#not to mention the grand dames of crime!!

[lafcadiosadventures]

La grosse sylvie eyerolling at the narrator and everyone in maison vauquer losing it over how strong vautrin is when she can:

a) carry an unconscious vautrin to his room on the second floor

b) lace up ma vauquer’s grand corset

c) churn butter, do all the household chores

[kabbal]

Tes 5 women's wrongs préférées 💙

Vraiment ce classement a été difficile à organiser donc j'ai abandonné et je vais citer ces cinq dames sans faire de hiérarchie parce qu'elles le méritent

Valeria Garza (Call of Duty)

Fait-on plus women's wrongs que cette femme ? Ses crimes sont innombrables et son kuntenserven irréprochable. La sécurité de l'état mexicain devrait apprécier d'être troublé par elle. Son bisexual bob, son talent de manipulation et sa compréhension aigüe de comment tourner le patriarcat à sa sauce pour mieux dominer les autres en fait une total girlboss et le contraire d'une girl's girl. Cette femme est peut-être attirée par les femmes mais elle n'est pas une alliée. J'adore chaque fibre de son magnifique corps problématique.

De plus, elle a ce petit twist à la Irene Adler où elle bat les héros et s'en tire sans trop de dégâts, prête à repartir pour un tour. Si le monde était parfait elle serait dans tous les call of duty (malheureusement elle n'y est point. Elle a des skins très sexy dans Warzone, cependant, ce que j'accepte comme un compromis pragmatique)

Alicent Hightower (House of the Dragon)

On n'échappe pas au cycle du trauma avec cette délicieuse femme, on le perpétue! à l'infini! Son hypocrisie et son incapacité à comprendre ses propres émotions en font une horrible personne que jamais je n'aimerais côtoyer, mais ses longs cheveux bruns et ses grands yeux pleins de larmes me conduisent à justifier tous ses méfaits. So what si elle a commencé une guerre à cause de paranoia et de slut-shaming probablement induit par le fait qu'elle a fumble l'héritière du trône alors qu'elle avait totalement moyen de l'embrasser passionnément dans leur jeunesse ? God forbid women have hobbies

Aelis (Kaamelott)

Comment ne pas mentionner mon OG women's wrongs, Aelis. Elle tente littéralement de la coercion sexuelle à sa première apparition. Une femme à la morale absolument dans les égouts mais chacune de ses trop rares apparitions me remplit de joie. Astier si tu n'es pas un lâche confirme dans kv3 partie 6 qu'elle a fui la cour pour vivre dans un cottage avec Démétra où elles se menacent de divorce toutes les semaines et se roulent des patins le reste du temps.

Hélène de Sparte (mythologie grecque)

Littéralement mon personnage préféré de toute la mythologie grecque. Elle est tellement fascinante pour moi et à ce jour je n'ai pas encore trouvé de version d'elle en dehors du texte original du cycle troyen qui corresponde à la vision que j'ai d'elle. Elle est tellement ambivalente : à la fois maudite et bénie par sa beauté, avec tellement de relations compliquées avec tout le monde. Ses intentions et son agentivité sont des points d'interrogation permanents. Une ville est tombée pour elle. On a sacrifié des enfants en partant et en retournant de la guerre menée en son nom. Elle-même se traite de chienne quand on lui pose la question. Euripides en a fait sa blorbette et l'a absolue de toute responsabilité dans cette affaire, ce qui est objectivement hilarant.

Pyrrha Dve (The Locked Tomb)

Je suis obsédée par elle depuis que je sais qu'elle a utilisé la possession du corps de son meilleur ami pour avoir une relation avec une terroriste, tout en sachant que ledit meilleur ami était déjà dans une relation avec ladite terroriste. Mais il ne faut pas oublier son implication dans la création d'une société autoritaire et ultramilitarisée aux accents fachistes. Ainsi que le fait qu'elle a au minimum accepté de laisser passer un plan qui impliquait de fracasser un bébé contre un rocher. Quand on voit tout ça, sa relation problématique avec des jeunes gens de 10 000 ans ses cadets passe comme une lettre à la poste. Also, she's a butch

Mention honorable :

Mel Medarda (Arcane)

Elle n'est pas dans la liste des women's wrongs parce que objectivement elle est une personne éthiquement respectable, contrairement à toutes les charmantes femmes citées plus haut. Mais ce que j'aime beaucoup chez elle, justement, c'est qu'elle occupe un rôle qui serait traditionnellement attribué à une women's wrongs (la politicienne, la femme fatale, la mentor du côté obscur) et elle arrive à cependant garder sa morale et ses principes et être un personnage positif. Elle est également sans aucun doute la plus belle femme que j'ai jamais vu de ma vie. Si elle ne revient pas dans la prochaine saison je brûle Netflix.

(sa daronne est totalement une women's wrongs par contre hehehe)

[maxwell-grant]

I was reading one of your posts that crosslinked to another post about someone named the Grey Claw, but the link wasn't working. What's the Grey Claw all about?

I was planning to hold off talking about him until I could finish translating his comic or wrote a story with him proper, plans I still intend to get around to but are gonna be on ice for a long while. So in the meanwhile, let's finally set the record about this guy.

Said to be the star of Brazil's first horror comic, he is unarguably the first Brazilian supervillain, and I'll make an argument that he may very well be The First Comic Book Supervillain proper, inspired by the pulp master villains but something much different than the drab Fu Manchu clones of the time, something new and costumed and strange and fantastical in ways that were years if not decades ahead of his time. Predating the first recognized American supervillains in comics, at the midpoint between Fu Manchu and Doctor Sivana, between Fantomas and The Joker, between Doctor Quartz and Lex Luthor, there is: The Grey Claw.

Murders, underground connections, secret laboratories, opium dens, a secret society of crime and a mysterious super-villain challenging all of police and society. São Paulo was still in it's quiet beginnings, but even then, it dreamed of being a grand shadowy metropolis, like the ones heard about in movies, pulps and North-American comic books.

And that dream made the success of The Grey Claw series in the 1930s. For months, paulista readers eagerly followed the perils of Inspector Frederic Higgens at the hands of The Grey Claw's semi-anarchist gang, with exotic characters such as the robot Flag and the sensual Dame in Black.

Considered by many to be the first Brazilian horror comic - due to it's plot full of monsters, mummies, grave defilings and mentions of life after death - The Grey Claw is a direct spawn from the seedy and mysterious texts of north-american pulp magazines. Soon, those masked avengers and horrific villains in non-stop action would reach the world of comics, giving birth to the superhero revolution. - The City and it's Monster, by Worney Almeida de Souza

The Grey Claw was the star of a comic published in newspaper A Gazetinha starting July 1937, just short of a full year before Superman's debut in June 1938, and it would run for a hundred installments until wrapping up it's story circa 1939. The same newspaper would eventually debut both Superman and The Phantom (second only to Superman and maybe Batman in terms of imitators worldwide among Golden Age superheroes, and I say maybe because they overlap a bit but The Phantom was definitely the go-to superhero to rip off basically everywhere outside of the States) to Brazilian audiences, running alongside The Grey Claw during his brief run. The strip is a police procedural that gradually turns into a sci-fi horror story, a pastiche of film serials and pulp novels that focuses on the titular strange, powerful masked villain running amok in a seedy metropolitan area, and a police detective's efforts to uncover who is behind said villain.

The basic skeleton of it is a fairly cut-and-dry police procedural with a square-jawed Sherlockian policeman investigating a string of calling-card murders with more suspects and victims picking up along the way. Our heroes are mostly colorless and dull archetypes, although the protagonist Higgins is amusingly dickish at several times and I'll go to bat for the female lead Kay Tornhill, she's a fairly progressive character in spite of limited screentime as the detective's partner (not romantically, she joins the investigation to protect her younger brother from the Claw). She's a skilled fencer / marksman / equestrian / swimmer who doesn't really get to show these talents in the story, but they make a point of bringing it up, and I think Kay's presentation probably did the most in convincing people for decades that this comic was penned by a woman under a male name, because, well just look at her.

But as is Pulp Supervillain Lead tradition, it is the villain who has more than enough charisma to spare to carry us through, and a lot of what makes The Grey Claw feel distinct is that he winds up remixing stock pulp/serial villain traits in novel ways, the result of him making his debut in a fairly new and developing medium and growing stranger as the issues develop as he takes center stage more and more. Everytime he shows up, he brings with him things like televised death traps (television hadn't yet been brought to Brazil), underground torch-lit lairs, rabid ape monsters in chains who used to be humans, and a gigantic automaton who walks around making turkey noises and killing everything in sight unless reigned in by The Grey Claw, who names it "FLAG" and treats him with great fondness as if he were a best friend and a sidekick and a dog all in one and bemoans that one day, he will be able to give his berserk death machine friend the power of speech.

FLAG! FLAG! It is I, FLAG! Calm yourself, FLAG!

My poor FLAG! Some day, I shall give you the usage of speech...

Here's one thing about the character upfront: The story was drawn by Renato Silva (who also did Nick Carter stories) and written by Francisco Armond, but nobody knows who Francisco Armond is. For a while, the most likely candidate was Helena Ferraz, a poet and co-editor/director of the paper who had already published under the male pseudonym Alvaro Armando (named after her two sons), but relatives of hers confirmed it wasn't her, and so currently nobody knows who wrote this. I actually still have no idea who, if anyone, currently owns the rights to The Grey Claw, because although he's had a recent reboot (by the same creator of Doutrinador and in the exact same vibe, which means it's dogshit and I will not entertain it), he's long passed the point where he should be public domain.

The comic was a great success for it's time and would achieve a level of fame none of it's contemporaries would by being reprinted internationally. In 1939, it was reprinted without permission by Mexican editor Sayrol in 1939 and made it's way to European publishers through there. Between 1944-1947 it had a very popular run in Belgian magazine "Le Moustique", and he was adapted to France under the name "La Griffre Grise", which is where I discovered the character while looking for French pulp characters. Unsurprisingly, the character was never credited as a Brazilian creation, and for 50 or so years went almost completely undiscovered by even the most hardcore researchers.

Even in Brazil, nobody knows about this guy, and it was only in 2011, 74 years after his debut, that the character's entire saga was finally collected and reprinted in trade paperback by Editora Conrad. It's not cheap and it's really hard to find and order, completely out of stock in most online stores, but I got it as a birthday gift from my sister a couple years ago. I have it on hand right now to help put this post together.

It's a fairly weird comic that's in many ways aged really poorly but also tapped into some veins superhero comics and future supervillains would take a long while to even approach. The dialogue is a couple steps clunkier than even your average Golden Age comic, almost impenetrably outdated with Portuguese linguistics (a poisoned character saying out loud "Oh no! I've just been narcotized!") and weird malapropist English terms hastily translated and inserted in, and conveying the feel of it is even beyond my own skills at translating. It's a unique time capsule of how Brazil was still adapting to rapidly developing times, recently loosening up from centuries-spanning shackles of Portuguese and Spanish colonialism and with a newfound input of foreign media in pulps and serials and theater, and adapting and developing new subcultures and ways of expression as a result.

This was one of the first times a Brazilian comic would play around this much with USAmerican tropes and archetypes (cultural imports from the USA were all extremely new and viewed as a hot new alternative to European art and culture that had otherwise been the dominant form), a São Paulo-published comic set in a seedy, Depression-choked American metropolis, a big monument of brick and poison and inequality, which is exactly what São Paulo would become. There is something oddly alien and prescient about The Grey Claw because it's rooted in a fictionalized fantasyland idea of 1930s New York, that would nevertheless predate São Paulo's trajectory into becoming the country's big American-Style Urban Center, over the decades later when it would be the USAmericans' turn to tighten those colonialist shackles back on.

The dialogue also makes it pretty funny to read as a result and especially when the villain shows up, because The Grey Claw himself is pretty goddamn funny. Not just funny: I think his characterization is actually pretty damn impressive, and it's certainly the main draw of the thing for me. There's one sequence I'm going to post the whole page to be appreciated. I can't scan it so you'll just have to take my word as is that this is the whole page.

For context: It is revealed that The Grey Claw has been on a mad quest to unlock the mysteries of life and death via a formula that can bring the dead back to life. He monologues quite intensely about having unveiled and unlocked the secrets, saying to FLAG that he was the first step in giving life and intelligence into inanimate matter ("You would be a perfect creation, if only you were able to express your feelings", he says, to the horrid gurgling automaton who murders everything in sight), but that this time, he shall perfect the breath of life.

But it is eventually revealed, when he is exposed as Dr James Stone (a "famed young chemist, one of the most well-liked men around town") after his explosive demise, that he had in fact stolen the formula's recipe from a former partner, Professor Curberry. Curberry was the ape monster he kept chained in the basement, and that he visited in order to whip while it writhed in chains, with the narrative stating The Claw was "blinded by hate" towards him. At the end, it's revealed that Curberry's corpse coming back to life as a half-man-half-ape monster was a side effect of The Grey Claw "getting the dosage wrong", and we're just gonna ignore the can of worms that ending brings to focus on when The Grew Claw actually succeded.

For his test subject, he picked the corpse of the scientist's secretary he murdered within the 2nd strip, over a week well into death, and injects her at the dawn of midnight. And I'm gonna have to transcribe it:

Mid-night at last! The "Claw" begins the grand experiment.

The ghost's hand shakes slightly as he injects the licor of life in the dead woman's arms. And this is the first time the steely nerves of that insensitive creature have ever faltered.

"Twenty four minutes and...she'll be back to life! Ah, this time the triumph will be complete!"

"Will I fail yet again? No, failure is not possible. However, the experiment realized with Curberry was definitive...how horrible it would be if the experiment failed again!"

"It would be horrible! But no! If I fail, I will not allow her to survive...Yes! I shall exterminate her! Curberry and Mac-Flagan were more than enough!"

The minutes drizzle out slowly. As the pointers walk across, the mysterious ghost feels his nervousness grow.

They dedicated an entire page's worth just to The Grey Claw stressing and worrying and having a breakdown over the prospect of his formula not working again. But he does succeed, and the secretary comes back to life devoid of any memories and in great shock. Here's how the "insensitive creature" reacts

Despite his great dominion over his own nerves, the "Claw" can barely repress his restlessness. The living dead woman stumbles around her with a look of fright.

DAME IN BLACK: "What an emptiness in my head! It's all confused, scrambled, obscured!"

THE GREY CLAW: "This time I've won completely, FLAG!"

He later tells her that, with no memories of her own, she might as well not "cling to the past" and instead join him as his "Dame in Black". But in the aftermath of this, while he's busy boasting and jeering that the world belongs to him now, FLAG immediately zeroes in and tries to maul the woman before The Claw shoos him away. And then in the next strip, he writes in his diary about how his two besties are getting along now-

The next day, certain that FLAG would no longer try assaulting the "Dame in Black", the "Claw" penetrates a discreet cabinet next to the laboratory

"My memories...they shall be worth a fortune later..."

"I have triumped! She transcended the throes of death and returned to life, thirty minutes after the injection. She showed herself a bit stunned, undecided, wowed; she spoke, she walked, she fought…yes, she fought the idiot automaton, who was startled by the new companion…But now, they are both great friends."

