#manila in the claws of light

[389]

Thanks @sleepythug for tagging me to share fav first watches of May!

La Chimera, dir. Alice Rohrwacher God's Own Country, dir. Francis Lee The Burning, dir. Tony Maylam Manila in the Claws of Light, dir. Lino Brocka

tagging; @mrsterlingeverything @dorfs @elixir @kristina100000 @symmetryofemptyspace @capacity2 @ax-ky and anyone else I missed get tagged xx <3

You can follow me on Letterboxd!

[wetgeliscasualinterval]

Manila in the Claws of Light (1975) by Lino Brocka

[sacredwhores]

Lino Brocka - Manila in the Claws of Light (1975)

[keeptheemptinessaway]

Maynila, sa mga Kuko ng Liwanag, Lino Brocka (1975)

Cinematography: Mike De Leon, Clodualdo Del Mundo Jr. | Philippines

[fnipoli]

[theartofhamartia]

julio madiaga - maynila sa kuko ng liwanag (1975)

❝ hinalughog ko ang buong maynila, pero wala si ligaya. ❞

A boy from the province faces chaos, labor, and injustice in Manila in his search of his aptly-named lover named Ligaya, who was the first to move to the city after being promised a better life. Manila in the Claws of Light (1975) captures Julio Madiaga's discovery that Manila isn't all it's cracked up to be, and that the Ligaya he has been searching for in the city has been damaged by & prostituted to the rich, kept captive & hidden by greed, and murdered mercilessly. Fed up and fully consumed by having his happiness taken away, he kills the powerful Chinese man that ended her life, only to be hunted down by a horde of his fellow man within "the city that consumes its own people".

Though the trailer above sufficiently summarizes Julio's journey as a tragic hero from naïve innocence to an awakened fury, the scene that perhaps best captures the peak of his arc is the last few minutes of the film when he commits the pivotal murder, some clips of which are included in the latter part of the trailer. The shots of Julio's pace becoming quicker being interspersed with scenes driving his anger, the background noise growing progressively louder as a parallel to his steadily intensifying anger and inner chaos, and the extras being involved in growing civil unrest are all symbolic of the rapid descent to tragedy amidst the never-peaceful realization of the hero being driven to the point of murder and his rude awakening to the bitter reality that his cathartic demise will be at the hands of the people of the city itself.

Julio's character arc is almost that of a classical tragic hero's, simply with the step of taking responsibility for the result of his fatal desire (that is, pursuing Ligaya and what she represents) taking on the form of accepting the opportunity for vengeance as a way of obtaining justice and his final chance to reach Ligaya — happiness — again. He is also the archetype taken a step further, having been used as a symbol of today's tragic hero found within every working-class Filipino who has grown disillusioned with the corrupt Manila (and by extension, the country itself) that once offered promises of prosperity but now only has people turning against one of their own. Today's tragedy lies no longer exclusively in the flaw of the hero, but now also in the environment that has molded him into what he has become.

[baby-tini]

help because i can’t stop thinking about being in takemichi’s place when he met manila mikey my brain is literally rotting

y/n goes to the philippines to find her ex boyfriend at the one place she knows he’ll be… mikey, who sent the letter out to takemichi to visit him, wasn’t expecting her arrival and pins her to the floor with a gun to her head

fast forward, now we’re having hot sex and takemichi accidentally walks in 💀

This is so real, because Manila!Mikey had no right too be that pretty. Also for him too literally manhandle Takemichi like that had my brain all fuzzy because he just did it so effortlessly and if he can throw Takemichi around like he doesn't way shit... what else can he do? He is so fucking strong for no reason and it's just so- ahhh it's intense ok? When you go and see Mikey, hoping too grasp an understanding as too why he took the lives of all of his friends- and by default your friends. He doesn't look too happy too see you, in fact he looks pissed, if you will. As he walks down the pile of rubble and steps closer to you- it's like he's sizing you up, like a predator would and you know you should run because everything in that screams danger but you can't. This is the man that you've grown too love and care about and he just up and abandoned you, never told you he was leaving- never gave an inkling, he just did and you want too know why. Before you can even ask- talk to him, he's on you with a gun in your face as he stares you down, there's no more light in those beautiful black eyes of his as he leans down, his warm breath hitting your face. You genuinely can't breath when he decides too put all his weight on your chest, he's not heavy but there's quite a bit of muscle on him and your chest feels it in full, you can't even move and just stares at you, no emotion on his face as you plead with him. You don't really realise what he's doing until he starts too tug at your shirt and it rips in the process, you don't really know what too do in this moment because while yes, you love this man with everything, but you also know that he's a serial killer.. he killed all of your friends and he doesn't even seem the slightest bit of apologetic. You don't even know what he means when he leans down and whispers, "let me have you one last time, ok?" None it makes sense to you but you don't care because his hands are all over you and they feel like ecstasy as he grabs at your tits, pressing soft kisses to your lips and he tastes just how you remember; dorayaki. It's all a blur and in the future you'll really wish that it wasn't because you'll unknowingly never get too talk with him again as he'd lay bleeding in your arms, but you don't know that as his hips smack against yours and you're brains pooling in ecstasy as your nails claw at his shoulders but Mikey knows, as soon as Takemichi steps into the broken down rubble and he meets Takemichis eyes just as you cum for him; Mikey knows this is the last time he'll have the pleasure of being so deeply and intimately connected to you.

