#my italian had big marker mark on her

[crystalvalley]

Posey ~ SPAIN | EU | ITA

[youneedasoultraveller]

Is Nicky the only one headcanoned by people as bad with languages or are Nile and Booker seen the same way too (Andy is of course excluded from that due to her age and Joe is universally depicted as skilled with languages) ? I would expect Nile to be seen as bad with languages due to the American education system but it doesn’t seem to be the case.

Hello! Post-response me would like to apologise once again for the length of this post :(

I have personally not found a single fic where either Booker or Nile were depicted bad with languages; at most I found fics where Nile cannot speak languages other than English yet and you have the rest of the Guard routinely teaching her this and that idiom.

So, no, in my experience the only one that I saw people actively headcanon as bad at languages is Nicolò. Even though exactly as you point our if we want to go by stereotypes the one that should have been hc’d as such should have been Nile precisely because the large majority of Anglos are monolingual and the way languages are taught in their educational systems is horrendous to say the least (I will never forget my experiences studying Arabic in a Canadian university).

As it stands, Nile is shown using a couple of words of Pashtu, and if I remember correctly it is mentioned that she speaks Spanish in her presentation card, but if it’s the average American knowledge of Spanish “mi casa es su casa” then I would not call that speaking it. But these are just suppositions :)

So canon doesn’t give us much, that we know. And this is where headcanons come in. Like I was saying, usually people would not write Nile as multilingual but as someone who is in the process of learning several languages.

No one is indicated that she is bad at it, although if you ask pratically anyone in the world they will tell you that Americans and Brits are the worst at both learning and speaking other languages, because in those cultures there is a deep imperialist bias engrained – whether they are aware or not – that everyone in the world speaks English, so they can spare the effort to try to pronounce properly another language, or, God forbid, learn it at all. Nothing indicates us that Nile butchers or not other languages, and no one ever takes it into account.

As for Booker, he is French so normally Anglos would have also made fun of his way of talking if it had not been for Matthias.

And now I reach my point. The main reason why Nicolò is consistently depicted as terrible at languages is because of Luca’s Italian accent, and the fact that you can see he is not as fluent in English as Marwan and Matthias are, who are like him not native speakers. This even though the man speaks five languages.

I am not going into the whole mess with interviews with native English speakers who treated him as if he were dumb just because he could not really understand their accent (I myself often have to slow down and ask for a repeat, because some accents are just not as immediately intelligible as Anglos think), given that it has been discussed at length.

The only thing I want to stress is how this headcanon is extremely imperialistic, condescending and plays once again into the harmful stereotype of the dumb, illiterate Southerner.

Linguistic discrimination is a thing, and it’s a thing everywhere. By linguistic discrimination I don’t just mean that against people who cannot speak a major language (or the “official” language of the country they are in), but it also affects accents.Accents have everything to do with geography and class: it is a marker of where you are from, and plays into prejudices linked to the social standing and the class usually associated to that accent. Now, languages are a natural process, in continuous evolution and adaptation, whereas standardised languages (including a standardised pronunciation) are artificial choices. Just think of British vs American English: they are both theoretically the same language, but they diverge in several instances in terms of both vocabulary and pronunciation.Whip this up to the max when it comes to speaking a language that is not your own. The sounds and grammar structures of your mother tongue have an impact on the way you process a different language. That’s why it’s difficult for Spanish-speakers to pronounce S + consonant at the beginning of a word, or why Slavic languages have a harder H sound (again at the beginning of a word). Even when you have the grammar and pronunciation down to a T and are virtually indistinguishable from a native speaker, it does not mean that people who lose their accents and speak like a BBC tv host are any better at languages than people whose accent is still noticeable, or whose speech flow may be slower.

Having an accent does not qualify the level of fluency in a set language. Not speaking like a dictionary does not qualify the level of your intelligence (and I cannot believe I have to even say that).

And yet having an accent is politicised for classist and racist purposes. If someone does not blend in 100% with the majority, it means that something is lacking in them: usually it means they do not have the same level of education, which means they probably come from a lower class, or that they also are foreigners. So they are less than, just because their speech is deemed as not up to par with that of the majority.

@lucyclairedelune meant this when she brought up the example of Gloria from Modern Family, saying “you don’t know how intelligent I am in Spanish”. I want to make an example that is closer to my heart. Elena Ferrante in her wondrous Neapolitan Quartet described the life of a girl who was trying to escape from the material and psychological misery of the slums of Naples in the 60s. To do so she migrates North to study at one of Italy’s most prestigious university: here, however, she is bullied for her accent that clearly marks her origins and (prejudicially, since people of the South were in general poorer) status, class, and, finally, categorises her as less intelligent. Just because of her accent when speaking standard Italian. As a Southern Italian woman, I have often felt like I had to mask my own accent, both in Italy and abroad, to be taken seriously. This regardless of my academic qualifications or how many languages I speak. 

When people describe Nicolò as bad at languages simply because Luca has an accent and speaks English slower and less fluently than his co-stars, this is the context that this treatment plays in. Subconsciously (or consciously) it adds to the image that a big chunk of the fandom is painting of him as dumb and ignorant. No one else. And the fact that (luckily) no one ever uses Nile’s monolingualism as a marker for being less intelligent is also because being American is still taken as the standard, as well as the fact that unfortunately Nile (like Yusuf) is going through positive discrimination by which she cannot have any complexity or flaws (starting from hardly ever acknowledging the fact that she herself was part of an invader/occupying foreign force which has bombed and killed civilians in Afghanistan, and was in the midst of a military operation exactly in this sense). 

According to that specific discourse, Nicolò is being given every single possible flaw, in order to be opposite to Yusuf. Again, because this fandom, with its Anglocentrism and Puritan incapacity of overcoming black-and-white oppositions, cannot seem to accept that we have a beautiful interracial, interreligious same-sex couple of complex individuals, who can both be smart at the same time. I myself think that Yusuf historically is better at languages than Nicolò, as he was a merchant (and an artist), and I love this difference about them, but conflating intelligence with proficiency in one single language (because it’s only proficiency English that we have been discussing, let’s be honest, if the show had been shot in German we would not be talking about Luca’s issues with the language probably) is an utterly imperialistic, condescending and ridiculous thing to do.

I probably lost the train of my thought (and I had two beers in the meantime, so I am too tired to reread), but what I mainly wanted to highlight is that this mocking attitude towards Nicolò is rooted in both a  wider downgrading trend of his character, and on a general approach towards non-English speakers that Anglos have virtually everywhere.

[harryskalechips]

Too bad I’m attracted to you

A/n I know I said this was going to be up in two weeks but believe it or not, I’ve been so excited about this one. I’ve been writing it for three days and it is one of the biggest pieces I’ve worked on. Overall, some references such as places and the school system refer back to Canada because I am Canadian LOL. It’s easier to write about something you’re familiar with so in this case, we’re set in the true north.

word count: 6884 (I told you it’s very big 😉)

Please enjoy and give it a like or something, it means a lot xx

---------

Autumn 

Harry’s POV 

The school bell rings announcing that school was finally in session here at St. Clements High school. The year had just begun with the leaves breezing through the air and the sound of joyous laughter in the streets from children who had just begun school. 

It’s my fifth year teaching here at an all-girls school. During my first year, students and even teachers would constantly hit on me and I would like to say that stopped but it hasn’t. Many of the students may think I don’t hear them whispering or murmuring in the hallways but I do. I definitely do. 

I look up from my phone to see twelfth graders entering my classroom. I lock my iPhone and stand up in front of the board, observing the girls as they chose desks to sit near their friends. I offer a small smile to the girls who greet me and give a slight nod, waiting for the girls to be seated so I can start my introduction. 

“Good morning girls, I’m your English teacher Mr.Styles.” The girls wait silently as I see friends make eye contact with each other, probably communicating with their eyes. “This year, you girls will be graduating so throughout this course, we will be looking at three main ideas.” I roll up the sleeves of my black polo and grab a piece of chalk to write on the chalkboard. “Now, I’m sorry we’re jumping right into the ocean. I promise I will properly introduce myself and let you girls introduce yourself to each other, right after this.”

I face the board and write a list...

1. Format

2. Author’s choices

3. Clarification of ideas

I put the chalk down and rest my hands on my hips, facing the girls. “Okay, so I’m going to explain these points, if you would like too, you can write down what I say but I also have a syllabus for you girls that will be ready at the end of this week.” 

After 30 minutes of explaining the course, I lean on the front of my desk, finally looking at each of the students so I can remember what they look like when I learn their names. “Okay so let’s start the introduction.” I laugh a bit at the idea of introducing myself every year. “Should I start or would someone like to volunteer?” 

“I would!” A girl speaks up. She had natural ginger hair with slight freckles on her face. Just from the way she stood up, I knew she was the student in class who would participate the most. “Hello, I’m Cathy. A random fact about me is I love to watch Netflix. Say any show and I can guarantee I’ve watched it.” The class of 17 girls clapped enthusiastically, supporting one another.

After a couple more turns, and Jazzy was done stating her random fact about being obsessed with Nutella, a girl with light brown hair and pale skin stood up. She smiled sweetly and looked around the classroom before looking at me. I give her a slight nod to continue and she coughs in her sleeve before standing up straighter to continue. 

Now, I never looked at my students and debated whether they are pretty or not but for some reason, when this unfamiliar girl spoke I became way too interested in what she was saying than I have ever been with any students I have taught. 

“Hi um, my name is Adeline. A weird fact about me is I love to eat the chocolate part before eating a KitKat.” Her friends gasp while some called her out for eating the chocolate wrong but I laughed as I crossed my arms and watched her sit back down, shaking her head. 

As class came to a finish, I learned a few interesting facts about these seniors. I learned that a few hated English and loved math, some didn’t appreciate or care much about their education and some of these girls are really hard workers who want the best mark. Of course, I see these types of students every year but it’s nice to know which one these students are in my class so I can predict their course mark for the rest of the year. 

I wait for my next class and repeat my routine. This year I was teaching 12s, 10s, and 9s.

——

Adeline’s POV

“Oh my god. Adel wasn't Mr. Styles so hot in class today? Did you see his back muscles contract when he wiped the board?” Mya leaned against the locker beside me while rolling her eyes in the back of her head. Mr. Styles is definitely going to be her crush this year. Last year, it was Mr.Belmonte and the year before that was Mr. Sanchez. “Don’t give me that look, Adel. If you don’t think Mr. Styles is hot then maybe you’re lesbian!”

“Mya as much as gay people are cooler than you, I’m sadly as straight as a raw spaghetti noodle.” I laugh it off and shut my locker as we walk together to Biology class. 

“He’s our first period for the rest of the year. He’s going to always start the day off. I’m really excited.”

“That’s nice to know. I mean I’m excited about his class too, I really love English I hope he isn't a hard marker.”

As I spoke to Mya, my best friend, I truly began to wonder how I can improve more in English and see if I wanted to pursue it in University. So a month into Mr. Styles's class, I decided to stay after to ask him a question. 

“Hi, Sir. I just have a quick question I was hoping you would be able to help me out with.”  I approach him as he has a pen cap in between his teeth as he marked our commentary assignment from a few days ago. He looks up at me and sits up while focusing all his attention on me. 

“Sure Addy, what’s up?” No one has ever called me addy before. I know it’s surprising but usually, all my friends called me by the nicknames Adel, laine, or what my parents call me, delly. 

“Well, I truly love English but I don’t know if I would want to major in it. I was wondering if you know any opportunities I can try during my free time so I can think about it. I really have a passion for teaching and English but how do I know what to expect?” He genuinely looked really interested as he watched the grade 10’s enter his class.

“You know I’ve seen your work Addy. You have real potential. I don’t know if you would like this idea but I would love to be your mentor and help you with this skill you want to pursue. I know when I was in University being a TA, truly led me to this passion of becoming a teacher.” I nod my head and clench my binders tighter to my chest because it felt weird talking to a teacher for too long.

“If you would like too. I’ve never done this before actually but would you like to be my own assistant? I can ask Mrs. Raisell to verify with her. I think you can help me with marking younger students’ work and work on the outline of my lessons. At the end of this, I can write you a reference letter and give you hours if you need it for a special program.”

“Wow sir, no yeah I would be really honoured. It would mean a lot if I got to work side by side with you.” He smiles and stands up, probably a signal that I should go to my next class because he’s about to teach his. 

“Obviously during your class or anything to do with that class, it will not have to do anything with what you do with me but yeah, I would love to go over things with you to see if this career path is right for you. Let me just start my class and maybe I can get back to you by the end of the week?”

“Perfect. Thank you, sir.” And with our final remarks, I left his class with the biggest smile on my face. 

-

It’s been two months working with Mr. Styles after school. After Mrs.Raisell, my principal, accepted his idea, Mr. Styles and I began working alongside each other. Every Tuesday and Thursday, I would come back to his class after Calculus since it was the end of the day. His last period was a prep period which meant he had a period for himself to mark work and prep his lessons. When I come to his class, usually we focus on whatever he has left to mark. Some late nights, we would drown in a whole deep conversation about life when we get off topic about another conversation.  

“Mr.Styles, I have a few more papers to go through but I was going to uber some dinner, are you hungry?” I ask him as I sit at the desk in front of his very own. 

He looks up at me and stretches his arms. “You know, you’ve been helping me out a lot. How about I buy us some dinner? I know a really tasty Italian bistro a couple blocks from here.”

“Yeah, sure. Let me just text my mom so she knows I’m not at school anymore.” He nods his head and stands up, collecting my work and the papers he has on his desk. He shoves them into his side leather bag and waits for me by his door so he can lock it. 

He turns off the light and we walk together to his car. “Wow, nice car. I’m guessing you’re a bachelor?” He unlocks his car and smirks while putting his bag in the back. He takes my backpack as well and puts it behind the passenger seat. 

“Yeah, bachelor you’re very much correct.” He opens my door and gestures to me to sit inside so he can go to his side of the car and get in. 

“How are you still a bachelor?” I joke as I watch him shift the car into drive. We zoom out of the parking lot and with a few bumps from the speeding bumps, we’re on the main roads. He looks at me and laughs. 

“What do you mean? I’m 25.” He gazes at me while his elbow rests against his door and his hand is on the wheel. His other hand rests on the gear shift. 

“Well, no I just- I know it’s weird to say it but a lot of the girls in our school have a crush on you and not by students. I mean actual teachers. My history teacher was talking about how cute you were today.” His cheeks redden and his eyes widen just a tiny bit.

“Oh, Sandra. Yeah, I had a feeling she liked me. She would always make me coffee when I’m in the staffroom marking.”

“Woah.” I laugh. I can’t believe I’m having such a casual conversation with Mr. Styles. Especially since he’s my teacher. I guess it’s natural for us though since I’ve been with him for two months now. 

“So do your friends know you’re with me after school on some days?” He asks after he parks in the restaurant's lot.

“No actually.” We pause the conversation for a quick minute as we walk out the car together. He holds the door for me as we enter and the waitress directs us to a booth secluded in the corner. 

“How come?” He takes his jacket off and looks at the menu while I flip through the pages quickly, scanning everything on their menu. “My friends would think about weird scenarios of me working with you. I don’t know. I’m scared some of the girls in the class might become jealous about the opportunity you gave me.” He listens to me and watches me while I talk. 

“Oh wow. Yeah, I get why you didn’t tell them.” He closes his menu, probably knowing what he wants. “And to be honest, I’ve never done this before. I wouldn’t offer it to any student. I think after reading your work and your interest in the career. It would be nice to mentor you. Plus, as much as high schoolers are. I’m pretty sure nothing weird will come out of this. Mrs. Raisewell has been checking on us quite frequently to make sure no boundaries are crossed.”

“Yeah, I think that’s good. My parents were really happy you gave me this opportunity too. So once again, thank you.”

The next day went pretty smoothly during the first period. Ever since I started working with Mr. Styles, he would call me out during class in a teasing manner. For example, he would use me as an example when he was teaching us a lesson. He would also ask me to read out loud with the rest of the class. I never gave much thought to it since after school when we were together and I would always tease him too. Like a couple of days ago I called him out for eating things with his tongue out. I guess you can say he and I truly became closer than a regular teacher/student relationship.

“Addy, stay after class today. I need to talk to you.” He comes by my desk and tells me as the rest of the girls began getting ready for class.

The class went by very quickly in my mind as I kept thinking of what Mr. Styles had to talk to me about it. 

“Hey, sir.” I smile softly as I approach his desk. My eyes sparkled a bit as I checked him out briefly. He was wearing light brown khakis and a tight white long sleeve polo. He zooms out of the window he was looking at on his computer and focuses his attention on me. 

“Addy, hey.” He smiles at me and brushes his hand over his hair. “So, my friend from uni is a professor at Windsor university. I was wondering if you would like to come with me and go to the provincial writers’ gala. It’s basically this event where we listen to authors  and composers of different genres.”

“Yeah, I would love to go. Is there a specific dress code?”

“Yeah, it’s formal. Can you write down your address here, I can pick you up and drive you home. It's also in January.”

“How about I call you so I can give you my number and I can get yours too.”

After we exchanged numbers, I went on my way to my next class.

----

Winter

It’s been five months working with Harry. Throughout these past couple of months, We began sharing more about ourselves. We were on first name bases. I was calling him by his first name when we were not in class and he was driving me home from our late nights. Mrs. Raisell was frequently checking upon us as she promised and everything was going well. 

My friends and I had a few fun memories over the winter break. We were at Rachel’s party and we all got drunk. I spent time with my family and my older sister finally brought home a puppy-like she always wanted to. I bought Harry a Nike sweater for Christmas since I remember him telling me a night while we worked that he wanted to invest more in casual wear. Harry, being very nice. He bought me his favourite book when he first started university which was Emma written by Jane Austen. 

Tonight was the gala. After many months of finding the perfect dress, I found it just a week ago. It was this pretty pink long dress that was off the shoulders and with a slit through the leg. As much as I wasn’t Harry’s date, I would be with him all night long. I didn’t want to look like an 18-year-old student of his but more of his actual friend who came out with him tonight. 

“Wow, Adeline.” He smiles at me as I leave my house and step out. He had a single red ombre rose in his hand for me. “You look very pretty tonight. I would think you’re trying to get yourself a boyfriend from the event.”

“I don’t think I’ll be looking for one tonight especially since I have my teacher beside me the whole night.” I tease.

“Hey.” He drags the word out and laughs. “I asked you to be my date so you’re right. No looking for boys tonight.” Oh, so I was his date. I took in his outfit he had his hair nicely gelled as he had just gotten a haircut and he was wearing a classic black suit.

As we made our way into the fancy venue, we sat at a table with people we did not know. There were many people here tonight with cameras everywhere. Throughout dinner, we made small talk with the others and by the time I knew it, we were facing the front of the stage listening to a composer who wrote a one-hit-wonder. I had my second glass of wine tonight, feeling the need to destress. Harry only had one and stopped there.

“Harry,” I whisper in his ear. We were sitting very closely together as we listened to the 4th speaker of the night. He kept an arm around my chair after fidgeting for the past couple of minutes. 

“Yes, Addy.”

“Can we walk out a bit, I’m just feeling really sleepy from listening to them talk.” He nods without another word and helps me stand up. We try to walk out of the hall without causing much attention. He leads me outside into the cold air and leans against the pillar. 

“You okay? I brought you out here, maybe the cold air can wake you up a bit.”

I smile at him because he looks so cute being concerned about me. “Thank you. I really appreciate you bringing me here tonight. I’ve just been exhausted hearing them talk for two hours.” He laughs and stands up straighter. He takes his suit jacket off and hangs it over my body. “Trust me, I was daydreaming in there.” I laugh at his thought. 

“Wow, my teacher daydreams while another one talks too? huh.” I grasp onto his shoulders as I feel myself almost about to fall. 

“Okay, I think it’s time for us to go home. What do you think?”

“No! I’m not drunk I promise.” I smile and pull on his arm to try and get him to stop us from walking to his car. “Please Harry. I really am enjoying this night with you.” 

“Okay fine but can we go inside my car and go somewhere else if we’re done with this event?” I nod my head and with his hand still in mine, he brings us into his car. 

We sat quietly in his car for a couple of minutes. Until he turned his head to look at me. I had my body facing him already as my head rested on the seat’s headrest. I was admiring how good he looks. 

“You tired?” He asks me gently as the warm air blows on my cheeks. “You have those cute lil red cheeks because of the cold weather. I should have told you to bring your jacket tonight.”

“It’s alright.” I smile. “Thank you for tonight. I know it’s weird having your student as your date but you truly made my night. People may think how weird we are because of how close we are but I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate everything you have done for me. You believe in me and only want the best for me.”  He smiles and mimics my exact position. 

“Adeline, I can definitely say out of all my years teaching. I have never gotten close to a student before like this. I don’t regret anything with you. First time I saw you, you were just a pretty girl and a smooth voice but now I know how funny you think you are, how passionate you are, and just how genuinely smart you can be.” and without another thought process in my mind, I kiss him because I’ve always wanted to. The moment I saw him in the halls last year, my heart truly did skip a beat and it hasn’t stopped since. He pulls away from me as quickly as my lips touch his. He looked into my eyes for a couple of seconds and I was about to apologize for being so rash except he pulled me in again with his hand on my cheeks. His lips were full and soft. His lips were on mine and they fit so perfectly that I had no other thought except the feeling of his soft palm on my face. We kissed for a couple of minutes and by the time I knew it, he was driving me home with his hand placed in my lap as I played with his rings. 

He stops in front of my house as all the lights are turned off, meaning my parents went to bed as did my sister. 

“Thank you, Harry. You know I had a great night.” He pulls his hand away from me and turns off the radio.

“Addy, about what happened in the parking lot. I’m sorry I kissed you. The moment was just very overwhelming.” He looks at the wheel in front of him. 

“I don’t regret it, Harry. Do you?” My heart beats fast, scared of the rejection that is seeping through his soft lovable lips.