"I have taught her the process of turning FLAG docile as a lamb. She is of sane mind; her mind has shed, however, all impressions of the "past". My voice, however, brought her memory-"

Did I tell you guys already that, before the police blows the two up, FLAG ultimately mauls The Grey Claw to death while his last words are him desperately trying to get the robot to calm down, saying "It's me!" instead of fleeing? I'm posting like one highlight, but to post all of them would be to post basically every time this character shows up in the story.

(Art by @zanzooeditorial)

There's just such a fascinating mismatch between how the narration and everyone sees him, as this stone cold invincible death-dealer turned death-master who holds the entire country in a grip of terror, and his characterization when he's actually on-screen going about his affairs. The narrative goes through lengths to paint him as an unfeeling soulless monster that is almost patently contradicted with most of what he says and does in-text, which veers widly between pitiable and even sympathetic to, actually worse than if he was fully pragmatic chessmaster genius the police perceives him as, and it's not even really played for laughs, it's more like a side effect of this being published peacemeal over 2 years and shooting for new directions and thus contradicting itself. He's afforded this emotional range that's just really unheard of, not just in the pulp villains he's based on but in all the Golden Age supervillains that came after him, it's something that only really started catching on with Marvel and their attempts to add extra dimension to their villains.

The Grey Claw is a brutal murderer and a cutthroat terrorist who has an innocent woman shot in the heart within the second page, and he's a wisecracking goofball who delighs in showing off his advanced intellect and machinery before his police nemesis. He commands vast invisible communications networks and armies of brutal thugs, and then he writes diaries and plays pranks and poses dramatically. He is a vicious man who turned his former partner into a mutant ape and keeps him locked up and whipped while constantly berating and cursing him ("Ah Ah Ah! I wish your university colleagues could see you now!"), but he did forsake victory and spared his worst enemies from a horrible end to save the life of a woman he liked among them. He is a deeply lonely gothic dweeb who casually engages in constant banter with the monstrous unresponsive automaton, whom he asks for input and talks to and holds tight in moments of emotion or camraderie that is entirely one-sided on his end, he barely restrains it from murdering everything in sight at all times and winds up being mauled to death the second that grip is loosened. He has one friend in the whole entire world and it's the one he made himself.

He is desperately driven to prove himself and have that blasted resurrection formula he's been developing for years work, even though we learn that it was apparently stolen from someone else the whole time and he was just, what, passionately pretending to himself that it was his life's work? We never get to see his face, only a last-minute identity as a respectable young chemist and "the last suspect anyone would have", and given he was indeed able to reverse death and decay, seemingly permanently, it would have been extremely easy for the series to continue, and for The Grey Claw to come back again and again as many times as it took.

He is humorous and childish and absurd and even quite likeable, but the bodies do not stop piling near him, and the more he shows up, the weirder and bloodier things get, until what began as a bog-standard police whodunit ends with a violent struggle between a former professor turned bloodied giant ape man and a titanic lumbering murder robot deep within an underground dungeon system, where said murder robot proceeds to slaughter everything in sight including the Dr Frankenstein-gangster-pirate who created him, as the police throws dynamite at them because nothing else has worked so far in stopping them.

By all means, The Grey Claw had everything necessary and then some to make it into the biggest leagues of supervillain history, on the strength not just of his initial outing but his inspired characterization and great success and popularity by his time. Today he's remembered only among diehard afictionados and collectors, for spearheading many firsts within Brazilian comics and being one of the very, very few figures among Brazilian superheroes/supervillains to achieve any kind of fame at all. The scene and history when it comes to Brazilian superheroes, and reasons for the lack thereof, is a topic for another day.

Some fans have tried boosting the character's rep by claiming he was an influence on several marginally better-known characters such as Marvel's Blazing Skull or the nascent villain protagonist genre of comics that would pop up throughout Europe in the 50s-60s, but even I'll say that's a stretch too far. Records show The Grey Claw was popular in his time and region for sure, popular enough to be reprinted without credit across the globe and popular enough to be remembered and redrawn in present day (can't discount the strength of a good design, at least), but he was an anomaly at the end, a missing link untethered and unprotected from time.

A gothic horror alchemist who skulks around medieval dungeons, weaponizing every latest technological advancement and social anxiety to his advantage and even some that didn't really exist yet. A totem of death obsessed with life, the first comic book villain to surpass death if only for a moment, an inhuman murderous monster who turns out to be as painfully human as it gets. A skull-faced harbinger of death who foregoes the cloak and scythe to don a panama hat and fancy apparell and The Chest Logo Of His Persona and Brand. Just one year before some gringo strongman was doing that but with circus colors and a letter instead.

Pfah, fashion visionaries never get their due in time. But if conquering death was a trivial task for The Fascinora, conquering time and returning to his true self should be achievable in no time at all!

Ah Ah Ah!...

Give or take some 90 years, maybe.

(Art by @necronauta)

[thecoffeelovingfreak]

The Thieving Jester

Pairing: gn!Detective!Reader x Art Thief!Nikolai

Writing Genre: oneshot

Genres: crime?, film noir themes, fluff

Word count: 1.5k (there is a cut)

Warnings: smoking, brief swearing, alcohol, very lightly implied nudity and nsfw

Sketches

Paintings: Monet's Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies; Rembrandt's The Denial of Saint Peter; Gyokudō's Parting Spring; Reni's Saint Sebastian; Renoir's Bal du moulin de la Galette; Botticelli's Venus and Mars

Extra Info: The National Gallery in London; At Night; Floor Plan

Notes: This fic has been in development for a while, and I figured why not post it for his birthday! Also, please note that the art mentioned has not been stolen in real life, they are simply pieces I am fond of! Finally, Nikolai plays the role of both 'the dame' and 'the criminal', while the reader is 'the detective'!

Read it on ao3!