[aloysiavirgata]

Fisher King prompt: dark crescendoing to light. Daniel Waterson and his baggage come back into her now-married life; maybe by way of the autopsy table. A dark case comes across Mulder’s desk. You pick. A happy surprise at the end to bring them both out of it?

Thanks, lady.

It is the dead nurse that catches his attention. Two days back from his honeymoon, attaboys and filthy jokes and cigars and a stack of manila folders on his dust-rimed desk.

Pendrell whistles when he sees Mulder, makes a predictable playing-doctor joke. He leers as though it obscures the soulful puppy wetness of his face. As though he hasn’t noticed Dana at crime scenes before, the autumn bonfire of her hair. Her tourmaline eyes.

Mulder thumbs the band on his left ring finger, spins it a little in the cool morning light. Flips them all off with good-natured grouchiness as he makes his way to the elevator. He thinks it might be fun to be an old man, to listen to the slap of his bedroom slippers on the grocery store linoleum.

The air in his office smells like cardboard boxes, like ghosts of lo mein and forgotten pizza. Copier toner. Pencil shavings.

His wife says, “Honestly, Mulder,” and makes chicken sandwiches from dinner leftovers, makes him salads with salmon and almonds and avocados and says he needs to gain eight pounds. He’s taken to her demands like a stray cat adjusting to life indoors. He’s growing glossy and sleek, full of essential amino acids.

Full of life.

***

There is no congestion in any of the organs. No petechiae in her eyes, no blood clots in the fragile slices of brain. Lips, mouth, esophagus free of corrosion, not an aneurysm the size of a poppy seed. The bruises and claw marks on her gray throat are her own doing. There are over a dozen witnesses.

Her nails are clotted with her own crumpled skin.

Dana pokes her finger into the aorta, sniffs the dead, butcher-shop air of Ludovica’s mouth. She prods at the lungs and hunts for lesions and surfactant. The nurse’s stomach contains a half-digested bagel and tuna salad. The muscular walls are in the very pink of health. She has lungs like freshly chewed bubblegum.

Dana huffs a strand of hair off her lip. She does not want to call him.

***

“What killed her?” Mulder asks, around a mouthful leftover quiche. God it’s good. She caramelized the onions, used two semesters of organic chemistry on the pastry and can declaim on the Maillard Reaction in a voice fit for Showtime.

“I’m working on it,” his wife says, brisk. “Thus far it seems to be nothing, which is a bit of a problem, medically speaking.”

“How embarrassing,” Mulder says, hunting around for another chunk of broccoli. “To die of nothing. You talk to this Waterston chappie yet?

Silence.

“Dr. Scully?”

A sigh.

Mulder’s brow furrows. “Dana Katherine, what gives?”

She sighs again. “You remember that med school professor I told you about? Funny story…”

***

He gazes at her the way tourists gawp at the Mona Lisa; not with a particular appreciation, just a bit awed that they can check it off their bucket lists.

Twice, for Daniel. A certain chumminess. A hint of inside jokes and favorite restaurants and that-lovely-inn-we-stayed-at. Of possessiveness. Territoriality.

Mulder shakes his head, just a twitch. Just enough to clear Daniel’s smug carnal knowledge of his wife away. Mulder’s fucked people’s daughters as well. People’s wives. There was one at Oxford, Honora, her husband a full professor and he -

Mulder doesn’t say this. He doesn’t say anything as Daniel stares at his Rossetti wife, undoubtedly thinks about the determined twitch of her twenty-one year old ponytail and her scuffed Keds and her slipshod Navy brat graces and her body like Artemis bathing by moonlight.

But Daniel’s alone and Mulder isn’t.

Dana isn’t alone either because, against all reason and karma, she’s married him, married Fox Mulder, like it was an absolutely sane thing to do, and her family simply went along with it.

“Tell me what you saw,” says Mulder, with the gentle absolution of a priest. “No judgement here,” he lies. She was hardly more than a girl, she was an innocent, she trusted you, you fucking asshole, you predator, you-

Daniel looks at Dana. Looks down at his surgeon’s hands. No ring on any of his fingers.

Daniel closes his eyes and looks at nothing.

“We began a midline sternotomy, absolutely routine, Suddenly Ludovica - Nurse Giordano - grabbed her throat and said she couldn’t breathe. She…she screamed Diavola! Said there was sulfur, said it was mustard gas, but none of the rest of us smelled a damn thing. But she was thrashing on the floor of the OR and our patient was-“

He looks around then, catches Dana’s eye, shyness in his expression. Shyness in his fatherly face. Dana had looked up at it for approval, no doubt. In what she probably thought was passion. Maybe even love.

Dana nods encouragingly and Mulder feels it then, the weight of years. He understands in that moment that time really is the fourth dimension; that it has a hot, heavy plasticity into which you can sink. He understands the realness of an event horizon, that they are all being pulled towards the unfinished thing between Daniel and his wife, Ludovica Giordano’s corpse included.

