#note to add: a mosquito attacked me while I was responding to this

[lynaferns]

(barges in) Pardon my intrusion! But SKETCHBOOK can do animations!?!??!?!

Is it through the recording thing?

Idk what recording thing but, yup! It has an animation option, but it's pretty basic...

Archive-> New FlipBook-> New FlipBook empty... or start new FlipBook from image secuence...

You set the number of frames per seconds (12 fps, 24 fps, 25 fps, or 30 fps), the page size and resolution, and start. You can't change this once the flipbook is created so if you want to change the fps or size you have to start a new one, but you can save the drawn frames by exporting them in a new folder, so you can reuse them in the new flipbook if you want.

It's not a baaaad animation feature, it's actually pretty decent but... it's definetely not for profesional use.

As far as I know: you can't add audio, you can't create or delete layers, you have to erase or delete the whole frame, it only has 3 layers (4 if you count the background color), only 2 layers are usable to animate, the background is static, you can't lower the layers opacity nor set them to filters like "multiply" or "lighting", and you can only do animations of 1000 pfs long, which means the duration of your animation depends on how many fps you are animating, example: 30fps -> 33 seconds max. 12fps -> 1 minute 23 seconds max. I wouldn't recomend it for too long animations anyways because of the lagging (and if it crashes it can erase frames frames, move them from its place or they can get corrupt (talking from experience))

But you can use it for practice, do small animation gifs and story boarding.

You can adjust the timeline lenght to see more frames at the same time, copy past frames with one button, make visible previous and next frames. Basic stuff, enought for starting animating on digital.

Hope this helped, and didn't disappoint you too much (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)

I wish I could add audio on flipbook but I think I can do that with my video editing program, if I first make an animatic/storyboard, use the editing program to add audio and write down notes to make the frames fit the audio.

[albionscastle]

First Impressions Part 5

I know there are a million fics I should be working on right now, but I’m squarely in Darcy/Jack territory right now.

In this chapter, the closed quarters of the hotel are getting a bit too much for everyone, Caro corners Lizzie into retaliating verbally, and there is a moment where Jack and Elizabeth see eye to eye.

MASTERLIST

FIRST IMPRESSIONS 5 CABIN FEVER

LIZZIE

Two weeks into their “visit” at the hotel and Lizzie was about ready to commit homicide. On any given day the person on the top of her list would be someone different, but it was usually one of two people - Jack or Caro. Mostly it was Caro, which was surprising seeing as she was never outwardly hostile like Jack was. But Lizzie could appreciate honesty, and the miserable sod made no secret of his continued dislike of the situation.

Caro was constantly simpering and condescending, which never failed to rub Lizzie the wrong way. The older woman latched onto Jack like a mosquito which, to Lizzie, was vastly amusing as the Scot obviously thought her nothing more than an annoyance. She would have felt sorry for the woman if she wasn’t such a snide bitch.

Another awkward night was being spent in the suite, after dinner. Caro was there again, as she was every night, even though Jack pointedly spent the entire evening on his phone, Tom and Maya were cuddled up on the couch and Lizzie was reclined in a chair by the door, reading. Several times throughout the evening, she’d felt his eyes on her and looked up as he turned away, a perplexed and irritated look on his face. Caro had also spent time looking at her too, except she wouldn’t look away, just smiled maliciously.

Fuck you both, Lizzie thought as she turned another page. There was half an hour before she could go to bed without Maya chiding her for being rude and she was literally counting the minutes. Caro had spent the better part of an hour pacing back and forth by the window, just within Jack’s line of sight, sighing dramatically and stretching. To his credit, Jack had done little more than grunt at her all evening, flushing when at one point he glanced up to meet her smirk. It would be amusing if the whole thing wasn’t so sad.

“What are you even doing Jack?” Caro finally ground out, leaning over the side of his chair, chest on display.

He didn’t even look up.

“I’m talkin tae Georgie.” he muttered.

“Ohhhh, how is the poor dear? Is she recovered from that awful illness and back at school?”

Lizzie could have sworn she saw the man’s jaw tic.

“She’s fine, Caro.”

“I saw that piece she painted for the school exhibition, really remarkable. Tell her it was one of the best I saw.”

“Maybe next time, it’s 2am over there.”

Caro pursed her lips and looked up, Lizzie could feel her eyes like a burning itch on her forehead.

“You should be proud of her, Jack. It’s amazing the talent she has at just 17! Painting, writing, all those extra classes she takes, so different from sooo many others I know.”

Lizzie felt her lips twitch, that was an obvious dig. She also wasn’t going to justify that with a response. Caro wouldn’t know that she had a Master’s Degree, or that she was fluent in several languages. Let the bitch believe that she was just some uneducated hick, it was no skin off her nose.

“Wasn’t there that one New Year’s, Jack? When we all rented that place on Skye and you and Andy made your list of the perfect woman?”

“Fucked if I know.”

Lizzie looked up in time to see the man’s cheeks turn red as he squirmed in his seat. He did not like this subject at all.

“I remember, Andy was going on about some leggy blonde he’d hooked up with and you piped up with your ‘list’”

“I’m pretty sure I said I wasnae attracted tae blonde women.” he snapped.

Oh, that had to hurt, Lizzie thought as Caro’s eyes flashed. Something told her that Jack was going to pay for that, and sure enough, she didn’t have to wait long.

“I remember you said you would never date a girl who wasn’t fit, with clear skin, had to have a rack, had to have a job that was more than fast food or service, she had to have a degree or be getting one, oh and she had to be hot, and good in bed and willing to perform oral sex on demand.”

Lizzie’s brows rose as she took in Jack’s thunderous face and for a moment she thought he might actually punch the woman.

“Gimme a fucking break Caro, I was 21. And I recall that your only three requirements for a partner were hot, rich and famous.”

“What about you, Eliza?”

Oh, the bitch was not trying to drag her into this. “What about me?” she yawned, turning the page.

She saw both Jack’s chuckle and Caro’s glare out of the corner of her eye.

“Do you have any requirements in a partner, or would you just take the first man with a full set of teeth and his own trailer?”

“Caro!’ Jack said sharply, surprising her.

“It’s ok.” Lizzie stood, rage simmering under the surface, determined not to let her see her get mad.

Maya and Tom had disappeared at the first sign of trouble, probably for the best, in Lizzie’s opinion.

“Caro, you should probably add too old to get you pregnant, or close to death, a baby would ruin your figure at your age.”

