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retiredkat · 3 months

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New York Times Interview with Ben Daniels. Farewell Santiago, you marvelous bastard!

‘Interview With the Vampire’: Ben Daniels on That Bloody Season 2 Finale

“He has an energy that’s fun to hate,” the British actor said of his swaggering vampire character in AMC’s series-length Anne Rice adaptation.

June 30, 2024

A man in a gray shirt and striped trousers stands posed as another man comes up behind him

Ben Daniels, left, and Jacob Anderson in the season finale of “Interview With the Vampire.”Larry Horricks/AMC

This interview contains spoilers for the Season 2 finale of “Interview With the Vampire.”

Until his time in AMC’s “Interview With the Vampire” was cut short — along with his head — in the Season 2 finale, Santiago was the toast of the vampiric theater scene.

Played by the British actor Ben Daniels, himself an Olivier Award-winning veteran of the stage, Santiago was a dashing and devilish performer at the Théâtre des Vampires, in postwar Paris. Formerly known as Francis, a failed English actor, Santiago transformed himself into an underworld dandy after becoming a bloodsucker — and took a cooler-sounding name — rarely seen without a vampiress on each arm and a theatrically hateful twinkle in his eye.

“He’s so awful and delicious at the same time!” Daniels said in a video interview last week. “And it’s his relish of it as well, his glee. He just loves being a vampire.”

Daniels added: “He has an energy that’s fun to hate.”

Unfortunately for Santiago, the show’s title vampire was his hater-in-chief. Over the course of Season 2, which concluded on Sunday, Santiago seized control of the theater troupe, which turned out to be a coven of vampires in disguise. At the season’s climax, Santiago staged a mock trial that ended with the real execution-by-sunlight of Claudia (Delainey Hayles) and her companion, Madeleine (Roxane Duran). It was for this crime that Santiago lost his head to their father figure, the vampire Louis (Jacob Anderson), in the finale.

Based on the novels of Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles series, the AMC show, created and overseen by Rolin Jones, has already been renewed for a third season. But Daniels doesn’t feel too bad that his character won’t live to see Season 3. Santiago had it coming given his bad behavior — particularly by the end.

“If you didn’t want him dead before,” Daniels said, “you certainly do then.”

These are edited excerpts from the conversation.

If you’re an ex-high school drama club goth who loved “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” Santiago is a very magnetic figure. In the show, he even has fans who attend every performance and dress up in character.

“Rocky Horror” was a big influence, “Rocky Horror” and “Cabaret.” I’m so glad Tim Curry’s performance in “The Rocky Horror Show” exists onscreen because it’s one of the best performances ever. I would’ve loved to have seen that in the theater.

I was curious if there was a David Bowie influence, too.

Yes! Santiago gets more and more nihilistic as it goes on, and I thought, it’s so Thin White Duke — that awful cocaine coldness. I just sent Carol Cutshall, the costume designer, endless pictures of Bowie as the Thin White Duke. If you compare, she completely replicated it. Then she added a see-through shirt, which is genius.

As a screen presence, Santiago needs that kind of ammo. He has to hold his own with the “big four” members of the show’s emotional quadrangle, Louis, Lestat [Sam Reid], Claudia and Armand [Assad Zaman], even though he’s not romantically or emotionally involved with any of them.

[Smiling] Is he not?

Well, well, well!

This was one of the first jobs I’ve ever done sight unseen, just because it meant working with Rolin. From the outset, Rolin called up and said, “Listen, are you OK if we don’t make Santiago queer?” I was like, “Yeah, I can sort of see it.”

But as the script started to come in, I thought the only way this level of vitriol that he has works is if he’s in love with Armand. There is this extraordinary psychological term called reaction formation, which is what Iago has for Othello. It’s a defense mechanism whereby your impulses are so unacceptable to your ego that they’re replaced by this opposite, exaggerated behavior.

Santiago finds Louis incredibly attractive. Because Armand killed Santiago’s maker — who I think he was in love with too — and also finds Louis attractive, the whole thing must be destroyed. It gave such a drive to his hatred. It was just something ruminating in myself that drove him forward in a very aggressive, mad, extreme way.

You’re not just a human playing a vampire playing a human playing a vampire. You’re also a stage actor playing a stage actor.

When we shot the majority of the theater stuff in Episode 2, I’d been doing “Madea” for three months on the West End. I finished on a Sunday, and on Wednesday or Thursday I was shooting that whole sequence. So I was already primed when Levan [the director of Episode 2, Levan Akin] said: “Do it like a theatrical performance. We’ll take care of everything.” They filmed everything wide with four cameras, so we didn’t know when we were on and when we weren’t. You just had to keep at it. It was relentless, and he shot it brilliantly.