His wife was a physics major, his wife rewrote Einstein with the ebullient narcissism of the young.

He understands that his wife and Daniel speak the same primal, arcane language of science. He is a lowly psychologist, the major you pick when you can’t get into dental school but still want to Help Others.

Kepler’s Third Law tells us that intensity equals the inverse of the square of the distance from the source.

And he’s brought Daniel back into her orbit.

***

“I can’t believe you fucked him,” Mulder gasps into her tender seashell ear. An inch from her extraordinary brain.

“I was a child,” she hisses back. “Essentially. Don’t stop, Christ, don’t - I was a child, I-“

She was, she was, she was Eos newly born, she was radiant and young, she was Persephone to Daniel’s Hades, she was fresh milk at Ostara, and a sunrise over the Atlantic.

“Did you love him?”

Her thighs so taut and pale and quivering. Her wedding dress, her misty veil. Her palimpsest skin, on which he can rewrite himself.

“I thought I did but but it wasn’t this, it was never this, it was never you, I-“

Mulder comes in her, groaning, feels the tiniest sting of shame at how good it is to reclaim her from this other man.

***

“Dana,” Daniel says, heavy-tongued for Mulder’s consecrated, Catholic wife. He is hard; he shifts in the uncomfortable chair.

Mulder knows and Dana knows and the air is thick with this knowledge but strangely not unpleasant. The air is July just before a thunderstorm. The air is dense and verging. Primal, fecund, cataclysmic.

Hot.

Green.

Alive.

The air tastes like a 9-volt battery. He wants to put a baby into his wife.

“You were there,” Mulder says, his buckskin hands woven and laced. “What did you see?”

Daniel looks at Dana, Daniel is here for Dana, because he believes she is cold and lonely and alone in the way of the outer planets. He still thinks only he can warm her.

(He doesn’t know, Daniel, not really, that there is a solid core beneath the icy mist.)

She’s too distant and abstruse and Daniel doesn’t know.

***

Daniel smirks at Mulder, this old man who felt briefly alive in the hot juncture of his wife’s thighs; smirks as though he’s done anything real at all. They view the human heart so differently, he and Daniel.

Dana - Dr. Scully - rests her palms against her sharp tweed knee. She only wants to know what stops any human heart from beating. What shuts the brain down, from prefrontal cortex in a cascade to the lowly lizard stem.

“What did you see, Daniel?” She is poised and tensed. She is waiting. She is untouchable.

Mulder - Fox - is disarmed by the chill of her haughty face. Her Plutonian eyes are so very, very cold . So very, very far.

Ice could never be so warm.

***

“‘Maggie,” he breathes, into her amber light. Into her aura, in her husband’s office, after Mulder went out for their lunch order.

“No,” Dana says. “I don’t care. Tell me about the nurse.”

Daniel huffs. “I don’t know, it was nothing, Dana, Maggie said-“

“I don’t care,” Dana says, crisp. “I don’t care about your daughter. You certainly didn’t, when you brought me to your bed.

Daniel is appalled. “Dana, you were-“

“I know what I was,” she replies. “I knew what I was doing and I don’t regret it, not really. But I didn’t understand what you were, not then. And you should regret me, Daniel.”

He looks at her, his brows drawn.

He looks away, back through the years. Dana, all sharpened Ticonderogas and her mouth an unplucked apricot. Skin like fresh-churned butter.

“She was…she was gasping,” he says to the wall of of clippings. To the Flatwoods Monster and wendigos and little lost girls and stills from the Zapruder Footage. “She was clawing at her throat, she…diavola.”

Diavola.

Daniel looks at the ceiling. “She clawed her throat to ribbons,” he says. “She said our patient was full of demons, she said…” He shakes his head and looks at Dana again.

Dana knows. Dana has seen. Has read and wondered and wondered, considered the Gerasene demoniac in the synoptic gospels. Tooms at her belly on the chilly tile of her bathroom…

It will do no good. Whatever her husband says, the truth is not always a panacea. The patient has lived and Ludovica has died and all anyone wants is official paper with Dana’s name at the bottom.

A reckoning, now. A choice.

“Anaphylaxis?” Dana murmurs, in the perfume and cashmere of a different rich man’s wife. She puts a little throatiness in her voice now, like she did after Dr. Waterston spoke to her in private about Starling’s Law. She can give him this. She can give Ludovica’s family this.

Diavola.

Mulder is right, Mulder is almost always right. But Mulder is right in his own time and Ludovica’s family needs her home.

Daniel catches the lifeline she throws, grateful.

Humbled.

Daniel, when his gaze returns, is a bit smaller in her eyes. “Yes,” he says. “It must have been.”

***

They’re eating dinner at the Peruvian chicken place on the corner because Dana is hollow and Mulder has moderately weaponized his own culinary incompetence.

“Ansel died today,” she says, poking at her rice.

Mulder nearly chokes on a mouthful of black beans. “What?!”

“Died. Massive coronary at his desk. Dead within seconds.”