Jack barely managed to cover a chuckle with a cough.

Lizzie turned on him next.

“And you, you forgot to add a few things to yours too. Don’t forget that you prefer your women not to swear, oh and you’d rather they cause a scene when someone else is behaving badly.”

That shut him up.

“As for me, I’m just a simple, small-town girl so all I need is a man who isn’t arrogantly self-obsessed and full of disdain, who treats me like a partner, no matter what my education level is.”

Lizzie stood in the doorway to the bedroom, facing the two of them. Caro was fuming and Jack at least had the good grace to look embarrassed, though she could tell he wanted to argue. Not about to give him the chance, she started to close the door, then stopped.

“Oh, how could I forget. To use your words Jack, I’m also not attracted to blondes.”

With that she slammed the door behind her, satisfied with the shocked look on Jack’s face. Yes, her response might have been stooping down to their level, but sometimes a woman just couldn’t not react when under such an obvious attack. Honestly them were peas in a pod, she thought viciously as she lay down, knowing Jack would be spending the night on the couch.

She couldn’t wait to be out of there.

JACK

Jack couldn’t speak for a full minute after Lizzie slammed the bedroom door. Caro was, full of her usual diatribe about the younger girl’s attitude and rudeness, conveniently forgetting that she  herself had started the whole thing, just to draw Lizzie in. He honestly thought that Lizzie’s response had been perfect, at least how she had responded to Caro.

He didn’t want to admit that he was still bristling about what she’d said to him. The fact that she’d so coldly looked him up and down while repeating his own words had brought him up short. In the week since the shower incident he’d rarely seen her. Her work hours were crazy and she spent all her spare time helping her parents. The only time he ever saw her was when they all ate, and while he was still certain of what he’d seen in her eyes that day, the woman was implaccable, she gave up nothing.

Jack had found his efforts at getting to know her frustrated at every turn, either by her or Caro. The blonde was on him constantly, in fact he was sure she would follow him into the bathroom if she could have. It was ridiculous and his irritation was rising more with every passing day. Never before had he been so eager to finish a project, he just wanted to go home and be rid of Caro. The time had come to let his mother in on a few home truths about her friend.

Caro left after a few minutes, knickers in a twist at both Lizzie, and at him for ignoring her, leaving him with a lingering feeling of claustrophobia. If he was honest with himself it had little to do with the girls being in the suite. Lizzie was rarely there and Maya was so quiet, it never felt like they were intruding. Except on his ability to think with his brain rather than his libido.

It was Caro that left him feeling hemmed in and trapped, she had ever since he’d turned 18 and gotten the Irn Bru gig. She had latched on to him from that moment and then his friends in quick succession, Caro wanted to be famous, Hollywood famous. Apparently she currently thought he was her ticket to that.

He hated feeling used, hated being used. Perhaps that was why he was so bitter now, people had done nothing but use him for years and he was so sick of it. Lizzie Bennett didn’t seem to fit into that, though he was fairly sure most of her family did.  Apparently he had nothing that she wanted, be it fame, money or even conversation. He was certain she was attracted to him but it obviously annoyed her and she was never going to act on it. If anything that just made him even more interested.

God, why was his life such a mess?

Going to the bathroom he splashed his face with cold water, looking at his face in the mirror.

“Get a fucking grip, man.”

He was 28, a grown ass, successful man and yet he felt like a moody teenager. He certainly felt like one around Lizzie, he could barely open his mouth for fear of what might come out. Or he simply clammed up in the face of her obvious disdain. At one point he had been able to charm a woman with a smile, this one simply narrowed her eyes and got as far away from him as possible. He really needed to think about whether his burgeoning feelings for her were real or if they were just because she was someone he couldn’t have.

When he exited the bathroom he took note of the pillow and duvet that now sat folded on the couch. She may not have liked him much but she was still a kind and thoughtful woman. Caro certainly never would have thought to leave out something for him to sleep with, least of all when angry.

Maybe there was hope after all.

The couch wasn’t exactly comfortable for his long frame and when he heard Lizzie moving about at 4am it felt as though he had only just gotten to sleep. He watched her through lowered lashes as she did her best to get ready for work quietly. When she stubbed her toe and bit her tongue to keep from Yelling he decided enough was enough.

“Ye can turn on the light, Elizabeth, I’m awake.”

She jumped, spinning to face him where he stretched off the ends of the couch.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Jack. I was trying to be quiet.”

“Ye were, I was already awake, ye donae haf tae worry.”

She simply nodded, going into the bathroom while he watched her.

He wondered if she ever took her hair out. So far he had never seen her without it being up, braided or hidden and he was finding he had a strong desire to see exactly how long all those red waves were. Which lead instantly to a vision of her leaning over him, a smile on her face as her hair flowed around his head, his hands gripping at the bare skin of her hips…

“FUCK!!!!”

Sitting up on the couch, he wrapped the blanket around his waist, running his hand over his face. He wasn’t a fucking teenager and this was getting ridiculous. Lizzie must have heard him, a scowl on her face as she passed him. Unconsciously he gripped the blanket tighter, not wanting her to see the predicament his traitorous hormones had put him into.

“You can have your room back tonight.”

“Yeah, Carney snores, I’ll pass thanks.” he chuckled.

He was heartened to see a wry smile cross her mouth.

“So does Maya and I’ve shared a room with her since I was 3. I meant I won’t be here overnight again, sorry you ended up on the couch.”

Wait. What?

“Yeah donae haf tae leave, the offer is still open.”

He was panicking now, what had happened? Where was she going to be sleeping? With who? How could he make her stay?

“Tom made the offer Jack, don’t try to pretend you were happy about it. But thanks for allowing it, it is appreciated. I signed an apartment lease yesterday, so I’m moving in today. And my parents rented a house, so Maya can go home in a few days. You’ll be free of us.”

“Why did ye no say anythin?” he couldn’t help the irritated pitch to his voice.

If she left now….he wanted that, right? Wanted her out of his head so he could concentrate. She was nothing to him.

So why was his heart clenching up like this?

“I wasn’t aware I needed to pass my decisions past you, you aren’t my mother.”

Her eyes flashed, pale skin flushing with anger.

“I dinae mean it like tha, Elizabeth.” He sighed. “Tom and I don’t haf tae be on set today, would ye like some help?”

She just stood there staring at him as though he’d grown an extra head.

“Help?”

“It’s no a trick question. Would he like some help gettin yer things intae yer new place?”

