#it now has to fist marks that everyone uses as a bowl for nuts in meetings

[marvel-lous-guy]

Bucky: Peter is so small

Clint: come on, give the kid a break

Sam: yeah, he just hasn't had his growth spurt yet

Peter: Hey! I've had enough, I won't stand for this anymore! *slams fists on the table* ...ow

[heynikkiyousofine]

I managed to get two chapters edited tonight, so here is Chapter 4. Things are heating for Kagome and she begins to discover who she really is. Meanwhile, the Northern Kingdom is making plans.

I want to thank y’all again for your love and support! 

@keichanz @neutronstarchild

Inuyasha sighed as he set his feet to the carpeted floor. The dreams were becoming more and more intense, as if the blue eyed woman was in danger, wherever she was at. It made for an uneasy night, filled with tossing and turning. His inner demon clawing at him to protect her. The problem was he didn’t know where she was at and he couldn’t just go run off and look, especially now that Naraku was increasing his violence at their borders.

Rubbing his face in frustration, he strolled into his bathing chambers and grabbed the wash rag, as he felt a large aura approach from the west. Sesshomaru must be arriving soon, the asshole always liked to make an entrance. Knowing his father would want all of them together for breakfast, he hurried to get changed into something more appropriate. Grabbing a red button down tunic, he was just leaving his bedroom, when he bumped into Miroku in the hall.

“Monk.” Inuyasha nodded his direction.

“Good morning, friend. You’re up earlier than usual.” Miroku greeted him cheerfully.

“Couldn’t sleep well, besides the asshole is arriving soon. You know how Father is about family time.” 

Laughing, Miroku only nodded as they strolled down the hall towards the dining area. Sango, Izayoi and Ayame were already seated at the table, talking amongst each other, as Toga and Koga stood near the opposite doorway. Giving everyone a short hello, Inuyasha sat in his usual spot, to the left of his mother and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“Dear, did you not sleep well?” Izayoi asked, a concerned look crossing her features.

“Nah, weird dreams, tossed and turned a lot.”

“If you don’t feel up to it today, maybe you should stay home and relax today. I’m sure with your brother arriving soon, we will discussing upcoming events in the meeting room anyways.”

Nodding again, he turned towards his plate. Peaches were always his favorite, the sweetness of the spring along with the beginning season. Grabbing one from the clay bowl in front of him, he heard foot steps approaching from the hallway.

“Sesshomaru! You made it!” Toga boomed, causing Inuyasha to wince, his ears flattening just a little bit, his head still pounding. 

“Yes, Father. Your letter was urgent, Kagura and Rin, come say hello.” Sesshomaru gestured to the group behind him, Rin squealing in her bright orange dress, as she ran to give her grandfather a hug. Laughing at the sweet sight, a very pregnant Kagura waddled into the dining area as gracefully as a seven month pregnant woman could. “Are those peaches?” She mused, giving Inuyasha a mischievous wink.

Chucking at her antics, he tossed his favorite sister-in-law a ripe peach before taking a bite of his own. Nodding a hello at his brother, Inuyasha watched as Sesshomaru carefully helped his wife into the seat before taking his own. A smiling Rin, being carried by Toga on his shoulders, came to sit at the front of the table.

“Father, she must be able to sit at a table normally, she is too big for your shoulders now.” Sesshomaru said, disapprovingly.

Grabbing the child, Toga sighed and rolled his eyes at his oldest. He always has had a stick up his ass. Setting the giggling girl next to Inuaysha, who gave her his half eaten peach and winked at her, just as her own mother did to him. Watching the scene unfold before her, Izayoi smiled at her family, before announcing everyone to dig in. 

Breakfast was the normal affair, only one slap this time from Sango to an embarrassed Miroku. Kagura and Ayame chatted about babies, while Inuaysha, Koga and Sesshomaru glared at each other most the time. Sighing to himself, Toga beckoned the house nanny to take Rin to the gardens to play. As the child said her goodbyes to everyone, Toga decided it was time to get to business. In the meeting room, a long wooden table sat, surrounded by chairs. It was when everyone took their seats, they began.

“Naraku is spanning an attack soon.” Toga stated, concern in voice. “He was seen in our borders just two days ago. It is time to force our hand.”

“Are you sure?” A too quiet Kagura asked, absentmindedly rubbing her belly. Sesshomaru covered her hand with his own, before turning towards the King, “If you are certain, we need to protect the borders. There are innocent people, many refugees from the fall of the Eastern Kingdom.”

Surprised by his care towards his subjects, Inuyasha stood to walk over to map hanging along the wall. Hung between bookshelves that wrapped the room, he took a red pin and marked the wildflower meadow, his heart giving a painful thump as he knew it was the same area as he saw the unknown woman. “It was here, that I smelt his men, graveyard and death. The forest burned around the area Miroku, Sango and I were camped at.”

“It was maybe half a mile from the eastern border.” Sango agreed, coming next to stand to Inuyasha, pointing at the border line on the map. “That is a long way from the castle that Naraku resides in at the moment, so they must either be looking for something or taking hostages. We know of the horse hanyou in that area, with the village, but didn’t have time to look closer or check on him.”

Nodding his head, “We know that when he killed the king and queen, he was absorbing their powers. I sent a scout out along with the page boy to scout the area of the fire. He came back with news of a fox family burned to death.”

Gasps filled the silent room, Koga standing angrily, fists clenching, “So, now he’s after demons too? What is it he is looking for exactly?” 

“I don’t think it’s a something, it’s a someone.” Izayoi added quietly.

Eyes turned abruptly toward, waiting for an explanation. Toga sighed, before gesturing everyone to sit again. If his wife’s suspicions were correct, and she was hardly ever wrong, it was her, he was going come after. “Everyone remembers what happened that night, over twenty years ago, correct?” Seeing their nods, meeting Inuaysha’s gaze, “We have reason to believe he is after the lost princess. It was rumored that she would grow the be extremely powerful, she also was to be the one to bring peace again across the kingdoms, uniting us in more ways than one. No one ever found any clue that she survived or died that night and I believe Naraku is searching for her. He is trying to claim as much power as he can until he does find her, so he can destroy her as well.”

Murmuring to themselves, Miroku stood, “If she is still alive, she wouldn’t be much younger than Prince Inuaysha and I now. How has she been able to keep herself hidden all this time? Fairy powers are set to grow as the person gets older, their wings growing in time with powers. She must have some type of concealment charm, making it that much harder to find her.”

“I agree Miroku,” Toga stated, “That is why I haven’t been able to locate her. To be honest, the last time we saw her, she was a babe, I don’t know what she would look like with or without a concealment. The only way to find her would be other mythical creatures to identify her. Most have been hiding in the forest for safety. They don’t really talk to anyone, or venture out to the villages.”

“She would still have blue eyes.” A quiet rumble came from across the room, where Inuaysha had remained seated. Raising his eyes quickly, he caught his father’s smirk and blushed a little. 

“Either way, whether Naraku is after her or not, we still need some kind of plan for when he does cross our borders again.” Koga spoke, still angry about the fox family. His wolves could be next.

“I agree. What did you have in mind Father?” Sesshomaru asked, looking to his father.

“Here��s the plan….” Toga smirked widely, everyone coming closer to see what he had in mind.

Izayoi sighed, knowing her husband’s wild antics were only the just beginning.

Kagome and Shippo were just beginning their walk through the forest that day, having felt better this morning about traveling so much in such a short time. As they walked, she kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, occasionally seeing other creatures flitter about. A while ago, she saw two unicorn, white and pure, with long, beautiful manes, grazing about near a stream. She watched as small butterflies flittered through the air near a few patches of wildflowers, reminding her of home.

At one point, she could’ve swore she saw a pointed green hat, hiding in a bush along the worn pathway. Smiling to herself, she tuned in to listen to whatever story Shippo was wilding telling her, walking a few spaces ahead. Unknown to her, a man with a chilling smile, followed closely behind.

“And theeeennnn, this old man, who looked like a ghost, but also a monkey, rose outta a pickle barrel, thanking the group for saving him! He was the monkey god! His followers, the three monkey sprites, were so embarrassed about leaving the sacred rock in the forest, while they scoured for nuts and….” Shippo waved his hands about, when a snap of branches caused them to stop abruptly.

Grabbing Shippo and putting him on her right shoulder, Kagome turned around just in time to see a small tan pouch fly through the air, heading straight at them. As soon as it landed, a foot or so in front of her, smoke began to bellow out about, making Kagome’s eye water instantly. “Shippo, run!” She screamed loudly. 