“Yes. I promised you and I that I would not let us cross boundaries.” I look out into the deep night, seeing my street completely empty because it’s 1 in the morning. 

“We crossed boundaries the moment I started calling you by your first name, Harry. Why did you kiss me anyways? Maybe, it is inappropriate having your student as your date. Why did you ask me?” I feel so vulnerable after being rejected by him. I feel so embarrassed that the 18-year-old student he thought wouldn’t throw herself at him, actually did.

“Adeline.” He looks at me as I look away, getting ready to leave his car. 

“Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Styles but I think it’s my time I take a step back and focus on a different career since this one does not seem right for me.”  I leave his car without another word and run up my driveway, crying. All I wanted to do was hide in my sheets.

After this night, I didn’t go to Harry’s class for three days. The first day, I stayed home but the other two days, I came to school after the first period was over. 

“Addy, oh my God. Why aren’t you at homeroom anymore?” Mya spots me locking my locker. “Mr. Styles has been in such a bad mood ever since the beginning of this week. He yelled at us because we didn’t understand a layout he taught us not even 15 minutes prior.” I let my hair fall behind my uniform and carry my binders to my chest. Mya was frustrated, rolling her eyes at the thought of our English teacher. 

“I don’t know, I keep waking up late,” I answered very shortly. 

“I’m starting not to like him anymore. He’s been such an ass! As much as he’s really hot, I can’t deal with him.” We turn the corner and I spot Harry coming out of the English department office with papers in his hand. He looks at me quickly then keeps his head straight to continue walking back to his class. Ouch.

“Okay.” I murmur in response to Mya, after seeing him again. 

~

“Hi, Ms. Olsen, is it okay if I pull Adeline out of your class for a quick minute?” Mr. Styles appears at the door of my history class. Ms. Olsen smiles sweetly and agrees. All the girls in my class look at each other while I stand up from my seat and meet him outside the hallway. They probably thought I was in trouble for skipping his class for the past few days

“Yes, Mr. Styles?” I reply with a cold tone laced in my voice. He was wearing a grey collar t-shirt today with black slacks. 

“Have you been purposely avoiding me, Adeline.” He asks seriously as he whispers.

“No, It’s been a coincidence. I have not been feeling well and I’ve been waking up late.” Not true. 

“See me in my class after school like usual.” and with that, he opens my classroom door, gesturing me to go inside. As I walked past him, his scent clung to my nose and I have missed it. 

~

As I entered his classroom, his class was empty. He was resting against the classroom’s bookshelf reading over a book. I close the door and approach him, with my bag being held by only one of my shoulders. 

“Mr. Styles, You wanted to see me.” He puts his book back into a spot on his bookshelf, my eyes catching the book of his favourite that he gave me last Christmas. 

“Addy, you have to understand why I regret our kiss.”

“I do.”

“No you do not,” He moves to his desk and sits on it, he brings me closer to him so I stand almost in between his legs. “I love my job a lot. I’ve always been attracted to you the moment you stepped in my class but my aim was to never seduce you or take advantage of you.”

“I’m eighteen. I-”

“Baby, don’t talk while I’m speaking.” baby. He just called me baby. “ I know you’re eighteen but you’re still my student. I know the age gap is 7 years but that’s not the point. I wasn’t supposed to act on my feelings, all I ever wanted to do was help you. So, I just want to tell you, I’m sorry because of what happened and I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. You deserve a whole lot better than I because as much as you’ve interested me out of all the girls I’ve ever known, I can’t give you what you want.”

“I really like you, Harry.” I walk into him, trying to be comforted. 

“I really like you too, Addy. I haven’t been in a relationship for eight years but for some reason the more I got to know you, the more I wanted you to be my girlfriend.”

“Take me home please,” I whisper into the crook of his neck as he wraps his arms around me. “Take me to your home.”

I walk into one of my neighbourhoods near my school, where Harry would pick me up. I spotted his car just ahead of me so I ran and opened the door to the vehicle that I’ve grown so familiar with. The moment I’m inside, I place my hand on his jaw while he grasps onto my hip to kiss me. His kiss felt so more affectionate as his thumbs rubbed circles on my hips. He kisses down my neck and onto my collar bone, sure to leave a hickey while I pull onto his hair. 

“Okay Addy, let’s go home.” 

His home was a small townhouse 40 minutes from school. It was very beautiful though and very well decorated. His living room had bookshelves everywhere filled from top to bottom. 

“Would you like anything to drink?” 

“No, I’m okay. Can we watch a movie and cuddle though.” 

Spring

“Hey, how are you?” Harry smiles at me as I enter his classroom. It’s May now, so his windows are open so fresh air can breeze through the room. 

“I’m good, what about you?” I approach him and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “I bought you some cookies from the cafeteria.” He smiles at me and kisses me on the forehead as he hugs me. 

“Thanks, baby.”  He sets up our usual set when I help him with marking. Usually, we act professionally at school, maybe a little cuddling occasionally. We try to finish early though so we can make it to his house so we can spend actual time together. “Does it still hurt?” He rubs my leg.

 A couple of months ago, I had sex for the very time and it was with him. He was very gentle with me and I spent a whole night at his place. In the morning, we had sex over and over again until going somewhere a bit out of town for some breakfast. Last night though, we had it pretty rough that this morning, while I was walking to his desk during class to ask him about a literary device, he smirked at me while I tried not to limp in front of everyone. 

“Yeah, as you care.” I roll my eyes at him and take out my 5th red pen since October. 

“I do baby but it’s nice to know that you’ve physically been dick down by me huh.” He sits in his chair and opens the bag full of cookies and taking a bite.

“No one knows you’re dicking me down except for us.” I bite on my pen and laugh.

“I think that’s what makes it hotter.” He offers me a cookie but I shake my head. 

“I’m graduating soon,” I smirk. He nods and swallows what he’s chewing.”

“University of Toronto Addy, I’m happy you’re pursuing English.”

“Thanks, daddy.” I joke with him as he raises his eyebrow. “I’m sorry I know the rules.”

“Yeah, don’t try and make me fuck you right here on my desk.”

“But maybe you should.” I blurted out loud. “I mean I’m graduating soon and I want you too.” I bite my lip and put down my pen. Without a word, he takes the papers and put them on the desk Jazzy sits in near the front. He pulls me out of my chair and onto his desk. 

“You want me to bend you over in the class where you sit every morning, talking to your friends.” I nod my head. He pulls off my grey blazer that is part of my uniform and throws it on the floor. He walks over to the door and locks it. He goes to the window and shuts each of them tight and closing the blinds. He stands in front of me again and unties his tie, then rolling it up. “Guess, where I’m putting my tie today baby?” He holds onto my hips so he can rub his growing self on me.

“In my mouth?” He smirks and whispers in my ear, a quiet no. He unrolls it and wraps it around my head so I can’t see. His fingers slowly take off my panties and he rolls them into a ball with a small murmur of him saying open, which I do. He shoves them in my mouth and pushes me more onto the desk. He pulls my skirt down and unbuttons my white polo shirt. He takes it off leaving me bare. “Not wearing a bra, I see.” 

He places his mouth onto my wet center and I moan. He wraps his hands around my inner thighs spreading them open, as I grip onto his hair. He leaps his tongue on my clit a couple of times, sucking onto it making my hips press onto his face. His growing facial hair tickling me. He takes my hands and adjusts them behind my back as he uses his other hand to take off his pants and boxers. From the way, he started rubbing his dick on me, I could tell his pants were probably down to his knees. He makes me stand up and he turns me over, pressing my tits to his cold wooden desk. As I moan, he inserts himself into me very quickly as I cry because of how good it feels. The frustration and the lust running in my veins making my heart want to burst. He keeps his hand holding onto mine as his other one gathers my hair into a makeshift ponytail. He bends down and starts kissing me, whispering the dirtiest things that always get me going. 

“You like that you little slut?” “You feel me deep in there baby?” “You’re doing so well for me, I love how tight you are, always trying to make daddy feel good.” 

By the time I knew it, he comes in me and stays for a little while, trying to catch his breath. He unties his tie around me and the first thing I see when I open my eyes are his clear beautiful green eyes. He carries me on top of his desk after wiping me off and putting my blazer on me. He fixes himself up first then helps me get dressed. He then carries me to sit on his lap in his chair as we nap for a bit. 

I think I’m in love with him.

Summer

“Okay girls, You’ve done so well this semester. You’ve had your fun time at prom but next week you girls are graduating. Thank you for trying hard in my course, I really wish the best for each and one of you because I solely believe that women are our future.” He smiles as we come to our last class of the year. I truly am going to miss Harry as my teacher. Of course, I’m going to miss how he gave me special extensions on assignments and his extra help on my work but what I really am going to miss is his presence. I’ve seen him every day for the past 9 months. I also can’t ignore the fact I’m so in love with him. 

He makes eye contact with me and smiles wider. He makes a fish face at me for a second and I blush to return one back. He then proceeds with his conclusion of the course and what we can expect in university. This is the room where I fell in love with him and it will also be the room where I leave him as I set my pathway in University. Of course, I’ll still see him every day since the apartment my parents bought me is close to campus and his place but it’s different because we won’t be at school anymore. 

... 

The day arrived and here we are at my graduation. After the long ceremony, My friends and I all took our pictures. I took some pictures with Mya and her family and with my family as well. After Harry was done having pictures with girls from my English class, he approached me. He greeted my parents, which they responded enthusiastically, knowing he and I are very close. They always teased me about having a crush on my teacher, what they don’t know is that I’ve been dating him for 5 months. My sister knew though, I needed someone to cover me up.

 “Hello, Ms. Chastain. I was wondering if I could take a picture with my favourite student?” I roll my eyes and ask my sister, Marla to take a picture of us. He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close as we smiled widely together. We also took some selfies on my phone with kisses to each other when we were more separated from the rest of the big crowd. “Will you come to my house tomorrow night, for your celebratory dinner?” I squint my nose and pretend to act all iffy. 

“I don’t know Mr. Styles. Don’t you think it’s weird that a student will come to your house for dinner?” He pulls my hair a bit and pokes my hip.

“Shut up.” He laughs as his eyes crinkle. “Come to my car with me.” I walk with him to his car and I lean a bit on his hood as I watch him take something out of his car. He pulls out a huge bouquet of red roses and a teal bag from tiffany and co. The parking lot was empty because either everyone was in the hall or have already left. He hands me the gifts and kisses me on the lips. “Congratulations my baby. I’m so proud of you. 

He helps me take out the necklace from the bag. It was this beautiful diamond on this thin chain that rested perfectly in between my collar bones. Underneath the pendant, the letter H&A was engraved. I kiss him one more time, knowing tomorrow will be the day I tell him that I love him. 

~

“Wow, I can definitely smell the storm you’re cooking up in here.” I smile as I enter his house. I was wearing a nice blouse and white jeans with his necklace. He was wearing his casual attire, that I’ve grown to see more often as he bought more while we were dating. He was wearing this I heart new york knit sweater and tight black jeans. 

“Just for you, Love.” He helps me sit at his dining table as he sits in front of me. The dinner went overall really well, as we spoke about his experience in University not long ago. By the time, we were finished we were cuddling on his couch watching the fireplace tonight. “Isn’t it crazy how I’ve known you since September and you were my student? I just never really thought I would go for a student.” I rub my foot against his leg and snuggle more into his chest. 

“I never thought I would date the hottest teacher at my school nor get dick downed by him.” He pokes my hip and I cuddle more into him trying to hide. “Harry, I have something to tell you.”

“Yes, my beautiful girlfriend. What would you like to tell me, Baby.” He combs my hair out of my face.

“I love you.” He stays silent for a bit as the crackling of the wood became louder in my ears, I was trying so hard to distract myself from hearing my heartbeat. 

“Thank you.” I sit up a bit to see his reaction. He didn’t seem pleased that I love him.

“Are you not happy?” I pout and sit up so we can talk. “I don’t expect you to say it back but you just don’t look like you want me to love you.”

“Baby, it’s not like that. I just-, I don’t know. You knew we weren’t going to last long. Why did you have to develop such strong feelings?”

“I’m sorry Harry, what? My fault?” I stand up, getting off his couch.

“No, it’s not your fault. I’m trying to say, do you really think we’re going to last while you’re in university? It’s difficult Addy, I don’t want to pressure you into this relationship that seriously yet.” 

“You didn’t have a problem bending me over in your class the other month ago.”

“Adeline. Listen to me. You’re my girlfriend and I feel deeply for you, a lot but I don’t want to take that step yet when you’re just about to enter University.”

“Harry, I can love you whenever I want to.”

“You don’t understand. You went to an all-girls school, now you’re going to a university filled with thousands of men. I’m not saying you’re going to cheat on me but that’s just another example of how different this environment is. What if you do start falling in love with another guy? You’re going to leave me and I’m just going to be heartbroken.  I just-, what you said to me means everything to me and I don’t think you’re really committed enough to say that to me right now.”

“Fuck you, Harry.” I grab my purse, getting ready to leave. 

“Addy, don’t leave we need to talk about this.” He holds onto my arm.

“No Harry, I’m not dealing with your bullshit. It’s not me who is not committed enough to say those words it’s you! You’re not committed enough to admit it. You can’t genuinely believe that you can fall in love with one of your students. Just fuck you, Harry. I’m leaving.” “Adeline.”

“I’m giving you five seconds to tell me why you can’t accept me saying I love you right now, Harry or else I am gone for good.” I cry as he watches me. As I begin to count down, his hands on my waist tighten. “5...4...3...2...1” and with that, I take his hands off me. “It’s not that I’m mad that you can’t love me or anything. I’m just disappointed in you because you’re the first man I have ever loved and you rejected the love that I offered you. I trusted you so much this past year and you threw my feelings back at me.”

“Don’t...leave me, Adeline.” He whispers as he grips onto his hair.

“I’m sorry.” As I walk out his door, I hear him smash things to the ground but he doubted if we were still going to be together next year, I guess he doesn’t...anymore.

[welcometophu]

Not Your Guardian Angel: Chapter 7

Marked Book 3: Not Your Guardian Angel

Chapter 7

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Nate leaves early in the morning, waking Pels enough to let her know that the leftover scones would make a good breakfast, and telling her to feel free to make tea before she goes. When she wakes again two hours later, there’s a note on her pillow with the combination for the garage door so she can close it after she leaves, along with Nate’s phone number scribbled below.

It’s weird being in this house alone. She stays curled on the air mattress on Nate’s floor for a long while, listening, just in case his father came home and is upstairs, but there’s no noise. She wonders if Nate even told him she was here. Probably not. Pels wouldn’t have, if she were in his shoes.

She finally convinces herself to get out of bed and go shower, spotting the lavender bubble bath next to Nate’s shampoo. It smells good, and it’s almost tempting, but she decides to just borrow Nate’s toiletries and shower quickly instead. She leaves her hair wet after toweling off, knowing that no matter what she does, it’s going to curl around her face chaotically because that’s what it does.

Once she’s dressed and shoving her clothes from yesterday into the dirty laundry in her bag, she realizes Dad is sitting on Nate’s bed.

“You should clean up before you go.” He nods at where her phone is half-shoved under her backpack. “Someone’s been trying to get hold of you.”

“Be useful,” she says. “Fold the blankets. Put the rest in the laundry.” She crawls over to her phone and tugs the charger from the plug in the wall, shoving it into her pack so she doesn’t forget it, then unlocks the phone to see the group chat with Shane and Jess.

When do you want me to pick you up? Nate sent me the address but he said you were sleeping still. I was still sleeping when he sent it. Maybe you’re awake now too?

Jess had added a picture of herself with bedhead and Shane in the background spread-eagled across her bed still asleep. The time stamp is an hour ago for that first message, and there have been several since, mostly pictures.

We’re spending the day in the Quad because it’s nice and the cats really like being outdoors, whether they are actually cats at the moment or not. Ángel and Hayley put up with it because they love them. We put up with it because well, we’re hanging out with them.

Pels checks the time. I’m just cleaning up here. Lie, since Dad’s the one leaving a neatly folded pile of blankets on the bed, and taking the pillowcase off the pillow she used. You could probably come get me any time. I’ll go outside when I’m done and wait in the driveway.

Great! We’ll see you then! Can you text Nate and let him know we want a box of pastries and I can swing by Teas Please to pick it up? I think he already likes you better than me. He literally thanked me for letting him have you stay over.

Pels’s fingers go still against the keyboard.

“You’re smiling.” Dad kneels at the end of the air mattress. He pulls the plug and pushes on it, the air whooshing out.

“I have literally never had anyone say that someone likes me better than them.” Pels shakes her head, trying to let it go, even though the thought is spreading through her warmly. Sure, she types back.

She helps Dad get the air out of the mattress, and together they fold it up and put it back in the box where it lives under Nate’s bed. She sends the text off to Nate, and gets back an affirmative. Once she’s outside in the driveway, the garage door securely closed behind her, she sits with the phone cradled in her hand, staring at it and trying to formulate words.

Hey. I just wanted to say thank you for yesterday. I really appreciated having a place to stay, and I had fun watching movies.

She should send thank you notes when people do nice things, right?

That’s what friends are for! Nate sends back. And Mallory is giving me the evil eye for hiding in the kitchen to text, so I’d better get back to work. The box for Jess is at the hostess station. Please tell me you ate something for breakfast. I cannot possibly eat all that on my own.

Pels looks down at the crumbs on the driveway. I stole the last cranberry scone and the little tub of clotted cream and I took a cookie for later, she admits. I hope that’s okay.

Totally fine! Have fun today. Let me know if you need crash space again tonight, or if you’re going to sleep at Jess’s, okay?

Right, there’s a question Pels isn’t sure she’s ready to answer. Okay, she sends back.

Logically, it’d be easier to stay in Jess’s room. She lives on campus. Pels could just walk over to the dorm any time when her access will be active again. Emotionally it’d be easier to stay at Nate’s. He made everything seem so effortless. It was kind of nice.

“Is last night what normal people feel like?” she asks, and Dad laughs. It’s such a strange sound that she looks at him, her brow furrowed.

“Last night is what you deserve to have normally,” he replies. “By the way, Jess is almost here.”

Pels shoulders her backpack and brushes crumbs from her shirt. By the time the car comes into view, she’s at the end of the driveway, bag in hand. The trunk pops open as Jess pulls up in her small sedan, all of her windows rolled down.

“Go ahead and toss your stuff in the trunk,” Jess directs, so Pels does so before climbing into the passenger seat.

It’s a newer car than Nate’s, and she’s able to adjust the seatbelt so it’s less likely to choke her, although it sticks and takes a few tries to get it properly buckled. Jess reaches over to help, and Pels draws back so abruptly that Jess stops dead.

“I’ve got it,” Pels says. There’s a sharp note in her voice, and Jess visibly deflates, leaving Pels wincing on the inside. “I mean. I just don’t want—”

“I get it.” Jess focuses on getting the car moving. “Boundaries. This is still weird.”

“I still don’t know why you have a crush on me,” Pels tries to explain. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“And you don’t actually like me at all,” Jess counters. “I get it, Pels.”

“It��s not—I don’t—” This is more like her usual life, floundering for words and wondering why Dad doesn’t pipe up now to try to help. He’s more than happy to push her into things, but less likely to provide words when she can’t find them. Pels crosses her arm, trying to make herself even smaller than she already is. “I don’t not like you,” she mutters. “I just don’t want to be forced to like you. There’s a difference.”

Jess’s grip on the steering wheel eases, and this time when she says, “I get it,” it sounds less resentful, and more understanding. “I can’t really understand why I have a crush on you either, if that helps. There’s just something about—I saw you and I wanted to get to know you. I wanted to get inside that wall you’ve got up all the time, and now it feels like you’ve built that wall even higher, but you’re peeking over it at the same time.”

“Sounds about right,” Pels admits. “I’m not good at this. Some people make it seem easy, but it’s not for me.”

“It’s okay.” Jess lifts one hand from the steering wheel, reaching towards Pels like she might pat her before Pels pulls away and Jess is left hovering there for a long moment. Jess carefully puts her hand back on the wheel and doesn’t say anything while she navigates to Teas Please.

There’s a short discussion while Pels gets out her wallet and insists on paying for the box Jess ordered. In the end Pels wins, because Jess stays in the car while Pels runs in to give Jess’s name to the girl standing at the hostess station.

It’s a tiny victory, but it feels like she did the right thing.

Jess takes Pels up to Ángel’s room instead of her own, so she can leave her things someplace safe before they head out to the big lawn between several dorms that makes up the Quad. There are several groups out there already, and a pickup game of frisbee at one end of the Quad. Jess heads to where Hayley is reclining on a blanket, leaning up one elbow talking to a tall boy who seems even more lanky in person. Hayley waves and the boy rolls over, coming to his feet before Pels gets there.

He takes the box from her, opening it up and grinning. “This looks great.” His smile is charming, and Pels feels like people must swoon when they see it. “Hi, Pels. I’m Luca.” He pokes through the box, his smile falling away. “No cannoli?”

“Cannoli tonight,” Hayley says. She lies back on the blanket now, her head pillowed on bent arms. “We’re going to order in from Minnisale’s and you can see how good our Italian is up here.”

Luca huffs. “Won’t be anything like the real thing we’ve got back home.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Jess tells him. “There’s a huge Italian community here, and Minnisale’s is one of the best. Third generation is running it now.”

Luca’s expression eases, like he might be appeased. “I suppose.”

“Where’s Shane?” Her voice sounds too loud, and Pels isn’t sure how to interpret the look Jess gives her when she speaks. “I mean—” Pels could try to explain, but that’ll probably just dig whatever hole she’s in deeper. “I just thought there were going to be more people.”

“For you to avoid,” Dad finishes the thought in an all too on-the-nose way.

