#just hannah montana threatening you after you kill her father

[proudbastardklaus]

throwback to the time i got hannah montana and inigo montoya mixed up

[peachfyzzy]

the best of both worlds: a passione x reader pop star au part 1

hey everyone! I decided to try something new and ACTUALLY write plot!! ikr?? crazy! this will have multiple endings and will mainly be focused on the bucci gang! the first few chapters are about la squadra, however. also YES this is a giant hannah montana joke.

Summary: You struggle to keep your identity hidden between pop stardom and ruthless mafia life. When Diavolo catches you slipping, he orders your head on a stick. Unfortunately, the boys of Passione and La Squadra have another plan in mind.

     “Bucciarati, we need to get tickets!” Narancia pointed at the falling poster that was plastered along the brick alley wall. A picture of a dolled up, smiling you was spread across the glossy finish of the display. A date scheduled a week from that night was scribbled under your angelic face. The messy-haired boy could feel the warmth and sunshine from your smile even through the inanimate paper. You were absolutely radiant and caught the boy’s eye from the get-go. Your music style was rough and tumble but you could switch from tough rock to sweet pop within the length of a song. He loved the variety of your band and you. With a raised eyebrow, Bruno looked up at the poster. A gentle smile graced his features. 

     “You wanna go to this rock concert?” Narancia simply nodded, grabbing Mista’s arm and pulling him down to his level. 

     “Me and Mista love her! All of her music is good!” The gang knew his affinity for music and Bruno tried to match your face with any music he heard echoing from Narancia’s room late at night. 

     “Awwwh for real? She’s playing in a dump like this? Who woulda thought?” Mista gave the poster a goofy, toothy smile. Abbacchio groaned, leaning against the opposite alley wall. He had no idea why his teammates would want to discuss something so trivial in an alley. 

     “Do we really have time to talk about all this?” Fugo could feel his irritability rising. Bruno simply chuckled, look at his watch and then back at the poster. Bruno simply shook his head, calling the rest of the gang to continue walking. 

~*~*~

     The stage was your home. You felt most comfortable within the catwalks and sparkly lights that adorned your skin perfectly. The adrenaline pumping and the nerves firing was something you’d never get sick of and that you chased endlessly. The addition of screaming fans was the icing on the cake and it made you all the more excited to jump into your adventures as an artist. 

     And well, given your high status in society, no one would’ve guessed you were a hard-working member of the Mafia. 

     Your story was just another one of the same. As a child, you were dumped on the stairs of La Squadra’s headquarters. Of course, your estranged mother didn’t know it was a Mafia hideout, but from that moment, you were their property. At first, most everyone was against it. That kind of life didn’t allow for children but some of the men took pity on the small, bouncing baby on their steps. What would you become? There are few worse situations than being forced into Passione, but their minds ran wild. Their instinct to protect the innocence in front of them kicked in and from then on, they prepared for one of the toughest battles they would have; taking care of a little girl. 

     You were looked after by the men of the base quite chaotically. Risotto, strong and responsible tried to shield you best he could from the terrors of Mafia activity. This was all thrown away once you began developing a stand of your own, much to everyone’s surprise. You were only in elementary school, so the pure prowess of your stand was a shock to everyone.  Needless to say, Risotto wasn’t too happy when you almost made Ghiaccio jump off a cliff with your newly found power after an argument. You pleadingly grabbed handfuls of the angry man’s pants, nudging him to play with you. Of course, being the ice gremlin he is, he declined over and over until you were both shouting. Like instinct, you summoned your stand. A classic bow and arrow. Once Ghia was shot, he seemed to be completely under your control. You could order him around like nothing and as an act of revenge had him speeding towards the rocky cliffs of Italy! 

     After a long scolding from Risotto, the group threw around names for your power, and eventually settled on the not so subtle, ‘Plastic Love.’ That week was full of learning and training. Reluctantly, the group alerted Diavolo and got you an official job as one of them. As you grew older, your dreams grew along with you. You dreamed of the stage. Of spikes and frills. Of the spotlight where you could truly shine. Risotto saw this in you. Whenever you went to him to discuss your goals, a look of pity crossed the man’s face. He loved you as a father would a daughter, and seeing your dreams be so unattainable given the cards you were dealt hurt him gravely. If he could, he would reverse time to give you a proper life. The Mafia machine took no prisoners. The potential was overflowing in your eyes and he knew you wouldn’t stop grasping at your dreams until they were safely within your arms. 

