#is he still living in cillian's shadow or has he become his own person in time? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thelordstears · 4 years ago

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I know, I write a lot, it’s not an addiction I swear

“ Though I was swooned by him at first, I realize now that even the devil dressed in gossamer and silk is still the devil, even if his smile once lit up your world, but now all it does is send a shiver down my spine.” - Kareath Calico

“ Pain has a funny way of hidin' itself, bottlin' itself inside until one day it explodes and all you have left is anger.” - Sigmund Kidelman

“ I let my scars define me, and perhaps that's why they hurt other's. Because all my scars have ever done were hurt.” - Sigmund Kidelman

“ I'm a broken monument ta all my sins, oh how glorious it looks, like a statue built ta praise a God, but don'tcha know, even God's can be cruel? I'm praised in all my sinfulness. And I imagine I've become the very thing my mama never wanted me ta become. My father.” - Saul Northutt

“ You can step up ta me, but just know it's the last one you'll take. I'm fully willin' ta take this bat 'a mine and say BATTER UP BITCH! If you dare threaten my dynasty.” - Saul Northutt

“ Look, this world is cold as ice, so you best grab a jacket lest you be payin' the damn price 'a my sins, wallowin' in your own misery, stuck in your fucking skin." - Saul Northutt

“ "Regret trickles down my bones, I imagine it's all I am these days. Soft spoken nothings and loud screams of sin, here I am, nothing but my regret in my hands, it's all I have these days, and I can't let that go. I'm a bad man, sinful to the very core, I've killed men in cold blood and that alone freezes your blood.” - Lloyd Cages

"My heart is beckoned by an eternity of nothings and imploded stars. I myself, am an imploded star, where I once shown bright with every color under the sun, tha, that man.. no.. that monster stripped the color from my soul, and replaced it with black and white. Doctor Tobias Emory, the devil walking the Earth.” - Richie Marrowstone

“ I always fear Doctor Emory will be back, if just to torment me some more. I'm terrified down to my very core, I swear every shadow whispers. Every leaf fallen is a boot against the sand. Every fucking whistle on the wind is a temptation into the night.” - Richie Marrowstone

“ You can try and tell me ta change, but I'll flash ya a yella grin and tell ya, I already fucking did.” - Carter Burningham

“ Ya know, I was born with a cord wrapped round my neck, ain't sumfin' I can eva' forget, the world bee tryin' ta take me out ever since I first damn well arrived, and if my age don't tell ya about it's failure, well I imagine it succeeded with you didn't it? Cuz you got about three breaths left and those'll be used on screamin'.” - Carter Burningham

"They say soldiers march inta war human, but it spats 'em back out somethin' less than that, how unfortunate you stand before the damn consequence 'a war.” - Gavin Sendelwits

“ I imagine somewhere along the line I was shaped into this monstrosity, I'm somethin' less than human I'd imagine. Because it's human ta be able to control your emotions, huh? Well I can't control anything. I'm quick to anger, slow to forgiveness, but even quicker to murder.” - Elijah Brookenburg

“ My head pounds with the sins on my mind, my heart pumps black blood and lies fed ta me through test tubes and needles.” - Elijah Brookenburg

“ How am I to forgive myself if those who're hurt by my failure are still scarred? Forgiveness isn't about the one who gave scars, but the one who received them.” - Echo

“ I have learned, I'm nothing but a woman, in a casket made up of her hurt, buried by her memories." - Echo

“ You know how it is, sometimes we must suffer so other's don't in the future, and I imagine the greatest pain one could face is the spilling of another human being's blood, indeed, indeed.” - Simone Marriott

“ The Marriott's are justice, we're law, we're order. And most importantly. We're family." - Simone Marriott

“ I've fought hard to be who I am, damn hard. But just because I'm comfortable in my own skin, doesn't mean I'm comfortable in my own mind. Because my mind is plagued with past troubles, regret trickles through my bones and right down into my soul.” - Gloria Boyler

“ Life is a battle sometimes, but there's always peace at some point, just because you're whole life has been a battlefield don't mean the gunfire of your pain will always ring in your ears. It does that, because you're still on the damn battlefield don't lay down that white flag just yet." - Gloria Boyler

"My mind is a haunted field in which I reap only the benefits of those who scarred me so. This field is one of past sorrows and tales forgotten by everyone but me and he who spun it, but at least I remain, right? At least I'm myself, I believe there's a victory in that. After all these years, being someone else, I imagine it's a grand victory to be the man I am.” - Abram Gothenburg

“ I miss her smile, it fades from my memory, like clouds when the sun sinks, and stars when the moon is no longer there to accompany them.” - Abram Gothenburg

“ I've twirled upon nails, they pierce my feet as I walk this thin line of love and self abuse, but why not walk it right? There's a small chance of love on this line, might as well chase it, hm?” - Samuel Ravenswood