In Episode 7, just before Claudia dies, being on that stage was like doing a play. We shot that courtroom sequence in 15-minute chunks. They were insane. A lot of the time there were no cameras onstage with us. They were either on cranes, so they were sweeping in and out, or it would only be Emma [the director of Episode 7, Emma Freeman] shooting, doing all the close coverage first so you get these fresh performances immediately, not at the end of three days or whatever. Then all the cameras went away, so you never saw them again. It became like a play.

Is it tricky, as an actor, to play an actor with a … different level of talent?

Poor old Francis. Yes, he’s never achieved the giddy heights that he would like to have. He’s a big old show pony, isn’t he? Basically, I was like a magpie, looking at everything from Vincent Price in “Theater of Blood” — well, Vincent Price in lots of things, actually — to my cat. I would watch how my cat plays with mice, and I was like: You know what? I’m going to steal a bit of that.

Had you ever wanted to play a vampire?

Yes, absolutely. I love horror. It’s what I live for. I grew up watching Christopher Lee as Dracula, and William Marshall as Prince Mamuwalde in “Blacula.” Very debonair, theatrical, that rich voice. I’ve watched those vampires as long as I can remember.

I’ve always adored horror. Kids that are outsiders often do. Growing up as a queer kid, those villains, like the vampires, are often how people treat gay people. It’s always there, that queer coding. In those old James Whale movies, it’s there. It’s written into them.

More than any other writer, Anne Rice identified the tragedy within the monstrousness of the vampire. They are immortal, but the people they love can still die, and that experience stays with them literally forever.

Part of the reason I can’t watch “Vampire” at the moment is my partner just died. The resonances are huge at the moment. Grief is a [expletive] beast. It’s like being mugged in broad daylight, and you never know when it’s going to hit you. She explores all that brilliantly.

I think in any kind of creative job, you are like a sponge. You soak up what is happening to you, or in the world, and sometimes it bleeds out, and it’s useful. We were shooting “Vampire” when Ian [his partner, the actor Ian Gelder] was first diagnosed [with lung cancer; Gelder was later diagnosed with bile duct cancer, from which he died last month]. When I started watching Episode 2, I know what was going on in my life fed into it — of course it would, when you’re telling a story about death and dying and killing people and living forever. I watched it; I knew the conversations I was having between takes … It is too much at the moment. It’s too close to home.

But [eventually], I will be able to see what I was going through with Ian, even in the anger I have with other characters. I know it will have informed it in some way, but I hope in a good way.

What I am enjoying is people’s reactions to it, without actually watching it. Rolin called me up and said: “Just Google yourself. Search ‘Ben Daniels Santiago’ on Twitter. Look at people’s reactions if you’re not going to watch it.” So I’ve been living through people reacting to it, which has been great.

#iwtv spoilers #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #ben daniels #santiago

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longdeadking · 5 months

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By the time Mia was done asking Larry questions, they'd actually learned a lot.

The murder weapon wasn't just a statue, it was a clock — and one that was handmade, too, with only two in existence in the world. Larry had made it himself and given it to Ms. Stone as a gift, keeping the other one for himself.

Ms. Stone had been in Paris until the day of the murder. Larry thought she was going for a photoshoot, probably, but neither of them had an international plan, so they didn't talk while she was abroad.

Larry went to her apartment after she was scheduled to get back because she hadn't called yet, even though she promised she would as soon as she got home. But she wasn't there, so Larry left, assuming that her flight had gotten delayed, or there were problems with her luggage or something.

There was nobody with motive and means to kill her, as far as Larry knew. She was private about her address and her job was pretty low-key. Ms. Stone had been gone for two weeks, so neither she nor Larry would know if anyone had been hanging around.

It was a surprisingly helpful interview.

Of course, it only started being that helpful after he and Mia had gone back to the office and pieced together the information out of Larry's dramatics and unfortunately suspicious word choice. Phoenix, having expected something along those lines, had snuck in a little recording device so that he didn't have to take notes. It was probably not legal to bring something like that into a basically-prison, but it was really the security's fault for not checking him more thoroughly.

That was his philosophy for most of the things he did. If the police were more effective, if there were actual programs in place to make sure people never had to turn to crime, if he could trust the people in charge to have the citizens' best interests at heart, then he wouldn't need to be Spider-Man. He'd just be a regular old civilian with superpowers.

They wrapped up the day with a much more substantial case file and a trial looming in the morning, but before Phoenix could grab his bag and get home, Mia stopped him.

"You said you know the client, right?" she asked. It was a leading question. Mia loved those. Phoenix sort of hated them, but he answered anyway.

"Yeah." And then he didn't elaborate.

Mia didn't scowl exactly, but she wasn't smiling. "He seemed very familiar with you. And you him."

"Oh, yeah, we go way back," Phoenix shrugged. His mouth was starting to feel dry. This was the most he'd told the Chief about his life since the first time they met.

"How did you two meet? College? He's an artist, so maybe you crossed paths with him then," Mia offered, knowing very well it was a lie. She'd met all of Phoenix's friends from college. One of them was a murderer and his girlfriend. The rest of them didn't exist.