     Together, you devised a plan. 

     With Risotto’s help, you began living a double life. Diavolo had a strict rule against any of his members publicly displaying themselves to such an extent. His anxieties with anonymity sometimes projected onto his members, and it was painfully clear. During the day, you would affix your wig and jump out on stage to sing and dance while trying to ignore the gross way your fake contacts would feel against your eyes. During the night, you helped out with the inner workings of the Mafia. Getting people to pay up, breaking kneecaps, and threatening where it was needed. To say the contrast was stark would be a complete understatement. Everyone knew you wanted more from the life you were given than loan sharking, so hiding your true identity became a group effort. In exchange, you gave the little money you made as a blossoming artist to the team to keep the effort going. For Mafia members, you were always surprised at the pleasantries they offered towards you. Just as you suspected things would get better for you, those two worlds began to mix. 

~*~*~*

     “We’re getting paid to do what?” Bruno raised an eyebrow, gripping the phone against his ear harder. 

      “I need you to go to that concert. The one near the city’s center and kill the singer.” Bruno gulped, unsure of his teams' ability to carry out such an act. 

      “With all respect, couldn’t La Squadra take care of this? Aren’t they specially trained for this sort of thing?” 

      “No. I want your team specifically. Carry out my orders accordingly and there will be a lump sum of money waiting. Don’t disappoint me.” With that, the other line went dead and a headache immediately began form between his eyes.

[edens-heir]

@ezerkenegdc - this is for you, because your post about Jess killing Hannah gave me THE FEELS. So hopefully this is returning the favor. ;) 

The weather had been dark and tumultuous all day, black clouds covering the typically-bright Montana sky. Sara shivered slightly, pulling her coat closer around her. She was sitting outside under the porch, her worn copy of her Father’s Word on her lap, and a cup of steaming tea next to her. She’d initially come out to study and to pray, but she couldn’t help but be distracted by the lightning that sparked across the sky, and the loud booming thunder that followed. Montana was a beautiful place, despite all of the dangers and hardships they had faced.

Shivering again at the thought, Sara opened the Word, but stopped short as a piercing pain shot through her head, just behind her eyes. The migraine had come out of nowhere, and she could tell this one was going to be particularly bad. She reached for the locket around her neck that contained the tiny vial of Bliss oil - the only thing that would fend off the pain of the migraines - but stopped short when she saw a small drop of blood hit her hand, and then another.

Cautiously, she reached up and gently brushed her fingers across her nose, her fingers coming away crimson. Before she had time to be concerned about that, Sara’s vision went red.

Immediately, Sara knew that this wasn’t her usual Vision. The landscape wasn’t on fire, and the sky wasn’t black. It all seemed calm, despite the red hues that colored it all. Instead of Fall’s End, she saw her mother, and Sunrise Farm. It could have been mistaken for any day that Hannah was on the farm.

Dread began to fill Sara as she watched her mother stand up straight, a small smile on her face. Movement caught Sara’s eyes, but it was too late. She watched in horror as a black-shafted arrow buried itself into Hannah’s chest, just beneath her collarbone, and straight into her heart. Hannah had enough time to look down at the arrow before her eyes went dull and she fell to the dusty ground, unmoving.

Sara screamed.

She had never seen anything like this before in her Visions, or her Dreams. What did it mean? Was her Mama going to die?! Was this just a warning? Or had it already happened while Hannah had been away from home that day?! Did her Father see things like this?! Would she see more things like this?!

It only took a moment for Sara to snap back to herself, rather than the gradual resurfacing she usually had to go through when she saw things like that. She gasped, and realized how hoarse her voice was. Had she actually been screaming? How long had her Vision lasted? Her nose was still bleeding, but her blue eyes went wide and she began to panic.

Mama.

Stumbling to the front door, she threw it open, continuing to yell, “MAMA?!”