“ I am beautiful in the eyes of Satan, but ugly and deceiving in the eyes of God.” - Samuel Ravenswood

“ I'm an echo of gunfire and nobility, just because I's spilt blood, don't mean I'm a wicked man. Sometimes the blood spilt is righteous, doesn't make the act in of itself holy, but the intent is what differentiates a killer, and a soldier.” - Giovanni McCreek

"The roots of my family tree are stained with me, I'd imagine.” - Brooke Bergmeir

“ I'm a soft whisper of a man, and yet I'm a glass shatterin' scream of a scared lil boy.” - Brooke Bergmeir

“ Here I am, scarred by his choices, and scared of my own.” - Brooke Bergmeir

“ Octavia says a million scars make me who I am, but oh, if only she knew, a million scars made me a monster.” - Brooke Bergmeir

"Belief can go along way, belief in yourself, belief in a good world, Hell, belief of the future can get ya there. If you can believe in the future, you can believe in life. Ain't sayin' ya gotta look forward to it, life can be shitty, but not forever.” - Beatrice Bergmeir

“ Life's got me down, it's kicked me in the rear and told me I ain't good enough, so I imagine I'm not. My sister always told me.. I was a warrior, but.. I only wield the blade to slay, so aren't I just a killer? A killer wearing a warrior's armor?” - Richy Cougar

“ Who am I to be loved by my family? Can't be proud of the boy who cried wolf and got people killed. I've lied, cheated, stolen.. murdered. But was it ever my choice? Or was I just, born to destroy?” - Richy Cougar

“ Maybe I gotta be someone else to be someone good. Maybe I have to become an entirely different person, to make this life of mine.. worth a damn. Cuz as of right now, it's worth a nickel and a dead dream." - Richy Cougar

"Life is one tough sunnuva bitch, but I'm one tough cookie, and I ain't gonna crumble to some pain and minimal scars.” - Billy Mulcrone

“ To some people, you're the darkness between the stars, but to another.. you might be the only guiding light." - Billy Mulcrone

“ Wicked sin and bone makes up my family tree and I imagine I'll be the one to chop it down once and for all. When a families history is so stained with blood of the innocent, it's best not to continue it. My bloodline ends with me. But Holland my brother, it ends with you too.” - Violetta Gursoch

“ You can't escape the atrocities you've created, after all, I am one.” - Violetta Gursoch

“ How foolish I was to think these claws were made to protect him, his claws were made only to tear into flesh, and mine were made to bury him deep enough so no one will remember his damn name but me.” - Violetta Gursoch

“ They say forgive and forget, but what he did? Oh I can do neither I imagine. I have only one option. And that is revenge.” - Violetta Gursoch

"Life doesn't care who you are. You could be the richest man on earth, or have only lint in your damn pockets. It'll treat you just the same. People won't. But we live, we die, we breathe. That's all life is in the end." - Desmond Law

"I don't ask for forgiveness, only revenge." - Autumn Wolfmoon

"You know how sometimes people lash out at those they love most cause their heart's lashin' out at them? It seems to be my whole life in a nutshell I can't seem to crack." - Molly Chain

"I'm tormented by the hauntings of my future." - David Carrow

"I am love, I am death, I am everything in between, I am, my own worst enemy." - Olympus Woods

“You had your time in Heaven Cillian, enjoy Hell.” - Ferdinand Lawlor

"Maybe you'll find you enjoy the dark more then the mundane simplicities of life." - Remington Burlwitz

“You will gain his trust, when I say so, you will break it, with a dagger.” - Remington Burlwitz

"And yet somehow, through all the hurt, all the scars, all the blood on your hands, you still remain, you. Our future isn’t someone else.” - Alonzo Graves

"You won't take us down without a god damn fight, the devil can't just walk through Heaven's gates and expect the angels that reside within it's walls to give the fuck up." - Alonzo Graves

"Oh mate, this isn't a playing field, there are no toy soldiers, no cap guns, just blood, sins and weary, tired bastards, so let's fucking step into war, mate.” - Arnold Schull

#writing #characterwriting #storytelling #oneliners #author

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archivesdiveronarpg · 7 years ago

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Congratulations, LESLIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of CLAUDIUS. Admin Bree: Put simply, this application was everything I’ve been looking for in a Clark app and more. You nailed him from start to finish, from your analysis to your interview (his cigarette, his nagging conscience) to the faintly nostalgic para sample (the violin, in particular). You brought him to life in all of his terrible, tragic glory, and I can’t thank you enough for applying. I can’t wait to see what you do with him on the dash! Welcome to DiVerona! Your request to change his faceclaim to Richard Armitage has also been accepted. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Leslie

Age | 17

Preferred Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | I’m attending summer school by June and school starts in July, which means I’ll inevitably come across busy weekdays and weekends. However, my activity is mostly still dictated by how much muse I have for my character. Writing is never an issue for me so long as my muse hasn’t been milked dry that day.