She was extending an olive branch, but Phoenix was just too tired to file away the lie to keep up later, so he sat back down at his desk with a huff. "No, we've known each other since we were kids. We went to grade school together. He's one of the reasons I'm doing what I do today."

Doing what I do. Very smooth, Phoenix, not vague and weasely at all. But you couldn't blame him, really. He spent all his time around lawyers, the weasel supremes.

Mia raised a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. "And what is it that you do?"

"Y'know," Phoenix shrugged. "Justice."

A loaded word, justice. For Phoenix in particular. In this moment, he meant his night job beating up muggers and creeps, gathering information for Mia to pull out with a flourish in the courtroom. He was the underbelly of her high society, the stain on her perfect conscience. She appreciated him as an assistant, but she didn't love the vigilantism. It made sense. She was a lawyer. She couldn't fraternize with criminals.

Still, Mia smiled, looking half-relieved. Phoenix had talked around the point, like always, and like always, Mia caught him in the act.

"I'm glad he's there for you, then," she said.

"He won't be if he's stuck in jail."

"Then we'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen."

Mia said it with such certainty that Phoenix didn't even hesitate to believe her. She would get Larry acquitted because he was innocent. No prosecutors or police detectives or warped reflections of justice would stop her. Nothing would. She was Mia Fey, unstoppable.

Phoenix left the office with a light heart, despite the circumstances.

Night hadn't fallen yet, but the sky was just starting to go dim and orange at the edges. He had a couple of hours of down time before he had to go out. Usually, he'd spend those hours texting Larry or Googling case precedents for Mia's next trial, but Larry wasn't available and the Chief already had her case laid out. Murder trials always went by quick. Another way the system failed.

At least it meant criminals got put away quickly.

Phoenix decided to spend his free time actually stretching and warming up. He'd had a good yoga tutorial saved on his laptop for a while, but he used it less than he probably should. His body was pretty resilient, was the thing, so he tended to ignore the aches and cramps, fighting them off with painkillers and heating pads if they were making it hard to move, because by the next morning, they'd be gone.

The yoga still felt nice, though. It got his brain in gear.

Night fell as Phoenix stretched, and once the video ended, he was ready to suit up and hit the bricks.

Miles Edgeworth was still in his office.

It was dark, and nearly every other prosecutor was gone, trickling out over the course of the few hours after five o'clock.

The Chief Prosecutor was still here. Her door must have been open, because Miles could hear someone speaking to her from down the hall. The chief of police, most likely, considering the topics brought up in the few snippets Miles could decipher. Chief Prosecutor Skye seemed to never speak above a firm but close-quarters tone, but Police Chief Gant was much louder, projecting his voice seemingly by accident. As such, the conversation from Miles' perspective seemed to be rather one-sided, although knowing Prosecutor Skye, she was speaking back constantly.

The pitch and volume of the conversation rose until Miles could almost make out what Prosecutor Skye was saying, and he could clearly hear Chief Gant. It was an argument about misfiled evidence, apparently, and an attorney requesting a retrial for which no evidence or interviews were recorded. Gant was furiously defensive, but Prosecutor Skye had taken control of the conversation, and she was not going to back down. Miles respected that about the Chief Prosecutor. Like his mentor, Prosecutor Skye would not be dismissed, and her words were law, often even over those of the judge. Before she was Chief Prosecutor, she was much more timid, often letting the opposing counsel lead the trial, but since her promotion, she had developed a confidence that even Miles could not match. Were they not working for the same cause, on the same side of the courtroom, Miles would have loved to be put against Prosecutor Skye.

However, she was his superior, and more importantly his coworker, and so he pushed the daydream from his mind and turned his steely focus back to the case.

A murder trial, investigated headed by Detective Gumshoe. The victim, a model, murdered in her home with a blunt object. The key witness, Mr. Frank Sahwit, whose police interview was the central point of Miles' argument.

The accused, one Mr. Larry Butz.

That was what stopped Miles the first time. And then the next several times.

All of the defendants that he prosecuted against were guilty, as their verdicts agreed. If a criminal crossed his path in court, they would be punished for their crimes. It was impossible to empathize with them. It was impossible to think that they could be innocent or misunderstood. The evil it took to kill another human being was too great for that. It could not be forgiven.

And yet, Miles could not make himself believe that Larry Butz was guilty.

He'd tried. Over and over again, he'd scoured the evidence, spoken to Gumshoe, visited the crime scene himself, and yet, he still found himself feeling sympathy for the man. It was embarrassing. He had no connection to Mr. Butz outside of a single year of grade school that, in the face of von Karma's legacy and Miles' own success, was so small that it was laughable that he even remembered the man's name a all. He had no idea how his character had changed over the fifteen years they had been apart. Miles certainly grew more ruthless, but his wrath was trained, focused on the ultimate good of bringing justice to the world. Larry Butz, a monstrous and chaotic child, could not have been groomed into perfection as Miles had. Really, murder was the natural progression for him.