Scurrying up a tree as fast as his little paws could, Shippo watched as Kagome fell to her knees, eyes shut tight, as her head hit the grassy path below. Unsure of what to do, Shippo backed into the tree branches, hiding from sight. Looking to his right, he saw the two unicorn they had seen previously, watching from afar. A small flittering creature stood on the female’s head. Looking back down to Kagome, he watched as a short, fat man with a covering across his face, lift her lifeless body over his shoulders and began to take back here they direction they came from. Jumping from the branch, Shippo took off towards the direction of the stream, tears beginning to fall down his face.

Kagome wasn’t sure what was going on. She couldn’t move her body. She was aware of everything around her, but couldn’t speak or try to run away from this man. I refuse to be taken she thought angrily, her temper rising. 

“You cannot escape Mukotsu’s potion.” The man spoke gleefully. “I will make you my bride this very evening.” A small abandoned hut came into her sight and he carried her inside, bolting the door behind him.

So his name is Mukotsu, similar to Bankotsu. I wonder if he is with Naraku’s men. Wait, did he say bride?! No way, that’s disgusting! Kagome began to seethe, slowly moving her fingers trying to get some type of motion. The man, Mukotsu, set her on her stomach and laid a white, almost yellowed, veil upon her head. He turned and dug through his bag, not catching Kagome struggle to move her hands.

“You are very beautiful, your eyes are a color I have never seen before. Bankotsu didn’t tell me you were this pretty, and a virgin, no doubt. I think I will keep you to myself for a few days before taking you to Naraku.” Mukotsu began to laugh, grabbing a candle to light. “But first, we shall perform the wedding ceremony, then I will take you. Do not worry,” He said, grabbing her chin, noticing the fear in her eyes, “I will be gentle. I am not my brother. You will be happy with me.”

What is up with these men and their long monologues and trying to own me? Kagome thought dryly, squeezing her fists, getting the feeling back in her hands. As Mukotsu busied himself with whatever it was he was doing, Kagome shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Kaede’s words came across her mind, “Close your eyes. Breath in and out. I want you to look into your heart and feel the tug on your soul, one that reaches down within you. That is your power.” As she began to tug on the pull, she could feel her skin growing hotter, like an internal flame expanding around her.

Opening her eyes, she saw the man move back with wide eyes and a glowing, pink vibrant barrier surrounding her. Smiling to herself, she laid there, making her barrier as strong as she could, watching the now silent man, as hoof steps came barreling toward the hut.  The man, now terrified, cowered in the corner as Shippo burst though the door, riding atop a female unicorn, with what looked like a tiny woman with wings flying next to him. 

No one said a word as another unicorn, slightly bigger than the female, trotted up behind the three and lowered his horn towards Mukotsu. “How can this be? You aren’t supposed to be able to break through my poison barrier?” Before he could finish answering his own question, the large golden horn stuck through Mukotsu’s gut, drawing the life from his body. Kagome watched with wide eyes, but wasn’t frightened. These animals were good souls and had just saved her. The male withdrew his horn, picked up the now dead man by his collar and drug the lifeless body outside. Where, she couldn’t say, but she never saw the man again.

“‘Gome! Are you okay?” Shippo asked, jumping off his unicorn’s back, walking slowly toward Kagome’s barrier.

“Child, you can let your it down, it is okay. We will not harm you.” A soft, gentle voice came from above her. The little winged woman was flying right near her head, outside the barrier. Closing her eyes again, Kagome wasn’t sure exactly how to let the barrier down, hell, she wasn’t sure exactly how she did it in the first place. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the barrier inside of her, exhaling loudly, as Shippo rushed to hug her.  As more feeling in her neck returned, she turned her head into Shippo’s body and smiled.

“Young one, she’s been poisoned,” the tiny woman told Shippo, “We need to get some water. Althea here has healing powers in her tears. Argus will take you the stream, hurry back.” The flying woman instructed and he crawled atop the male unicorn and hung on tight, one hand carrying a bottle.

Althea, she guessed, lowered her body near Kagome, and began to sniffle around her ears, making Kagome giggle to herself. The woman set herself down on the floor in sight of Kagome’s vision and began to speak, “You are her, the lost one. We watched you as you began your journey this morning, following you along the way to make sure you were safe. Do not worry my child, whenever your friend returns, we will help you drink the healing tears to rid your body the rest of the poison. You can already begin to move, can’t you?”

Nodding, the little woman laughed, clapping her hands together, “You have marvelous healing powers inside of you, so his poison wouldn’t have lasted long anyways, but you were still strong enough for a barrier. You are more powerful than you realize.”

“Shippo….doesn’t…..know.” Kagome managed to ground out, her voice hoarse.

“Shhh child, we figured. We only allowed him to see us, once we realized you were in danger. You were very brave to send him away when you did. He only knows of us, but we will see to it he promises to keep our secret. You can see that he has a good soul.”

Kagome nodded, swallowing as best she could, as Shippo and Argus? she thought, came back into the hut. Shippo rushed over with the bottle and the little woman instructed him to hold the bottle near Althea’s eye. Three tears fell into the bottle, and Shippo helped lift it to Kagome’s lips to help her drink. Within seconds, Kagome smiled, She felt so much better already and could stretch! Slowly sitting up, she looked at Althea and nodded her thanks. In return, Althea, laid her head in Kagome’s lap. “What’s your name?” Kagome asked the little woman.

“Calliope. You must be Kagome Aureila.” Her voice becoming more excited.

Laughing softly, “I think you’re the first person to say my middle name so excitedly.”

“It is a beautiful name, your Mother Kaede knew of your beauty. It means golden one, which I feel is befitting for you.”

Blushing a little bit, Kagome played with Althea’s mane, as Shippo sat quietly beside her. Argus stood at the doorway, facing out, as if watching the area around him. “Are you a fairy?” Shippo asked, almost silently, his eyes betraying his awe.

“Yes, young one.” Calliope laughed, almost like bells. “We allowed you to see us to help your friend here. She is special.”

“She is! She’s my friend. My name is Shippo!” He told her excitedly.

Laughing together, Kagome turned towards Calliope. “We must be going soon, we need to get to the castle, but I am so incredibly thankful you saved me. That man, he was one of Naraku’s men. I didn’t know he was following me.” She admitted sheepishly.

“Kagome, just like the gnomes told us, we are here to protect you and help you. If you should ever need, call on us. You need some rest, today has been an eventful day for all of us. It is near sundown already. We will stay with you until you set out again tomorrow.”

Smiling at her, Kagome grabbed her knapsack, knowing Shippo probably grabbed it earlier, and began to get ready for the nightfall. Sometime later, as they lay on the worn out futon, Kagome held Shippo tight against her, gazing into the eyes of Althea, before shutting them completely, falling into a deep sleep.

“It is her.” Calliope whispered, stroking Argus’ ear at the doorway. “I just hope she knows what awaits her. We must help her in every way we can dear Argus. Tomorrow, I will tell my mother of her, how she hides and where she will go. Let us hope King Toga can protect her too, though I think after today, Kagome is beginning to recognize her own. She will be a great leader.”

Leaning his head toward her tiny hands, Argus snuffled in agreement. He remembered the fallen king and queen, how they were always so gentle with his kind. He would protect this new one at all costs.

[slashscowboyboots]

Floor A (Part 3)

Part 1 Part 2

Tag list: @izzysdenimjacket @malibubarbievince @spacey-aceys-bitch @rock-em-sock-em-rock-n-roll @sodalitefully @aheadfullofskies @vandova @awrestilinggirlwholoves80sbands @terriiiiible @whisperess33 @killerqueenishere

WHAM!WHAM!WHAM!

That sounded like someone pounding on a door.

Or trying to kick it down.

“Izzy?!  C’mon, man, open up!  I got quinoa!  And brown rice and beans!  And organic chicken!  Her name was Esther and she was raised without antibiotics!  She died of natural causes!  In her sleep!   Are ya hungry!”

This would be the perfect time for you to take a break.  And find out just what the hell was going on out there.

You opened up your door just a crack to see a very tall man with shaggy blonde hair in skintight jeans and a black tank top, his tattooed arms full of biodegradable containers, kicking Dr. Isbell’s door with a very purposeful gray cowboy boot.

“IZZY!!  I know you’re in there!  Open up!”