Timezone | GMT +8

Current/Past RP Accounts | My accounts can be found here (x), here (x) and here (x). Most of my experience, as you may as well realize, are from only city RPs so I’ll be deviating from my comfort zone here, should I get accepted!

In Character

Character | Claudius (Clark Godrej). While I love Cillian Murphy, could you possibly see Richard Armitage in his stead? This is only a secondary concern, though!

What drew you to this character? | Is it considered a crime if you, at age seventeen, have not read any Shakespeare play? Of course I’ve seen adaptations of Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, and Much Ado About Nothing, but other than that my knowledge on Shakespeare is nada. The initial knowledge I have of Claudius comes from Cliffsnotes (I especially like the part where the writer calls him ‘morally deficient’ and how he sacrifices humanity and humanness to acquire his goals), but reading his biography just made him more interesting for me.

It’s easy to conclude from first glance that Claudius is some sort of psychopath, but I believe that he is far more than that. C (I hope you don’t mind if I use this in future reference to him) has the makings of a Byronic character: plots spread across his life nothing short of tragedies, with misery and scorn imbued in his heart although still capable of love. More than that, however, I see him as possessing an inferiority complex stemming mainly from being constantly behind his older brother, whose shadow still rightfully looms his very movements to this day. Fusing Byronic characteristics with inferiority and you have yourself a deeply flawed character. As a writer, I aim to make my characters written in such a way that they aren’t just an overplayed trope.

Additionally, while he’s an emissary of the Montagues, his true loyalty lies within himself and himself alone—doing everything with his interests in mind, his mob allegiance only taking second place to his selfishness. Though what is important here is why he has become so selfish in the first place—and the answer lies with his older brother yet again. He’s neither owned nor valued in his life, and the barest semblance of anything that could become his he takes so with passion. This has especially struck me personally, considering that I’m a little bit of a greedy prick in real life (what can you do? Haha) but I do so with a justification it’s just me “taking back what I’ve lost”. And that’s primarily what C has become. So much has been taken from him that when the opportunity presents itself to “steal” something which is his brother’s own, he does so with a smile on his face, because he thinks—he knows—this is what he deserves. Him loving his brother’s wife and him killing his brother, however, are other stories entirely.

Despite all my ramblings, I don’t think I’ve definitively answered why I damn well love C so much already. He’s suffered most his life and from that he becomes a truly grey character for whom it is difficult to sympathize with, and with good reason. He’s malicious, selfish, and bitter; on the other hand, he’s driven, loyal to a fault, and extremely calculating in his methods. Without a doubt, C is human and everything that entails – a product of life’s calamities and fleeting radiance.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

Giya | Similarly to the third-season villain in The Legend of Korra (I can’t help but make a reference!), the one thing that tethers the villain to the ‘earthly realm’ is that of his one true love. I imagine that C will approach her death with the same approach as he did his brother’s own. He’ll be throwing himself to his work in an effort to erase all memory of her, but this fails with even the barest mention of her name. It will be an interesting and admittedly difficult challenge to paint him as anything but irredeemable after that point, because what else is there for him to live for in this goddamn world? The thought process would be unreal. In his mind, he’s killed for nothing. Now both his brother’s and Giya’s deaths lull in his conscience. Nightmares come more than ever before, as if compensating for their scarcity back then. Her death has unlocked in him a weakness that he so wishes to eradicate. Ultimately, though, I just want to see how he can grow from all this. He truly doesn’t have anything holding him back now, which leads to him becoming more reckless than ever.

Gallows (TW: suicide ideation) | Whether he be huddling in stacks under stacks of books or requesting that he take on other responsibilities aside from his job’s conventions, C is unwittingly distancing himself from others. He’s a tightly wound up storm and within good reason—in his perspective the universe throws tragedy to him constantly. So tightly wound is he that when he’s approached with the subtlest impression of compassion the storm comes resurging. Because, in the deepest trenches of his organ writhing underneath his ribcage, there remains still sentiment that motivates him to live. But he is so good at hiding his emotions, so good that I fear the inevitable numbness will push him further and further the edge. That being said, I desire for him to have even one friend to whom he can open up. It’s scary and characteristically unnatural for him to do so, but without a support system, I have an inkling that he’ll believe death is the only escape to the horrors he’s lived.

Gone Wrong | The brazen hiss of a car tire as it glosses over a roughly cemented road. Bones and synapses and organs smashed as his air bag failed to protect him from the damage. Lungs filled with inhaled carbon monoxide. Eyes dimmed, with only blinding white light in his line of sight. A fire developing from the car engine. Himself, unable to escape. C is a perfectionist above all. And while he’s internally already broken, I’d like to explore how physical incapability and how the loss of work – the only thing that keeps him going now – influences his actions. Always one to stubbornly brush off help, there’s no telling how he’ll fare on his own. In his perspective, such an accident is his past’s way of coming back to haunt him.