“Sure, but you don’t have to. I told you that you were free of at least me.”

“I don’t mind, and Tom won’t either.” He said softly.

She nodded slowly, grabbing her bag from the closet by the door.

“Ok. I’ll come back here after work then.”

Ok. His heart stopped it’s frantic race. She was coming back, there was still time. For what, he didn’t know but he knew he couldn’t just let her walk away.

He heard the door click back open and looked back up to see her head poking around it.

“Thank you, Jack.”

And she was gone.

LIZZIE

This had to be the longest work day that she had ever experienced. Normally she was able to go in, do what she had to and stay hidden in the back. But two people had called out sick and Lizzie had been thrust into the role of cashier/server/punching bag. There was a reason she had never taken a higher paying customer service job…she hated customers. After the 5th complaint from an entitled dick who couldn’t seem to grasp the concept that making him a latte in the middle of the lunch rush was going to take time, she couldn’t hide the rolling of her eyes any longer.

By the time it died down and her relief came in she was in a foul mood. She stomped all the way back to the hotel, scowling as she muttered under her breath in curses. It didn’t help that she was going to be stuck with Jack all afternoon before she could politely tell everyone to fuck off and leave her alone.

Shoving open the door to the suite, Lizzie stopped short when she noticed Maya, Jack and Tom all sitting on the couch with a ton of Chinese food spread out before them.

“Oh good, just in time.” Maya jumped up to hand her a bottle of ginger beer. “Jack said he saw you serving customers today, we thought you could use the pick me up.”

She looked at Jack questioningly, only to get a shrug in explanation. What had he been doing that he’d happened to see her at work? She wasn’t likely to get an answer from the steely faced jerk either. With a sigh, she sat down on the floor, shaking her head when Jack offered her his place on the couch.

Maya knew her too well she thought as she dug in. She would have known there had been no lunch break and that hungry Lizzie was extra pissy Lizzie. She also knew all her favorite dishes and as the food hit her stomach she felt the bad mood dissipating. Finally almost full, she felt more like herself. Seeing Jack’s fingers reaching for the last potsticker she rapped his knuckles with her chopsticks.

“Ow! What the hell was tha?”

“Mine.” She growled.

“Since when?”

“Since I decided I will stab you in the heart with my chopstick if your fingers so much as touch that potsticker.”

“Where are ye even goin tae put it? I think yer legs are full.”

“Oh har har.  Did you come up with that one all by yourself?”

“Maybe you guys could, um, split it?” Tom piped up tentatively while Maya dissolved into laughter beside him.

“I don’t share!” Lizzie shouted, in unison with Jack.

She looked at him and couldn’t help herself. The laughter was fast, and hard, exacerbated by Jack’s slightly high pitched guffawing. He snorted, his front teeth showing and Lizzie lost it, laughing till her sides hurt and tears were streaming from her eyes.

Poor Tom just looked confused as the three of them made it to almost hysterics before beginning to calm down. With laughter still bubbling in the back of her throat, Lizzie sliced the offending dumpling in half holding out one side to Jack, who was wiping tears from his own eyes.

“Here, consider this payment for helping me this afternoon.”

He took it from her with a wide, smile, the likes of which she had never seen on his face.

“Thanks luv.” He winked, popping it into his mouth.

Woah. What the hell was that? In that small moment when he smiled her heart had stopped and when he’d winked, an arrow of heat had shot through her.

No. Absolutely not. No fucking way. He was a dick. One smile wasn’t going to change that. He was only helping today because it would mean he would be rid of her irritating presence. No way was she even going to allow a moment to indulge this bullshit.

With narrow eyes she glanced at him, he was still smiling at her. Her breath was having trouble working. Shaking her head she got up abruptly.

“I’m going to change. I’m supposed to pick up the truck at 2.”

Hiding behind the closed door of the bathroom she let out the breath she’d been holding.

Why did he have to be a gorgeous asshole?

Changing quickly into old shorts and one of Charlie’s old t-shirts she came out to see the table all cleaned up and the others waiting for her. She avoided Jack’s gaze like the plague as she grabbed her bag from the bedroom, packed the night before.

“Are we using Charlie’s truck?”

“Yeah, and Charlie too if he knows what’s good for him. He owes me for Pierogi Fest.”

The path to Charlie’s led them straight past where their house had stood. There was just an empty lot there now, groundbreaking for a new, smaller home would start the next week. Lizzie shivered, stopping to look at the space. It was wrong not to see the house she’d grown up in standing there, her mother’s roses in bloom, her favorite rocking chair on the porch. It honestly felt like her whole childhood had been erased.

“Are ye ok?” Jack’s voice beside her.

“Yeah, it’s just weird, you know.”

“I honestly can’t imagine, but I am sorry.”

Lizzie turned in surprise, meeting his blue eyes, seeing the sincerity there.

“Thanks.”

Who the hell was this guy, because he sure wasn’t the Jack Lowden she had come to know.

“We should go.” She nodded over to Maya who was snuggled against Tom’s side.

A pang shot through her, one she pushed down, back into the depths of her feelings. She didn’t have time to feel lonely, or to crave a connection like that. It wasn’t worth it, at least not to her…been there, fucked up royally.

Walking ahead of everyone else, Lizzie wrapped her arms around her waist, the edges of her mood tinged with sadness. With a deep breath she tried to shake it off, this was a huge deal. She should be happy.

So why wasn’t she?

JACK

He wasn’t stupid.

Something had happened in the small amount of time since Lizzie had arrived after work. The look on her face had been enough to make him want to wither and die on the spot. That was not a happy woman walking through that door. She hadn’t looked happy when he’d meandered past her job earlier and he’d caught a glimpse of her through the window.

He knew Tom was curious about why he’d been there in the first place but thankfully Maya’s reaction to his statement had kept him from asking questions. When he’d questioned what he thought was a bit of an over reaction to Lizzie’s position as waitress, Maya had quickly put him in his place.

“You don’t understand, Lizzie has this thing, she can’t cope if her schedule is thrown off…it’s kind of like OCD but it isn’t. It’s control. She can handle most situations if she knows it’s coming, but if she’s unprepared she sometimes has these panic attacks.”

“ I donnae understand.”

“You don’t need to, this probably won’t be bad because it’s happened before. She’ll just need to recharge. Don’t say a word to her about it.” She whirled on him, finger pointing in accusation.

“Wasna goin tae.” He muttered, still wondering what the fuck was going on.