That’s Dr. McKagan, you realized.  Susan’s McSteamy that she went on and on about.  You had decided to humor her and had made a trip over to cardiac just to see this supposed dreamboat in person.  

You hadn’t been disappointed.  Obviously you preferred Dr. Isbell’s dark, rock star biker aesthetic over McKagan’s blonde, punky one, but the cardiologist was very attractive.

And very loud.

“IZZZZZYYY!!!?  Don’t tell I have to text-”

The pathologist’s door flew open at that moment, thankfully when Dr. McKagan’s boot wasn’t planted on it, and a very irritated Dr. Isbell hissed, “Shut up, Duff!”  

Dr. McKagan laughed.  “Why?  You got someone on the slab and you think I’m gonna wake ‘em up?”

“No, dumbass, I have a neighbor now.”

You leaned back away from your door so the two of them couldn’t see you.

“No shit?” Dr. McKagan asked.  “What was their crime?”

“Standing in the way of Kim’s corner suite dreams.”

“Damn.  Poor soul, stuck down here with you and the cadavers.”

You couldn’t make out Dr. Isbell’s response to that, and the frustration had you biting your fist.

Then the sounds of the Beatles’ “Help!” filled the basement.

“Oh shit, Izz, I gotta go.  That’s an emergency.  Here, take all of it, you probably need some vitamins working in this dungeon,” and you peeked out just to see Dr. McKagan shove the food containers into Dr. Isbell’s arms and take off towards the stairwell.

“You say that like you’re a doctor,” Dr. Isbell called at his retreating back, then his shoulders slumped as he sighed. 

Your eyes met his through the crack in your door.  “Hey,” he said quietly, “sorry you had to hear all that.  Would you like to have some lunch?  I can’t possibly eat all of this.” 

“Sure,” you said, not quite certain you weren’t dreaming.  

You had expected Dr. Isbell to hand you one of the containers, but instead he turned his back to you and walked back to his office door.  You guessed that you were supposed to follow him inside, and you paused, long enough to realize you really were willing to do anything he asked, even follow him into a morgue.

Only it wasn’t a morgue.  You walked past a huge room filled with lab equipment and some very impressive, very hi-tech microscopes.  (The stack of gloves marked L did not escape your attention, as well as the fact they were black.)  You could hear music, some tasteful slide guitar playing quietly, and silently approved his excellent musical taste. 

Dr. Isbell finally turned around and motioned you into his private office, and you were surprised at how utilitarian it was, a desk, a small table and two chairs the only furniture in it, and only a few framed diplomas on the wall.  No awards, nothing remotely boastful about his decor.

No pictures of his bike.

No pictures of a girlfriend, either. 

He sat down at the table and laid down the two containers, one marked with an “I” on the top and one with a “D”.  “They’re the same thing, except mine has avocado.  You can have it if you want it.”

“No, thank you, this is fine,” you said, unwrapping your cutlery, touched he was willing to give up his lunch if you asked for it.

“This is Duff’s health food crap he’s always forcing on me.  Thinks I’m not getting enough nutrients down here.”  

“Duff?” you asked him, scooping up some quinoa and beans.  It was actually pretty good, although your company was much more enjoyable.

“Yeah, that’s what everyone calls him.  Even his mom.  Dr. McKagan and I were undergraduates together.  We uh, had a band.”

“Is that them?”  You jerked your chin toward the only photo Dr. Isbell had on his wall, a group of 5 guys standing together.  Duff was the tallest, and Dr. Isbell was standing on the end, a floppy black hat hiding most of his face. 

“What did you play?” you asked him, curious now.

“Rhythm guitar,” he answered, then took a bite of his lunch.

“That’s cool.  Do you still play?”

“Uh, yeah.  That’s me,” he indicated the music in the background, and your mouth fell open.

“Really?  Wow, you’re very good,” and he ducked his head, not before you saw his cheeks flush pink.

“Thank you,’ he said shyly.  “I don’t want you to think I sit around listening to my own stuff all day, but I wrote this and I’m trying to figure out what the next part should be…”

He trailed off because now you were just openly staring at him, completely amazed.  “Wow,” you breathed, then as he looked down and took another bite you decided you had to ask him what you were dying to know.

“Dr.-”

“Please call me Izzy.”

Okay.  “Izzy, why do you have such a-”

“Bad reputation?” He sighed.  “Because I dated someone who used to work here, and when we broke up she started a bunch of rumors about me.  And because nobody knew me, or ever saw me-”

“People believed them,” you finished sadly.  You looked out toward the rest of his quarters, then looked back at him and said, “Well, you do cut open the dead for a living.”

He laughed, a short bark that brought out the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen and you became light-headed for a moment.  “I don’t cut people open near as much as everyone thinks.  I’m usually hunched over a microscope, making notes.”

“You don’t do autopsies?” you asked, now incredibly confused.

“Well, yeah, I do.  I actually like doing them,” he said, and you gasped out loud.

He sat up, elbows on the table, and you noticed he had really beautiful hands.  “Do you know why an autopsy is performed?”

You wordlessly shook your head.

“It’s because there’s a mystery.  Either they don’t know who the person is, or because they don’t know how they died.  An identification has to be made.  When I do an autopsy, I feel like I’m helping someone, giving them the last gift I can give to them.  I’m giving them closure.”

“That sounds very noble,” you said, now completely flabbergasted.  Dr. Isbell-Izzy-wasn’t a monster at all.  He was actually a really lovely person.

His girlfriend was probably crazy about him.  Although from the looks of his office, he didn’t return the favor.

His quiet voice broke into your thoughts.  “Yeah, well don’t let it get out that I’m noble.  I gotta keep everybody afraid of me,” he said.

“Why is that?”

“So they’ll leave me alone.”

“Is that what you want?” you asked softly, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

“I want most people to leave me alone.”  He paused, his eyes making direct contact with yours.  “I didn’t say all of them.”

That hit you like a sledgehammer in the chest.  Did that mean what it sounded like?

“Other than Duff, I never have lunch with anyone here.  Uh, thank you.  For having lunch with me.”

Oh.  Guess he didn’t mean it that way.

“Thank you, Izzy.  For asking me.”

“I’m sorry it was that hi-octane roughage Duff eats.  He went nuts for Quinoa Bowl when it opened up.  I usually go to Taco Bell.”

Be still my heart, you thought.

Even though going back to your office was the last thing you wanted to do, you knew you had to get back to work.

“Thank you again,” you said, and he nodded, and you could’ve sworn you saw a haunted sadness flicker across his face as you turned to leave.

Izzy really did love Taco Bell.  The next day he’d brought back a feast and invited you over to his office again, the two of you devouring it with gusto.  

You had to switch your phone to vibrate and leave it in your office because Kayli and Susan were blowing up it up when you opted to eat lunch with the good doctor, who was warming up to you.  He didn’t elaborate on his personal life, and you were afraid to ask, but you had learned he was from Indiana, he played drums and bass and guitar and piano, oh and he sang too, he loved the Rolling Stones, and was into skateboarding as well as motorcycles.

He wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t have lunch with anyone.  He seemed incredibly lonely.  Like he hadn’t talked to anyone in a year.  Or ten.  And you listened to him, his quiet voice speeding up and growing louder in his enthusiasm, watching his hands move excitedly, and your heart ached with compassion at this sweet man, locked in a hospital basement for so long without a friend, at least one with a heartbeat, and wished you could stay forever.

[msclaritea]

...quotes from cast/crew of  Sherlock

"We had some fun times when we were filming in Belgium. I was desperately trying to put on weight, so there was a lot of [eating] rubbish food and drinking alcohol without worrying about it. With Sherlock, it’s lots of seeds, juices, swimming and running, but on this I was doing lots of beer, wine, chips and the most f*cking amazing proper steaks and goulashes. I still didn’t put on enough, though. But for Star Trek, I went up about three suit sizes."

—Benedict Cumberbatch

"Little Martin? Can you imagine that? He wouldn’t be allowed anyway, he’s got to be the grumpy Hobbit. He’d be down on the ground looking all cool and mod-like with his shades, listening to some ska going, “Yeah that looked like fun, you tw*t.” Whereas I’m there jumping around like Tigger."

—Benedict Cumberbatch , on skydiving in New Zealand

"Yeah, sometimes you want to go, “I actually do mind having a photo taken because it’s one o’clock in the morning and I’m off my face.”

—Benedict Cumberbatch

‘Someone will always hate what I say. There’s always going to be somebody spitting blood about my wooden-faced, toffee-named, crappy acting.