Mulder gapes. Ansel Jordan, Chief Medical Examiner in DC; the alpha and omega of the unexpectedly dead in the District. “He ran marathons.”

Dana nods into the middle distance. “He ran marathons. He had a treadmill in his office. He was 57 and he was my boss and I split his chest apart with a Stryker before his body had even cooled this morning. My god, I forgot what warm tissue feels like.”

She looks up with her wide, delphinium eyes. “They asked me, Mulder.”

They asked? He is appalled. “They asked you to autopsy him? That’s really fu-“

She shakes her head. “No, nobody asked me that. No one would ever. I volunteered, it was the right thing to do, for my colleagues. For Ansel. We were hardly close but I had tremendous respect for the man.”

Ansel was a runner. He ate well and drank in moderation. He cared for his body like a classic car; starting to slow down but with lots of miles left.

The human body is strange and unpredictable.

“Are you okay?” How do you cut open a man you know? He cannot believe she didn’t call this morning but also of course she didn’t call this morning. She is an eternal riddle, a beautiful enigma.

“I’m surprisingly fine,” she says. “I mean, it’s horrible and pointless and tragic. But the process of an autopsy…it soothed me. I knew what to do and there was a…a checklist.”

He smiles, soft. “You’re always a doctor first.”

Dana shrugs, fluid and dismissive. “I guess.”

He realizes then, awed. Adoring. “They want you to… to step in, to be Chief. Dana, that’s incredible, that’s a huge honor. I’m sorry it’s come at the cost of Ansel, but Christ. It’s tremendous.”

He will never achieve this in his own career and is delighted that she can.

Dana nods slowly, a blush creeping up her fine, pale cheeks. She spears a plantain and examines it on the end of her fork. “It’s obviously not a formal offer yet, my god, he’s only just been released to the family, but yes. It’s tremendous.” She bites into the plantain.

He thinks back to that feeling of wanting a baby, wanting her to have it, and knows that the new Chief Medical Examiner of DC will have other pressures, other concerns.

She’s expressed interest in babies in a vague sort of way, but doesn’t want them like he does. Dana grew up with hand-me-downs and home haircuts and spaghetti the last week of every month. She knows that babies grow into scraped-kneed children who need lunch money and trombones and French tutors and football uniforms.

He’s rich enough for it all, for night nurses and nannies, but he knows her body is not a rental property. He wants a baby, he does, but he also doesn’t care if it means this for her. He doesn’t care if her star can rise.

“I love you,” he says, raising his plastic cup of horchata. “And I’m so goddamn sorry about Ansel.”

She lifts hers back, his wife, her old-master face and her slapdash smile. “Thank you,” she says, still pained. “And slaínte.”

“L’chaim,” he replies. To life.

[oldfilmsflicker]

new-to-me #29 - Maynila sa mga Kuko ng Liwanag (Manila in the Claws of Light)

[natalia-lafourcade]

I was tagged by @gael-garcia to post my top 9 first watches of 2023. Thank you so much hehe <333

Charulata dir. Satyajit Ray

When the Tenth Month Comes dir. Dang Nhat Minh

Apur Sansar dir. Satyajit Ray

Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives dir. Apichatpong Weerasethakul

The Wedding Banquet dir. Ang Lee

A City of Sadness dir. Hou Hsiao-hsien

Clear Cut dir. Ryszard Bugajski

Time that Remains dir. Elia Suleiman

Manila In the Claws of Light dir. Lino Brocka

[lunatic-harness]

Manila in the Claws of Light (1975) dir. Lino Brocka

[darklordofthesimp]

hahahaha…. hi lordddd….. i missed u within the two hours i’ve been gone…..

i TOLD u, ur taking up my thoughts…. and now i’m building onto teslatoasters submission with Königs Pov of birdy ditchin that mfs ass……..

you know i have to do prices…. ahaha…. haaaa….

GIGGLING THIS ONES GONNA BE SO FUN

switching up formats like my emotional irregularities switch up on me

—

Birdy was sitting by themself, picking at their cuticles and staring at nothingness.

The room around them was quaint. Homely, they would say.

Books lined the shelves in an unorthodox pattern.

Light warm and yellow, Fire dancing in their peripherals.

And a pretty red rug detailed with gold mandalas.

If they had the mind capacity to focus on any detail right now, Birdy would see that almost all the book spines were cracked. Some fraying from repeated use.

They heaved a shaking sigh. The air around them was warm from fire, despite the chill of winter creeping through the thin walls.

Birdy leaned back into the softened leather lounge, reaching for their coffee resting on the small oak table in front of them.

Their hands shook as they drank, nerves at a constant despite knowing there was nothing happening.

Once again, the feeling of liminality creeped back in.

Maybe they had a knack for sensing when something was stirring.

No, nevermind. Then they wouldn’t have stitches holding their jaw in place.

Birdy set their cup back on the napkin-turned-coaster, huffed a breath of phantom pain in their abdomen, and willed themself to calm the fuck down.

Nothing will happen.

At that thought, a door slammed open.

Birdy startled.

So much for that.

“What the fuck is this.”