In Depth

The following THREE questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would were you playing the character.

TW: suicide ideation

The pair opposite each other on a shadowy nook in the comfort of his home. Separating them is an old mahogany coffee table smattered with scratches and even a bite mark, stemming from a former dog of whom he’s now disposed. A glass ashtray, whose surface has turned the color of tar, sits on the middle. Two glasses of water—the lone thing which Clark has prepared for them both, actual sustenance be damned—is placed strategically on its sides, as if guarding the ashtray’s secrets. Crossing his legs and drumming his fingers endlessly on the arm rail, he waits impatiently for the other’s question, having no desire except to continue his day per usual.

“What is your favorite place in Verona?” The interviewer asks, expression of pure civility.

A shake of his head, fingers flicking his cancer stick before it finds its way between his lips once more. A click of a lighter is heard as he alights his cigarette and begins to induce poison in and out his lungs.

Momentary silence is observed before his chapped lips part to repeat the other’s words. “My favorite place in Verona…” He muses, crossing his arms over his chest which serves as another means of defense. He decides not to give an honest answer, and having easily mastered the art of deceit he’s certain that the other will believe him regardless of his utterance.

“…is the capital library.” Then again, his response carries an undercurrent of truth. He neither wholly desires the fragrance of old books wafting through shelves that shadow the most miniscule of moves nor the hushed atmospheres upon which even a mellow laugh of a child is contorted into something ominous. He craves, in their stead, the peril lurking above the bookshelves and away from an entire city’s line of sight. It is among one of his safe spaces, a place where he can tread with peers of similar ideologies, those who have learned to accept him despite the rage bubbling underneath his system.

But you’re still lying. A conscience, faded but still ingrained into the back of his mind, tells him. He daren’t admit it to anyone, but the bridge dividing both parties is where his heart lies. The Castelvecchio stands unwitting of its role in the raging civil war, and he’s loath to think how much tragedy it has seen. And oh how he desires to trace both the footsteps of Capulets and Montagues and to discern how many of them have taken their last steps here—

—and how sometimes, when his heart is heavy and his shoulders become too heavy laden, when all efforts of alleviating the pain becomes all for naught, he imagines how it feels like to jump from one of its stones and into the raging river underneath.

But that is a story for a later day. Now, all that concerns him are finishing his cigarette. And this ruddy interview.

The other man taps his feet ceaselessly on the mahogany floor, eager to write his words yet again. But Clark is not one to satisfy another. In fact, he relishes in taking away their pleasure. Let him experience a twinge of suffering, a lone crevice of his mind says, let him.

A gleam in his eyes is evident yet again as he throws the stick somewhere, making neither moves to throw it properly nor extinguishing its tip. Let it burn. His conscience says treacherously.

He sees the impatient expression plastered on the other’s face, and a faint gale of laughter escapes past his lips. “Oh, do you want me to continue?” He utters, raising a single brow. “You’re not going to get an answer more than that.”

“What does your typical day look like?” The man almost stammers now, but ever so quick on his feet, disguises the gaffe with a small cough.

His head tilts, ever so slightly, at the candid inquiry. A perfectly-sculpted mask shatters only in the rarest of occasions and today is no exception. His face is still, devoid of emotion, with only those who have been trained in the art of distinguishing the cartography of Clark’s face having the knowledge of where to look. The faint curl of his lips is suggestive of sinisterism rather than of genuine amusement, cerulean blue irises glimmering with that of the sweet smell of danger.

“Shall I bore you with the details?” Clark leans back on his chair, folding his hands on his lap as he does so. His eyelids flutter shut as he inhales the remnants of nicotine looming in the air, a fleeting repose to boredom.

“That’s why I’ve been brought here.” The interviewer does not even attempt to conceal his slight annoyance.

Let him wait. His conscience, or at least whatever is left of it, speaks. These days the small voice in the back of his head only serves to vex him all the more. Sometimes it speaks well, but far more frequently it does its stark opposite. The latter now speaks to him, in a cold, calculating way that almost mirrors his own speech.

A shallow laugh bubbles and escapes from his system before he can stop it. “Don’t tell me you’re actually interested in the makings of an emissary. Wouldn’t you rather learn about the boss, who sits atop his throne? Or their second-in-command, whose deeds are so dark they can bring the diablo on his knees? Or the advisers, whose words occasionally serve much better than the soldiers’ actions?”

There is no response on his opposite’s part. He continues.

“Or wouldn’t you rather learn about the unspeakable?” Clark leans forward, looking side by side as if to keep a secret from an invisible audience. “Wouldn’t you rather learn of a thief in the night, strutting across the room as their eyes fixate on another silhouette? Wouldn’t you rather learn of a man with quiet, calculated steps, stifling his would-be victim’s mouth with a handkerchief and plunging a knife into their back? Wouldn’t you rather learn of a man whose arm contains now a trail of crimson as he remorselessly leaves his victim, who has lips growing purple with each passing second and their skin flaking at the slightest touch?”