Wisely he kept his mouth shut as they ordered Chinese food and waited for her to arrive. There was a moment as they all ate when the anger was clearing and he saw something in her eyes, something haunted that hadn’t been there before. Then it was gone and suddenly she was threatening to stab him in the heart.

The fake fight that followed and the laughing, that’s when something changed. For that brief time she wasn’t scowling at him, or looking at him disdainfully. She was smiling. At him. He liked it.

He hated the way she escaped, moments after he’d winked at her. Even more, he hated the way she avoided his gaze and the shuttered look in her eyes as they all walked toward her friend’s home. He could almost see a physical veil of sadness falling over her as she stood and looked at where her home had been. She would have shrugged him off if he’d tried to touch her so instead he’d opted for a question, and he was glad when he saw the grateful look in her eyes.

He also didn’t miss the look of longing that quickly flashed when she looked at Tom and Maya. The woman who strode away in front of him wasn’t the same woman he thought she was. There was more to her, more layers to be peeled back and he suddenly, desperately wanted to do that. He wanted to know everything there was to know about her.

He wanted to know what had put that haunted look in her eyes, and why she needed to be so firmly in control.

Shit.

This had gone too far past just wanting to scratch an itch.

The “truck” wasn’t a lorry as he’d expected but a ute, what the Yanks called a pickup. It took him a moment to realise that she probably didn’t have all that much to move, if anything, since the fire. He was smart enough to keep his mouth shut as they all piled in, him being shunted into the front seat beside Lizzie by the lovebirds.  The yelps that escaped him though, as the hellion behind the wheel tried to murder them all, couldn’t be helped.

White knuckled he squeezed his eyes shut as she swerved around another slow moving vehicle muttering something about “slow ass thunder cunt” under her breath. By the time they pulled into the parking lot of a storage facility, Jack was sure of once thing, that he was never again, after today, going to get into any vehicle that had Elizabeth Bennet behind the wheel.

The woman was mad.

“You ok there, Lowden?” she smirked as she unlocked the padlocked roller door. “Looking a bit paler than your usual fish belly white.”

He glared at her, leaning forward over his knees to catch his breath.

“You. Woman ye’re a fucking menace.”

“Welcome to Chicago traffic, Scotty. It’s eat or be eaten.”

“Scotty?”

“Star Trek, Scottish redshirt.”

“I know who he is woman. Ye know not all Scots are the same.”

“Oh you mean they aren’t all warm and friendly like you? Color me surprised. Besides don’t you Brits think ‘Yanks’ are all the same?”

“Yeah, loud, brass and batshit crazy.” He quipped, noting the twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “And ye drive like maniacs….fuck me I’m goin tae sick up.” He groaned, doubling over.

“Over there!” both women yelled, pointing toward a rubbish bin.

He barely made it before his stomach ejected the Chinese food, sweating and tearing up from the burn. After a few moments he felt something deliciously cool and damp drape over the back of his neck and he looked to see Lizzie beside him, a package of cool wipes in one hand, water bottle in the other. He took both gratefully, rubbing his face with the cool cloth and guzzling the water.

“Easy tiger, you don’t want to puke again.”

Well this was fucking humiliating.

“It’s yer fault, ye crazy woman.”

“I’ll cop to that, I forget you foreigners have weak stomachs in real traffic.”

“Sweetheart, I drive in London…and even that crazy has nothing on ye.”

“I’ll take it easy on you on the way home, slugger.” She patted his shoulder, handing him some mints before sauntering away.

She had touched him.

He was breathless.

This was bad.

[theguardianangel-fanfiction]

Once Bitten, Twice Dead

Summary: It’s been two years since the beginning, and only five days since Clementine met them. But somehow, things got so much worse, and Carver was just the beginning. [Season 2 AU/canon divergent. New situations, characters, etc.] Chapter 7: Cassandra Truth. Author’s Note: I will be posting 1 chapter a day on Tumblr. Each chapter is already posted on AO3 and Fanfiction. I will resume posting on those 2 websites on October 1st, 2017. [Main Blog] [AO3] [FanFiction.Net]

"It wasn't a walker!" Clementine managed to choke out between the pain in her arm and the shock from being thrown and discarded on the ground. "P-please, it's from a dog!"

Pete narrowed his eyes at the still-panicking Luke, and then looked back at Clementine with the same look he'd had minutes before. "I didn't see a dog, Clementine." he spoke in a stern, but gentle voice. He opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off by Luke.

"Come ON, kid!" Luke hollered, finally removing his hands from his forehead. "We just saw you with those lurkers back there!"

Clementine shook her head, trying to stop the flow of blood that had started up again from her arm. She had the urge to shout back at him, feeling completely overwhelmed, exhausted, and overall, done. "No, it wasn't from them!" she stammered. "It was from a dog – back at the campsite!" It was only after she said this that she realized they had no idea what she was referring to. She pointed back towards where they'd come from, and then to the right. "Please, just look at it! Please!"

Luke turned to her, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. "Yeah, and have you sink your teeth into Pete's neck? No way!"

Pete gave the younger man an incredulous look, and asked, "Wait, my neck? Why am I the one?"

"'Cause I don't know a dog bite from a mosquito bite from a lurker bite, man!"

"It's not –" Clementine began to say, but winced when a sharp pain seared through her wound. "- a walker bite. Please, just look at it…"

Luke simply stared at her as if she were insane, while Pete was quiet for a moment. He looked at her, then at Luke, and then over her head, in the distance. He then looked back down at her, and calmly said, "All right, let's have a look."

"Woah, hey – watch yourself." Luke responded, arms crossed. He noticed the glare on Clementine's face. "Hey, don't look at me like that! You're the one that's bit here, okay?" He turned, scanning their surroundings, with his back to both of them.

Pete knelt down next to her, carefully taking her arm. Though Clementine was unable to read his face, she knew he had to be in deep thought about this. Carefully, he rolled her bloodstained sleeve up; Clementine bit down on her lip to avoid crying out, and tried to push away the sick feeling that swept over her stomach as she looked down at her wound.

The bite was curved; Sam had bitten down with the teeth on the side of his mouth, after all. The darker red blood that had dried against her brown skin stood out immensely from the bite itself, which was a lighter red color the deeper it got – and man, did it look deep. The fresher blood was smeared every which way around the wound, but it still left it visible enough to see the outline.