This fic is sponsored by no sleep, blueberry coffee, and The Pink Panther Soundtrack (especially 'Royal Blue' and 'Champagne and Quail'). I hope you enjoy it! ;)

~~~

The smoke from your cigarette filled the dimly lit office around you. Files piled onto the desk, books scattered across the floor, a half-empty glass of bourbon, and an ashtray almost full. You loosened your tie and sighed, looking down at the open file in front of you. The photo of an aberrant man dubbed ‘The Thieving Jester’ stared back at you.

You had followed him around the globe many times before, and it seemed the chase would not be ending soon. New York, Amsterdam, Tokyo, Rome, and Paris; all capitals that he has led you to.

Putting out your cigarette and rising from your seat, you gathered the files and put them in your briefcase. Donning a trench coat and hat as you left the office, you put up your umbrella and made your way into the rainy streets of Paris.

~

The grand Gare du Nord station was still draped in wet as your commanding steps approached its doors. Your team was waiting for you in London where they suspected the thief would be travelling to next.

As you sat on the train, you remained idly focused on the dull environment now surrounding you. The light and dark greys, the unimpressive passengers. Your face remained unapproachable and your eyes critical. A man coughed, breaking you out of your small haze. You decided to continue reviewing the Jester’s thefts before you reached London. Opening your briefcase, you pulled out the manila folder holding his crimes.

He started by stealing Monet’s Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.

Then he moved onto Rembrandt’s The Denial of Saint Peter from the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam.

Followed by Gyokudō’s Parting Spring from the National Museum of Modern Art in Tokyo.

Before going back to Europe for Reni’s Saint Sebastian from the Capitoline Museums in Rome.

And Renoir’s Bal du moulin de la Galette from the Musée d’Orsay in Paris.

It was suspected he would steal a Botticelli next, so the forces were doubled near Room 58 of London’s National Gallery.

The train came to a stop, successfully pulling you from your work. You followed behind the people shuffling from the train's exits, bumping into them during your rush. You called a cab as you exited the St Pancras International station, asking the driver to take you to the Metropolitan Police building along the River Thames.

Clouds hung heavily over the bustling city, but people walked and smiled nonetheless. You felt a peculiar longing in your heart; one for the days of old when you had the vibrancy of life in your veins. Journeying around the globe for a man you have only seen in a photo had taken much of the light from your eyes. The frustrations of being a detective compiled with your depressing personal life created a bitterness in your demeanor that caused many to walk by you without a second glance; writing you off as a person in the slums of life.

It seemed this driver was the same, you thought, as he dropped you off from a quiet ride with no words exchanged.

You checked your watch before entering the building; it read midnight, an hour before the thief was expected to strike.

A woman with short and wavy light brown hair rushed by you as you entered the offices; it was Amelia, one of the investigators on your team.

“Where are you running to?” you asked.

“The Jester has already struck!” she exclaimed, rushing across the square.

“Fuck.” you whispered, following after her.

~

Sirens echoed across Trafalgar Square as police covered the scene. Sprinkles from the fountains landed on your trench coat as you briskly walked by, ignoring the glances from the officers. Your powerful steps echoed throughout the Gallery as you approached an investigator.

After asking him where Room 58 was, you got into the lift and went up to the second level. The room was located in the middle of the Sainsbury Wing, and as you entered the area you were greeted by a large empty space on the left wall.

“He stole Botticelli’s Venus and Mars.” William, another investigator from your team, informed.

You hummed as you ducked under the caution tape.

“Did he leave behind his signature?” you questioned.

“Of course.” William replied, handing you the small paper.

The Thieving Jester’s signature was a small white card, similar to that of a business card, that had a sketch of a top hat rimmed with black and white triangles. It was signed with his dubbed name, although the n was always circled.

“Let’s continue looking.” you stated.

~

Entering the dimly lit bar, your mind sighed with relief. The long day of work had plagued you on your walk, but the minute you sat on the brown bar stool, your worries washed away. Gentle piano accompanied by soft chatter echoed throughout the calm space. You asked the bartender for a scotch on the rocks, and soon it arrived.

Your eyes drifted to the figure sitting to your left while you continued analyzing the cozy bar. He had a slightly buff build, something you could easily tell due to the tightness of the white dress shirt he wore. His black trousers fell perfectly down his toned legs, and his long, wavy white hair glimmered in the delicate light. His golden eyes seemed transfixed on his thoughts as an unlit cigarette hung lazily from his lips. You decided to retrieve the lighter from the pocket of your coat and present the flame to the man.

A hint of a smirk made its way onto his face as he accepted your offer. As you got a better look at his features, you noticed a scar along his left eye; one that reminded you of the photo of the Jester. Albeit the photo was of the thief when he was younger, this more mature man still bared a striking resemblance.

Smoke flew into your line of sight, breaking you from your thoughts. Your eyes held traces of suspicion; traces that the man seemed to pick up on.

“What are you thinking, Detective?” his smooth voice asked.

You lifted a brow in shocked response.

He chuckled, “I could tell from the moment I saw you. Of course by what you wear, but the exhaustion in your eyes reminds me of one I once knew.”

“You’re quite observant, Jester.” you replied.

It was now his turn to raise a brow in response.

A beat of silence passed when you received another drink. As you took a sip, he spoke once more.

“Will I meet my fate tonight?” he asked.

“Of course not.” you smiled. “Tonight is simply a night for us to converse over cigarettes and drinks. When the morning comes, however, you will face prosecution for your crimes.”

He sighed, almost in defeat. “That is fine with me. I would love to share my last night of freedom with good company.”

You lifted your glass and held it between the both of you. “To a night of finality.”

He nodded and clinked his half-empty glass to yours.

“What is your finality, Detective?”

“Please, call me Y/n.” you began, “And I will be retiring after your case is finished.”

He smiled, “Really, Y/n? What will you do with your spare time?”

You hummed, “I’m not quite sure yet. Maybe I’ll spend my days tending to crops and animals somewhere.”

He laughed; a lovely, boisterous sound. “That sounds awfully dull. Wouldn’t you rather do something exciting, like travelling the world?”

You chuckled at the irony, “I’ve already been following you around the world, Jester.”

“No need to use the media’s name, simply call me Nikolai.” He put out his cigarette in the nearby ashtray. “And why not continue following me around the globe, as a partner this time? Abandon this lifeless job and explore the criminal world! It’s quite exhilarating.”

You took a large sip of your scotch before tilting your head in contemplation. Would you be so easily swayed by this thief’s words? one side of you asked. The other responded, Why not? To go on such a freeing journey with such a dashing man would be a fulfilled fantasy.

“It seems when the morning comes, that we will be leaving London.” you smirked.

He beamed, and you reciprocated the action.

~

You sat silently in the bed of Nikolai’s beige hotel room, where the only light came from the moon through the sheer curtains. Said man laid peacefully sleeping, his muscular figure curled comfortably into your side. It was almost reminiscent of how Venus and Mars were depicted in Botticelli’s painting; one appearing relaxed and alert while the other was fast asleep. You turned on the bedside lamp, causing Nikolai to stir.

“It’s time to go.” you whispered.

~

The mist of the Atlantic Ocean flew into your face, but it created a welcoming feeling rather than an irritable one. The long-haired man stood to your side on this boat headed back to France. A sense of solace slowly washed over you as land came into view. After so many years dedicated to this case, you never would have imagined turning into a criminal yourself; much less after being so easily swayed. But it seemed that this charming thief and his past returned to you, an adrift detective, the vibrancy of life in your veins.

[adamsvanrhijn]

what we know so far [as of August 26, 2021] about Downton Abbey: A New Era (2022)

big news today that the first teaser trailer for the downton abbey sequel was released at CinemaCon this week!

as such, here's a reverse chronological order post of what we know or have been told about the film so far :-) (it was going to be in actual chronological order, but Tumblr is terrible about moving text around in the new editor lol whoops)

only going back to April 19th with the official announcement because I don't think very much came before then that wasn't reported again! under a read more because i've got a lot here but i'm not finished, this is missing information, and i have to go to work LOL so hopefully more to come here shortly. :-)

2021, August 26

News & Journalism

Deadline reports (‘Downton Abbey’ Sequel Gets A Title And Teaser Footage At CinemaCon) the film's "Las Vegas unveiling during Universal’s slate presentation [at CinemaCon]".

The title of the film is revealed to be Downton Abbey: A New Era.

Quote:

The teaser footage revealed today reunites us with the Crawley family and the Downton staff as preparations for an overseas journey are underway. Intones Jim Carter’s Mr Carson in one of the few lines of dialogue in the footage, “The British are coming.” There’s lots of glitz and glamour and jazz, as well as, evidently, a wedding. No word so far on when the teaser will drop for the public.

Yahoo! Entertainment adds that (Yahoo! Entertainment: ‘Downton Abbey’ Sequel Gets a Title and Teaser at CinemaCon):

While the teaser was light on footage, it featured Lord Grantham and the denizens of Downton leaving their famous English home for a grand tour of Europe

CinemaBlend: Downton Abbey 2 has a title, shares first look at Maggie Smith's Dowager Countess reveals new information of "a wedding, a boat trip for Lord and Lady Grantham, a shot of a delightful outdoor party and more", mentioning also that "major characters like Thomas Barrow (looking a little older than before)" appear in the teaser. It also describes the following dinner scene:

However, what’s really captivating is a short clip from a dinner scene featuring none other than Dame Maggie Smith. An actor is to dinner with the Crawley family, and the Dowager Countess is full of her usual barbs. In a delightfully uncomfortable moment, Violet Crawley asks the actor, “Is there such a thing as good publicity?” A rather good question that must have come after an intriguing story, to which he responds, “There is if you’re in the movies.” But of course, the Dowager Countess always has a good retort, noting, “Oh what a colorful life you lead.”

Additional information from CinemaCon trailer reactions:

"Tom Branson's getting married" (source: GeekTyrant: DOWNTON ABBEY: A NEW ERA - Trailer Reaction - CinemaCon 2021)

Cast and crew information from IMDb (IMDb: Downton Abbey: A New Era Full Cast and Crew):

Jonathan Coy is returning as George Murray, the Crawleys' lawyer (who typically appeared in the show when people were accused of crimes and/or at risk of losing great amounts of money or the estate).

Casting, Makeup, Production Management, Camera and Electrical, Location Management, and COVID Management all include crew members on location in France

Jonathan Wayre is credited for "Talkies Management". Wayre is a specialist in vintage and antique film and sound equipment (props and operation).

2021, July 2

It's reported that the film's release date is being moved from Christmas 2021 to March 18, 2022. See Variety: ‘Downton Abbey 2’ Pushed From Holiday Release to March 2022 Debut.

Hello! Magazine compiles previously reported information about newcomer cast members into one nice article for my convenience: Who are the new cast members playing in the Downton Abbey sequel? Much of this info comes from tabloids, so take it with a grain of salt and compare against other news.

Dominic West, British actor, is "set to play a wealthy aristocrat who is invited to stay at the eponymous stately home by Lord Grantham"

Natalie Baye, French film star, "will star in Downton Abbey 2 as an old friend of Violet Crawley"

Hugh Dancy has no character information, but was previously spotted on set (see below)

Laura Haddock has no character information and has not been spotted on set

2021, June 18

This image featuring the cast in between takes, including Samantha Bond as Lady Rosamund Painswick (previously unannounced), starts floating around Twitter:

Left to right: Michelle Dockery (Mary ), Hugh Bonneville (Robert), unidentified crew member, Elizabeth McGovern (Cora), Laura Carmichael (Edith), Harry Hadden-Paton (Bertie), Samantha Bond (Rosamund), and Rob James-Collier (Thomas)

2021, May 20

The East Anglian Daily Times reports Film crews believed to be filming Downton Abbey movie spotted near Sudbury.

Filming took place at Belchamp Hall, St Mary the Virgin Church. The following photos are leaked of pastel tents and garden party tables, with a large cast of extras dressed in early-mid Interwar clothing and a 1920s car:

Tumblr user rosalyn15 makes a great post calling out potential additional details: Downton Abbey continues filming in Essex.

2021, May 19

East Anglian Daily Times reports Latest Downton Abbey movie takes over streets of Harwich as filming begins:

Film crews have been in the Essex town shooting street scenes in King's Quay Street by the grand Electric Palace Cinema, one of the oldest purpose-built cinemas in the country, dating from 1911.

They add that "judging by the costumes, the Downton saga would have appeared to have reached the 1930s."

Harwich and Manningtree Standard reports that Potential Downton Abbey filming continues in Harwich. Of note is this photo showing the Electric Palace Cinema displaying a film poster for The Terror:

The Terror is a (lost) 1928 American talkie horror film. Its London premier occurred October 25, 1928. According to contemporary newspapers, the film in both its silent and talkie form was still playing and/or periodically playing in cinemas throughout England (including in Yorkshire) well into 1929. Its first talkie screening in Hull was reported in the Hull Daily Mail on December 2, 1929 (requires British Newspaper Archive subscription to view).

2021, May 18

Daily Mail: Michelle Dockery transforms into Lady Mary for Downton Abbey sequel filming in Essex

Michelle Dockery and Hugh Dancy (yet unnamed) are spotted filming in Harwich. Photos include Dockery behind the wheel of a car, extras in period costume and Dockery and Dancy together in costume, sans COVID PPE (so potentially briefly in between takes):

Tumblr nerds are quick to point out that the costuming and hair styling resembles the late 1920s and potentially even the early 1930s.

2021, April 20

Max Brown, who played newcomer Richard Ellis (Thomas Barrow's primary love interest) in Downton Abbey (2019), says via Twitter that "sadly, I won't be joining the gang this time"

Tuppence Middleton, who played newcomer Lucy Smith (Tom Branson's primary love interest) in the first film, confirms via Twitter that she will be in the sequel

Rob James-Collier, who plays Thomas Barrow, does an interview with This Morning (Phillip Quizzes Downton Abbey’s Rob James-Collier For Sequel Film Details | This Morning) where he says, "someone goes for a bicycle ride, someone has an argument, someone falls in love, someone falls out of love, and someone goes to the shops". When asked about the love story plotline - "Thomas Barrow's kiss with Richard Ellis got a standing ovation at the premier ... is there a development of that storyline?" his response is, "Maybe there is, maybe there is."

2021, April 19

The sequel's release date is announced via official social media channels:

Downton Abbey on Facebook: We're thrilled to announce that Julian Fellowes and the entire Downton cast are back for #DowntonAbbey2, with Hugh Dancy, Laura Haddock, Nathalie Baye and Dominic West joining!

In a promotional image accompanying the post, the film is announced to be "in theaters Christmas 2021":

[musicallisto]

⚔ — 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥; (tyrion lannister x f!reader)

@multifandomfix​​ requested: Hey, for your start of the year event, could I get #44 with Tyrion Lannister, please? Thanks in advance if you end up choosing it. I hope 2021 will be a great year for you. 😊

song: bazzi - beautiful | 𝄞

summary: How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

author notes: I ain’t never seen a fluffy one-shot written by me, always half of it gotta be depressing

word count: 2.7k (what the HELL)

warnings: language + the typical stuff that’s commonplace in GoT

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 younger, young enough to hear her speak freely around you, you’d often heard the illustrious Cersei Lannister, blessed may her reign be, mutter her implacable adage through slit eyes and arrogant teeth; in Westeros, when one played the game of thrones, they were either crowned or buried. Some win and some die, she’d state with a smug grin, ignoring Jaime rolling his eyes right by her. You would always nod in silence; partly because you, lesser Lady of King’s Landing, certainly did not dare to contradict your most redoubtable playmate; but also because, deep down, you believed in her truths. You’d seen it when your father came back from his battles, commanding the Crown’s armies across the Southern seas, or when you heard the whispers at Court of yet another fallen Lord who believed he could play with fire like the Targaryens; there was little more than victors and vanquished, and you, as a lady-in-waiting to the future Queen, could sleep easy at night knowing you were on the right side of the world.

Yet when the rebellion led by your father’s army of mutineers was crushed by the King’s forces, when your brothers all fled into exile across the continent; when your title, name, and lands became those of a traitor to the Crown; you understood that in the game of thrones, death was the only blessing the powerful bestowed when they were clement; for there was far crueler and harrowing a punishment than torture: humiliation and servitude.

King Robert Baratheon, his mercy guided by Tywin Lannister’s murmurs, decided against sending you to death as he would have any of your brothers, despite the abject crimes your name now carried. In all his bonhomie, he had made you a servant of his wife instead, perpetually condemned to following the Lannisters around and never quite catching up to them.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked Jaime one time, in hushed tones, aware that a servant caught talking to the Kingslayer with such familiarity would cause quite the scandal.

“Probably because he knows you were always a dear friend to Cersei and me.”