He sees him now, swallowing in fear as Clark utters his sentences.

Fear is what he does best, he thinks.

“…that beats talking about mundane business trips, no?”

The interviewer conceals none of his fright, almost instinctively taking the glass of water and, putting his lips onto its brim, drank its contents until it is half-empty.

“Erm… I suppose we should skip to the last question,” the interviewer speaks, “what are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

“You want the truth?” Clark replies, almost gnashing his teeth.

The interviewer nods, gaze fixated at him, as if daring him to finally venture onto the realm of honesty.

“Who was it that said, ‘All war is a symptom of man’s failure as a thinking animal?’ Sun Tzu, or John Steinbeck?”

“I believe it was Steinbeck.”

“And it was Einstein, was it not, who said that ‘killing under the cloak of war is nothing but an act of murder’?”

Another nod of the interviewer’s head.

“I believe in neither,” Clark speaks, voice carrying an undercurrent of exhaustion. His next words are a product of his mind’s quiet, feeble surrender, letting his walls down ever so slightly. There is no doubt on the authenticity of his words. “War is humanity’s greatest achievement. We have grown past the point of conventions and conformity to the extent we wage battles in an effort to fight for our ideologies. In war, we see the best and the worst of mankind. Innocents cry for help and the braves deliver. In war, there comes innovation and breakthroughs, inventions that wouldn’t have otherwise been made if we remained not in distress. War makes heroes and victims of us all. War is not a dishonor to civilization but rather its saving grace.

“That being said, who am I to judge as to whose faction is in the right? One man’s enemy is another man’s freedom fighter, and the Capulets and the Montagues understand this. In both points of view, there is no senseless brutality but justified hatred. And while I belong to the latter faction, if I had been born on the other side of the tracks, I most likely would’ve followed suit on the other team.”

Moments of defenselessness aren’t especially sought after by him, but Karma’s ugly cousin Fate ought to have thought otherwise following this encounter’s inevitability. Even while he is having the conversation his candor stings, like a snake’s venomous bite, as if the serpent seething in his system desires nothing more than to sear its scales permanently onto pale flesh. To bring back the mask he’s slowly uncovered.

Heedless of mind’s qualm, he continues, “I’m a selfish man. I do things primarily for my own gain. I’ve forgotten how it’s like to care for another. Being an emissary is just a job. I don’t expect, nor anyone should expect, that I be a hero.”

Gradually pushing himself out of his chair, Clark begins to take out another cigarette stick from his breast pocket. I’ve said too much. He muses internally as he lights the cigarette and brings it between his lips, unable to resist nicotine’s sensual destruction. Walking over to where the interviewer sat, Clark brings his free hand on their shoulder, he utters:

“Enough is enough.”

In-Character Para Sample: We do require one in-character para sample. Again, write as much or as little as you need to get your interpretation across.

01.

In his hand, he holds a picture frame of himself and his music teacher. It’s dingy and dusty from decades of wear and tear, its outlines faded as if adding a natural vignette. It has been long, too long, since he’s last held his much-loved string instrument. It is rare, almost nonexistent, that his work be entailed with bouts of rhythmic resonance.

From happier times, it’s captioned.

“Clark Godrej,” his teacher once said, “you are a promising violinist.”

He remembers those days where sonorous notes weaved by his fingers fill the room as effortlessly as a summer breeze. He remembers the violin’s warm vibrato that dispels the sorrow surround him. He remembers the magnified, thunderous applause befitting for an artist of his talent. As a child four feet ten tall, he is the smallest of performers, pale and porcelain skin serving only as another reminder of his fragility.

But the string instrument is far from the only thing which he manipulates. He has trained the line of his lips to contort into a smile; eventually it becomes a part of him. A smile, seamlessly orchestrated, with no single note amiss, and with every chord struck with the neatest precision. It is a trick he uses as a means to hide the darkness coursing through thin veins. He performs this smile every time he takes a bow on the stage, with his parents and brother distinctively absent.

Even as a child, Clark’s memory has never been quite fickle. But at some points there is a failure of clarity, a glitch in the well-oiled machinations that is his consciousness.

He remembers small things.

He remembers the young Clark as he leaves the recital is a torrential downpour of rain. The pitter-patter of his ruined leather Oxfords as he makes the way back to the Godrej home. Even then it seems to him like Fate’s bitter laughter, taunting and flagrant in its repose.

He remembers himself staggering through the family’s doorsteps like an animal venturing into a new cage. The case enclosing his violin is wet all over, having used it to safeguard his own body.

He remembers a silhouette carefully approaching him. “You’re late.” His father speaks first, lips curled into a grim line.

He remembers himself mussing up his hair, droplets of rainwater stuck to his raven locks dampening his fingers. “It was raining.” He chimes in gently. “Did I miss dinner?”

