ended with a visit to the Verlo-Bosne park in Sarajevo. A perfect picnic spot with all the greenery. We spent the night at Sarajevo.

Day 2 started with the "Tunnel of Hope" at Sarajevo. The tunnel built during the '93 Serbian seige, a very small part of it is still maintained by a Bosnian family, while most of the tunnel has been lost without proper restoration after the war. Just 3 feet wide, when we walked through it, I felt claustrophobic. Couldn't imagine how they used this long, narrow tunnel to transport goods and humans during the war, how much life would have been lost, Bosnians have really had a terrible 3 years. With a heavy heart and some history, left the place and headed to the next city Jablanica.

On the way, we stopped at Konjic, a small town around the lovely old stone bridge. As goes with the tradition, we could see the lovelocks covering the bridge. Wonder if tourists carry locks along just for this, or is it the locals all the time?!

At Jablanica, it is a city of a huge lake with aqua emerald sparkling waters. We also took a detour and did Rama lake, just for its views and location. Blidinje National park was our next stop, another preserved national reserve that could easily serve as a picnic spot on a nice weekend noon. Then we reached Mostar to spend the night there.

As I have mentioned in my previous blogs, we are vegetarians, no eggs, no fish and no meat (yes, some nationals think fish and meat are part of veggie food). So, food options are too less and we carry our own stuff to cook a quick meal wherever we go. Exploring local food and restaurants are not part of our trip. We love to taste all the gelatos and fresh fruits and smoothies though. All through our 5 day trip we were not disappointed with the choices on gelatos, smoothies and local pastries.

Day 3 was Mostar city. The Stari-Most bridge and the old town around it are the main attractions. It is traditional for the young men of the town to leap from the bridge into the Neretva river. It is a steep dive and we got to see one such jump, which was truly scary. The old town shopping was lined with handmade art and craft works. Turkey lights, Mosaic art, knitted bags were all colourful and beautiful. But mostly the monuments and memorials in the country are all abstract art. It is ok for a structure to be abstract, but definitely not the symbols in restrooms. I saw in a couple of places, shoe for men's room and smaller shoe with little heels symbol for ladies room. Not exactly pointed narrow heels. And then, a suit for men, just a simple shirt, pant would suffice, why a long suit which almost looks like a skirt with a flair! So if you don't look twice, you are likely to make a mistake. And even if you do, like I did when I took my girl along, just walk out with your head high and let your girl know, mistakes happen, it is ok, after all we are humans to err !

Next, to the little town of Blagaj which has a monastery on the river Buna. The walk was covered with cafes and I felt it could have had a few less. Mid day at Policej fort was too hot and humid, we gave up the climb till the top and headed to Kravice waterfalls, the biggest in BiH. One of the beautiful locations in BiH definitely. Here swimming is allowed and the only place where we saw huge crowds this summer. Yet, there is enough space for all to swim, boat, picnic and relax. From there, we started our drive up the mountains to the Sutjeska Camp.

Sutjeska Camp is located high up and the drive was extraordinary. But mid way, we took an offroad for 3 kms to join M20 highway and am thankful we didn't do that offroad ride at night. A lonely stony path deep into the forest, with no google to assist, no sounds from any side except for our car, the path seemed unending. Thankfully our car behaved well and no break downs anywhere, and a big thank you to Tantu Maps which worked offline and showed the route. We reached the camp a little after dusk. To stay overnight in a camp was always on the list, though this wasn't a tent, the small wooden huts surrounded by the forest was enough to give the real camp feel. There was no fan, no AC and just dim lights inside. Outside had colourful butterflies, buzzing bees, noisy crickets, barking dogs which sounded more like wolves in the dark! Music at the bar a little further away made us feel better and we got a good night's sleep.

Day 4 morning we wanted to do some trekking, but the weather again was too hot, so we didn't risk losing all our energy. We climbed up the small hill to the Tjentiste War Memorial, which in itself was a trek for me. It is built in the Sutjeska National Park. The War Memorial was built in remembrance of the 3301 soldiers who went to war from Sutjeska. When we went up, there were so many birds circling over and around the monument, it just felt like they represented the liberated souls rising out of the mass graves beneath. The majestic structure is really stunning and can be seen even from the highway. One not to be missed if you are enroute. We started back to the capital city Sarajevo, this time ensuring no offroads.