“Shane and Ángel went to grab lunch to go with the breakfast you brought, and Tanner and Tony are picking up some drinks from the coffee place Ángel took Tony to earlier this week, because Tony really liked it.” Hayley pats the blanket next to her, on the side where Luca wasn’t lying just a few minutes ago. “C’mere, Pels. I don’t bite. I mean, neither do they, and I do spark a little bit, but it’s okay. We’ve been seeing you around for a while. It’s cool that you’re hanging out with us.”

Pels gives Luca a wary look as she slowly sits next to Hayley. Jess sits nearby, but with the box between them, which gives Pels a buffer zone. Pels isn’t really hungry for more sugar, so she ignores the box and lets the others find their own treats.

“Here.” Jess holds out a paper-wrapped something with “Pels” written on it in bold marker. “I think this one is for you.”

Pels takes it carefully, avoiding Jess’s fingers. “Thank you,” she mutters, half to Jess and half to Dad for not pushing her and forcing things she wasn’t ready for. As she unwraps it, she smells the bacon first, peanut butter second, and the sharp scent of cranberries third. Her mouth waters and she takes a huge bite, making a small pleased noise around it.

Hayley sits up to peer closely at the sandwich. “Is that—?”

Pels nods. “Peanut butter, bacon, and cranberries. And it’s so good. Mallory gave it to Nate last night and I wished I’d eaten the whole thing and we hadn’t shared it. He must’ve had her make one for me today.” Which is possibly one of the kindest things she can think of. “Jesus, he is so nice.”

“Nate’s a good guy, that’s why we figured he’d help out last night.” Jess is staring down at the muffin in her hands, and Pels has a small twist of guilt in her stomach. She must have done something wrong for Jess to look so down.

Who is she kidding? Of course she did something wrong. She has no idea what she’s even doing in the first place.

“Jess, I—”

“Make room!” Ángel’s calls out.

They must have met up, because all four of them are returning at the same time. Tony carries a large cardboard box, while Shane has a thermos swinging from one hand, while he leans on his cane with the other. Ángel leads with a covered platter, and Tanner brings up the rear with two paper bags.

Pels isn’t sure where she’s supposed to go, so she simply pulls her knees up, hunching over to see how small she can become in the corner while still protecting her sandwich. She’s half done eating it by the time everyone sorts themselves out in a circle around the edges of the blankets, with food laid out in the middle.

It’s a lot of food.

Luca, Tanner, and Tony tuck in and make a lot of it disappear frighteningly fast.

Somehow Pels ends up between Tony and Hayley, while Jess settles on the other side of the blanket, next to Shane. Pels is incredibly aware of the distance between them, and the way it feels deliberate. She can’t tell if Jess is giving her space or avoiding her, or a little of each.

Shane reaches for a scone, and stops halfway there with a wince. “Fuck,” he mutters. “I think I overdid it.”

“Can I help?” Jess pats his shoulder, then gives him a small shove until he lies down. She immediately reaches for his hip, digging her fingers into the top of his thigh, just below his hip. Shane closes his eyes with a groan, and Jess pauses to pat him reassuringly before continuing.

“That’s friendship,” Dad murmurs.

Pels ignores him, licking the remains of the cranberry and peanut butter off her fingers.

“Is it permanent?” Tanner asks. He waves a hand at Shane. “You said you broke it in January. Shouldn’t it be better?”

“It was a bad break to start,” Shane says, still lying on his side with one hand over his face. “Chances are I’m stuck with a limp this time around. It’s not the first time.”

“Not your first limp?” Tanner asks, confused when Hayley thwacks him across the chest.

“Not my first lingering injury.”

“If it weren’t for bad luck, Shane wouldn’t have any,” Jess says quietly, her fingers pressing with sure motions into his muscles. “Rory figured out it’s his innate Talent—it’s all about Chaos. But he’s been injured before.”

“I don’t heal fast. And I’m accident prone.” Shane bats at her hand as he rolls to sit up. “I’m good. Thanks. My parents are both Talented, so I was raised in the community. We’ve always seen Healers when we’ve had to, and one was involved this time, even though I needed surgery in the end, too. It’s just something else to get used to. And maybe I’ll get a cool cane eventually.”

“You could probably convince one of the martial arts clubs to teach you how to fight with it,” Ángel suggests.

“And that would be cool.” Shane uses his cane to poke at Ángel from across the circle. “I could defend myself.”

“Am I the only person here who isn’t Talented?” Jess asks.

Tanner raises his hand. “I’ve only been Talented since last weekend, so—I can relate.”

“Besides, you’re a farm girl, which is an entirely different kind of superhero,” Shane points out. “I’m pretty sure you could bench press me if you wanted.”

“Not you.” Jess shakes her head. “Pels, definitely. Hayley maybe.”

“Anyone could bench press Pels, she’s tiny,” Tanner says quickly. “I could probably do it.”

Pels’s eyes go wide, because she has a horrible feeling someone might try. She goes to scoot backwards, but Dad’s there, keeping her firmly within the circle. “Please don’t,” she says.

Tony makes a low noise, almost like a growl under his breath; everyone else goes silent. “No one’s going to do anything you don’t want,” he assures her. “They’re all extroverts. Just ignore them.”

For some reason that makes her snicker, and Tony looks surprised, then pleased by her smile. He leans over to speak quietly, while the rest of the conversation wanders off into something else involving Tanner and Luca shouting, while Shane laughs.

“I didn’t want it,” he says quietly. He’s speaking to her, she’s sure of it the way he leans close and keeps his voice low, but his gaze is fixed on Ángel. “I couldn’t trust magic. I couldn’t even trust my own nose. Then he barged into my life, and this happened.” Tony holds out his hand, wrist exposed.

There is so much ink there. The phases of the moon dance in a line down the inside of his arm, and at the wrist are two vivid angel’s wings, wrapping around him.

“Is that all…?”

“Just the wings.” Tony pulls his arm back from her view. “I heard you’ve got one.”

Pels offers her own arm cautiously, wincing slightly when he takes it and touches the mark with his thumb. “It’s kind of a mess,” she says.

“Mm.” Tony’s gaze remains on Ángel. “I haven’t met Rory or Kit, but I’ve heard about them. They seem happy. I know Hayley’s happy with Tanner, and well, Luca—he’s called Tanner’s cat. I thought I had what I was supposed to have before this, even if I wasn’t happy with it. I couldn’t figure out how to change my life, and when I was offered something good, I almost didn’t take it, because I didn’t trust it. I’m glad I did.”

Across the way, Ángel smiles, and Pels wonders if he overheard their quiet conversation. Then Tanner tackles Ángel, knocking him into Shane, and they all go down in a pile before Tanner and Luca emerge as large cats instead.

“How did you know?” Pels makes a face. “I just mean—it’s all so complicated. I’m not good at this. I don’t even know you and talking to you about this feels weird, and then there they are and I don’t know them either. And I’m not ready to cement this whatever it is and get locked into some kind of life that I’m not ready for.”

“I didn’t know Ángel, either. My family adopted him, and I got to know him, despite myself. Give it a chance.” Tony’s gaze flicks at Jess and Shane. “Give them a chance.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” Pels grumbles.

“Maybe because it’s true,” Dad says. “He has a point.”

“I’m not saying you should start planning a wedding, but give yourself time to figure it out,” Tony suggests. “Don’t hold back because you’re afraid. You deserve good things just as much as they do.”

“I’m not a good thing for them,” Pels says quietly.

Tony just looks at her, and when she blinks, there’s a cat there instead. The cat—Tony—head butts her knee, then meows loudly before jumping into the fray where Tanner and Luca are playing with Ángel and Shane.

He’s so serious when talking, but she can feel the joy in his actions now.

Dad gets up and moves quickly, sitting next to her and somehow taking up space before Jess sits down, even though Jess can’t see him. Pels exhales, even if Dad makes it harder to look Jess in the eye.

“If the afternoon goes anything like the rest of the week, we have now devolved into kitty play time,” Jess says with a soft laugh. “How are you at frisbee?”

Pels touches her finger to her own chest.

“Yes, you.” Jess pushes to her feet, momentarily holding out a hand before withdrawing it quickly and wiping it against her jeans. “It’s frisbee. There’s no accidental touching involved.” Jess waves the frisbee, and Pels follows, Dad trailing after her.

“You can help,” she mutters. “Make them think I’m some kind of miracle worker. They already think I’m Telekinetic. I think.”

Dad claps his hands together, rubbing them quickly. “I never thought I’d hear you actually ask for for help.”

As Jess starts to pull away, leaving Pels so she can move far enough away to throw a frisbee, Pels calls out, “Wait.”

Jess turns back, the frisbee held in one hand. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” Pels doesn’t know how to do this, or what to say to make it right. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess about this. I’m sorry if I don’t seem grateful for your help. And I’m really sorry that I’m terrified of touching you right now. It’s not—it’s not you. It’s just everything. To be honest, I’m not so sure about touching Shane, either, and I’ve already landed in his lap. I’m just not good at this. Any of it. And it kind of freaks me out completely just how okay with it everyone else is.”

Jess is silent for so long that Pels is sure she’s made a mess of things. She’s said the wrong thing. She always says the wrong thing.

She almost misses it when Jess tosses the frisbee at her fast, and the frisbee dips before it reaches Pels. She starts to reach for it, but Dad gets under it, popping it up so Pels can grab at it awkwardly. Her fingers close over the plastic rim, her foot sliding on the grass as she regains her balance.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Jess says quietly. “I’d be surprised if you’re not. I mean, I’m the only one getting my wish here, right? Shane’s used to chaos because that’s what his entire life has been. I’m used to things working out, because I’m the mathematician—I figure out how to make things balance. And you, you’re not used to people, I guess, so you’re nervous. But I really hope you’ll give us a chance. Just get to know us. It’s okay if it doesn’t get romantic. I mean, I don’t even know if you like girls. But maybe that mark means we can be friends, and I’d be happy to be your friend if that’s how it works out. Are you okay with that?”

Jess makes it sound easy, but she also sounds like she’s giving Pels a way out.

“You could give her a chance.”

Pels stares at Dad, stares at him hard and wills for him to hear her inside voice, so she doesn’t have to go as far as making it an outside voice.

He just stares back, which means she has to choose her words carefully.

“As long as no one pushes me into anything,” she says, her gaze still resting on Dad. She finally looks up to see Jess sprinting as far as the nearest tree.

Jess waves. “No one’s going to push you into anything,” she calls out. “Just throw me the frisbee.”

Dad is suspiciously silent, but Pels can’t afford to say anything again, not with everyone listening. She exhales and tries to relax, loosening her grip on the plastic. It’s just frisbee.

She turns her body, swings her arm before she releases the disk. It goes high in the air, wobbling before it drops straight down. Jess dives for it, sliding across the grass and laughing as she misses it, despite the fresh stains on her jeans.

When Jess sends it flying back to her, Dad pushes her so she crosses paths with the frisbee, stumbling when it thunks her hard in the chest. Pels drops to her knees, rubbing at the ache.

It’s just frisbee, but she really hopes it isn’t also a metaphor for anything else right now.

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[cinenthusiast]

Previous Top Ten By Year lists:  1935, 1983, 1965, 1943, 1992, 1978, 1925, 1969 1930

Previous Top Ten By Year: 1949 Posts: Top Ten By Year: 1949 – Poll Results 100 Images from the Films of 1949 What I’ll Remember About the Films of 1949: A Love Letter #10. The Queen of Spades (UK/Dickinson)  #9. Rendezvous in July (Becker)/Au royaume des cieux (Duvivier) (France) #8. Too Late for Tears (US / Haskin)  #7. The Heiress (US / Wyler)  #6. The Set-Up (US / Wise)  #5. Caught (US / Ophüls) #4. The Passionate Friends (UK / Lean)  #3. Puce Moment (US / Anger) #2. The Third Man (UK / Reed) 

For those unaware of my Top Ten By Year project:  The majority of my viewing habits have been dictated by this project since September of 2013. Jumping to a different decade each time, I choose comparatively weaker years for me re: quantity of films seen/quantity of films loved. I use list-making as a way to see more films and revisit others in a structured and project-drive way. I was sick of spending too much time trying to decide what to watch, or watching films just to cross them off another dumb canon list. I wanted to engage. I wanted films to be enhanced by others, by looking at a specific moment in time. I wanted something that led me to seeing or revisiting things I might not have gotten to otherwise. Lastly, my lists are based on personal favorites, not any weird notion of an objective best.

This is the first year I’ll be doing separate posts for each film. #9 will go up Monday. After that, one will go up each day until the end. Then I’ll post them all together so they are gathered in one place. There are a lot of films I loved that did not make the cut. In particular, Flamingo Road, Such a Pretty Little Beach, On the Town, Inspirace, The Reckless Moment, Reign of Terror, The Rocking Horse Winner, and Samson and Delilah are all films I thought at one point would be on here. Of all of these, Flamingo Road was a sure thing until it wasn’t at the very last minute. Please go watch it.

#1. Bitter Rice (Italy / De Santis) (first-time watch)

Two women and two cultures intertwined.

There are two sides to Bitter Rice. One has neorealism, Silvana, and Italy. The other has film noir, Francesca, and America. When all is said and done these two women will have swapped places, for better and much worse. And when Italy’s other neorealist filmmakers see Bitter Rice, they will take it as a betrayal of truth and the political. In short, they hated it. In this time of crucial political upheaval when neorealism carried legitimate cultural cache, director Giuseppe De Santis had made something too slick, too tawdry, and too American. The message was tarnished by the method. But De Santis was a Marxist who happened to admire and study John Ford, King Vidor, and the visual patterns of Hollywood studio filmmaking. He saw mass appeal as a way to both entertain and denounce, and made a film in which neorealism is hijacked and reconfigurated to be a noir melodrama.

Bitter Rice has a lot of recognizably neorealist markers; location shooting, a focus on labor and economic struggle, the tactile particulars of rice worker life, and the use of the specific cultural practices such as the choral Coralita. The sound of women wading through water, the way it would around their legs, and the strain of being hunched over day after day — it’s all made vivid. But it is easy to see why Bitter Rice would seem a betrayal. Its��mutinous synthesis of “authenticity” and artificiality was a signpost towards neorealism’s end. Soon there would be stars, genre, production in the Italian film industry.

The synthesis is clear from the very first scene. The authenticity of the mondine (female rice workers) is introduced with grandiosity and sweep. There are no docu-elements here, but plenty of elaborate tracking and crane shots to go around, the kind of gradually encompassing images you’d be more likely to find in a DeMille epic. Watching the very first scene I thought: “Wait — what am I in for?”. All preconceived notions were immediately scrapped, and I realized my trip to the rice fields of Po Valley would be a very different one indeed. Then, a couple carrying stolen jewels are chased into the station waiting to transport the workers to the fields. Their arrival feels like an alien invasion, as if some freak chemical accident at the film lab spilled one film into another. This dichotomy plays throughout with electric and arresting cohesion, making it so distinctly unlike any other film from its movement. 

While De Santis was inspired by the Hollywood narrative format, he also uses American culture’s insidious postwar presence to illustrate the dangers of breaking from solidarity for hollow (the fake jewels!) individual gain. This is done using the two incredible and complex women of Bitter Rice‘s center. After Francesca the Moll (Doris Dowling, an American actress) is forced to assimilate in the rice fields, she finds purpose among the mondine. In order to stay in hiding, she has to advocate for the rights of her fellow non-contract workers. But this is never done as a means to an end. Francesca never schemes to stay on; she is always shown as sincerely leading the protests for the group. Life becomes bigger than herself, and she learns to stand both as her own woman, and as part of the mondine.

Francesca also begins to see her personal life more clearly. You get the sense that despite loving Walter (Vittorio Gassman), she is not blind to how reprehensible he is (I mean, in the first scene he literally used her as a human shield so….). But she had nowhere to go, and no strength to pull away. Life in Po Valley gives her that strength. The value of the collective is present throughout, with choral scenes, aerial shots showcasing the lines of working women linked together, and fragments of peripheral characters and their various troubles. They push themselves to the brink under oppressive conditions just to make it to the next job, and there is power in their (at times friction-filled) solidarity (I was also reminded of last year’s Support the Girls, also about a community of women united by unforgiving labor).

Then there is the shrewd but naive young Silvana (Silvana Mangano, who I’ll talk about later), a peasant that dreams of wealth. She is seduced by all things coded America and money (she should talk to Caught’s Leonora!). We first meet her doing the boogie woogie (she does a lot of dancing, employed for seduction and statement). In this group of women, where everyone is introduced as part of a whole, she immediately stands out as modern. She chews gum, loves big-band, and is seen reading photo-romances, the then-popular prepackaged fantasies that were read by lower and working class Italian women. Silvana wants out; she longs for adventure, riches, and a certain kind of romance. But the way out that presents itself is a different kind of way out, and she is too blinded by inexperience to understand it.

The camera links Francesca and Silvana all the time. Whether in two-shots or individual spaces, there is an invisible tether between them. Their lives and fates take part in a film-length body-swap. Silvana talks about fate a lot, but is seen making deliberate choices towards certain doom. She can’t see Walter for what he is — an exploiter and a monster. But Francesca gives her an out, replaying about her life with Walter and the terrible things he has done. She tries to take the abuse and hardship she lived through and save someone else from making the mistakes she did. But Silvana can’t see past the jewels and the suit. There is only the potential for excitement, for something that is not this. After all, Walter “looks like a gentleman” (aka a hotshot gumshoe); so he must be, right? While Francesca’s transformation is one of victorious camaraderie, Silvana’s (both actress and character) is altogether much murkier; one marked by punishment.

Silvana Mangano never wanted her body to represent the whole of Italy, but it did. Audiences were scandalized just seeing the unapologetically full female form (au natural, code for Armpit Hair), the kind that becomes sexualized simply by existing. She was the prototype of the “earthy women” that would cause such a stir overseas (later embodied by Gina Lollobrigida and Sophia Loren). She started out by winning Miss Rome, a post-war contest that further enhanced the idea of body-as-nation, and an honor that became synonymous with future screen tests. Unlike Lollobrigida and Loren, Mangano didn’t cash in on overseas notoriety for a Hollywood career. She became resentful of her image, and of fame, eventually giving herself a drastic reinvention (her figure was now svelte and arch, her look cold) and starring in art films by Pasolini and Visconti in the late 1960s and 1970s (and Dune!).

The camera doesn’t ogle Mangano Tex Avery style; this isn’t Jane Russell in The Outlaw. But it aims to stay back, taking in the whole of her whenever possible. And you can’t help but take part in that — I love looking at her. She is the textbook case for why the male gaze is not an open-and-shut. For all its appallingly absolute authority on the almost-whole of filmic language, women enjoy it too! One of the great joys of watching films is watching bodies, both male and female. I am hypnotized and, yes, completely turned on by Silvana Mangano in Bitter Rice. The camera may not be that Tex Avery wolf, but I’ll admit that I am. 

Critics felt her body, and Bitter Rice’s eroticism as represented by her, cheapened the film and nullified its political message. Yet a crucial part of its political message is the punishment her and her body endures for betraying the homeland (a tactic that opens up a whole other can of worms). She is eroticized, symbolic, made into a cautionary tale. Her final fugue march is just like Ann Todd’s in The Passionate Friends. Claude Rains gets there in time. Francesca cannot.

(TW: rape)

She is raped. It is a rape that takes away her body. We don’t see much of it after that. In those last thirty minutes she is made up of haunted black pupils, lit like she’s telling a ghost story. She is immediately ostracized by the filmmaking, quarantined off in shots of the mondine in ways you feel more than see. It’s not obvious, but intrinsic and heartbreaking. The most startling example takes place immediately following her assault. It is pouring out (during these scenes a stunning rain shower falls right in front of the camera like a curtain) and the women have banded together, refusing to let the weather set them behind schedule. Silvana walks in a daze, confused and in shock. Ahead, a sick woman who shouldn’t be out in her condition begins having an attack. She howls out, and begins writhing in pain as the women surround her and hold her down. They begin to sing in an attempt to calm her (they are all one). Silvana looks on in horror. This is a mirror image of what she just went through, her trauma reflecting right back at her. She is watching herself. She begins to scream. She is drowned out, not part of the coralita, not part of anything anymore. Her cries go unheard.

The meat locker finale is one last compare-and-contrast session. Both women have guns. Both women have a man beside them. One is shaking and shaken. The other is determined and resolute. Francesca is still trying to save the other end of the tether. There is something so moving and uncommon in Francesca’s committed efforts to protect Silvana despite the harm she causes and rivalry she insists on. It’s hard to put into words how much I love these women, these characters, these performances. Bitter Rice pays such close attention to how women communicate with each other (in both speech and body language, the silent glares and stares may as well be full conversations), and to the breadth of female experience, struggle, and loyalty. We see how hard it is for Francesca to break away from Walter. We see that Silvana’s sense of right and wrong are muddied by what she wants out of life. We see that Silvana’s actions are not unfeeling; there is such pain on her face as she undoes the mondine’s hard work. The list goes on as more layers are pulled back. 

Watching Bitter Rice is that all-too rare sensation of not knowing where a film is headed, or what story it will tell (unless you’ve read this before watching). Francesca and Silvana are often hard to read. By the end, that body swap trajectory is clear, but only at the end. And despite the larger-than-life symbolic statuses they represent, they are two of the most layered and human women I’ve ever seen onscreen. They don’t fit into any neat box — not within neorealism, and not within noir. Francesca and Silvana are with me now, and I’m the better for it.

Top Ten By Year: 1949 #1 – Bitter Rice (Italy / De Santis) Previous Top Ten By Year lists:  1935, 1983, 1965, 1943, 1992, 

[elizabeth-234]

Chapter Nine

Someone to Care

Chapter Eight

The last thing he had to work on was an AI to go in her suit. There was many times when Jarvis had saved the day when Tony had been incapacitated or unable to make decisions. Friday was a godsend as well and had, on multiple occasions, told Tony that she was one of the smartest beings in the world. He wanted that for the kid, someone to help her along the way if he wasn’t there and sometimes it was just nice to have someone to talk with.