That was Jaime, as always; believing what he wanted to believe, and damned would be the one who’d change his mind. And to think he still thought, with a disconcerting assurance, that Cersei and you were still dear friends...

You hadn’t asked her why you were still alive. You knew she’d eye you for a moment, then order you to fetch her some water. She savored the sight of you in rugged clothes and immensely exhausted.

The only one who knew was Tyrion.

He always knew everything.

Even more so when it was about you.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked him one evening, in the quiet banquet hall, only illuminated by flickering candles. He had looked up from his chalice of wine and at you, clearing the last dishes from the grand supper, and he swore his heart ruptured. He loved nothing more than staying absurdly late after dinner so he could catch you alone, but when your misty eyes, still too pure and bright for a world so cold, asked such unfathomable questions...

“I don’t know,” he had muttered casually.

Neither of you believed it. There was nothing Tyrion didn’t know.

But how could he tell you it was Tywin’s sick little pleasure, to keep you in chains at an arm’s length from him, from his embarrassment of a son? How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

“Sometimes I wish he had not,” you had confessed with this outrageous beauty of yours, chin up and prosody of a dame despite the greasy plates in your elegant hands.

Tyrion had bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood. You were not the King’s prisoner, nor the castle’s, nor your family name’s; you were his, and he loved you so ardently, beyond all the words he knew, that he was utterly paralyzed.

The wine and hall were long cold by the time he went to sleep that night.

The following days, inexplicably, Tyrion was the first of the family to retire to his quarters after dinner. A pang of sullenness stung your throat when you brought the usual wine cup to an empty chair. Never before had he gone to bed without wishing you goodnight. Not since the night, so many years before, when you had run out on Cersei and Jaime to stay with their boring and lame little brother and talk the night away with his electric soul...

“Why didn’t Tyrion wait for you?” Jaime had whispered into your ear as you leaned over to pour him more wine.

You froze, almost long enough for Cersei to flair your discomfort. That was Jaime, as always; surprisingly perceptive when he allowed himself to be...

“I don’t know.”

You and Tyrion were so alike. You had the same inflection in the voice when you admitted to not knowing something... frustration and defeat.

“Maybe he’s not feeling well. You should check on him.”

“I’m certain he is f—”

“Y/N, go tend to my brother, please,” he cut, his voice a little louder.

You stopped, looking at Jaime, strong and tall and almost imperturbable. You were a servant of the Lannisters, but Jaime rarely bossed you around. You looked deep into his eyes, looking for a hint, a glimpse... and found it; a remnant of the boy you once knew, the childhood friend you sparred with wooden swords with. The boy with mischief and connivance.

“Yes, of course, my Lord.”

Your footsteps already echoed in the somber halls when you remembered you hadn’t even brought the wine pitcher back to the kitchens.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Tyrion’s closed door. Years before, you had run up and down all the castle halls in search of passageways and hiding spots with a giggling Cersei on tow; yet you had never felt as lost and out of place as you did then, knuckles hovering over the wooden panel.

“Lord Tyrion, your brother asks to see you,” you called in one breath after knocking sharply. Calling the twins by their titles was disturbing enough to you; but Tyrion, brilliant and dedicated Tyrion, Tyrion you'd find reading hidden in the library and who'd blush when you asked him what his book was about—Tyrion, a Lord of Casterly Rock?

“No, he does not.”

There was nothing he didn't know. Especially when it came to his brother... and you.

“I...,” you sighed, at a loss for words. So many untold truths jostled in your throat, none eloquent enough for his bright soul. “He insisted I check up on you, sir.”

“Well I'm fine, am I not? You can go now.”

His words echoed in your skull with the strength of a thousand storms. Taking a shaky breath, you prepared to turn around and leave him... but a sudden force rumbled deep in you like a menacing earthquake. You might have been stripped of your lands and rights, you might bear the name of a traitor and a criminal, but he had been a general before he was a corpse and you had been an eldest daughter before you were a plaything. Your foot grazed the door, almost with too much violence, when you turned to face it.

“Truth be told, I wanted to check up on you as well, and to tell you that I’m bewildered at your recent behavior towards me, and that I don’t think I have done anything to deserve this shift in your attitude, and that I esteem you dearly and dared to hope that it was the same for you, and that I am frankly hurt by your sudden coldness, and that if you will not deign to tell me whatever is happening, then I will merely wish you a pleasant night and disturb you no further. Sir.”

Catching your breath, you turned on your heels before you could regret any of the words you’d just said. It would be a miracle if Tyrion managed to catch any of them clearly with how fast you had hammered them; let alone answer to them... yet as you were about to leave, the door was unbolted, and there stood a seemingly somber and preoccupied Tyrion.

“Come on in. And please, we’re alone. Don’t give me any of that “sir” crap, I know you hate it.”

And like so many times, so many years before, you stepped into Tyrion’s quarters like inside a forbidden dungeon, but it all seemed twice as small and dark as it did when you were reckless children.

The both of you remained silent for long moments, even after he had motioned for you to take a seat on the ottoman at the foot of his bed; the shadows from the fireplace projected onto his face made Tyrion’s unmoving silhouette all the more unreadable.

“Is it something I’ve done?”

“Do you wish to know why the King didn’t have your head when your father rebelled? Well — why my father didn’t?”

Your eyes widened for a split second, but your irritation barely subsided. For some reason, despite your never-ending quest for answers, the subject of your family’s treason and fate always prompted you to defensiveness when it was mentioned by others... especially by your best friend. The one who knew too much.

“What does this have to do with anything, Tyrion?”

“Everything, Y/N. It has to do with everything.”

“Enlighten me, then. You always know better than everyone else.”

Tyrion took a deep, interminable breath before continuing. It was only then that you noticed how shaky his hands were; for the first time, you read a disconcerting uncertainty on his face.

“My father knows humiliation is far worse than death, especially among Lords... and he knows how to take the most pleasant acts of revenge on his enemies. Your last name... and myself.”

You kept quiet. The puzzle was starting to piece itself together, spurred by Tyrion’s voice, low and even, albeit a little unsteady — as though the charred logs and crackling fire were confiding in you themselves...

“He’s known you since you were an infant. You were always proud and righteous, a proper Lady and a treasure to your name, but still pure and kind... all the traits I adored in you when I first met you. He knew nothing would hurt you more than stripping you of everything you had - status, respect, poise, and dignity... and your friends. He’s burying your family’s legacy under grime and filth and savoring every second of it...”

His words became progressively spaced, as though he was choosing them carefully. You hadn’t yet noticed your own hands were shaking now, too.

“And he can screw me over as well. Any chance he gets, he takes.”

His shoulders were solid and unmoving, but his words came in ragged breaths and laborious swallowing. He took a step forward, finally breaking free from the backlighting of the fireplace; his eyes were fixated on you, resolute and, despite the nervousness, more tender than ever. You remembered the expression all too well; it was the one he had worn all through the night you had talked until daylight about anything and everything... and seeing the enamored child in the man before you, you started to understand it all.

“He’s always known how much I care about you. How your presence never fails to lighten my mood and ease my worries, or how I’ve always looked for excuses to talk to you alone and catch your eye at supper. Most of all, how you’ve always given me exactly what I wanted... a chance. And he always thought it was the ultimate example of my weakness. To kick you around like an animal when I can’t do anything about it and know it’s all partly because of me is his favorite game...”

You clasped your hands together on your lap to curb your agitation. He had taken another step towards you, and you couldn’t break away from his gaze. Each of his features held more love than you’d ever known; more than when your father would ruffle your hair, or when you’d share your family tart with your brothers and smeared all the jam on their cheeks; and you couldn’t fathom how long it had taken you to discover this warm and fuzzy feeling you got whenever Tyrion was around had a simple name: home.

“Tyrion,” you spoke before the tears invaded your eyes. “Are you saying you fancy me?”

“Ah, to hell with it.”

Eyes entirely bathed in light now, he responded almost immediately and clearer than before.

“I’m saying I love you, Y/N, and that I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I first thought that I only liked your company, and admired your grace — that you were just the sister I wish I’d had, but I’ve had to face the fact that your face and voice set me afire in a way that nothing else can. I’m light and naive when you’re around... and you make me believe I have the strength they all won’t stop blabbering about. But I thought that if I could convince my father I saw nothing more in you than a whore like all the others, he would maybe let you go... maybe set you free.”

And the last confession seemed to hurt him more than everything else he had admitted that night, because it cut him right in his pride.

“I was wrong.”

An impossible soreness had taken over your throat during Tyrion's tirade, leaving you struck and mute. For a few seconds, all you could hear was the gentle hooting of the wind outside and the rapid and disjointed thumping of your heart... when you spoke eventually, it was but a hoarse whisper.

“All these years...”

“Yes.”

“And all those girls I had to see you with...”

“None of them mattered. None of them were you.”

“Why didn't you tell me, Tyrion?”

“Why would I?” he puffed with an acerbic laugh, gesturing at his frame, his scars, his cynicism and selfishness, and his wit and brilliant mind and feverish eloquence and golden eyes...

And suddenly your father's voice echoed in your head, unmistakable yet so distant, as he had spoken to you one day when you were little; he had said that angels existed in this world, closer than one might expect, and more often than not they took on unexpected forms, but once could always recognize them as they were the shiniest forces in the world around when everything was grim and black.

Maybe it was the dim lighting of the fire and moonlight that cast abstract shadows on the walls, or maybe your eyes and heart playing tricks on you, but you swore Tyrion was veiled by a pulsating halo, gold and black, that got even more radiant as he half-smiled.

When you leaned over and kissed him, you did not doubt that he truly was the angel your family tales had told you about, and maybe the only remaining angel in Westeros — because kissing him was like every star in the sky falling into place and forming new constellations, and when he grabbed your face to deepen the kiss, you were certain you felt his wings rustle.

“You have the most beautiful soul in this damn city, Tyrion,” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

Had he always looked at you with this unshakeable air of triumph and delight, or was it another trick of the light?

“If you knew how long I've waited to tell you how beautiful you are...”

“Tell me. Over and over.”

There was a smile on his face, the first genuine and devilishly charming one you'd seen in weeks when he stepped back and closed the velvet curtains.

He told you all night.

tagging; @fives-cup-of-coffee ​ @softeninglooks ​(all my writing)

[auditionsuggestions]

Show Breakdowns - Anastasia

Here’s the next one! We’re doing Anastasia :)

Below the Cut for Length

Anya/Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov

Playing age: 26

Lead role. Star Vehicle.

Range: G3-F5, Belt to D5. Disney-esque Soprano or Mezzo

Dance Requirement: Some movement

Anya is brave, fiery, witty, and above all determined. With no memory of her life before age 17 and having lived through the horrors of the Russian Revolution, Anya jumps at the sound of gunshots and is mistrustful of strangers, but there is steel hiding just beneath the surface. Anya is strong-willed and compassionate. Her mantra, “Home, love, family” is her goal. All she knows is her family is in Paris and she will find them however she can.

Suggested Songs:

Uptempo: Beyond My Wildest Dreams, The Little Mermaid; Times are Hard for Dreamers, Amelie;

Midtempo: When the Music Played, Dr. Zhivago; The Life I Never Led, Sister Act

Ballad: A Change in Me, Beauty and the Beast; God Help the Outcasts, The Hunchback of Notre Dame

Dmitry Sudayev

Playing age: 28

Lead role

Range: A2-G4. “Baritenor”

Dance Requirement: Some Movement

Dmitry is a scoundrel with a heart of gold. A street rat who grew into a conman, Dima does all he does to get out of poverty and is not above lying, cheating, and stealing to do so--that is until he meets Anya. What starts as just another scheme (albeit much bigger than anything he’s tried to pull off before) turns into the adventure of a life time that requires Dimitry to look inward and figure out how to put the one he loves before himself.

Suggested Songs:

Uptempo:Top of the World, Tuck Everlasting (duet, but can be arranged);  My Manhattan, Daddy Long Legs;

Midtempo: I Stand Alone, Quest for Camelot;   When the Booth Goes Bright; Amelie

Ballad: The Man I’ll Never Be, Daddy Long Legs; Proud of Your Boy, Aladdin

Vladimir “Vlad” Popov

Playing age: Mid 40s-Early 50s (No age really specified)

Supporting Lead role

Range: A2-F4. Comic Baritone

Dance Requirement: Strong mover

Vlad is Dmitry’s partner in crime (literally) and surrogate father. Before the revolution he scammed his way through society pretending to be a count. Vlad is dramatic, crafty, and a big softie at heart. While he, like Dmitry, is not above lying, cheating, and stealing, he cares greatly for his loved ones and is generally affable, though he can be calculating when he needs to be.

Suggested Songs: Komorovsky's Toast, Dr. Zhivago; When I’m Not Near the Girl I Love, Finian’s Rainbow; The Bottom Line, Newsies; She Loves Me, She Loves Me (?), Wonderful, Wicked; All I Care About, Chicago

Deputy Comissioner Gleb Vaganov

Playing age: Mid 30s

Supporting Lead role

Range: A2-Gb4. Baritone with a strong upper extension.

Dance Requirement: None.

Gleb is the villain of the show, though not a bad person. He fully believes in the Communist ideals he follows. Loyal, honest, and hard working, Gleb almost has the potential to be a hero (he’s very much the hero of his own story). A deeply conflicted person, Gleb’s infatuation (and borderline obsession) with Anya leads to his battle with the idea of doing one’s duty vs. doing what is right.

Suggested Songs: If I Can’t Love Her, Beauty and the Beast; ; Where’s the Girl, The Scarlet Pimpernel; The Longer I Live, Dracula; What is it About Her, The Wild Party

Countess Lily Malevsky-Malevitch

Playing age: ~40 (She’s based on Lili Dehn- a real life Russian countess who was a familiy friend of the Romanovs- so I based her age around how old Dehn would’ve been in 1927/28)

Supporting role

Range: G3-C5 (Breifly sings a B5 at the end of Land of Yesterday, but the rest of the role is very Mezzo) Jazzy Mezzo with an upper extension.

Dance Requirement: Dancer (Ideally a strong dancer)

Lily is the lady in waiting to the Dowager Empress. She has been by the Dowager’s side since before the revolution. Lily is clever, dutiful, and above all fun (when not working for the Dowager). She deals with her exile from Russia with a sort of resigned dark humor...and a LOT of vodka. She and Vlad were once an item (unbeknownst to her oblivious husband) and re-kindle their romance upon re-uniting.

Suggested Songs: You Gotta Get a Gimmick, Gypsy; Here I Am, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels; As We Stumble Along, The Drowsy Chaperone; Raise the Roof, The Wild Party (Lippa); Cabaret, Cabaret; All Falls Down, Chaplin

Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna Romanov

Playing age: 80

Supporting role

Range: F3-Bb4. A regal Mezzo

Dance Requirement: None

The Dowager Empress has lost everything she once held dear and must now put up with imposter upon imposter never allowing her to grieve in peace. She is icy, proud, and regal (not to mention intimidating) to all but her family. Though, she does have a very shrap wit. She is especially warm with Anastasia both when a child and after it’s revealed that Anya really is the princess. She commands authority and attention the minute she enters a room.

Suggested Songs: Days of Plenty, Little Women;  When There’s No One, Carrie; Here Alone, Little Women

Young Anastasia/Alexei (Doubles in Ensemble as well)

Playing age: ~5 for Young Anastasia, (cast with an older child, normally between 9 and 14), 13 for Alexei

Featured role

Range: C4-C5, a sweet child soprano

Dance Requirement: Very little.

Young Anastasia is the willful, brave, proud, and precocious youngest daughter of the Tsar. She has a special bond with her grandmother (whom she calls Nana). Alexei was the Tsarevich (Heir to the throne) and only boy of the Romanov siblings. He suffered from debilitating hemophelia that often left him bed-ridden. Anya mentions that he was her best friend.

Suggested Songs: Forgiveness, Jane Eyre; Whistle Down the Wind, Whistle Down the Wind

Ensemble

The Ensemble has a TON to do in this show and plays a vast array of featured characters (Tracks listed below). I will not be suggesting songs for most of these as any of the above would be appropriate.

All of the Ensemble plays Townsfolk, Royal Servants, Bolshevik Officers and Soldiers, Parisians, Reporters, and Aristocrats

Featured Character Tracks:

Olga, Tatiana, Mariya (the other Romanov Sisters)/ Paulina, Dunya, Marfa (three prostitutes who audition for the Fake-Anastasia scheme)/Odette and Swans (Dancers in the ballet)

These tracks require dancing en pointe

Olga track also dances Odette and requires strong ballet ability

Teen Anya

A featured dance role in the opening sequence

May also be one of the prostitutes and ballet dancers (I’m not 100% sure with this track)

Understudies Anya/Anastasia

Comissioner Gorlinsky/Count Leopold/Drunkard 4

Understudies Vlad

Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna/Female Reporter/Countess Gregory

Understudies Lily, but sings high soprano in Ensemble numbers

Tsar Nicholas II Romanov/Count Ipolitov/Drunkard 3

Understudies Gleb

Siegfriend (in Swan Lake sequence)/ Drunkard 1/Sergei the Doorman (?)

Understudies Dmitry