We had enough time in the evening to walk around the city centre. The city hall building is one of the big structures, which had a huge library and was all engulfed in flames during the war. The restored building looks worn out definitely. The iconic Latin bridge where the WW1 is believed to have begun with the assassination of Archduke Franz of Austria, is a disappointment for tourists. The bridge and the river beneath has not been maintained and it just looks like an old bridge to cross the road. The climb up the Yellow Fortress is definitely worthy for the sunset view from top. We get a bird's eye view of entire Sarajevo and all the cemeteries in the city cannot be missed from this view.

Day 5 began with a short drive to the Bijambare caves. Most parts of the cave is not accessible as they are too narrow or steep. But the climb to the top cave, chill breeze in the mid cave and the springs in the lower cave were enough for us to have a good time. Back to the city, we did find an Indian restaurant Tajmahal, food was pretty decent. The city center mall is an active place for youngsters. Bascarsija is Sarajevo's old bazaar and for anyone interested in shopping, an ideal stop. Locally made honey is quite popular in the country and we did buy one jar. Sebilj Fountain is a symbol of Sarajevo standing at the center of Bascarsija. From there, it spreads into a lot of alleys, scattered houses and tiny gardens.

The '93 war during the Serbian seige has costed a lot to BiH and the country is still trying to come out of it all and improve its economy. This is reflected in the condition of houses, people, cost of living and so on. Tourist places are still being developed and it isn't a typical expensive, well maintained European tourist spot. The city, the mountains, wherever you turn to, you ll find a cemetery. We also saw many signboards, stone carvings stating "Don't forget '93". So, the country is ensuring that the youngsters will not forget the war and their misfortunes. History is important to their people and we get pulled into it too to dig further and know what actually happened. A lesser known place this is, atleast for Indian travellers, but definitely a place to be explored for its beauty and serenity.

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katoktm3 · 8 years ago

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Bears wolves lynx and jackasses