—Benedict Cumberbatch

‘There were bean bags, but it wasn’t like, “Hey guys, let’s hang out and talk about sexuality” when I was five.’

—Benedict Cumberbatch , on his home life as a child

‘I remember watching Star Trek, but I wasn’t obsessive about it. There were other programmes I’d always tell my mum I wanted to watch. Mainly Knight Rider, The A-Team, occasionally Buck Rogers and, funnily enough for a child, Baywatch.  Good old Pammy!’

—Benedict Cumberbatch

‘I’m trying to look after my Sherlock jawline, otherwise I’d have loved the cake.'

—Benedict Cumberbatch,  on the apology cake he was offered by a Twitter stalker

'I struggle to learn by rote. I’ve had meltdowns on set. Which is embarrassing and shameful.’

—Benedict Cumberbatch

“I’m not very geeky. I’m quite homespun. I would say I’m more modern rustic than gadget-orientated. I like woollen things and log fires and whiskey…”

—Benedict Cumberbatch

I was on the Tube in London and this teenage girl eyed me up and said: “Alright, Mr Sex?”. It threw me. The daft thing was that she was quoting a line in the show but I’d forgotten it because it had been a while since filming,’ … ‘I just thought I was looking particularly hot that day. Well, it’s better than being called Mr F***wit…

-Andrew Scott

“Benedict has his own gravity, both as an actor and a human being. He pulls you in and you are powerless to escape. I never knew whether to cry out in fear or weep in his arms.”

-Damon Lindleof

“I know people are touched by it, because they write to me and send me pictures– often of me having sex with Benedict Cumberbatch…”

-Martin Freeman

"I can’t stop traffic on Fifth Avenue, not unless I walk in front of an oncoming cab."

-Benedict Cumberbatch

"Do I like being thought of as attractive? I don't know anyone on Earth who doesn't, but I do find it funny. It's new to me, and I'm sure I'll get used to it and find a way of dealing with it, but at the moment it is quite odd. I look in a mirror and I see all the faults I've lived with for 35 years, and yet people go kind of nuts for certain things about me. It's not me being humble. I just think it's weird. I dislike the size and shape of my head. I've been likened to Sid the sloth from Ice Age… I have a long face, retroussé nose and have been known to be quite camp… I know I don't fit into some archetype. I'm comfortable with it. People have a hindrance if they are extraordinarily beautiful. It can be a problem. You are not given the challenges and then, when you are, all eyes are on you to see if you can pull anything off other than being beautiful to look at."

--Benedict Cumberbatch

“If I were the [producer], I’d be frightened of the dynamic of male friendship that you’d lose,” he confesses to TVLine, “because that is obviously the bedrock of the books as well. [Now] there might be sexual tension between Joan [Watson] and Sherlock, which is [a different dynamic than you'd have] between the two men. So, that’s a new thing to explore.”

--Benedict Cumberbatch (on CBS' Elementary)

Mycroft’s popularity doesn’t surprise me at all. He is, after all, incredibly beautiful, clever and well-dressed. And beautiful. Did I mention that?

--Mark Gatiss

And yes, please vote for us in the YouTube thing. Cos if we lose we’ll be too upset to make any more. And I’ll axe Doctor Who as well. And shoot Santa Claus and some puppies.

--Steven Moffat

Sue: Sherlock to me feels like a Great Dane, you know, those dogs where the legs are too big.

Benedict: Yes! Yes. Except, more like a meercat, or a hybrid between a meercat and a Great Dane. A Great Dane on speed. A Great Dane that's just had a bowl of coffee.

Sue: What would John be?

Benedict: He's a big dog. He's sort of angular; there's something more predatory about him. A kind of creature of the night. Not the most sociable. Not a cat, but something very independent. Removed.

(On  Appropriate Sherlock and Watson Spirit Animals)

"Is John a hedgehog? I haven't seen the hedgehog. When did that happen? Is it due to Martin's hair? Because if it is, I'll be really happy about that. "

--Benedict Cumberbatch On the Otter and Hedgehog Internet Memes

"It cuts me up and I can’t control myself from making funny sounds as I dive into my hands and eat my fist."

--Benedict Cumberbatch, on War Horse

"Pull the hair on my head the wrong way, and I would be on my knees begging for mercy. I have very sensitive follicles."

-Benedict Cumberbatch

"It’s always definitely a love story. I don’t see why that means that sex has to be involved. What a weirdly sexualized world we live in where you insist they much be having sex as well. Why would they? John isn’t wired that way, whatever Sherlock is. But I think that whole scene, when Irene Adler has to say she’s mostly gay, she has had relationships with men as well, it’s not what it’s about. Sherlock Holmes is indifferent to sex. So is Irene. She uses sex to get what she wants, and John Watson happily has a string of girlfriends. Sex is not really the issue among any of these people. Love is. Infatuation is. I think John Watson is infatuated with and fascinated by Sherlock Holmes. I think Sherlock Holmes absolutley relies completely and utterly on John Watson and is devoted to him."

--Steven Moffat

"He knows how to be charming, he knows how to play all the games we play in every social interaction, and yet he withdrawals from them. Purely, it’s an athlete thing. He’s reserving what he needs for when he needs it. That’s a huge difference between him and me. I kind of spend myself too easily I’m far more [makes a “putting it all out there” motion] “bleh,” and there it all is, heart and sleeve. But he’s incredibly controlled and that’s sort of what’s remarkable about him.

--Benedict Cumberbatch on Sherlock

"And I think, you know, the other thing I really enjoy is he is achievable. He is somebody that we could all be — not that we necessarily want to follow the personal traits, but these abilities. He doesn’t fly through space or have a sonic screwdriver, he’s somebody who has actually … Who has sonic screwdrivers?"

--Benedict Cumberbatch on Sherlock

"One minute he’s not quite so handsome. Then the next minute he’s gorgeous. What is that term? Jolie laide. It’s French for ugly-handsome."

— Una Stubbs on Benedict Cumberbatch’s looks

"I've gone up two suit sizes. The character I'm playing, he's strong, I can say that much. I've changed my physique a bit, so that requires eating like a foie gras goose, well beyond your appetite. Providing I don't feel too ill, I then work out two hours a day with a phenomenal trainer. It's the LA way."

--Benedict Cumberbatch

"There is weird fan fiction out there — weird. They write stories and do manga cartoons of what they think you get up to behind closed doors. Some of it’s funny. Some of it’s full-on sex. Get Martin to show you some. "

--Benedict Cumberbatch

“Benedict is a kind of magnificent, exotic animal as an actor. He doesn’t look like a normal person. He rarely plays normal people. He plays sort of exceptional people.”

- Steven Moffat

"Believe me: during my first years on stage and in front of the camera I often felt like nothing more than a moving piece of furniture. I still always gave the best of me."

--Benedict Cumberbatch

"And some idiot locked us out of our hotel room - who turned out to be Benedict."

--Steven Moffat, The Hounds of Baskerville commentary

"Everyone’s been asking us if we’re going any further with the relationship between John and Sherlock, and I’m thinking, well, why not? I really don’t see the problem with it, and Mark (Gatiss) has already asked us if it would be an issue if we were to kiss on screen. Of course he was joking, but I wouldn’t mind at all."

— Martin Freeman

“He found the part that he could make live uniquely, that he could inhabit, that could make him a leading man. He is never going to be a conventional leading man, he’s not going to be James Bond. But he is going to be the sexiest Sherlock Holmes there has ever been.”

--Steven Moffat on Benedict Cumberbatch, London Evening Standard Interview

Of course I’d like to live a few months a year in Hollywood, then I’d at least get a bit of sunshine. (laughs) But surrendering completely to the American way of life? No fucking way!

--Benedict Cumberbatch

“I try to get them to write ‘Sir Benedict’ on it. Occasionally they oblige.”

--Benedict Cumberbatch (about his polystyrene cup of coffee)

"A militant one. Dungarees, moustache, all men are rapists, you know the drill... Seriously, though, I'd like every man who doesn't call himself a feminist to explain to the women in his life why he doesn't believe in equality for women. I think Page 3, Nuts and Zoo are bullshit. I don't wax my pubic hair off. I don't think working in a titty bar getting fivers shoved up your bum is empowering. And I'm bored of pictures of women in their smalls on buses with fuck-me mouths."