Von Rothbart (in Swan Lake sequence)/Drunkard 2/Sergei the Doorman (?)

[ravnicaforgoblins]

Ravnica for Goblins

Ladies of Ravnica

Dungeon Masters running a campaign in Ravnica may start to notice a trend with many of the city’s most powerful figures of authority (or notoriety); they are largely women.

Whether this an intentional choice on the part of WOTC for gender equality or purely accidental, most of Ravnica is run by the ladies. Not only do we see equal numbers of each gender represented within each race, each class, and each guild (except the Gruul Clans for some reason), but even a large number of the Guildmasters are/have been female:

Isperia, Sphinx Guildmaster of Azorius Senate

Lavinia, (acting Human Guildmaster of Azorius Senate following Isperia’s death)

Aurelia, Angel Guildmaster of Boros Legion

Feather, (former Angel Guildmaster of Boros Legion)

Razia, (Angel Founder/Parun of Boros Legion)

Vraska, (acting Medusa Guildmaster of Golgari Swarm following Jarad’s death)

Kaya, (official Human Guildmaster of Orzhov Syndicate following death of Obzedat)

Teysa, (unofficial Human Guildmaster of Orzhov Syndicate follow death of Obzedat)

Trostani, Dryad Guildmaster(s) of Selesnya Conclave

Zegana, Merfolk Guildmaster/Prime Speaker of Simic Combine

Vannifar, Hybrid Guildmaster/Prime Speaker of Simic Combine

In addition to this, every Angel and Medusa on the plane is exclusively female, with no exceptions. What does this mean for DMs plotting a Ravnica campaign? It means in all likelihood you’re going to be working on more female voices than male, so get practicing. If you are born a girl, this will be easier for you. If you’re born a guy, you’ve got some work to do. Because if you want to take a hard stance against doing female voices in your campaign, you are likely depriving your players the chance to interact with some of the coolest, most badass NPCs in all of Ravnica.

Lavinia of the Azorius Senate is an icon for the guild’s ideals, a champion for the laws of Ravnica, and steward of Jace Beleren, the Living Guildpact. Everything Jace wants to do with his nigh-limitless power as the embodiment of Ravnican Society has to pass through Lavinia first. She dictates his schedules, official commandments, and public appearances. Most importantly, Lavinia ensures that the most is made of the limited time the frequently-absent Guildpact is around. She is harsh but fair. A great choice for when the DM needs to intervene to save the players.

Judith the Scourge Diva is the Grand Dame of the Cult of Rakdos, it’s most in-demand performer, and the last word on anything that goes on backstage. She has more to do with the day-to-day goings-on than Rakdos himself, as the hedonistic demon Guildmaster rarely attends performances and often spends weeks, months, or even years in his lava pit. She does most of the work while Rakdos claims the adoration of the guild’s fanatics, cultists, and performers. Dramatic, demanding, devoted, demented, and she’s got a thing for blades & blood. She is the closest thing to a ranking member of the chaotic guild of stylized hedonism and carnage that is the Cult of Rakdos. She can be reasoned with.

Massacre Girl is currently the Azorius Senate’s number one fugitive.

Real Name: Unknown

Guild: Rakdos

Allegiance: Herself

Motive: Unknown

Crimes: Murders in every guild, including her own

Signature: High body counts, high-ranking figures, excessive violence

Perks for PCs: Instant Citywide Notoriety for taking her in/down

Drawbacks for PCs: Almost Certain Death for failing to take her in/down

Teysa Karlov, former Grand Envoy of Orzhov Syndicate, currently imprisoned for attempting to overthrow Ghost Council. Teysa is one of the few members of the Syndicate who isn’t motivated by greed or self-interest. Make no mistake, Teysa is as ambitious as they come, but her interests actually extend outside of her guild. She is one of the only high-ranking figures within her guild who actually tries to establish relationships with other guilds. It has dawned on her that the day may come when the Orzhov Syndicate might require the assistance of the other guilds, so maybe, just maybe, they should try to not have every other guild actively despise them. A groundbreaking proposal, the first step of which involved the overthrowing of the Greedy Old Men, aka the Obzedat, and establishing her as new guildmaster. Unfortunately, Grandfather Karlov outplayed her, and both Teysa and her ally Tajic of the Boros Legion were thrown in jail. Tajic was bailed out, but Teysa remains imprisoned thanks to bribes made with high-ranking officials to keep her so. In addition, to keep her from dying and achieving freedom as a ghost, she’s been fed food to magically lengthen her life in prison. All that said, Teysa is the best ally available within the Orzhov, one of the few not morally bankrupt, and knows the laws of Ravnica better than even the Azorius. A perfect choice for a prison break quest.

Emmara Tandris is one of the most well-known faces within the endless bounty that is the Selesnya Conclave. She’s a childhood friend of Jace Beleren, the Living Guildpact, and a public figure for inter-guild cooperations. This, plus the fact that she is a kind & caring individual with a special gift with animals, fey, and elementals, and the fact that Selesnya’s dryad trio Guildmaster(s) Trostani are vague at best, completely silent at worst, makes her a perfect choice for distributing missions, quests, and animal companions.

Last NPC I’ll mention is Vraska, of the Golgari Swarm. Vraska is the Planeswalker Medusa Assassin Pirate Queen of the Undercity. Think of something cooler than that, I dare you. It doesn’t exist.

*Edit: More Kickass Female NPCs!

Etrata, the Silencer. That name alone should inspire fear. Not just a vampire, not just an assassin, she’s more of an urban legend Boros soldiers tell each other about when they get stuck on overnight guard duty and want to spook their buddy. Lacking the tedious mind games of most House Dimir operatives, Etrata is an old-school killer for hire. She cares neither for politics, nor influence, nor subtlety. Your name shows up in her book, you’re gonna die tonight. She’s the only Dimir agent capable of actually challenging Lazav for his position of Guildmaster. What it will come down to is this; is he smarter than she is deadly? Etrata is great because her exploits are much easier to track than other Dimir. If someone is dead from a vampire bite in a locked room, they’ve just had a visit from Etrata.

Izoni, Thousand-Eyed should honestly have been the Golgari Guildmaster. Not only is she infinitely more interesting and distinctive than the run-of-the-mill Lich Jarad Vod Savo, but she embodies the Swarm in a way Jarad just doesn’t. Scuttling by your feet, buzzing around the air, lurking wherever death can be found; Izoni and her ever-present insect swarms have presence. Jarad, on the other hand, has a bow, very little personality, and the only real accomplishment he’s had as Guildmaster is surviving assassination attempts. Which, let’s be honest, for the Golgari, is just par for the course. Izoni has room to grow, to expand, and she’s exactly the sort of cackling, nasty, power-hungry dark witch players like to fight. Except she somehow makes being covered in bugs hot.

Pierakor az Vinrenn D’Rav, better known as “Feather”, was the Boros Guildmaster before Aurelia, and a former Wojek Officer. Her wings were bound and she was forced to serve in the Wojek for some reason that hasn’t been explained, then when the original Guildmaster and Parun Razia was slain, Feather stepped up. Her reign was short-lived when Aurelia challenged her as unfit to serve as Guildmaster given her unspoken crime that she was charged for however long ago. Feather gave up the mantle and left Ravnica, going into a self-imposed exile in the lawless Red Wastes beyond the Rubblebelt. Basically, this means that there is a Guildmaster-Level NPC living all alone in the most savage wilds on the entire plane searching for redemption. The story is literally just sitting there, waiting to be written.

[sloshed-cinema]

Double Indemnity (1944)

I need Billy Wilder to write all of the witty, damaged dialogue for my life.  Though from a contemporary perspective the film noir is a collection of tropes, a formula, Double Indemnity is one of those masterpieces that demonstrates its power as a storytelling mode.  The characters are snappy and whip-smart, doing battle with words far before any bullet is fired or murder is committed.  Though it doesn’t have the iconic scope of, say, Casablanca in terms of quotable lines, the dialogue bounces dexterously between witty moments—football burns and quintessential Medford, OR—and grimmer content that speaks of the depths of human depravity.  This isn’t a grand gesture, it’s a couple committing a crime, becoming entangled in their own perfect web, and that’s what informs the core of this film’s success.

The anchor of the film truly comes down to the characters, both in their writing and realization.  Though Walter controls the perspective of the film largely, Phyllis emerges as the true focal point.  Barbara Stanwyck’s sultry, cold performance speaks to both profound frustration and anguish as well as something darker lurking beneath the surface.  Her stony-faced reaction to her husband’s murder and everything in between gives credibility to Lola’s claim about Phyllis’ previous methods of getting what she wants (or thinks she wants, at least).  She is introduced as a sex icon, wrapped in a towel, but quickly emerges as the puppet-master.  Walter is a simpler man, motivated primarily by his attraction to this woman, even if he tries to convince himself otherwise later on.  His primary sales pitch is not about insurance but about sex, a slick series of pickup lines and rebuffs about the woman whom he’s only just met.  Even being told directly to pump the brakes doesn’t faze him.  Completing the trinity is movie MVP Barton Keyes.  He is a man both fanatically dedicated to claims work, an absolute policy wonk, and one driven by his steadfast moral compass.  This man shrieking at length about suicide statistics is me trying to convince my friends about the virtues of the latest weird arthouse flick I’ve seen.  In the end, his admission of disappointment in Walter, that the salesman is closer to his bosom and its Little Man than he might think, is the ultimate nadir of the film, even moreso than the murder itself. 

THE RULES

SIP

Someone says ‘claim’ or ‘dame’.

Voiceover narration begins.

Someone names an appointment time.

A hangup or obstacle in the plan occurs.

Medford, Oregon is mentioned.

BIG DRINK

The film returns to the desktop confessional.

“Straight down the line.”

One-handed match lighting.

[wits-writing]

Birds of Prey (Movie Review)

Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn), from now on referred to as BOP for brevity, directed by Cathy Yan with a script by Bumblebee screenwriter Christina Hodson, follows Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie) as she carves out her own place in Gotham City after breaking up with the Joker.

After an act of destructive spectacle to make sure everyone knows she’s serious about the breakup, Harley finds out just how many people want her dead now that the Clown Prince of Crime won’t be protecting her. Special notice in that aspects gets given to Roman Sionis (Ewan McGregor), aka Black Mask, a mob boss of Gotham’s East End currently making a play for the city as a whole.

[Full Review Under the Cut]

BOP’s story structure and aesthetic presentation are an exercise in communicating perspective. Harley provides the primary framing through her narration and overall off kilter way of looking at the world. Slow motion, the tone of the music and use of on-screen text impart how she’s our main filter for these events. Moments that don’t focus on her and the occasional nonlinear order of the central narrative’s events are Harley as the narrator backfilling that information. Her narration at one point outright says to the audience, “I guess I forgot to tell you about them.” Narration often gets framed as a lazy way to impart exposition and character development, but BOP uses Harley’s narration with a purpose. In the larger subtext of this being a post-breakup recovery story, Harley literally controlling her story’s presentation ties in with taking control of her own life.

Though like she says early on, Harley’s not “the only dame in Gotham looking for emancipation.” Once she makes her grand statement to let everyone know she’s cut ties with Mr. J for good, chaos spiraling out from that ends up ensnaring several other characters in her path as she runs from the people that want her dead. Starting with the Gotham street rat, Cassandra Cain (Ella Jay Basco). A foster kid who’d rather be on the streets than living her bleak home life. The kid ends up accidentally running afoul of Sionis when her routine pickpocketing brings her into possession of a valuable item that could give him the resources to expand his control beyond his turf into all of Gotham. Harley plans to save her own skin by agreeing to deliver the kid to Roman in exchange for protection. When Harley finally crosses paths with Cass, complications prevent her from turning the kid over to the mob boss right away.

Those complications become the heart of Harley’s character arc as circumstances force her to get to know the kid. Cass sees Harley’s flippant way of going about her criminal life and sees someone who has things figured out. A notion Harley tries to dissuade her of even as her moments with the kid are the first non-alcohol or drug induced states of happiness she’s had since the movie began. Robbie and Basco’s interactions have a sisterly back and forth to them, especially in the moments when Cass proves cleverer and more resourceful than Harley anticipated.

Cass is also the center of the Venn diagram formed by the stories of Renee Montoya (Rosie Perez) and Dinah Lance (Jurnee Smollett-Bell), aka Black Canary. Renee mainly knows Cass as a recurring face at the police station every time she’s gotten caught pickpocketing. In her daily life, Renee’s job as a detective involves a lot of people either not taking her seriously or stealing credit for her work. She’s been building a case to take down Black Mask for years but gets talked down from her pursuit by everyone else at the GCPD. Perez plays Montoya with a world-weariness that sells the years of being ignored that have taken a toll on her.

Her investigation leads her to Dinah, a singer at a club owned by Sionis recently promoted to his personal chauffeur. After seeing her mother lose her life trying to protect people in Gotham, Dinah wants to keep her head down and go on surviving for as long as possible. It’s complicated by the fact she can’t stop herself from caring or wanting to get involved despite everything. A trait shown in her tender interactions with Cass, whose foster parents live in the same apartment complex, and fighting to protect a drunk Harley outside the club. Smollett-Bell and Perez get their best material playing against each other in scenes where Renee tries to convince Dinah to help inform her on Roman’s plans.

Rounding out the Birds of Prey is an interloper in Black Mask’s plans to control Gotham, Helena Bertinelli (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), aka Huntress. Her role makes her BOP’s secret weapon as she’s the lead we at first learn the least about. All we know at the start is she’s going around killing mobsters that have ties to Sionis’s operations. She doesn’t say anything but takes care of her targets with ruthless efficiency. Once she’s given the room to talk, it becomes clear that she has all the skills necessary to handle her vigilante manhunt but has a negative amount of social skills or flare for drama. Helena’s attempts at stoic one-liners are hilariously inept and Winstead plays each one perfectly.

A character I’m more mixed on than any other element of the movie is Black Mask himself. None of that is down to Ewan McGregor’s performance, who’s playing the representative of the type of controlling, entitled monster of a man that Harley doesn’t want in her life anymore after her breakup. While McGregor’s charisma can almost make you forget how awful Roman is, BOP has no interest in letting the audience forget what he’s willing to do to anyone that even slightly wrongs him. It makes for the movie’s most disturbing moments, especially when he’s sharing the screen with his torture-happy partner-in-crime, Victor Zsasz (Chris Messina). He makes his motives to kill Harley plain when he tells her he wants her dead just because he’s free to do it now that she’s out from Joker’s protection, not any specific grievance. However, that lack of specific antagonism with the main character makes him feel hollow outside of his cruelty, existing as something for the heroes to bounce off for their arcs. He’s functional and well played, but not much beyond that.

Once all the characters are gathered and their story threads have fully converged, BOP has its boldest showcase of the stellar action that makes it stand apart from other movies in the superhero genre. The movie never slouches to deliver on the goods when it comes to its leading ladies tear it up in the fights. Every one of them does something different, keeping things varied with different settings and weapons. Varied tones to the fights keep them from getting exhausting. Most of the fights focusing on Harley maintain the movie’s usual stylization, like her breaking into a police station with a glitter loaded shotgun. Which contrasts with the grounded street brawl when we first see what Dinah can do in a fight. Action scenes escalate as the movie goes, culminating in the previously mentioned final showcase. The fights up to that point already embrace Jackie Chan levels of “every object can be a weapon if necessary” and takes it to the next level. All boosted by the work of cinematographer Matthew Libatique and editors Jay Cassidy and Evan Schiff keeping visual information clear, which helps every bone crunching impact land. Pushed further by the soundtrack consisting of Daniel Pemberton’s original score and songs, plus some well-timed needle drops.

Like Christina Hodson’s previous work as a screenwriter with Bumblebee, what stands out about BOP is how it capitalizes on the wasted potential of previous entries in the film series, in this case 2016’s Suicide Squad. While in that case, the stylization and music choices were crudely plastered on, BOP uses every element with pointed purpose and feels genuinely fun rather than forced as a last-minute decision. Yan, Hodson, Robbie and the rest of the collected cast and crew put together a movie that accomplishes being exactly the kickass, glittery ride it sets out to be.

If you like what you’ve read here, please like/reblog or share elsewhere online, follow me on Twitter (@WC_WIT), and consider throwing some support my way at either Ko-Fi.com or Patreon.com at the extension “/witswriting”

[couchdetective]

The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie

This is the first of the Hercule Poirot novels. It’s where Hastings first re-encounters Poirot in Britain. We never actually see their first meeting in Belgium in any of Christie’s books.