Wolves and bears and lynx and jackasses And so it was that we were picked up by our tour guide at 10 AM this morning to head out to the Transylvanian mountains to go horseback riding. We had not been in the car for more than five minutes when I asked something about the horseback riding today. Our tour guide proceeded to pull the car over on a mountain curve and start yelling at me, and Caroline too I suppose. He was ranting about how we couldn't go horseback riding for three hours because I hadn't given him enough information, I had not replied soon enough, I wanted to do too much etc. etc. (I don't know what he thought I wanted to do. I just thought we were horseback riding. ) So he was going to take us to some historic sites and we could ride horses for an hour. He was so rude and aggressive that Caroline actually stepped in and said "are you kidding me? I am not going to spend my day with someone that has a bad attitude like you." He continued to rant and explain how tourists often make reservations but cancel at the last minute and all his problems he was spilling out onto us. Caroline said "this is not how to do business you do not tell us your problems! I am sorry that you had such problems with tourists but don't take it out on us. Please let us read introduce ourselves and start the day over in a good mood." Can you believe he continued to rant. He got out of the car and walked to the white coronation tower. Told us the history of the Hungarians in the Saxons and the Romanians and the Germans. Caroline made peace with him and asked him 1 million questions. Good for her. I just silently stared at him wishing him horrible things. Yes I know it is hard to believe I did not ask one single question I just stood and stared at him . he must've talked for 15 minutes. We got back in the car and drove on to some winter resort tourist town where he made us get out of the car and walk. He said "I'm going to get coffee you go look at that church and come back. " I said something to the effect of oh no we don't want to take up anymore of your time than necessary. He said "no no take your time. " But horseback riding is at 11:30, it was 11:08. We scooted down to the wooden Greek orthodox church, which was actually very cool. See the photo of the priest on the porch eating something. Then off to the farm for horseback riding. I'm still not speaking. As we were driving to the horses, he started ranting about politics and tourism. Then he said "oh for example all the Bears have been shot and hunted. For example president trump's son came and killed a bear right before Trump met with our president! He said the only positive thing about communism was that only the dictator could hunt so the bear population thrived... he has his own tourism business, which gives five stars on trip advisor, and he was bitching about tourists. Nice. We get to the farm and the horses were absolutely beautiful. All different breeds, healthy pasture living, and we got helmeted up, and on our horses. Mine was named America. I digress. First we had to ask our tour guide if we could go to the bathroom. We had to follow him so closely behind so that we would not get attacked by the farm dogs. Yes the dogs were huge and they were kept on the farm to protect the chickens pigs and horses from wolves and bears and lynx etc. we had to walk past about six sleeping dogs in order to get to the bathroom behind the house. And he kept saying "no walk closer ..no walk closer to me! Be calm! They can sense your fear!" The dogs barely batted an eye. Finally to the horses. My beautiful horse was named America. Just like my fluency in Spanish I told them I was a very experienced rider. So they had no qualms about putting me on the big horse up front! Haha. We were with a mother and son from New Zealand. But the mother was Romanian and left, escaped, as soon as communism fell. She wants to move back to her family land but her son says no way. When we get back from the ride which the pack of 4 dogs followed us the entire way to keep us safe, ( it was pretty cool, they lead the way ran through the Meadows, well one mostly just swim in the creek. ) the Romanian lady and her son needed a ride back to town so we offered to let them come with us. My tour guide was shocked that we didn't mind. But the owner of the farm invited us for coffee. So we went to a picnic table and had Turkish coffee, homemade crackers, and sparkling water. It was a nice end to the afternoon. After dropping them off it was 3 o'clock , Caroline and I were starving. So we asked our Tour Guide where we could go for a very light lunch. He had a great idea. Romanian fast food. "So much better than McDonald's" He dropped us off outside ...we went in and of course there's no English the entire menu is in Romanian. So I asked a police man to help me order. A grilled chicken sandwich. The sandwich was on a huge white bun, delicious pieces of grilled chicken definitely, inside the sandwich was also ketchup, globe of mayonnaise,lettuce and french fries. Yes, french fries inside the sandwich. A perfect light lunch. We ate in the park and then walked around the outside of the fortress. The walls still stand up today. Then we wandered some more up to the citadel which advertised a Transylvanian salon, a mid evil salon, and a wine bar. We thought... yes! let's get wine and sit in a Transylvanian salon. However it was a dilapidated empty fortressed building.,Then the rain started coming in. It is now 7:50 ...we're waiting to get hungry and it is torrential rain outside. An interesting day. I cannot wait to get on trip advisor and write a review.

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visiodreams · 8 years ago

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So here is my personal top 43 eurovision ranking with comments be below

Comments

-- Finland: My country so I won't rank this. There is always tendency to be a bit biased when it comes to your own country. I wasn't big fan of the song at the beginning but the live really made this song grow on me. They were clearly best act on the live shows so they did deserve to win. I think there is potential to go to the finals so fingers cross.

42. Czeck Rebuplic: Sorry but this song is just boring.. I don't even have that much to say about it.. Not the type of music I listen.. I'm afraid that this song isn't that memorable.

41. Slovenia: Oh Omar Naber the man who has made on of my favourite eurovisions of all time (If you don't know what i'm talking about check out esc 2005 slovenia) .. but this.. oh well this is just one very forgettable eurovision ballad.. sorry but it's no for me.

40. Germany: Okey I try to be nice with this. She sings good at live.. yeah that's about it.. I have tried to make myself to like this song but it's just.. I don't know.. lyrics are just bad and over all just meh for me.

39. Malta: There isn't exactly anything wrong with the song. It's just quite unoriginal eurovision ballad. Nothing new. If you like this part of eurovision then this is probably song for you.. I just don't like it.

38. Russia: Haven't checked the latest news if they are taking part or not but don't wanna exclude this either. This song.. well mm she's a sweet girl and it's a sweet song.. just not what I would listen.

37. Denmark: Oh Denmark I admit I probably dislike this song more cos I watched their national finals and liked other song way way way more than this (I'm a fan of cheesy euro disco and half naked man.. but hey can you blame me) This just not my cup of tea. I won't listen this more than I have to.