He remembers the tension looming between the pair like thick musk, carrying an undercurrent of disapproval. “You did.” The words roll out of bared teeth. Like a statue his body hardens, swallowing in fear as he sees his father’s tightly-wound features. “Did you do this on purpose again?”

He remembers himself not listening. “Of course not. What’s for me to gain?” His remark is uttered as a faint mumble, as if his speech is still uncertain to tread another lie. He remembers not wanting to be there, not at all, not in a family dinner where his brother was celebrated and himself all but ignored. “I’d rather rest, if that’s alright by you.” The sigh he releases from his system is heavy and resolute.

He remembers his father not wishing to rescind, instead pushing on his inquiry. “Do you think this is some sort of game, Clark?” His father doesn’t wish to rescind, instead pushing on his inquiry.

It is at this point that his mind fails him, drawing a blank where there should’ve been a memory.

But he does remember this:

He remembers a resounding, echoing slap.

He remembers a hand-shaped bruise on the side of his cheek as he looks at himself in the mirror the next day. It stings at the slightest touch.

He remembers a quiet breakfast.

He remembers darkness.

And he remembers a violin, split in two.

(The next two are just drabbles for a graphic for his relationships with Haresh and Giya that I gave up doing because I have 0 Photoshop skills whatsoever haha)

02.

His grief, like many things about him, is tightly concealed. No one will know about his running as soon as the wake came to a close, his legs failing him, and him sinking to his knees as soon as he opens his front door. No one will know how he takes one look at his bare flat and realizing how bereft he truly is of company and friends and anything akin to love. No one will know how he untangles his tie and wishes that he can also untangle himself from his mask of feigned indifference, worn so constantly that it’s already been seared permanently into his flesh. No one will know how he prays that night, prays with only God as his witness, asking for a mantra of reconciliation even though he knows his deed is unforgivable.

No one can know.

He is Cain, and he will carry his sin to the grave.

And when Death does come to find him, as it shall inevitably, whether today or tomorrow or the next, Clark will point his gaze right back. His eyes will brim with tears, unshed and unspoken, for it is only in his last moment that he can expunge his prolonged sorrow.

03.

Long has he past brave illusions for a happier and more radiant tale, plots coated with no small amount of deluged tragedies and stuck in a ceaseless discourse with Fate, ever so realistic in its manifestation. Hope for his tale’s possible saccharine resolution bid its farewell so long ago leaving him with only bare remnants of opportunities for felicity, but when the shadows grew too long and the days felt too short, he tenaciously and persistently hanged onto these loose ends.

But as Giya’s thread, too, is cut loose, he finds himself holding onto nothing.

And what else is there to live for?

Extras:

Pinterest (x) Inspo tag (x) There isn’t a lot round here, but hopefully it works. X Playlist (x) Element: Fire MBTI: ENTJ “The Commander” Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Primary Vice: Pride Primary Virtue: Prudence

Headcanons:

GIYA. The way I see it, Clark first sees Giya as his brother’s property. So when their mutual attraction is made known, Clark is obviously ecstatic, for he’s acquiring something that was rightfully his brother’s own. Somewhere along the road, however, he does fall in love with her to a fault, enough for murder to come into play. That said, Giya is the only person Clark has ever opened up to, and that list includes his parents and his brother. There’s no one on Earth he would kill – or die – for. It is because of this reason that her death affects him more than his brother’s own. Love is something he’s gone through decades by without, and with her absence comes him growing more and more detached from reality.

MENTAL ILLNESS. I wrote Clark with the idea that he is suffering from psychotic depression. Having been diagnosed with a mood disorder with psychotic features myself, I believe I am able to do this interpretation justice. I’ve already made evident some of his symptoms in the interview and para samples, including irritability, difficulty concentrating, talks or threads of suicide, isolation, and psychotic features such as hearing things that aren’t present. Still, this remains undiagnosed, considering he’ll probably go set something on fire before he goes to a therapy session.

FAMILY. While he had a relatively good upbringing, one incident comes to mind (as is evident in the para sample) that serves as his breaking point. By no means was his father abusive, but the ordeal turned into a heated debate that led to a physical squabble which has permanently blacked out from his system. It further sets up his animosity towards his family and his envy towards his dear, darling brother.

MUSIC. Classical music is his go-to genre, while his violin is his favored string instrument. He owns a Merano 4/4 purple violin.

APARTMENT. His apartment is quaint and comes equipped with a small living room, a kitchen, and a bedroom on the upper floor which is a converted loft. Despite this he keeps it meticulous, save for a few cigarette butts here and there.

SEXUALITY. Clark is demiromantic, but experiences sexual attraction to both men and women. That being said, he doesn’t exactly search for sexual conquests. He lets it develop naturally, and if the chemistry is there, he pushes forward.

He smokes way too much.

I wrote Clark with the idea that he carries himself with a malicious streak, eager to make others fear him, lest they actually see through his mask and attempt entrance.