"See?" Clementine asked Pete, nodding down towards the wound. She'd seen enough walker bites on people she cared about (and some she didn't) to know that the long, wide bite looked nothing like a smaller, much more rounded walker bite.

Luke turned, face softening only a bit, and asked, "Is… is it like she says?"

Looking up from Clementine, Pete informed him, "It could be a dog. It don't look that much like a lurker bite, though. It's hard to say." He looked back down at Clementine as her shoulders sagged in relief. "Where did this dog go? The one that did this."

"What does that matter, Pete?" came Luke's exasperated interjection. Pete didn't answer.

Clementine felt shame rise up in her. She'd left Sam impaled on those tent poles… how could she tell them that? But she had to be honest – Pete looked like the kind of person who valued honesty above everything else.

She shook her head, and muttered, "I think he's dead. I… left him there."

Luke gave her a confused glare. "What'd you mean? It attacked you and it let you just… walk away?" He was pacing now. "And then he up and died?"

Clementine shook her head again. Her entire body felt jittery, and her hands were trembling again. She could only hope that Pete and Luke wouldn't mistake the involuntary movements as nervous tics or signs of lying.

"I found him in the bushes," Clementine said quietly, looking between the two men. "His collar said his name was 'Sam', and he was near a campsite." Luke had stopped pacing, and was now completely focused on her. Pete looked up at the other man for a moment, then back at her. "I found a can of beans in the trashcan," Clementine looked down, feeling both stupid and judged. "He was whining – so I gave him some, but then he took the whole can."

Pete's facial expression changed suddenly, like he knew where Clementine was going with her story, but he let her continue.

"He attacked me when I took the can back." Clementine clenched her teeth, looking down at her arm. "I… I kicked him. He got stuck on these tent poles." She took in a deep breath, suddenly feeling lightheaded again. "I left him there."

Luke stared for a moment, beginning to connect the pieces. He grimaced. "You just… left him there? A dog shows up and bites you and you just leave him to die?"

Both Pete and Clementine gave Luke incredulous looks.

"What would you have done?" Pete asked, eyes narrowed.

Luke turned so his back was facing them. "I don't know!" He seemed almost taken aback by the question.

"He attacked me."

"Still! You don't…" Luke paused for a moment. His face dropped. "You don't kill dogs. Or… leave 'em like that."

Sighing, Pete turned back to Clementine, and looked back at the wound, and then up at Clementine, looking her straight in the eye. She felt the urge to look away, feeling almost… vulnerable in a way. "Clementine," he said in a stern, authoritative voice. She nodded to him as an acknowledgment. "You tellin' us the truth? You look me in the eyes when you answer."

She was telling the truth, she thought to herself. There was no need to be nervous. She was telling the truth, and if Pete's ability to tell when someone was lying was as good as it seemed, she should be okay? Right?

Clementine looked back up at him, and said as clearly as she could, "Yes, I am."

"All right, Clementine," said Pete after several seconds. "I believe you."

Luke tossed his head, looking annoyed. "Well, what else is she gonna say?"

Pete pulled a tan rag from his jacket pocket – it at least looked clean – and carefully pressed it against the dog bite. The fresh blood immediately soaked into the fabric, and though it stung, it did the job. He laid it over the wound, flat, and then took her other hand.

Though it took a moment, he helped her up to her feet, then applied pressure to her wound with the rag. Without looking up, he said, "I've got a good bullshit detector, Luke." He looked back to Luke for a moment, with a small smirk. "That's why you can never beat me at poker."

"You don't always –" Luke began, but then cut himself off, admitting defeat. "All right, how can we be sure?"

Clementine took the rag from Pete and held it to her arm the way he did. She pushed her sleeve up, feeling sudden pressure and pounding in her head. Though she was beginning to gain feeling back in her limbs, she didn't feel much better.

Pete grimaced. "Her story adds up, and the bite don't look too much like a lurker bite – and I know ain't willin' to leave a little girl in the woods to die when we've got a doctor with us who can make a call." Luke placed his hands on his hips, still looking skeptical. "We can get Carlos to take a look at it first."

Luke looked down at Clementine, whose expression of pain and discomfort hadn't changed, then back up to Pete. He sighed, "Nick ain't gonna like this – not with what happened t–"

"You don't have'ta remind me of that, boy."

"Right," muttered Luke, avoiding the gaze of either of them. "Sorry."

Pete gave him a pat on the shoulder, face softening. He looked down to Clementine, then to Luke, and said to both of them, "Come on."

Luke walked ahead of both of them. Pete followed, looking back to Clementine, then back to what was in front of them. Clementine could see a cabin through the trees, but only just. It looked decently sized; she just hoped, whoever these other people were, they were willing to share their space even temporarily.

Clementine slowed, now feeling herself swaying. Her grip on her arm and the bloodstained rag were loosened; the rag was close to falling from her grip, but she couldn't seem to clamp it down hard enough. Now that she was up again and walking, the numbness in her legs was beginning to come back, and every little movement felt faint and disconnected.

She looked down at the ground, which was beginning to look more and more comfortable as the seconds passed, and heard Pete ask, "Clementine, you feelin' all right?"

"… I'm fine… I'm just tired."

"You'd better be all right," said Luke. "'cause I ain't carryin' you anymore with that bite on your arm." Pete rolled his eyes at Luke's remark.

Her vision was blurring again. The corners of her vision were dark, and the darkness was only beginning to spread further and further. She couldn't focus. Her entire body was numb, and the one thing she wanted to do was sleep.

The ground rushed up to meet her.

[scriptautistic]

I'm sorry if this question is triggering or anything, but I was wondering in what ways an autistic child could be bullied and manipulated by their parents or other important adults using their autism as a centre focus? For example, a young child with sensory issues that prevents him from tolerating liquids on his skin being forced kicking and screaming into the shower (the parents know that he doesn't like water) etc?

Hoo boy, this is a very personal subject for me. I grew up in an abusive family, and I have lots and lots of personal experiences I can share as examples. Obviously this is not even close to an exhaustive list, just some examples from my personal experiences.

Do be aware that this post will contain descriptions of emotional/verbal abuse and some physical abuse. If anyone is uncomfortable with this topic, feel free to skip the rest of the post.