He threw something on the coffee table.

Price was heaving, borderline panting his breaths. His voice was hoarse and mean, with a hint of terror chipping away at his stern demeanour.

“Didn’t know you were suddenly illiterate. My condolences.”

Maybe if they were sarcastic enough it would stop the guilt clawing at their lungs, tearing the flesh to make way for the blood threatening to choke them alive.

Though it was a bit mean.

Prices face twisted from anger to hurt back to anger in a few slow seconds. Birdy felt sick.

“What..,” He cut himself off. His voice a cracked whine as he cleared his throat. He was your superior. If I don’t allow it, it doesn’t happen.

“I’m not signing this.” His hands gestured violently towards the pink paper slipping out of a cream manila folder. Looking perfectly innocent on the coffee table.

“You don’t need to sign it. It’s not a resignation slip. It’s a notice. I leave on Saturday.”

Birdy sat back with their arms crossed against their chest, hand landing on their heart. Right as a pang shot through it.

Their hand twitched.

Be a cunt, they thought. Be a bastard, or you’ll cry. Be angry, or you’ll break down.

Prices breath caught in his throat, posture straightening enough to make an etiquette professionals eyebrows raise.

Maybe he had the same thought.

“You’re not leaving. I don’t allow it. There will be no transfer whilst I’m your captain.”

The way he spoke to them was that of a scared father.

Neither of them acknowledged it.

Birdy stood, bones creaking in prostest at the sudden strain on their joints.

From his side of the coffee table, Price watches them in earnest. Please, please for the love of god. Please don’t take them away from me.

Birdy couldn’t even look him in the eye. Couldn’t face him head on as they picked up the folder, forcing it into his bubble for him to grab.

His hands shook, just like theirs.

Please don’t do this.

“You have no say.” Birdy shuffled on their feet, uncomfortable, guilty.

The feeling at being on this side of the hurt was making bile rise to their throat. They wanted to shove their finger down their own throat just to get ride of it.

Panic turned fear to

“I have every fucking say. In everything. There is nothing that doesn’t fucking go through me first. You are not fucking leaving.”

His words were rushed as Birdy side stepped the table, heading determinedly for the door. They need to get out.

They needed to breathe.

A hand snatched at birdys wrist, not hard, but firm. It wasn’t to cause harm, but to make them stop, think, stay, please stay.

They whipped their head around to face Price. Mean and unforgiving. Their culpability smothered by their pride to keep face.

“No, you don’t have a damn say.” Wrenching their hand out of his dying grasp they continued, “Shepherd signed. The transfer request was accepted yesterday. I’m going back to the SARS.”

The finality im their voice, posture, in them was heart shattering for him.

He’d failed.

The strength of his resolve was plucked away like feathers. And with the weight of Shepherd holding him down, he couldn’t do anything but watch it happen in front of him.

“No.. no,” His vocal cords cracked. Begging, pleading. “No. You’re my strongest soldier, You’re resilient! And patient and determined and don’t crack under pressure-“ my head did. “-and you’re stubborn.”

He was running out of breath. Just like they were.

“Well congratulations Cap-,”

A beat. “John.”

His stomach fucking sunk.

“You managed to quell my obstinance,”

Birdy gasped a breath. It felt like they were dying. Drowning themselves for the fucking thrill of it.

“Made my mulishness look stupid. Want a gold fucking star? I would give you a scratch and sniff sticker but I usually only give those out to people I like.”

I like you, you’re the one person I can always stand. You’re the closest thing I have to a father, the only person who cared, you’re my person.

“You hate me, don’t you?”

Look me in the eyes as you say it. Let me know there’s nothing I can do.

Birdys eyes closed, they couldn’t do it.

“Yes.”

—

lol!!!!! so funny haha!!!! funny hahah with sad!!!! hahaha (sobsobsob) !!!!!!

i’m having too much fun

\o/

OH MY GOOOOOOOD THIS WAS FUCKING AMAZING MY HEART HURT

He's right though, Birdy can't get anything signed unless it goes through him.

This is fucking nuts I love this I love the way you write and I love how you've captured the relationship price and Birdy have that we'll see more of further down the track.

Thank you so much for taking your time to write these pieces, they're honestly in a league of their own honest to God.

The last few lines broke my heart man

[sacredwhores]

Lino Brocka - Manila in the Claws of Light (1975)

[projectcruise]

Chapter 1

“More than meets the eye”

The following morning, the sun remained absent. The grey, cloudy coverings of the sky hadn’t moved an inch. It almost felt as though no time had passed.

Soon enough, a petite coffee colored rabbit girl arrived at The S.S. Iris in full investigator’s attire. She donned a mid-length, tan trench coat, some sturdy, brown lace less boots, and an iconic detective’s hat with a flowery pattern. She was as cute as a button, yet her face told an entirely different tale. She didn’t take any time to stop and admire the view. The cruise ship’s impressive size and extravagant decor were meaningless in her eyes. There was nothing fascinating enough to distract her from the mission at hand. With a steady gaze, the lagomorph hastily made her way towards the steam ship. This detective meant serious business.