#accepted #accepted: claudius

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mattbrothersscriptwriter · 6 years ago

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Once Upon A Time

I’d like to have a little ramble and shout into the void about a truly unique, life affirming and heartfelt movie. Not because any of this hasn’t been covered before - I’d bet my guitar case full of coins it has. Not as a review or a hot take or a think piece, though perhaps it’s a little of all of those things. But because I recently rewatched the 2007 musical drama Once (dir: John Carney) and it reminded me how much this movie makes me fucking feel… which is also the hardest thing for me to eloquently put down into words but hey, I’ll try.

Once tells the simple story of Guy (Glen Hansard), a busker in Dublin who lives with his Dad and works in his hoover repair shop. He’s a talented musician but is still living in the shadow of a long since broken relationship, something that evidently both haunts and drives him. This inner conflict has inevitably kept him stranded in the same place – possessing the skills and the ambition to transform his passion into a career but lacking the courage and the heart to truly see it through. That is until he meets Girl (Markéta Irglová), a Czech immigrant who gets by selling flowers and the Big Issue. She’s a keen pianist and the unlikely pair quickly form a unique friendship, bonding over songwriting, heartbreak and Dublin itself.

Shot for next to nothing in three weeks, it’s a film so raw (and perfectly suited to that style) that just a single step in either direction would shatter the illusion. Too glossy and the magic is somehow lost. Any more ramshackle and there probably wouldn’t be a finished film to even worry about. Cillian Murphy was supposed to play Guy but dropped out, making way for director John Carney to convince Hansard, who was already set to write the music, to take the natural next step and just play the role himself.

It’s a story that manages to exist in the moment like nothing else I’ve really seen, thanks in part to the guerrilla style production but also thanks to its immense, bittersweet heart and commitment to bottling the ‘life as it happens’ feeling. It’s how we all experience life after all and it’s only afterwards that we may look back on certain memories as feeling like scenes from a movie: those perfectly captured instances where decisions have huge consequences and it feels like some higher power is writing you into a cruel plot twist or inevitable turning point. Its one thing to physically make a movie feel so grounded but to write and perform it that way too shows a real understanding of the tone they were aiming for – and absolutely nailing in the process.

It’s a joyful movie but an effortlessly melancholy one too. Like I said, it’s bittersweet. Anyone who has ever had a dream, ever been in love or ever wished for something more, you can understand and feel all of that through one look at Hansard’s exhausted face. Avoiding saccharine movie tropes and clichés, he’s simply a bloke who rides the bus with his guitar. Who chases thieves stealing his busking money. Who exists in our world. We probably see him every day, out on the streets or hunkered away in a corner of the tube. His or her music echoing through crowds, ignored by most but probably connecting to more people than we might think.

Guy never seems more vulnerable than when he’s hiding behind a forced smile or his sad, puppy dog eyes and watching this mask of happiness slowly blossom into something genuine is where the film really hits me. It reminds us that we have to seek change – or allow change to happen to us – to move from where we are to where we want to be.

I love how Guy is a thirty something pessimist whilst Girl, despite living with just as much of an uncertain, unstable future as Guy, is a ray of sunshine in comparison. She’s a stubbornly joyful extrovert, happily striking up conversations with strangers - a comically recurring trait that rewards her with casual piano practice in the music shop, helps to secure a bank loan for the recording session AND score a reduced charge for the studio hire later on. It’s the ‘if you don’t ask, you won’t get’ mentality, utilised by someone with no ulterior motives; a real pure soul who finds happiness in what she has, not what she’s lacking.

She speaks her mind, unconcerned with any risk of social awkwardness. Her abrupt “I have to go now” way of announcing she’s leaving becomes something of a catchphrase and it works wonderfully in establishing not just the generational difference between the two characters but the cultural one as well. I really love how we first meet her in the film – when she is drawn to Guy performing his most emotionally raw song (the amazing ‘Say it to Me Now’) all alone, in the middle of the night. This exorcism of his repressed feelings, expressed only through his music, is in fierce contrast to Girl’s happy go lucky outlook and she wastes no time in probing him for the truth.

This film is one of the most genius, underplayed and natural musicals ever – essentially doing the ‘bursting into song’ thing whilst remaining firmly in reality, never quite breaking that thinly veiled fourth wall that all other musicals do. Here, it’s in a beautifully captured song-writing-on-the-fly sequence (‘Falling Slowly’) or a late night jam session between family and acquaintances (‘Gold’) or in a great sequence where Girl sings lyrics to an instrumental track given to her by Guy whilst on a walk back from the corner store to buy batteries (’If You Want Me’). It’s so relatable; from the street kids watching her go past to her fluffy slippers to the clunky portable CD player in her hand. Who hasn’t done something like that? A more traditional musical might have been tempted to convert the pedestrians to background singers, cooing harmonies over her shoulder or snapping their fingers in a dance routine through the street but this film shows that life can be full of ‘movie-adjacent’ moments and not feel cheaply earnt whilst portraying them.