There was no answer. She was alone, just as she had been when the migraine had hit. She struggled to breathe, and opened the door, just to see her Mama pulling onto the gravel driveway.

Face and neck bloody, she ran to her Mama, screaming and crying. As soon as she could, she buried herself in Hannah’s embrace, sobbing with one breath and thanking God her Mama was alright with the next. Sara couldn’t let her go - it had all been too much.

When she was finally able to explain what had happened, and to get herself cleaned up, Sara made a decision. She picked up the radio in their kitchen with an unusual confidence.

“Uncle Jacob? It’s Sara. I… I want you to train me to use a gun.”

If Jacob was surprised, she couldn’t tell. She didn’t care. His response was quick, and Sara was grateful that the man always had a radio on him.

“Come up to the Elk Jaw Lodge tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock. I’ll be waiting.”

Sara couldn’t sleep that night. The Vision wouldn’t leave her, no matter how hard she prayed for it to disappear. The sight of her Mama, lying dead on the fields she loved so much, was burned into her mind, and she couldn’t escape it. Fear and horror became anger and determination. Who would dare harm Joseph’s wife? The rookie deputy? A member of one of the various resistances?

It doesn’t matter who it was. It isn’t going to happen. I won’t let it. If this is wrath… Then I need to talk to Uncle John. But first… I’m going to learn to use a gun. I have to keep Mama safe.

She arrived at the Elk Jaw Lodge the next morning at nine, and training began. It was hard. The guns that Jacob had her firing were too large for her small hands, and kicked her thin frame back every time. But there was not a single word of complaint. Blisters formed and popped, only to be met with gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. Meals had been only been grudgingly accepted when Jacob told her to eat. By nine that evening, she had managed a small, passable grouping in the center of the chest of a target.

“I’m coming back tomorrow,” she told him, blue eyes cold. “I won’t stop practicing.”

With a few hours of training every day for the next two weeks - Jacob had a region to run, after all - Sara’s aim improved, and she had developed enough muscle to not be thrown back by the recoil of Jacob’s pistol. Callouses had replaced the blisters, and the passable shots had developed into precise accuracy.

At the end of the two weeks, Jacob presented her with her own pistol - a Sig Sauer p238. It was a small, simple gun, and completely white, with the exception of the black Eden’s Gate cross that had been engraved into the grip. The holster was made of leather, and matched the firearm. He showed her how to wear it on her belt, and how to draw it from under her coat.

Jacob also explained that he had made her practice with the large gun so that she would be able to use the smaller one without issue, and he hadn’t wanted to get her a gun of her own if she wasn’t dedicated to practicing with it. He told her that she still needed to practice, but that she was ready to protect herself or those around her if a situation ever arose. Most importantly, though, he told her that he was proud of her for having the courage to defend herself, or her family.

Every day, Sara continued to practice with her gun, progressing as a marksman and sowing that tiny seed of wrath every time she had the mental image of her Mama, dead in the fields.

God, I won’t let that happen. I won’t. And if I’m not there to stop it, then so help me, I’ll send her killer to you myself.

Sara hugged Hannah tightly every night, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to fall.

Nobody’s gonna take you from me, Mama. I promise.

*fin

[bountyofbeads]

Gunman in Dayton Had History of Threatening Women, Former Friends Say https://nyti.ms/2T7A0DV

Gunman in Dayton Had History of Threatening Women, Former Friends Say

By Campbell Robertson, Nicholas Bogel-Burroughs and Timothy Williams | Published Aug. 5, 2019 | New York Times | Posted August 6, 2019 |

DAYTON, Ohio — The police on Monday were still trying to determine what motivated a gunman in Dayton to kill his sister and eight others, but people who grew up with him were conducting a different kind of investigation, looking back for any signs that might have foreshadowed his explosion of violence.

For more than a few, and for women in particular, these signs were not hard to find.

“I don’t want to say I saw it coming,” said Mika Carpenter, 24, who met the gunman, Connor Betts, 24, at a summer camp when they were both 13. “But if it was going to be anybody it was going to be him.”

Like others who knew Mr. Betts as a teenager, Ms. Carpenter recalled his dark and often violent jokes, including riffs about “bodily harm” that led many to keep their distance.