36. United Kingdom: I have started to like this song than I did before but still not my top songs of the year. I just think that UK would have so much potential for more than this. Just not fan of these eurovision ballads if you can already tell.

35. Georgia: I don't hate this song. She is powerful singer with powerful song. It's just not one of the songs I would put to my playlist. I can handle this when it comes to the live shows but that's about it.

34. Ireland: Very irish ballad. Nothing really wrong with the song. But to be honest can't remember nicely how this song goes. Quite forgettable. Sweet ballad nothing more nothing less.

33. Serbia: It's not bad song. It's just quite forgettable. There isn't any interesting hook in this song that would make me craving for more.

32.Lithuania: I'm actually surprised that this song got this high on my ranking. But this song has grown on me for a bit. At least it's not boring song. I won't go to refill my wine glass while listening this song. This songs is still quite too much bizarre to get enough votes i'm afraid.

31. Albania: I will complain about the same thing I complain about every year with Albania. Why ooh why you have to translate your songs? If you want to participate with english song then why not to make the songs in english in the beginning with?? why to first make it in albanian and then try to make it fit in english? it's just doesn't make any sense. I like this song more in albanian. It's still not that bad song. And she is gorgeous singer and sings amazingly in live. Defiantly not the worst song of the yea.

30. Croatia: Definitely one of the most interesting songs of the year. It has some Disney feel in it. Also i'm interested to see how he can change his tones in live. Definitely looking forward to see this song and him singing it. Just not my taste of music.

29. Creece: I'm a fan of cheesy dance songs but sorry this is just too cheap even for me. I can handle this that one night and maybe party a little but it's a no for me. I won't listen this much after esc are over.

28. Polan: This reminds me of Bond song for some reason. It's not bad song and I can see why there is people liking this song. It's just not my taste.

27. Ukraine: It's always refreshing to see other genres than cheesy pop and ballads. So I'm glad Ukraine chose this song. Is it my all time favourite rock song? Mmh not really. I do like rock music but this isn't really the song I like to listen all the time. It has grown on me tho' quite a bit.

26.Iceland: I think this sounds very nordic. I could imagine this kind of song coming from Norway or Sweden also. It's not bad song but not the top cast either. I do like it quite much and it's pretty catchy.

25. Israel: well I think this and Creece are pretty similar. Cheap pop songs that are okey to party on when esc party is on but there isn't much to tell to next generation eurovision fans about this song. Some other year could have been higher but this year there is just so much better dance songs. Okey okey I might have given some cute boy extra points to this song.

24. Romania: Oh Yodel it! It's definitely eurovision material. I'm glad they chose this song cos well comm’on it wouldn't be eurovision without acts like this. I'm glad that eurovision is getting it's weird factor back on. And I mean weird in good way. You have to admit that you can’t hear yodeling in everyday radio pop song. Btw both of them are good singers.

23. Australia: Very quality eurovision ballad. Pretty safe choice. Not the most memorable song of the night but it's not bad either. One of the best in category of eurovision ballads.

22.Latvia: This song will bring the burst of energy to the stage for sure. This song itself isn't just that kind of song I like personally that much.. It's okey song. It will be nice to watch in show but I'm not gonna listen it that much.

21.Netherlands: Is it throwback Thursday? Hello is it year '99 calling? Am I watching Charmed marathon on Netflix and still waiting for the episode where Leo first show up and scream like a fan girl cos piper x leo is the one and only otp.. oh sorry I got lost in track. I quite like this song. It's very old fashioned on it's on way but it's not bad thing. It gives you feels and things that give you feels can't be that bad.

20. Austria: Oh Nathan Nathan.. I have to admit I have a thing for him. I have thing for red heads I can’t deny it. Yeh this song got quite a few cute boy bonuses. It's a chill song. Not really the type I like that much but if Nathan sing it I can listen to it.

19. Belarus: This is just one very adorable song. It makes you feel good and makes you wonder if there actually is that small three hugging hippie living inside you. Who just want to sit next to bonfire holding hand in circle and singing songs. BTW love that it's sang in Belorussian.

18. San Marino: Okey remember the part when I said I love cheesy eurovision disco songs? Well like I said I love them and I love this song. Just want to get up clap my hands and move my hips like a John Travolta.