It was with a frantic pace that Tony set about designing a new AI. At first he was going to just download Friday into the kid’s suit but then he thought better of it. Friday was, at her core, loyal to him and Tony wanted Peyton to have something like that, someone to look out just for her. He didn’t want the kid to think he was spying on her either. She had a way with words and he could imagine all sorts of trouble she could get into. Once he heard her age Tony had been dead set on not letting her go to Germany. It was just too risky. But then she had rested those big, determined eyes on him and had spoken with such vigor, he felt like he had no choice but to let her come. Of course, they worked it out so she wouldn’t have to fight, but still.

When he was all done Tony scanned through the various functions in the suit he added and realized that there were way to many, especially for a curious mind who was supposed to be sitting on the sidelines. So he locked them away under the ‘Training Wheels Protocol.’ He bet she would be more than a little annoyed if she ever found out about the name. But it would be upsetting if the kid became overwhelmed and then couldn’t defend herself if the time came.

He thought back to when he had watched her fight the first time she came over to the tower. She didn’t really have any techniques to be honest. The only thing that Tony could clearly see influences of were some moves from a popular self-defense strategy. But besides those, there was no pattern other than a tendency to fight defensively. This wasn’t really a issue now, as she had told Tony that most of what she did on patrols didn’t warrant such aggression but he was worried because Tony knew as she got older and more advanced, she would want to take on larger problems. With that all done, Tony left the naming of her AI to the kid. Give them something to bond over.

He knew that when he first became Iron Man it felt as if the world lay at his feet. There was nothing he couldn’t do, nobody he couldn’t save, and that thinking caused some issues along the way. It caused the crushing guilt that held him down when he thought about all the people he couldn’t save. Tony didn’t want that to happen to Peyton. Didn’t want her to become racked with pain so similar to his.

Tony Stark looked up from his screen to glance at the girl sitting across from him. Today he needed some peace before the chaos of the weekend ensued. The tower, as of late, had been feeling large, cavernous and it made the feeling more bearable to have someone there. Even though they didn’t have any work left he hadn’t wanted her to not come today. It was nice just sitting there and each working on something. He was on his Stark Tablet writing emails after finishing with the AI and Peyton was working on some type of homework. From the look of annoyance on her face and books scattered on the table it was some sort of paper. Her curly bangs hung in her eyes and every minute or so she would blow them out of her way. Her nose, slightly shiny, scrunched in concentration.

He hadn’t been sure what exactly they should do. It didn’t seem quite appropriate to go out and do something fun. Tony thought that he would be too distracted anyway. Casually he asked if she just wanted to chill in his lab and to his surprise she agreed. A girl after his own heart, she had even volunteered to do homework still looking a little flustered from her encounter in the elevator. Tony hoped Pepper hadn’t pried too much. She had that direct look that could make anyone gladly confess his or her deepest secrets. He watched, amused, as she first went over and fist bumped Dum-E, giving him an extra scratch behind the claw. The robot hummed happily and swayed to the tune afterward. Then she pulled out what should have been an illegal amount of books from her backpack and got to work.

It had been, Tony checked his watch, about three hours and it was getting close to the time they normally got food. The kid didn’t look like she would be stopping anytime soon. He quietly got up from his desk, stretched his back, and headed into a little alcove off to the side of the lab.

What to make that the kid would like? They had tried a surprisingly diverse amount of food that week ranging from Indian, to sushi, to good old American, and, one of Tony’s favorites, Italian; more specifically pizza. Tony was shocked and dismayed to find out that the kid didn’t eat meat. Something about a favorite cow and a petting farm she went to as a kid. He looked around the shelves above the sink and found nothing but some old protein bars Pepper had bought him a while ago. Carry out it was.

“Hey kid, want Thai food tonight?” He peered out from around the corner. Not a muscle twitched upon her face. “Kid, you want Thai?” He spoke louder.

Her eyes furrowed deeper and her raised shoulders dropped slightly. 
“Um yeah, sure.” And a statue sat in her chair again. He had Friday call an order to a little Thai place a couple of blocks down and sat back down, waiting for the food.

He balanced the various brown paper bags in his arms as he carried them up to grab the kid. He had noticed her shivering earlier and didn’t think it would be very comfortable to eat in the lab. The elevators opened and she was right where he left her.

“Okay, that was more work than I have done in a long time. Pepper’s going to think I’m sick or something. Let’s go eat kid.” Her eyes slowly focused on his face and slowly made their way to the food he was carrying.

“When? Did you leave?” The kid’s expression was so adorably perplexed he had to laugh.

“Just to pick up the food from the lobby. We got Thai. You did say yes but I don’t know if you actually heard me.”

“Uh, I didn’t. But, that’s not to say. I mean, Thai food is great. You didn’t have to Mr. Stark. I will pay you back.”
She had been worried about the money all week, insisting on paying even though it was pointless. Tony could out stubborn a mule.

“Peyton, it’s my treat. As you probably can tell I’m not wanting for money and I like to share it.” She was going to have to learn this when she came over next time. Next time Tony? Was she going to be coming over here after? Was that what he wanted?

Sure, he enjoyed her company and this week, while stressful, had been fun. He had been worried about letting her make decisions on her suit. He knew if he were that age he would have asked for as many impractical accessories as he could. But the kid had come prepared with notes on that first day. Everything that she had suggested, never demanded, had a detailed reason and even examples of why she thought it was a good idea. He had, of course, added things he knew he wished he had in the past too.

And now their time was coming to a close. This weekend they would be off to Germany and then, well he didn’t know. Better to not worry about all those … feelings now. He had to focus but it was so dang hard when she looked so trustingly at him with those big brown eyes. The kid was saying something to him, probably thanking him a billion times for the food but he couldn’t hear anything over the static rushing in his head.

They made it to his floor in silence and he had a moment of reprieve. She was so awed by everything that she had forgotten her shyness and was gushing about everything her eyes landed on. For that he was glad. Tony set the bags on the counter and took out a box of white rice, marking the top with a permanent marker. His favorite, pad thai, came next then two orders of spring rolls and various other dishes. After marking all of the boxes the static had receded a bit and he looked up to see the kid’s silhouette against the glass.

Sometime while they had been down in the lab it had started sprinkling and the windows were now peppered with droplets. They dulled the light to create small specks of shadow around the apartment, marring her face with their impression. She really did look tiny compared to the ceiling to floors windows. Small compared to the world.

“Food’s ready.”

They ate in comfortable silence on the new couch, Brooklyn Nine-Nine playing in the background. Pepper would be annoyed, as he was the one who insisted on getting another one and she didn’t want anyone eating or drinking on it. He thought she was just mad because she picked the last couch out. He looked to his left and found the kid curled up, fast asleep on the couch, reminding him of the way a kitten sleeps. Her knees tucked up to her chest, head turned toward him resting on her arms.

Not wanting to wake her up and certainly not wanting her to take the subway home he carefully moved from his spot. Making a note to clean up later. He stretched out and then, with gentleness he didn’t know he possessed, put his arms under her knees and behind her shoulders to pick her up. In the dark, rainy lighting they moved through the empty floor, silence following them. This close up her dark circles were more apparent. He wondered if she was getting enough sleep or if she had still been going out as Spidergirl after their meetings this week. He’d never thought to ask.

Her seatbelt buckled and still she didn’t move. Luckily, she had given him her address when she signed up for the internship cover. Peyton had told him very little about her home life. He still didn’t feel like he had the right to pry information out of her so he took what he could get. He knew that she lived with an Aunt but wasn’t sure what happened to her parents or how long she had been living there. This could look bad to her Aunt. An older man she had never met carrying home her catatonic niece. Yeah, that could be very bad.

Tony swallowed and looked at the apartment complex. The paint looked a couple years old, nothing chipping but a discoloration marred the tan paint, and the gutters needed cleaning out before the winter. The cement floors were tidy and as he walked along the railings looked like they had recently been replaced. He gathered the kid up in his arms before making his way up the stairs. She was heavier than she looked and by the time they made it to her floor he was sweating. Sleeping beauty was still resting her head on his shoulder in a deep slumber.

He knocked and waited for an answer. A woman in wrinkled scrubs stood in front of him. Her hair smooth but frizzy from the day was escaping a loose bun at the top of her head. She stared at him before looking down to the kid. “Oh, thank god. Please come in.”

She showed him to the kid’s room and he laid her on the bed, taking an unnecessary moment to pull the covers over her shoulders. He only had a brief chance to look around before the woman was ushering him out into the living room. Noticing only clothes thrown about and what looked to be a stack of outdated technology sitting on what he thought was a desk.

“Thank you so much for bringing her back. I was getting worried when I didn’t hear from her, Mr. Stark.” So she did know who he was. That was both a relief and worry. He knew what his track record looked like.

“Just Tony, please. Yes, she had been working very diligently and fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake her so I thought it would be easier to bring her here.”

“Well I’m beyond grateful to you. I’m so tired I forgot my manners. I’m May Parker, but call me May. Can I offer you anything to drink? Want to sit down?” He declined the former offer but accepted the latter. They sat down on a well-loved couch. Something you could tell was good for naps.

“I’m sure Peyton has told you about the internship she was offered? She has been working all week to prepare for the convention that is this weekend. She has been a big help.”

“Yes, she told me all about that. I will be working doubles so it’s a relief to me that she won’t be alone all weekend. But I just wanted to say thank you, Mr. stark.”

“No thanks are necessary, your niece was accepted on her merits.”
A smile took over her face but her hands twisted the bottom of her shirt.

“Well, I wouldn’t expect anything less from my little P. She always was a dedicated person. Whatever she set her mind to soon enough would accomplish.” Tony smiled and agreed that sounded just about right.

“But I wanted to say thank you for something else. I’m not sure how much Peyton has told you about our situation and I don’t want to break her trust but I feel as if you should know. I lost my husband, Peyton’s uncle, about seven months ago. It hit us all hard but she was especially struck. Her parents died when she was young, and Ben and myself took her in. They had a special sort of bond, she would always confide in him. Always looked up to him. Ever since she has been withdrawn and unresponsive to me. I’ve been working longer hours at the hospital and as a result haven’t been able to spend as much time with her as before. She hasn’t talked to me in so long that when she came home one day to announce this internship I felt some hope. This whole week she has been walking on air. Telling me how excited she is to be working for you. Thank you, Tony, for giving my little girl a chance and more so thank you for giving your time. It means the world to know there’s someone who cares for her.”

May had tears gathering in the corner of her eyes by the time she was done speaking. Tony produced a handkerchief and handed it to her, watching as she patted them dry and politely blow her nose. He wasn’t sure how to respond so he just nodded and again repeated what he said about Peyton’s work ethic. May had a knowing gleam in her eye and even hugged him on the way out.

He sat in his car for a while after that. “Someone who cares.” What was that supposed to mean? Sure, he didn’t want her to fall ill or anything but he had barely known the kid for long. Certainly not long enough to form any type of bond. The rain beat down against the glass pane as Tony’s focus on each smaller raindrop blurred and morphed into one large sheet on his windshield.

Why did he spend so much time on the suit then? Not only that, but he invited her to work on it with him, taking her into his personal lab and everything. When he had a chance to cancel their meeting today he hadn’t, instead just chilling with the girl. Hell, she felt comfortable enough to fall asleep on his couch. He still had Friday keep track of all the press about her and had double-checked that there was tofu instead of chicken in her pad pak.

Tony wasn’t sure if that was what caring was. He was long out of the habit of it, but all he did know was that he wanted her safe. He wanted the kid to be safe and sound, tucked away in his lab. He wanted to see that one freckle on the bridge of her nose to furrow in concentration and to watch as her hair grew wilder when she became animated about something. He also wanted her to thrive; to become not Spiderman but Spidergirl and show the world who she really was.

He pulled into the garage and turned off his car. First he had to deal with Cap and that situation, and then he could get a handle of himself. Yes, practical first.

And as if that was a sign to the universe, Friday informed him of movement from the Rogue Avengers.

“Well Fri, It’s time to kick some starred and spangled ass.”

Hope everyone’s day is swell!

Chapter Ten

[acsversace-news]

“The world of the heterosexual,” Aunt Ida shudders in John Waters’s justifiably straight-hating magnum opus, Female Trouble, “is a sick and boring life.” American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace is not heterosexual programming, thank God, which means it’s neither sick nor boring—only deeply stylized, so that it succeeds in making murder look like the narrative focal point of a perfume commercial. Like all good stories, it begins with a location card reading "Miami Beach, Florida." Like a number of good films, it has the beach’s signature electric lushness, its too-lurid color: red lights, blue skies, green palms, a candy-pink silk-satin robe.

Ryan Murphy’s latest season of his pop procedural anthology, American Crime Story, covers the 1997 shooting of Versace in nine fifty-minute episodes; and yet so un-boring is the pilot that we see the murder seven minutes in. The twinky killer, Andrew Cunanan, is a fantasist played with a cold and twitchily unreal demeanor by the android-perfect Darren Criss. Introduced as an unreliable narrator, then a Ripley-esque savant at social climbing, he creates two big impressions: one in a scene that shows him covering his mouth in a pantomime of horror when he’s really smiling, and another that’s a bona fide showcase for his ass. He’s closeted around his straight friends, gay around his gay friends, and completely unashamed to say out loud that his objective is to “tell people whatever they need to hear”—a primo marker for a sociopath. By July of 1997, he has killed five people in a span of six months, one of whom is Gianni Versace, and he is a very wanted man.

The timeline leaps from the murder scene to 1990, and the killer’s would-be-courtship of Versace—whom he tells about his plan to write a book, provoking one of the all-time greatest burns on the laziness of writers ever televised: “I wish I had the patience to write a novel, but my mind is always moving"—and then back again. (Whether the two men actually met at all before the shooting has, I ought to say, been subject to debate: last week the writer Maureen Orth, whose book about the killing, Vulgar Favours, is the inspiration for the show, insisted: “There is no doubt in my mind that those two met.” What we see here is that lack of doubt played out for the very best angle; so that what might be erotic, a seduction at the opera, only ratchets up the audience’s dread.) We’re introduced to Penelope Cruz as Donatella circa 1997, stepping off a jet in mourning leather and affecting a faultless accent, less Italian than idiosyncratic Donatella-ese.

Because the Versaces are a family represented by an image drawn from the myths of ancient Greece, it’s fitting that they’re rendered at an also-mythic scale for television: murder, feuds and three-or-more-ways figure heavily immediately. That famed Medusa branding, says Gianni in the pilot, came to pass because as children, he and Donatella “used to play in ancient ruins where we grew up, and one day I saw the Medusa's head…. I know that many people call it pretentious, but I don't care. How could my childhood be pretentious?” Versace's use of the Medusa head has always seemed to me deliciously ironic, since the myth of the Medusa is that she began her life as a beautiful woman, and was turned into a monster to repel men. No Versace woman ever knowingly repelled a man; where fashion in its highest form is these days happy to perform like a Medusa spell—to make the wearer into something hard to see for heterosexual male suitors—Versace is a brand where simple sexuality, the nakedly extrinsic, rules.

The show so far is likewise fascinated with both architectural interiors and personal exteriors, equally baroque. It’s fascinated with Versace’s Greco branding as a visual signifier: of the dead man’s love of glamour, his association with locales that, culturally, read as sultry and as torrid with both words as synonyms for “hot” and “scandalous.” By minute fifty, we know where we’re going but are unsure as to how we’re getting there, except in style.

A final note on certain accuracies and inaccuracies: when Gianni’s shot, we see a dove shot alongside him, so that the white and pretty bird—a single punctuation mark of red, a single flaw—ends up as evidence. How could a death be pretentious? Evidently, far more easily than one might think: the dove was real, a casualty of Cunanan’s first bullet. Less real is the woman who is seen to soak a print Versace ad in blood from the crime scene, making something both so chic and so immoral, so completely ghoulish and indebted to the capitalist status quo, that it can only be completely perfect; there could not be a more elegant or necessary lie.

[fictionadventurer]

Father Brown Reread: The Invisible Man

In the cool blue twilight of two steep streets in Camden Town, the shop at the corner, a confectioner’s, glowed like the butt of a cigar.

There are no colorless skies in Chesterton’s world. Never just twilight--it’s blue twilight.

Nowadays, you’d never see “butt of a cigar” used as a positive comparison.

Chesterton really loves London. I’m reasonably well-versed in English authors of this time period, and I can’t think of any who go into so much detail about the neighborhoods of London.

He was a tall, burly, red-haired young man, with a resolute face but a listless manner. He carried under his arm a flat, grey portfolio of black-and-white sketches, which he had sold with more or less success to publishers ever since his uncle (who was an admiral) had disinherited him for Socialism, because of a lecture which he had delivered against that economic theory.

This guy ticks a lot of boxes on the Chesterton Romantic Hero list. Red-haired, artist, involved in publishing, has Opinions about Socialism. (It’s the second story in a row involving a Young Socialist in Love).

His name was John Turnbull Angus.

And he almost deserved it. 

(Not a commentary on his character. I just can’t resist the reference.)

“...I mean, what is all that?” “A ceremonial meal, Miss Hope.” “And what is that?” she asked impatiently, pointing to the mountain of sugar. “The wedding-cake, Mrs. Angus,” he said.

Smooth, John Turnbull Angus.

No one writes engagement scenes like Chesterton does. I’ve been grinning like a lunatic through this whole scene. This rivals Michael Moon’s proposal to Rosamund.

“But after all, these freaks were my friends in a way; and I had a horror of their thinking I refused them for the real reason, which was that they were so impossibly ugly. So I made up some gas of another sort, about never meaning to marry anyone who hadn’t carved his way in the world. [...] The first thing I heard was that both of them had gone off to seek their fortunes, as if they were in some silly fairy tale.

I’m both slightly shocked and impressed by Laura. She admits that she’s shallow, but she’s horrified to think that anyone would think she’s shallow. Intriguing little paradox. At least she’s self-aware.

To be fair to her, I think she refused them for more than their looks. If these guys have nothing better to do than hang out in the bar all day, I don’t think they’re great husband material.

And once again, a Father Brown story has become a fairy tale. We’ve had fairy tale elements in all of the stories so far.  

You know the sort of thing: ‘Press a Button--A Butler who Never Drinks.’ ‘Turn a Handle--Ten Housemaids who Never Flirt.’

A fascinating look at a societal structure that’s very foreign to us today. It smacks of horrific classism--they rely on humans to do their work for them, but view them as vulgar, immoral, low-class people who are much better replaced by machines.

“Well, my dear,” said the young man, cheerfully, “if he were Satan himself, he is done for now you have told somebody. One goes mad all alone, old girl.”

This seems like good general life advice.

“Yes. Just when I had finished reading the second letter from Isidore Smythe announcing his success, just then, I heard Welkin say, ‘He shan’t have you, though.’ It was quite plain, as if he were in the room. It is awful. I think I must be mad.”

Shades of The Phantom of the Opera. I remained surprised by the heavy Gothic influences in the Father Brown stories.

“...I know an extremely clever fellow, who has set up in business five minutes from here in your car. His name’s Flambeau, and though his youth was a bit stormy, he’s strictly an honest man now, and his brains are worth money. He lives in Lucknow Mansions, Hampstead.”

Flambeau’s still using his criminal alias? That doesn’t seem like a smart plan for a reformed man who wants to live in peace.

His youth was ‘a bit stormy’? That’s a bit of an understatement, after several stories discussing his audacious crimes and legendary international status.

Also, is he living off of the profits of his crimes? He’s living around the corner from a millionaire. I can’t imagine that the detective business pays that well.

“I use them in my own flat,” said the little black-bearded man, laughing, “partly for advertisements, and partly for real convenience. Honestly, and all above board, those big clockwork dolls of mine do bring your coals or claret or a timetable quicker than any live servants I’ve ever known, if you know which knob to press.”

This story takes place in a weird steampunk version of London. As far as I know, real-life automatons never had practical purposes.

But of course, with Chesterton, even the sci-fi-like elements are only important for how they comment upon human nature. The automatons serve as the story’s important thematic symbol.

These were the only human shapes in that high suburban solitude; but he had an irrational sense that they expressed the speechless poetry of London. He felt as if they were figures in a story.

Fourth wall: shattered.

They had two great hooks like arms, for carrying trays; and they were painted pea-green, or vermilion, or black for convenience of distinction; in every other way they were only automatic machines and nobody would have looked twice at them. On this occasion, at least, nobody did.

Foreshadowing for the ending.

These servants are stripped of their humanity, mindless machines placed in the house to complete preset tasks. Their colors--like uniforms--are bright, but only serve as markers of their function.

Mr. Flambeau’s semi-official flat was on the ground floor, and presented in every way a marked contrast to the American machinery and cold hotel-like luxury of the flat of the Silent Service. Flambeau, who was a friend of Angus, received him in a rococo artistic den behind his office, of which the ornaments were sabres, harquebuses, Eastern curiosities, flasks of Italian wine, savage cooking-pots, a plumy Persian cat, and a small dusty-looking Roman Catholic priest, who looked particularly out of place.

This is exactly the sort of apartment that I’d expect Flambeau to have.

I LOVE how Father Brown is described as if he’s one of Flambeau’s decorations. Flambeau’s precisely the sort of person who’d hang out with a priest for the Aesthetic. Of course, it’s not the only reason, but I think he finds it a gratifying bonus.

“Yes, I think it will keep clear,” said Angus, sitting down on a violet-striped Eastern ottoman. “No,” said the priest quietly, “it has begun to snow.”

Already, Father Brown is showing that he’s more than just a piece of background scenery. We can’t even get through the small talk without him proving someone wrong.