--Louise Brealey (on what kind of feminist she is)

"We just were looking for someone with the most awesome name in history. That was the casting call. We asked for someone with the most awesome name in history, ever, and Benedict Cumberbatch showed up, so we were like, “You’re cast!”"

--J.J. Abrams (on casting BC in the new  Star  Trek movie)

"One day we were in the make-up trailer and someone was brushing out Benedict’s stunt double’s wig - and we decided to put Martin in it. We put Sherlock’s coat on him and stood him on top of one of the make-up chairs so he looked tall and took the photo from low down. And when Benedict came in we got the make-up assistant to ask him to autograph the photograph. She handed it over - and this is how Benedict’s mind works - and he went “I don’t remember wearing my coat with that colour scarf"

--Lara Pulver

"Martin said a few things but they were harmless. They were both supportive and by the end of it I wouldn't move on to the next line until Benedict had stared at my boobs!"

--Lara Pulver, on being naked in Sherlock: A Scandal in Belgravia

"But it doesn't matter how many times you say that [they're not gay], an entire forest of dirty fiction has arisen as a result. And long may it continue, I don't know what it's about. . ."

--Mark Gatiss

"I'm very aware of it, God, I'm aware of it because people come and talk about it every time we do any kind of event but I suppose the history of it is going way back. I think it started with Kirk and Spock. Anything like that has a kind of slash element and it's an interesting thing because you've brought up the idea of heterosexual men get off on the notion of lesbians but the flip side is just as powerful, particularly I think for girls of a certain age. The idea of two sexy men getting it on is a really powerful aphrodisiac."

--Mark Gatiss

"I was the boy that turned a girlfriend into the most celebrated lesbian on television. I got so much stick for that. "

--Benedict Cumberbatch on his role in "Tipping the Velvet"

As an actor, you can do weight loss, weight gain, put on silly noses, crazy accents, move like a dragon, inviting people to look at the fireworks and admire how different you’re being. But with acting like that, it’s all about look-at-me, when what you should be doing is helping the audience care about the person they’re watching.

— Benedict Cumberbatch - Radio Times Interview 2011

"He is alarming, strange, possibly psychopathic, but perfectly happy. He clearly adores John, he's not got some deep emotional problems with connecting to people, he just can't be arsed. He'd rather be out solving crimes."

--Steven Moffat on Sherlock, Total Film Dec. 2011

"John is a little bit more in control. There’s an understanding and a balance there, now that they’ve been at it for about nine months. Sherlock is kept in check by him, and he funcitons better with him."

--Benedict Cumberbatch

"I guess like any friendship, marriage, or whatever it is familiarity breeds more contempt, and more love. They’re just more settled with each other now."

--Martin Freeman

“I remember very clearly someone saying, ‘Don’t shake hands with the cactus,’ and I thought, ‘Well, why not? What could possibly go wrong?’ Shaking hands is a friendly gesture.” --Benedict Cumberbatch, on his schoolboy days

“This is amazing, thank you. It makes up for a blog I accidentally read last night that described me as “horse-faced, arse-named, wooden and untalented.” I can dispute the last two because you have honoured me with this [Actor of The Year Award], but the first two? Yeah: I am horse-faced and arse-named, but there you go - it’s what I was born with.”

--Benedict Cumberbatch

The story of Sherlock Holmes, on the surface, is about deduction, but in reality, it's about the best of two men who save each other--a lost, washed-up war hero and a man who could end up committing murders instead of solving them. They come together. They become this perfect unit. They become the best friendship ever, and they become heroes.

--Steven Moffat

“I’m aware of the power of looks. I’ve wanted to play roles that have gone to much better-looking people and you just think ‘Oh well, that’s the pin up guy’s… an actor like my friend James Mcavoy, who’s gorgeous on screen. I’m not that. But at least I don’t have to worry about taking precious care of my face because it’s my commodity. That’s a great freedom. I’m not afraid of being heinous for the sake of a part”

-- Benedict Cumberbatch

"I’m always keen to use my body in my work, so I’m looking forward to the motion capture for Smaug. Both Gollum and King Kong were primates, whereas I’m playing a serpent, so it’ll be interesting - I’ll have to tie my legs together, possibly, or else they’ll be kind of splayed out to the side as a reptile’s should be." --Benedict Cumberbatch, on playing Smaug in The Hobbit

'Seriously, WHAT kind of a man meets John Watson - sober, clean-living, ex-military - and instantly thinks of Sherlock Holmes - insane young genius who likes to beat corpses - and says, "Oh, I know just who you must meet.."? This guy's dinner parties must be legendary!'

--Jude Law, on Mike Stamford

"Benedict is bumbly, sweet, affable; the nicest man you've met."

--Mark Gatiss

I am very flattered. I have also become a verb as in I have cumberbatched the UK audience apparently. Who knows, by the end of the year I might become a swear word too! It’s crazy and fun and very flattering.

--Benedict Cumberbatch

At that minute Martin walked in and I just had a thunderbolt. It dawned on me: "Oh, God it’s him!" We flirted with each other all day and when I went home he texted me, saying "You left and I wasn’t done flirting with you. That’s a bit rude", which I thought was really smooth.

--Amanda Abbington on how she met Martin Freeman

He’s extraordinary. During auditions, the minute he stepped into the room I said to the producers, I don’t know if you want my opinion, but I want to work with him, because he makes my game better. I honestly felt myself get better as an actor playing scenes opposite him — he has brilliant level of humanity. We all know how funny he can be from his work of “The Office,” but he can also play so much pathos — it’s an unsung talent of his that’s often clouded by his “Office” fame.

--Benedict Cumberbatch on Martin Freeman

"Only one death threat, two demands for my immediate resignation, and two for my suicide. IT'S A HIT!!"

--Steven Moffatt on the mid series finale of Doctor Who series 6"He is a little bit old fashioned so you’ve got some of the old ideas of him coming from another era but he’s also a modern young man and, you know, to be honest he’s a brilliant actor, very good looking, dashing and he’s what Sherlock Holmes ought to be."

"It is a double act, and he’s my wingman and he’s just phenomenal, and he’s a joy to work with. In no small way, he keeps me afloat and happy during the day as well. And he’s just a brilliant presence to be around. He’s just a scream. And we adore each other. In a very *platonic*, non… you know, way."—Benedict Cumberbatch on Martin Freeman at the 2011 BAFTAs

"Obviously it’s Sherlock’s show but there’s far more parity than I think there often is in that relationship. I know [creators] Steven [Moffat] and Mark [Gatiss] primarily wanted the show to be about that relationship as much if not more than anything else.  [It’s about the relationship] and how it develops and how it changes and the things that wind each other up, the things that they genuinely sort of love about each other as well. It’s the gayest story in the history of television… People certainly run with that which I’m quite happy with! But we all saw it as a love story. Not just a love story, but those two people who do love each other - a slightly dysfunctional relationship sometimes, but a relationship that works. They get results."

---Martin Freeman

“I ate healthily, but there was no snacking, no drinking, no bread, no sugar, no smoking. Afterwards I had a pork belly roast.”

--Benedict Cumberbatch, on fillming Third Star

“I made the mistake of calling in Benedict to solve a crime. He was absolutely hopeless!”

--Mark Gatiss

"Hitler. I’d tell him his paintings were great and to stay off the politics and get laid. Alive… The mother of my children and I’d ask them to take a deep breath and if they fancied a drink."

--Benedict Cumberbatch, when asked "If you could meet anyone in the world dead or alive who would it be and what would you say to them?"

"Finally on my way to see my little brother in 'Fronkensteen' at the National. He was always a grower not a show-er."

--Mark Gatiss on Twitter

“Don’t you think my life is confusing enough? And listen, if John Simm could hear you, you would not live another hour. He came up to me after the press [junket] for the End of Time where he’d been saying ‘I think now that David has left as The Doctor, I would have to leave as The Master’ but then he pulled me aside and said ‘I didn’t mean that! And look at me, I’m fit! I’m OK!’ So Benedict has to wait in line probably. But how confusing would it be? All four cheekbones at once! I tell you, I stood between [Matt Smith and Benedict] in a photograph once. It’s a really good way to look extra ugly.”

--Steven Moffat

“I always seem to be cast as slightly wan, ethereal, troubled intellectuals or physically ambivalent bad lovers. But I’m here to tell you I’m quite the opposite in real life. In fact I’m a fucking fantastic lover.”

---Benedict Cumberbatch

“My new agent said, ‘Why aren’t you using your family name? It’s a real attention-grabber.’ I worried, ‘How much is it going to cost to put my name in lights?’ But then I decided that’s not my problem.”