Miles repeated it to himself again. It made sense that Larry Butz killed Cindy Stone. Mr. Sahwit's account was airtight, and Butz was the exact kind of person that would commit such a violent crime. There was no reason to doubt, and therefore by doubting, Miles was being unreasonable. Imperfect. He would sit in this office and reread the file until he saw reason. That was the only way.

Miles' pen exploded in his white-knuckled grip.

Chief Gant and Chief Skye went suddenly very quiet. There was a moment of silence as they, probably, finished their conversation in hushed tones, and then two sets of footsteps departed from the office in two different directions.

One of those directions was towards Miles' office. He felt his stomach sink into the basement — a feat, considering his office was on the twelfth floor. His desk was a disorganized mess of papers, he certainly looked terrible, and his pen was still leaking ink onto his hand. He was frozen as the footsteps grew nearer and nearer, and then the door opened, and Chief Prosecutor Skye stepped inside.

"Edgeworth? You're still here? It's nearly ten," she said. When she noticed the smashed pen, she asked, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course everything is fine," Miles said quickly. "I simply didn't notice that my pen was partially broken, and I used slightly too much force while making a note, causing it to snap. The documents are not stained." They weren't, he'd checked. It was the first thing he did after breaking the pen, before even considering washing his hands. Legal documents were much higher priority than his own stained fingertips.

Prosecutor Skye looked down at the papers, recognizing them as the Stone case. "Is this case giving you trouble? I could have it transferred if you'd like. I think Payne has an opening."

"No, please, I have it perfectly handled. I simply lost track of time while ensuring that my case is perfect for the trial tomorrow morning. There is no need to transfer the case to someone else," Miles said, face pinching as he realized that he was very obviously begging the Chief Prosecutor. Clearly this case had rattled him very badly, if he was acting so immature.

"Right. Well, if you need anything, you can call or send me an email," Chief Prosecutor Skye said slowly. "I'm going to leave as soon as I gather my things from my office, and I would prefer that you leave then as well."

Miles nodded. It made perfect logical sense that the Chief Prosecutor would not feel comfortable letting anyone other than herself lock up the building for the night. It was yet another example of her level-headed intelligence. It contrasted terribly with Miles' overemotional outburst. He did not make eye contact with the Chief Prosecutor as she left, and he neatened his office as well as he could with one hand before practically sprinting out of his office to avoid meeting her in the hall. His hand was still covered in ink, although he'd wiped as much as he could off with tissues from a little tin container at the receptionist's empty desk. He used more tissues to protect his steering wheel from the ink as he drove home. He did not think about Larry Butz. He did not think about Spider-Man. He did not think about court.

He did not think about anything at all.

Japanifornia never slept.

Phoenix thought that was probably another city's slogan already, but it worked in this situation, and hey, what's a little copyright infringement to a superhero?

He was currently perched on the rooftop of a high-rise kitty-corner to Eldoon's Noodle Stand. He'd made a habit of stopping by for food when their paths crossed, but Mr. Eldoon was getting sick of him stealing the bowls so he could eat in privacy. Lifting his mask, even for a second, was not an option, so tonight he'd come prepared — in the tool belt around his waist, among the gadgets and helpful trinkets, was a small soup thermos.

He pulled out the thermos first, then tucked it under his arm as he used his free hand to swing down right in front of the stand's path.

Mr. Eldoon didn't even flinch.

"Mr. Spider-Man, Terror of Noodle Stands! Have you come to kidnap more of my family's heirloom noodle bowls?" Mr. Eldoon drawled, coming to a stop.

Phoenix grinned even though Eldoon couldn't see it and held out the thermos. "It's Terror of Japanifornia, actually. And nope! This time I came prepared."

"It should be Terror of Noodle Stands," Mr. Eldoon grumbled, reluctantly scooping broth into the mug. "I'll have to contact that woman from the press and make her change your tagline."

"If you're going through all that trouble, could you ask them to make it something a little nicer?" Phoenix asked.

"You don't deserve something nicer."

Phoenix sniffled, doing his best to communicate being on the verge of tears without facial expressions. "I'm hurt, Mr. Eldoon. I thought I was your favorite customer."

"You'll be my favorite customer when you start paying for your dinner!" Mr. Eldoon snapped.

Phoenix just laughed. Mr. Eldoon never let him pay. "You'll stop being my favorite vendor when you start charging me!"

As Phoenix tucked the thermos back into his belt, he felt a wavering sort of sensation behind him. His back tensed.

Trouble was always around in Japanifornia. It was everywhere, if you knew where to look. When Phoenix got his superpowers, one of the thing he'd noticed was this sixth-sense for danger — not to himself, but to others. Buildings about to collapse, muggers about to pull a gun, manipulators about to spring a trap. It was the reason he could be a hero. Without his spidey-sense (as he'd coined it when he first got his powers, a decision he regrets every day), he'd be useless.