“Father,” said Flambeau, after a pause, “upon my soul I believe it is more in your department than mine. No friend or foe has entered the house, but Smythe is gone, as if stolen by fairies. If that is not supernatural, I--”

Really, Flambeau? How did you make it as a detective? Five minutes of investigation and you already jump to a supernatural conclusion? You can’t think of any other explanation? Maybe someone climbed up to a window or something? Seriously. Put a little thought into it.

When those four quite honest men said that no man had gone into the Mansions, they did not really mean that no man had gone into them. They meant no man whom they could suspect of being your man. A man did go into the house, and did come out of it, but they never noticed him.”

See, Flambeau, these are the types of things you should be considering.

This theory is true enough. But once they noticed the footprints and started discussing the “Invisible Man”, wouldn’t someone have mentioned, “Oh, yeah, the postman walked up to the house”?

Then again, if they ignored the postman while he was there, they probably forgot all about him after he left, so the footprints would still be puzzling.

“Nobody ever notices postmen somehow,” he said thoughtfully; “yet they have passions like other men, and even carry large bags where a small corpse can be stowed quite easily.

And here’s where the themes of the story come together. It’s a commentary on class.

We have Smythe with his mechanical servants that replace living, breathing people with machines--literally dehumanizing the work that they do.

And then there’s the postman--completely invisible and stripped of his humanity, so long as he’s running on his track and completing his assigned task.

But the postman's humanity drives him to torment a woman and murder a man, and his working class role makes them overlook him as no more than a machine who couldn’t possibly do anything outside his assigned task.

But Father Brown walked those snow-covered hills under the stars for many hours with a murderer, and what they said to each other will never be known.

I have chills.

Rather than giving us the expected ending--handing the murderer over to the police and securing justice--the mystery story ends with another mystery.

This is what I love about Father Brown--he doesn’t dehumanize anyone, not even murderers. Even murderers have souls, and they need saving.

[cyborgfae]

The Conversation of Shadows.

(Based on this prompt : Eavesdropper: Create a poem, short story, or journal entry about a conversation you’ve overheard.)

A short story Mickie Pyro (@spacestatue)

 I’ve never been a big fan of the city at night. It’s cold, it’s dark, and it’s just downright depressing. Everyone is so much more on guard when the sun goes down. You don’t trust anyone you see and they don’t trust you. Suddenly, this huge concrete jungle isn’t your home. It’s a wasteland infested with mystery and dishonour.

That’s what made tonight even worse. I was supposed to be at home, catching up on my favourite TV show, not crouching inside a rubbish dumpster with my hand over my mouth listening to the most scary conversation I’d ever heard.

I’ll start from the beginning of the night, after I’d decided that in order for this TV marathon to be a true success, I’d have to go to the local supermarket for some edible treats. This was my first mistake, but I did know this at the time, only now. Hindsight is an incredibly fickle thing.

I threw on my dark jacket and shuffled into my trusty pair of boots. It was summer; so luckily, it’d only be mildly cold at around 10 o’clock at night outside. A calming breeze more than anything else. Nothing inconvient. I kept telling myself this as I pushed out the front door and towards the walkway to my street.

I loathed not having a car. All of my friends could drive and had one. My mum said I didn’t need a car yet. I’m ‘only 17’. Which I guess is true, but that’s not the point. It was going to take me an hour and a half to complete the walk there and back to the supermarket. The local shops – which in comparison were a ten minute walk from my house- were closed now. There was the Italian takeaway by the shops but I didn’t want a meal. So the supermarket was my only real option where I would find variety.

The air was still tonight. I could feel the humidity of summer though. It was the middle of July, peak summer time. I let my hand drop from my zipper- I wouldn’t need it really. The street lights were bright against the houses and the road that connected my street to the main road. I looked ahead, down to the park that I would be walking through. There was one street light on the edge of the park, but the rest was shrouded in darkness.

A dog barked as I turned onto the main road that connected to the main part of town. I lived in a fairly suburbian area, but it was kind of inbetween. There wasn’t much money in this area, but it wasn’t awful either- just floating in somewhere in limbo.

As I reached the light in the park, I paused for a moment. I heard the familiar beeping of my phone and reached into my pocket. The screen was bright and a little 8bit envelope indicated I had a new text message.

 WHERE R YOU?

MUM XX

 Crap. I’d been so lost in the thought of not wanting to leave the sanctuary I called home that I’d forgotten to let mum know I’d be popping out briefly. Without hesitating, I started typing:

SORRY MUM. I’M GOING TO THE SUPERMARKET REAL QUICK- GETTING SOME MUNCHIES FOR MY TV SHOW MARATHON!

 XXX

 I pressed send and continued to look at my phone. Waiting for a response. A slight breeze had picked up and was rustling in the trees. I jumped when my phone beeped this time.

 OH! OK! LET ME KNOW NEXT TIME! CAN U GRAB ME A BIG PACKET OF SALT & VINEGAR PLZ? XXX

 I laughed as I read this one. My mum loved her crisps. I typed back ‘ok’ and hit send before putting my phone back in my pocket and pressing on passed the street lamp.

The light stretched just enough for me to see the split in the path I was expecting. It was split by trees running down the middle with two paths branching off from the left and right. The left side led you to the bus stop into the city centre. It was about 2 minutes down that path. The right side, the path I needed to take, lead you into the deeper park, with a kids park and fountains. I hesitated slightly, like I always did, shook my head and kept going.

In the daylight, this place was one of my favourite places to be. You can hear the sound of kids laughter as they spend their afternoon on the swings and slides as their mothers watch and play with them. You can smell the freshly cut grass of the gardens and feel the water from the fountains spray gently onto your skin. It really is a lovely place. Somewhere safe and peaceful and calm.

At 10 o’clock at night it’s the exact opposite. The kid’s park is barren, lit only by the moonlight which tricks you into thinking it’s been abandoned for decades. The fountains are turned off at night, but water is always leaking or dripping through, so you hear the water beat against the silence and it becomes eerie.

Sometimes other teenagers would be here, taking drugs or drinking or grafting. Giving fowl looks to anyone who dares to look in their direction or tries to invade ‘their space’. No matter how scary the silence and darkness was, I’d always prefer that to the gangs of teenagers in the shadows.

I picked up my pace as I got to the gardens. The fountains where making me uneasy. I hated how scared I got. Always so quickly and for any little change in the atmosphere. I’d walked this path at night so many times before, but every time always felt like the first. I could have taken the left path and gone around the path, but that would have taken even longer and I wouldn’t have been home until at least midnight. There’s where so many reasons to always take this path to the supermarket. To face my silly fears and to be more time efficient.

If I had a car, I would be home already.

I shook my head and tried distracting myself. This wasn’t gunna change my situation. All I ever think about is owning a damn car.

My hand was shaking ever so slightly as I fished for my phone in my pocket. The brightest stung my eyes as they adjusted back to the light. I fumbled my fingers around on the screen until the brightest faded back to black and the light poured through the front of the phone. This torch had been my saviour many, many times.

I paused to shine the light on the path in front. It was a five minute walk down this straight flat, tarmac path. Skaters and cyclists used this path in the day. Apparently the floor was ‘heavenly’ and ‘so smoooooth’.  Whatever any of that means. It just seemed like a path to me.

On the right side of the path was a row of think bushes and trees. On the left, more trees, but less, stretching into a large open field. You could just about make everything out under the moon and even just the naked eye, but I was too anxious to stand around and gape. I wanted to do this as quickly as I could within reason. I was almost there.

Halfway down this path on the left, there is a little building which houses a small food place (mainly sandwiches, ice creams, that sort of thing) and two toilets. Just on the right of the building there are two black rubbish dumpsters pushed against the side of it. One for normal rubbish and one for recycling. There’s an extremely dim light that flickers a little, every once in a while, above the dumpsters on an extended out roof shelter, but it’s so dim it’s almost pointless being there. Locals use this as a marker in the dark. Everyone knows this broken light is the halfway mark between the fountains and the end of the other side of the park.

I’ve put my phone back in my pocket now so I could see the flickering light better. Sometimes I stop and stay here for a minute or two. On the triumphant return from the supermarket, I sometimes stay here for a full half hour at a time, depending on how I feel. Depending on if I feel braver that night.

I wasn’t going to linger tonight though. There was tension in my jaw I’d only just noticed that was beginning to vibrate in pain. I was so on edge tonight. It hadn’t been this bad since the first time. I felt the same stressful uncertainty as then, tonight. Like I had a vague idea of the way, but I could be very, very wrong.

Suddenly, in the quiet of the night, I heard footsteps coming down the path from the side I had come from. I froze. This was the first indication that anyone had been behind me in the park. I was alone by the street light. The fountains too. Even this straight stretch I’d been alone. Some sense appeared out of nowhere and washed over me. The field. It was big enough that it would take a little longer for someone to walk. I ducked in front of the recycling dumpster and peeked my head out ever so slightly to try and locate the owner of the footsteps I could hear. My hands were shaking violently now. I didn’t know what to do. Something about this didn’t feel right. Normally, I’d just keep walking and nothing would happen. There would be a little bit of tension, but nothing sinister. Right now though, something inside me was screaming not to be detected- that I was in danger. Acting on complete feared impulse, I opened the lid to the dumpster and jumped inside throwing green bags all over me, burying myself as far in as I could and I remained completely still as I heard the footsteps standing right out come to a halt.

 And now we’ve gone full circle. All this over a TV marathon. I was buried underneath recycling bags in the middle of the night all over poor planning and an unnecessary fear of the dark and isolation of this place. I’ve never been a big fan of the city at night. It’s cold, it’s dark, and it’s just downright depressing. Everyone is so much more on guard when the sun goes down.

 But maybe I was just insane.

 My thoughts were cut off again by the sound of the lid being lifted. I caught my breath with my hand and kept it there over my mouth, pretending that I didn’t exist. That if I remained completely still I would be safe.

The bags above me started moving and tears began to well up in my eyes. My mind and body were screaming. Completely terrified. In that moment I wished more than anything I’d just gone the long way. Just this god damn once! Then this wouldn’t be happening. My lip is bleeding from my teeth clamping down onto it. My mouth is throbbing and I just want to scream. I just want to run into the huge field and disappear from this nightmare.

 ‘Leave your house keys at home?’ A low voice chuckled.

 The bags came to a halt and tears of relief poured down my face. The lid was still open, but I had gained a little bit more time.

I heard a sigh from the one closest, the one who was rummaging. “I’ve told you that joke isn’t funny. I don’t live in a dumpster.”

 The other one chuckled again, this time with a bit more bellow. “You need to learn to lighten up Axel. You’re always so uptight- have a bit of fun.” “We have a job to do Blake. The most high security job of our entire lives as agents!”

 My eyes widened as the Blake guy stopped laughing. Agents? High security?

 Axel finally dropped the lid of the dumpster and I jumped at the thud. After a moment I removed my hand from my mouth and took a deep, but quiet, breath. As long as I kept quiet, I’d be ok. I’d wait until they left and then I’d sprint to the end of the path, to the supermarket and ring my mum, begging her to give me a lift. As long I remain calm and explain it, she and dad will understand. I just have to keep quiet now to avoid any problems or danger.

 “What was in the dumpster?”

“Nothing. Just bags. I thought I heard the lid open, clearly I was mistaken. No one’s been here for hours.’

 If these guys were agents and genuinely believed no one had been around this area in hours, then I was either a hiding champion or incredibly lucky.

 Blake (or Axel, I couldn’t really tell) cleared his throat. Axel sighed again.

 “What are we doing in such a dead beat town, Blake? Why did they send us out here when we could be helping out back at HQ?”

 “Things got complicated back at base. IX got out.”

 I thought I heard Axel gasp, but it was difficult to know. Blake said ‘IX’ like ‘EYE-EX’ instead of 9. Who names someone IX?

 “What?” Axel snarled. “How? How is that possible? It was on the lowest floor! Completely fortified underground! There’s no way it just ‘got out’!”

 “IX started showing signs of abnormalities. Unusually high strength levels, even for the subject. IX started communicating with the researchers. Through speech. I-through VIII all perished far before the concept of speech for these subjects was a possibility.” Blake paused as if he couldn’t continue.

 “Speech? Again impossible! They may have the human body but their brain activity has been subdued and heavily diminished by the researchers! We took it away for a reason! So we could continue testing on them without protest!” Axel was exasperated by this point. His anger pierced through the awkward silence.

 Again, Blake referred to ‘I’ as ‘EYE’ and ‘VIII’ as ‘VEE-EYE-EYE-EYE’. I didn’t understand what was going on. Test subjects? The human body? Diminished brain activity? Why are these two men here in this park, in the middle of my hometown, talking about such things?

 “Axel, it doesn’t matter!” Blake raised his voice sternly now. “It’s happened!”

 “What did it say?” Axel demanded.

 Blake cleared his throat again. “I will kill you all.”

 The air became very still. Very lifeless. Neither of the men said a word, but you could feel the fear radiating from both of them. As Blake had finished the sentence, a shiver ran up my spine. What exactly was IX?

 After an eternity of silence, Axel’s voice ripped at the air again.  “HQ?” He spat.

 “Gone.” Blake digressed.

 Axel snarled deeply, making me shudder. “Alana?’

 “She- she didn’t make it, Axel.”

 Axel’s rage intensified. I didn’t know what was going on until the dumpster I was in started rattling, the metal clanking piercing my eardrums. Axel was beating the dumpster. You could hear the anger in his words but the pain in his cries. He was grieving this Alana. Who was she? How much of an impact did she have on his life for him to be reacting this way?

 “NO!” He bellowed before he left the dumpster alone again “She’s still alive! There’s a chance! She’s not just some office worker she’s a fucking biological scientist! She would know what to do to keep herself safe! Even subdue IX again if necessary! She-“

 “-She was part of the primary team working face to face with IX. IX also said something else.” Black interrupted.

 “WHAT DID THAT WRETCHED THING SAY?” Axel despaired.

 “You have been the ones to cause my fallen pain. To cause me pain. You shall be the first to die. Followed by the ones who help you.”

 I think Axel drops to his knees now, because I hear a thud just heavy enough for that. I can only imagine the expression on his face. Helpless. Hopeless. Defeated.

 “Why did this happen?” He finally whispered. It wasn’t so much a question, more a moment he allowed himself to be completely broken.

 “We all fucked up Axel.” Blake panted, still fueled with adrenaline. “From the beginning, my gut’s been wary about this whole project. We shouldn’t be playing god! This is our punishment and reminder for that!”

 Axel sighed again, but not in the same way he’d usually. This was a sigh in the place of a cry this tortured soul could not manifest.

 “I’m sorry, Axel. I really am. She was my sister for god’s sake! I’m feeling pain too- but I know how much she meant to you. I’d never been happy with any of the men she’d chosen to be with, but I was happy she’d chosen a life with you. You were a good husband Axel. You didn’t fail her and this isn’t your fault. You need to always remember that, do you hear!” Blake’s voice was askew. Clogged by tears. His words were sincere.

 Axel knew this and his rage disappeared into a sea of sadness. He’d gotten back up and had walked a few places from his original spot near me and the dumpster, closer to Blake by the sounds of his footsteps. “Thanks Blake.” He finally said. “I’m sorry. I just know if I’d been there, I could have saved her.”

 “If you’d been there, you would have been dead. But I know you would have.” Blake reconciled.

 Another stretch of time passed and Axel clenched his jaw as he spoke. “IX? Where is it?”

 I could hear Blake’s breaths tighten again. “We don’t know.” Both men supressed different spectres of rage as the words escaped his mouth. “It’s not here, that’s why we are. We are part of the team. IX wants revenge on us too.”

 “Let the abomination come! I will tear his unnatural red eyes from his decaying eye sockets!” Axel snapped.

 “In our current situation, we’d be screwed! We have no guns, no protection! We are bait for destruction to a little city-town if we make ourselves known! We have to stay low and keep IX from causing as many injuries as possible! We need to save humanity from the end!”

 My heart pounded in my chest to the point where I thought it would explode from my ribcage. The end of what? What dangers?!

 “What is the threat level Blake? I know we were on the team, but we weren’t the scientists!” Axel pleaded in sharp tones.

 “Humanity faces extinction if IX stays out of quarantine.” Blake stated.

 My stomach started to turn, nausea filling up every fibre of my being. My brain stopped working and my senses were all over the place. I’d watched a lot of TV Shows, a lot of movies. The extinction of humanity seemed about as real in my head as unicorns did. To me that was just a scare tactic placed in stuff we watched and read to make you think ‘what if’? To scare us into being better as a race, collectively. Now the concept of mass race death was on the cusp of being reality and I couldn’t comprehend it calmly. I dug my nails into my jeans, desperately trying to relax and stop panicking. In that split second I believed it all to be a joke. I was expecting someone to come out with a camera screaming ‘GOTCHA!’  in to the lens whilst they pointed and laughed at my traumatized expression. As more and more seconds passed and turned into minutes, I realised that this wasn’t a joke. No one was going to break this reality, because this was the reality. I silently cried as I let this understanding sink in, not understanding why I had to decide to do this, why I didn’t just continue up the path to the supermarket, these two men would have kept their eyes on me until I was no longer in earshot, but I wouldn’t have gotten into serious trouble and I wouldn’t have made this horrific discovery tonight.

Time was meaningless by this point. Axel and Blake had been squabbling between themselves whilst I had been accepting what they already knew.

 “But HOW Blake?! How does humanity face extinction? IX could not destroy the entire world!” Axel finalized.

 “No. IX Can’t” Blake agreed “But IX can start the destruction. IX showed other abnormal activity. Its diet changed. It developed a tasted for human flesh after all the primary team had been slaughtered. IX ate half of the team, tried eating all of the team, but had to escape leaving the other half mangled in bites and gashes-“ Blake sounded horrified, terrified  by the very mention of what happened at their base. “-A quarantine team entered the base after IX had been gone for an hour, the mercs made sure they were safe. They came to examine what was left of the bodies, to make sure nothing infectious was there from IX.”

 “But IX isn’t a viral experiment! It’s biological! IX was an attempt as swapping consciousness from one body to another! Th-that’s what Alana told me!” Axel continued to squabble. He was running out of cuss words and things to scream at his partner. Blake was trying hard to remain composed, one of them had to, but you could tell in his voice his was starting lose his patience. I was so confused and so scared by this point I’m surprised I can remember anything; the paralyzing fear was what dominated me whilst they bickered.

 “ENOUGH” Blake finally cracked. Axel stopped speaking and I think he took a few steps back. Blake huffed for a few seconds before he regained his composure and returned to his calm speaking tone. “Let me explain Axel! Stop trying to solve it when I can just explain it! Goddamit man!” Blake sighed in exasperation one last time, Axel continuing his silence. “IX WAS an attempt at swapping consciousness. We believed it was a success. It wasn’t, of course, but by the time we could abort, it was too late. Alana’s team had successfully taken the consciousness of a young terminally ill child and put it in a new and healthier body. It was a success. The family of the child had been told that their baby had died due to the original illness, and presented the original now dead body of the child to them as proof. They will never know that their child is in fact IX. IX’s body was made from other humans, I don’t know the ins and outs, I just know that it had always been empty before IX. They had tried the consciousness test with I-through VIII, but they all died before a consciousness transfer could be completed. Both the terminally ill donors and the manmade bodies I mean, no one survived. This happened eight times before IX. IX was the rain in the desert. The child who had been used as the consciousness transfer, the terminally ill child, had protested from the beginning. The child was brought here against their will after the doctors had declared them terminal. The child tried to resist and begged to be freed, to be killed, to be allowed to live out their final days in their own body. Of course, the primary team ignored this child. They continued to experiment on the new body and the child. Eventually, as you know, IX was a complete success. The consciousness transfer was finished. Primary team knew that IX would not speak, but when it did, they were inspired to move forward, even after IX had foreshadowed their deaths by its hands. The transfer did distort the manufactured body however- you’ve seen that pale, rotting crazy son of a bitch, I don’t need to tell ya.” Blake paused to catch his breath. “IX IS that child. The revenge comes from before the transfer. The child never consented to this, the child wanted to live out life in their own, original body- we took that from them. All of us. None of us protested or flinched when the child screamed or begged for their parents. We just carried on because our pay checks were gunna set us up for life! We were fools. IX escaped because the consciousness of that child yearns for their parents.  They were taken half way across the world from them and they will never find them. The problem comes with the new and distorted body. There is a force that has manifested within that we think has something to do with its brain, Alana knew all the details, I’m a merc for a reason-“He caught himself on his words and sniffed, probably thinking of his sister. “-but this made IX behave abnormally, even for a test subject. One thing lead to another, once it had vocalised its desire for revenge and bloodshed, it’s like the body programmed itself to eat and kill…and infect. The body is housing extremely dangerous viruses, ones we haven’t even named yet. The primary team who were bitten, who weren’t eaten, they were dead but they were walking. It sounds like I’m fucking crazy I know, but this is the damned truth! Luckily, what was left of primary team was destroyed after we realised they were dead and one of them tried eating the guys in bio hazard. It’s infectious. One of them got bitten by primary team. They turned into what primary team was. They all had to be put down! It was the only way to contain it! If that happened in that damned base, imagine what would happen after a few DAYS of IX being out! IX needs to eat and now it will only eat human flesh!”

 My head was spinning as Blake finally revealed what the danger was. I felt my stomach rising to my throat and I had to silently bend down deeper into the bin as I wretched my insides up onto the other side of the recycling bin. Keeping quite was impossible. I kept wrenching over until it was just stomach bile. I had managed to keep it relativity on the down low, because the lid remained closed and the two agents continued to talk. Blake didn’t need to continue any explanation. Axel let out a load roar of frustration that echoed across the field, making me feel queasy again. This dumpster was slowly starting to smell of what I had thrown up and I didn’t want to add more to the pile.

 “We need to leave this place.” Axel stated. “We need to get away from civilization, away from anywhere IX can hurt people, we-“

 “We follow orders.” Blake said firmly. “HQ have said wait here for a week, they will contact us. They have a plan, I hope.”