“He was kind of hateful to women because they didn’t want to date him,” she said. Still, she became friends with him because, she said, she saw that he had a good side.

Mr. Betts often expressed concerns to her about having dark thoughts, she said.

“I remember specifically him talking about being scared of the thoughts that he had, being scared that he had violent thoughts,” said Ms. Carpenter, who cut off contact with him in 2013 after he lashed out at her during an online chat. “He knew it wasn’t normal.”

The police in Dayton were quick to caution on Monday that much about the shooting early Sunday morning was still unknown. There was still no clear motive, nor an understanding of how three people — Mr. Betts, his sister and a mutual friend — all went out together and one ended up shooting the other two. The friend, who has not been named by the police, was shot in his lower torso but survived; the sister, Megan Betts, 22, was killed.

“It seems to just defy believability that he would shoot his own sister,” said Dayton’s police chief, Richard Biehl, at a news briefing on Monday morning. “But it’s also hard to believe he didn’t recognize that was his sister, so we just don’t know.”

On Saturday night, the three drove together to the Oregon District, a stretch of bars and clubs that is usually crowded on weekends. They separated at one point but remained in touch, the chief said. The police have no indication that the sister or mutual friend knew about the weapons Mr. Betts would later use in the shooting.

Mr. Betts fatally shot one person in an alleyway before turning his fire on his sister and their friend, the police have said. Nine people were killed and at least 27 others were wounded, including 14 who were shot. Others had cuts and injuries from the stampede of fleeing people.

The police said on Monday that Mr. Betts had purchased an AR-style pistol online from Texas, but had modified the gun with a pistol brace to improve stability. He also had a drum magazine that could hold 100 rounds, the police said.

Mr. Betts had up to 250 rounds of ammunition and fired at least 41 shots, Chief Biehl said. Six officers fired a total of 65 rounds at the gunman, killing him as he tried to enter a bar, where many people had taken refuge when the shooting began.

“I ran, I got trampled, I lost my shoes,” said Jessica Westover, 23, who was among the hundreds of people who gathered on Sunday night at a crowded vigil in the Oregon District. They mourned the dead and cheered the actions of emergency medical workers, but some also expressed anger over inaction on gun control.

When Gov. Mike DeWine, a Republican, stepped to the microphone to say a few words, some shouted “Do something!” and drowned out his remarks. A chant soon broke out: “What do we want? Gun control! When do we want it? Now!”

Mr. DeWine planned to hold a news conference on Tuesday morning to announce proposals to address gun violence and mental illness.

For many who grew up alongside Mr. Betts in the quiet Dayton suburbs, the shooting had summoned uneasy memories.

“He wanted to scare people, he really enjoyed it,” said Hannah Shows, who became friends with Mr. Betts when they were in the seventh grade. She recalled his talk of guns and gore, but chalked it up at the time to his being a 13-year-old boy.

But in ninth grade, Ms. Shows discovered she was named on a list that Mr. Betts had made of people in the school. The list threatened violence or sexual violence toward those who were on it, most of them girls, said Ben Seitz, 25, whose girlfriend at the time was also included.

Ms. Shows said she was never told the details about the threats, but the principal had asked her, “Is there any reason he would want to hurt you?”

Ms. Shows said she had assumed she was on the list because Mr. Betts had expressed interest in her and she turned him down. “After that, it turned into cold hatred the way he stared at me,” she said.

“People knew he was this way,” she said. “A lot of people could have helped, but no one did anything about it.”

Asked about the list from high school, Chief Biehl said that, even if the reports were true, he would be wary about making any connections.

“I’m a little bit reluctant, even if there’s such evidence, to interpret it 10 years later as somehow this is indicative of what happened yesterday,” he said.

At a brief talk with reporters later on Monday, the chief said he expected the investigation to be lengthy. Detectives were continuing to look at phones, computers and videos to understand what happened and why, though he added that there was no evidence that the shooting was a hate crime.

“I think there will be some familiar themes that will emerge from this investigation, so it will not be a surprise in some regard,” Chief Biehl said. “I think there are some unique aspects of it that we perhaps have not seen in other shootings.”