--Benedict Cumberbatch

"I hate this distinction of me being some f***ing academic who has just managed to escape the allure of some postgraduate course, and Miller as this mad f***ing wild child with dyed hair from Trainspotting. We have different working methods but ever so slightly – we block on the same lines. We’ve got the same sense of humour and think much the same about what’s good and bad."

--Benedict Cumberbatch

"It's tough, our bodies are all in pain. It’s fascinating, sort of crippling ourselves doing this. I’ve spent time in X-ray today; I’ve got my hips coming out of joint, my wrist are developing into ankles, 'cause of work I do at the beginning. We’ve had all sorts of injuries, back problems and neck problems. It’s a hard show to do, but it’s also been wonderful. Thank God I like Johnny Lee Miller."--Benedict Cumberbatch

"I imagine Holmes probably got pneumonia on a couple of occasions in Victorian London. I got flu and kept braving through it while green stuff was coming out of me. I was told, ‘You’ve got man flu, have a couple of paracetamol’, but when I soaked the bed sheets with sweat three nights running in the middle of winter, I knew there was something really wrong with me. It’s not nice having liquid on your lung and it takes a long time to recover - the irritating thing is that I was so disciplined and living a very healthy existence… I’d swim a lot, do yoga and eat healthily. I was really annoyed with myself for getting flu in the first place and I did myself a bit of damage by not acknowledging that I needed a rest."

--Benedict Cumberbatch

“I always think of the Doctor, bizarrely, as the more human one. Because he’s sort of like, in my mind, an angel who aspires to be human. Whereas Sherlock Holmes is a human being who aspires to be a god.”

--Steven Moffat

“Sherlock and Watson are a love story”

-Martin Freeman

”Sherlock and Watson meet at the right point in their lives, when they need each other the most. It’s a love story. Sherlock is upset because nobody can see the world the way he does. Watson misses the adrenalin and the constant life or death situations,”

--Martin Freeman

"I had a superb audition with Martin, and I immediately knew that he was my primary choice. He was definitely the person that I immediately sparked off and raised my game for. He’s an adorable man and blissfully, ridiculously funny and entertaining. He’s a great support and companion in real life as well. We have tremendous fun doing the show."

--Benedict Cumberbatch when asked how it was to work with Martin Freeman as Watson

Steven Moffat: Oddly enough, the thing [our kids] really enjoyed were the deductions. They were very, very hard to write.

Mark Gatiss: That’s why Conan Doyle stopped bothering.

SM: Or they become rubbish. ‘How did you know I was on the train?’ ‘I saw your train ticket!’

MG: ‘I was sitting next to you on the train!’

"Benedict (Cumberbatch, who is playing Sherlock) looks amazing. He's still got a Sherlockian silhouette, with a large overcoat, but in a classic cut. Watson dresses with an urban elegance, a touch of old school dashing, giving a feeling of both the military and medical profession. I suppose it's something they have in common as well. They're a bit metrosexual."

--Martin Freeman

Sherlock in Real Life (we can't blame it all on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)

.@youngqueenwerewolf  you are right. I would say, first off, bless Martin Freeman and his little Johnlock heart. I had never seen a lot of these quotes. So, he pretty much put it out there, that he wouldn't mind kissing Ben. Ben just casually letting people know that if they want to see naked pictures of the two of them, just ask Martin. And Gatiss...I don't know what to say or think of that man, except he certainly is incredibly condescending about females. I don't get a queer man behaving so disgusted over the thought of a queer Holmes.

[newstfionline]

Abalonia: The Island Nation That Never Was

By Anne Ewbank, Atlas Obscura, June 28, 2018

In 1966, California newspapers began reporting a startling story. A B-movie actor and several California businessmen were making plans to build their own island. The chosen locale was 100 miles off the California coast, on a massive, submerged island known as Cortes Bank. Ostensibly, the goal would be to mine a rich vein of seafood, especially abalone. Only an accident kept them from building their island nation. It was going to be called “Lemuria,” the name of a lost continent. But the media coined another, more compelling name: “Abalonia.”

Cortes Bank has long been considered a valuable yet perilous spot. Ships need to dodge Bishop Rock, which lurks a few feet below the surface, marked by a warning buoy. The site fosters a rich environment of sea life, making it a diving destination today. It’s also a legendary surfing site, because Cortes Bank produces some of the tallest surfable waves in the world. For Joe Kirkwood, Jr., Richard Taggart, and Bruce McMahan, the attraction was the sea life: They hoped to build an island outpost where they could harvest and ship seafood plentifully and cheaply. However, they didn’t know about the waves.

The group was an eclectic bunch. Kirkwood was most famous for appearing in film versions of the comic strip Joe Palooka. He was also a talented pro golfer, and owned a bowling alley. Taggart and McMahan were California abalone canners. Also involved, among others, were savings and loan group president Robert Lynell and aquatic expert James Houtz.

Their plan was to drag a decommissioned World War II freighter, the SS Jalisco, to Cortes Bank and scuttle it in a shallow area. Afterwards, they would haul rocks and even garbage out to the Bank, to create a terra firma from which sweet, fleshy abalone could be harvested. And they would rule their new nation of Abalonia. In October 1966, Taggart gave the verbal equivalent of a shrug to the Los Angeles Times. “I know it sounds fantastic,” he said, “But we’ve consulted experts in international law and they say there’s nothing to prevent us from starting our own country if we want to.”

Much of the history of the “Abalonians” has been compiled by a journalist, who also coined the term “Abalonians.” In 2011, Christopher Dixon published Ghost Wave, a history of Cortes Bank and the explorers, treasure hunters, and surfers obsessed with it. One chapter was devoted to the Abalonia tale. “The idea of someone trying to resurrect a sunken island is such an American idea to me,” he says.

By the time Dixon was writing his book, many of the Abalonians had died or gone to ground. Trying to find Kirkwood or someone associated with him was a bust. Until one day, someone anonymously sent him a package. Inside was a scribbled-over manuscript and fistfuls of photos of the Jalisco. The manuscript, says Dixon, was Kirkwood’s account of the dramatic sinking of the freighter and his own near-death, which he had apparently written up for Sports Illustrated but never published. Even better, he soon got a call from James Houtz, who was on the Jalisco that fateful November day.

“You’re really taxing my brain, kiddo,” Houtz says when I reach him at his home in Dana Point, California. Now 79 years old and retired, he took a break from wrangling grandchildren to tell me how he joined the Abalonia venture. A diving and underwater demolitions expert, Houtz had served in the Navy. A self-professed thrill-seeker, he gained fame diving Death Valley National Monument’s Devil’s Hole, a geothermal pool that’s home to the world’s rarest fish. His experience turned somber when, in 1965, two young divers disappeared into its watery depths. Houtz was flown in to find them, but only found a mask. The publicity around the tragedy led to Houtz receiving a call from Kirkwood.

“It was nuts,” Houtz says of Kirkwood’s plan. But he was young and daring, only in his late 20’s. Soon, he was in, intrigued by the challenge. “In my opinion, the impossible takes just a little bit longer. A little bit more thinking.” And, of course, he wanted “a cut of the pie.” Serving as both an aquatic expert and financial backer (he took out a second mortgage on his house), Houtz says he was the one who came up with the idea of scuttling a freighter to build the base of Abalonia. The team found the Jalisco in a “mothball fleet” up in Berkeley. After stripping the ship of everything that could be sold for salvage, it was outfitted as a seafood processing enterprise. By planting the ship near Bishop Rock, the shallowest part of the Bank, fisherman could start harvesting seafood right away.

The dream of Abalonia was expansive. The spot would also be a hive for commercial fishermen, Kirkwood believed, and they could build a runway for planes. Ships could stop to refuel, and there could even be gambling. Even building the island would be subsidized, since Kirkwood claimed he was teaming up with City of Los Angeles to build Abalonia out of the city’s trash. It seemed like an impossible dream, but Kirkwood had a way of making it seem possible. Houtz remembers Kirkwood as boisterous and extremely charismatic. But Houtz also says that Kirkwood had an irresponsible streak, something that may have sunk Abalonia.

In Ghost Wave, Dixon conjectures that Kirkwood kickstarted the Abalonia venture in a rush, fearing the federal government would bring it to a halt. At the time, Houtz noted that there was a storm on the coast of Japan, but thought it wouldn’t have too much of an effect. On November 13, the Abalonians and their crews left out of the Balboa Bay Club late in the evening. The SS Jalisco was on its way, from where it was docked far up north in Richmond, California. Barges full of rocks, provided by McMahan, were scheduled to follow soon after.