 “Now I understand why we couldn’t have this conversation at the hotel.” Axel laughed helplessly. “But why here?”

 “This is where Alana and I grew up until University.” Blake said in such a way that I knew he was smiling and he reminisced on memories of a simple childhood with his sister.

 “She has mentioned this city to me so many times, I never realised.” Axel said.

 Another pause in the air as a moment of peace and unity swept between the two saddened men. I’m sorry for what had happened to Alana. To her lover and her brother and team. But why did it have to happen? Why did they have to continue this ungodly quest? The outcome for this selfish curiosity was the end of our very race. I wonder if in that moment when IX got free and begin slaughtering the primary team, did Alana regret the events leading up to this? Did she feel remorse for the child and guilt for the destruction and pain she and her team had caused all humanity? Did she think of Axel when she died? Of Blake?

 “What do we do now?”  Axel asked, clueless.

 “We go back to the hotel and wait for our orders. We sit tight. Stay unseen. IX can’t find us because we will die and so will everyone and everything around us. We leave when we are told to. I really am sorry Axel, this has taught me what price you must pay for godhood and we shouldn’t have dabbled in something we could never understand or control in the first place. Now all we can do is write the wrongs we have caused. We must dedicate our lives to destroying IX. For the sake of humanity.” Axel laughed his helpless laugh again. “These are dark times it seems Blake. I never thought we’d ever have to deal with something like this.” “Me either Axel. It’s a strange world.”

 The two men stopped talking for the last time then. A few moments passed and then there was nothing but footsteps slowly fading away. I waited for as long as I could, until I could no longer bare the stench of my vomit. I stood up but my legs were like jelly and I stumbled out like I was drunk.

 I lay there, crumbled on the floor. I’m lost in my own mind. In the chilling true story I had just overheard. No one would believe me. No one else would know. My family, friends and peers all seemed insignificantly small as my eyes found their way to the stars in the sky. There were so many, suddenly I was thankful for the darkness. Bright whites and silvers and greys scattered across the space above my world. I felt peace again for a little while, ready to brave the darkness once more.

I didn’t hesitate this time. I darted down the path, towards the supermarket. I’d probably never make my way down here in the dark again. I would never see this place dominated by the moon and the blanket of the night, all because of this conversation I had no part of, this conversation that I was never meant to hear.

I kept running, eventually sprinting. I could see the neon of the supermarket sign and I felt a spark of hope. I collapsed in front of the main entrance, shouting for my mother, until the darkness blinded me and I found myself in a void of black.

  “Oh thank Christ!”

“M-mum?”

I looked around as my eyes came back into focus. I was still outside the supermarket, but I was not on the ground, I was in an ambulance. My mum was holding my hand and my dad was standing next to her, both of them riddled in relief.

 “We thought we’d lost you dear- you’d been gone for so much longer than usual! And then when we got a phone call to come down here and you were unconscious, we did fear the worst for a while.” My mum looked away as if guilty to have this thought.

I grabbed her hand back properly now, “I’m so, so sorry mum, I’m not sure what happened- I just remember running to the supermarket and blacking out, I think something spooked me, but I don’t know what it was.” And at that moment I’m telling the truth. I can’t remember what had happened that night.

“It’s ok sweetie, we’re just glad you’re safe and no harm has come to you!” My mum rejoiced.

“Not a scratch at all. I’m proud you ran when you sensed danger, some wouldn’t have- you did the right thing, probably ran so fast that you dehydrated” My dad said, putting his arm on my shoulder.

I smiled at him and put my other hand on his hand.

“Can we go home?” I ask

“We can now, they wanted to take you to the hospital if you didn’t wake up but you did.”

 Another half hour passes and we are travelling home in the car. I stare at the darkness of the park out of the window of the backseat, a weird feeling coming to me. I feel a huge lump in my stomach and I’m sucked back into my head again.

 “Now all we can do is write the wrongs we have caused. We must dedicate our lives to destroying IX. For the sake of humanity.” Blake’s voice echoes in my head.

 And then I remember everything from that night.

 Axel and Blake: the strange agents in the park. IX is a real experiment and has been unleashed on the world. Infection of an extremely hostile nature is a real threat and humanity faces extinction. I can’t tell anyone. If Axel and Blake are here in this city, they will catch wind and I’ll be branded crazy, but they would probably take me somewhere and I would never be seen again. Just like IX. But then again, I could be dead within six months if the infection is not contained. Everyone faces that same very real, very possible outcome.

 I’ve never been a big fan of the city at night. It’s cold, it’s dark, and it’s just downright depressing. Everyone is so much more on guard when the sun goes down. You don’t trust anyone you see and they don’t trust you.

 And now the daytime won’t be safe either.

[7daystheory]

Interview w/ International Artist: TooFly

The homie DJ Synapse invited me to come see TooFly while she was visiting LA. I was blown away by the beauty and power of her work. She is bringing awareness and peace through her art while building a community of artists and creators everywhere she goes. 

Check out her interview with 7 Days Theory below:

How did you first start getting into painting?

I started painting on the street in 1992. Painting, meaning tagging and using aerosol in a loose way as a graffiti writer. When I got permission to paint at 5pointz without worrying about cops I took my time painting, and using various krylon colors. I was a teen, I enjoyed using markers on black books and spray paint on walls. I pushed acrylic on canvas painting a lot more down the road as I got older. Especially in the late 90's. That is when I got a lot more serious about developing a series of paintings on canvas, and walls.

Your style is very much about feminine energy, where do you get your style from?

My style comes from the eclectic energy of growing up in the melting pot of NY in the late 80' & 90's. An multi cultural experience unlike any other place. My family migrated to the states in 1985 to a community in corona queens with dominicans, Italians, black, asian, and indian families. In my teens I fell in love with hip hop, 90's street graff, and the diverse cultural experience of all five boroughs. In the mix of it all I decided to make a mark, and represent all that inspired me. Skills, authenticity, originality, and love for the urban arts.

How big are your average paintings?

My canvas work ranges anywhere between 12 inches to about 10 feet. My mural paintings and street works are anywhere between 5 feet to 10 story buildings.

You live in Ecuador,  how did that move begin?

I moved to Ecuador in 2012. I decided I wanted to be a full time artist and no longer work a 9-5. I also wanted to own a home/land and live a more sustainable healthy life surrounded by nature. NY was changing. Everything was going up in price, rent, food, etc; and I hated to work for someone else and compromise my art just to pay bills. I wanted to stay true to my work and create at a natural pace. I watched the Garbage Warrior and the Food Inc documentary and it inspired me to make the change. It took about a year and a half to get everything in place and save enough money to dip out. It's the best decision I have ever made in my life.

Now that you live there how has your life been different?

Everything has changed. What I eat is different, how I create and what I create is different. How I think is different. How I live is different. Almost everything I do now is different.

How do you continue to improve yours skills and grow as an artist?

Daily rituals, and artistic discipline. If you love what you do and it makes you happy you will continue to grow. Learn new things, experience new things, travel, express the times we are living, and continue to create.

What do you think are some of the most important things you have learned in the past 10 years?

To check in with your feelings from time to time. Take breaks and spend time on your own reflecting and making sure you feel happy in the place you are. If you are not you need to make changes. Your feelings guide you, but you have to take the time to stop everything around you to check in and make sure everything in your life feels right to you.

What have been one of your biggest challenges you had to overcome?

Tolerating bullies, mean people, haters, and ignorance.

How can people support you and see more of your work?

They can follow my Instagram: @toofly_nyc or facebook: Toofly for the latest events, murals, projects, and releases.

Thank you TooFly for sharing your wisdom with 7 Days Theory! 

For more interviews like this ::click here::

[glopratchet]

01

only you can decide Year 60 "Remember, according to his former students, what Tarkin lacked in empathy he made up ten times over with strategic vision Well, Sixous? Are you seeing the analogues here amongst the contestants? Surely someone as obviously intelligent as yourself can make the connection well enough to tell us which systems to attack first By the way, would you prefer I address to call you Mads or professor?" "I honestly don't give a rat's tail at this point count I am merely humoring you because my colleagues insist on maintaining at least some autonomy in our dying days as a free nation It's like a cachectic patient who has been given a few weeks to live, we've seen what the future holds as far as the caliphate is concerned Ever since that Cow assassinated our former dear Ms Warnovitch we've had to endure wave after wave of these blood-crazed fanatics carrying out horrifying suicide attacks by day and then being executed by those muscular mustached men by night And to think I was actually impressed by their ideological purity during my trip to Kalhu Huang when we attempted to stay in the good graces of our allied nation If only we could've made peace with those monsters *snort* and survived under joint fascism as intended perhaps we wouldn't be in the crumbling situation were in right now *sniff* or maybe aha! Yes! I spoke to soon it seems! By attacking us they have run out of time and the greedy hand of capitalism has destroyed them as it's done before and it will do again!" "If you're finished by posing a rightwinger speech, I'm afraid we don't have time for a diagnostic, your former queen has completely ruined her nation through state control and managed to anger every one around her it's time guys Be on your guard, I've taken down the stealth system for now but they'll probably get it back online soon Just keep alert and do not head to the surface unless yourselves or someone else comes under direct attack, travel to the planet is still not safe No promises though, their high-tech protective fields are making things difficult They may have noticed us already and are just sitting back observing before striking Well, let's begin today's atrocities Discordians, Scientologists worship of the unholy lottery you call "trickle down" will not lead them to victory over the oppressed masses! Long live the revolution! Praise Cthulhu! I'm cutting out now " "What a mad man! I always thought he was evil but reading that he's actually gone mental Poor old Count Grey was right I'm surprised they've bought into such superstition " Count grey is explaining to the rest of the council room "I imagine they're desperate for hope and peace my good friend " Replies Elizabeth "Well you can tell them that *Snort* hope and *snort* peace won't be *Hic!* happening any time soon (hic!) Anyway I guess we *hic*! should get this *hic*! started before I'm too drunk to care! Too *hic*! late anyway fine You lot! Yes you! The big fella, smart one, ugly one and woman what the hell are you doing here still!? get out there and show those cthul Mongols why they shouldn't threaten airships! Except you *hic*! you lovely woman come here and give this old man a kiss!" Elizabeth tries to walk away in disgust but Grey holds out an arm and prevents her Ardanovich, Stravinsky and Tavenier laugh "You won't be laughing when society falls into anarchy because your high and mighty ideals didn't allow you to compromise for the greater good because you wanted to hang out with fat drunk greedy old men who can't control their vices! You're supposed to be a professional! You, the intellectual mind guiding the royal society of learned individuals! What ever happened to the pursuit of knowledge!? The research to better mankind? *Sigh* I give up " "Wait! Where are you going?" they ask as you abruptly stand up to leave This is a waste of time and your purpose here no longer matters now that Calvin has abandoned the research platform "We're not finished here!" "No, but you are I'm leaving and I'm sure if Count Grey was fit he would likely do the same I've got more important matters to concern myself with now Thank you for your time Good day You walk away from the open-mouthed 'leaders' of Centopoulos' last arcology His body may be dead, but the information you received from Calvin should keep you occupied for a while Let Count Grey and his Societies worry about the coming Mongolian hordes There is one thing that annoys you about Calvins note There are more important matters The bit where he tells you to meet him at his arcology It just seems like too much of a risk and you doubt if you'd be able to withstand an entire assault team from the Spetsnaz if they provoked such a visit You decide to just use his research and take none of his advice on this occasion He is no longer here, and he won't be here in the future He exists only in the past now --- Praise cool water for quenching thirst and quick relief from the intense sunlight as you cross the sun baked sands in search of your next potential customer You look around again Nothing but sand, sky, cactii and your hoverbike for as far as the eye can see At least you won't have to worry about highway tolls It's desolate out here You hope you bump into someone soon You have food and water for a few days, but you'd rather find your next mark in much less time Catalina's wandering seemed to be paying off Her idea of leaving a major city without telling anyone and travelling out into the vast nothingness of the world outside it's boundaries had proven itself to be correct Afterall, how could you expect to find people if you never left the city walls? Most people travelling by hoverbike preferred sticking to the major roads that could take them anywhere their hearts desired Not many dared riding out into the untamed wilderness, and those that did certainly sought freedom from the rigid rules and bureaucracies of the city-state they came from Farmers sitting on untapped oil fields also went out to the wild parts of the world, but that wasn't your concern and you steered clear of such individuals for fear of being mistaken for a oil prospector The wasteland of untamed wilderness was a haven for desperate types, loners and those trying to escape the law Some were good people, some you figured were bad Most were probably somewhere in between your general average Anywho, it didn't matter You were in need of assistance of some kind, just like them In fact, struggling folks might go out of their way to help someone in need due to their own humble origins as opposed to some fat cat city slicker Whether or not this proved to be the case didn't matter to you What DID matter was finding people who required your assistance and getting a steady supply of creds in your account at the end of each month You hoped that you actually found these types out here because while you had a two month supply of food and water, that wasn't really the sort of thing you wanted to be carrying around while you looked for potential marks That was a quick way to contract all sorts of diseases and not really merchant like at all Fortunately, you'd found a few potential marks within the first week of your travels through the desert and were on your way to meet with them today No reason to waste time though, so you took off early Who knows what sort of ghosts or demons from the past you'd encounter if you left things to chance by staying around the campfire too late! First potential customer was an older but strong Terran woman who ran a little farm on the corner of her husband's family property They were Terra-born and had been living on this planet for several generations You found them via asking around town and following your HUD map to their marker According to records, they owned quite a bit of fertile land with good soil Their earnings from the local cooperative weren't too bad either, so you figured you'd at least meet with them The second encounter was more exciting While trudging through sand dunes to find the path to their property in this big circle around town, you ran into a group traveling by SUV Four younger people were in it and they seemed excited to commandeer your help! Seems their vehicle had broken down and they needed to get it back to a garage in town Scanning it with your eyes and using your special vision as an EQ gave you an idea of what was wrong immediately Of course, using your magic to animate the machine's components and getting it to rights wasn't really a simple process You could tell the four were shocked by your ability to heal their broken down ride just by twiddling your fingers When it was fixed, they were all smiles and flirted with you on the way back By the time you made it back to the inn where you were staying for the night, they'd invited you out for a drink and to celebrate their new-found operational vehicle You turned them down of course, but it goes to show that there are some nice folks out here Especially when they have the ability to acquire free transportation without much effort at all! That only leaves part of a day before your meeting with the Terran family for possibilities of work Maybe you'll see if the SUV gang wants to hang out and drink tonight They seem like an upbeat bunch Not much else to do so you scan the shipyard and surrounding areas again with your x-ray vision and secret identity protocols in place Seeing nothing out of the ordinary sets your mind at ease and allows you to concentrate on vamping yourself up for the night ahead Oh yeah, and don't forget, you need to get the gate code from those workers! Making use of your affluence, you go out and buy the fanciest, most Italian leather wallet you can find to hold the three IDs you have made thus far Later when you're in costume, no one will ever know you're packing around fake-ID in a wallet Then it's off to get a suit! Of course, while you were busy pumping iron and perfecting your abilities, everyone else was working and earning so suits aren't cheap anymore! You have to spend a small fortune to outfit yourself in order to fit in With all that out of the way, you take a second to focus on the spell you're going to use for your physical transformation tonight before bundling yourself into an overcoat and heading out the door Ah well, maybe Chris can spot you the cost later The last thing you want is to have people see you without clothes on! The walk to the shipyards is a short one and when you get there, you see several ships fitting the description given to you They're large seacrafts capable of carrying at least a half-dozen vehicles each so you have no doubt that the Terran Republic sent a decent part of their fleet to this planet Re-policing the downtrodden is a thankless job, but you suppose they need to do it Grabbing a piece of metal lying around, you skim over to one ship in particular that seems to be in charge of the fleet Poking your head in the open doorway, your x-ray gaze immediately locates the captain lounging in a desk on the other side of the room "Hey!" He snaps to attention when he sees you "Who are you? This is a restricted area!" Putting on your best smile, you make your way to the man "Greetings sir! I apologize for the intrusion, I am Agent G603C of the Inter-Global Meet and Greet association I was just wondering if you needed a tour guide while you're here " The man seems confused at first, but seemed to understand when he took a good look at your clothing and then back to your grinning face He scratches his chin a bit before speaking again I'll bite Why should I hire your services?" " " okay because we're the best!" Comes a shout from without You hadn't noticed the shill outside, but you can hear his voice perfectly!--Well no duh, you magically increased your lung capacity when you raised on your coat after all! "Ten-percent off if you sign up now!" Who said advertising doesn't work? The man seems more than a little interested by this You can see dollar signs in his eyes already "Okay then, if he's the best then I'll take him!" He calls to the shill without looking Guess he trusts that you won't try anything in front of his employee but don't think I won't report you if you cause any trouble! We're here on business after all " He finishes with a frown You nod--well as much of a nod as you can with your new found physique that is "Come on, I'll take you to meet the engineers--they're always looking for human contact " He finishes You shoot him a cheeky grin in response He takes you through several hallways and up (and down) a few ladders until you finally come to what appears to be some sort of machine housing "These are the engineers He says simply before turning to leave and head back up "Remember, you break stuff, you buy it!" You hear before the elevator lifts him from view You turn to look at two men staring at their computer screens with intense concentration One notices you first "Who the hell are you?" He grunts not looking away from his screen The other man takes more interest and looks you up and down critically--More like physically--before talking "Huh, not bad for a bureaucrat " You don't take his low-brow comment too much to heart, the only criterion for being in the engineering department is an Ego greater than 0 Still, you'd rather be complimented on your outfit so you ignore his statement and go straight to the point "You were recommended to me as the ones to talk to about fixing the ship " You say with practiced politeness "Well then Time to turn on the water works, bullies are easy to tame when they think you're weak You know enough of their personality type that you can get away with murdering them if need be, but ideally you won't have to Easier to get away with things if there aren't too many witnesses after all "B-b-but I don't know what I'm doing!" You protest stuttering "One of you could get hurt!" You quickly try a different tactic when you see the sadistic grins on their faces, new bullies are easy to tame when they think you're a fragile flower Just act timid and meek and most likely they'll take pity They probably ran out of servants to harass long ago maybe you've found your real talent? "Don't worry so much my little bureaucratic friend, just try not to hit any important gauges or anything " He laughs pushing you towards the ship "You start on the right side and make your way around, and be careful with the power tools, don't want an accident now do we?" And without waiting for an answer he shoves you inside Meekly accepting your role you head inside and begin searching for the things that will make the perfect gemstones It takes a few hours, but you make one full lap of the machine housing and find one single gem in the rubble It must not have been important to the machine for it to be abandoned like that, though the engineers didn't seem to notice--or care Clink A small piece of metal lands on the off-colored tile flooring and bounces a few times before settling down You pick it up and examine the small bit that held so much potential If you'd had this from the start, you might have been given a real purpose Well no use crying over spilled milk, or abandoned gemstones in this case But what now? You have a small pendant with an uncut ruby the size of a marble This lonely gem has little to no value alone, and you've just spent the past several hours dismantling the cooling machine that was housing it for you If you were a betting man, you'd say that the engineers are probably going to notice their handy work is missing a part before too long So if you were a betting man, you'd say to get out while you still can Though perhaps there's another option? You think to yourself Once more back on the streets, you ponder the options before you With a closer eye this time, you notice there's even a store that sells some of the equipment you saw in Escaperym science fiction movies There's no uniforms like in the movie, but nowadays clothing is so standardized it's practically a uniform anyway Though you suppose that these would stand out and draw attention What if the bad guys find out you stole from them? Just an added bonus of taking the gems, though you suppose this does bring up an important question: Just who are the bad guys here anyway? You're just pondering your shadow problems when you burst into Hospitality Suite 206B Tanya looks up f rom her desk and raises an eyebrow "When did your facial recognition software update?" She jests "Technology that doesn't rely on stupid wristbands works every time, unlike some people I could mention," you respond You rummage through your pockets before pulling out a small wine glass with the gems sitting in a red powder She gasps in surprise "And I thought I was the last one " She walks over to you, dodging stray notebooks on the floor, and sniffs the contents of the glass vial "Have you considered what we spoke about?" She asks confidently "Yes " You respond in a morose voice Her cheeks flush red in response as the sclera of her eyes begin to show more white A side effect of not enough oxygen reaching her brain, she's infuriated by your response "Why do you insist on being difficult? Must I spoon feed all my plans to you?" "Probably," You respond bitterly with a smirk You know how much she hates that But something's different this time Her anger seems almost Playful? She grabs you by the collar and pulls close to her face, staring into your eyes You can smell the prawns she had for lunch And hers are gorgeous "Right then," Her voice has suddenly dropped an octave sending a chill down your spine, "It's time to bring you into the fold Will you join me or not?" "Are those my only options?" You test She pulls away from you and begins tapping on her desk's computer After a few moments the tapping stops She looks up at you and says, "It would appear you only have two options: Death and service " She then stares at you expectantly You look into her eyes as a multitude of thoughts run through your head Three years ago You read the ransom note for what must be the hundredth time: "We have your brother Retrieve the gem in our possession and return it to us, and he shall be released unharmed The Red Scales rarely extend such generous offers, so do not disappoint — Lord Vladi That name is vaguely familiar, but you know you've heard it before "Argh! When word of this gets out he's posthumously pissing off the entire Thieves Guild Not that he needs more motivation to do so already You have a lot to contemplate and your throbbing head is getting in the way of doing so Besides, sleep is your friend right now " Does Dad's name mean anything to you? Should it? You're so tired Several days later You slowly wake up from an uneasy sleep Just as you're about to get up, the taste in your mouth reminds you why you needed to sleep in the first place Sighing, you sit up and see exactly what caused you to sleep in so late An oxygen tank sits on the floor next to your nightstand, empty, discarded tubing hanging uselessly That explains why you've woken up feeling refreshed even after sleeping this long Speaking of sleep, Mom's asleep in the recliner in the corner, snoring softly The newest model iPad sits closed on her lap and you don't have to guess whose it is Looking around, you see that the fire in the living room has long since died out Your tongue realizes this before your mind does A dry mouth results in shallow, rapid pupils—all a side effect of mild Sherlockcoholism You cough as a tickle in your throat forces you to grab your inhaler, take it with the taste of ramenthol With newfound deep breaths of air through your lungs, you go to survey the damage done last night The mini liquor bottles strewn about the floor and nearby coffee table all confirm your guesswork You examine the mess as you try to recall what happened last night Long ago, a woman gave you a mysterious manila envelope Within it were clippings of negative reviews that Dad's organization or one of it's subordinates had written for Glip Magazine, in which she wrote for Getting drunk off your own supply, you confronted Mom about it At some point after that, the both of you and Sister were arguing in the back room when you started throwing wild accusations at each other—you don't remember what exactly, though Eventually, things got too intense and someone—you have no idea who—set the fire Why not use the front door? The hell if you know The family adheres to strict rules about "ganging up" on another, but you don't think anyone's going to give the matter a second thought in light of the fact that someone died Let's see who died? Death then Your lazy eyes scan the living room, spotting a pair of half-finished dice and some playing cards mixed in among the mess on the floor The game must not have been going well since as you continue to look for other signs of it, you don't see any lying about Is this the way greed goes? Hardly fun when it results in dead bodies; or only one in this case Not counting the one upstairs, obviously—his soul has already moved on as far as you're concerned In any case, Dad should be up by now You'd all but forgotten about it since you avoided home and he never left the place You half wonder if he undid it just to come see you in private, but either way He catches his breath as you move towards him, hanging back and giving a little smile He returns it with a sad one before speaking Dad: I guess you saw everything, huh? You: Yeah, how could I not? Dad: I suppose you have a point I think it's best if you heard it directly from me that, I'm no longer part of the family but, that's pretty much it Dad'll still take care of you all I should be mad since this all started with such a lie but, in all honesty, I'm happy he's free of Mom if only because Melancholia will follow Well, soon anyway Of course, you can't say that I mean, you didn't like Glip and home anymore You: Well It's probably for the best So, I'm really happy for you, Dad Wish we could have celebrated this together when it happened Dad: It's okay, Junior Your sister seemed to jump to conclusions about what I told you She just lied to all of you about the details because she didn't want you all mad at me I didn't even need to speak about anything when you got here, really A simple nod would have been fine You: Wait She knew you lied? Dad: Yeah, and apparently there were others at home that knew as well Oh, you know how feelings get hurt easily around the holidays Anyway, your Mom was really upset about It all Truth be told, so was I I didn't want to continue the feud, but if I thought it would make your mom even mildly happy, I would have done a lot more You: What? You were willing to bend backwards for Mom but not us?! Dad: No!! Not like that! Look The feud didn't make anybody happy and I was always willing to put a stop to all of it But your mother? She thought stopping meant everything went back to exactly the way it had been before He lets out a dry chuckle before scratching at his unkept beard He looks into the distance as he recalls all of this Dad: Unfortunately I couldn't do that Or, maybe I just didn't want to The feud was dumb, yeah But the times leading up to it, and everything involving it Made me the man I am today And I wouldn't take any of it back if it meant losing your mother Dad: Oh, she would deny it up and down if you asked her right now Even got so far to claim that I was the bad one in our relationship! Which is complete and utter bunk Though, another lie she told was that all this happened because I wanted kids and she didn't Which contradicts the original starting point of this mess You: Wait You didn't want kids? Dad: Well, no Not really I mean, I like you to some extent and I'm sure that if I had my choice our family would be getting a new addition rather than the conflict that started all this You: But Why didn't you tell her then? Dad: I did! I told her multiple times! She knew from the very beginning that I wasn't interested in being a father Honestly, why she wanted so bad to have a kid with me is beyond me I just chalked it up to her being young and adventurous, as well as idealistic Your mother always had these brilliant dreams I wasn't exactly against them I was just content of where I was and knew I wouldn't achieve anything greater by playing some army wife or work in an office job Of course, that's only my opinion I suppose this was one of those moments for her Your mother holds equally high ideals but has always managed to take bigger risks than I have Eventually your father falls silent and the two of you enter the house He grabs his things and bids you goodbye As he makes his way to the exit he stops for a moment and looks behind him to see you by the doorway Dad: Just don't be like me or her son Be better than both of us You have so much potential Whatever you do in life, be motivated for it Don't just exist He suggests the school since his parents are making him take his little sister to her kindergarten class He's already there when you arrive, standing in the middle of the playground equipment grid You try to start a conversation You: Sooo What's going on? You wanted to see me? Alan: Yeah, I'm bored of thinking about the game we're going to make I think we should make an online massive multiplayer shooter instead! That'd be way cooler there isn't a lot you can do in that genre alone I'd be fine with it if we made a turn based strategy game You could be doing something like that right now, why haven't you started already? Alan: I'll get to it later Anyways, you should know that Chris and Owen blabbed to the rest of the school about what we were going to do Everyone is super hyped about it They're all saying how they wouldn't mind a newschool shutting down if it was shut down because our game was better than any public school You: Did they really have to say all that? Now I'm really nervous about doing this now! They expect so much now Alan: It's ok You'll be fine And those two are an exception, trust me The jocks are always loud in the first place, but deep down they're really nice, supportive guys The popular girls are a little awkward at times but they're cute and cool so that makes up for it Everyone is eager on this project, so it isn't really a problem finding help Alan tells you that it will take several meetings before you can actually start fine tuning the idea you'll want to go on with He recommends going out somewhere to just talk more there instead of doing it all on Facebook chat You decide that The Corner Cafe would probably be good for this sort of talk If not there, then maybe you could go rent a hotel room or something if it really comes down to needing privacy You: Actually for now, just pick somewhere quiet that we can speak privately Alan: Ooo! How about the school? It's empty now seeing as it's summertime and most students are gone We could sneak into the digital art building once they leave and get to work! Just gotta hide out until nightfall You in? After about 15 minutes the school is in sight The entire drive you also noticed Alan WAS texting, mostly to Allison and random google searches about green screens and other things, a few times he showed you the results on his phone You really didn't want to know what he was up to Still not sure "Alan!" you yell over the music while nearing the school He takes it down a few notches coincidentally when you wanted it to be quieter "Why the heck are we going to the school?" Alan: "Hm? You said to pick a private place to speak, where better than my school? As my Gamer I trust you realize how this will help our upcoming project " You: "You realize if we get caught it could hurt thatproject don't you?" Alan: "Nah Don't worry about that If we get caught problems solved " You mull his words over in your mind for a while Makes sense, you ARE his problem after all "Alright Fine " You answer with a frown Alan's face lights up and he turns the music up before beckoning you to follow him out of the car; he seems pretty happy with himself Which makes you feel a bit creeped out tbh Either way you follow him to a back door into the school where he pulls out his phone and unlocks it You think you see him use an app of some sort before the door clicks open He tosses the phone to you and you catch it in reflex, then he pulls you inside a lit hallway He immediately starts jabbering on about the precautions he took and how there is no way that anyone can pin anything on him for sneaking you in or whatever You just nod at everything which causes him to do a double take before shrugging and returning to his ramblings tbqh The walk to the Digital Arts Building is uneventful Along the way you read some comments on his post, a few persecute him for bringing in a 'Renegade' but he just downs them with a couple of insults followed by a taunt for them to try reading the basics of grammer Others seem pretty chill about the whole thing and just talk about things The discussions are pretty interesting for the most part, you make a mental note destroy Alan if he turns into some weird cultist surrounded by troll accounts Really though it does confirm what you thought, Derris-Kharlan has some serious mind control going on You can either put up with it and live a slightly different life or overcome that by yourself and live happy but alone Maybe you could have something in between?