Upon entering the terminal, the Captain came out to greet her. He was a particularly well composed gentleman. Penelope watched as he disembarked from the ship. He had a striking appearance. The shark-like being, dressed in a dark blue uniform greatly contrasting his snow-white, wavy hair and light grey fur. He was tall and long with icy blue eyes, sharp claws, and four horns on his head. He extended his arm and gently shook Penelope’s soft small paw.

“Penelope, Correct…?” said the captain.

“Yes sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Replied penelope with her usual professional attitude.

“Wonderful, You’re right on time. I’ve been awaiting your arrival” the captain said to her in an inviting yet serious tone of voice. It was obvious that he had high expectations for Penelope.

“Punctuality is always my top priority.” She replied. It was true, she always made sure to arrive exactly as scheduled wherever she was needed. Never any sooner nor later. She made sure not to waste any time.

“Very well, let us discuss this inside,” he said as he escorted Penelope to the bridge of the ship. They walked along the gangway into the vessel and passed through the massive lobby decked with large chandeliers hanging from the lifted ceiling. Surprisingly , the ship seemed smaller on the inside than from its exterior. It was a private cruise. While the boat was still an impressive steamship, it was small in comparison to more commercial cruise ships, yet still kept a luxurious appearance. It had vast open spaces and important areas such as a large lobby and banquet style ballroom diner.

Once they arrived, the Captain sat down at his chair in the wheelhouse and turned towards Penelope. The technology was incredibly impressive. Each button and switch performed its own small function. How did anyone manage to learn what it all does? There was so much to take in. The detective was admittedly rather impressed. However, she didn’t let this distract her from the mission at hand.

Near the window sat a manila folder, a couple of sticky notes with various memos or short poems written on them, and a small, framed photograph of a young Captain and his sister. They appeared to be at the beach. The captain wore a smile while his sister was bursting with laughter. The photograph was old and rather faded. Penelope caught the captain staring at the image.

“What was she laughing about?” she asked.

“Well, the truth is, I can’t seem to remember. “I used to recall this day so vividly, I remember we called it the summer of the century. Now, I can’t even tell what my sister was laughing about. First, I lose her, now I have begun to lose her memory...” replied the captain defeatedly.

“Please Sir, don’t feel bad.” replied Penelope. “Perhaps it’s just your mind’s way of coping with everything going on. I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you.” she said, attempting to reassure the captain. It was not uncommon for people to suppress memories of lost loved ones.

“Enough about that.” Said the Captain, turning his focus away from the image.

“As you might already know, I’ve called you here to investigate the murder of my dear sister, Marigold Seashine. It pains me to even speak of it, but, alas, I must...” The captain said while gazing at the window. He looked out towards the horizon where the deep lapis colored sea and grey sky collided. He turned his attention back to Penelope. Slowly, he picked up the manila file folder and handed it to her.

“Here is the file containing the details of the case… it’s important.”

“Yes, of course Sir,” she replied and then paused before following it up with her next statement. “I apologize for your loss… I promise I will do the best I can.”

“Very well. I admire your determined attitude.”

She remained attentive to the captain. It was clear how heavily this event had weighed on him. He was a man of great composure, yet it was easy to see right into his broken soul.

“Well, the first thing I’d like you to do is to meet the suspects and conduct an interview with each one. They should all be located in their cabins on the lower deck. Only Marigold’s Cabin and D3 should be empty,”, He said as he reached towards the pocket on his uniform and pulled out a fancy golden keychain. Each key was engraved with its respective room number in a calligraphic font.

“Here are the keys in case you aren’t able to access a cabin. I instructed the passengers to unlock their doors after hearing a specific knocking pattern but knowing these folks, they can sometimes be difficult…”

He gently handed Penelope the keychain.

“Here is the pattern I came up with since I do believe knocking first is the polite thing to do.”

*double tap* *triple tap* *single tap*

“Thank you, sir, I’ll keep that in mind” replied Penelope, making a mental note of it.

The Captain once again pulled an object out of his pocket. This time, it was a small piece of paper containing the complete layout of The S.S Iris. “Oh, and I almost forgot. Here is a map of the ship. This will make it easier to locate the cabins.” he said as he handed it over to Penelope.

She took a quick look at it and turned her attention back to the captain.

“Once you’ve finished, please return with the keys. I have another important tool that may aid you in this investigation once you’re done with the interviews

“Yes sir,” replied Penelope. This seemed like a simple task for someone with her experience, yet she proceeded with caution.

“Very well. Best of luck detective, I’m counting on you,” he said as the young lady waved farewell and made her way towards the cabins. She knew there’d be more to this case than meets the eye.

[zooophagous]

Artemis held a tuna sandwich in one hand, and a cell phone in the other, and went down the hall at a brisk pace while splitting her attention evenly between the two. She found her office, stuffed the sandwich in her mouth long enough to free up a hand to retrieve the lanyard with her key-card. The light by the door went from red to green with a cheerful beep, and she pushed her way in.