So he waved goodbye to Mr. Eldoon and swung away, towards the growing danger.

The city looked different at night than during the day, and it looked different on the rooftops than on the ground, but Phoenix would have to be blind not to recognize the area. His spidey-sense was taking him right to Fey and Co. Law Offices.

He stopped on the roof of the neighboring hotel, the Watergate or something, where he had a good vantage point into Mia's window. The office lights were off, which was a good sign, but Phoenix could sense some movement through the glass.

A car passed by, and in the second that the headlights illuminated the room, Phoenix saw where the movement had come from.

A gigantic man in a pastel pink suit was standing at Mia's desk, apparently taking apart her office phone. His hands were covered in massive, heavy-looking gold rings (that would fucking hurt to get punched by, Phoenix noted), and as a result, his progress with the tiny screwdriver was slow. He definitely didn't look like a repairman, and it was almost midnight — even if he was a repair guy with a weird personal style, there was no reason for him to be in the office so late. Mia would never schedule something like that, and she owned the place.

The only conclusion was that this guy was bad news.

Phoenix was conflicted. He could burst through the window right now and stop this weirdo from doing whatever it is he was doing, but as Spider-Man, he had no reason to. Spider-Man didn't know Mia Fey, and had no idea that this stranger wasn't the owner of this office. Intervening would mean drawing a connection between Mia Fey and Spider-Man, and Phoenix didn't want to put the Chief in that position.

The man was definitely breaking and entering, but until he did something that would get the cops suspicious, Phoenix couldn't do anything about it. He resigned himself to memorizing the man's face, so that if anything turned up stolen, Phoenix would be able to identify him. He certainly had a memorable enough appearance.

Once he was sure he'd memorized the trespasser, Phoenix turned away from the office and followed another trail.

The night was busy, like it always was. Not many actual fights or threats, but a lot of drunk kids who needed someone to call them a cab, girls who wanted someone to scare off a creep, and shady deals that needed someone to supervise them. Plus, Phoenix swung by Ms. Stone's apartment building to see if there was anything suspicious going on. Ms. Stone's apartment was dark as far as he could tell, and after hanging around keeping an eye on it for a bit, he left, satisfied that nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

There was always trouble on the streets of Japanifornia, but as Spider-Man, Phoenix could do something about it. He could save people.

If only he'd had superpowers back then. If only he could've saved him.

Miles arrived at the Prosecutors' Office at eight a.m. exactly, parking in the garage and scaling the thirteen flights of stairs with practiced swiftness. The Stone case was organized perfectly within his briefcase, and his head was clear of any thoughts of vigilantes or innocent defendants. He was prepared to crush his opponent, whoever they would be. His argument was flawless. The previous day had been embarrassing, but he had put that behind him now. It was irrational to linger on the past, however recent that past may be.

Miles opened the door to his office to see Chief Prosecutor Skye already inside. Immediately he was on edge.

Chief Prosecutor Skye smiled sadly at him. "Edgeworth, I have bad news about your case today."

"What is it?" Miles said, trying not to let his dread show in his tone.

"I've transferred the case to Winston Payne. He requested it, and after seeing how stressed you were last night, I thought it would be for the best."

Miles was speechless.

This had never happened before. Not to him. He'd had many cases transferred to him on extremely short notice (once, notably, only ten minutes before the trial began), but he had never had a case of his transferred to someone else.

Chief Prosecutor Skye did not trust him with this case. She must have realized, somehow, that he was faltering in his resolve, and acted accordingly by removing him. It was a logical decision. Surgically so, Miles thought, like removing a diseased limb to prevent the infection from spreading. Was the case the diseased limb? Or was Miles?

"That's not the only reason," Chief Skye continued after a pause that felt much longer to Miles than it was in actuality. "I was recently made aware of who exactly would be representing the defendant, and with your history, I thought you wouldn't want to be against her again."

"Chief Prosecutor, I completely understand your decision. There is no need to justify yourself. I will pass my current notes to Mr. Payne right away," Miles forced out.

Chief Skye nodded. "Thanks for being understanding. I'm sorry about the short notice."

"You're perfectly alright," Miles said.

He turned around, briefcase clutched in shaking hands, and descended the stairs to search for Mr. Payne's office.

Usually on trial days, Phoenix would just meet Mia at the courthouse. He'd sleep in a bit, get dressed slowly, and enter the defendant lobby with a relaxed, well-rested air.

This morning, though, the memory of the man inside the office the night before had Phoenix tossing and turning, and when his regular work alarm went off, instead of silencing it, he grudgingly got ready to head to the office. The August heat was enough to kill a normal man, and biking in a full suit was nearly enough to finish off Phoenix, abnormal as he was. The lack of sleep definitely wasn't helping. Not for the first time, Phoenix was thankful that he wasn't the one doing the thinking in court — he'd be flying by the seat of his pants.