[writingguide003-blog]

Team USA's Winter Olympics highlights and lowlights: our writers' verdicts

New Post has been published on https://writingguideto.com/must-see/team-usas-winter-olympics-highlights-and-lowlights-our-writers-verdicts/

Team USA's Winter Olympics highlights and lowlights: our writers' verdicts

From Chloe Kims gold to Elizabeth Swaneys slouch towards glory, Guardian writers on the big stories from Pyeongchang

Best US performance at the Olympics

No American woman had ever won an Olympic medal in cross country until Jessie Diggins overtook Sweden and Norway on the final lap to win the team sprint freestyle alongside Kikkan Randall. The bubbly 26-year-old from Minnesota, who spends her downtime learning hip-hop dance routines from YouTube tutorials, suffered near-miss after near-miss early on in Pyeongchang when she finished in the top six but off the podium in her first four events, missing bronze by 3.3 seconds in the 10km freestyle. Nevertheless, she persisted. For her efforts and ebullience Diggins was chosen to carry the flag into the closing ceremony by her USA team-mates. BAG

John Shusters name was synonymous with failure on the biggest stage. It was always unfair. He had a good record in World Championship competition, and if anyone in the USA couldve outperformed him, he wouldnt have been in the Olympics. Americans have short attention spans, and we only notice the Olympics, where he has twice flopped as a skip. After a 2-4 start in Pyeongchang, every game was a must-win. He reeled off a long succession of clutch shots over the course of several days. A 4-5 record wouldve been fine. He, and his team, won gold. BD

The womens hockey teams win over Canada was the most exciting moment for the American delegation. It had been 20 years since the team had won gold, forever frustrated by the mighty Canadian team. And while this group seemed to have a better chance at gold going into these Games, the thought of actually beating Canada in the final sounded too daunting to imagine. Then they did and in one of the greatest Olympic hockey games too. LC

Jocelyne Lamoureux-Davidson. Hockey may be the ultimate team sport, but Lamoureux-Davidsons individual effort on her shootout goal to help finally push the US past Canada set her apart. A day after the US win, I was at a hockey rink and saw a group of young boys trying and failing to replicate the female stars puck wizardry. The US will likely have to go through Canada again in four years, but Lamoureux-Davidsons goal in Pyeongchang will live on forever. DG

Biggest US disappointment

Madison Hubell and Zachary Donohue encapsulate the feelings of many US skaters in Pyeongchang. Photograph: Jean Catuffe/Getty Images

None of the US womens figure skating contingent Bradie Tennell (who finished ninth), Mirai Nagasu (10th) and Karen Chen (11th) skated cleanly in any of their six programs in the singles competition, where an American woman failed to finish in the top six for the first time at any Olympics since World War II. As Alina Zagitova became the second-youngest Olympic gold medalist in figure skating history after Tara Lipinski, the heady days of American dominance embodied by Lipinski, Michelle Kwan, Sasha Cohen and Sarah Hughes never felt more distant. (And that was before the normally whip-smart Nagasus bizarre post-competition remarks, which shes been walking back since.) BAG

The disappointment was spread almost evenly, from speedskating to biathlon, but the biggest had to be figure skating. They were just good enough in the team event, and Mirai Nagasu in particular was exceptional. But after that, too many things went wrong. The highlights were Nathan Chens free skate and the Shibutanis free dance, along with beautiful but not highly scored skates from Adam Rippon. The lowlights: all three women had major issues with their individual performances, two of the ice dance duos faltered in the free skate, and Chen dug too deep a hole for himself in the short program. BD

Figure skating overshadows everything else at the Winter Olympics and the US traditionally does well in this sport. At least until this year. While there were a few bright spots for the American team Nathan Chens comeback and team and ice dancing bronzes the overall performance was poor, especially for the US women who have often been the countrys biggest Olympic stars. Pyeongchang showed how far American figure skating has fallen behind the rest of the world. LC

Things quickly fell apart for US figure skating after getting bronze in the team event and no number of Adam Rippon interviews could save it. The question for US figure skating is, considering the intense training required by very young athletes to excel in the sport, is it worth whats required to get back to the medal stand in 2022? DG

Star of the Games

Marit Bjoergen displayed her brilliance in Pyeongchang. Photograph: Odd Andersen/AFP/Getty Images

The only correct answer is Ester Ledeck, the winter sports polymath from the Czech Republic whose golds in alpine skiings super-G (in one of the biggest Olympic upsets ever) and snowboardings parallel giant slalom (as the prohibitive favorite) gave her an unprecedented ski-snowboarding double and made her only the third athlete ever to win individual Winter Games medals in different sports and the first in 86 years. Greatest athlete on the planet? The 22-year-old is no doubt in the discussion. BAG

Norwegian cross-country skier Marit Bjoergen already had 10 Olympic medals from four Olympics. Thats a remarkable career, but it wasnt enough for her. At age 37, she took five more, finishing her Olympic career with a rout of nearly two minutes in the 30km classical. She is the Michael Phelps of the Winter Games, holding the career record with 15 medals. BD

While Norway dominated the Olympics and should be celebrated as the star of the Games, we must pay tribute to the US mens curling team. The memory of five unathletic men with brooms in their hands will be burned in many minds for years to come. America is about to have its curling craze. A sport that has brought giggles for years will now spawn news clubs and a new generation of young American curlers looking for their own Olympic glory without having to lift a weight. LC

Chloe Kims father emigrated to the United States. And the 17-year old snowboarding superstar loves breakfast sandwiches so much she tweeted about them in the middle of her work day. Tens of millions of Americans can relate to at least one, if not both of those experiences. What we cant relate to is her ability to fly in the half pipe. But her talent, youth and personality means she will be the biggest name in US winter sports heading to 2022. DG

Villain of the Games

Elizabeth Swaney wends her way towards a very average performance. Photograph: Kin Cheung/AP

My personal villain was Soohorang. (Dont even get me started.) But a more universal choice would have to be the weather, which made a mockery of organizers attempts to schedule the alpine skiing competition by squeezing it on both ends of the calendar. As a result Mikaela Shiffrins much-hyped bid for history in five events was truncated to three. Her results in those races speak for themselves first in the giant slalom, fourth in the slalom and second in the alpine combined and by no sane metric could Shiffrins Olympics be considered a disappointment, even if the fourth-place finish did come in the discipline shes dominated since Sochi. But there will always persist a sense of what if surrounding Shiffrins fortnight in the Taebaek mountains. Who knows what records might have fallen had only the weather complied? BAG

Italian biathlete Dominik Windisch surely couldnt believe his luck in the mixed relay when Germanys Arnd Peiffer missed four shots, leaving the door open for Italy to take a medal. Windisch and Peiffer battled for the third spot all through the last lap. Windisch had a slight edge heading into the finishing straight, where lanes are marked and skiers are supposed to remain within them. Windisch and Peiffer each picked a lane just before the markers. But Windisch suddenly moved in front and cut him off. Peiffer practically had to stop and change lanes, finishing 0.3 seconds behind Windisch. The jury ruled the move legal. Bild saw it differently, with the headline: Italien foult sich zu Biathlon-Bronze (Italy fouls its way to biathlon bronze). BD

Wasnt Russia supposed to have been banned from these Olympics for manipulating thousands of doping tests for its athletes before and during the 2014 Sochi Games? And yet more than 170 Russian athletes were allowed to compete in Pyeongchang under the vague title of Olympic Athletes from Russia. There was even a Russian House, even if it wasnt allowed to use that name. Whats a ban if it isnt really a ban? LC

Weve all had the conversation about which Olympic sport we could most easily participate in without any training. Maybe its one of the people who sweeps in curling. Or the guy in doubles luge who doesnt steer the sled. But thats all its supposed to be: a conversation. Elizabeth Swaney actually did it in competition. Swaney loopholed her way into a spot in the skiing halfpipe for Hungary and then cautiously coasted down the course. Its not what the Olympics is supposed to be about. The Olympics are supposed to be about corruption and blood doping. Im sorry, I mean the best athletes in the world. DG

The USs performance at the Games was

Without diminishing the efforts and commitment of the individual athletes themselves, its hard to characterize the collective outcome as anything but a disappointment. The 23 overall medals won fell short of the USOCs target goal of 37 medals and baseline of 25. And only 11 of those 23 came in sports that were on the program at the Calgary Olympics in 1988, when the United States hit rock bottom with six to prompt an overhaul of the entire winter sports infrastructure. The downward trends in two sports where the United States has traditionally thrived, speed skating and figure skating, showed no signs of reversing. And this was without a full-strength Russian side in the mix. Let the inquest begin. BAG

Erratic. Also unlucky in the case of Alpine skiing, where the rescheduling hurt Mikaela Shiffrins quest to win a ton of medals, but she still wound up with a gold and a silver. In biathlon and speedskating, the USA had a strong 2017 season but fell off sharply this season. Its not that the squad is considerably worse across the board, but theyre missing some of the rainmakers theyve had in the past. In 2010, the USA had three athletes Bode Miller, Johnny Spillane and Apolo Ohno win three medals each. This year, the only multimedalists were Shiffrin, snowboarder Jamie Anderson and the ice-dancing Shib Sibs, each with two. But nine gold medals and 23 in total arent bad, and the breakthroughs in cross-country skiing and curling, along with the womens hockey thriller, will be replayed on NBC for decades to come. BD

Sometimes the obsession over medals can cloud perceptions of what the Olympics is supposed to be about. But the US was expected to win more than 23 medals, especially after taking 28 and 37 in the last two Winter Games. There were great performances like Chloe Kim in the halfpipe, yet overall the American team fell far short of their goals. Especially disappointing were the figure skating and speed skating teams. LC

Just good enough. The US finished fourth in gold medals in fourth in total medals, far back of Donald Trumps beloved Norway, but Team USAs big successes Chloe Kim, the US womens ice hockey gold, Team Shusters upset curling gold (I believe one or two people called it the Miracurl On Ice) meant that a narrative of underperformance could never really stick. DG

One improvement for the Beijing Games

This marked the United States lowest medal haul since the 1998 Nagano Games, when they finished sixth in total medals with 13, the same below-average placement their eight medals earned in Sapporo 1972. Thats worrisome when you consider Beijing will be the third of three straight Olympics in the far east after Pyeongchang and the 2020 Summer Games in Tokyo. Theres always going to be a drop-off when you compete halfway the world, but lets just hope the USOC makes headway on whatever distance-based issues they can identify that are holding the team back. BAG

For organizers: start the Alpine skiing events before the opening ceremony so weather postponements wont compress the schedule so badly. For those who arent directly involved: get NHL players back in the Olympics. BD

Not only are cities finding it expensive to host Olympics but fans cant seem to afford the tickets. The everlasting image of Pyeongchang was event after event performed in front of empty stands. Its a lot to expect people from all over the world to spend thousands to come to the Olympics. Too often, the Games are held in places where locals cant afford to buy seats. In 2008 many Beijing residents were priced out of events being held in their neighborhoods: the IOC has to find a way to make tickets affordable otherwise they are just producing a television show before empty audiences. LC

None. In four years, I think well all be happy enough if the world is still in good enough shape for the Olympics to take place. DG

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/us

[beyondcuckoo]

Medicine Bow, Wyoming has been published on Elaine Webster - http://elainewebster.com/medicine-bow-wyoming/

New Post has been published on http://elainewebster.com/medicine-bow-wyoming/

Medicine Bow, Wyoming

Medicine Bow Wyoming

  Webster’s New World Dictionary defines a pilgrimage as a journey to a shrine or holy place and/or any long journey to a place of historical interest. Exploration of the American West has become my pilgrimage. If you’ve read my memoir, Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd, you already have a sense of me and my early trip west from the Big Apple as a teenager. Now, as a calmer adult, I want to go further to catch the feel and history of a place.

In the 1970s a paper road map slid easily into a backpack or glove compartment. Today, we often rely on electronic devices to show us the way. As my husband, Blake drives, I read his previously printed computer instructions aloud. We’re alright until the road numbers change. We don’t know that Wyoming and Colorado assign different numbers to the same road or that there are Colorado signs on Wyoming roads—are we lost? We’re not sure.

“This can’t be right,” Blake starts.

“I think we’ve gone too far.” I say staring ahead at endless rolling landscape framed with pine forests.

“I saw a sign for a town, I’ll stop and ask.”

“Good idea.”

We drive ahead with little conversation. After forty plus years of marriage, we mostly read each other’s minds—a glance, a nod or grunt suffices. I know we’re in trouble when we pull in front of a small cabin with a sign that reads, Carbon, Wyoming Post Office. The rest of the town appears abandoned. Our dog Gena nuzzles my arm.

“She’s got to pee,” I say as I open my passenger door. Blake jumps out to try the post office door—locked. As I open the side door to the RV to let Gena out, I catch movement across the street. “There’s one,” I call to Blake, meaning that I see a human.

I feel his relief as he approaches the old man. “We’re lost, can you help us?”

From what I can hear, as I offer Gena some water, is that we aren’t too far from our mark. After some finger pointing, laughter at the cell phone in Blake’s hand, and the production of a paper road map, we are on our way.

As we make a U-turn, another car pulls up looking for directions. “Are you the Postmaster?”

 “No, today I’m the tour director.”

I looked at Blake and said, “I thought he was going to say, ‘Are you the Key Master?’—like in the Ghostbuster movie.”

“That would be about right in this ghost town,” Blake laughed. “We should have followed the sign back at Laramie that said Ski Area, but we can go around another way from here.”

“This place is right out of a Twilight Zone episode,” I say. “Keep expecting to see Rod Serling come out from behind a building.”

“Well it is kinda creepy. There are cars parked on the streets, but no people.”

“I wonder where they are?”

“I’m not sure I want to find out,” Blake says as he hits the accelerator.

The Wyoming hills are green. Streams and rivers are flanked by herds of antelope. We pass a car or two, but we are mostly alone on the highway. We ignore the signs, which are wrong or absent. A sense of peace fills the gentle breezes. Gone are the high winds we maneuvered earlier in the day. Cattle ranches and hunting/fishing lodges are marked with rustic signage—most appear to be hundreds or possibly thousands of acres. I like the spaciousness—the reclusiveness. It feels familiar.

“Here we are,” Blake blurts out. “Ryan Park Campground”.