17. Switzerland: I follow you Apollo.. very catchy chorus.. very good live and man that woman is gor-ge-us.. definitely some hot woman extra points here. Not quite my top 10 material but definitely a good song that goes right to my playlist.

16. Spain: Yeah I know I'm cheap.. I dunno everyone seem to hate this song and i'm just here in my tropical printed shirt sipping pina colada from coconut and wondering what is it exactly that I'm gonna do for my lover.. Overall this Manel boy's surfer charisma has affected me and I'm quite enjoying the song.

15.Estonia: i'm quite digging this song. It also have some vibe from the past but it seems to be a thing this year.. Maybe i'm getting old cos it doesn't bother me at all. This Koit Tooma has very nice voice I specially like it. Not bad Estonia not bad at all.

14.Armenia: Uuuh I love the vibe this song has. A bit mystical and this woman has nice voice. I haven’t listen it as much I have other songs since it was the last to be released. But I'm liking it.. waiting to see how is the live show.

13. Azerbaijan: I admit it I was expecting again one very swedish sounding ballad sang by one gorgeous woman in glittery gown. So yes you surprised me positively Azerbaijan. Still a gorgeous woman singing but a bit more with an attitude that I like. Looking forward to see live.

12.Macedonia: Oh I like this song a lot a lot a lot. It reminds me of some other song can't quite catch which one.. but it's a type of music my big sis used to listen a lot and has affected me also .. very nice.

11.Bulgaria: On of my favourite ballads of the year.. more modern than others.. very quality song-- I can see this doing well.

10.France: Would have been better without forced english in the middle but still very nice song. This has been on my top 10 from the beginning. I'm glad France sending top songs every year.

9. Moldova: Well common it's a epic sax guy eurovision just got 100 times better. I loved sunstroke project last time and I love them now. Best party song of the year. How you can be not liking this song?

8. Cyprus: Very radio friendly song with catchy lyrics. Quality song yet again fom Cyprus I'm glad. Interesting to see how it's gonna be live.

7. Sweden: First time of the history of melodifestivalen Sweden picked the song I liked.. sorry but that Nano was way too similar to one other song and it bothered me way too much. Robin had by far the best show in melodifestivalen I dare him not to change a thing (Dressmanwalk and hot dancers in suits works for me). Sweden you just know how to make shows and this song really need its live show to get where it is now.

6. Hungary: Love this sone more and more by every listening. I love it's in hungary I love the violin I just love everything. Hungary is always strongest when they pick songs sang in hungarian. Unique and beautiful.

5.Norway: I just L-O-V-E this song.. amazing... He has so great voice and the beat is nice.. modern song.. good job Norway.

4. Portugal: Oh Portugal finally did it!!! Finally a song I adore so so so much.. I feel like crying every time I listen this.. and I haven't even had time to check the translation yet. But that old Disney feel you get from this. You get thrown middle of black and white film where you sit in smoky table and listen when this beautiful man sing like a bird.. I'm in love.

3. Belgium: What is happening this year? What are these great modern pop songs we are having.. It's just quality after quality.. Awesome job Belgium.. this song will do good.. She just need to be good in live show..

2.Montenegro: Yes I know and I'm sorry.. but couldn't help mysef. .I was like 'can I do this?' but then the spaceship hit me.. I mean ho you cannot love this song? Man Montenegro I'm surprised.. this kind of cheeesy euro disco I love love love.. Just need my glitter and I'm ready to paaartyy.. (this song would make a great condom campaign song.. just saying.. cos I have my suit on..no need to worry..)

1. Italy: Oh how I hate that he had to cut the song for eurovision.. But oh well I'm in love.. and nothing can change my love for you Francesco Gabbani I'm waitin..ghmm I ment I'm wai..waiwing for you song.. not like i'm waiting him to marry me or anything.. nope not at all.. I have very realistic ideas in my head.. but common it's cheery italian pop song I lvoe cheery italian pop songs.. and when you add a hot italian man with tons of charisma what can go wrong?

#esc 2017 #esc #eurovision #eurovision 2017 #eurovision top 43 #my top #somments #finland #italy #belgium

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