She went straight to her desk and deposited the sandwich by the open laptop, careful not to get crumbs on the (many, many) papers that covered the handsome dark wooden furniture. She sat down and wheeled forward. She glanced to her right, and paused. There was a cup of coffee there. Hot, steaming, and piled next to it were packets of cream and sugar. What on earth-

"Guten abend, Frau Van Helsing."

She jumped up, but closed her eyes and put a hand to her chest and forced the surprise back down her throat.

"Strauss? How did you get in here?"

"It matters not." He replied flaty. He stood by the window and stared out into the night with his hands folded neatly behind his back. It was a windy night. Stray snow flurries danced past the frosty panes.

"Actually, it does. This is supposed to be a secure area. A-and I told you to call me Artemis." Her voice broke slightly. Why was he making her so anxious right now? He was acting weird, even given how weird he usually was.

"I know what you told me." He snapped. He turned to face her and walked over to the chair in front of her desk and sat in it stiffly. He was much taller than her, and he was making sure to use every inch of that height to look imposing.

"Strauss, are you ok?"

"You lied to me."

"Excuse me?" She sat forward in her chair. He was making very pointed eye contact- an unusually forward move for him, and she was returning it right back.

"You told me the Van Helsing Institute ceased the slaying of vampires when it was under the control of your parents."

"Yes?"

"So explain to me why the man I was forced to kill in self defense has an employee record?" He threw the manila folder containing his file onto the desk. The contents shifted slightly, and the dead eyed mugshot of Strauss fell out into the open and stared the director back in the face.

She stared back at it with a deep scowl of concern, and slowly turned her gaze back to him with dawning realization. "I see. You've found your records."

"I owe Frau Harker an apology. However that is not the least of what is owed to me. I have been nothing if not cooperative and open with the people here, Frau Van Helsing. Even though there is not one of you who deserved it. I wonder why, then, nobody seems to bother doing the same for me."

He tilted his head to one side and stared at her expressionless, with his claws folded in front of him. "I thought this was a tit-for-tat. I get something from you, you get something from me. So. Here is an interview question for you then. Who was Elliot Lane? Who is Sylvain Pietra? And why, despite being told how harmless and special I am, did the Van Helsing institute seemingly hire not one, but two slayers to dispose of me?"

"Strauss..." Artemis started, then stopped. "... Is this coffee for me?"

"Ja."

"Thanks." She replied awkwardly, and began adding the cream and sugar to it. Maybe that was a sign of trust, eating food he'd given to her even though she didn't see it prepared. He was angry, that was clear, and an angry vampire had to be placated quickly. Small gestures met and returned may help.

"Alright. No sense trying to keep a lid on it anymore. You're right, Strauss. I did lie to you."

"Tell me why."

"I don't know where to start." She took a sip of the coffee. It didn't taste poisoned, or tampered with. She didn't believe he would, but the confirmation was a comfort.

"The Van Helsing Institute did not fully disband the slayers faction under my parents. In fact, it isn't fully disbanded now. Under select emergency situations, fatal stopping power is still authorized."

"Emergency situations like what?"

"For example, if, say, I don't know. A vampire is actively killing a victim and Ursula walked up on the scene, she'd be in the clear to shoot it."

"So in direct situations where a human being is in danger? Not just any vampire out on the street?"

"Correct."

"So why was my 'harmless' status revoked and why was I slated for immediate emergency removal when I was asleep in my bed? Who are Elliot and Sylvain?"

She set her cup down. "Ok, the timeline here is confused. I'll just... I'll start from the beginning." She got up and began to pace nervously. For once, she was the one having a hard time making eye contact. Strauss tracked her movements with an almost predatory stare.

"Go ahead, then."

"First I want to apologize to you." She began shakily. "I wasn't open with you because I didn't want to make you afraid. I thought that... the image of a friendly researcher was easier for you to connect with than... than the image of a, of a..."

"Of a slayer."

"Of a murderer." She corrected. "The slayer's program was not dead under my parents, no. It's also not dead under me. It is, however, scaled down considerably. Our operations focus heavily now on investigation, and only actual known dangerous entities are targeted. You aren't the first vampire to get a 'harmless' rating by the institute. You're not even the only one known to us now."

"So why get rid of me?"

"The short answer is, your behavior changed." She said grim faced as she stared out the window. "Project Symbiosis is new. VERY new. You're the first vampire we've actively attempted to rehabilitate. The project was actually designed specifically with you in mind."

She continued. "Initially, you were slated for destruction for your first kill in Trier. You were assigned to Sylvain, who was a slayer acting under the Van Helsing mantle. Before she could carry out her orders, you were granted a reprieve."

"So who was the one who made an attempt on my life in the cemetery?"

"That one I wasn't lying to you about." She turned to face him. "Mr. Lane was a rogue agent at that time. My decision to halt hunting operations and attempt a mercy protocol was VERY unpopular, Strauss. Most of these people had made their career their entire life, their entire focus. They didn't know any other way to live. And here I was, telling them that everything they'd ever done, even things I TOLD them to do, were suddenly immoral and immediately had to stop."

"They didn't listen to you."

"There was a schism. Jonathan Akeley was the lead slayer at the time, and he quit, and he took a good deal of our files and weapons... and talent with him."