Houtz had already been to the Bank, scouting for the ideal way to lay the ship down. He had set down a runway of buoys, and with two anchors and long chains, he planned to put the Jalisco into a precise spot before scuttling it. While he had seen some of Cortes Bank’s large swells, putting down the planned “Volkswagen-sized” rocks would likely have protected the Jalisco, he says. Ironically, when the Jalisco arrived near Bishop Rock, they floated on a calm sea. “The kind you kind of dream about. It was just so flat and so smooth,” Houtz remembers. But soon, slight swells started rocking the freighter. The effects of the far-off storm, in the form of a massive North Pacific swell, was arriving.

Both man-made and natural disaster struck. Houtz says he left much of the preparation of the Jalisco to Kirkwood. When Houtz, Kirkwood, and three others clambered aboard, one of the anchors and much of the vital anchor chain (necessary for situating the freighter) was missing, sold for extra money as salvage. Plus, the diesel engine that powered the chain spool compressor was broken. Putting the freighter in the right place would be nearly impossible. Meanwhile, the swells were getting larger, lifting the Jalisco up 20 feet and dropping it. One swell crushed the freighter against Bishop Rock. “It just thundered. It just crunched. It just hit,” Houtz says. The Jalisco plunged down: The hull had been punctured by Bishop Rock.

The 7,000-ton freighter twisted and turned. A massive wave loomed, then swept over the freighter, snapping the anchor chain. Kirkwood grabbed ahold of a jackstaff, but the others were slammed against the side so hard that Houtz broke a rib. The Whitney Olson, the tugboat that had dragged out the Jalisco, valiantly came close to the side to rescue the trapped men. One man made it over, another jumped into the water. Houtz, Kirkwood, and another man, Will Lesslie, were left on the Jalisco, but not for long.

Kirkwood refused to let go of the jackstaff, insisting that the water couldn’t wash him away. “Joe, you’re out of your mind,” Houtz remembers saying. Another massive wave was coming, a wall of green water. Heavy barrels of diesel were tossed off the deck: looking as light, Houtz says, as after-dinner mints.

Sheltered behind the ship’s superstructure, Houtz was drenched but fine. But Will Lesslie and Kirkwood were taken overboard. A stunned Houtz, wearing a life jacket, leapt into the water and made it over to the Whitney Olson. An almost-drowned Kirkwood was swept beneath the entire length of the Whitney Olson, only to miraculously emerge relatively unharmed. Everyone on the Jalisco escaped with their lives.

The freighter wasn’t so lucky. Smashed by the waves, Dixon writes in Ghost Wave, “the entire superstructure tore completely free of the deck in a colossal mingling of water and steel.” Months passed before it sunk fully beneath the water. Houtz and the others were whisked away, to be interrogated by FBI agents who arrived via helicopter.

Houtz emerged physically and financially battered. No seafood empire rose from the waves--his investment was shot, and his rib was broken. The Abalonians parted, and Houtz never spoke to Kirkwood again. Kirkwood managed to dodge legal repercussions for the Abalonia affair, though there was a Coast Guard investigation.

The concept of Abalonia may have been mad, but Kirkwood did well for himself, buying a Hawaiian golf course and selling it in 1987 for $50 million. McMahan became a wealthy hedge fund manager whose lifestyle was the subject of tabloids. And maybe Abalonia wasn’t so bad of an idea after all. Another corporation started making noise about building an island at the spot soon after the Jalisco went down. The federal government squashed it by claiming Cortes Bank as U.S. territory.

As for Houtz, he soon recovered and even went back out to Cortes Bank. Occasionally is it clear enough to see San Clemente Island in the distance, he says. But other than the buoy, it’s a vista of empty sea. “It’s beautiful, but it’s eerie,” Houtz says.

Now, Cortes Bank is notorious, the rusted wreck of the Jalisco beneath the water making it even more dangerous for surfers (though it is a lush diving site). Houtz says he wasn’t aware of how massive the waves could get at Cortes Bank. He’s also not sure what would have happened if the Jalisco had been outfitted correctly. “The Jalisco was pretty fragile when it comes right down to it,” Houtz says. But he thinks that if it had been a calmer day, it might have survived long enough to be protected by the incoming rocks. Abalonia could have risen after all.

[readbookywooks]