Mia was already in the office when he arrived, and she seemed reasonably surprised to see him. Phoenix stopped before he had a chance to start talking as his eyes caught on a new piece of decor.

"Morning, Chief. Cool lamp."

Mia looked behind her at the glass floor lamp balanced precariously on a short bookshelf. "Oh, that. I ordered it a while ago. It just shipped last night, so I stayed late to set it up. What do you think?"

"Looks… fragile, but very fancy," Phoenix decided. "Actually, speaking of last night, I was around and I saw something kind of weird."

"You were 'around?' Did anybody see you?" Mia asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"Nope, but I saw somebody. He was big, purple hair, pink suit, a ton of rings. He was messing with the office phone." Phoenix tried to sound casual.

It didn't work. Mia's face was deadly serious. "Purple hair and a pink suit? You're sure? It wasn't just the light?"

"It could've been, but the colors weren't exactly muted," Phoenix said.

"Did he take anything? Move anything?" Mia stood and started scanning her bookshelves.

Phoenix shook his head. "No, he just did something to the phone. I think he was taking it apart. I didn't stay for long, though, and he was already there when I showed up."

Mia wasn't listening. She was pulling files off of her shelf, scanning through them with single-minded focus. The files she pulled out seemed random. A few under "W," some under "S," specific files from "F," "E," and "G." Only once she'd pulled files and folders from all over her shelf did she lean back, satisfied.

"Okay. I need to check the phone. Can you look for anything else suspicious in the office?" Mia asked.

Phoenix gave a thumbs up, but hesitated. "We've only got an hour until the trial, Chief. We should wait."

"If the intruder is who I think it is, we can't afford to wait," Mia argued. "Do you se anything? Any bugs, anything moved?"

Phoenix gave the office a quick scan, but nothing stuck out. Mia was leaning over the office phone with a mini-screwdriver, meticulously taking it apart.

The cover popped off, and Mia sucked in a breath. Phoenix was at her side in a second.

"It's a wiretap," Phoenix whispered. "A listening device. Chief, did you call anybody this morning? About anything?"

Mia shook her head. "Not yet, thank God. I don't take calls before trials."

"Right. Okay. So, we take this off and lock the doors and hope the guy doesn't come back." Phoenix felt dread rise in his stomach as he laid ut the plan.

Mia looked desperate. "Is there any chance you could stay behind and watch the office?"

Phoenix hesitated. "Larry's my friend. I owe him. Plus, I can tell when he's about to say something stupid."

Mia nodded and started gathering her case, but it was slow. "You're indispensable behind the bench, Phoenix. You know that. But if White comes back, I trust you to be there. I don't want to leave all this unattended."

"White? You know the guy who bugged you?" Phoenix asked.

"Maybe. I hope it isn't him, but… Prepare for the worst, right?" Mia gave a weak smile.

"This is the worst? Why haven't I heard of this guy?" Phoenix was following Mia out of the office. He locked the door behind them, and for extra measure, sealed the gaps with some webbing. Risky in public and out of costume, but the tension leaving Mia's shoulders was worth it. It was only a little bit, though.

"You've heard of him," Mia said. "You just don't know it. He keeps his name out of criminal business."

"But how? No one's that sneaky."

"You can be when you've got all the hush money in the world."

Phoenix and Mia made identical faces of disgust. Any other day, it would've been funny.

"I'll tell you more about White after the trial," Mia said as they approached the courthouse. "It's a lot to explain right now. I didn't want you involved, but if he's getting this bold, I might need your help."

Phoenix had a hundred more questions that he wanted to ask, but they were running late already, and Larry was waiting for them. He'd just have to be satisfied with an explanation later.

As Mia stepped into the courtroom, all of her lingering anxiety seemed to wash away. Her shoulders relaxed, her posture straightened, she walked with purpose. Phoenix loved seeing Mia like this. She looked more like a superhero than he ever did. She was saving lives in this courtroom, sparing the innocent and putting away the guilty with her total loyalty to the truth.

She was better than him. Maybe it was hero-worship, but Phoenix didn't care. He'd chase her shadow for the rest of his life, if it meant knowing that she was still saving people. He might be the superpowered one, but she was the hero.

That was all he needed to know.

ao3

#the kings decrees #ace attorney #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #mia fey #aa123 #ace attorney fanfiction

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hlficlibrary · 3 months

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hi, could you recommend me some larry fanfics that aren’t AU’s / are set during their time in the band?

Hi, anon, this ask made me a little nostalgic, so I went back a ways to find some of my old favorites that I read during that time. That being said, here are some canon compliant fics set during the One Direction years...

Edited to add these from my pinned post for a few more:

✤ Canon

✤ Canon Exes to Lovers

✤ Canon, Fans Shipping Before Together

Untangle Me by suicxne

Louis finds himself out of place in LA, unable to get at an itch that’s been bothering him for years. He supposes back in the early days, home hadn’t been a place. It’d been a person. He’d etched it permanently into his skin for fucks sake. It was always him and Harry. Stuck to each other like super glue. Pulled together by some magnetic force, existing in their own bubble. Everyone could see it, but that was half the problem, wasn’t it?