Styles was written in 1916, in the thick of WWI, and published shortly after in 1920 (in the US) and 1921 (in the UK). The story itself is set in WWI. The war forms the foundation of the plot, providing the reason why these characters are in this place at this time. The story’s not about the war, but the war allows for the story, and haunts the characters. There is so much quiet trauma in this book. Hercule Poirot is in the village of Styles St. Mary because he is a refugee, fleeing Belgium because of the war. Mrs. Inglethorpe, the grande dame of the village, has given him and other refugees aid. He’s a retired police detective, which is extremely weird to think about. Poirot is such an eccentric little bundle of quirks that it’s hard to imagine him working as part of an institution. He has also already had a distinguished career before his adventures in Britain even start.

As for Arthur Hastings (is there a more lolariously British name?), he is 30 years old, and has been invalided home from the Front, only to find a murder right there in the idyllic countryside. He’s at Styles Court because his friend John Cavendish lives there, with his stepmother Mrs. Inglethorpe (who is very rich and recently remarried to a much-younger man) and brother Lawrence. Hastings doesn’t know what he’s going to do with himself after the war, but his secret dream job is being a detective. He fancies himself very good at it. He thinks he’s progressed further than Poirot with Poirot’s own methods. Arthur Hastings gets compared to Dr. Watson, which is unjust; Watson is much smarter and more cognizant of his own limits, but Hastings is still endearing.

The Detective Work: Poirot in Styles uses methods that are less quintessentially Poirot than in later books. In the very next book, Murder on the Links, Poirot is militantly in favor of conducting his investigation based almost entirely on the psychology of the individuals concerned. Physical evidence-gathering is for people like Giraud, the detective Poirot mocks in Murder on the Links. It’s all very well, but the Hercule Poirots, the real great ones, just sit back, contemplate and reflect on the psychology, let the Girauds and Japps bring in the results of the physical investigation, contemplate the physical evidence in light of the psychology, and then come to the correct conclusion. It’s beneath Poirot to go around examining cigarette ash or fingerprints, and the real truth won’t be found there in any case.

But in Styles, Poirot personally conducts a close physical investigation, and relies heavily on the results of that investigation, in the manner of Giraud, or Sherlock Holmes. Here’s Poirot’s preliminary investigation of the murder scene in Styles (emphases added by me):

Poirot locked the door on the inside, and proceeded to a minute inspection of the room. He darted from one object to the other with the agility of a grasshopper...

...A small purple despatch-case, with a key in the lock, on the writing-table, engaged his attention for some time. He took out the key from the lock, and passed it to me to inspect. I saw nothing peculiar, however. It was an ordinary key of the Yale type, with a bit of twisted wire through the handle.

Next, he examined the framework of the door we had broken in, assuring himself that the bolt had really been shot. Then he went to the door opposite leading into Cynthia’s room. That door was also bolted, as I had stated. However, he went to the length of unbolting it, and opening and shutting it several times; this he did with the utmost precaution against making any noise. Suddenly something in the bolt itself seemed to rivet his attention. He examined it carefully, and then, nimbly whipping out a pair of small forceps from his case, he drew out some minute particle which he carefully sealed up in a tiny envelope.

On the chest of drawers there was a tray with a spirit lamp and a small saucepan on it. A small quantity of a dark fluid remained in the saucepan, and an empty cup and saucer that had been drunk out of stood near it...Poirot delicately dipped his finger into liquid, and tasted it gingerly.

For comparison, here’s Sherlock Holmes’s inspection of the murder scene at Number 3, Lauriston Gardens in his first story, A Study in Scarlet:

As he spoke, he whipped a tape measure and a large round magnifying glass from his pocket. With these two implements he trotted noiselessly about  the room, sometimes stopping, occasionally kneeling, and once lying flat upon his face. So engrossed was he with his occupation that he appeared to have forgotten our presence, for he chattered away to himself under his breath the whole time, keeping up a running fire of exclamations, groans, whistles, and little cries suggestive of encouragement and of hope. As I watched him I was irresistibly reminded of a pure-blooded well-trained foxhound as it dashes backwards and forwards through the covert, whining in its eagerness, until it comes across the lost scent. For twenty minutes or more he continued his researches, measuring with the most exact care the distance between marks which were entirely invisible to me, and occasionally applying his tape to the walls in an equally incomprehensible manner. In one place he gathered up very carefully a little pile of grey dust from the floor, and packed it away in an envelope. Finally, he examined with his glass the word upon the wall, going over every letter of it with the most minute exactness. This done, he appeared to be satisfied, for he replaced his tape and his glass in his pocket.    

Obviously, these aren’t exactly the same! I’m not accusing Christie of plagiarizing Arthur Conan Doyle by any means. But there are elements in common: the animal comparisons, the whipping instruments out, the taking away tiny bits of evidence in an envelope. Christie, in Styles, is drawing Poirot in roughly the same tradition as Holmes, whereas later on she will have Poirot reject and mock the entire “foxhound” school of detecting. In Styles, Poirot also deduces the murder method by using scientific knowledge about bromides in the medicine precipitating the strychnine. This is another atypical detection method for Poirot. I think these atypicalities in Styles are largely due to Christie still figuring out the character in her first book. There is also a plausible in-universe explanation, however: in Styles, Poirot is just a refugee, not an established and famous private detective. The “foxhound” detectives won’t bring him their evidence. He has to get it himself.

At the same time, you can still see the importance of psychology in Poirot’s methods, even here. The murderer is the husband. It’s always the husband, and all the more so when it’s the much-younger husband of an older, extremely rich wife. On top of this, Poirot solves the case through his key psychological insight that Alfred Inglethorpe wants to be arrested, and his romantic insight as to who exactly Mrs. Raikes is having an affair with. Once he figures out that (1) Inglethorpe is trying to get arrested and tried before there’s sufficient evidence against him, thus obtaining protection against double jeopardy; (2) it is John Cavendish, and not Alfred Inglethorpe, who is carrying on with Mrs. Raikes,  Poirot knows what’s going on and can solve the case. The famous “little grey cells” get their first mention in Styles: it’s only in passing, and only once, not the mantra they will become later on, but they do show up.

The Detectives: Poirot keeps Hastings in the dark in this story, not by lying to him, but by allowing Hastings to rush to whatever absurd conclusion his mind finds appealing without correcting him. Hastings and Poirot don’t have a partnership, or even a mentor-protegé relationship. They are, and will remain, a perpetual quirky genius/amazed straight-man couple.

Poirot’s match-making, romantic tendencies also make their first appearance here. This isn’t a distraction from the mystery at all. Correctly figuring out who is romantically entangled with who, and who has feelings for who, is crucial to solving the mystery, like I said above about the Alfred Inglethorpe/Mrs. Raikes red herring and the John Cavendish/Mrs. Raikes dalliance. On top of that, realizing that Lawrence Cavendish was trying to shield Cynthia Murdoch, because he was in love with her and there was a ton of evidence against her, was important to figuring out Lawrence’s own behavior and his own innocence of the crime. But Poirot’s shipper tendencies don’t limit themselves to what’s relevant to solving the mystery. He actually allows John Cavendish to be tried for murdering Mrs. Inglethorpe (a hanging offense!), purely to spark a reconciliation between John and his wife Mary, who would otherwise be too proud to admit that they truly love each other after all. Good thing this is a Christie novel and no one suffers any trauma from being tried for their lives--at least no trauma that can’t be cured by the love of a good woman.

Poirot’s not the only romantic here, though. Hastings’s overly romantic sensibility, and loneliness (he’s staying with John Cavendish because he has no family or other close friends), leads him to propose to Cynthia Murdoch out of the blue. She correctly laughs at him and tells him to be careful, next time someone might accept him. The whole thing is funny, but with a background of sadness. The difference between Poirot and Hastings is that Poirot is a sort of cupid, arranging others’ romances, while Hastings is fundamentally a participant and not a background string-puller. He wants a romance for himself, and Poirot suggests their next mystery might provide him with one. Mon ami Hastings displays a total lack of deductive ability and a sentimental outlook. He’s a quintessential British stereotype, but the flattering kind, the way the British (at the height of their empire, too) wanted to see their average man: not the brightest (too much cleverness is foreign, not quite manly, hence why the detective here is a Belgian), but the most honorable and decent.

The Characters: Christie gets flack for her characterization that I think is undeserved. She frequently perpetrates the most flat, stereotypical characters ever, but also frequently manages to sketch depths and complications of character in just a few simple words. Styles features several examples of the latter. There’s Mrs. Inglethorpe, a rich woman who is generous but tries to dominate people through use of her charity, who is smart and yet foolish enough to marry a younger man out for her money.  There’s her son John, who seems like a beef-witted country squire, but is (as Poirot points out) sensitive enough to seek out a separate life when it seems his wife isn’t going to fall in love with him. Above all, there’s Mary Cavendish: proud, reserved, married her husband without love, but then fell in love with him after, only to see him pull away and have an affair because he doesn’t think she loves him, and then pulls away in her own turn, working as a Land Girl during the war, madly jealous of her husband, drugging people so she can snoop to find out about his affairs, and finally, passionately defending him when he’s on trial for his life.

Japp makes his first appearance in this novel as well, but does not mess anything up, nor does he make much of an impression.

The Tropes: There are many standard Christie tropes that make their first appearance here. There’s Mrs. Inglethorpe, the moneybags matriarch who is controlling and nurturing in the same breath, whose adult children are taken care of by her but also trapped in stifling dependence on her. This is echoed in Gordon Cloade in Taken at the Flood/There is a Tide, Aristide Leonides in Crooked House, and probably others that aren’t coming to my mind as well. There’s the gold-digger, much-younger spouse of the moneybags, Alfred Inglethorpe, the murderer. Some other examples of this trope are a red herring or a frame-up victim instead of the true murderer. Look at Rosaleen Cloade in Taken at the Flood, or Brenda Leonides in Crooked House, or Nofret in Death Comes as the End.

There is also the married couple who believed (perhaps correctly) that at least one of them had entered the marriage without loving the other, but then find--in the shadow of a murder investigation--that they’ve both fallen truly and mutually in love with each other and will walk through fire for each other.  John and Mary Cavendish here are echoed by Jeremy and Frances Cloade in Taken at the Flood, and Stephen and Sandra Farraday in Sparkling Cyanide/Remembered Death. Christie likes this one a lot, and so do I. It’s very heartwarming.

There’s Dr. Bauerstein, the suspicious foreigner (usually Germanic or Eastern European) who is there for the sole purpose of looking sketchy and being innocent (at least, of the murder) and confusing the reader. This character may be Up To Something, but he’s never the real villain, never the actual murderer. JK Rowling echoes this in Goblet of Fire with Igor Karkaroff. 

Then there is the loyal servant, who is none too bright (Dorcas), and the “obvious dislike = love” trope, with Cynthia and Lawrence: Cynthia claims Lawrence dislikes her, and she doesn’t care that he does, when he acts like that because he loves her, and she does care very much. Dislike = love is also there with Evelyn Howard and Alfred Inglethorpe: their pretended animosity hides a passionate romantic attachment.

The Author and the Setting: Christie wrote this in a war. That same war pervades the setting, affecting the lives and livelihoods of Poirot, Hastings, Mary Cavendish, and the entire economy of Styles. Waste paper is never thrown out, which is important to solving the mystery: it helps Poirot realize Mrs. Inglethorpe had to light a fire to destroy the will she made in favor of her husband, which explains why she had a fire in her room in the heat of July. There’s a ton of Christie’s own prejudices on display here, too: the dumb servants (classism), and the racism (Jewish blood is a sign of intelligence! It’s fine to put on black-face and to refer to black people as the n-word!).

The Murder Method: Chemistry. Bromides in the medicine, precipitating strychnine. Secret chemistry. But there’s more to it than the physical murder. The coverup requires the deliberate incurring of suspicion by Alfred Inglethorpe, all the better to decisively dispel it--and the secret cahoots of him and Miss Howard, pretending to hate each other while working together to get Mrs. Inglethorpe’s money. It’s a very clever method!

The Law: The legal system plays an important part in this story: the prohibition against double jeopardy; the marital privilege so that Mary Cavendish can’t be called to testify against her husband; the attempts to cast suspicion on Lawrence by John’s attorneys.

Poirot Explains it All: There’s a classic explanation scene, with everyone gathered in the drawing-room at the end. Before getting to the actual point, Poirot has to explain all of his reasoning, and you know what, I get it. If I had been through everything in this novel, I’d want a full accounting of everyone’s odd behavior, not just the actual murderer’s. He explains that: (1) it was Mary Cavendish who was in Mrs. Inglethorpe’s room and in Cynthia’s room; (2) Mrs. Inglethorpe who had destroyed her own will, which is why she had a fire in her room in July; (3) when she twice referred to “scandal between husband and wife” on the day of her death, the first reference was to her son’s affair with Mrs. Raikes, but the second was to her own husband’s wrongdoings, evidenced in a letter to Miss Howard; (4) Mary Cavendish drugged Cynthia and Mrs. Inglethorpe so she could snoop around for a piece of paper she thought would prove John was having an affair; and finally (5) there was no need for the murderer to be in Mrs. Inglethorpe’s room that night, since the bromides in the medicine that precipitated the strychnine had already been introduced by the murderer, Alfred, who kindly and considerately wrote about the scheme in a letter to his co-conspirator Evelyn, which is now in Poirot’s hands. After which, of course, Alfred blurts out his own guilt, instead of keeping his mouth safely shut.

But then there’s a follow-up scene, where he explains even more to Hastings, about how he knew something was up when he realized Alfred wanted to be arrested, where he hid the incriminating letter, how Poirot stopped him from getting it back (by enlisting the household), Miss Howard’s role (especially in impersonating Alfred Inglethorpe), the logistics of the bromide crime, and how the murderers undid themselves by trying to incriminate John Cavendish. And finally, his own shippy thoughts, his Lawrence/Cynthia insights, and his plot to bring John and Mary together. The Hastings-explanation, after the general explanation, is meant to tie up loose ends, explain Poirot’s more personal motives, and address Hastings’s own feelings, including his romantic melancholy.

It’s a solid Christie. Not one of my favorites, but definitely enjoyable.

[truthbeetoldmedia]

iZombie 5x10 "Night in the Zombie City" Review

With just three episodes of iZombie left, we are inching closer and closer to the truth about the cure, and characters are going to more drastic measures as time ticks on. 

For this week’s murder, a young sex worker and private eye detective are killed back to back. Liv eats the detective’s brain, bathing the episode in noir. Sad saxophones, light bars across the eyes, and long trench coats. A thunderstorm plays in the background for the whole episode, making every scene feel like a dark and stormy night. The power goes out in the station, giving it a 50’s black and white movie vibe. Bunny, the sex worker, was one of Candy’s girls, so the investigation naturally winds up at Don E Be Good’s. All signs point to the waitress, Jane, who ends up returning to the scene of the crime. Blaine confronts her near the bar, and right before Jane is about to shoot him, Crybaby comes in and knocks her out cold. Blaine eats her brain in hopes of finding out more, and he has a vision. The private eye detective had managed to secure a cure for Bunny, and Jane caught wind of it. Trying to steal the cure for herself, she killed both of them. Of course, getting another cure would be in Blaine’s best interest, and so he eats Jane’s brain in hopes to figure out where she stashed the cure. 

Blaine and Liv cross paths at the private eye’s office while working on the case, but tensions finally boil over between the two when they are looking for the cure in the kitchen of Don E Be Good’s. Peyton gets Liv to come out drinking, and Peyton drowns her sorrows and delivers wobbly karaoke. The fun comes to an abrupt end when someone tells Peyton that she was a bad mayor. She tells him exactly what she thinks about that by sockin him right in the mouth. A huge bar fight breaks out. “Seriously? On karaoke night?” Don E moans. If only he knew the knockout, drag-out Liv and Blaine were having in the back. This is certainly not the first time that these two have come to fisticuffs, but this time it gets ugly. Crybaby intervenes again, with more intentions to kill. Right before he brings the bat down on Liv’s head, Clive comes to the rescue. Blaine throws Crybaby under the bus for Jane’s murder, which is what Blaine does, and Crybaby truly should not be shocked about it.

 Peyton is also arrested. Poor girl is clearly having a hard time dealing with not being mayor anymore. Now that she’s off the hook for all of Seattle’s problems, what else does she have to do? “Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a paleontologist?” she tells Liv. “Seems hard to get fired from that job.” I hope in the next three episodes, Peyton can get her groove back, rather than taking up an extended stay in Margaritaville and getting arrested for bar fights. 