"So the Van Helsings never did manage an attempt on my life?"

"No, Strauss. Before you were captured alive and taken in, none of us had breached your tomb. You were scheduled for removal, but you were very low on the priority list. I believe Jonathan wanted you dead specifically to spite me and put an end to Project Symbiosis."

"Then what of the other who I found in my file. She clearly never completed the work. Does Sylvain still work as a slayer?" He tried to be vague. No sense showing his whole hand just yet. She deserved at least a chance to be honest.

She sighed heavily. "Sylvain is sort of a long story."

"I have all night."

"Sylvain never made it to Germany. She died before she could get that far down the list. She and two apprentices were after a high priority target in Manitoba. It was a really, really awful case. That... thing made its living along the highways picking off whatever it thought wouldn't be missed. Usually sex workers. Runaways. Hitchhikers. There was probably more than a little human trafficking." She looked up and blinked away tears.

"Sylvain caught up to it in a rest stop it had holed up in. All three agents died that day. One apprentice had his neck broken and was left face down in a toilet bowl. He drowned. The other one died of a traumatic brain injury when he was picked up by the head and slammed into a concrete wall. And Sylvain-"

She paused and put her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes tight. Strauss almost felt guilty about questioning her, now. His anger faltered under the sight of a friend in distress. He prodded gently. "Sylvain didn't stay dead, did she?"

"No." Artemis croaked through tears. "She won her fight. She did. She managed to fatally wound the piece of shit and call for backup before she went down." Artemis paused to catch her breath and held her arms tightly around her chest.

"She didn't die right away. It was actually three weeks. She wanted to live so badly Strauss. She knew what was coming if she didn't. Vampire blood is potent though, and she was too badly injured to fight off the infection. She basically died in my arms in the infirmary."

"I believe I understand." Strauss replied solemnly. "She was meant to be destroyed after that, but you didn't have the heart to go through with it."

"I couldn't do it. It was my fault she got hurt. I sent her on that mission, I made that call. When she woke up screaming at me not to let them hurt her what the Hell sort of person would I be if I walked away? No. I refused to do it. I couldn't."

"Where is she now?"

"I don't know." Artemis rubbed her face with her hands. "We tried to help her adjust. Tried to help her adapt. But her whole world was just... broken. She'd spent her entire adult life thinking a vampire was a monster without a mind and without a soul. Now she had to make that her reality. You know very well that not all people can 'make it' as a vampire, and she took it extremely hard. By the end there was no reasoning with her."

"You say that as if she died."

"She's dead to me." Artemis replied with an edge of anger to her sadness. "Auntie was going to destroy her after she attacked me physically. I still couldn't let them do it. I walked her out the front door and told her to leave. I told her if she ever came back I wouldn't intervene in what happened one way or the other. So she did. She left with the clothes on her back. I never saw her again."

"I see." He looked down and away. "It sounds like you cared for her very much."

"I did. I do. I shouldn't, but I do. I worry about her every day. I have no idea if she's even still alive."

"So you created Project Symbiosis because of her."

"Yes. I had to prove to her- to myself, that a vampire actually could be rehabilitated. That your state of being was not automatically a death sentence. We went through our records, and we chose you. You had only recently lost your harmless rating. We don't go after the harmless. We're not allowed to per the church. After you lost it, we had grounds for removal. We had the excuse to go after you, and you were the best possible candidate."

"So this research project was essentially tainted from the beginning." Strauss tapped his claws to his chin. "You started with a hypothesis you wanted to be true because of your own feelings, not necessarily based on observations."

"No. The observations came from studies I conducted while trying to help Sylvain. The research might be flawed, but it's not meritless. Look at you." She turned to him with a smile, still red and wet from tears. "You've met and exceeded expectations at every turn. I actually feel guilty we never tried it before now. Who knows how many people we could have saved."

"And your preferential treatment of Sylvain helped cause the schism."

"Yes. Some were loyal to her, and therefore to the Institute that protected her, the others were loyal to "the cause" and just wanted her dead."

"Is she the one that took your eye?"

"Yes, the night I threw her out. It was an accident... I know it was an accident and it was really my fault for pushing her as hard as I did-"

"That is enough." Strauss got up and joined her by the window, placidly watching the storm. He'd gotten honesty, so why did he feel worse than before?

"I have been told that... you loved her."

"I did. Yes. I do. It's over now, but I do all the same."

"So you could love a vampire?" He asked softly.

"I tried to. But... Could a vampire love a vampire slayer?"

"Have you slain a vampire with your own hands, Frau Van Helsing?"

"I have."

"Well. Vampires have slain humans before as well. So I suppose that makes it even."

She cleared her throat. She was tired, now, and also nervous to be alone with Strauss for reasons she felt might be different than before. "Auntie is going to be doing her rounds soon. You need to get out of here before she sees you."

"Very well, Artemis." He nodded, slipping back into comfortable casualness. "I am sorry for cornering you like this. It was not my intention to frighten you."

"Don't worry about it. We'll talk more tomorrow but don't get caught out of the dorms at this hour. You might get darted, for real."

"I will be careful. Gut nacht."