First off, let’s take a moment and look at why autistic children get abused. In some cases, a parent would be abusive regardless of whether the child is autistic or not. In such cases, the parent has their own psychological issues that influence them. If you’re writing this type of abusive parent, it’s a good idea to delve into their backstory a little bit and decide what their reason is for being this way. Portraying them as “evil” without a reason isn’t accurate and can even be harmful for real-life victims of abuse whose situations are not so clearly black and white. There are many possible reasons someone might be abusive, including having been a victim of abuse in the past and certain psychological disorders which can cause some people to act abusively, such as narcissistic personality disorder - but this blog isn’t about those topics. If you are looking for resources for writing such characters, we recommend paying a visit to @scriptsocialwork and/or @scriptshrink.

Another type of abusive parent is abusive specifically because their child is autistic. They may not realize the child is autistic. They may believe the child’s behavior is due to environmental factors, or that the child is willfully difficult. They may think they can make their child less sensitive or more social - more “normal” - by forcing them to “face” the things that upset them. They might feel like a victim who has been cursed with a difficult child and lash out at that child, or they might feel they need to be a superparent who cures their child of their difficulties by force. They may believe they are doing the right thing with this abusive behavior. They may also be responding to pressure from teachers or other parents who think that the child’s “problems” are the result of the parenting style and push them to be stricter, etc. They may be praised by others for this abuse of their child. And then there is “therapy” where autistic people are abused by “experts” who think their autism can be cured.

It’s important to note that abuse does not have to be intentional. If the abuser doesn’t realize what they’re doing is wrong, or isn’t intending to hurt the victim, that doesn’t make it not abuse.

That said, let’s look at some specific ways autistic children can be abused by their parents. Sadly, these examples are far from rare, and in most cases, the parents even believe they are doing the right thing by hurting their child in this way. As a side note, while we like to push for positive representation of autistic people, this is a subject which is not often addressed, and having an autistic child living through abuse in a story could be a very helpful thing for the world to see and learn to understand, so that changes can be made.

Physical Abuse

All types of physical abuse that can be used on allistic children can be used on autistic children as well. If the child is particularly sensitive, the abuse can be even more harmful. This includes all types of hitting, spanking, and other physical attacks on the child. All of these methods have been proven to be detrimental to the mental health of a person as they grow up, and children who are physically abused (even just spanking) have been shown to have greater psychological problems later in life.

In addition to these “classic” methods of physical punishment, anything that involves the autistic person’s particular sensitivities can be abusive as well. The example given in the ask of a child being forced screaming into a shower is a good one. From my experience, I can also add:

Being forced to go swimming despite sensory issues with still water on the skin. I was forced to take swimming lessons at a summer camp despite the water on my skin causing me to panic, and was consistently reprimanded for “refusing” to pass the tests at the end of each level and remaining in shallow water at all times. 

I was also once, as a teenager, picked up and thrown into a natural pond by my father’s girlfriend. Everyone else was going swimming on this hot summer’s day, but I didn’t want to because, in addition to not liking swimming, I was having my period. I didn’t want to communicate that in front of everyone, so I tried politely declining. My father’s girlfriend, who was “fed up” with me refusing to participate in group activities, physically picked me up, fully clothed, and threw me screaming into the pond. Everything fell out of my pockets and sunk to the bottom, and the pad in my underwear was soaked through. I ran sobbing into the house while my dad’s girlfriend continued to shout after me that I was being ridiculous and rude to everyone.

Once, as a “punishment” for not taking part in a social activity (I was overloaded and went off on my own to read for a while in a quiet spot), my bed was sabotaged by my father and sisters. Everything metal in the room, including a set of metal dumbells and a guitar stand, was hidden underneath the blankets and pillow of my bed. When I jumped into bed (as I always did, onto my knees, something everyone in the family was aware of), I landed on metal. I hurt my knees quite badly, but was ignored when I asked for help. Afterwards, when I was limping for a few days, I was yelled at for “making a scene” and “trying to get attention”. (I still have issues with my knees.) After removing the objects from under the blanket, I threw myself down on the pillow, not realizing something was under that, too, and got quite a lump on my head.

I was once forced to eat food the taste and texture of which made me gag. My dad’s girlfriend had cooked a sort of strange pizza with unusual ingredients, and I couldn’t choke it down despite being desperately hungry. I tried to get up from the table and was shouted at, told that it was extremely rude to refuse to eat someone’s cooking, and that I was not to get up until my plate was clean. Everyone else quietly ate, finished, got up. My sisters went to play. My dad and his girlfriend went off to do whatever they did. I sat at the table crying for two hours, feeling bruised from the hard wooden chair, my stomach aching with hunger, but unable to eat the food. Eventually my father relented and allowed me to simply go to bed without eating rather than force-feeding me the “pizza”.

My mother and grandmother were obsessed with making me “ladylike” (I was widely regarded as a tomboy). Throughout my childhood, I was forced to wear my hair up in braids and ponytails, tightly pulled together with elastics or scrunchies. My scalp was particularly sensitive, and I could feel every hair being pulled out. I cried all the time and begged to be allowed to let my hair down, but was refused. My grandmother frequently insisted that “beauty hurts sometimes” and my mother told everyone that I was known to “make up” aches and pains for no real reason other than to get attention, encouraging everyone to ignore my tears. As soon as I was out of sight, I would always let my hair down. My scalp would hurt for hours afterwards, and then I had to endure being screamed at when I was found out.

Physical abuse can also involve meltdowns, which are often mistaken for tantrums by parents, and shutdowns, which are often mistaken for refusal to speak (the “silent treatment”).

I remember having a meltdown at the end of a camping trip with my dad, his girlfriend, and my sisters. The overload of an entire week without any time alone, sleeping on a hard surface, constantly bit by mosquitoes, eating food I didn’t like, and other sensory nightmares of the forest, had taken too much of a toll and I finally couldn’t stand it anymore. When I was ordered to help clean and pack the tent, my brain went SNAP and a meltdown started. All I remember is feeling a need to escape, to be somewhere quiet. I tried to run, and I was chased by an angry father and his girlfriend. I tried to hide in the backseat of the car, which was the only suitable hiding space I could find, and was grabbed by the ankles and ripped out of the car. They were screaming at me to calm down, holding onto my arms and legs with a much-too-strong grip while I thrashed around, unable to control my body, sobbing my eyes out. I was “in trouble” for weeks after that for “throwing a tantrum” instead of helping out like the others.

During shutdowns, when I typically go nonverbal and am unable to speak, I have frequently been grabbed, shaken, pushed, etc. as attempts to force me to speak while I “rudely” “refuse” to communicate.