Another character who has been under a lot of stress lately, as well as a new relationship, is Don E. In a bought of frustration, he calls the murders a “hassle” for business, which rubs Darcy the wrong way. Confused about what he said, Liv soothes him while sipping on hard liquor. “Dames got you dizzy, Don E. It’s what dames do.” He has a sweet moment with Candy, where she encourages him to get Darcy back, and it seems a little bit like a final goodbye. Candy has been an unsung hero of this series. She has never had a full plot on her own, unfortunately always at the mercy of the unethical men in her life. We aren’t often in tune with her thoughts and feelings, but she has been with us since the beginning. So when we see her steal the cure for herself and get on the back of a sexy motorcycle, I cheered out loud. Cue the Lucille Bluth “Good for her!” gif! Although it sets our heroes back, yet again ending an episode cure-less, I can’t help but feel like out of all the people to get one of the rare original cures, Candy deserves it the most. Be free, Candy! 

Darcy agrees to speak to Don E, and she tells him that she was angry at his reaction to Bunny because his chief concern was finding a replacement for her. Darcy doesn’t have much time left, so she was worried that would be Don E’s reaction to her death as well. Don E has matured the most out of any character on this show, and so when he tells Darcy that he’s hardened by all the death in his life, but still loves her, it feels like a hard won, vulnerable moment from him. He asks Darcy to marry him, which was the perfect mix of corny and sweet. At first I was sure that we would see Darcy die by the end of the season, but I’m beginning to wonder if the show has a future for these two after all. If there’s any zombies standing after Liv and Martin’s showdown, that is. 

Ravi wastes no time telling Liv the truth about her father, that he also, in fact, is Father of all Zombie-kind. In turn, she wastes no time confronting him about it. Not only is she angry that he withheld something so major, it also means he holds the key to the cure. He created the recipe for utopium that could be the solution to all their problems. He quickly tells her that he was high all the time in those days, so there’s no way he remembers the recipe. The audience knows this isn’t true, and it’s only a matter of time before Liv and the group find out. But not before Ravi lapses judgement a little and tells Martin he was testing rats with Max Rager, the energy drink that gives extreme psychological effects. When it’s paired with utopium, it turns people into zombies. Ravi explains that it stimulants the frontal cortex. Martin seems incredibly interested at this piece of information, and we found out later that Max Rager is the last piece of the puzzle that he needs to control his army. 

At Fillmore Graves, Major is begging for a distraction from the negotiations with the government. His second gives him a note that the keycard system needs to be replaced. While she mentions that it’s “just boring stuff,” it turns disturbing fast. Major catches a janitor with a huge carton of Max Rager with two keycards. When Major tells him that he wants to ask him some questions, the janitor runs into a shower hook, impaling his brain rather than talk. When Ravi hears what the janitor was trying to steal, he brings up to Liv the conversation he had with Martin. Liv proposes sneaking into Martin’s house while he’s in an AA meeting, and boy do they hit the motherlode. Not only do they find the exact recipe from the night of the yacht party that created the first zombie outbreak, but they find the army too. Ravi pulls aside the curtain, hoping for an escape route, and finds a pack of Romeros staring back at him behind a cage. 

Meanwhile, two of the weakest plots of the show finally meet each other and seem to resolve. As a little recap, Hi Zombie is the webseries that Peyton got fired for funding. The premise is two families move in next door to each other — one human, one zombie — and they root out all the stereotypes they have against each other. Every clip or scene we’ve seen of this show has been didactic and a little forced, but surely it was a plot device to build some kind of crucial bridge. The threat of nuclear warfare has been looming over New Seattle for quite some time now, and I mean a long time now. I understand this is a big decision, but it’s been stretched to the point of taking the wind out of the story’s sails a bit. I never actually believed that New Seattle would get nuked, and now we know it’s probably not going to. Why? All because of Hi Zombie! The chairman walks in on her grandson watching the show, and leans over to watch it with him for a while. Over the course of the evening, she has a change of heart about the zombie community. When it comes down to a vote on whether or not to nuke the town, she breaks the tie by voting no. “They have the capacity to become monsters” she says, but she can’t base her vote on “for fear for what they might become.” All of this is certainly not good enough for General Mills, who pays a phone call to our favorite local criminal, Dolly. These two make a toxic team up, for sure, but how will they factor in to the grand finale?

Final thoughts:

Ravi does an amazing noir detective monologue that I can only assume is based off Harrison Ford’s Bladerunner voiceover 

Was it just me, or was there extra alcohol in this episode? 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead” “You’re already dead.” It seems unbelievable to me this joke hasn’t been played yet 

“We’re not talking about your book. By the book. My book.” I’m going to miss Malcolm Goodwin rolling with every brain swing. He’s exasperated by a brain nearly every week, but this one particularly got under his skin. He tells Liv she’s off the case until she eats a brain tube, but that certainly doesn’t stop her. 

“That was just a love tap!” 

I always feel frustrated when this show uses terribly dated language, like “hooker” and “junkie.” It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. 

“The classic lamp reveal.” Finally, a brain that matches Blaine for his dramatics. 

Don E’s laugh when Peyton starts singing is pure iZombie 

“We’re going to Don E Be Good’s.” “Good’s enough!” Again — so obvious but brilliant. 

Haley’s episode rating: 🐝🐝🐝🐝

iZombie airs Thursdays at 9/8c on the CW.

[ineedahugesticktobeatyou]

2018 Reading Challenge - COMPLETE

- Masterpost -

A book made into a movie you’ve already seen - La leggenda di Sleepy Hollow (The Legend of Sleepy Hollow)

True Crime - Compagni di Sangue

The next book in a series  you started - Il Labirinto ai confini del Mondo

A book involving a heist - Il caso Fitzgerald (Camino Island)

Nordic Noir - Il senso di Smilla per la neve (Smilla’s sense of Snow)

A novel based on a real person - Monte Cinque (The Fifth Mountain)

A book set in a country that fascinates you - Il labirinto degli spiriti

A book with a time of day in the title - L’odore della notte

A book about a villain or antihero - La ballata di Mila

A book about a death or grief - Il figlio del cimitero (The Graveyard Book)

A book with your favorite color in the title - La lettera scarlatta (The Scarlet Letter)

A book with alliteration in the title - Stupide Stelle

A book about time travel - La moglie dell’uomo che viaggiava nel tempo (The Time Traveler’s Wife)

A book with a weather element in the title - Canne al vento (Reeds in the Wind)

A book set a sea - Ventimila leghe sotto i mari (Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea)

A book with a an animal in the title - Il cane di terracotta

A book set in a different planet - L’uomo di Marte (The Martian)

A book with song lyrics in the title - Il Fantasma dell’Opera (The Phantom of the Opera)

A book about or set on Halloween - L’albero di Halloween (The Halloween Tree)

A book with characters who are twins - TLOS Worlds Collide

A book with a female author who uses a male pseudonym - Il baco da seta (The Silkworm)

A book with an LGBTQ+ protagonist - Nulla fallisce

A book that is also a stage play or musical - La Signora delle Camelie (La Dame aux Camélias)

A book by an author of a different ethnicity than you - Naoi

A book about feminism - Una stanza tutta per sé (A Room of One’s Own)

A book about mental healt - Il Giovane Robot

A book you borrowed or that was given to you as a gift - Il Tempio della Luce

A book by two authors - Arrow: Fatal Legacies

A book about or involving a sport - Il mio stile libero

A book by a local author - La forma dell’acqua

A book mentioned in another book - Il Grande Gatsby (The Great Gatsby)

A book from a celebrity book club - Assassinio sull’Orient Express (Murder on the Orient Express)

A childhood classicyou’ve never read - Il Piccolo Principe (The Little Prince)

A book that’s published in 2018 - La ragazza che hai sposato (The Wife)

A past Goodreads Choice Awards winner - Dentro l’acqua (Into the Water)

A book set in the decade you were born - La nevicata dell’85

A book you meant to read in 2017 but didn’t get to - Il debito (The Debt)

A book with an ugly cover - Niente di vero tranne gli occhi

A book that involves a bookstore or library - The Librarians and the Lost lamp

Your favorite prompt from the 2015, 2016 or 2017 POPSUGAR Reading Challenges - Origin

[lolcat76]

Bill/Laura + The Thin Man AU, featuring Kara searching for her missing husband (whom she may have murdered), a disgruntled lover who knows more than he's telling, and as much bootleg booze as possible

A couple of things about this prompt: If you’ve never readThe Thin Man by Dashiell Hammett, it’s written in first person. If that’s not yourthing, I’m sorry, but I’m going to be true to the source material. Also, I likethe idea of getting into Bill Adama’s head. I thought about writing it fromLaura’s first person POV, but the prompt wouldn’t have worked for that. Second,there are a couple of hard-boiled fanfics that I can recommend, the first beingfrom my dear prompter @okaynextcrisis – it’s thefirst chapter of her collection of prompts and you should read them all. Thesecond is Unstoppableand Unbreakableby @it-is-bugs and aussiegirl41, and I’ve reread these so many times. They takeplace in San Francisco during WWII, and there’s history and espionage and intrigue,but more importantly, there is a lot of sex. HUGE FAN. Third, I’m going to tryto make this a full-on story, not just a one-shot prompt answer. We’ll see howthat goes. Oh, and 4th, if you’re one of Dashiell Hammett’s heirs,please don’t sue me. I mean it with love.

I was leaning on the counter in a speakeasy, waiting forLaura to finish her drink and her conversation with a kid that she introducedas one of her students, when a blonde walked up to me.

“You’re Bill Adama?” she said, and held out her hand. I tookit, half to shake and half to pull her out of the way so that I could keep mygirl in my sights. This student wasn’t anymore a kid than I was, and I knew hewas just waiting for his chance to put the moves on the former Miss Roslin.

He was a good six inches taller than me and had a good 50 poundsof muscle in places where I didn’t, but I could still wipe the floor with this punk.That is, if my wife didn’t do it first. Either way was fine with me.

“You don’t remember me, but you used to work with my dad?Back when you did private security?”

Oh, right. Someone was talking to me. I looked down at thegirl. She was blonde, pretty in a nondescript way. Not the kind of dame you’dfind in a bar like this – everyone else was dressed to the nines and she waswearing trousers and a suit jacket that looked to be about two sizes too bigfor her.

“Your dad, huh?”

“Dreilide Thrace.”

Oh, that guy. He was a weird one. A musical genius, or so Iwas told, but a paranoid little shit who insisted that I follow him homeevery night from the Opera House. As if he held some sort of state secrets inhis book of piano music.

I played piano when I was a kid, and the only secret I cantell you is that quitting is the best part of the deal.

Well, second best. Every now and then, I’d find a piano andtickle the ivories, and it made Laura blush and giggle. She wasn’t much of ablusher, and I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen her giggle,so I’d take what I could get.

Speak of the devil. She sidled up next to me, sneaky asalways, and looped her arm in mine. “Bill. Who’s your friend?” Since I wasn’tthe one who’d been particularly friendly tonight, I kind of wanted to smartoff, but doing that usually earned me a night on the couch. Besides, herstudent was nowhere to be seen, and she was right here with me.

“Kara, Kara Thrace. I used to work with her dad.”

Laura’s eyes lit up, as they always did when I mentioned myprevious career. Sometimes I thought she married me just because of the storiesI told. Given the choice between spending a quiet night in front of a fire withme and Jake and sneaking out to investigate wiseguys and bust up crime rings, I’mpretty sure I knew which she’d pick.

Then again, we never had much use for quiet nights in frontof the fire.

Laura and Kara were talking, waving their hands and leaninginto each other like they’ve just been reunited after years apart, and it tookme a second to realize that they kept looking at me, expecting me to be payingattention. Laura raised her eyebrow. Damn, she always knew when I wasn’t payingattention. Worse than that, this time she actually wanted me to contribute tothe conversation. My whiskey buzz was wearing off, it was close to 2am, and Ididn’t give a damn about this Kara Thrace or her father, not when forgettingabout them would get me into bed with only a thin slip of satin and possiblyJake separating me from my wife.

“Do you remember him, Bill?’

Who?

“Sam, my husband. Well, he wasn’t my husband then. He wasjust a kid who worked for my dad.”

I remembered lots of kids who worked for her dad, shufflingsheet music and dusting pianos “Sure, I remember Sam.”

I’d remember anyone if it would get me out of thisconversation and home with my wife.

“So you know where they might be? Sam and my dad?”

I didn’t care if they’d taken a flyer to Tahiti, but Laurawas looking at me with those sharp green eyes of hers, and she wanted a realanswer. Hell with that, she wanted an adventure. “I don’t know, kid, but ifanyone does, it’d be your father’s agent.”

Kara practically jumped up and down, and I pulled Laura alittle closer to me to get her away from Kara’s flailing arms. Her dad had a certaingrace that came from years of sitting at a piano bench; his daughter…not somuch. “Yes, the lawyer! What was his name?” She furrowed her brow. “Sam…no, notSam, that’s my husband…Saul!”

Saul Tigh. That old bastard, he’d hate me for this. “Here’s a nickel, andthere’s a phone. Why don’t you give him a call?”

She took the coin from my hand and disappeared into the bar,and I was left with my wife. Which was just how I wanted the night to end. “Whatsay we go home?”

Laura pushed me away. “What say we take the case?”

Case? What case? Runaway husbands were a dime a dozen, yourstruly very much excepted. And Dreilide Thrace never seemed the type to stickaround for the long haul. This kid’s rotten luck and even worse taste in menwere no reason to stick around, especially since I could see that Laura wastired.

From what, I didn’t know, but she’d tell me eventually. “Youwant to sit down?”

“Yes,” she sighed as she eased onto a barstool. “We’regetting a little too old for this.”

“Speak for yourself,” I said, but the words didn’t have muchbite. “What do you say we go home and I put you to bed?”

“I don’t want to sleep, Bill. There will be a time for that,but it’s not today.”

Another round then. I waved at the bartender. Billy, a goodkid, he loved my wife. Not in a slimy way like that student who showed up outof nowhere and ruined a perfectly good night, but he loved her and was alwaysready to pour her another martini. He measured a double Scotch for me, thenmade a great show of mixing a drink for Laura, and if she’d been payingattention, she’d have noticed that it was just lime and soda water. Like Isaid, a good kid.

I paid the tab and we sipped our drinks. Laura hated it whenI drank too fast, or I’d have polished mine off in one gulp and taken her home.As it was, I was only halfway done when Kara came running back up to us. I halfexpected her to jump on Laura and yip her delight – she was even more of adumb, eager dog than Jake was.

“Mr. Tigh will see me tomorrow. Bill, you have to come! Youhave to help me find my husband!”

“That’s not my business anymore,” I said, politely ignoringthe pointed snort from the redhead beside me. “Saul’ll tell you what you needto know.”

She deflated on the spot, just for a second. Poor kid, Ididn’t even have the heart to tell her she had no business calling me Bill. “I’mstaying at the Biltmore on Grand with my mother. Will you come see me tomorrowto discuss the case?”

No.

“Yes,” Laura agreed.

Damn.

I gulped down the rest of my drink after Kara left. “Never thoughtyou’d turn down an invitation from a pretty girl,” Laura teased as I set myempty glass on the counter.

“Pretty,” I shrugged. “If you like them like that.”

She leaned in a little closer. “And how do you like them?”she whispered, quiet, like we were exchanging state secrets.

“Red hair, long legs, wicked tongue.”

“That’s all?” she asked.

“No.” I pulled her off her stool and tucked her arm in mine.“No, but it’s a start.”

[justsomebucky]

Cinderella (Part 4)

Summary: AU. After the tragic passing of reader’s father, reader is left with a cruel stepmother and two miserable step-sisters, who not only don’t care about her, but they use her for their own gain. Will a handsome stranger offer her the freedom she longs for?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,734

Warnings: mentions of death, angst, sadness, fluff, mentions of crime, mentions of murder

A/N: This is a RE-POST of my entry for the @stories-from-stark-tower ‘s AU movie challenge. It’s based off of the 2015 Disney adaptation of Cinderella, only with a bit of my own spin on it.

Bucky stared glumly at the ladies gathered on the grand staircase waiting to be announced. Thus far, none of them were his maiden from the woods, and he wasn’t above making his displeasure known.

He was standing next to the throne where his father, the King, sat to observe guests and greet dignitaries.

“Your Highness,” the Captain said quietly beside him. “You could at least pretend to be excited, for the King’s sake.”

He turned to his best friend. “Steve, if I pretend to look excited, then he will think that I have any interest in these Princesses, Dames, Ladies, and whomever else has decided to show tonight.” Bucky let out a deep breath. “Perhaps she is not going to show after all.”

“Who? The girl from the edge of the hunting grounds?” Steve shook his head. “There is still time. The ball has not even begun.”

Bucky’s eyes widened when he saw his father raise a hand in greeting to Princess Natasha as she was announced. “Father…”

The King turned to give him a knowing look. “I know why you are so serious tonight. You’re waiting for the girl you met once in the woods. She has turned your head, perhaps too far from your duties. I’ll have you remember that you are to meet and marry a princess, regardless of how generous you’ve been with the invitations.”

“But Father, I-“

“No buts,” the King warned, turning back to the crowd. “It is a princess, or no one.”

Bucky straightened his back as the Grand Duke, Loki Laufeyson, made his way over to them with Princess Natasha on his arm.

“May I present to you Her Royal Highness, the Princess Natasha of Zaragosa.” He gave Bucky a calculated smirk before bowing and moving aside.

With as much fake politeness as he could muster, Bucky approached the Princess and took her hand, giving it a quick kiss as he bowed to her.

“You’re as handsome as your picture,” Princess Natasha said with a wink. “And your little kingdom is enchanting.”

“I hope the Princess will not find our little kingdom too confining,” he replied in an even tone.

The King rolled his eyes behind his son’s back.