He declined to say what those unique aspects might be.

Here Are the Nine People Killed in Seconds in Dayton

The gunman’s victims ranged from a graduate student to a grandfather, a young mother to longtime friends.

By Farah Stockman and Adeel Hassan |

Published Aug. 5, 2019 | New York Times | Posted August 6, 2019 |

Two were friends from work, enjoying a night on the town. One had recently given birth and was finally getting out of the house. Another had just gotten a new job at a place he loved.

The crowd outside the Ned Peppers bar in Dayton, Ohio, had much to celebrate on Saturday night and the small hours of Sunday morning. But in an instant, their festivities turned into deadly chaos as a gunman clad in black opened fire with a military-style rifle and a large-capacity magazine. Nine lives were cut down and 27 more people were injured in a matter of seconds before police officers shot and killed the gunman.

Those who died left behind at least eight children, and countless friends, co-workers, classmates and family members struggling to grasp how so much could be lost so senselessly. Here is what we have learned about each of them.

Megan Betts

Ms. Betts, 22, was the younger sister of the gunman, Connor Betts. She attended Wright State University, a commuter school in the Dayton area, where she studied earth sciences and was expected to graduate next year. The university posted a message on Facebook offering counseling services to students.

Ms. Betts was a graduate of Bellbrook High School, where she played in the marching band along with her brother. Another former member of the band, Alex Gerbic, recalled her as very outgoing and kind. “She was a very bubbly personality,” Mr. Gerbic said.

According to a résumé she posted on LinkedIn, Ms. Betts spent much of the summer in Montana working as a tour guide at the Missoula Smokejumper Visitor Center. Last summer, she supervised children’s water activities at an urban park, according to Trish Butler, director of marketing and community engagement for Five Rivers MetroParks in Dayton. She also worked at Bed Bath & Beyond and Pier One.

Monica Brickhouse

Local media outlets reported that Ms. Brickhouse, 39, grew up in Springfield, about 20 miles from Dayton. She lived in Virginia Beach for a time, where she worked for Anthem, the health insurance company, according to WAVY, a television station in Portsmouth, Va. The station reported that Ms. Brickhouse had recently transferred to Dayton to work for Anthem from home.

At the time of the shooting, Ms. Brickhouse was out with a friend and co-worker, Beatrice Warren-Curtis, who also was killed. Anthem’s chief executive, Gail Boudreaux, sent a memo to the company’s employees describing the two women as dear friends “known for their positive energy,” according to the TV station.

A Facebook user, Brittany Hart, posted on Sunday that she had been close with both women and was shocked at their loss. In her post, Ms. Hart remembered Ms. Brickhouse as “like another aunt to me” and someone “I always wanted to tag along with.”

Thomas J. McNichols

Mr. McNichols, also known as Teejay, was 25. He was the father of two girls and two boys, and was living with his aunt in the Westwood neighborhood of Dayton.

“He loved to have fun, and every time I seen him, he was either laughing or smiling,” said Jevin Lamar, a cousin of Mr. McNichols who grew up in Dayton and has since moved to Los Angeles. “At family events, he was playing kickball. He was a great father, a great brother. He was a protector. He protected his family. He protected his sisters. He just was just happy.”

Lois L. Oglesby

Ms. Oglesby, 27, was the mother of a 6-year-old daughter and a newborn girl, according to a message posted by the Miami Valley Community Action partnership, where Ms. Oglesby’s mother has worked for almost 23 years. The agency is collecting funds for funeral costs as well as the long-term care of Ms. Oglesby’s two children.

According to The Dayton Daily News, she worked at a day care center, and grew up attending church and going to drill team. She was a former student at Sinclair Community College.

Nicholas P. Cumer

Mr. Cumer, 25, had just five more days to go in his internship at Maple Tree Cancer Alliance in Dayton, the final requirement for his master’s degree in exercise physiology from St. Francis University in Pennsylvania. Then he planned to take a permanent position that Maple Tree had offered him.

“He really wanted to spend the rest of his life working with cancer patients,” said Karen Wonders, Maple Tree’s executive director. “Most 25-year-olds don’t think that way.”