These are just a few of the many examples of physical abuse from my childhood. There were also plenty of unpleasant situations that weren’t abuse - for example, when I had to put my shoes on quickly because we were late for something important, but I didn’t have time to straighten the seams on my socks, and my feet hurt all day as a result. I don’t really blame my parents for things like that. But when a child makes it clear that something is painful or very unpleasant for them, there is no reason to force them to endure it, and the parents insist on forcing them anyway, or use sensory overload or other such things as “punishments” for autistic behavior / failing to act allistic enough, then it is abuse.

Emotional and Verbal Abuse

Even more common is verbal and emotional abuse. All physical abuse is also emotional abuse, but there are many types of verbal/emotional abuse that often go unrecognized because so many people think of abuse as a physical thing. Emotional abuse of autistic people is very common, as many of our traits and behaviors are seen as “deviant” in some way, and it is a common cultural idea that deviant behavior, regardless of whether it hurts anyone, should be corrected or even punished. There are also many parents who feel entitled to a “normal” child and will blame an autistic child for making their lives more difficult. Then there are, as always, some parents who will be abusive regardless of what type of brain the child has.

While most of my physical abuse was at the hands of my father, his girlfriend, and my sisters, my mother was a neverending specter of verbal and emotional abuse. I should note that my mother has her own psychological issues and was equally abusive towards my allistic sisters, though they were far better equipped to deal with it than I was. Here are some real-life examples from my childhood.

It was made clear to me from a very young age that what I felt and what I wanted was not important, especially if what I wanted was different from the majority. If my mother wanted something and we didn’t give it to her / do it for her, we were being selfish. If we wanted something, we were being selfish. This was done both to my sisters and to me, but my sisters had the support of friends and teachers at school, who reassured them that it is normal to put yourself first sometimes and that it was not acceptable for a parent to treat their child this way. I did not have any friends and I didn’t know how to communicate my problems to my teachers (or even that I had a right to), so I had no support, and slowly developed a complex of believing I was a bad and selfish person. This led to a series of further abusive relationships later in my life, as I felt I had no right to refuse someone’s demands or stand up for myself. This was made worse by hyperempathy - whenever I felt I might have upset someone, hurt their feelings, or done anything they might find unpleasant, I suffered terribly, so controlling me was always as easy as warning me I would upset someone if I didn’t do exactly as I was told.

I always did my best to follow all rules and instructions exactly as they were explained to me, but often misunderstood because I didn’t catch the tone or implications of something. I was screamed at on a nearly daily basis for “refusing” to follow “simple directions”. I was constantly confused, constantly trying to do exactly what I was told, never understanding what I had done wrong. I learned not to trust my own instincts and to think of myself as inferior, stupid, lazy. There was a period of time I considered committing suicide in order to rid the world of my hideous presence, but (fortunately) I could never work up the nerve to do it because I didn’t actually want to die.

My sisters and I were all sent to a therapist after my parents’ divorce (when I was 5). I continued to see a therapist or counselor for many years after that, usually through the public school system. My mother frequently attended part of the sessions with me. Frequently, she would contradict me immediately after I spoke (or even interrupt) by claiming something was untrue, that I had made it up, that I had a history of doing that. You might think the therapists would believe their patient over their patient’s mother, but most of the time, they believed her. I was awkward and communicated strangely. I didn’t make eye contact, which they took as a sign that I was being dishonest. And my mother was good at playing the “loving and patient mother” around other people. She actively prevented me from being diagnosed with anything until I was 18, prevented me from getting any actual help, and prevented me from getting any accommodations, because she claimed I was being lazy and entitled.

She did the same thing with medical doctors. When I, at age 12, tried to talk to my pediatrician about sleep issues, she butted in and claimed that I slept fine (despite the fact I slept very little and was constantly tired). She did the same when I tried to talk to the doctor about depression and prevented the doctor from recommending a psychiatrist. When I was given medication (such as an asthma inhaler), she took it away and prevented me from using it. She claimed I was simply “being too sensitive” and needed to “toughen up” rather than relying on extra help, or, that old classic, that I was making it up for attention or “just being dramatic”.

Due to hyperempathy, I took the deaths of pets very badly. Having to look at or touch a dead animal could cause shutdowns, meltdowns, or panic attacks, as I automatically imagined how it would feel to be dead and was unable to handle the thought. My mother forced me to hold dead pets and bury them myself, then insisted I get another one. She always made me chose animals with short  lifespans so that I would have to face death repeatedly (this is by her own admission, as she proudly explained to me a few years ago - she thought she could make me stronger by forcing me to face death regularly).

When I was exhausted or overloaded, I was regularly forced into difficult situations, like going to a crowded shopping center or a party. I was not allowed to spend time alone. When I inevitably had a meltdown as a result, I was screamed at and punished for “throwing a tantrum” and embarrassing her in front of other people.

Again, this is a short list of examples from an entire childhood living with an abusive family. I could write a whole book about this, but this should be enough to get you started.

I am fortunate enough that I was never subjected to ABA therapy, and I was almost always verbal, so I never had to experience certain types of abuse firsthand (and can’t offer personal experiences as examples). We will have a post on ABA therapy soon where you can find more information.

If you decide to write a story with an autistic character who is abused, please do so with care. Rather than relying solely on the examples I’ve given, try looking for other sources. Please find at least one or two beta readers who are autistic and grew up in abusive households (sadly, they’re not that hard to find) so you can be absolutely sure you represent the experience fairly and accurately. All too often, it is seen as socially acceptable to abuse autistic children, because it is not seen as abuse: it is seen as a parent trying to teach a difficult child how to be normal. It does not work that way, and it causes a lifetime of psychological issues and trauma. Stories that show how wrong this is can be a big help in showing the general public that this behavior is not okay, does not work, and should be stopped.

And please, whenever you’re writing about topics like this, be sure to include content warnings somewhere.

Thanks, good luck, and happy writing!

-Mod Aira

[king-killaway]

Jurassic Park- Part 2

___________________________________

Jurassic Park contains three main areas connected by a mix of concrete and gravel walkways, and surrounded by a set of thirty feet high fences. While the jungle, which grows like normal, dominating the outside.

The first and largest building is the visitor center, it reaches several stories high, and is unfinished. The scaffolding shows a few parts of the interior, with a dome glass roof, but all in all it’s impressive.

The second are what looks to be a private residence area within its own perimeter fence.

The third isn’t a building, but rather the cage they had seen earlier, thick foliage growing inside.