All attention turned to the grand staircase, where the town crier stood to announce the start of the ball. “Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, my Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen, distinguished guests, and people of our land: The Prince will now choose his partner for the first dance. Let our ball commence!”

Bucky looked at the crowd on the dance floor, then to Princess Natasha with wide eyes.

You parked the car right outside the gate, not wanting to have your getaway car trapped should you need to make a quick exit. With your bag in hand, and having gone over your plan at least ten times out loud in the car ride over to the Palace, you gave yourself a nod in the rear-view mirror and exited the car.

The glass slippers that Tony had given you stayed perfectly silent as you stepped to the pavement.

All of the guests must have already been inside for the start of the ball, so you quickly and quietly made your way up the walk, through the main gate, and through the long entrance way inside the building.

There was no time to marvel at the lovely grounds and beautiful castle, nor was there time to let yourself feel the hint of magic in the air all around you. On any other occasion, you would have been completely astonished by your current situation, but tonight you didn’t have that luxury.

This is too important, you reminded yourself. Focus.

Luckily, only a few guards were stationed in the hallway. You avoided eye contact as you carefully walked through, your eyes flitting back and forth to try to find a place to stash your bag. You’d brought extra equipment, and despite what your godfather said, you’d brought your trusty boots with you, too.

Your eyes landed on a set of armor on a stand across from the ballroom doors. With a casual glance around, you saw that no one was watching, so you moved quickly toward it. You shoved your bag behind its base, knowing that it would be well-hidden from most prying eyes.

With a turn, you moved the doors to the grand ballroom. A quick press of a button set the butterfly clip into action, and a light mesh screen wound its way over your face to disguise you. If the people were already dancing, there was no way that they would pay attention to you now.

At least you hoped not, as you turned the ornate door handle and pushed.

The door opened, and you were shocked to see almost everyone in the ballroom turn to look at you. The crowd grew quiet as you moved closer to the staircase.

When your eyes slid to the left, you caught a glimpse of the King, and your handsome Royal Guard Bucky standing beside him.

Wait.

No, he couldn’t be a Royal Guard if he-

You felt your stomach do a flip, your palms suddenly sweaty. A closer look at his uniform showed that it wasn’t the same he’d been wearing while hunting. It was far more decorated, with the markings of…royalty.

 Bucky was Prince James?

“Dammit,” you muttered, trying to hide your face as you curtsied gracefully yet carefully. Your bag was safely hidden in the hall, but you were still packing under this dress, and you didn’t want to alarm anyone or end up drawing the attention of your step-family.

When you looked back up, you saw disappointment cross Bucky’s features. He didn’t know it was you what with your disguise in covering your face. You had to make sure to stay over eight inches from anyone in the crowd, or they would see through your disguise.

If anyone recognized you, it was all over.

You walked down the stairs carefully, smiling at everyone you passed in an effort to seem more like a regular maiden looking to meet the Prince. For all they knew, you were a princess as well, since your godfather Tony had outdone himself with this gown and shoes.

Movement on the upper balcony caught your eye, and you felt like you’d finally caught a break as Bucky headed for the stairs, straight past the beautiful red-headed woman who had been smiling at him when you first walked in.

The crowd in front of you parted for the Prince, and he kept his eyes trained on you as he walked closer. To say you were nervous was an understatement; not only did you get to see your handsome friend, but he was the one you had to protect.

And the way he was looking at you, well, that wasn’t helping your concentration at all.

Bucky kept walking, and once he was right in front of you, his face mere inches from yours, he smiled brilliantly.  

“Mister Bucky,” you said softly, unable to stop your own small smile from forming on your lips. You were so excited to see him, no matter how many times you reminded yourself that you both were in danger.

This was a risk worth taking.

“It’s you,” Bucky said quietly. “Isn’t it?” His blue eyes searched your own.  

“Just so.” You gave a little shrug and a cheeky smile. You wanted to warn him now, but there was no way to do it with every pair of eyes in the ballroom watching. “How did you know?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was just…drawn to you.”

You looked down at your gown, heat rushing to your cheeks. This wasn’t like you at all; normally you were in and out, your job done with expert precision.

Don’t let your emotions put him in danger, you scolded yourself.

“If I may,” Bucky began, his voice wavering ever-so-slightly. He lifted your chin gently. “That is, it would give me the greatest pleasure if you would do me the honor of letting me lead you through this, the first…”

“Dance?” you supplied, your smile growing.

“Yes, dance. That’s it.” Bucky laughed, his ears tinged red with embarrassment.

You gave a nod, and curtsied to him again.

Unfortunately, the eyes of the crowd didn’t stop watching the two of you as he slid an arm around your waist, pulling you toward him. You inhaled sharply at the feel of his arm around you, his muscular body flush against your own.

The music swelled, and the two of you began to move in unison.

“They’re all looking at you,” you said softly, observing the number of people and your potential exit points in the ballroom.

“Believe me, they’re all looking at you,” Bucky breathed out, his other hand clasping yours as he twirled you around. The skirt of your gown swept across the floor, and you’d never felt more beautiful or fancy in your entire life.

You still hadn’t spotted your stepmother or stepsisters. If you remembered correctly, the first piece to their plan was for Stepmother to find the Grand Duke and disable him, whatever that meant. She hadn’t divulged that part to you.

Drisella and Anastasia were all set to distract the Prince and the Royal Guard Captain, respectively, but you’d already ruined that part of the plan by dancing with Bucky yourself.

As you danced past the crowd, you made sure he didn’t lead you too close to the people standing along the edge, remembering Tony’s warning about your disguise. That’s when you spotted your stepmother and stepsisters staring at you and the Prince, and reality came crashing back down for you.

You had to warn him. No more indulging in this fantasy world. You’d had your fun, as brief as it was. Now, you had to stop your stepmother at all costs.

“Please,” you whispered to him. “Can I ask for a moment alone?”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly in confusion, but he nodded. “Of course.”

He took your hand and led you through the dancing crowd, and you kept your head down just to be safe.

Once you were in the safety of an adjoining room, with the door locked, you yanked out the butterfly clip, grasping it tightly as you whirled around to face him. “So you’re the Prince?”

“Not The Prince, exactly. There are a bunch of princes in the world. I’m merely a prince.”

“But you’re name’s not really Bucky.”

“Oh, sadly it is, sort of.” His mouth quirked up. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes. My father calls me Bucky, and my friends.”

“And you’re no Royal Guard,” you pointed out, turning away from him. Your gaze settled on a large portrait of him on a horse, his sword raised as if he was leading a great army into battle.

“Technically, I am the head of the Royal Guard. But, I do tend to leave most of those duties to the Captain, who happens to be my best friend.” He moved forward, following you as you eyed the room, looking for any cameras or recording devices. “Please forgive me. I thought you might treat me differently if you knew my title. I had mistaken you for a simple country girl.”

“I am one,” you replied, turning to look at him again. “I haven’t much time left. I need to tell you something, Bucky, and I need you to believe me and not think I’ve lost my mind.”

“Come with me.” He held his hand out to you and you took it firmly, allowing him to lead you back outside.

The Grand Duke paced angrily on the balcony. He had watched the Prince leave with the strange maiden in the blue ball gown, and he was not happy at all.

Steve tried to get him to listen to reason. “The Prince seems quite taken with her. Perhaps we should allow him his own choice in this matter.”

“She went straight for him,” Loki snarled. “You have to appreciate her efficiency, though I doubt she is anything more than someone seeking the crown and all its benefits.”

“Surely if she is a princess, it can only be a good thing?”

“I’ve already promised him in marriage to Princess Natasha.”

Stepmother peered around the corner of the balcony doorway, not-so-quietly making her presence known. “Oh, forgive me,” she said, her voice steeped with a fake politeness. “Your Grace, I did not mean to intrude.”

The Grand Duke and Captain both bowed to her, annoyance flashing on Loki’s features. “No, it is you who must forgive me, Madam,” he said, attempting to slither out past her.

“Your secret is safe with me,” she added, stopping him in his tracks. She bowed again, this time moving so they could get past her. They left quickly, no longer interested in sharing conversation in public.

She took a few steps backwards, peering around the corner as she watched the Grand Duke stalk away. With a quick glance back to the ballroom, she turned and followed him.

“I’ve never shown anyone this place,” Bucky told you, his hand still clutching yours. “We will be uninterrupted here.”

He led you to an ornate bench that sat in front of a reflecting pool, where the moonlight glittered off the water. You tore your eyes away from the beauty of the gardens to look up at him. “Bucky, you’re in trouble. The kingdom is in trouble.”

He frowned at you, brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

You turned to him, taking his hand in yours gently. “There are three women here tonight that are planning on robbing you blind. They want jewels and money, and they want to bankrupt the King for ransom.”

Bucky let out a harsh breath. “Who are these women?”

“I cannot say. Please just trust me. I can help, I can stop them. I just need time, and a bit of distraction from the crowds.”

“Nonsense,” he said, standing up. He raked a hand through his hair anxiously. “My guards will stop them.”

“You don’t understand,” you told him, standing up as well. “These are highly advanced criminals. Your guards will be dead before a word is breathed to you.”

Bucky eyed you. “How do you know all this?”

“I cannot say,” you repeated, growing desperate. “Please believe me, trust me. Can you please let me do this for you?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I cannot risk it. My father is in poor health, my guards are at the ready, and I will not risk your safety for these…these thieves.”

Your heart clenched. “If you will not let me do my work, then let me apologize ahead of time. I had a wonderful time tonight, truly.” You gave him a sweet smile.

Bucky looked at you in confusion. “What are you-“

His voice cut off and his eyes closed as he succumbed to the sedative you plunged into his neck. His body slumped forward, and it took all your strength to place him carefully on the bench.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, knowing that this definitely eliminated any chance you might have had with him. You leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back tenderly. “I have to protect you. I have to protect the kingdom. Perhaps one day you will understand.”

You straightened just in time to hear a loud shout followed by some screaming coming from the palace. With one last look to Bucky, you pressed the button on your sleeve, and your dress slowly disintegrated before your eyes. In its place was your normal stealth suit.

The stupid slippers were still on your feet, though. You’d have to make your way back to the hallway and grab your bag with your boots in them.

“Be safe,” you pleaded quietly to Bucky’s unconscious form, before turning to run through the gardens and back to the palace.

As you ran, your heel caught on a cobblestone and came right off your foot. You let out a loud curse as you glanced backwards at the glass slipper. Rather than waste another second, and with a quick apology in your head to your Godfather, you peeled the other heel off your foot and tucked it in your belt.

It was time to go after your step-family and end this once and for all. No more running.

 No more Cinderella.

Part 3 - 5

no tags because it’s a re-post from December 24th, 2016. I am moving it from another blog. It was probably the second thing I ever wrote for this fandom so please forgive me in advance.

[dailynewswebsite]

Attacks on houses of worship are on the rise — and interfaith dialogue may combat this

Municipal policemen stand guard outdoors Notre Dame church in Good, France, on Oct. 30, 2020, after three individuals have been killed. (AP Picture/Daniel Cole)

On Oct. 29, three individuals have been killed in a brutal assault on the Notre Dame Basilica in Good. This assault is the most recent in a spate of high-profile assaults on homes of worship since 2015.

The assault in Good came about two weeks after the homicide of college instructor Samuel Paty, who had proven his college students cartoons denigrating the Prophet Muhammad. French President Emmanuel Macron defended Paty’s actions, igniting protests across the Muslim world. Whereas the killings in Notre Dame are a part of an ongoing battle over free speech and the connection between Islam and violent extremism in France, they need to even be seen as a part of a rising international development in violence directed towards individuals at worship.

Neither the perpetrators nor the victims of those assaults belong to a single faith. In June 2015, 9 members of the Emmanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church have been killed in Charleston, S.C.; in October 2018, 11 individuals have been killed on the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh; in March 2019, 51 died at two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand; and co-ordinated bombings all through Sri Lanka in April 2019 resulted within the deaths of 257 individuals, 145 of whom have been attending two church buildings on Easter Sunday.

Passersby pausing outdoors the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh on Oct. 19, 2019, on the primary anniversary of the taking pictures on the synagogue that killed 11 worshippers. (AP Picture/Gene J. Puskar)

Homes of worship have lengthy been flashpoints for religiously and ideologically motivated violence. However latest assaults are symptomatic of an increase in hostility directed at others on the premise of their faith. The notion of homes of worship as gathering locations and for ethnic and non secular others additionally will increase their symbolic worth as targets for politically, religiously and ideologically motivated assailants.

Rise in hostility

Canada has not escaped these tendencies. Probably the most lethal latest assault on a home of worship occurred in January 2017, when a gunman entered the Islamic Cultural Centre of Quebec Metropolis, claiming six lives and injuring 18 others.

In accordance with Statistics Canada, 2017 noticed a report excessive of 842 police-reported hate crimes dedicated towards non secular teams, a rise of 86 per cent over 2016. The next 12 months, 2018, noticed the second-highest stage since 2009, with 639 hate crimes towards non secular teams, a lower of 24 per cent because the earlier 12 months. And whereas incidents of hate crimes decreased total, incidents of assault and mischief in direction of property used primarily for worship or by an identifiable group rose by six per cent and 43 per cent, respectively.

Homes of worship are particularly susceptible targets for violence. They’re usually extremely seen, open to the general public and actively welcoming of strangers and new guests. Though attendance at non secular companies has been declining in Canada for many years, homes of worship stay important neighborhood establishments that present help, connection and which means for a lot of people. That is very true for latest migrants.

The federal government of Canada gives funding of as much as 50 per cent to extend safety measures at homes of worship via its Safety Infrastructure Program, nonetheless, as a latest research by safety advisor Katalin Petho-Kiss has proven, many resist putting in proactive safety measures, reminiscent of putting in bars or different boundaries, or hiring safety guards.

Stopping violence

The night time of the assaults in Good, mourners from throughout the town got here to gentle candles in reminiscence of the useless in entrance of Notre Dame. A lot of those that gathered have been Muslim. Within the small city of Lodève, some 400 kilometres from Good, a gaggle of younger Muslim males gathered to face guard on the Catholic church within the centre of city throughout All Saints’ Day companies. Elyazid Benferhat was one in all them: “We wanted to do one thing past paying homage to the victims. We mentioned, we are going to defend church buildings ourselves.”

Imam Abderrahim Qaq, left, and Boufeldja Benabdallah, president of Quebec’s Islamic Cultural Centre, at a neighborhood dinner marking the third anniversary of the mosque taking pictures, on Jan. 29 in Québec Metropolis. THE CANADIAN PRESS/Jacques Boissinot

Benferhat’s gesture of solidarity was not distinctive. The aftermath of violent assaults usually leads to inter-religious dialogue and statements of help for victims of violence.

In 2019, Pope Francis and Ahmad Al-Tayyeb, the Grand Imam of Al-Azhar, met in Abu Dhabi the place they co-signed A Doc on Human Fraternity for World Peace and Dwelling Collectively. Amongst its resolutions, the doc states:

“[T]he safety of locations of worship — synagogues, church buildings and mosques — is an obligation assured by religions, human values, legal guidelines and worldwide agreements. Each try to assault locations of worship or threaten them by violent assaults, bombings or destruction, is a deviation from the teachings of religions in addition to a transparent violation of worldwide legislation.”

Solidarity after catastrophe

Whereas international non secular leaders and native congregations advocate for the values of tolerance and peaceable co-existence, their requires solidarity should not prone to be heeded by extremists. The problem is made larger by the expanded attain of non secular, ethno-nationalist and populist ideologues made potential by social media.

Nonetheless, analysis means that interfaith dialogue could also be the simplest technique of combating religiously motivated violence. And whereas dialogue between religions might not be capable of stop all atrocities, solidarity within the wake of violence will help to heal communities within the aftermath of trauma.

Jennifer Otto receives funding from Social Sciences and Humanities Analysis Council of Canada

from Growth News https://growthnews.in/attacks-on-houses-of-worship-are-on-the-rise-and-interfaith-dialogue-may-combat-this/ via https://growthnews.in