It’s not like Louis can pinpoint the exact moment in time when him and Harry fell out of sync. There wasn’t really one at all. It had been a gradual slip, like the tide wearing away at a sandstone cliff. Chipping the solid foundations until there was nothing left to stop the structure falling to the waves below. It’s not like he spends all of his time sitting around moping over a lost friendship, he’s good at distractions. But LA only seems to accentuate the distance between them. Two separate planets, not even in the same solar system.

Or the one where Harry and Louis finally get it right.

you drive me wild (you know you do) by @missandrogyny

Their management informs them that they have an interview right before the ARIAs, and it isn't until he's in a suit, seated on a couch between Liam and Zayn, that he gets the idea.

The interviewer, Angus, smiles at them, right before the cameras roll on, and a metaphorical light bulb goes off inside Louis' head. He's perfect. Well, not as perfect as Harry, but enough. He's attractive, attractive enough to drive Harry crazy, and he doesn't even think of the consequences of his actions, just decides right then. It's all Harry's fault anyway. Louis should be allowed to have a little fun.

(or: Louis flirts with the Australian interviewers and Harry gets possessive.)

the dark and the dentist by sunshiner

“I know this song,” Louis whispers, and Harry has to lean his ear toward him to pick up what he’s saying. “It was written for people to dance to it. We should be dancing.” We can’t, Harry almost spits, but it’d be stupid of him. Louis knows they can’t. Even if he looks like any regular Parisian in their twenties, and Harry looks like any hipster Parisian in their twenties, they can’t anyway. To be fair, they probably wouldn’t do it even if they were out. But if they were two uni students, both in Paris for an exchange, meeting over fallen books at the library, or because of mutual friends, or watching Monet’s Water Lilies? “How would we dance?” Harry murmurs, mouth almost pressed to Louis’ cheek, so close he can feel his warmth. What a picture they must make, two millionaires freezing in a park and dreaming of a different life.

An account of the events of November 2014. Canon-compliant.

#ask #anon #ficrec #minificrecs #canon #sunshiner #missandrogyny #suicxne

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louisisalarrie · 5 months

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i'm curious like you've been in the fandom for a while now so like what made you believe that larry is real yk like was there a specific moment or something?

Like 13 years or something, and so I’ve lived through a lot of moments. But ljke, while there are a lot that take up far too much of my brain, such as the Paris interview and then walking out while Harry fixes his hair and louis wipes his mouth, and “just a bit of banter really” “I lost my trousers”, and “it’s mutual, we’ve discussed it”… I think a huge one for me was actually a video diaries moment (there were so many wonderful larry moments throughout those diaries damn)

But I mean… look at louis be all fond and shy and giddy and just like… you DON’T do that after a high five with ur bro. He was GONE from the beginning like that’s butterflies dude

ALSO THIS ONE like the gentle and very natural hair caress and Harry actually looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky

And like…. Kisses????

And just… how gently louis grabs onto Harry and Harry nuzzling into it and going into that touch like it’s natural af and they’ve done it a million times before???

And on that same note, “now kiss me you fool”

anyway now you’ve really made my larry heart squeal so friendly reminder there is a 2 and a half hour compilation video of larry moments available for your reference on YouTube xx

#anon #answered

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aurevoirmonty · 3 months

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La dissolution a été faite sous supervision du «parrain américain» et de BlackRock, affirme Guy de la Fortelle

Larry Fink était à Paris juste avant le projet de dissolution de Macron, a repéré l’économiste sur le plateau de Tocsin (https://t.co/i8K35Pk4c8).

Le patron de BlackRock (10.500 milliards d’actifs) était effectivement à Paris, où il a laissé au moins une trace, une interview (https://www.lefigaro.fr/conjoncture/exces-de-normes-petrole-ia-entretien-exclusif-avec-larry-fink-le-patron-de-blackrock-premier-fonds-d-investissement-au-monde-20240607) au Figaro.

A nouveau, on est dans la situation où les États-Unis veulent tirer de grandes liquidités de l'Europe en la mettant sous coupe réglée allemande.

Le 6 juin 2017, un mois après l’«élection» de Macron, Larry Fink a été reçu (https://www.marianne.net/economie/mais-pourquoi-blackrock-est-il-aussi-puissant-en-macronie)en toute discrétion à l’Elysée et à Matignon.

En juillet 2019, Fink est encore dans les salons de l’Elysée avec des représentants de fonds d’investissement pour «lutter contre le changement climatique».

… et reçoit la Légion d’honneur en 2020.

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antoine-roquentin · 1 year

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Part 1 in this series about... something. I’ll figure it out when I write more.