8 As I stride toward the elevator, I fling my bow to one side and my quiver to the other. I brush past the gaping Avoxes who guard the elevators and hit the number twelve button with my fist. The doors slide together and I zip upward. I actually make it back to my floor before the tears start running down my cheeks. I can hear the others calling me from the sitting room, but I fly down the hall into my room, bolt the door, and fling myself onto my bed. Then I really begin to sob. Now I've done it! Now I've ruined everything! If I'd stood even a ghost of chance, it vanished when I sent that arrow flying at the Gamemakers. What will they do to me now? Arrest me? Execute me? Cut my tongue and turn me into an Avox so I can wait on the future tributes of Panem? What was I thinking, shooting at the Gamemakers? Of course, I wasn't, I was shooting at that apple because I was so angry at being ignored. I wasn't trying to kill one of them. If I were, they'd be dead! Oh, what does it matter? It's not like I was going to win the Games anyway. Who cares what they do to me? What really scares me is what they might do to my mother and Prim, how my family might suffer now because of my impulsiveness. Will they take their few belongings, or send my mother to prison and Prim to the community home, or kill them? They wouldn't kill them, would they? Why not? What do they care? I should have stayed and apologized. Or laughed, like it was a big joke. Then maybe I would have found some leniency. But instead I stalked out of the place in the most disrespectful manner possible. Haymitch and Effie are knocking on my door. I shout for them to go away and eventually they do. It takes at least an hour for me to cry myself out. Then I just lay curled up on the bed, stroking the silken sheets, watching the sun set over the artificial candy Capitol. At first, I expect guards to come for me. But as time passes, it seems less likely. I calm down. They still need a girl tribute from District 12, don't they? If the Gamemakers want to punish me, they can do it publicly. Wait until I'm in the arena and sic starving wild animals on me. You can bet they'll make sure I don't have a bow and arrow to defend myself. Before that though, they'll give me a score so low, no one in their right mind would sponsor me. That's what will happen tonight. Since the training isn't open to viewers, the Gamemakers announce a score for each player. It gives the audience a starting place for the betting that will continue throughout the Games. The number, which is between one and twelve, one being irredeemably bad and twelve being unattainably high, signifies the promise of the tribute. The mark is not a guarantee of which person will win. It's only an indication of the potential a tribute showed in training. Often, because of the variables in the actual arena, high-scoring tributes go down almost immediately. And a few years ago, the boy who won the Games only received a three. Still, the scores can help or hurt an individual tribute in terms of sponsorship. I had been hoping my shooting skills might get me a six or a seven, even if I'm not particularly powerful. Now I'm sure I'll have the lowest score of the twenty-four. If no one sponsors me, my odds of staying alive decrease to almost zero. When Effie taps on the door to call me to dinner, I decide I may as well go. The scores will be televised tonight. It's not like I can hide what happened forever. I go to the bathroom and wash my face, but it's still red and splotchy. Everyone's waiting at the table, even Cinna and Portia. I wish the stylists hadn't shown up because for some reason, I don't like the idea of disappointing them. It's as if I've thrown away all the good work they did on the opening ceremonies without a thought. I avoid looking at anyone as I take tiny spoonfuls of fish soup. The saltiness reminds me of my tears. The adults begin some chitchat about the weather forecast, and I let my eyes meet Peeta's. He raises his eyebrows. A question. What happened? I just give my head a small shake. Then, as they're serving the main course, I hear Haymitch say, "Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?" Peeta jumps in. "I don't know that it mattered. By the time I showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So, I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go." That makes me feel a bit better. It's not like Peeta attacked the Gamemakers, but at least he was provoked, too. "And you, sweetheart?" says Haymitch. Somehow Haymitch calling me sweetheart ticks me off enough that I'm at least able to speak. "I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers." Everyone stops eating. "You what?" The horror in Effie's voice confirms my worse suspicions. "I shot an arrow at them. Not exactly at them. In their direction. It's like Peeta said, I was shooting and they were ignoring me and I just. I just lost my head, so I shot an apple out of their stupid roast pig's mouth!" I say defiantly. "And what did they say?" says Cinna carefully. "Nothing. Or I don't know. I walked out after that," I say. "Without being dismissed?" gasps Effie. "I dismissed myself," I said. I remember how I promised Prim that I really would try to win and I feel like a ton of coal has dropped on me. "Well, that's that," says Haymitch. Then he butters a roll. "Do you think they'll arrest me?" I ask. "Doubt it. Be a pain to replace you at this stage," says Haymitch. "What about my family?" I say. "Will they punish them?" "Don't think so. Wouldn't make much sense. See they'd have to reveal what happened in the Training Center for it to have any worthwhile effect on the population. People would need to know what you did. But they can't since it's secret, so it'd be a waste of effort," says Haymitch. "More likely they'll make your life hell in the arena." "Well, they've already promised to do that to us any way," says Peeta. "Very true," says Haymitch. And I realize the impossible has happened. They have actually cheered me up. Haymitch picks up a pork chop with his fingers, which makes Effie frown, and dunks it in his wine. He rips off a hunk of meat and starts to chuckle. "What were their faces like?" I can feel the edges of my mouth tilting up. "Shocked. Terrified. Uh, ridiculous, some of them." An image pops into my mind. "One man tripped backward into a bowl of punch." Haymitch guffaws and we all start laughing except Effie, although even she is suppressing a smile. "Well, it serves them right. It's their job to pay attention to you. And just because you come from District Twelve is no excuse to ignore you." Then her eyes dart around as if she's said something totally outrageous. "I'm sorry, but that's what I think," she says to no one in particular. "I'll get a very bad score," I say. "Scores only matter if they're very good, no one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones. For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose. People use that strategy," said Portia. "I hope that's how people interpret the four I'll probably get," says Peeta. "If that. Really, is anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of yards. One almost landed on my foot." I grin at him and realize that I'm starving. I cut off a piece of pork, dunk it in mashed potatoes, and start eating. It's okay. My family is safe. And if they are safe, no real harm has been done. After dinner, we go to sitting room to watch the scores announced on television. First they show a photo of the tribute, then flash their score below it. The Career Tributes naturally get in the eight-to-ten range. Most of the other players average a five. Surprisingly, little Rue comes up with a seven. I don't know what she showed the judges, but she's so tiny it must have been impressive. District 12 comes up last, as usual. Peeta pulls an eight so at least a couple of the Gamemakers must have been watching him. I dig my fingernails into my palms as my face comes up, expecting the worst. Then they're flashing the number eleven on the screen. Eleven! Effie Trinket lets out a squeal, and everybody is slapping me on the back and cheering and congratulating me. But it doesn't seem real. "There must be a mistake. How. how could that happen?" I ask Haymitch. "Guess they liked your temper," he says. "They've got a show to put on. They need some players with some heat." "Katniss, the girl who was on fire," says Cinna and gives me a hug. "Oh, wait until you see your interview dress." "More flames?" I ask. "Of a sort," he says mischievously. Peeta and I congratulate each other, another awkward moment. We've both done well, but what does that mean for the other? I escape to my room as quickly as possible and burrow down under the covers. The stress of the day, particularly the crying, has worn me out. I drift off, reprieved, relieved, and with the number eleven still flashing behind my eyelids. At dawn, I lie in bed for a while, watching the sun come up on a beautiful morning. It's Sunday. A day off at home. I wonder if Gale is in the woods yet. Usually we devote all of Sunday to stocking up for the week. Rising early, hunting and gathering, then trading at the Hob. I think of Gale without me. Both of us can hunt alone, but we're better as a pair. Particularly if we're trying for bigger game. But also in the littler things, having a partner lightened the load, could even make the arduous task of filling my family's table enjoyable. I had been struggling along on my own for about six months when I first ran into Gale in the woods. It was a Sunday in October, the air cool and pungent with dying things. I'd spent the morning competing with the squirrels for nuts and the slightly warmer afternoon wading in shallow ponds harvesting Katniss. The only meat I'd shot was a squirrel that had practically run over my toes in its quest for acorns, but the animals would still be afoot when the snow buried my other food sources. Having strayed farther afield than usual, I was hurrying back home, lugging my burlap sacks when I came across a dead rabbit. It was hanging by its neck in a thin wire a foot above my head. About fifteen yards away was another. I recognized the twitch-up snares because my father had used them. When the prey is caught, it's yanked into the air out of the reach of other hungry animals. I'd been trying to use snares all summer with no success, so I couldn't help dropping my sacks to examine this one. My fingers were just on the wire above one of the rabbits when a voice rang out. "That's dangerous." I jumped back several feet as Gale materialized from behind a tree. He must have been watching me the whole time. He was only fourteen, but he cleared six feet and was as good as an adult to me. I'd seen him around the Seam and at school. And one other time. He'd lost his father in the same blast that killed mine. In January, I'd stood by while he received his medal of valor in the Justice Building, another oldest child with no father. I remembered his two little brothers clutching his mother, a woman whose swollen belly announced she was just days away from giving birth. "What's your name?" he said, coming over and disengaging the rabbit from the snare. He had another three hanging from his belt. "Katniss," I said, barely audible. "Well, Catnip, stealing's punishable by death, or hadn't you heard?" he said. "Katniss," I said louder. "And I wasn't stealing it. I just wanted to look at your snare. Mine never catch anything." He scowled at me, not convinced. "So where'd you get the squirrel?" "I shot it." I pulled my bow off my shoulder. I was still using the small version my father had made me, but I'd been practicing with the full-size one when I could. I was hoping that by spring I might be able to bring down some bigger game. Gale's eyes fastened on the bow. "Can I see that?" I handed it over. "Just remember, stealing's punishable by death." That was the first time I ever saw him smile. It transformed him from someone menacing to someone you wished you knew. But it took several months before I returned that smile. We talked hunting then. I told him I might be able to get him a bow if he had something to trade. Not food. I wanted knowledge. I wanted to set my own snares that caught a belt of fat rabbits in one day. He agreed something might be worked out. As the seasons went by, we grudgingly began to share our knowledge, our weapons, our secret places that were thick with wild plums or turkeys. He taught me snares and fishing. I showed him what plants to eat and eventually gave him one of our precious bows. And then one day, without either of us saying it, we became a team. Dividing the work and the spoils. Making sure that both our families had food. Gale gave me a sense of security I'd lacked since my father's death. His companionship replaced the long solitary hours in the woods. I became a much better hunter when I didn't have to look over my shoulder constantly, when someone was watching my back. But he turned into so much more than a hunting partner. He became my confidante, someone with whom I could share thoughts I could never voice inside the fence. In exchange, he trusted me with his. Being out in the woods with Gale. sometimes I was actually happy. I call him my friend, but in the last year it's seemed too casual a word for what Gale is to me. A pang of longing shoots through my chest. If only he was with me now! But, of course, I don't want that. I don't want him in the arena where he'd be dead in a few days. I just. I just miss him. And I hate being so alone. Does he miss me? He must. I think of the eleven flashing under my name last night. I know exactly what he'd say to me. "Well, there's some room for improvement there." And then he'd give me a smile and I'd return it without hesitating now. I can't help comparing what I have with Gale to what I'm pretending to have with Peeta. How I never question Gale's motives while I do nothing but doubt the latter's. It's not a fair comparison really. Gale and I were thrown together by a mutual need to survive. Peeta and I know the other's survival means our own death. How do you sidestep that? Effie's knocking at the door, reminding me there's another "big, big, big day!" ahead. Tomorrow night will be our televised interviews. I guess the whole team will have their hands full readying us for that. I get up and take a quick shower, being a bit more careful about the buttons I hit, and head down to the dining room. Peeta, Effie, and Haymitch are huddled around the table talking in hushed voices. That seems odd, but hunger wins out over curiosity and I load up my plate with breakfast before I join them. The stew's made with tender chunks of lamb and dried plums today. Perfect on the bed of wild rice. I've shoveled about halfway through the mound when I realize no one's talking. I take a big gulp of orange juice and wipe my mouth. "So, what's going on? You're coaching us on interviews today, right?" "That's right," says Haymitch. "You don't have to wait until I'm done. I can listen and cat at the same time," I say. "Well, there's been a change of plans. About our current approach," says Haymitch. "What's that?" I ask. I'm not sure what our current approach is. Trying to appear mediocre in front of the other tributes is the last bit of strategy I remember. Haymitch shrugs. "Peeta has asked to be coached separately."