Two colleagues had just bought a house and were celebrating on Saturday, and they took Mr. Cumer along to show him the best his new home city had to offer. “If you’re going to go out in Dayton, that’s where you’re going to go,” Ms. Wonders said of the Oregon district, where the shooting took place. The two colleagues were injured in the shooting.

The Maple Tree Cancer Alliance guides patients through exercise sessions during their treatment, and Mr. Cumer, who had worked full time since May, was responsible for 20 patients.

“One of the things that stands out about Nick is that for every single one of his patients, he made them feel that they were the most important person in the world,” Ms. Wonders said. “That’s not something you can teach.”

Working with cancer patients, “we’re accustomed to heartbreak,” Ms. Wonders said of her staff. “We’ve lost some very special people — patients — to us this year. What caught people off guard is, now it’s one of our own. We’re the ones who are strong for everybody else. Now the tables are turned.”

Derrick R. Fudge

Mr. Fudge, 57, spent the last day of his life with his entire family — all 100 of them — at a cookout by a reservoir in Springfield.

“It was a wonderful opportunity for all of us — now it’s the best memory,” said Twyla Southall, his younger sister. “He was sitting at the table, laughing, eating and drinking.”

Mr. Fudge was with his son and 10-year-old granddaughter, whose house was devastated by a recent tornado in the area, Ms. Southall said. They had just repaired the home, and Mr. Fudge was looking forward to painting the girl’s room.

“We were actually celebrating an aunt’s victory over cancer,” Ms. Southall said on Monday after visiting a funeral home to make arrangements for a service on Aug. 10. “She’s not sick anymore, but it wasn’t her that we would have to worry about.”

Mr. Fudge, who grew up in Springfield with two sisters and three brothers, worked as a cook at several restaurants, Ms. Southall said. When he was a child, she recalled, he was hit by a train while playing, and lost three toes.

On Saturday night, he had gone out in Dayton with his son to celebrate a friend’s birthday. His son escaped without injury. “He loved life and he loved his family,” Ms. Southall said of her brother.

Beatrice N. Warren-Curtis

Ms. Warren-Curtis, 36, grew up in Wilmington, Del., and had moved to Virginia, where she worked in the Virginia Beach office of Anthem, the health insurance company. She was in Dayton visiting a co-worker and close friend, Monica Brickhouse, who also was killed in the shooting.

“She loved her family, especially her mom; she enjoyed traveling to watch her nephew play basketball and hanging out with her niece,” recalled her friend Lakisha Jarrett. “She loved to go to the football games to see her favorite team play, the Philadelphia Eagles.”

Ms. Jarrett said that she met Ms. Warren-Curtis, or Nikki, as her friends called her, in 2000 when they both worked at Coleman & Associates in Norfolk, Va.

“We instantly clicked,” Ms. Jarrett said. “She touched many lives with her presence. You were guaranteed a laugh or two, and maybe even three, if she was around. She was just full of life.”

Friends mourned her on Facebook as someone of strong religious faith who loved traveling. She posted photos of herself walking a beach in Cancún. When the film “Black Panther” came out, she posted that she would take children to see the film if their mothers could not afford tickets.

“Living life as He has designed for me to do!” she wrote. “I am who I am! Confident never cocky!”

Saeed Saleh

Saeed Saleh, 38, grew up in Eritrea and emigrated to Ohio about three years ago, according to Yahya Khamis, a leader of the Sudanese community in Dayton, which assists Eritrean immigrants, most of whom are recent arrivals. “Most of the Eritreans have been in Sudan,” Mr. Khamis said. “We understand each other. We speak the same language.”

Mr. Saleh lived in Dayton with his wife and a young daughter, while two other children live in Eritrea with his mother, Mr. Khamis said. Like many African immigrants, he said, Mr. Saleh held down several jobs, working at a warehouse and driving for a car service.

The Oregon district of Dayton, where the shooting took place, is a magnet for drivers looking for fares, and Mr. Khamis said he believed that was probably what Mr. Saleh was doing there on Saturday night when the gunfire broke out.

“He was a very good guy, he was very quiet,” Mr. Khamis said, adding that on Sunday, he had spent time with the family. “His wife was crying all day, and they had a lot of pictures with him and his daughter.”