This movie is something of an Irish, folksy Before Sunrise – except Guy is probably in the period of his life where he’s actually living in Before Sunset (jaded, wondering what could have been) whilst Girl is firmly in Sunrise (open to new connections, optimistic about the present). They’re on different paths and perhaps even swap roles throughout, with Guy becoming more enlightened and eager for new experiences whilst we learn that Girl is caring for a small child who is product of her past. These two never really come to any real conflict themselves. The closest they maybe get is when Guy makes an awkward, kinda sad pass at her one night – but it’s practically all forgiven and forgotten by the next day. That’s real life too and I’m glad a moment like that is addressed in the story but promptly resolved. It doesn’t need to be this instance of overly contrived setup/payoff, it’s just a misunderstanding that the characters are aware enough to acknowledge and put aside. In fact, so much of this narrative goes against the grain. Guy never gets ‘the Girl’. He chooses to chase down a woman who is probably bad for him. And Girl ends up giving her husband another shot – a character we’ve never met and have barely heard about. Again, just because we aren’t aware of a person’s backstory doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist or that we’re responsible for making any grand change to the way things pan out. Here, a kind gesture of purchasing a piano for a kindred spirit is more than enough… if a little unpractical.

So much of this movie acts as a mirror to the lives of the people making it. The struggling artist narrative is straight out of Hansard’s life, even recording the demo tape in the same studio as he once did. The ex-girlfriend who moved to London is right out of Carney’s own past. All of this helps blur the line between fact and fiction, The scene where Girl tells Guy that she loves him, unprompted and ingeniously unsubtitled, is perhaps the most quietly powerful moment in the film – because the line between performance and truth is shattered as we, like Guy AND Hansard, perhaps can’t tell who’s saying what anymore – the character or the actor. In reality, it may have been both. And it’s captured right there on screen. Lightning in a bottle.

Arguably, this film is set in the last era of when a story like this could be romantic – or at least romanticised. If it was made today, in 2018, Guy would be recording in his bedroom, uploading to Soundcloud, plugging his Patreon page and filling a Youtube account with cover songs sang directly to his webcam. There’s no doubt that the advancements in technology has added an artifice to the whole struggling artist thing and it means something very different in this day and age. Here, in the far flung days of the mid 00s, there’s no real social media presence (Myspace was sort of at its peak but was more of a Facebook precursor than the platform for music it slowly morphed into) and Guy ends the movie with a handful of CDs to show for his time in the studio. Ah physical media, how I miss thee… sometimes…

This is definitely one of those movies that is firmly lodged in my brain. Despite only having watched it twice, three times at most, I’ve had the soundtrack on rotation for ten years and the time I caught Glen Hansard himself in concert (at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire in 2015, natch) was legitimately one of the most memorable gig experiences I’ve ever been to. Everything from the setlist to the showmanship to the intimacy to the grandeur, it was just incredible. An unplugged encore starting with Say It To Me Now up on a balcony in the crowd through to Falling Slowly on piano? Woop woop!

But I digress… this is a film that is firmly time-stamped in my memory. I watched it on the very same night that I first properly met someone who ended up becoming a huge part of my life. Nearly ten years ago to the day, me and some friends - energised by both the movie and the hazy summer evening - trekked across town to a housewarming party. This was a decision which would inevitably change the very direction of my life, which is insane when you really sit down and think about it… and being able to pinpoint the origin of such a huge personal crossroads is kinda what Once is all about so it really does resonate.

And I think this rewatch really did resonate, because I now saw myself more as the cynical, pessimistic person Guy is at the start of the film – just trying to keep on keeping on and push himself out of his comfort zone. To achieve something special or worthwhile. Without getting too personal, I can be my own worst enemy and while 2008 mostly feels more like a lifetime ago, there are times when it feels like it was just yesterday and I blinked and went from then to now in a flash. And we all have these moments. Be it meeting someone influential, deciding to move house, to travel to a new country, to quit that job and take that risk; they can be scary or freeing or even traumatic but they’re an element of life that movies strive to replicate… and this one just does so by downplaying the weight of these moments rather than draw attention to them in an artificial manner.

John Carney has said that the title of the film is in reference to other talented musicians and artists that he knew, who always said ‘once I do this and once I do that, then I’ll pursue my passion’ etc, referring to the realities (and the safety nets) of life that can sometimes stop people from taking the plunge and chasing their dreams. I’ve definitely felt the same way and have constantly had that conversation inside my own head: that once I get these things sorted then these things lined up then I’ll do such and such and how in the end, time just keeps on moving regardless… so you have to act.

This film is about making that choice to act.

#once #glenhansard #marketa irglova #john carney #ireland #dublin #indie film #musical #falling slowly

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