Hammond leads the group up the stairs of the unfinished visitor’s center, two women open the doors to the lobby, smiling at the group. At its center is a wooden skeleton of a tyrannosaur, it appears to be attacking a sauropod bellow it. To its right, a staircase reaches up to another wing of the building. Hammond gesteres for them to follow up the stairs.

 “The most advanced amusement park in the world, combining all the latest technologies. I'm not talking rides, you know.  Everybody has rides. We made a living biological attractions so astonishing they'll capture the imagination of the entire planet!”

Before following, the group of four watch as Grant shakes his head at the skeletons.

“So, what are you thinking?” Ellie asks, her partner.

“We’re out of a job.”

Ian jumps between them. “Don’t you mean ‘extinct?’”

Lukas shakes his head, groaning at the pun, pushing the male forward as they walk.

Hammond had led the group to what was titled the ‘Showroom’.

“Why don’t you all sit down.” He gestured to the lines of seats. The Scientists sit along the front row, while Gennaro, the lawyer Hammond was required to bring along, sits in the row behind them. Hammond walks to the screen in front of them, and behind him an image of himself beams down at him.

“Hello, John!” The screen calls out.

    “Say hello!” The real Hammond gestures to the group. His film version counterpart then begins speaking again. “Oh, I've got lines.” He mumbles reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small stack of note cards. He scans them, looking for his place, as the screen Hammond continues without him.

“Fine, I guess! But how did I get here?”

“Uh,” It takes Hammond a moment to find his place, “Here, let me show you. First I'll need a drop of blood. Your blood!” The screen-Hammond extends his finger and Hammond reaches out and mimics poking it with a needle.

    “Ouch, John! That hurt!”

    "Relax, John. It's all part of the miracle of cloning!" As the two Hammonds rattle on, Lukas, amusingly looks to the male beside him. Ian watches closely, interested in the process. And while the Entomologist is curious, he’d much rather be having a conversation with the scientist that developed the cloning. The Hammond on screen then begins to split by multiples of two, eventually filling the screen.

    “Cloning? From what? Loy extraction has never recreated an intact DNA strand!” Grant musses, his voice not as quiet as Hammond would have liked.

    “Not without massive sequence gaps!” Ian adds, which does beg the question;

What DNA did they mix with the dinosaurs?

“Paleo-DNA? From what source? Where do you get 100 million year old dinosaur blood?” Ellie questions.

“And what did you use to fill in those massive gaps?” Lukas stares at Hammond with reproach.

The screen-Hammond is then joined by another figure, this one animated. A cartoon character resembling a double-helix strand of recombinant DNA. It jumps down onto the screen-Hammond's head and slides down his nose.

    “Well!  Mr. DNA!  Where'd you come from?”    

    “From your blood!  Just one drop of your blood contains billions of strands of DNA, the building blocks of life!” ‘Mr. DNA’ answers the screen-Hammond, voice just on the edge of being annoying. Mr. DNA has taken over the show, screen-Hammond disappearing, and it begins to speak to the audience.

“A DNA strand like me is a blueprint for building a living thing! And sometimes animals that went extinct millions of years ago, like dinosaurs, left their blueprints behind for us to find!  We just had to know where to look!”

The screen changes from the obnoxious animation to a nature-photography. It's an extreme close-up of a mosquito, its tube like feeder suck deep into an animal's flesh, its body pulsing and enlarges with the blood it's drinking.

“A hundred million years ago, there were mosquitoes, just like today.  And, just like today, they fed on the blood of animals. Even dinosaurs!”

The camera races back to show the mosquito is perched on top of a giant animated brachiosaur. After a moment the scene changes again to a giant prehistoric tree. It's branches reach out as if in search for the sun itself. The camera  closes up to one of the branches. A golden sap glistens in the sunlight, the animated DNA flies into the substance.

    “Sometimes, after biting a dinosaur, the mosquito would land on a branch of a tree, and get stuck in the sap!”

The mosquito flies by and lands in the tree sap. Then it struggles to get out, now stuck, before the sap covers it completely.

“After a long time, the tree sap would get hard and become fossilized, just like a dinosaur bone, preserving the mosquito inside!” The DNA explains.

The animated creation continues  to ramble on, and explains of how  the In-Gen scientist managed to extract the DNA from the Amber. The process while interesting, wasn't what Lukas cared about, leave that to the chemists and biologists. What he cared about what the implications of cloning extinct animals were, and the impact it would make in the natural order of everything.

“All this has some dramatic music - da dum da dum da - march or something, it's not written yet, and the tour moves on,” Hammond rattles on, mostly speaking to himself. He throws a switch, one he had apparently been holding.

And safety bars appear out of the back of the seats and drop over them, clicking into place.

“So much for no rides.” Lukas scoffs, and the other scientists look incredibly uncertain and uncomfortable. The row of seats moves them out of the auditorium and into a hallway.

The hall on the viewing side is covered in panes of glass. Thick glass, that look into a back lit room. People move about methodically from each scientific station to another. It immediately catches the attention of all four scientists. Underneath the viewing glass is a sign that reads

"GENETICS/FERTILIZATION/HATCHERY."

The annoying DNA voice continues to talk, although Lukas long since tuned it out, leaning forward. He along with the three others were trying to get a better look and what was being worked on, unsuccessfully.

“Wait a minute!” Grant calls out, as the chairs keep moving, equally frustrating them all,  “How do you interrupt the cellular mitosis?”

“Can't we see the unfertilized host eggs?!” Ellie begs, whipping around to question Hammond. But the cars are already moving on to another set of windows, which give a glimpse into what looks like a control room.

“Shortly, shortly…” Hammond responds, much to the dismay of them all. They were all becoming increasingly frustrated and the males were beginning to tug at the bars locking them in.

    “Our control room contains some of the most sophisticated automation ever attempted in -” The DNA once more begins.

“Good Lord no one cares,” Lukas cries in desperation, struggling to lift the bar off him.

“Can't you stop these things?!” Grant offers, after struggling to look at the scientific room long behind us now.

“Sorry! It's kind of a ride!”

“Let's get outta here!” Grant growls, gesturing for Lukas and Ian to help him. He shoves the bar away from him, using one foot to push, while the other and his back ground him. Lukas and Ian mimic him. The bars finally give way and they fly back over head, disengaging.

“Hey! You can't do that!” Gennaro cries.

Too late.  

Ellie slips out from under her safety bar, and follows the boys as they make their way to the door that leads to the laboratory.