Logan Turner

Logan Turner, 30, worked as a machinist operating computer-controlled tools at the Thaler Machine Company in Springboro, about 12 miles south of Dayton. After three years on the job, he had already gained a reputation as one of Thaler’s top employees, according to Greg Donson, the president of the company.

Mr. Turner was earning an associate degree at a vocational school and working as server at the Whiskey Barrel Saloon when Mr. Donson met and recruited him. Mr. Donson said Mr. Turner soon distinguished himself as an intelligent, hard worker with a good attitude.

“He was quickly working his way to the top,” Mr. Donson said. “A very positive person, with a big smile. Just a great guy.”

The governor of Ohio pushed for a ‘red flag’ law after the Dayton shooting.

(THIS IS NOT ENOUGH, BAN WEAPONS OF WAR, LARGE CAPACITY MAGAZINES AND UNIVERSAL BACKGROUND CHECKS. ANYTHING LESS IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH)

Two days after being drowned out by shouts of “Do something!” at a vigil for mass shooting victims in Dayton, Gov. Mike DeWine of Ohio announced proposals on Tuesday that he said could reduce such shootings and limit gun access for people with mental health problems.

Mr. DeWine proposed adopting a version of a “red flag” law, which would allow the authorities to take firearms from a person deemed by a court to be dangerous.

He also said he would ask the General Assembly to pass a law requiring background checks for all firearm sales in the state, with some exceptions, including gifts between family members.

Mr. DeWine, a Republican endorsed by the National Rifle Association, encountered an angry, grieving crowd Sunday evening in Dayton, where nine people were killed in an entertainment district by a gunman with a history of misogyny and violent threats. Mr. DeWine was delivering condolences when his speech was interrupted with chants of “Do something!” that made it impossible to hear the governor. Later, some in the crowd chanted “What do we want? Gun control! When do we want it? Now!”

Mr. DeWine, who took office in January, had previously spoken in support of red flag legislation, but the Republican-led Legislature never took up the proposal.

His latest ideas could face skepticism from both sides of the political divide: Democrats are unlikely to find the proposals sweeping enough, and Republicans lawmakers are often loath to consider any legislation that would curb gun rights.

[newyorktheater]

As “Pipeline” begins, we learn that a black teenager has gotten into a physical scuffle with his teacher and is in danger of being expelled, and arrested. But playwright Dominique Morisseau masterfully upends the tired assumptions that might attach to such a drama, in a play that is not just smart and engaging; it is also the most literate of any I’ve seen this year.

The teenager, Omari (Namir Smallwood), attends a mostly white private boarding school. The encounter occurred, as Omari later explains to his mother, after a discussion of Richard Wright’s novel “Native Son,” when the teacher kept on asking him questions about the African-American protagonist of that novel, the killer Bigger Thomas. “’What made Bigger Thomas kill that woman? What were his social limitations? What made the animal in him explode?’ And who he lookin’ at when he askin’ all these questions, Ma. Who he lookin’ at?”

“Omari,” his mother replies.

“Like I’m the spokesperson. Like I’m Bigger Thomas. Like I’m pre-disposed or some shit to knowing what it’s like to be an animal.”

“Pipeline”is no polemic. The play focuses less on Omari than it does on his mother, Nya, portrayed by the wonderful actress Karen Pittman (Disgraced, King Liz) – and, truth be told, she too has questions and concerns about her own son…and other mothers’ sons. She is a teacher herself, in what is euphemistically called (but not in this play!) an “inner city school.”

Nya is also a single mother – but, again, that doesn’t mean what some people would assume. Omari’s father Xavier (Morocco Omari) is a successful businessman, who is paying for Omari’s schooling. We even piece together, in passing, that it was Nya’s actions that destroyed the marriage.

Again and again, in other words, the playwright insists on the specificity of her characters. This long has impressed me about Dominique Morisseau, who in addition to her playwriting is a writer for the Showtime series “Shameless,” about a struggling family in Chicago, and whose previous plays include “Skeleton Crew,” about a financially-threatened group of Detroit auto workers, which was given a terrific production last year.