We turn into the driveway, welcomed by stands of Aspen trees. “This is nice, I like it here.” I say to myself and then to Blake.

We had reserved a campsite online and unlike our directions our site is clearly marked with a welcome Websters sign clipped to a wooden marker. We have a few neighbors, one of which is the camp host. We wave to him and his wife as we set up camp and I’m glad we won’t be driving for a while. Soon we’re lounging in our camp chairs with Gena sprawled out on her straw camping mat and sipping glasses of wine. The next-door conversation drifts over us and we quietly listen.

“Yep, this is the place to come for fishing, but ya got to know where the best spots are. I tried a crick down the road last week and got nothin’. Had my wife drop me off at one end, so I could walk it. Got about half way back and couldn’t find one darn trout. Then I turned around and a guy on horseback was there laughing at me. ‘Catch anything?’ he says. I go, ‘naw, not a thing.’ ‘Well, there’s not a fish in that whole crick, so don’t bother.’ So, I hoofed it back here. The next day I fished on the North Platte River near Saratoga and caught my limit in no time. They say there weren’t any trout in that river until the hatchery was built in 1915, now they’re pullin’ out 20” Rainbows. The fish are breeding so good, they don’t even stock it anymore. There’s no dams, which is why.”

*  *   *

            In the morning after breakfast and friendly chats with a few neighbors we load our cameras and hike the Moose trail—rightfully named after the animal that created the paths along Barrett Creek. Moose unlike deer, elk and antelope lead mostly solitary lives. Females will keep their young close, but then go solo once the youngster is ready to be on its own. I think about that as I snap photos of the wild flower displays strewn all around. What is it about some species that they thrive on reclusiveness? Do they not get lonely? The same with happiness. From what I’ve read about Native American Plains tribes, especially the Cheyenne, they don’t have a word for happiness—don’t seem to need more than they have at any given time and place. Is the bird happy when it has food, water and shelter? Or is it simply being?

            Medicine Bow’s history includes its WWII construction as both a P.O.W. camp for Italian and German captive soldiers and a Civilian Conservation Corp camp. The two factions worked side by side building infrastructure and planting trees. Check out the signs I’ve included in the photo gallery posted below. All adding to the power of this placid place deserving of our respect and protection.

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[josephkitchen0]

A DIY Homemade Cheese Press Plan

This homemade cheese press plan will get you off to a great start when you’re ready to tackle pressed cheeses with your milk.

Like most dairy goat owners, when I first began making goat cheese, I started with chèvre — the classic soft goat cheese. I made a lot of chèvre. I’d flavor it different ways, from adding chopped Kalamata olives into the cheese, to rolling the chèvre into a log and coating it with fresh herbs, to adding honey for a sweet and tangy treat. And at the end of each milking season, I’d make a bunch of chèvre and freeze it so that my family could enjoy delicious goat cheese all winter long. Eventually, I got sick of it!

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So then I learned to make mozzarella. And ricotta. And fromage blanc and cottage cheese and several other soft, fresh cheeses. These were delicious but I yearned for more. I was ready to make pressed and aged cheeses. I’d always heard that soft cheeses were easy and hard cheeses were hard, so I was a little intimidated to get started. Of course, hard cheeses aren’t really all that hard to make, but they are a bit more involved and require more planning, preparation, and time. I had to decide what cheese to make and where to get the cheesemaking supplies, most notably, a decent, affordable cheese press. I was also unsure about how to make a DIY cheese cave. I found good supplies online but it seemed that many of the presses available were quite expensive, up to $275! Boy, I’d have to make a lot of cheese to justify that expense. I found a number of homemade cheese press plans online so I started with one of them.

The first press I built required purchasing two heavy, quality wooden cutting boards (not exactly cheap) and then drilling big holes in each corner for a set of four wooden rods that connected the two boards. The idea was to put the cheese curds in their form on the first cutting board, and then top that with the second board with a bunch of free weights on top for pressure. This sounded doable; my husband had an old set of metal weights in our home exercise room. I bought supplies, made the press, made my cheese curds, loaded them into the form, put the weights on top, and waited. Within just a few minutes, the curds shifted as they released whey, and the weights shifted to one side and promptly slid onto the kitchen floor. It made a huge racket and left two giant, black skid marks on my linoleum floor that remained until the day we put in new kitchen flooring. At least no one’s foot was down there!

Feeling that was a major failure, I decided that following a homemade cheese press plan might not be for me and that maybe I needed to just buy a press. I settled for one that I found on eBay for about $50. It had springs and a screw that you’d tighten to create the pressure for the cheese. It was anyone’s guess exactly how much to tighten the screw to get the desired pressure, but at least it all stayed in one piece and didn’t damage my house!

Eventually my husband felt sorry for me (or grew impatient waiting for the perfect pressed cheese) and he bought me that expensive press I had seen online. I loved it and it worked well. But I learned a few years later, when taking a 3-day cheesemaking course from Linda & Larry Faillace from Vermont, that I could have made a press that would work just as well, if not better, without spending a dime. So that’s what I did and I’m here to show you how.

Introducing, the Bucket Press!

This is the best homemade cheese press plan I’ve seen and the concept is so simple I almost felt silly when I first learned it (like how I felt when I made my first batch of chèvre — see my “Life Lessons from the Barnyard” story at the end of this journal). Here’s how it works:

1.  Go to a local bakery or deli and ask if they have any three-to-five-gallon food grade buckets that they’re getting ready to throw away. They’re usually happy to have you recycle them. You’ll need either two or three buckets of the same size. (Note: if you can’t find free buckets, they are inexpensive from a restaurant supply store.)

  2.  Drill holes in the bottom of one bucket with a power drill. The more holes the better, but not so many that you compromise the strength of the bucket base.

photo by Becca Heins

  3. Fill a gallon jug water. Pour that into the other bucket, and then mark the water line with a permanent marker. Label that line “eight pounds.” Do that again, and label the next water line with a “16.” If your buckets are big enough, do it one more time and mark that line with a “24”. Now you can go back and fill in a few lines at the half way points to represent 4, 12, and 20 pounds (or you can estimate where 5, 10, and 15 would be as shown in the picture).

photo by Becca Heins

4.  That’s it! You have a homemade cheese press plan that will accommodate at least 15-20 pounds of pressure. (You can always use additional weights to make it heavier or skip the water and just place weights inside the bucket.)

How to Use:

If you only have two buckets, place the one with the holes directly into your kitchen sink. (Be sure it’s a very clean, disinfected sink) If you have three buckets, place the one with holes into one without holes and the bottom bucket will serve as your sink.

Put your cheese form into the bucket with the holes, put a piece of cheesecloth into it, and then scoop your curds into the form and put the follower on top. If needed, put a can on top of the follower to give you something to rest weight on.

Put the remaining bucket, with the appropriate amount of water or weight, right into that bucket and on top of the follower. You may need to put a kitchen towel or pot holder in between the buckets to keep the top bucket from wobbling, especially at first when the curds are still full of whey.

Now all you do is wait! Your cheese is being pressed and the weight will follow the curds as they release the whey. Expelled whey will drip through the holes into the lower bucket or sink.

Pretty nifty, huh? Best homemade cheese press plan ever! Now figure out what recipe to start. I provided recipes for queso fresco and Guido’s Italian Cheese earlier in this issue. More good pressed cheeses to start with are Colby, Monterey Jack, and some farmhouse Cheddars. (I’ve had varying successes with the latter; not all recipes yield the same results.) Don’t forget to follow this link to learn more about making a DIY cheese cave. 

  Kate Johnson runs a cheesemaking school in Longmont, Colorado where she and her family also raise Nubian and Nigerian Dwarf dairy goats. Visit www.theartofcheese.com or email her at kate@theartofcheese.com

To learn how to make cheese in the comfort of your own home, check out her Cheesemaking Made Easy DVD!

  A DIY Homemade Cheese Press Plan was originally posted by All About Chickens

[cupidschance-blog]

Chapter Two

  "Good evening and welcome to Boulevard, name on the reservation please."

"Carter Lockhart, I'm meeting Owen Danvers, has he arrived?"

"Not yet,  Jennifer will escort you to your table, Miss Lockhart." The maitre d' motioned toward a young waitress wearing a tailor fit uniform.

Carter gave the maitre d' a slight nod then followed the waitress to a nice quiet corner table.

"Would you care for something to drink while you wait for your guest?" asked Jennifer handing Carter a menu.

"Chardonnay will be fine, thank you," Carter said shifting her gaze toward the restaurant's entrance before looking at her watch.

He was late, which was very much unlike Owen. Normally she kept him waiting, but that didn't matter tonight, it would be special regardless--she was breaking her streak. Tonight marked the sixth month and one day of their relationship. To her it wasn't just a trivial milestone to celebrate; it was a freaking miracle. Carter Lockhart for the first time jumped the dreaded six-month relationship-hurdle.

By the time Jennifer made it back to the table, Carter had one of those silly grins on her face, the grin of someone considering whether she had fallen in love. She thanked the waitress and took a sip of her wine as she remembered the day she met Owen.

Owen Danvers was an artist who moved from Poland to San Francisco eight months ago. He set up a gallery and because most of the artwork was worth millions of dollars, he needed a security firm that specialized in moving expensive items. She was proud to run the company her father had built.

The day Owen walked through the door, her world shifted. He was a couple inches taller than her five foot four and slender enough to squeeze into her skinny jeans with a dark shaggy mop of hair on his head--not the type she dated. Owen's expressive eyes changed her mind the warmth and knowledge in his honey brown eyes belonged to an old soul and spoke to her. The first two months they spent a lot of time together working out the details of transporting his shipment. Three days after their business concluded, Owen walked into her office and presented her with a portrait he had painted of her from memory before inviting her to join him for dinner. Like all couples, they had their ups and downs, but they survived and now they had made it past the dreaded six months, she couldn't be happier.

"What has put that smile on your face?" The accented voice pulled her back to the present and she locked her gaze on his.

"Just having a good evening and thinking about things," Carter responded.

A faint smirk touched Owen's lips as he leaned down and placed a polite kiss to her cheek, avoiding the lips Cater tried to present him with. As he pulled back two things caused a brick to drop into the pit of her stomach. She'd caught a slight whiff of cheap perfume and a look in his eyes that seemed guarded.

Instead of taking the seat next to her, he chose the chair across the table from her, crossing his arms over the edge of the table he stared at the water glass in front of him. Taking a deep breath then releasing it in a slow sigh, he started, "I apologize for being late, though I must admit I never expect  you to arrive on time."

All the happiness she had been feeling faded as she watched him. Her stomach sent a big flashing neon sign to her brain that screamed get up and walk away now, but she couldn't move, her body was glued to the chair.

"I see," she said. I see! Seriously? That's the best she could come up with? Her throat felt dry, and she drained her wine before looking back to Owen.

"I don't want to endure this a moment longer than necessary, so I'll get straight to the point. I can't do this anymore Carter, I'm not happy and I don't want to pretend to be happy anymore. I'm sure you know this is long overdue." Owen paused, watching her, "Look at you, the way you sit there, perfectly stoic as if nothing I am saying is even getting through to you. That shouldn't surprise me, over the past six months not once have you allowed me even a slight glimpse into your heart."

As her world shifted for a second time due to the man seated across from her, she took a sip of her wine not trusting herself enough to speak just yet. It took all the strength she had to keep the moisture from gathering in her eyes. Carter held her head a little higher and squared her shoulders, adopting the approach she picked up in her military training before she responded.

"I was unaware you were so miserable. Why did you wait until now instead of bringing it up sooner? We could have fixed whatever made you so unhappy," she said with deadly calm.

"Unaware? That is priceless," Owen laughed. "I'm already fixing what made me unhappy. I'm leaving you."

Carter sat up straighter. She knew why he requested a public dinner, he wanted to make a scene and embarrass her, knowing she would not respond in kind. His words cut her like a knife and she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold herself together.

Owen smirked as he watched her and said, "Look at you, sitting there with ice running through your veins. The perfect ice queen."

"Six months and a day," Carters words were little more than a whisper as they passed her lips, afraid to speak any louder. She blinked to fight back the tears he was causing her.

"Don't, don't even try to feign sadness, it doesn't become you, Carter. Before I leave, let me give you some advice. In your next relationship, make sure you let the poor guy know you are an emotionless workaholic ice queen and if he needs references, give him my number. I'll be more than happy to fill him in." Owen rose from his chair, but Carter's tone of voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Sit down Owen, you have had your say, but now it's my turn," she said wrapping her slender fingers around the stem of her wine glass.

Carter drained the remaining contents of her glass before she locked her hazel eyes on the man that now turned her stomach. "This whole time, I sat here and listened to you belittle me and point out my flaws, but what you failed to inform me, is if you were so unhappy with me, why did it take so long to tell me? Just last week did you suggest moving into my house?"

She tapped her finger against the globe of the empty wine glass she still held in her hand. "But then I realized," She paused as Jennifer stepped over and to fill her glass. Carter glanced up at the girl and nodded her head in thanks, knowing full well she had been listening to their conversation and it made her wonder how many others were listening in. She took a sip of the wine then pinned her eyes back on Owen who was squirming in his seat.

"I'm not an imbecile, you have met someone. I hope she can give you what you deserve." She drained her glass of wine once again, then arched her brow at him. "You're dismissed."

Owen stood up and laughed, "Always have to get the last word in..." He shook his head and walked away.

Before Cater could even get her thoughts together, Jennifer was at her side.

"Are you all right, is there anything I can do or get for you?"

The concern in the waitresses' eyes made Carter sick to her stomach. Carter despised being pitied. She brushed everything off then glanced at the menu. "I'll start with the sea scallops then the Angus filet mignon, and bring me a bottle of Kistler Chardonnay, please."

Carter knew better than to run after drinking, but she needed to find a release for all the anger that had built up inside of her. At first, she had considered going home and cleaning her Colt 1911 but decided in her current mood, she would end up shooting out the windows of Owen's gallery and getting arrested. That would have been fun explaining to her father. She was on the trails that lead through Golden Gate Park pushing herself until she made it back home.

Her house was larger than necessary, but she had a love for historical homes. Her three-story Italianate-style house was classic with modern interior renovations. It was a home she wanted and hoped to one day start a family in. So far, that family only comprised her blue French bulldog Max, Russian blue cat Grizzelda, and herself.

The moment Carter reached her front door and opened it, she heard the clicking of Max's manicured nails striking the hardwood floor. Before she could even close the door behind her, Max was leaping at her. She leaned down and scratched behind his ears and said, "We have work to do buddy."

Max followed her into the garage and watched as she grabbed boxes and emptying them. She took the empty boxes pausing in the kitchen long enough to grab a bottle of water and a black marker from the junk drawer then continued up to her bedroom on the third floor. Carter dropped the boxes on her bed, almost hitting Grizz, who let her know she was lying in the center with a low growl. Max jumped on the bed and laid down causing Grizz to hiss and swat at him, but Carter shooed the evil cat off the bed. "You know you aren't supposed to be up here Grizz, now go."

The cat paused in the doorway and flicked her tail back and forth before sauntering down the stairs. Carter rolled her eyes said to Max, "Why can't you act like a normal dog and chase the cat away instead of letting her bully you?"

The phone rang as she pulled Owen's clothes from her closet. She dropped them on the bed--not caring if they wrinkled--and glancing at the number before answering her phone. If anyone else had called, she would have just shut the ringer off, but she couldn't ignore a call from Major-retired Silas Carter Lockhart.

"Major, you're up past your bedtime," She said putting the phone on speaker and laying it on the bed and continued shoving Owen's clothes in the box.

"Since when do  I have a bedtime?" His gruff voice caused Max to leap off the bed and run into the bathroom to hide.

Ignoring his question she asked, "What are you up to tonight, sir?"

"That's top secret," he responded.

"Since when have I not privileged to your top secret information?" she asked. She couldn't help but chuckle wondering what he had gotten himself into tonight.

Since when do you question when I say something is top secret?" he argued.

"When you call me at," she said then glanced at her clock, "10 pm, I have clearance for top secret information."

"I'm in hiding," he mumbled sounding embarrassed to admit it.

She thought she had misunderstood, but laughed. "In hiding? What or who are you hiding from Dad?"

"Claire," He said sounding defeated.

All thoughts of what had happened earlier disappeared from her mind.

"What did you do to Claire this time?" She asked sitting down on the bed, waiting to hear the story.

"Well, I may or may not have forgotten an important date she may or may not have told me about a month ago, along with a reminder a week ago and yesterday," he confessed.

"Please tell me you did not forget your 20-year anniversary." Carter shook her head in disappointment.

Claire was her father's second wife. It had taken him a few years to find someone after her mom had passed from brain cancer. At first, she wasn't sure if Claire was right for the Major, but after getting to know her better, Carter had decided that Claire and the Major needed each other. Claire was a recovered alcoholic for 20 hard years, but she spent ten of those with the major. He had helped her fight her demons while Claire helped him get over his guilt of not being there when his wife passed away.

"I know I fucked up, but she has been nagging a lot so I've been avoiding her and I guess it slipped my mind. I know it was important, but nothing I can do about it now but hide," he rambled.

"Just go home and apologize to her dad, throw a little party for her and make sure you shower her with attention. That will make her happy. You're been together too long for her not to forgive you."

He was silent for a moment then said with a sigh, "Well... That will be a problem.""Why? What did you do or say to her?" Carter asked.

"Oh, nothing like that... It's just when I go into hiding, you know I am superb at it and tonight I ended up out on the boat, in the harbor fishing."

"Still don't see the problem dad," She couldn't help but shake her head as she threw Owen's clothes into boxes again. Sometimes her dad could frustrate the hell out of her when it came to getting information out of him, like pulling teeth with tweezers.

"Dammit, I'm out of gas, okay? I'm out in the middle of the harbor in a boat, hungry, out of beer and no damn gas," he said feigning anger then chuckled. "Need you to get down to the slip and bring the dinghy out to rescue your poor old man."

There was something about a Major saying the word dinghy that made her laugh. "Yes sir, I'll be there in 20 minutes," she said with a laugh.

"And bring the pizza!" the major added.

"Want me to grab beer too?" Carter asked."If you don't, I'm throwing your ass into the ocean. Let me grab my coordinates for you," he said, but then Carter heard some kind of struggle. "Gotta bite, call you back in a minute... " The phone went dead.

Carter kept laughing and ran her hands over her face, the day had been one hell of a whirlwind and didn't look like it would come to an end soon. She grabbed her keys, purse and slipped on a pair of tennis shoes before heading out the door. As soon as she got into her car her cell rang again.

"So, what did you catch?" Carter asked.

"Nothing, it got loose," her dad grumbled. "Let me get you those coordinates."

"I can get your location on my phone GPS, I'll stop and grab the pizza, beer, and gas then head out to you."

"See you soon, Semper Fi," said the Major.

"Ooh-rah!" Carter said with as much enthusiasm she could muster then I hit the end button.

Carter gave her dad a short blast of the horn to let him know she was coming up on him. As she approached starboard, he tossed a line to her to tie the dinghy up. Once she was secure, she passed her cargo along to the Major then climbed onto his boat. It had been a couple of years since she had last been on the boat, the Major preferred to fish alone, claimed it allowed him to clear his mind."Here," Her father tossed her a beer then sat back in his captain's chair and eyed his daughter. "You look like you've been running, Marine."

Carter sat down on the bench seat and propped her feet up on the side of the boat as she twisted the top off the bottle. She knew she should have changed out of her running shorts and tank, hell, she should have taken a shower, but all she wanted to do when she got home was get rid of anything that reminded her of Owen. She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders and said, "Needed to expend energy, running was the most acceptable way to do so at the moment." She flashed him a grin and took a drink.

"Humph," He took a swig from his bottle and leaned back, resting his head against the top of the seat. "When are you going to bring that new guy around to meet me? What's his name again? Brad? Robert... or was it John?" He lifted his head enough to look over at her and smirked.

"You know damn well his name is Owen, and I won't be bringing him around. We broke up tonight," Carter said staring up at the stars in the sky.

"Owen... Ow-en... Owe-n... Who in the hell names their kid Owen? Is he owned? It's like they are in debt or something and they owe everyone. What was he again?" he asked.

She nearly choked on her beer as she laughed, using the back of her hand to wipe her chin. Her first thought was that Owen was an asshole, but that's not what her dad was asking. "He's the artist, the one we transported the art for, from Poland."

Silas tilted his head and scratched his jaw, looking as if he were trying to remember what Owen looked like. He gave a shake of his head. "Please tell me he was not that little wormy guy you were flirting up a storm with that day I came into the office."

Carter kept her interest in staring up at the beautiful night sky, hoping if she didn't respond, he'd just drop it--she should have known better.

"It was, wasn't it? Dammit, girl, you are better than that worm. Why can't you find someone like Troy? Now he is a fine example of a man. He's a hard-working family man and from what I hear he still goes to dinner at his mom's every Sunday evening. I think he even goes to church with her on Sunday mornings as well and so you know what the best thing about him is? He was a damn good Marine."

"Can we forget about Oworm! Its done. And Troy is my best friend and married with whom he has three wonderful children. Besides..." She finished her beer and dropped the empty bottle into the cooler and grabbed another. "We never clicked that way. I get to spend as much or as little time with him as I want, then I get to leave and his wife has to put up with him the rest of the time." As she lifted the fresh beer to take a drink, her cell phone rang. "Claire," she said reading her caller ID.

"Don't you dare..." her dad warned.

"Hello, Claire!" Carter said answering her phone and flashing a grin at her dad--that'll teach him to bring up her love life. "Oh yeah, Dad's sitting right across from me. He brought the boat out into the harbor and ran out of gas. I had to come rescue him. Want to talk to him?"

Carter couldn't stop grinning as she handed the phone over to her father then laid back down on the bench, to gaze at the stars. She knew he'd get her back for it, but right now it helped her mood. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought she heard wings flutter overhead.