Howard Imbrey was a CIA agent. Having started in the CIA’s WW2 predecessor, the OSS, he was placed undercover in diplomatic roles at American consulates and embassies in Sri Lanka, India, and Ethiopia during the late 40s and 50s. This was a traditional role for intelligence agents: with diplomatic immunity, they would be safe from prosecution, while embassy parties and other events allowed them to pick up gossip from inside the country.

However, it did limit agents and paint a large target on their back. Imbrey operated in a friendly environment in India, where he could rely on British-trained police chiefs as informants in the battle against the Communist Party of India in Maharashtra and Kerala. In other parts of the world, governments would monitor the movements and activities of those who came out of the American embassy, knowing them to be spies.

In 1958, Imbrey was instead embedded in a fake corporation headquartered near the UN in NYC, with a real businessman as his partner. They worked closely with UN diplomats to find actual businesses to promote, to keep the whole thing legit. At the same time, it allowed Imbrey the chance to question the diplomats and businessmen for gossip and to meet with other informants the CIA had already cultivated across the continent. Some of these informants included Cyrille Adoula and Albert Kalonji, head of political parties and breakaway factions devoted to undermining Patrice Lumumba’s elected government in the Congo.

The article attached was important to developing his cover. Initially, it ran in Fortune, owned at the time by Henry Luce’s Time Inc., while the screenshots are from John H. Johnson’s Negro Digest. Luce was historically close to the CIA and the American government in general. He hired CIA agents onto his staff and allowed them to write propaganda as they saw fit. He directed his journalists to publish opinion pieces attacking those who exposed CIA secrets, like Ramparts magazine. At one point in the Congo Crisis, US Ambassador to Belgium William Burden, a friend of Luce’s, phoned him to get him to bury a story on Lumumba. No information has come out either way on just whether the journalist who wrote this article knew Imbrey was CIA or was simply ordered to by higher ups, but it seems likely that the editorial staff of Negro Digest simply saw it as fitting with their focus on black lives and reprinted it unwittingly to the CIA’s benefit. Later on, Imbrey would find another cover as a journalist with a CIA-controlled news outlet in Paris, Brussels, and Rome, which allowed the CIA to fly informants to him.

None of this was known to anyone until 2001, save for a brief acknowledgement of thanks to Imbrey’s wife in a book by Larry Devlin, CIA Station Chief in the Congo. That year, Imbrey suddenly gave two interviews in April and June, and then died a year later. One was to a high school student at a private Episcopal school in Maryland. It’s roughly written, and clearly transcribed by someone who’s writing the names of Congolese officials by ear rather than knowledge, but deserves to be read, not because Imbrey lets his guard down consciously, but rather because of the implicit biases he still has and the distinction between the secrets he wishes to keep and those he feels fine in revealing. Particularly humorous is when the kid tries to ask him about whether the CIA operated independently from the president, and Imbrey denies it, saying “That’s an Arab type of operation.”

The other was to Charles Stuart Kennedy, a career diplomat who retired in the 80s and subsequently made a post-retirement life of interviewing other diplomats for the public record. Since many CIA employees were embedded as diplomats, he ended up running into a bunch. His interview is much more detailed and professional, albeit with the same transcription errors on names, and makes for excellent reading for anybody who enjoys salacious historical gossip. Imbrey talks about reading Popeye the Sailor bootleg Rule 34 as a kid, kidnapping fishermen in the Indian Ocean with submarines to train them to use radios to spy on the Japanese Navy (sounds like UFO abductions), supplying porn to the higher ups in the Indian Navy, etc. But two particular moments stand out, one being what may be the single worst denial of American involvement in the assassination of Patrice Lumumba:

Q: Did you get involved at all with the Lumumba business?

IMBREY: No, the only thing I can tell you is they sent out this shellfish compound to chief of station Larry Devlin and he sent it back with an angry note saying, “Don't you know the Belgians are going to kill him, what do you want us to do?” We kept totally out of that one. Then Lumumba really put himself in terrible trouble when he gave a rise of one rank to everybody in the army and then found he couldn't pay the new prices. Then the army rebelled; they put him in an airplane, took him south and they pulled him out of the airplane on the driveway, brought him up to the chief of the Lunda tribe and in Munongo's office and I guess they shot him there or it may not have been there. In Munongo's office they began asking him a couple of questions. Well, this was according to his answers. Munongo took a bayonet and put it right into Lumumba's chest and Captain Gatt, a Belgian, was right there and he fired a bullet in the back of Lumumba's head to put him out of his misery and that was how it happened, but no Americans were involved.

and whatever this is, which happens to coincide with the CIA’s MHCHAOS operation on American soil:

Q: When you came home what were you doing?

IMBREY: That's where we turn off the tape recorder.

Q: All right, well then, we'll just skip over that. When did you take off again where we can talk?

IMBREY: Let's see. I was sent back to Rome in '72. Turn it off for a while and I'll tell you about it.

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