Off stage, Morisseau is passionate and outspoken about a range of social and political issues, but her beliefs never seem to interfere with her integrity as a playwright . She doesn’t use her characters to score points; she allows them their lives – which are as full and complicated as any of the characters we are more used to seeing on stage. It is refreshing, for example, that “Pipeline” features a character, Dun (Jaime Lincoln Smith), who is intelligent and caring and flirtatious and adulterous…and works as a minimum wage school security guard.

All six characters in “Pipeline” are given their due, aided immeasurably by some outstanding performances under the fine direction of Lileana Blain-Cruz.

The title of Morisseau’s play is an oft-used term among educators, employed as a metaphor for the fate awaiting school children. The students labeled “gifted” go into one pipeline. The term is commonly used these days to describe what happens way too often to poor children of color — “the school to prison pipeline,” which was the subject of Anna Deavere Smith’s documentary drama, “Notes from the Field.”

There is no mention of this term in the play itself (although there’s an explanation of it in the accompanying issue of the Lincoln Center Theatre Review.) The problems in education are presented obliquely but effectively, and not downplayed: In between scenes, Hannah Wasileski’s huge video projections of what look to be real-life chaos and violence inside an actual school cover the institutional wall of a set that looks like an especially forbidding high school gymnasium.  Nya’s colleague Laurie (the gloriously in-your-face Tasha Lawrence), has just returned to school after facial reconstruction surgery to repair the damage from an attack by the parents of a failing student. “I’ll outlast ‘em all,” she barks. (Bythe end of the play, we’re not so sure.)

Nya most eloquently expresses her worries about her son when she is teaching the 1959 poem by Gwendolyn Brooks, “We Real Cool: The Pool Players Seven at the Golden Shovel”:

  We real cool. We

Left school. We

  Lurk late. We

Strike straight. We

  Sing sin. We

Thin gin. We

  Jazz June. We

Die soon.

  Nya teaches the poem to her class, and to the audience too. It’s a testament to the skills of Pipeline’s playwright, director and performers how much this poem winds up meaning to us, and moving us.

There may not be a traditional story arc in “Pipeline” — as the play progresses, we dig deeper into the characters — and no clear-cut resolution at its end, but that to me speaks to Morisseau’s integrity. She’s telling us like it is; a pat ending would ring false, given the circumstances. Any hopefulness is unlikely to exterminate the frustration and resentment and uncertainty.

Along the way, we are treated to Morisseau’s gifts, which include not just her compassionate portrayals and an easygoing grasp of literary poetry, but her exquisite ear for the delightful everyday poetry in the way people talk, such as in the dialogue between Omari and his boarding school girlfriend Jasmine (Heather Velazquez.) Her parents (like his) thrust her into this alien environment to get her out of the neighborhood and its bad influences. In a scene in her dorm room, Omari has just announced to her that he’s going to run away from school.

“Yo, this could be our last time,” he says, making a move. “You kiddin’ me right now?” she says, darting up out of the bed. “I’m just seeking intimacy.” “You seeking to get socked in the eye. I don’t turn on and off like no stove.” “You mean a faucet.” “I mean a stove. One minute you got me hot. Next minute fire’s out…”

Later, using a lesson he learned in “Mr. Peterson’s Science Class,” Omari compares Jasmine to “Metamorphic rocks. They change in form. Made from heat and pressure. That’s what makes ‘em so rare and interesting. “

That sounds like a good description of all the characters in “Pipeline” – and of the play itself.

  Pipeline

Lincoln Center’s Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater

Written by Dominique Morisseau; Directed by Lileana Blain-Cruz Set design by Matt Saunders, costume design by Montana Blanco, lighting design by Yi Zhao, sound design by Justin Ellington. Cast: Tasha Lawrence, Morocco Omari, Karen Pittman, Namir Smallwood, Jaime Lincoln Smith and Heather Velazquez Running time: 90 minutes, no intermission. Tickets: $87 Pipeline is scheduled to run through August 27, 2017

Pipeline Review: A Mother and Teacher Worries About Her Son As “Pipeline” begins, we learn that a black teenager has gotten into a physical scuffle with his teacher and is in danger of being expelled, and arrested.